Toledo

Thirty minutes south of Madrid by high speed train, in Toledo, I
expected to step out of the station and directly into a bullfighting
ring. Alright, so the Toledo of old is no more; really, the town that
was once nearly the capital of Spain hasn't changed all that much. The hills sure haven't changed. Maybe in the 5th century A.D., it made sense to build the city high above the Targus River for defensive purposes, but now those steep cobblestone streets are simply the bane of weary tourists' existence. Now I really have found a city that's easier to get lost in than Venice.

Not to mention that we witnessed the recreation of a hanging at the Cathederal Square. Apparently, that's how Toledan's celebrate festivals.

Thomas Friedman was right

When I can sit in an Irish pub in Madrid and watch the Kentucky – Florida football game on the big screen TV, the world really is flat. This was American football, mind you, not that namesake sport the rest of the world is enamoured with. Played by Kentucky, hardly a powerhouse and definitely not an international fan favorite. Granted, the outcome didn't make the effort as worthwhile as last week's, but the story is equally amazing.

Madrid is a lively, warm, beautiful, warm, energetic, warm, and cultured city. Did I mention that it's warm? As lucky as I've been with the weather in Brussels (most of the time), the sky was always blue and we could walk the streets in short sleeves even at midnight. ¡Que Bueno!

So I jinxed myself

As I predicted, after all that talk about the beautiful weather... Yep, you guessed it: it dropped about 15 degrees and rained yesterday. But this morning is sunny again and we're leaving to Madrid for a couple days this afternoon, so no complaints.

Probably no posts for a few days while I soak up the central Spain sunshine, if there is such a thing.

The Fields of Flanders

The United States didn't get involved in the Great War until late, and the whole thing happened a long way away. So it's easy to overlook the cost of that war in sheer numbers of lives lost. Until you've stood in the middle of the 12,0000 graves of the Tyne Cot Cemetery, or driven through the countryside of northern Belgium and looking out the window to see plot after plot filled with rows of sparkling white, carefully manicured slabs of portland stone, or peered upwards at thousands of names carefully etched on this inside and the outside of the Menin Gate. There's nearly one WWI cemetery per square mile here, and most of the dead were never found or identified. The impact on the landscape (and the conscience) is stark, even though these graves represent only a small fraction of the loss of life on these bloodiest of fields in this bloodiest of wars.

War is hell.

The Venice of the North

They call Brugge the "Venice of the North" ostensibly because its network of canals is reminescent of the city in northeast Italy. I submit it deserves that moniker, but for another reason entirley: because it is nearly as easy to get lost in Brugges as it is in Venice. I'm pretty good at reading a map, but I could hold it right in front of my nose and still miss the turn into some narrow, cobblestone street that opens into a major square. The additional hazard in Brugges, of course, is that the streets have cars, unlike Venice, where you may see the occasional motorbike. So, if you want to get run over while you're lost, there's no better place to be.

I'm beginning to think everything I've heard about the low countries being cold, overcast, and rainy all the time is just a myth created to keep tourists away. Just look at my pictures. I've hardly seen a cloud the whole time I've been here, and the temperature is what I expected in Madrid, not Brussels. Add to this observation my last trip to the area - The Netherlands in 1995 - when it was 80+ degrees and sunny for 13 of the 14 days I was here, and I call foul.

Having said this, now it'll probably rain tomorrow.

Lots of beer.

Brugge at dusk.

I almost missed two planes because of a football game!

Here's the scene: I'm sitting in the only sports bar in the Philadelphia airport that's showing the Kentucky game. Never mind that it's in a different zip code from my departure gate and took me a solid 20 minutes to get to this place - the game will be over in plenty of time for my 7:50 boarding call and 8:35 departure.

I've been here since halftime, when the bar wasn't crowded and I was able to get perfect seat directly in front of the TV showing the game. But word of a potential upset has spread through the airport, and the place has filled up; the crowd spills out four deep into the concourse. Most are fans of other highly-ranked teams with something to gain if No. 1 loses, and are cheering for UK. There's a nice couple sitting behind me who don't know much about college football, and I've got them rooting for the Cats, too. My neighbor at the bar - a former Penn State player - has to leave, but not before predicting a last-second UK win as vengeance for 2002. One or two guys are cheering vocally for LSU.

Seiber hits a field goal. Tie game with four minutes to go. This is getting good. And it's only 7:00. A few good UK stops, and LSU misses its last second field goal attempt. Overtime. But I still have plenty of time. UK scores seven, but LSU matches. Second overtime. I still have plenty of time to make the gate, but I'm beginning to get nervous. It's a long way back to the gate; we need to end this soon. I pay my bill at the bar in preparation for a quick getaway. LSU is on offense now. They score three. Then we do, too. Third overtime.

Now its quarter til eight. Five minutes til boarding. UK is on offense, and moving the ball. They're inside the 10 yard line. Brooks calls a timeout. Now it's past boarding time. I have to go. I implore my new friends to cheer hard, grab my stuff, and start jogging down the corridor. Friends at the game are sending me text messages responding to what's happening. Obviously they think I'm still in front of a TV. (I mean, what fool would leave at this point in the game?) I call Christie, who's the only person I know who's watching the game but not at the game, hence I can get through on her cell phone: "Tell me what's happening!" I find out we got our touchdown, but blew the two-point conversion. LSU's got the ball.

Now I'm to the moving sidewalks. It's after 8:00. The signs above the sidewalks tell you to "stand" on the left and "walk" on the right. So I figure you have to run right up the middle. And I do, pushing people out of my was as I go. Politely, of course. Three moving sidewalks later, Concourse A comes into sight. I round another bend, and I can see my gate. I hear that LSU is moving the ball. No time to look for another TV; the waiting area is empty and there's no line to get on the plane. I show my boarding pass and head down the jetway, confident that Christie has promised to text me the outcome when there is one, and hoping that there is some resolution before the airline makes me shut off my cell phone and I go into nine hours of radio silence. By now I've heard it's fourth-and-two, LSU.

I find my seat, by a window, and crawl across the other people already sitting in my row. I try to explain why I'm out of breath, but they don't seem too interested. Almost as soon as I sit down, I get another text from Christie. We stopped them! UK wins!! Woo hoo!!! Let me tell you, that plane ride just got a lot easier...

(I mentioned in the title that I almost missed two flights. The game started while I was still in Charlotte. Kickoff was at the same time my plane boarded. The sports bar there was in the same concourse as my gate. I stood otside the glass, determined to watch the first drive. But Miles calls a timeout. Commercial break. Then Brooks does the same. Another commercial break. Who's ever heard of two TOs in the first minute of a game. So as soon as UK gets stopped on third down, I turn and dash to the gate. I'm the next-to-last person to get on the plane, but I get on. I guess it was a good warmup for Philly.)

Oh, and Brussels is great. More on that later. Here are some pictures for now: