Spain Trip Report and Photos - Madrid

Be forewarned, this massive essay comes in multiple installments, and if I’ve managed it correctly, should also have integrated photos to help illustrate.  Last May, my wife and I took a nice long trip to Spain.  Although we’ve traveled together quite a bit since we met in 2008, we had never traveled internationally together.  So our 10 nights across four cities in a foreign country was going to be an interested test for us (which hopefully we would pass, given we’re already married.  Spoiler alert: we passed)

This might have been more topical had I written it, oh I don’t know, 10 months ago, but things kept coming up and keeping me from sitting down and writing everything out.  Now that I’ve done that, what follows is our best recollection as to everything we did, saw, and ate (lots of those) on our trip…

THURSDAY, 5/17

We started planning months before, conspiring to leverage all the travel benefits I’ve gotten from consulting and making them work for us on our big vacation.  So before describing what actually happened on our trip, a brief overview of where we went and how we got there.

-          Booked a flight from ORD to Madrid (connecting through Dulles), leaving on Wednesday May 16^th and arriving Thursday morning May 17^th, using my United Airlines miles (economy class, because I’m cheap)

-          Our trip would take us into Madrid (3 nights), then to Seville for two nights (via train), then over to Granada for another two nights (also by train), and lastly, to Barcelona for three nights (on a short flight from Vueling airlines)

-          We flew back from Barcelona, connecting in Madrid (which was a surprise to me), using the British Airways Avios I got as part of their Visa promotion. 

Anyway, our trip started in Chicago where we took off for Madrid.  The brief stopover in Dulles was pretty uneventful, apart from the airport having a Fuddruckers (which is a great idea before a 9 hour flight over the Atlantic).

The one thing we were hoping for at Dulles was a brief stint in an airport lounge, rather than spending hours sitting at our gate.  I was hoping to use this Priority Pass Select card I got with my Amex, which promotes itself as a way to get into airport lounges all over the world.  This card does look like something a slick international traveler would have, jet-black with fancy script.  Of course, it turned out to be as effective as a Blockbuster Video card at getting us anything.  The only lounge at Dulles it works for is the British Airways lounge, but even then, as a Priority Pass member you’re only allowed in between the hours of 10am and 2pm.  That wouldn’t have been a problem, except the lounge didn’t open until 3pm.

So we spent time wandering around Dulles (and at the aforementioned Fuddruckers), before boarding our United flight to Madrid.  What we didn’t know, is that it would be an Aer Lingus flight merely operated by United.  Aer Lingus is the official airline of Ireland…and if you didn’t know that before getting on the plane, they remind you with the overpowering shamrock green coloring of 98% of the surfaces on board.  And yet…no Shamrock Shakes.

The flight was uneventful, except that on the national airline of Ireland, they apparently don’t believe in turning off the lights for an overnight redeye flight.  So sleep was a little tough to come by, even when we watched Tower Heist on our video screens, not even that could put us down.

So, fresh as daisies, we landed in Madrid’s Barajas airport around 7am (first bad sign, the Madrid airport is named after one of the worst Phillies Free Agent signings of all time)

But more important than any distant connection to backup catchers of the past, we were finally in Spain!  Bueno!  Now for our first test…getting to the hotel from the airport!

As a preface to the rest of our Spain story, let it be known that my wife basically lived inside the Rick Steves’ Spain guidebook for the two months leading up to the trip.  Reading the thing cover to cover, she took it upon herself to basically plan everything we were going to do (which I guess is what happens when you marry a planner and she thinks you’re not planning fast enough).  I can’t be sure that she didn’t sleep with the book under her pillow.

Anyway, Rick said the best deal was to take this airport express bus straight to downtown for minimal euros (and by the way, for all this talk about how the euro’s collapsing and Spain’s economy in the tank, everything was still reasonably expensive.  What the hell Eurozone?)

So we went to go look for this bus, and it gave me a chance to prove to my wife that I could get us through Spain without a problem.  I’m pretty sure she didn’t believe that I could do it, but dirty little secret she didn’t know, they put up signs for everything at the airport…especially buses!  And since I can read Spanish at a 2^nd grade level, we made out just fine.

A brief ride on the autobus (which is Spanish for bus!), and a brief walk (with giant luggage in two) and we made it to our hotel, the Westin Palace in Madrid.  The hotel was pretty neat, built in the early 1900’s, and a staff full of English speakers.

We took a break in our room to relax for a minute, where we had to convince each other to get excited for a full day in Spain (remember, we were there early in the morning and had the WHOLE day to stay up and see Spain things).  I had also packed some 5-hour energy bottles to get me through that first day, so

I drank one before we headed out for our first day of activity.

First up, a walking tour of Madrid originating from the Plaza Mayor.  The five hour energy was going to play a critical role in keeping me vertical during the one-hour walk around the city.  Based on the product’s description, mathematically, it should’ve worked.

We waited for our English speaking tour guide in the Plaza, which was fun in and of itself just to look at the elaborate hierarchy of panhandlers and street performers in the plaza. There were so many performers, and so much variety, like a cornucopia of people who can’t hold regular jobs.

In my mind, at the top were the actual performers.  People who were actually putting some effort into things…this included the ‘Goat man’…some guy who would sit hidden underneath a glitter blanket on the street while manipulating a plastic goat head like a puppet (assuming the goat was not actually magic).  I liked Goat man, that stuff takes effort and commitment. 

Then there were the weird looking dudes who just walked around in costume like a college team mascot, but clearly weren’t playing any kind of role.  Definitely half-assing it, doing a casual wave to try and entice someone to take a picture with them, at which point I’m assuming they’d ask for money?  I don’t get their business model and I didn’t like them as much…hard to see the magic in a middle aged dude with a pot-belly dressed like a regular dude but with a giant Mickey Mouse head.

Then there were the squeakers.  These guys seemed to follow us around everywhere, to the point where it seemed odd when you didn’t hear a high pitched squeak.  Picture a guy wandering around a plaza constantly talking in atrociously high-pitched squeals.  It looks like magic until you realize they have a small plastic tube in their mouths.  And since you can’t make out the words of what they would say in their high pitched squeak, they’d just make really long noises and babbly nonsense.  And this was an effort to make you want to hand over money for them. 

Anyway, we waited around and eventually found our tour guide, who would walk us around part of Madrid over the course of an hour.  The tour was a good introduction to the city, and showed us lots about the city’s history.  First fun fact, all the big Spanish kings were named Charles or Phillip.  That’s a fact that proves I was paying attention.  Of course, despite the 5 hour energy shot, I was definitely flagging.  At one point as our guide was describing some building or other, I actually fell asleep standing up for a few seconds.  Didn’t fall over though.

We finished up the tour, which basically set our course for the remainder of our time on Madrid, and then decided to make our first foray into the world of tapas.  Anyone who knows me understands my distaste for small plates, sharing plates, mini-meals, or whatever other nonsense name the promoters of Communist eating have come up with (Small plates that everyone shares with each other and no one gets their own?  That’s right, it’s Communist).  So I’m by no means a tapas kind of guy, but for the sake of this vacation, I set aside my politically-motivated philosophical opposition.

We had received multiple recommendations for a chain of restaurants called 100 Montaditos (there were other words in the title, but I don’t remember them), and happened to walk past one in downtown Madrid shortly after our tour.

It’s a pretty neat concept, in that the menu is largely comprised of montaditos, mini sandwiches of all different shapes and sizes (actually not many different shapes, the shapes were mostly the same).  You just go in and fill out a list of what you want and in a few minutes you have mini-sandwiches.

They also had cheap alcohol, which seemed to be a common thread across all of Spain.  So between a variety of cheap tiny sandwiches and easily available alcohol, we made a nice transition into the Spanish style of eating.  However, we did not make a nice transition into appearing like Spanish locals, as we struggled with some of the vocabulary on the menu and I’m pretty confident the waitress had a high level of contempt for us.  But there’s also no tipping in Spain, so maybe it’s more of an incentive problem.

After that stop, we also got our first exposure to the world of Churros at Chocolateria San Gines.  The Churros themselves were nothing special, as most Churros tend to be (fry any kind of dough and it tends to taste pretty good).  However, we also got a cup full of hot liquid chocolate to dip them in.  While it wasn’t my thing, I practically had to rip my wife out of her chair on the plaza and promise that it wouldn’t be our last taste of Churro.

After our snack, we marched onwards of our cultural tour of Madrid straight to the Prado art museum.  There are a couple big art museums in Madrid, and I had just remembered that the Prado was old stuff and the Reina Sofia was new stuff.  We went to the Prado first, and rented our first art museum audio guide (basically because we know nothing about art).

I can confirm the following details about the Prado.

-          They have lots of paintings there

-          The paintings are really old

-          Back in the day, 98% of paintings were about Jesus

If the paintings weren’t of Jesus, they were portraits of other people.  Now I realize they didn’t have Instagram back then, but just topically, weren’t there any other things worth painting back then?

We definitely enjoyed the Prado, and I think it made us feel like we were getting more high-brow exposure to Spain (more so than my urge to try their take on a McDonald’s), but art museums can be tough, especially when they’re big and you feel compelled to see everything.

After the Prado we took a detour on the way back to the hotel to do a swing through some botanical gardens.  The gardens were OK, but honestly, how were they going to compare to the 6 dozen paintings of Jesus on the cross I just saw?  I was so tired at that point, that we had to get back to the hotel for a reprieve before heading out for more tapas!

So we rested and relaxed at the hotel for a bit, steeling ourselves for our first foray out into the Spanish nightlife.  We had an idea of the area thanks to our walking tour and the guidebook, and picked one area that was supposed to have a wide array of tapas places to hop around.

Our first stop was a giant (and crowded) place called Museo de Jamon.  Jamon means ham, and this place was full of it.  Ham was everywhere, which for my wife meant she’d have to forget about the fact that she doesn’t eat ham (I was OK with tapas, she was OK with ham…if anyone was ever going to get us try meth, they missed their opportunity).

But we walk into the Museo (which means museum), and I look at the menu and quickly see what looks like their biggest seller, a $1 mini ham sandwich (note: using the dollar sign in place of Euros because I don’t know where the Euro sign is on my computer…so when I say dollars I mean Euros).  This early in the evening, I felt like we didn’t need to rush anything, so I ordered two of those and some drinks for us.

The bartender comes back and gives me two tiny ham sandwiches, each maybe slightly bigger than a golf ball.  Makes sense to me.  Only he immediately follows that with two GIGANTIC ham sandwiches, each of which must have been ten inches long.  I looked at the now four sandwiches in front of me, two minis and two massives, and wondered what the heck got lost in translation.  But when I gave him the money, it still only cost me $2.

I was fascinated by this.  What the heck just happened?  Why did he give us these massive sandwiches?

It’s not that the big sandwiches were good…they absolutely were not (90% bread that seemed stale with small thin slices of ham).  But he seemed to give them to us for nothing.

The mini sandwiches were good, and for some reason I forced myself to eat most of the bigger one (maybe it’s there as a joke to play on American tourists).

Once we finished up, we quickly threw our garbage on the floor of the bar (also just something they do there), and went out looking for the next one.  I could get used to this.

The next place we found was a heck of a lot different than the Museo, which had pork parts hanging from every part of the store.  This place, Txakolina, was definitely more cosmopolitan.  A more sleek modern feel, with a large central bar area with wrap-around glass display cases like a bakery (but with bar seating).  Unlike a bakery, the display case was filled with awesome looking appetizer-type food and mini-sandwiches.

The food was great, and we got the chance to try some different Spanish alcohol (as opposed to the regular beer and wine the two of us had been drinking beforehand).  I went for the vermouth, which is big over there (for reasons that remain unclear to me), and my wife had her first tinto de verano, which is like a more basic sangria.  For her, that was a home run.  It would not be the last time we ordered tinto de verano.

But after downing a couple more plates of tapas, we decided to leave and keep moving, after all, there was more food to eat.  We wandered around the streets of Madrid before making our way to Plaza Santa Ana.  We had a couple of restaurant suggestions, and even though our ultimate destination made us wait quite a while for a table, it was such a nice night that we were content to hang around the plaza waiting.

We eventually got a table on the plaza at Lateral, by this time it had to be close to midnight, and ordered another series of tapas.  The food was great, although it may have been a bit much (it’s very hard to transition into the Spanish world of ordering only a little bit of stuff and multiple places when your instinct is to try everything and go as big as possible).  My wife was convinced the table next to us spent the entire evening laughing about how much food we had.  Even if that were true, we’re American, that’s what they would expect from us.

After wrapping up the meal, we decided it would be a more prudent decision to head back to the hotel.  After all, it was 1:30 in the morning, we hadn’t slept the night before, and we had just eaten dinner three times.

Friday 5/18

The revelry from the night before left us with a bit of a problem in the morning.  Namely, the fact that we were both still full from dinner.  But to be true Americans on any vacation, you have to eat constantly, so we pushed through our discomfort and started the day with breakfast at the hotel (thanks to new SPG Platinum benefit giving to us for free)

We had planned out a general idea of how the day should go, because we were planning to do a day trip out to Toledo on Saturday and wanted to make sure we spent Friday, our last full day in Madrid, hitting the other big sights.  This would include the big items like the Royal Palace and the Reina Sofia (art museum sans Jesus) as well as the Spanish opera show my wife had purchased tickets to before we left Chicago              .

Again, we got lucky with the weather and had a beautifully sunny day.  Using the Rick Steves’ guidebook, we had our own walking tour of the city already mapped out, which would take us across the city towards the Palace/Cathedral area.  Strategically, it would also take us past a number of places where we could eat more.

We started the walk and didn’t make it past the first plaza when we hit our first destination, La Mallorquina.  Not sure what it means in English, but it was a pastry shop, and even after having four meals in the past 12 hours or so, that didn’t stop us from having what my wife felt was one of the best chocolate croissants she’s ever had (and would continue to bring up for the rest of our trip). 

The croissants would be high the point of our mid-morning dessert crawl through the streets of Madrid. 

We had one other stop to make, which my wife was also particularly excited about, even if it turned out to be an epic disappointment.

Our guidebook detailed a convent in Madrid.  In this convent lived a group of nuns.  And with these nuns were cookies that they baked and sold to the people who stopped in to see them (sounds like an ideal children’s book for fat kids).   Getting the cookies was a relatively unique process, detailed in the book with very specific instructions.  Knock on the door, wait to be let in, go to some secret window and slide your money in and cookies will appear.  Something like that anyway, sounded very National Treasure-y. 

So you can imagine our excitement for an activity that involved dessert (for my wife) and unnecessary spy movie secrecy (for me).  But when we arrived at the convent fresh after polishing off our morning pastries, we were met with unfortunate news.

No Hay Dulces.

With a simple card taped to the door, the nuns shut down our super secret cookie operation.  That was a bummer.

But don’t worry, we still found plenty of places to eat later on in the day.  Of course, that would be well after going to some of the significant sights of Madrid and, you know, actually doing something other than eating.

We had made good progress and were almost at the Royal Palace, but stopped just before getting there to take a quick walk through Madrid’s cathedral.  At this point, we hadn’t been in any cathedral, so the novelty factor was huge in persuading us.  This cathedral, unlike many others in Spain, was a recent addition, which I thought was obvious from the flat screen TVs posted around the pews to let people see the action.  It wasn’t at the point where there was a Jumbotron or anything, but the TVs seemed odd to me.  The cathedral itself seemed nice, even if I wasn’t really sure what any part of it was for.  I’m consistently impressed with the ceilings of cathedrals and the sheet enormity of the buildings, although in this case this particular cathedral wasn’t finished until 1993.  So it lost points given they had the advantages of computers, protractors, and modern engineering. 

Finishing our first cathedral relatively quickly, we moved across the way to the Royal Palace, which if I remember correctly was built as part of some kind of competitive rivalry with the palace in France.  It’s like just what you did back then when you ruled an Empire and weren’t dying of mysterious diseases.

The palace was an impressively laid out area, with a huge expansive lot in front of it that only made it seem more impressive as you approached it.  Walking up the massive marble stairs and through the ornately decorated rooms really was an experience (how long it must have taken the Royal Family to go anywhere in that great big palace!).  It was hard not to feel like a Lannister wandering through the halls, admiring the tapestries, and wondering exactly how much stuff you could touch before a security guard would admonish you.

The Palace also featured a nice view out over a large forested area, referred to as the King’s backyard (sans pool, what kind of royal family are they?), which was on the way to the armory.  The armory was interesting in that it featured swords, shields, armor throughout periods of Spanish history and made it clear that 1) people were tiny back then (the suits of armor looked like they were made for 12 year olds, although some of them actually were), and 2) fighting must have been terribly slow back then.  Not only is the average combatant shorter than I am, but he’s weighed down by a ton of heavy armor.  It’s a wonder anybody got killed back then.

But overall the palace was incredibly interesting, and left us to our plan of heading to the Reina Sofia for the next cultural attraction of the day…until my wife called an audible.

It was such a nice day outside (probably in the high 70’s and sunny), that my wife was turning on the idea of spending the afternoon in another art museum, or indoors at all.  She does this at home to, which often places her agenda at odds with my goal of not going anywhere and avoiding people.  But in this case, I was quick to approve of her plan to postpone the museum until tomorrow and go to Retiro Park instead.

Retiro Park is a large 350 acre park in Madrid that used to be royal property (but then what wasn’t!).  We wandered through the park, admiring all the individual statues of figures from Spanish history (many named Charles or Phillip).  We spotted a pond in the middle of the park dotted with dozens of small rowboats and angled for a nice bench in a shady spot.

We sat for a while, just enjoying the nice day and watching all the people walk by (or row by in the case of the boats).  The boats looked torturous…older wooden rowboats with splintery oars, typically manned by the oldest male in the group who was charged with paddling around and simultaneously avoiding the 50 other boats each with an independently minded captain.  To make things interesting, some of the boats were full of screaming teenagers who couldn’t get themselves organized to do anything more than rotate the boat in the water, splashing others with the oars and proving why the Spanish economy stinks.  And since you were on the open body of water, there would be no shade to protect you from the sun.  It looked totally miserable.

“I think we should rent a boat,” my wife said, seemingly right as I was making these observations to myself.

I pushed back a bit, but could tell this is something she really wanted to do, so a few euros later and we were out at sea as I manned to oars.

Honestly, it actually turned out to be a lot of fun.  It wasn’t nearly as hot as I had expected, and dodging the other boats and/or going faster than them made it into a game.  My wife took over paddling for a good 20 seconds before realizing it was a stupid idea, but other than that we gracefully circled the pond for a while.

Once we safely disembarked, we were off on the way back to the hotel to prepare for our night out at the opera.  As we got back to our hotel, we stopped across the street at another 100 Montaditos outlet and had some pre-dinner, because we planned to eat a regular meal after the show.

So we had more sandwiches and cocktails, took some time in the room to get ready for the evening, and set off for our night at the Zarzuela.  My wife had bought the tickets before we left online, after reading about how much fun it would be in the guidebook.

Zarzuela, defined by Wikipedia, is a lyric-dramatic opera genre that alternates between spoken and sung scenes, incorporating dance.  From what I understand, they’re typically comedies and were very big in the 20’s.

We had printed out the tickets, and went over the theater for the show, where I was quick to point out that were the youngest people in the crowd by a good 30 years.  Apparently if you loved it in the 20’s, you still love it now.

I took our tickets and handed them to the usher, who immediately looked confused and explained that there was a bit of a problem.

The tickets we had ordered were for the wrong day.  Someday the following week or so, when we would be nowhere near Madrid.

Uh oh.

Now normally this type of thing would be on me, because I’m usually the one in charge of logistics.  However, in this instance, it was all on my wife, who must’ve clicked the wrong day on the website when she bought the seats.

The usher looked perplexed and asked us if this was the only night we’d be in Madrid.

Yes I said, wondering how we could possibly make our trip complete without being exposed to 1920’s style lyrical opera.

She told us to sit tight while she saw what she could do, and much to my surprise, she quickly returned with another usher who she explained would take care of us.

That new usher took us up to the upper level and around the side of the seating to an individual box near the stage (think Waldorf and Statler territory).  He didn’t speak much English, but we soon realized that they were giving us our own box for the show.  Even though it was slightly obstructed, it sure beat our other seats (which were in the main center of the upper level and would’ve forced us to sit in an among the Spanish natives, who wouldn’t have appreciated our discussion).

With our own box safely away from everyone else, that left us free to talk the entire time.  That was great, because as soon as the show started we realized we had absolutely no clue what anyone was saying!

The show was obviously all in Spanish, and there was an accompanying screen with the Spanish words in subtitles to help read them.  Between my wife and me, we kind of got the gist of it, but let’s just say a lot of the jokes were lost on us.

The plot seemed to revolve around a love triangle between a cleaning lady, her boss, and a young gentleman.  There was also a subplot involving an older woman and her suitor, as well as another subplot about a man and his kid where I think the man was a painter but also a con man.

They all sang and danced and dressed in old timey clothes, as it was set back in the 1920’s or some era when people used to do choreographed song and dance routines as a regular habit.

Our seats in the private box were extraordinarily helpful, because we kept trying to help each other figure out what was going on.  But we were totally lost, and started to wonder how good an idea it was.

The opera was divided into three acts, and when the lights were turned up after a big musical number, we assumed the first act had come to a close.  It was intermission time, and we looked at each other wondering whether it made sense to leave now, as our understanding was not going to improve with another couple of hours of exposure.

We debated it, and I secretly wondered how we could walk past the ushers who graciously accommodated our wrong tickets with a private box.  How could we leave early, they’d wonder, ruing the day they helped the ignorant American tourists and vowing never to do so again!

We decided to stay for the second act, and then bail at the next intermission.  Only once the lights went down and the next song started up, I realized that they had changed the structure of the opera and moved the intermission around.  That meant while we were only ~30% through the opera, there would be no breaks until the end!  Classic rookie opera-goer mistake!

So we sat there and vainly tried to follow along with the subtitles.  The opera continued to drag on and on through a number of plot twists and turns.  This guy loved that girl…now he loves someone else!...now that girl is drunk!!!  Now EVERYBODY FLAMENCO DANCE!!!

Who says I’m culturally bankrupt?

The opera finally ended (btw, no one ended up with anyone in this thing, everyone went home single), and we made our way out of the theater with me carefully avoiding crossing the paths of either usher from before. (Didn’t want them to ask me how I liked it)

I think we got plenty of culture for one evening, and I don’t think I’d be rushing back to the Zarzuela house anytime soon.  But I can check off ‘Spanish Lyrical Opera’ from my bucket list.

We had a tip from the concierge about a paella place not far from the theater, and given that it was after 10pm, it made sense to try and find some dinner.  Whenever people talk about Spanish food, the first thing they mention is tapas.  But one of the next things they mention is the paella.  It’s like a big thing there, and essentially it’s a big rice-based dish with a variety of ingredients (typically seafood like mussels, shrimp, etc., but can also be other types of meat, vegetables, I don’t think there are any restrictions).

I have no idea why people like this stuff.

We found the restaurant, and after a wait and some chit-chat with another couple on a European vacation, got seated and ordered the paella.  It was exactly what I expected, a heaping bowl of rice with all kinds of random seafood creatures, some of which still had heads.

Neither of us were big fans, and we wondered why everyone talks about it.  I think it can be traced back to Seinfeld, in the one episode where George’s parents make paella for the Seinfelds and they don’t go. 

Then I think Kramer goes because he really likes paella.

But you know what Kramer?  It’s not any freaking good!  It just has a fun name to say!

The big lessons from the day as we got back to the hotel and slept…no more lyrical opera, and no more paella!

Saturday, 5/19

The next morning had a far more ambitious travel agenda than the day before.  Not content to cross the ocean and visit four cities, we arranged a day trip down to Toledo to make it five (because when else would we get to Toledo?)

We got up early, had a good breakfast, and got ourselves to the train station.  I have to say, the Spanish train system was very nice.  Smooth ride and it even had a movie.  The ride wasn’t all that long out to Toledo, and we used the time to debate how rainy it looked.

My wife’s instinct to take advantage of the beautiful Madrid weather the day before was paying off as the drizzling clouds appeared across the sky.  We weren’t too excited at the prospect of walking through the town in the rain, but what could we do?

We knew a little bit about Toledo from the guide books, and knew a couple key facts:

-          It had a massive cathedral

-          The city was formerly like, the Jewish capital of Spain, or at least that there were lots of Jews there at one time

So it was going to be a religious day, and we quickly strategized to skip past the Cathedral and go right for the Jew stuff once we got there to miss the big crowds.  But first, we’d have to get from the train station up the mountain to the town itself.  And to do that we’d have to risk kidnapping.

I should probably explain.

When we got off the train with the other tourists, we slowly drifted through the train station and out the front door where a large bus was waiting.  The bus would take anyone up to the center of town (vs. a long uphill walk) for a few Euros.  So we slowly approached the bus, when a man with a foreign accent who was also waiting for the bus asked us if we wanted to share a cab with him and his wife.  It would cost half as much and we could leave right away.

Made sense to me, so I said sure.

Well, I didn’t realize this at the time, but ever since I made my wife watch the movie ‘Taken’, she’s been extremely suspicious of anyone offering a ride, particularly in foreign countries and with foreign accents.

So even when we got in the cab with the guy and his wife and he told the cab driver to take us to the center of town, my wife was still pretty sure we were going to be sold into a life of sex slavery (and she didn’t see the upside to that).

At one point, the guy said something to the cab driver in Spanish, which was even more convincing to my wife that we were doomed.  Of course, once the couple asked where we were from and told us they were from Israel, she relaxed considerably (because no one evil could ever be from Israel!), and sure enough, we arrived at the central plaza in Toledo and were left to wonder what might have been had we been kidnapped instead.

No fancy high class sex slave future awaited us, instead, we walked through the central plaza of Toledo and straight towards the oldest synagogue in Spain!

It was still drizzling a bit as we wandered through the streets of Toledo.  Long and windy, paved with cobblestones, it was amazing anyone was able to walk around there (we saw one shortsighted woman stumbling around in high heels).  The drizzle made things a little more interesting by making them slippery, which made it even harder to focus on exactly how lost we were getting as we tried to keep from falling.

We ultimately emerged from some narrow winding roads to find ourselves near the synagogue (it was actually a synagogue/museum, which basically means if you have a bar mitzvah there you have to find your own caterer and that you should never touch anything).  It was also the first of two we were supposed to visit in Toledo, both of which we planned to knock out early before the big cathedral.

The synagogues were interesting as they had Islamic elements in their architecture.  It was kind of neat to see the designs and imagine yourself in a world where the women weren’t allowed to be in the same service as the men. 

Another interesting thing I noticed when we were visiting the synagogue-uems, was that we were by far the youngest people there.  There were a couple tours of older folks (one of which had an English-speaking tour guide we made sure to stand near), but obviously no one under thirty felt like learning about really old synagogues.

We took in the sights of the two different locations, and wandered around checking out the views from the nearby cliffsides before heading back towards the cathedrals.

One thing we noticed on our walk back was Toledo’s overpowering obsession with knives.  Picture a tourist driven town filled with tons of tiny shops.  Typically, they’re selling stupid Marijuana-themed T shirts to idiot teenagers on school trips right?  Well picture that, but instead of T shirts, they’re selling knives.

All kinds of knives, big ones, small ones, it’s a TSA screener’s nightmare!  Apparently Toledo is known for making knives (or maybe just selling them, the distinction was hard to tell).

But we didn’t buy any knives in Toledo.  Instead we went over towards their giant cathedral, which if I remember correctly is one of the biggest in Europe (and the world).  With the exception of the brief walk through the cathedral in Madrid, I had never been in a cathedral, so I thought it would be interesting.

It definitely was.  Now I didn’t understand what anything in there meant or what it was used for, but I couldn’t help being impressed by the magnitude of the structure, the intricate details build into all the different sections of the building, and the general fanciness of everything.  Those places must have been ridiculous compared to the hovels most of the regular people would’ve had to live in around the same time.  I just Wikipedia’d it and it was completed in 1493.  I can’t even imagine how much regular life had to suck in 1493.  And then here’s this giant building with amazingly high ceilings and gold plated everything.  No wonder people worshiped everything in there.

We walked around the cathedral and took in all the different areas and things to look at.  It really helped that we had a self-guided walking tour from Rick Steves’ book, otherwise we would’ve been a little confused at what everything was (except for Jesus, we had heard of that guy)

We spent a lot of time in the cathedral before calling it a day and heading out for some Toledo tapas at el Trebol.  Taking a left at the Don Quixote statue (or maybe it was a statue of Cervantes, either way) we found a recommended spot and sat outside.  Fortunately the umbrellas were out over the tables, because the rain came and went as we sat trying yet another version of some montaditos.

After our break, we walked some more around the town, looking out over some new vistas and understanding how the city’s terrain and the mostly surrounding river offered good natural defenses from invades (which I’m a little sad isn’t still a consideration when looking for a house or apartment. 

Most people never think about how their land is situated in the event they have to repel a band of marauders or withstand a siege.  That’s why we like high rises, because medieval knights would have a tough time getting their horses up the stairs or in the elevator).

Back at the main plaza in Toledo, we had a little bit of time before our train, and used it effectively to find more dessert!  Toledo, as per a Rick Steves’ TV episode we saw (seriously, this guy was everywhere, is known for its marzipan.  The stuff is basically sugar and almonds, and is used to make small cookie-like snacks (often in the shape and flavor of fruits etc.).  Certainly it was a dessert I would like, while the bakery on the plaza also had some chocolate stuff the wife could eat.  I’d say the marzipan was good, not necessarily something I’d eat all the time, but certainly a good way to ensure I checked the dessert box on our visit to Toledo.

All that excitement of cathedrals, knives, and tiny cookies made for an uneventful train ride home.  I’m pretty sure I slept on the way back to Madrid.  Of course, we were only halfway through our day.  Because we put off the Reina Sofia the day before, we had to hit it when we got back.  So we went straight there through the sporadic raindrops off to see a bunch of art that would be a little less heavy on the Catholicism.

The Reina Sofia did turn out to have a lot less religion.  More modern works from all kinds of painters promised to be interesting, and the guide mentioned that some of the paintings were accompanied by video and other media from similar periods, which I thought would be fun.

I think I can say that while it was an interesting museum, we wouldn’t exactly be in a hurry to go back.  I really liked seeing lots of the paintings, although there were times when it seemed like everything in the place was either a Picasso, a Miro, or a Dali.  It didn’t help that our audio guide was really pretty weak.  Significantly worse than the ones we had at the Prado. Some of the art was a little weird also.

The biggest attraction at the museum was Picasso’s Guernica, a massive painting offering the artist’s take on the Spanish Civil War offered as an exhibit during a world’s fair (again, if I remember correctly).  What was most interesting was seeing all the individual pieces, sketches, etc. that Picasso did as part of preparation for the painting itself, which is huge.  It was impressive to see all the prep work that would go into one of his most famous pieces of work.  The painting itself was a mob scene, with a huge throng of visitors and a couple security guards who took alternating turns correcting the dumber tourists who couldn’t understand that taking pictures of the painting wasn’t allowed.

With another museum under our belts, we went back to our hotel and got ready for our last night in Madrid.  My wife was already starting to get depressed that the vacation was one city closer to being over.

For dinner that night, we had reservations later at a restaurant called Sobrino de Botin, but before that we stopped for pre-dinner drinks and appetizers as the Mercado San Miguel.

The Mercado was a fully enclosed market with individual stores operating tiny counters and offering a wide variety of food and drink.  At a couple key spots, there were sets of tables or stools for people to congregate around and enjoy their tiny plates.  There were also people, a ton of them.  The whole place reminded me a lot of the Reading Terminal Market in Philadelphia, just with about 500% more classiness.

It was a fun place to hang out and enjoy a snack, but only if you could actually decide what you wanted.  That proved difficult, as we did at least two or three laps around the entire market before finally picking out some food and grabbing some wine.  I remember the food being good, but honestly can’t even think of what I had (so why did we spend so much time choosing???)

But the atmosphere was lots of fun, with crowds of younger people (assuming they were young professionals, but then again it’s Spain where no young people have jobs, so maybe they just looked that way) everyone was just having a good time.  We wondered why there wasn’t a place like this back home in Chicago (like a smaller self-contained Taste of Chicago, but with real money, less sketchiness, and no teenagers).

The market primed us up nicely for Sobrino de Botin, which is in the Guinness book of world records as the oldest restaurant in the world.  Apparently it’s been in operation since 1725, although the menu has changed a bit since then (not sure they serve mutton anymore).

Walking into the restaurant you notice that the building, which has at least three floors of seating, seems a little older.  The frenetic pace of the host was amazing, flying around the entrance to simultaneously check people in, sit people down, and direct others to where they were supposed to go. 

He quickly found our reservation and told us to sit tight by the stairs to the upper level dining area.

As we sat there, I noticed a door opened behind me that didn’t appear to be a normal part of the dining area.  While we were waiting, I also noticed that every now and then, some people would walk by and take a look inside.  Some even took pictures, so naturally that got my curiosity piqued. What could be in there?

I told my wife to wait a minute while I took a look.  In the back room was a series of shelves, almost like bookshelves along the wall.  On each shelf sat several cooking pans, arranged one-by-one in a row.  And in each pan, with its tiny head poking over the edge to look back at me, was a tiny pig.

It was a shelf full of cochinillo asado, or suckling pig.  An eerie sight, all those dead little pigs staring back at you.  I hadn’t wanted to try suckling pig before seeing it, and the thought of getting it after seeing all of them creeped me out a little more.  I told my wife she’d be better off not checking it out.  She didn’t, and we didn’t order it for dinner either.

The restaurant was tight and tiny, which I’d expect for something that was operating about 300 years ago.  Just trying to reconcile that was a struggle, picturing what people could’ve been doing in the same spot and how different it must’ve been.  Like if you went to Independence Hall in Philadelphia and threw a party in there.

We had a nice long dinner (and sampled more Spanish wine), before heading out into the street (it had long stopped raining and was pretty nice).  We had gotten a recommendation for a fun bar to visit, but as we passed it we noticed the place was completely empty (and not because we were too early).  The last thing we wanted was to be the only people in a bar, so instead we set our sights on another place for dessert (writing all this now a month or so after the fact, and I’m amazed at how often our activities revolved around eating…it actually seems pretty gross now that I’m looking at it, but it was delicious at the time)

Anyway, it was after dinner, which means we were after ice cream.  The guidebook had referred us to a place somewhere in the city that had Argentinian ice cream (how this differs from regular ice cream?  I have no idea.  Maybe you just eat it in the winter because that’s summer down there).  On our way to find it, we were both struck by the amount of people out and about having a good time.  The ice cream place was along a busy street packed with bars and restaurants, and accompanying Spanish revelers. 

When we did find the place, it turned out it was more of a bar that also happened to sell ice cream. 

Interesting concept (Chicago again, feel free to take note).  I have no idea what the place was called (may have something to do with the bottle of wine I had at dinner), but we both enjoyed the fact that it was late in the evening in a bustling Madrid nightspot, and the two of us were having ice cream.

Then we went back to the hotel...

 Next stop - Seville

Austin Trip Report (Warning: Massive)

Recently, the entire city of Austin was bursting at the seams with technophiles, journalists, celebrities, and associated hangers-on.  It was for SXSW, a film/music/technology festival that brings the hordes to town every year and has every tech-savvy Austin resident posting a listing on airbnb.com.

But Austin also has a huge reputation as a fun town.  It’s a city we’d heard a bunch about, and we decided to visit LAST weekend.  Not surprisingly, things were much cheaper than this week.

My wife was initially resistant to the idea of going to Austin, and she consistently wondered why I was so interested in going there.

It’s true that I’ve heard lots of good things about it, but almost all of those things were from people who hadn’t actually been there.  It seems like a city that just has a very good brand identity out there in the world.  Like Detroit, only the complete opposite.

The most frequently cited quality Austin brings to the table, from what I’ve heard, is a great live music scene.  I’d mention that to my wife, but then we’d both have the realization that neither of us are huge live music fans (I think the last concert we went to was James Taylor at Ravinia…no, we’re not 65 years old).

But I’d heard enough that we finally booked a trip down with some friends, my wife was eventually convinced when she remembered that she loves vacations, even just for a long weekend.

We flew in on Thursday night, and after grabbing dinner and checking into the W (Starwood naturally), we thought it would be a good idea to wander over to one of Austin’s famous food trucks.

I don’t know why or how, but Austin is a city with a restaurant industry based entirely in little trailers parked all around the area.  Usually in groups of 3-5, these trailers serve up all kinds of stuff that would amaze you if you’ve been underwhelmed by food trucks in the past.  I don’t know if it’s over-regulation of brick-and-mortar restaurants, lack of start-up funding, or relatively lenient health codes, but these guys love putting their culinary talents to work in motorhomes.

And these aren’t just regular hot dog trucks.  Everything had an above average fanciness quotient.  To the extent that each dish had at least one ingredient I didn’t recognize.  It was like every truck gave the impression of being on some Food Network reality show where people with tattooed arms and/or mustaches serve up weird and delicious things.

But before we knew all that, we had to hit our first one.

Since we had dinner, we were after dessert, and the Gourdough’s Specialty Doughnuts trailer called out to us.  So much so, that we walked the 1+ miles through the dark to go find it.

After quite a bit of wandering, we stumbled on to it, and were not disappointed.

Since it was dessert, it was obvious that my wife and I couldn’t share.  We have very strong and completely opposite philosophies when it comes to dessert.  She likes chocolate on top of chocolate, meanwhile I like anything but.  Usually it’s not an issue because I’m not a big dessert person, so I just go along with what she wants.  But given we walked all the way here, I wasn’t about to settle for some chocolate monstrosity.

The result was overkill.

The donuts (or doughnuts) were massive, the paper plates holding them buckled under the weight as we brought them to the table.

We wanted to eat them, but we needed to call for backup.  Knives and forks, napkins a plenty…

My wife got the Baby Rattler (pictured below) and I got the Son of a Peach. 

They were really large, and pretty delicious, although if I had to go back and get another one (and I considered it), I would’ve gotten one with a little less sugar involved (my wife may agree with me, as you may have inferred by the world’s largest gummy worm that came on hers).  My Son of the Peach was so sweet that my head nearly exploded, and I couldn’t even finish it.  Even after a long walk back to the hotel, I had trouble sleeping with what must’ve been a pound of sugar running through my veins.

But eventually, I did get to sleep.  I would need the rest.

Friday morning brought with it a bright sunny day and the promise of more food.

In addition to hearing about Austin’s live music scene, one of the other constant refrains we heard from those describing the city was its amazing barbeque.  And in looking into barbeque destinations in Austin, we kept hearing about two, Saltlick and Franklin’s.  One was a ways outside of town, the other one had a reputation for long lines.  

Our decision was made a little easier by the fact that why didn’t have access to car.  So Franklin’s it was.

The place itself was maybe a little over a mile from our hotel, up the hill towards the north, not far from the state capitol building (it apparently used to be in a food truck, but has since moved into more permanent space).  

The deal with Franklin’s is a little unusual.  They open at 11am, but once they sell out of their meat for the day, they close.  That tends to happen in the early afternoon.  So to make sure you get some, you show up super early to wait in line.  Some people bring chairs and sit outside to wait for them to open, as long as 2-3 hours before hand.

That’s a big investment of time for some barbeque.  

But it was a nice day, so why not?  

 Fortunately, we had some friends who managed to get out the door and up to Franklin’s early enough to avoid dreaded ‘Last Man’ status.  Last Man is literally the name they give to the guy/girl in line who will be the last person to get guaranteed meat from the barbeque.

Being the Last Man isn’t great, but being the Man After the Last Man puts you in a quandary.  You might get meat if you wait…but you might not. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t out problem, as we got ourselves up there and got in line with our friends (and we clarified, because I don’t like cutting, that ‘Last Man’ status is based on the staff asking how many are in your party whether or not they’re in line.  So we weren’t cheating)

We got in line, and began the waiting game.

We stood there for a while, enjoying the sunshine and the not-too-hot March sun.  As the hours began to pass, the one thing that kept me pretty under control was something a bit counterintuitive.

Despite the well-regarded barbeque mere feet away, I couldn’t smell it at all.  That’s what saved me, because after 2-3 hours I was certainly hungry but wasn’t seriously considering gnawing off my arm.  But only because I couldn’t smell it.

Of course, that all changed once we got far enough in line to actually get in the building.

That’s when the scent of brisket smoked for hours and hours finally starting hitting all of us.  That’s when the slight hunger bangs shot themselves up with HGH and became a full on barrage.

Within Franklin’s, you wait in an L-shaped line leading up to the counter where all the magic happens.  That’s where they’ll pull meat out and slice it right up for you.

But, as with any renowned BBQ joint, they prepare a bunch of stuff in advance, and once it’s gone, it’s done for the day.

So while we waiting in line, we heard rumblings.

“They’re out of ribs”

“I hope they still have pork”

And so on.

So the hunger was compounded with the anxiousness of potentially not getting something.  Despite the Last Man guarantee, that only means you’re guaranteed to get some kind of meat product (insert graphic joke here), but they don’t clarify which will be available.

While we were in the building, someone official (which in this case, means someone wearing the right T shirt), told us they were in fact out of ribs, and pulled pork, and turkey.

But good news, they still had their brisket (which is their most famous meat) and sausage.

So we were going to get something.  And we ended up getting a little turkey too, by being a bit creepy (not me, my wife).

While the four of us were waiting in line, we were standing maybe a foot or two from a table full of four girls with eyes way bigger than their stomachs.

The girls were sitting there, and it was clear they were tapped out and couldn’t eat any more.  They had ordered brisket, turkey, and some other stuff, and far too much of it.   That included a surplus of barbequed turkey.

As my wife stared at the table, the girls noticed and they started talking.  Somehow, a request was made for a taste of the turkey.

Now, if I were to approach a bunch of girls and ask to eat of their plate, I think the conversation may have gone a little differently.  But my wife and her friend are clearly a bit more charming, and we got to sample the turkey after all.

It ended up being a nice tiny appetizer for what became the main event.

When we got to the counter, we decided on what would serve as our breakfast, lunch, and part of dinner (for four people, remember).

-          2 pounds of brisket

-          4 sausage links

-          1 pint of potato salad

-          Smaller sides of beans and cole slaw

We thought that would be sufficient.  Oh, and we had pie.

It was great to watch the man behind the counter slice up our lunch.  The brisket quite nearly cut itself, it seemed soft and tender enough that it would break off just with a stern glare.  I don’t know whether his knife was sharp or if it was just a decorative piece of plastic and he was playing an elaborate joke.

But the meat slid easily, and he piled it nicely into a giant pile for us, with the man behind the counter gently guided onto a tray.  Then he pulled out a huge chain of sausage links and snapped a foursome off for us.

Just like that, a great big pile of meat.

We got our sides, and our utensils, and found a nice picnic table outside on the porch.

As we sat down, we didn’t immediately dig into the food.  Maybe part of it was personal reflection, maybe part of it was intimidation, but we didn’t just dig in as soon as it hit the table.

Of course we took a picture.

But then, once we started, we didn’t stop until it was ALL gone.  And we made it ALL gone.

Although they had multiple BBQ sauce options on the table, I thought the brisket didn’t need it.  The meat was soft, almost in a surreal way, because it just came apart as you forked it.  Almost like it didn’t want to be eaten.  But I was persistent, we all were.

Everything else about the meal was pretty delicious, but the brisket was definitely the centerpiece.

We savored each and every bite over the course of maybe 45 minutes, which was a bit funny in that we waited around 3 hours. 

But, for those of you going to Austin, yes, it’s worth it.

After an intense amount of barbeque, we thought the clear next step was a tour of the Texas Capitol building.  Nothing snaps you out of a food coma more than the intricacies of bicameral legislature.  The building itself is an impressive structure, and if not for its reddish-brownish coloring, would remind me exactly of the U.S. capitol building in D.C.

We walked into the building, trying hard to avoid what looked like student field trips.  As we entered the rotunda, I started to get into a really good mood.  Even after we saw the prominently hung portrait of George W. Bush, I still was really happy to be there.  The mood carried over as we wandered the halls of government, and I thought about why that could be the case.

Then it hit me.  Everything in the building, all the rooms, the chambers, the schedule of absurdly stupid-sounding committee meetings, it was like being on the set of Parks & Recreation!  Every room looked like one Leslie Knope should be planning an event in. I was expected Ron Swanson to walk by any minute. It was actually pretty cool.  Feeling good about real government because it reminds me of fake government, probably not what the Texas founding fathers intended (note: I think they intended to be an independent nation and to keep slavery)

But between all the good vibes, we also learned a lot about the Texas legislature.  That’s because we trespassed.

I’ll explain.

We had maps of the building itself for the self-guided tour.  As part of that tour, we went through the various halls of the building, and as we did, we walked by the offices of many Texas representatives/senators.

You could tell they were their offices, because they had their names written right outside the doors on little plaques.

Well, at one point, after passing another closed office door (they were all closed), my wife finally let curiosity get the best of her.

“I think you can just go in these…” she said as she approached one of the doors

“Are you serious?!?  Those are people’s offices, you can’t just go start opening doors and walking in”

“No I think it’s OK”

“Honey, this is Texas, everyone carries a gun and loves to shoot intruders!”

“I think you can just walk in, the door is open”

“No, the door might be unlocked but it’s sure as hell not open”

Of course as I said that, my wife was slowly opening the door of one Texas’s more conservative representatives.

I was already down the hall when I realized my wife had actually gone IN the office.

I went back to hear a very startled administrative assistant, as my wife sneaking in scared her (thank god she didn’t have her concealed weapon!)

The admin was a little confused, but welcomed us into the office.

The representative wasn’t there, she told us (it was Friday and he had gone home), but she was happy to let us in and let us look around.

I noticed a lot of wood molding, framed certificates, and more than a few bowls of candy (I refrained, seemed a little forward).

The admin explained a little bit about the legislature and the fact that it’s very rarely in session (apparently only 6 months of the year).  Another government employee had come into the office (assuming on some actual business), and explained that was one of the benefits of limited government.

I didn’t want to argue over the role of the government, but when we mentioned we were from Illinois I wondered what they may have been thinking (probably that they wish they had their concealed weapons).

But at the small cost of opening someone’s closed door and barging into their office, we got a nice lesson in Texas civics. 

After our lesson in state government, we weren’t exactly looking to go back to the hotel (and we still couldn’t eat), so we decided to take a short walk north to the University of Texas campus.

We walked around the campus for a little bit, but besides the occasional burnt orange hat, we didn’t really notice that we were at UT.  There were two exceptions:

One: At UT they have a fully stocked turtle pond.  Which is exactly what it sounds like. It was a small pond, maybe 30-40 feet around, chock full of turtles.  It was pretty awesome and made me jealous that we didn’t have one at Penn State (although the turtles would probably have frozen to death, sadly)

Two: The large UT bell tower was also prominent on the campus.  It also has a unique place in history from an incident in the 60’s when a nutjob shot dozens of people from up there.  That wasn’t as awesome as the turtle pond, obviously.

Since we were still trying hard to work off the BBQ, we walked all the way back to the hotel, where we hung out for a while before heading out again (for more food).

Much of our research, and recommendations from locals, pointed us towards a place called Eastside Kings.

It was a food truck, seemingly permanently parked, in the back of Liberty Bar, on East 6^th street.

This was over on the east side of 6^th avenue, which as it was explained to us, was an up-and-coming (and historically segregated) part of the city.  We walked over there, and the neighborhood definitely gave off the hipsterish vibe of early gentrification.  There were a bunch of bars, but also a bunch of abandoned lots.  Something of a scenic walk, but not all that scary (except for the bar which had a really active tuba player)

Once we found Liberty Bar, we entered to find, well, a normal looking dive bar.  But once we made our way through the back of the place, we stepped out into an outdoor patio area filled with long picnic tables.  At the back stood the food truck, with a long line of hungry customers waiting.

We soon joined them.  The food truck itself belonged to Paul Qui, who apparently is famous from a stint on Top Chef (note: I have no idea if this guy won or not, but that now appears to be a barometer of whether a restaurant is good or not.  So just being on the show at all seems to do it?  I’m still not clear on how that works)

But when we got the food, the high praise we certainly justified.  My wife and I got a bunch of different things, but their fried Brussels sprout salad was pretty awesome, as were their buns (mini sandwiches).

We found a spot at one of the picnic tables (after a decent wait and some good hovering efforts), and sat there for a while enjoying the food and the atmosphere.  It was a little chilly, but certainly balmy compared to the relative evenings in Chicago.

What did seem clear, at least to me, was that we were some of the least cool people there.  As I said, there were a good number of hipsters, young people, and young hipster people.  But everyone was pretty friendly, even if we didn’t have tattoos or mustaches.

We certainly took our time savoring the food (we also had to wait a good long while for it to be ready, and this is after we waited so long for our BBQ lunch), and had a bunch of drinks in the meantime.

Those drinks made it much easier to agree on our next location.  Ordinarily, I may have questioned going to a honkytonk bar.  But we were in Texas after all, and they reportedly had dancing, so how could it be a bad idea? 

Another bonus, the bar was maybe 100 feet from Liberty Bar.

The White Horse welcomed us in with open arms, and as we entered the large room we were met with a large crowd of mostly older (40 and up) folks, and a full rockabilly band practically overflowing from the tiny stage in the corner.

I’m calling them a rockabilly band because I think that’s the best descriptor.  They were definitely country, cowboy hats and all, but they also seemed to have more of a swing to them.  

We got some more drinks and headed to a relatively open spot near the stage, which also put us in close proximity to the dance floor.

Even though many of the dancers were clearly intoxicated, they had some pretty decent moves for older folks (although there were a few sloppy participants that reminded me of a pretty good rule of thumb, ‘You can be drunk on a dance floor, just don’t be the drunkest one out there’)

The band was pretty good, although I didn’t really appreciate them until the segued into a rendition of ‘Flowers on the Wall,’ which I only knew from Pulp Fiction, which I reminded my wife of, which reminded me that she’s never seen it, which reminded me that that annoys me.

But still, a rousing rendition, I was having a good time.

Then a younger guy asked my wife to dance.  It was pretty great, he was maybe in his mid-20’s, and as I recall (although it’s a little hazy) was dressed entirely in denim.  Oh, and he had a toothpick.

At first my wife demurred, but he was quite persistent (as those with toothpicks tend to be).  Finally with some encouragement from all of us, she accepted and they danced around for a song.  

For a guy wearing nothing but denim, he was a pretty good dancer.  Just not good enough to break up our marriage.

Once the band went into the next song, my wife came back for me, and we danced a little bit (holding our own, in my opinion, and not embarrassing ourselves).

We hung around until the band’s set was over.  At least that’s the last part of the bar I remember, before we went back out and caught a cab home.  It’s possible we hit another food truck in there somewhere, but I doubt it, I feel like I would’ve remembered that.

The next day, Saturday, began with grand ambitions.  Our agenda included more food (of course), but also a more active excursion.  We were going to rent bikes and ride around some of the scenic outdoorsy areas of the city.

But first, we had to try breakfast tacos.

I don’t know if it’s a thing everywhere, but when my wife heard about the concept of a breakfast taco, she was extremely intrigued.  Intrigued to the point where it was clear we were going to find some breakfast tacos or we weren’t going anywhere.

Fortunately there was a coffee shop just a block or two away that offered them.  I’m not so sure what kind of surprise we were expecting.  A breakfast taco is just breakfast stuff (eggs, cheese, etc.) on a tortilla.  I think my wife was just so excited because she loves things wrapped in tortillas (see also, her unusual love of wraps, which I think are just worse versions of sandwiches).

We scarfed down a couple without thinking of the consequences (who doesn’t go bike riding on a full stomach of tacos?) and then made our way to a nearby bike shop.

The shop itself was larger than I would’ve guessed but had all kinds of fancy biking equipment that I couldn’t possibly understand.  I also learned that it was a shop owned by Lance Armstrong (who is from Austin, or lives in Austin, or something).  But unlike the rest of the outside world, this place didn’t seem to have any inkling of PED revelations.  Armstrong jerseys hung on the wall, autographed, as if the wall was a time capsule from back before people had completely lost their respect for him.

I didn’t particularly care either way, this was the place they told me we could rent bikes.

And rent them we did.

We all got outfitted with their bikes and helmets, and because my bike was the only one without other equipment/bolts in the way, I got to be the one to have the big basket on the front.  We needed the basket to carry our stuff, or rather, we needed it to hold at least one giant purse.

Yes, I was going to be riding around all day with a giant purse in my bike’s large basket.  That was going to be fun.

Now, when the idea of renting bikes was brought up, I was happy to go along.  I felt that way because I had a very specific rationale.  You see, I hadn’t ridden a bike in about 20 years (I don’t remember ever riding one after my bar mitzvah, and certainly didn’t ride one after I got my driver’s license).  The lack of recent experience would’ve made me nervous, except I kept remembering that traditional axiom.

It’s just like riding a bike.

Riding a bike was so ingrained on those who have learned, that it was the universal example for things you can’t forget how to do.

How could I forget how to ride a bike, I kept asking myself, isn’t it just like riding a bike???

That was the cyclical justification that got me on the bike.  It didn’t take long for me to realize that it wasn’t exactly true.

Balancing on a bike, sure.

Riding a bike in a straight line on a flat surface, not an issue.

Tight turns while going down hill…not so much.

Our ride took us through some of the streets of downtown Austin, as we had to go around in some circles to find exactly where we were headed.  The goal was to avoid major streets and traffic, and thus keep me alive.

My wife and friends didn’t have a problem with the bikes, so I was generally bringing up the rear (with purse mind you)

I just seemed to have some trouble getting my brain to tell my body what to do in time to actually get the bike to do what it was supposed to do.

Most of the time it wasn’t a problem, but as we got into the park areas, and as foot traffic got dense, and as the pathways got narrower, I became something of a moving hazard.

Multiple times, I had to gracefully dismount to narrowly avoid other people as I was making a turn.  And by gracefully, I mean laced with profanity. (Note: A day or so after our ride, I found the only reminder of my many dismounts…I deep bruise the size of a golf ball on the inside of my leg. For the record, no injuries snowboarding or rock climbing, but visible bruise from riding a bike)

For the most part, I managed to miss all the passersby.  All except one, a jogger on a very narrow bridge.  I’d say I grazed him.  He’ll live.

We rode around the park and lakes in downtown Austin, pausing every now and again to check out some sights (or so the group could wait for me to catch up).  We found a nice spot next to the water that had a great view of the skyline.  Like Friday, the weather was pretty great, and it was a really good ride (except for, of course, my inability to ride a bike)  

As we kept riding, we debated what to do next.  The bike shop was under the impression we were just taking their rides out for a couple hours (let’s face it, we didn’t look like intense riders), but we were also thinking of what else we could do during the day.

We realized that we had a lot of food trucks we hadn’t visited yet, only now we had some actual transportation.  We could really do some damage.

So we sketched out a basic plan.  

Step One: Ride our bikes to food trucks

Step Two: Eat at said food trucks

Step Three: Repeat Step One

With so many trucks in Austin, we had our work cut out for us.

We were planning on making our first stop at a set of food trucks that included the giant donut place from earlier that weekend, but on our way there we came across a Whataburger.  Now, Whataburger is far from a food truck, it’s an established fast food burger chain with tons of locations across the country.

However…I’d never been to one.  And as someone who’s actively crossing names off a list of the top 100 chain restaurants, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass by.

So I made the group stop, and before we started eating, we all shared a burger and fries. (my quick take on Whataburger – surprisingly large burger for your money, with fries that are the absolute closest thing to McDonald’s fries I’ve ever seen.  And that’s not a compliment I issue lightly)

With a fine foundation of hamburger, we set out to find more food…the following few hours were a bit of a blur as we hit truck after truck after truck.  My memory is a little hazy, but here’s my recollection of what my wife and I ate during our afternoon food truck tour.

One lobster roll sandwich

Two tacos (I believe one was fish and one may have been vegetable)

Fried chicken

Waffles

Truffle Mac & Cheese

6 Cake balls

1 giant chocolate milkshake-like dessert thing

Grand total, about 70 bazillion calories.  But we were riding bikes, so it was totally fine.

I will be honest, I think we all felt absolutely terrible, like our bodies were sick of such shoddy treatment and were about to engage in an open rebellion.

But no one got sick, the rebellion was quelled with zero casualties, and we triumphantly returned our bikes to the shop and went back to the hotel for some much needed sitting down.

After a decent break, we determined that 70 bazillion calories hadn’t been enough, and we’d need more food before the day was over.  But the sheer limits of our stomach capacity wouldn’t let us eat right away, so we made a plan to check out some more of Austin’s live music scene in the Red River area at a bar called Club Deville.

Club Deville was set up a bit like the Red Rocks amphitheater, an outdoor space stretched far beyond the small building which housed the bar and led right up to a tall rock face.  At the base of the rock wall was the stage, where a rock band was playing when we arrived.

The band, whose name escapes me, was pretty decent.  Although we were early enough in the evening that the crowd was sparse, and seemed to include people who actually knew the band personally and us.

But that wasn’t really an issue.  We were just there to have a good time, and even as the temperature dipped and the night started to get cooler, we sat an enjoyed the less than crowded scene in front of us.

The band finished its set, and we started wondering whether we should head off for a pre-dinner drink, or enjoy more of the music.

It only took a few minutes of the next band, with a singer who was so into his own voice he couldn’t open his eyes, that we knew we weren’t going to miss much.  We made our way to the exit and went over to Rainey St., another popular stretch of Austin.

Once we got down there, we were struck by the unusual stretch of bars and restaurants that spilled out in front of us.  Rather than the traditional storefronts, there were houses, or what looked like residential housing all down the street.  But instead of a quiet neighborhood, the narrow street was packed with cars and revelers, with each house stuffed to the rafters with customers.

It was like a neighborhood where everyone was having a party, or a frat row in a college town (though the crowd seemed older than typical college types.  I didn’t hear ‘Hook ‘Em’ once the entire time).

We found a bar (apparently one that had been open less than a week), and sampled its extensive beer list for pre-dinner drinks.  Afterward we went over to El Naranjo, a Mexican restaurant (though NOT Tex-Mex, which everyone clearly felt was substantially different from traditional Mexican).

The food was really good (echoing the theme of the day), although it was a little strange to get served by a waiter and not from a mysterious arm dangling out of a trailer window.

After an enjoyable meal (and sitting at the table long enough for all the other customers to leave), we finally departed and promptly returned to the bar.  Another round later and we were good and primed for bed.  It may have taken us a little while to catch a cab in that part of town, but that only added to our enthusiasm to get to sleep.

The next day was a bit of a downer, only because we knew we’d have to leave Austin and return to Chicago (the only one happy about that would be my cardiologist)

But our flight wasn’t until the afternoon, so we still had some time for a few last quick bites!

It was a Sunday, so brunch was on the agenda.  And from what we had heard, the South Congress Café (on South Congress St., obviously) was the place to go for brunch.  So we put on our walking shoes and hiked over there (fortunately, we had completed the biking legs of our trip).

Of course, we got a curveball in the form of an hour wait for a table.

Undeterred, we thought it would be the best use of our time to walk down South Congress and window shop along the main drag.  It was on that walk that we noticed Hopleaf, a well-regarded Austin burger joint, was about to open for business.

Now, it’s not exactly conventional wisdom to have a hamburger before brunch.  And suffice it to say, our wives weren’t exactly thrilled with the idea, but it was too good of an opportunity to pass up.

While our wives did whatever it was they were doing, we followed the small group of people who had been waiting for Hopleaf to open through the doors and right into the burger line.  I was really impressed by their operation.  No one sits at a table until you’ve ordered, and you’re issued a table number by the staff, so they control when people sit etc.  It was an extremely efficient operation (I wondered if Hopleaf was German).

As our wives called us to monitor our activity, we implored them to join us in morning burger festivities.  And after we had ordered and been seated, they found us. 

It would be an understatement to say they weren’t thrilled with us, even after I assured them I could still eat a full brunch.  The small sample of burger they took was purely perfunctory.  They seemed to will themselves to not enjoy it at all (which was fine by me, I don’t much like sharing anyway).

We set a U.S. speed record for hamburger chomping, because we got a notification that our table for brunch was ready.  We ate so fast, that I’m quite confident we were the first ones to leave the restaurant after being served that day.

At South Congress Café, we ended up having to wait for a table (which gave us a little more digestion time), but I was glad to see that one of their signature items was more of a dessert brunch.  To better accompany my hamburger appetizer.

The carrot cake French toast was in order, and yes, it was as delicious as it sounds.

Following the brunch, we again walked ourselves (or was it rolled ourselves) up and down South Congress Street.  The weather gods were on our side again, and we soaked up as much sun as possible with the knowledge that we’d soon be returning to gray, gloomy Chicago.

After some light shopping (and what seemed like an unreasonable stop for ice cream), we got back to the hotel and packed for the airport.

Surely, we could rest comfortably knowing that no matter who else spent a long weekend in Austin, they couldn’t possibly have gained as much weight as we did!

Narcissism in the Workplace

There was an interesting article yesterday in the Atlantic (or at least on their website) on the pervasive increase in narcissism among young people.  One of the money quotes...

We are in the midst of a "narcissism epidemic," concluded psychologists Jean M. Twnege and W. Keith Campbell in their 2009 book. One study they describe showed that among a group of 37,000 college students, narcissistic personality traits rose just as quickly as obesity from the 1980s to the present.

Now, this would tell you that young people are becoming more and more self-centered.  The Atlantic argues (and I agree), that its being driven by increasing tools for personal expression rather than genuine changes in attitudes.

It's almost too obvious to point out, but when some of the most successful new technologies of the past few years are software that allows you to tell people about yourself, more people are going to talk about themselves.

But I do think the idea that young people aren't the only ones impacted by the technology-enabled self-expression explosion.  Look at media and how we interact with it.

I don't go to ESPN anymore, I read Bill Simmons' Grantland.  I don't read the Washington Post, I read Ezra Klein.  I don't read the NY Times everyday, but I make sure to read Paul Krugman.

The dominant personalities and leaders across multiple fields are increasingly separating themselves from what organizations they're a part of.  Look at Sheryl Sandberg's book.  The concept of a 'showrunner' in television who is exclusively presenting the artistic vision.  People are increasingly brand entities unto themselves, which might not be a new idea (e.g., Michael Jordan ), but sure is catching on.

But let's go back to young people and how this trend (driven by attitude or technology or whatever) will manifest itself in the world.

Aside from lots and lots of crappy narcissistic blog posts to read.

How does it impact the working world when everyone thinks they're the voice of their generation and/or deserving of attention and adulation?

It sure sounds like it could get annoying.  An organization of iconoclasts, where everyone insists that they're the one to make a difference (and probably not the one to make the copies). 

Inherent in this type of system is a reduction in organizational loyalty (which to be fair, is probably well deserved given lack of loyalty exhibited by executive management in most large corporations).

So what is a company to do when all its new recruits feel as though they're meant to make a big impact (and immediately)?

It's easy if you're a startup, because there are never enough people to do the work.  It's hard if you're a massive organization.

The initial idea might be to try and instill a heavy sense of purpose and responsibility among the new recruits.  You can get them in front of senior leaders, give them high-visibility projects, etc.

But I don't think that works. 

In concept, sure it sounds great, but in reality my guess is these types of tactics typically feel artificial.  It's doubtful a big company can realistically give substantial responsibility to a bunch of new people, the incumbents passed over for those chances would be incensed.

No, what I think large organizations would have to do in order to succeed at getting the most out new people includes a couple discrete things:

1. Identify and assign key mentors:  For the new folks to even think they're going to get some real responsibility, they need to see what that path to success could look like.  That's best exhibited by real actual people who have advanced in the company and are delivering the type of impact the new recruits want.  They won't be easy to find, and they need to actually give a damn, but without it folks will be hard to see where they can go.

2. Give them actual (but narrowly focused) responsibilities: The issue with trying to give new people high-level responsibilities is that the organization will resist.  So, give them responsibilities, but make them small ones.  It helps to take things that longer tenured employees don't want/or don't have time to do.  Examples could include recruiting, social responsibility campaigns (which are both cynical to say, but often times the truth)

3. Talk about what kinds of opportunities can follow, even if they're outside the organization:  It's probably one of the last things people would think about, the idea that new recruits won't always stick around.  But in all honesty, they won't.  I think I read the average worker changes jobs 10 times in their career.  So it's naive not to be upfront about it, and hopefully, the idea that the job is a stepping stone (which they're probably thinking anyway) and something they'll need to leverage to advance, can help incentivize them to perform in some initial grunt work.

Anyway, its an organizational challenge all large companies will have to face.  If they can't handle new self-centered employees, no one's going to be around to know what's going on.