Salamanca is an UNESCO World Heritage City. Apparently that’s because it is an old city, with a lot of neat old stuff.
Continue reading “Surveying Salamanca”Sashaying in Salamanca
In 1975 I was at the University of Iowa. Not long after moving into the freshman dorm, I learned that some New Jersey rocker would be playing at Hancher Auditorium, which was a lovely fine arts theater – the kind of place you might go to for a piano recital – nestled on the Iowa River.
Continue reading “Sashaying in Salamanca”Getting “Padeled” in Spain
I spent my high school freshman year at St. Albert Catholic School in Council Bluffs, Iowa. The boys there had to wear slacks, a dress shirt, and a tie. Girls wore Exorcist-green below-the-knee plaid skirts designed by a blind Scotsman.
Continue reading “Getting “Padeled” in Spain”Getting Grass in Spain
I know what you are thinking. You think “Getting Grass in Spain” will be about marijuana. Well, it isn’t. However, since your thoughts have wandered in that direction, I will tell you about the time I visited a cannabis club in Alicante.
Continue reading “Getting Grass in Spain”An Expat Rediscovers America
My goal, when starting this blog, was to offer an American’s perspective of Europe. Sort of like Alexis de Tocqueville, but in reverse, and more sarcastic. However, I have been in Spain nearly five years, and one can live in a foreign country only so long before the land stops being foreign. An outsider’s perspective becomes elusive.
Continue reading “An Expat Rediscovers America”A Cheap Bastard Goes to Manhattan
Manhattan challenges cheap bastards in the same way a friendly Rottweiler might challenge a feisty Chihuahua. Which is to say, we cheap bastards pose no risk to Manhattan, which allows the borough to toy with us.
Continue reading “A Cheap Bastard Goes to Manhattan”A Cheap Bastard Goes to London
Our boat to the USA was to leave from Southampton. That is a city in England. England once governed America, but eventually we Americans revolted. This stemmed from England’s tax policy, which nobody in America could understand. The assessors all spoke with an indecipherable accent, called money “pounds,” and measured weight in “stones.” War was inevitable, and might have been lost but for the Brits’ baffling habit of driving on the wrong side of the road.
Continue reading “A Cheap Bastard Goes to London”My High Seas Trip, Part 3
Some alert readers have noticed that Denise’s Facebook posts suggest an idyllic ocean voyage, whereas my narratives paint a darker picture, one of two innocents seduced into the lower rings of Hell. Is one of us, maybe both of us, guilty of “fake news”?
Continue reading “My High Seas Trip, Part 3”My High Seas Trip, Part 2
My fellow passengers are old. Even older than me. People this age mostly talk about failing body parts. So today everyone is secretly delighted by yesterday’s rough sea. Instead of replaced knees or shoulders, or enlarged prostates, or inexplicable weight gain, people this morning discuss nausea and the side effects of sea sickness pills. They speak quickly and in a slightly hushed tone, excited by the new miseries they can dissect and publicly analyze.
Continue reading “My High Seas Trip, Part 2”My High Seas Trip, Part 1
Shhhh. We need to be very quiet. Denise isn’t feeling well.
We did our research before agreeing to cruise from England to New York. The North Atlantic can be rough in November, and we both have experienced sea sickness. Once of that is plenty.
Continue reading “My High Seas Trip, Part 1”