Well Wrapped.

And then a mix of the new with the old. Here, a winery we didn't actually visit, with a roof designed to mimic the rolling wave of the mountainside.

And the spaceship that landed in a 16th century village? Frank Gehry's hotel and winery that took a few extra years to finish because the high winds in the region kept trying to tear off the metal roof pieces.

History on history.

Here amidst the early blossoms of a vineyard that was once tended by an order of monks, we wandered about and admired the coastal mountain range in the distance.

Just in case there wasn't enough history in one place, in the same grape fields that the monks watched over is a burial site from pre-Roman times.

Rioja Wines.

Oh, and that other thing that Rioja is known for? I guess it's the wine. The valley is set between a coastal mountain range that properly regulates the amount of moisture in the air, and a different mountain range on the south that helps regulate the temperatures from the dry plains, making the region perfect for growing grapes.

Wine tasting tourism is a relatively new concept for the area, but wine making dates back a few hundred years.

Not really a Hostel.

And after about four hours in the car, we came upon our hotel for the weekend.

A former monastery and now a museum, one wing has been converted into a hotel. The building is now surrounded by a small town, but one could see how it would be a very peaceful place for a monk to hang out and pray or whatever it is that monks did.


The view from our window. You can just make out a bit of snow at the top of the valley.

Aggies.

Just a few hours outside of Madrid and off the main highway, and things became, uh, rural very quickly. Not that these guys (and girls) seemed to mind one bit.

We later passed several very large bulls that looked like they could knock our station wagon over if they so desired.

Along the Way.

And so we took the road less traveled, and were rewarded with sights like these:

I'm not sure one would even call it a village, but just a small cluster of houses on the side of a windy road that leads down from one snow dusted mountain and then on to another.

Kids These Days

Back once more in Segovia, clearly my favorite day-trip from Madrid. Here, after a fantastic lunch in the famous Meson de Candido, the afternoon sun turns the aqueduct a golden color.

We were lucky enough to have our lunch while looking out the windows directly onto the aqueduct.

The restaurant was built in 1786, a baby compared to the aqueduct, which was built by the Romans sometime in the first or second century.

Not Proficient.

I've studied Arabic on a few different occasions in the past, but I've never become even mildly proficient at speaking it. At my very best, I could make polite introductions and fake my way through some small talk. Nowadays, I'm able to recognize when Arabic is being spoken, but nothing much more beyond that.

My cab driver the other day was speaking a wonderful blend of Arabic and English into his blue-tooth phone while driving me back to my hotel. His conversation went like this:

Arabic Arabic Arabic nice Arabic Arabic fuckin' nice Arabic Arabic Mexican bullshit! Arabic Arabic Arabic city hall bullshit! Arabic $1.50 Arabic Arabic greencard.

After paying for my ride, I thanked the driver with a Shukran and hopped out.

Just in Case.

Back in the US for a short visit, and while up early due to jet lag I was wandering the streets of downtown Chicago on a weekday morning. It was cold and not much was open, so when I passed by an open barbershop I stopped in.

Alfredo was sitting in a barber chair reading the paper, and I asked if he was open for business. An older Italian-American, Alfredo looked at me with a smile, "Of course I'm open, what else I'm doing around here."

He then turned the radio on to a station that only played old Italian songs and got his scissors out.

"Look at this magazine here, and tell me if you can find a single picture of an ugly woman in there." Alfredo shoved a Sports Illustrated Swimsuit issue at me while he arranged my chair. Not wanting to be rude, I flipped through the magazine while he got to work on my hair.

"Well, you find any ugly ones yet?" I told him no, but that I'd keep looking just in case.

Like that ride at Disney.

And finally, half of the Matterhorn while standing in Zermatt. The best part? We're standing only a few feet away from a restaurant where we'll stuff ourselves with cheese and wine and more cheese.

Good Enough.

Sunset in the old town, Bern. Who wouldn't enjoy this?

Fine, not good enough. How about drinks in a glowing underground bar?

Watch Out.

Well, the Swiss do seem to have different worries from the rest of us.

At Last.

There's a very nice street-corner accordion player about a block from our house, and now with the nice weather our open windows allow for bits and pieces of accordion music to float in.

On alternating days, or every three, the accordion guy takes the day off and is replaced by a street-side violin player. I'm not privy to the details of their playing schedule, but they seem to have worked it out. The violin guy's also quite good, and has a different repertoire.

All very pleasant, but after about two weeks we've heard just about all the songs that either one knows to play.

So it was with great excitement that I came home the other day to find Accordion Man sitting on the bench with Violin Man, both smiling and playing together.

You Don't Say.

If you'd have asked me the capital of Switzerland a month earlier, I'd have quickly answered Geneva, no wait, Zurich. I don't know, but one of those.

Wrong wrong wrong. It turns out the capital is a charming little German town called Bern. Here's the seat of government at night.

And a view out over the city from upon one of the surrounding hillsides. Bern sits in the bend of a river (just like Baghdad, except it's nothing like Baghdad) and the old part of the city is a gorgeous maze of narrow winding streets.

Pretzels and Beer for everyone!

Fierce.

In that show where Tyra Banks is always calling things and people and clothing and pictures "Fierce," I assume she means this face right here.

We lost our dear cat Kevin recently, and this guy reminded me of the way he would happily sit for hours just staring out the window at the birds and people and leaves and whatever else went on in his cat brain. I think Kevin would have really enjoyed sitting by Lake Geneva, watching the world go by.