Princesas de Primavera (Spring Princesses)

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

It’s the time of year for cherries, little sailor suits, Playstations and travel agents with deals on trips to Euro Disney. I happened to be invited to a communion the other day and to this guiri travel writer, these celebrations are as exotic as bullfights, Songkran in Thailand or Novrus in Iran. 

It wasn't my first, so I had an idea as what to expect but this one happened to be in one of the megachurches in one of the newer parts of the city and therefore promised a different look at an old custom. 

It's been a warm spring and that particular day was no different. The traditionally sombrely dressed men had added a bit of color and had decided to dip into their clothing reserve that is normally reserved for summer weddings but it was definitely the rather short skirts that seemed to catch everyone’s...eye. 

When the ceremony began, I found myself inside the decorated gymnasium as the nervous children walked up the aisle, the weight of their protagonism etching itself in ever slightly different ways on their serious faces. As the ceremony drew on I found myself drifting outside along with clouds of incense and a steady stream of better-dressed people. Walking around the growing crowd, I couldn’t help but eavesdrop on conversations here and there. 

Lunch seemed to be the topic of the day with the key words being where the luncheon was taking place and how many had been invited. According to many, communions were becoming like weddings in order to help with that trip to see Mickey in Paris. Sentries peeked in on the ceremony now and then and as it began to come to an end, the crowds slid back in. 

The children were now standing at the front and a crush of paparazzi formed in front, but the priest had yet to finish. The crowd grew and so did the noise as the priest strained to be heard over the hum, 'Don't forget that while today is important, it would be nice to see this enthusiasm here tomorrow (Sunday).’ I don’t often agree with sermons from the pulpit but this time he was on to something.

Whose Legs?

Fat Frog's Legs For Sale

It seems that there has been a seachange in finger food here recently. While frog's legs have always been on the menu in this region, it's generally something that was either common knowledge among locals or something that was tucked away in a lost corner of the menu. I've even heard tell of stories of enviro-bureaucratic hassles driving frog farms from these lands across the border into Portugal but that seems to be changing because it's the third sign I've seen this week.

Tapas this weekend?

The Cubist Maze of Masouleh, Iran

Take a drive from the shores of the world's biggest lake called a sea, through rice paddies that wouldn't be out of place in Southeast Asia, and end up in a Central Asian village in mist covered mountains? It's not teleportation, but the trip to Masouleh might be the closest thing. Up from the Caspian, a cubist maze clings to green mountainside, the roofs of each house becoming the terrace of the next. Narrow lanes shared by people and water as it rushes downhill to the sea. Hotel it or try one of the homestays that abound along orange-tobacco scented alleys and in the evening enjoy the battle between the sounds of rushing water and the gurgle of hookah pipes.

#hiking #architecture #smalltown #mountains #driving #coast #view #village #roadtrip #getaway #sea #hookah #seaside #offthebeatenpath #terrace #home #remote #tobacco #mountaintown #steep #ricepaddies #centralasia #localculture #homestays #caspiansea #inlandsea

Originally published on Trazzler

Fiestas for Who?

Writing in the local paper. Local issues with a global take. I never translate literally and the editor trims at will to make it fit. Here's my version, then theirs.

Thank goodness the powers that be have followed through with their promise to make us all more efficient and Nordic. No more of those useless holidays that fall in the middle of the week. Just like the aptly-named Bank Holidays in the U.K, all midweek fiestas will soon be moved to the following Monday. This, along with talk of bringing Spain back to its pre-Franco time zone, aligning us once again with the British isles and Portugal, is supposed to make our habits more...European shall we say. 

But if it is indeed our goal to ape the so-called success of the North, a few other changes will have to be made here in Caceres. First of all, outlawing pinchos and tapas. After all, why should we encourage neighbours to get together and socialize outside their homes, away from the glowing blue box? The growing atomization of society should also be sped up and the growing trend of replacing human relationships with dogs a-la-Parisien should also be encouraged. Beer and wine will also have to be made prohibitively expensive so that you can only afford two a month and giant tarps will have to be put up to create that monotonous grey ceiling that hovers over northern Europe for the majority of year. This will of course encourage people to stay inside or at least fester just a little bit longer at their desks. Sobremesas will no longer be needed because everyone will be too overwhelmed with work to talk. This in addition, of course, to banning all lunches that can’t be stuffed between two slices of bread. Public squares will be renamed after famous brand names and a ten minute loitering limit strictly enforced. All older people, due to their inherent slowness, will have to be shuttered away from the general public in homes and fed on bread and water in order to reduce pension payments. 

Well now that I think of it, except the annoying midweek holidays thes past two weeks , let Europe end at the Pyrenees for all I care.