Listen carefully, and your scalp will thank you

It pays to be cautious in your everyday affairs.... especially when they are conducted in another language. For instance, when you go to get your hair cut, it is imperative to keep in mind the subtle difference between:

I would like very little hair cut.

I would like very little hair.


Follicles hang in the balance, and the painful price of misunderstanding would stare back at you in the mirror every morning. Luckily, my limited knowledge of Spanish saved me. Thank you, 10th grade Spanish teacher.

Vintage Bacon

The wine here in Spain is great, and pretty inexpensive. I just had a glass in an interesting bar down the street from my hostel. The place looked at least 200 years old, and the walls were covered with decorative, hand-painted blue and white tiles. When I ordered the wine from the distinguished-looking man behind the bar, he wrote my bill in chalk on the wood bar in front of me.

And as soon as he had done that, he went back to what he was doing before, which was slicing thin layers of meat off of the two-foot long, still-hooved leg of a pig. Ah, the duties required of a sommelier-butcher-barman in today's Spain.....

Bawitaba da bang a dang -- A Lullaby by the Kid

And yet again, I find myself in a seat that is upholstered to look comfortable, but is in fact like sitting in a furry wheelbarrow. As usual, the stale air occasionally effervesces with the enchanting scent of Eau de Ashtray in a Gym Locker. I am here for 14 hours, on another night bus, this one to Seville.

It´s going to be a long night, and I hope to spend most of it unconcious. I look to my Ipod for sounds to block out those around me-- to help me sleep, upright, in a wheelbarrow bound for Iberian potholes. I look around for something that will do the job. Something that will calm me, soothe me, send my counted sheep bounding over the fence. But what can I choose? And then the choice is made, I close my eyes and the poetry comes to my ears....

Come clean, you know I will
Drink a fifth of Jim Beam and still stand still
I'm the illest fool, Cooler than the water in a swimmin' pool
Fly like a seagull, kickin' like a mule
More jams than a beetle from Liverpool
I deliver fool


And Kid Rock did deliver. He laid the smack down on the Sandman, and I fell to sleep, remembering as I did that the boogy jumped up. I said up jumped the boogy.

Bars, Sandwiches, Merry-go-rounds

San Sebastian is the kind of town that is made for movies. It is picturesque, charming and clean, and you feel like it is exactly what Disneyland would build if they wanted to have a quaint European town as part of their park(maybe they did this already?). It's one of those romantic towns... the kind you might see in movies, where a young Spainiard asks his sweetheart to marry him by the sea, all before going off to fight in the war. They look off into the distance, and both swear that someday their children will play on that carousel on the beach. That's right. There's a freaking merry-go-round on the promenade overlooking the beach here.... a handpainted one, no less. Charming, yes?

But I am charmed more by San Sebastian's bevy of booze dens. You can't swing a drunk Spaniard in this town without hitting a clean, laid-back tavern, pub or cervezeria. And they are all in these lantern-lit, impeccably clean alleys built for walking. And do you know what all of these bars have, right there on the bar? Sandwiches. You merely point to one, and bing! it's yours. Instant and blessed gastric gratification.

The great thing is, counter to my mention of drunk Spaniard above.... there aren't any drunks. People pack the bars, but they all just drink wine and beer sociably (all day long, it seems), talk and laugh. They bring their kids, who all play while their parents talk. The place has such a great vibe, like they've figured something out that the rest of us haven't.

Bars, sandwiches, and beachfront merry-go-rounds..... somewhere, in the midst of these wonders treble, lies the key to happiness. I think I could live here so that I could search for it, provided they changed the language and made the national sport American football. Oh, and all of you would have to join me. Is that cool?

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Seis

In Europe, the one constant is churches. They are everywhere, and after awhile, they all start to look the same. But the Sagrada de Familia in Barcelona is different.

First off, it was started in 1882, and isn't even close to finished. Antoni Gaudi (who is immortalized as the creator of buildings and art throughout the city) devoted his life to it. It doesn't look like other churches; it seems to have a personality. And the great thing about it is that Gaudi based its construction on concepts found in nature -- most notably, trees. All of the columns look like tree trunks, separating at the top into branches that hold up the roof.

And it seems no section of stone is exempt from sculpture or carving, and they are all symbolic. One facade is dedicated completely to the Nativity, another to the Passion (this one was really cool). Though at times it seems a little garish (I couldn't bring myself to write 'gaudy') and over the top, it is certainly an impressive monument to Gaudi's faith. I'd like to see this church again, if they ever finish it.

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Cinco

Man, the Spaniards certainly are a publically affectionate bunch. I saw many couples displaying their caring throughout the day. This wasn't ordinary, I-think-you're-swell making out. This was serious making out. Music video making out. These people shouldn't only have been getting a room, they should've been pricing basinets.

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Cuatro

I think mullets are big in Spain. Seriously..... can somebody check if they are making a comeback? I've seen way too many here in Spain for it to be a coincidence. I'd feel better if I knew what was going on. I feel like I'm at Ridgemont High Europe, and it's freaking me out a little.

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Tres

I made my way through the alleys, looking up at the wrought iron balconies on the buildings to either side of me, to the Picasso Museum. It's located in several connected medieval mansions in an area called La Ribera. The buildings themselves were impressive art.

I'm not that into paintings, really. I have a simple view of them, devoid of the symbolism artists sometimes intend. Colors mean things, brush strokes are communicative. But to me, I just see a pretty picture. I once saw a nice painting in a museum of a young peasant girl with a broken pitcher at a well. I thought it was a good-looking painting. I remember thinking that the girl was going to be in trouble with her parents when they saw that she broke the pitcher. But apparently, the girl represented a country, I think, and the broken pitcher a loss of innocence. Or something. I stopped reading the description halfway through.

But Picasso definitely impressed me. The museum showed paintings and other works from when he was 10 to when he died. There was so much variety: in styles, in color, in subjects. The man could paint. I was amazed that when I looked at a painting from far away, it would look realistic- like a photo- and then up close it seemed vague.

I have always been bored by the titles of paintings though, so I decided to give a few of Pablo's some new names. Two of my favorites were "Nun Asks Jesus for a Light for Her Cigarette" and "Peasant Women Playing Craps" (I subtitled the latter "Mama Needs a New Babushka").

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Dos

All of this walking in the rain had me a bit tired and damp, so I ducked into a small cafe in a nearby square. I ordered a coffee, and asked about food. They had cheese and jam sandwiches. Cheese and jam? Yes. Well, sure... why not, I said.... when in Barcelona, right? Luckily, my sandwich was ham and cheese, and I thought about the difference one letter can make. It is the difference between sweet and savory, between yum and yuck.

I sipped my coffee, and ate my thin baguette sandwich. Everyone else at the cafe was exceedingly European: kissing both cheeks and throwing their heads back in laughter, the steam from their coffee and the smoke from their cigarettes mingling serpentine in the air. Jazz was playing in the background, and I enjoyed the warmth of my coffee and my surroundings before heading back out into the drizzle.

Blog Tapas - Barcelona, Uno

Barcelona is the only city on this trip that I have actually been to before. I came here on a European trip with my buddy Grady about 7 1/2 years ago. It really hasn´t changed that much, and it felt really weird to be back here again and seeing some of the same things I saw back then. Since there is so much more of Spain that I wanted to see, I decided to only stay in Barcelona one full day. I will briefly recount some things I saw in snippets -- think of it as blog tapas.

I woke up in my pension, and went straight downstairs and out the door. It was still early, and the sky was a dark grey and it was misting. I walked out to La Rambla, the famous street in Barcelona, where the center median is a brick walkway about 30 feet across. Cars only get one lane on either side of La Rambla -- they are an afterthought. Barcelona is a walkin' city.... and I just happen to be a fella that loves some walking, rain or shine.