While the Sun Shines

Here in the Pacific Northwest we await summer with expectations high, glorified memories of sunny days past bursting through the rain clouds that fill our vision. There's nothing quite like waking to the sound of rain drops pelting against your windowpane in June. After eight months of saying, "Oh, summer in Seattle, it makes the winter drizzle worth it!", the sense that the weather has let you down out of pure spite is hard to shake.

So we are cautious now. We recall the saying that summer in western Washington doesn't start until after - that's right, after - the Fourth of July, and hold on to the hope that the last decade of shorts and flip flops, sunglasses and sunscreen while munching burgers and potato salad on the lawn in dutiful celebration of our nation's birth wasn't just a fluke. It was easy, in those years, to forget the times we suffered, bundled in sweatshirts and positioning buffet tables under cover, knowing that a "chance of showers" has less to do with chance and more to do with showers.

When a sunny day dawns, spirits soar. It's like nothing so much as falling in love. I love you, Seattle! There's the sensation that my heart is actually swelling as I pass beneath the big leaf maples that line my favorite stretch of road in our neighborhood. The overlapping leaves above my head form a mosaic of dappled green, illuminated by the glorious sunlight. Lake Washington shimmers below, a sapphire blue reflection of the sky.

But tomorrow? Well, who would dare to predict it? Make hay while the sun shines, as they say (not mentioning, of course, that a sudden storm can turn the freshly mown hay to rot before it ever gets to the barn). We wait and hope, but hesitate to speak aloud, fearful that the sunny spell be broken.

Remembering Morocco

In Sevilla, our tour is winding down (but not before tonight's final dinner and horse drawn carriage ride, of course). Spain and Morocco have been a whirlwind, with too few opportunities to write about the experience. While Morocco now feels like a world away, I can still recall sitting on the roof terrace of the Dar Nour by night, surrounded by the layered rooftops of the kasbah, and hearing the day's final call to prayer as the meuzzins one by one began their chant. Unlike most Muslim countries, in Morocco the call to prayer is still sung by a live meuzzin rather than a recording, and the sound spreads throughout the city via the loudspeakers atop the minarets.

Below, the streets are packed with action until late in the evening. Kids and cats roam the twisting alleys while men drink mint tea at tables lining the sidewalks. Many women are out two, making their way though the narrow streets in both traditional caftans and headscarves and skintight jeans, but the cafe scene still belongs to the men.

Some of the best food can be found just outside the prime tourist zone at Le Saveur de Poisson, where one menu is served for lunch and dinner. Take a seat and you will be presented with a dish of black olives, a bowl of housemade chili oil, roasted almonds, and a basket of Moroccan breads. Soon, a bowl of shrimp and couscous soup appears. Dip your bread in the chili oil - it's positively addictive, and far spicier than almost anything you'll find in Spain. Even the flavor othe roasted almonds seems amplified beyond any you've tasted before.

But these simple delights are only the beginning. An earthenware dish of shrimp baked with spinach and cubes of fish soon follows, steaming hot from the oven. It tastes fresh and bright, the shrimp bursting with flavor, the fish and spinach melting together on the tounge. A main course follows of flatfish simply roasted over coals, served alongside kebabs of swordfish. Fresh and meaty, sweet and tender, nothing beats seafood roasted to perfection.

Finally, there is dessert. Toasted barley and pinenuts are mixed with coarse brown sugar and thick, dark honey that is just starting to crystalize, and luscious strawberries topped with the same honey round out the meal. Throughout it all, your goblet is constantly refilled with a home brewed fruit juice, tasting of figs and plums.

Like Morocco itself, the meal is enchanting and exotic. It's also a respite from the crowded streets outside, much like the roof terraces take you away from the bustle of a city packed with people, traffic, and non-ending noise. Spain feels tame by comparison. Here in Sevilla the weather is perfect, the city is beautiful, and the atmosphere is relaxed. But I can't wait to go back to Morocco for another taste of this different world.

Jamon and the Alhambra

It´s a sunny day in Granada, with any snow merely a distant memory (after all, it didn´t even really stick). This morning, the group gaped in awe at stalagtite ceilings in the Alhambra, and even managed to beat most of the crowds. Down below in the old town, I headed for lunch at a local tapas bar with the guide and driver.

As any good Spaniard, or good traveler in Spain, knows, crowded equals good when it comes to tapas bars. And at around 2pm, this place was hopping. We snaked our way through the throngs and managed to squeeze out a little spot along the bar for a stand up meal. Out came a platter of migas (Spanish fried breadcrumbs, which are actually very tasty), quickly followed by selection of jamon, cheeses, and pates. We weren´t even halfway through it when small sampler plates of paella arrived, on the house.

Spain: scme for the sights, stay for the food, but don´t ever expect to lose any weight on this vacation.

The Snow in Spain

...falls mainly around the plain. We woke up in Segovia on May 4th to the sight of white flakes swirling on the other side of the windows. Who would have imagined it, but so far our May tour in Spain has been colder than our April tour in Belgium and the Netherlands. On the ride to El Escorial, a light dusting of snow coated the rocks and trees along the highway, and while El Escorial itself was free from snow, a fierce wind whipped around corners and down alleyways, making any time spent outside a fight against the elements. The fingertips of my left hand prickled with numbness.

Fortunately, the sun was shining despite the nearly frigid temperatures, and in Spain all it takes is a nice, leisurely meal in a warm cafe to put things right. Some of the group, including the guide and I, took advantage of the menu del dia at a local restaurant. This Spanish specialty provides patrons with the option to choose a three course lunch with wine for one very reasonable price, in this case twelve Euros. For a mere twelve Euros, I enjoyed Russian salad, fish, and pudding for dessert, along with a full bottle of red wine to share. If you want to follow the recommended advice to fill up with a large meal at midday and enjoy only a light repast (tapas, antyone?) in the evening, the menu del dia is the way to go. In Seattle, you´d pay the same amount per person just to split a bottle of wine.

Finally warm again, I´m glad to be in Madrid tonight, where the weather isn´t quite so chilly. Still full from lunch, I wonder if I´ll even bother with dinner tonight. In the meantime, a walking tour around the Puerto del Sol should get the blood moving again, and I can honestly say it´s a beautiful day on the plains of Spain.

A Day Fit for a Queen

After non-stop sun for well over a week, Queen's Day in the Netherlands was ushered in with a thunderstorm. Seemingly only minutes after the guide and I saw our tour members safely back to our hotel, the heavens opened. But this was Queen's Night - basically, an excuse to party on into the wee hours since the next day is the national holiday - and a little rain couldn't stop us from heading back out to the streets. Crowds packed the Amsterdam city squares, dance music blared from stages, and orange was everywhere.

This morning, too, orange was the color du jour. Alongside the red, white, and blue stripes of the national flag of the Netherlands flew orange ones in honor of the royal family. Queen's Day is, in fact, one of the only times when the royal orange can be raised with the flag. In such a tolerant country, it comes as a surprise to me that such a thing is so strictly regulated, although it lends a special flair to the bright banners.

While Queen's Day is, more or less, a celebration of Dutch independence, it's not fully clear what about this day makes it patriotic, other than the fact that Orange, in honor of the Duke of Orange, who helped liverate the country from Spanish Hapsburg rule, is everywhere. Besides the wearing of the orange, the day is celebrated by turning entire towns and cities into one gigantic flea market. On this day, anyone can sell anything (anything legal, that is), with no permit required. Little girls make cupcakes, college students mix cocktails, and a vast array of junk, ranging from orange leis to used comics to every article of clothing imaginable are on display.

Some get creative - electonic keyboards are set up on street corners for young musical geniuses to showcase their talent and maybe earn a few coins, a wishing wall becomes a place for people to write their wishes on orange post-its in exchange for a donation to help girls in need in Indonesia. "Your wish is absolutely guaranteed to come true," the woman promoting the wishing wall assured me. If that's true, we can all look forward to world peace in the near future. One young man even set himself up as a target for throwing raw eggs - for a fee, of course.

The entreprenurial spirit of the people, and that Dutch way with money, shine even when the sun doesn't. According to the local news, those who were planning on selling in the city planned to make an average of eighty Euros today. Talking with two girls who had a spread set out to raise money for orphans in Ghana, I learned that they had already raised fifty euros, all before noon. With a donation of two more from me, they were well on their way to surpassing the eight Euro mark. Further into the neighborhood, however, a man who convinced me to spring for a fifty cent cup of coffee to comlement my cupcake, noted that he had sold very little. So little, in fact, that he had slashed his prices by half.

"I'd rather sell some coffee for fifty cents than no coffee for one Euro," he told me, while his wife sat in the window of their home with the coffee maker ready for another batch. Dutch practicality wins the day.

As the rain started to clear away, streets and canals become more and more crowded with partiers on foot, bike, and boat. The party will last late into the night, I'm sure, but in the meantime I'll be on my way to Barcelona. Which is just as well, considering that another night of less than five hours of sleep would probably not be the best way to start off my next tour. Not to mention the fact that my orange shirt, purchased yesterday for the big event, probably would smell even less sweet after another night surrounded by spilled beer and various kinds of smoke wafting through the air... this is Amsterdam, after all.

In the meantime, I'll enjoy a last few hours in the Netherlands, and wish everyone, Queen included, a very happy holiday.

Light in the Low Countries

It's late April and the sun is shining in the Netherelands. In other words, right now is the perfect time to be here. North Seat beaches that are packed in August offer today offer a wided expance of windswept white sand, thee tulips are just beginning to bloom, and bicyclists are out in their shirt sleeves. Even here at the hotel computer I can feel the warmth of the sun streaming through the window, highlighting the fresh green leaves on an apple tree that is just beginning to blossom.

Considering the time of year, the weather has been amazing. Sure, it's chilly in the morning, when I bundle up in my cardigan and jacket before stepping outside for our local walking tours, but by the time noon hits the extra layers have been peeled back and first on my mind is how to take advantage of the wonderful blue skies above in my photos.

So, I think you'll understand when I sasy I can't write for long - us native Northwesterners know we always must take advantage of a sunny day. Tot ziens!

So, three Flemish sailors walk into a bar...

Well, to be more accurate, one Dutch guide, one American guide, and nine tour members walk into a bar, and meet the three Flemish sailors...

So began our optional pub crawl to a couple of traditional Belgain pubs here in Bruges for our tour members. The pub in question offers a Belgian tripel beer with 11% alcohol, and I think these sailors were already on their third by the time we met them (the third being the maximum number allowed by the pub, considering the high alcohol content). It made for a fun evening, the kind of thing that can never be planned.

So, if you should meet three Flemish sailors in a pub, invite them over. You won't be disappointed.