We were in the second to last row of the plane. Therefore we were among the first of the economy class passengers to board. Since the plane had some seats to spare we ended up with the 4 seat center section to ourselves. We spread out, stowed our bags under the center seats affording ourselves legroom and took turns laying out across the center seats during the night hours of the flight in an attempt to "plane sleep". I have never been successful at sleeping on a plane, I envy those who claim they can. I dozed, played games on the video screen on the back of the seat in front of me, drank white wine and generally whiled away 8 hours of my life. Through the plane's windows as we land is a view of lush farmland, small, quaint clusters of buildings and scores of wind turbines.
Customs took only seconds, our luggage arrived in near record time and we grabbed a cab into the city. We rode through graffiti scarred areas of the city. In Vienna the romantic Danube river is a canal, it needed to be tamed due to frequent flooding, it's concrete sides have, over the years,been turned into a colorful citizen's canvas.
We arrived at our hotel at 9:30 in the morning, a full 11 hours earlier than expected, Our room would not be available until 2 that afternoon so we stashed our luggage in the hotel storage room among stacks of sheets, pillows and roll away beds and running on pure adrenaline at that point, grabbed a tourist map from the front desk and set out.
Saturday, September 28, 2019
Friday, September 27, 2019
Austria and Prague 2019 - A Tale of a Confusing Beginning and Travel Luck
So this was our plan, in order to make the airfare affordable we were to fly to Lisbon, layover 6 hours then continue to Vienna. There we would spend one day and two nights. We would continue by train to Salzburg, where we would stay for two nights. Then we would end our trip with three nights in Prague, a place we had discussed visiting for the better part of ten years.
The night before our departure we received a rather confusing text message regarding our flight having been delayed. The next morning we checked Air Portugal's website and it reported the flight leaving at its scheduled time. So, luggage in hand, we ordered a UBER and headed towards O'hare.
The driver's GPS had him wind through a number of the neighborhoods on Chicago's north side, scenic but not particularly efficient. En route we received an email telling us our 6 p.m. flight was delayed seven hours. It was now scheduled to depart at 1 a.m. The Air Portugal app still listed the flight leaving as originally scheduled. We continued to O'Hare. Upon arriving at the airport we discovered that our flight to Lisbon was, indeed, delayed for seven hours which would mean we would miss our connecting flight to Vienna. Questions were mounting. Would we have to scrub Vienna from our plans altogether? Would we be paying for a hotel room we wouldn't be using if we were further delayed?
We got in line at the Air Portugal counter with several other concerned and confused flyers. After waiting an hour Air Portugal employees appeared. A young man in a soiled white dress shirt said "Oh, your connecting flight will be leaving before this one arrives." We dryly informed him that we were aware of this. He pushed a few buttons on his keyboard and proclaimed "There is a non stop to Vienna on Austria Airlines that leaves at 4:30 and arrives in Vienna at 8:30 a.m." After pushing a few more buttons he handed us our passports and directed us to the Air Austria desk where they would issue our boarding passes. It was now 3 p.m.
So, in summary, our flight that was scheduled to leave at 6 p.m. with the 6 hour layover would put us in Vienna at 7 p.m. the next day. We, however, were now booked on a non stop to Vienna, which would be leaving earlier then our original flight, that would deliver us to Vienna at 8:30 a.m. the next day, ten and a half hours before our initially scheduled arrival time. Not only would we not miss Vienna we would pick up an extra day there. We rushed through security to the gate.
The night before our departure we received a rather confusing text message regarding our flight having been delayed. The next morning we checked Air Portugal's website and it reported the flight leaving at its scheduled time. So, luggage in hand, we ordered a UBER and headed towards O'hare.
The driver's GPS had him wind through a number of the neighborhoods on Chicago's north side, scenic but not particularly efficient. En route we received an email telling us our 6 p.m. flight was delayed seven hours. It was now scheduled to depart at 1 a.m. The Air Portugal app still listed the flight leaving as originally scheduled. We continued to O'Hare. Upon arriving at the airport we discovered that our flight to Lisbon was, indeed, delayed for seven hours which would mean we would miss our connecting flight to Vienna. Questions were mounting. Would we have to scrub Vienna from our plans altogether? Would we be paying for a hotel room we wouldn't be using if we were further delayed?
We got in line at the Air Portugal counter with several other concerned and confused flyers. After waiting an hour Air Portugal employees appeared. A young man in a soiled white dress shirt said "Oh, your connecting flight will be leaving before this one arrives." We dryly informed him that we were aware of this. He pushed a few buttons on his keyboard and proclaimed "There is a non stop to Vienna on Austria Airlines that leaves at 4:30 and arrives in Vienna at 8:30 a.m." After pushing a few more buttons he handed us our passports and directed us to the Air Austria desk where they would issue our boarding passes. It was now 3 p.m.
So, in summary, our flight that was scheduled to leave at 6 p.m. with the 6 hour layover would put us in Vienna at 7 p.m. the next day. We, however, were now booked on a non stop to Vienna, which would be leaving earlier then our original flight, that would deliver us to Vienna at 8:30 a.m. the next day, ten and a half hours before our initially scheduled arrival time. Not only would we not miss Vienna we would pick up an extra day there. We rushed through security to the gate.
Saturday, August 24, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - Talquepeque and A New Friend
We had passed by one another briefly my first morning at the guesthouse. He came into the breakfast room just as I was leaving it. The next morning we got to know another a bit better. We, the owner and a couple of other guests, made sport of my wound from my encounter with the Mexican wrestler the previous night.
The day before my departure it was he, myself and the owner at the table. After one of the now familiar social/political cinema discussions he said it was the one day he had nothing concrete planned. I invited him to join me in my excursion to Talquepeque, a venerable small town that had been swallowed up by the city as it expanded.
It is an area of stone streets, turn of the 20th century mansions and lush courtyards. Many of the buildings have been transformed into shops, galleries and restaurants. Some of the shops sell the crafts found in other shops around town and the stalls that line plazas in the city center. Some of the galleries sell pricey art in upscale settings. One gallery specialized in massive religious statues. We wondered aloud about what the size of the market for these items could possibly be and how they could be shipped, let alone fit through the old wooden doors of the gallery. Street vendors also offered wares. 2 men sought money from the crowds in exchange for the caged birds they displayed offering a prayer for them. It seemed to me that if one wanted to pray one could do so for free without the assistance of a feathered friend, but who am I to question local customs.
We stopped into what, at first glance, looked like a small silver shop, eventually being led by a saleswoman through several case lined rooms not visible from the street. The pieces were from Tasco, Mexico's "Silver City". After looking at several I settled on a lapel pin, an Art Nouveau inspired figure of a nude woman. We returned to the beautiful sunshine of the afternoon, strolling down the stone street shopping, admiring the sometimes centuries old architecture and sharing personal stories.
We stopped for lunch at a sprawling complex where 18 separate restaurants with separate menus and kitchens share space. Tables spread from the sidewalk street side to an inner courtyard with a gazebo in its center. Folk dancers performed in the gazebo as I sipped a glass of cool white wine and we enjoyed the excellent Mexican fare I had grown accustomed to during my stay.
Later at the guesthouse the two of us sat at a table on the 2nd floor gallery setting up Facebook and text message contacts with one another. It was a bit more complicated than it should have been. I joked about what happens when you have 2 60ish year old men attempting to utilize I phone technology.
My new friend left for I drink and I went to the massage appointment the guesthouse owner had arranged for me in one of the rooms of the house. The masseuse was well trained and his manipulations left me blissfully wobbly. It was a most pleasant way to end my stay in Guadalajara.
The day before my departure it was he, myself and the owner at the table. After one of the now familiar social/political cinema discussions he said it was the one day he had nothing concrete planned. I invited him to join me in my excursion to Talquepeque, a venerable small town that had been swallowed up by the city as it expanded.
It is an area of stone streets, turn of the 20th century mansions and lush courtyards. Many of the buildings have been transformed into shops, galleries and restaurants. Some of the shops sell the crafts found in other shops around town and the stalls that line plazas in the city center. Some of the galleries sell pricey art in upscale settings. One gallery specialized in massive religious statues. We wondered aloud about what the size of the market for these items could possibly be and how they could be shipped, let alone fit through the old wooden doors of the gallery. Street vendors also offered wares. 2 men sought money from the crowds in exchange for the caged birds they displayed offering a prayer for them. It seemed to me that if one wanted to pray one could do so for free without the assistance of a feathered friend, but who am I to question local customs.
We stopped into what, at first glance, looked like a small silver shop, eventually being led by a saleswoman through several case lined rooms not visible from the street. The pieces were from Tasco, Mexico's "Silver City". After looking at several I settled on a lapel pin, an Art Nouveau inspired figure of a nude woman. We returned to the beautiful sunshine of the afternoon, strolling down the stone street shopping, admiring the sometimes centuries old architecture and sharing personal stories.
We stopped for lunch at a sprawling complex where 18 separate restaurants with separate menus and kitchens share space. Tables spread from the sidewalk street side to an inner courtyard with a gazebo in its center. Folk dancers performed in the gazebo as I sipped a glass of cool white wine and we enjoyed the excellent Mexican fare I had grown accustomed to during my stay.
Later at the guesthouse the two of us sat at a table on the 2nd floor gallery setting up Facebook and text message contacts with one another. It was a bit more complicated than it should have been. I joked about what happens when you have 2 60ish year old men attempting to utilize I phone technology.
My new friend left for I drink and I went to the massage appointment the guesthouse owner had arranged for me in one of the rooms of the house. The masseuse was well trained and his manipulations left me blissfully wobbly. It was a most pleasant way to end my stay in Guadalajara.
Tuesday, May 28, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - Social, Personal and Political Discourse
At the guesthouse is a long banquet style table made up of 3 tables placed end to end. Each morning it is set with 12 place settings of colorful, traditional Mexican pottery, a plate, bowl, coffee mug and tumbler. It is here that the guests have the opportunity to get acquainted with one another. Often the owner, who lives on the premises, breakfasts with his guests. He is well read, politically aware and, like myself, very opinionated. Breakfast discussions and debates ranged from topics such as global warming, politics, including the pros, cons and history of the electoral college, to local attractions, cinema and personal stories.
One morning it was just he and I at the table. He told me his journey to guesthouse ownership. I learned of the sometimes radical tactics of the Mexican Teachers Union and his current assessment of the new president of Mexico. He told me about the Byzantine nature of historical preservation in Guadalajara. He had to wade his way through it while renovating the guesthouse, an old hacienda, which he estimates dates from the 1880's.
One morning he asked a Canadian guest his opinion of the Canadian health care system. The guest, who is in the health care profession, sang it's praises. The U.S, citizens at the table, myself included, grumbled about ours. We discussed what he described as the last stand of the straight, white male in the U.S.
We shared stories about coming out. It is this last subject, in part, that has made him resolve to keep his business, as much as possible, exclusively Gay. Incomes, nationalities, ages and professions may differ among the guests but sexual orientation is the common denominator they all share. It is our common rallying point. It creates community, even if that community is only transient and temporary. A couple from Nice, France happened to come into the restaurant where I was having dinner one evening The language barrier had kept our breakfast conversation limited to Good Morning. But across the tables we waved and warmly smiled, acknowledging one another. We had a common bond. We were, for that brief moment in time, members of the same community.
One morning it was just he and I at the table. He told me his journey to guesthouse ownership. I learned of the sometimes radical tactics of the Mexican Teachers Union and his current assessment of the new president of Mexico. He told me about the Byzantine nature of historical preservation in Guadalajara. He had to wade his way through it while renovating the guesthouse, an old hacienda, which he estimates dates from the 1880's.
One morning he asked a Canadian guest his opinion of the Canadian health care system. The guest, who is in the health care profession, sang it's praises. The U.S, citizens at the table, myself included, grumbled about ours. We discussed what he described as the last stand of the straight, white male in the U.S.
We shared stories about coming out. It is this last subject, in part, that has made him resolve to keep his business, as much as possible, exclusively Gay. Incomes, nationalities, ages and professions may differ among the guests but sexual orientation is the common denominator they all share. It is our common rallying point. It creates community, even if that community is only transient and temporary. A couple from Nice, France happened to come into the restaurant where I was having dinner one evening The language barrier had kept our breakfast conversation limited to Good Morning. But across the tables we waved and warmly smiled, acknowledging one another. We had a common bond. We were, for that brief moment in time, members of the same community.
Guadalajara 2019 - Wandering With No Particular Plan
Originally I had planed to visit the Regional Museum of Guadalajara. I had been there on my previous trip but at that time several of the exhibits, including what I had read was an excellent mineral collection, gems and minerals are a strong interest of mine, were closed. To my dismay, after paying a modest entry fee, I discovered that, on that day, only one gallery was open. The skeleton of the mammoth, the museum's signature piece, was on display of course, The rest of the one open hall seemed to contain artifacts highlighting moments in the Mexican state of Jalisco's history. Everything was in Spanish, I didn't understand a word. On one wall 2 primitive folk art paintings shared space with an abstract, modern piece. Making the best of a bad situation I spend time wandering around the courtyards, staircases and covered walkways of the venerable building that houses the museum, which is recognized as an excellent example of colonial architecture.
Stepping back into the afternoon sun I decided to revisit the silver vendors I had been to earlier in the week, located a short walk away from the museum. I ambled along the stone streets and strolled across plazas enjoying the historic centers architecture and the sights and sounds surrounding me.
A group of musicians played the country bluegrass classic "Old Cotton Fields Back Home" on traditional Mexican instruments. I indulged in people watching, particularly the ubiquitous cute Mexican boys that abound in Guadalajara. I found myself pondering where they found jeans that displayed their assets so well.
I stopped for lunch at an awing covered outdoor restaurant. The breeze caused the plants hanging overhead to sway gently. One of the waiters was a bulked up lad that reminded me of the Luchadors I had watched, and come into such close contact with, earlier in the week.
Next to the restaurant is a large building containing row after row jewelry cases. There are scores of vendors spread out over the buildings 3 floors. I attempted to take a photo but a member of a small army of security personnel made me delete it from my phone, watching me to ensure that I did so.
A rainbow of semiprecious stones were on display. Turquoise, carnelian, abalone and amber, among others, set in gleaming sterling silver. One problem I encountered that afternoon was that all the men's rings I looked at were too large for my fingers. Since Mexican men are not, in general, large people I had to assume that the pieces were designed with the heftier, U.S. male in mind. Persistence paid off. As I looked in one case the charming young woman attending it said "You can speak English". As I have discovered on several of my trips to Mexico with my blonde, now white and balding, pate and Midwestern winter white skin, I do not blend. In her case was a ring that fit, albeit on my index finger. It is a simple design of alternating strips of silver and marcasite, a stone I , remarkably, didn't own. I have a lot of jewelry.
I slowly made my way back to the guesthouse. Along the way I chanced upon a trio of costumed musicians playing reed flutes on a small street which is flanked by century plus old arcaded walkways. The plumes in their extravagant headpieces moved with them as they swayed with the music. I bought a CD of the traditional music from a fourth member of the troupe so I wouldn't feel like a heel for taking their picture. The music is actually kind of soothing.
The Friday afternoon crowd was out in full force. There are often hordes of people in many of Guadalajara's streets. A cast of thousands of all genders, ages, shapes and sizes fill the pedestrian only streets shopping, eating, laughing or enjoying one of those moments when the world is just the two of you, or you and your family, even though you are among a sea of humanity.
Stepping back into the afternoon sun I decided to revisit the silver vendors I had been to earlier in the week, located a short walk away from the museum. I ambled along the stone streets and strolled across plazas enjoying the historic centers architecture and the sights and sounds surrounding me.
A group of musicians played the country bluegrass classic "Old Cotton Fields Back Home" on traditional Mexican instruments. I indulged in people watching, particularly the ubiquitous cute Mexican boys that abound in Guadalajara. I found myself pondering where they found jeans that displayed their assets so well.
I stopped for lunch at an awing covered outdoor restaurant. The breeze caused the plants hanging overhead to sway gently. One of the waiters was a bulked up lad that reminded me of the Luchadors I had watched, and come into such close contact with, earlier in the week.
Next to the restaurant is a large building containing row after row jewelry cases. There are scores of vendors spread out over the buildings 3 floors. I attempted to take a photo but a member of a small army of security personnel made me delete it from my phone, watching me to ensure that I did so.
A rainbow of semiprecious stones were on display. Turquoise, carnelian, abalone and amber, among others, set in gleaming sterling silver. One problem I encountered that afternoon was that all the men's rings I looked at were too large for my fingers. Since Mexican men are not, in general, large people I had to assume that the pieces were designed with the heftier, U.S. male in mind. Persistence paid off. As I looked in one case the charming young woman attending it said "You can speak English". As I have discovered on several of my trips to Mexico with my blonde, now white and balding, pate and Midwestern winter white skin, I do not blend. In her case was a ring that fit, albeit on my index finger. It is a simple design of alternating strips of silver and marcasite, a stone I , remarkably, didn't own. I have a lot of jewelry.
I slowly made my way back to the guesthouse. Along the way I chanced upon a trio of costumed musicians playing reed flutes on a small street which is flanked by century plus old arcaded walkways. The plumes in their extravagant headpieces moved with them as they swayed with the music. I bought a CD of the traditional music from a fourth member of the troupe so I wouldn't feel like a heel for taking their picture. The music is actually kind of soothing.
The Friday afternoon crowd was out in full force. There are often hordes of people in many of Guadalajara's streets. A cast of thousands of all genders, ages, shapes and sizes fill the pedestrian only streets shopping, eating, laughing or enjoying one of those moments when the world is just the two of you, or you and your family, even though you are among a sea of humanity.
Guadalajara 2019 - UBER Misadventure Part 2
The challenge of UBERing to the aquarium was equaled by the challenge of UBERing back. Apparently, the designated UBER pick up spot is not, as one might assume, in front of the aquarium where I had been dropped off, but in the parking lot to it's side. While looking for my ride a call came through on my phone. I could tell from the are code that it was local. I answered and a voice began speaking to me in rapid fire Spanish. It was the UBER driver. It soon became apparent that we were not communicating with one another effectively. A young woman smoking a cigarette strolled by. Anxiously I looked at her and said "English, Spanish?" She said "Yes", in English. I handed her my phone explaining that it was an UBER driver I was supposed to meet. She spoke with him for a few seconds and motioned for me to follow her. She led me to the parking lot and shortly I was ensconced in the back seat of the car returning, through the maze of streets that is Guadalajara, to the guest house.
Thank you you bilingual woman, whoever you were.
Thank you you bilingual woman, whoever you were.
Thursday, May 23, 2019
Guadalajara 2019 - The Aquarium - Fish, Amphibians, Otters and Parakeets
The aquarium is small but has a nice collection and several rather innovative exhibits. First up is a Pearse's Mudskipper, an odd little creature that can breath on land because it has gills that can store water. Some tiny amphibians in this area can be difficult to spot due to the heavy vegetation in the cases. They are, after all, camouflaged in nature to keep them from becoming someones lunch. And while on the subject of lunch, there is the Red Striped Eartheater, which absorbs soil and sediment in it's mouth in search of small crustaceans and invertebrates.
I marveled at the extraordinary colors of some of the fish on display and the way schools of them assume almost sculptural forms. I stop to offer, using hand gestures, to photograph a young couple together in front of a large boa constrictor as it twisted it's body around a branch in it's enclosure.
There are interactive exhibits where visitors can reach into pools and feel fish. I choose not to do so. In an outdoor area where a small park is separated from the aquarium grounds by a fence sits off to one side, scores of small children in their school uniforms watched with glee as otters swam playfully in a large 4 sided exhibit which allowed them to view the animals on land and in the water. In this area is also an aviary where a flock of colorful parakeets land on the visitors heads and shoulders. I attracted a particularly tenacious one. The little yellow creature seemed as if it would be perfectly content to stay on my shoulder all afternoon. After taking a selfie with it I had to negotiate a number of awkward twists and turns in an effort to get it to leave its perch.
Back inside a tank spans one wall and curves above the visitor's head creating a tunnel of fish. The bottom of a shark was visible as it rested on the ceiling, or, from it's perspective, floor, of the exhibit. From on upper gallery I watched Manta Rays as they swirled gracefully, occasionally rising to the surface and flapping their winglike fins, splashing the giggling children that surrounded the pool before heading back outside and summoning an UBER.
I marveled at the extraordinary colors of some of the fish on display and the way schools of them assume almost sculptural forms. I stop to offer, using hand gestures, to photograph a young couple together in front of a large boa constrictor as it twisted it's body around a branch in it's enclosure.
There are interactive exhibits where visitors can reach into pools and feel fish. I choose not to do so. In an outdoor area where a small park is separated from the aquarium grounds by a fence sits off to one side, scores of small children in their school uniforms watched with glee as otters swam playfully in a large 4 sided exhibit which allowed them to view the animals on land and in the water. In this area is also an aviary where a flock of colorful parakeets land on the visitors heads and shoulders. I attracted a particularly tenacious one. The little yellow creature seemed as if it would be perfectly content to stay on my shoulder all afternoon. After taking a selfie with it I had to negotiate a number of awkward twists and turns in an effort to get it to leave its perch.
Back inside a tank spans one wall and curves above the visitor's head creating a tunnel of fish. The bottom of a shark was visible as it rested on the ceiling, or, from it's perspective, floor, of the exhibit. From on upper gallery I watched Manta Rays as they swirled gracefully, occasionally rising to the surface and flapping their winglike fins, splashing the giggling children that surrounded the pool before heading back outside and summoning an UBER.
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