On: Spain, as Seen by My Cellphone

Didn't America's Next Top Model do this for an episode?

The view from our hostel. Aah, Europe! 

Breakfast on our second day in Madrid - so simple but so delicious. I remember wanting to return here for dinner.
The waitress was a woman in her 30's with untamed curly hair and a body most American women would die for.  She was elegant and casually sensual in a tank top, khakis and flip-flops.

A treasure trove.

The Lichtenstein at The Reina Sofia

Hot chocolate & a croissant. A perfect breakfast. Mom had tea.

The view from the chocolateria.

Yummm.

Segovia. View from the Tower of John the 2nd. We climbed 172 narrow, winding, stone stairs for this jaw-dropping panorama that literally took our breath away from the exertion.

Granada. Mom made an amazing dish from lentils, potatoes and carrots and the spices at the hostel.
We enjoyed it with a local rose wine. It was the only real, complete meal of our trip.

Granada. Our hostel being in The Arab Quarter gave us this stupefying view of The Alhambra.

Logrono. 

Logrono. The cathedral.

Logrono. The same cathedral.

Sweaterz 

Logrono. A fantastic, massive mural.

Logrono. These mannequins looked so sharp - I'm copying this look for fall/winter!

Bilbao. The Guggenheim.

fin.

On: Spain, the Great Cost of Travel, Growing Pains and Letting Go. Part Two

Verdant. Lush. Unbelievable.

Bear with me.

When I arrived at the entrance to The Alhambra, instead of a sweeping vista of ancient walls, palaces and gardens, I was greeted with a wide parking area adjoining a group of buildings that could have been an entrance to a zoo, an amusement park, anything.

My obsessive research from The States pointed to that there would be no tickets, it being early September, but I just strolled up to a machine and, suddenly, we had an hour to kill before being allowed in. So mom and I wandered around the parking lots, past cars and tour buses, around long lines of tourists, to an area further back, and shaded from a heat that was not oppressive, but aggressive - it actually felt like the heat was pulling moisture out of me.

We sat on a concrete block that formed the side of a large area of earth filled with a colorful variety of plants that would be expected in such a climate, under a tree that sprouted not from this bed, but from the ground just a few inches outside of it. We proceeded to make lunch, which was an odd amalgam of leftovers from the past few days. We had sandwiches, with cheese and milk and some fresh fruit, and I had some sausage. We then sat and talked, made room for a noisy family with a few children also having lunch, drank water and then made our way back to the entrance, to stand in line before entering the palaces & gardens. 

The Partal Palace

That hour, of us sitting, talking, eating, waiting - it is the best memory I have from that trip. It was so simple, so effortless. Over all the years that have brought us here, my mother and I have shared so much, have come so far, that we've accumulated a lot of, well, baggage, if you will. This shared history translates into an invisible weight that sometimes can't help but get in the way from time to time. And so we struggle and argue, over stupid things, over ego and over emotions. And although that's just me talking, right then and there, it was beyond wonderful to just be. While I can't speak for my mother, I felt an ease and a calm that was so complete and so thorough that it left an impression I still feel today, months after. 

And, of course, afterwards, we two spent most of the day seeing one of the highest, finest, most spectacular and complete accomplishments of human art and engineering on the continent. And it changed my life.

On: Spain, the Importance of Travel and the Finding of Purpose in Changing. Part One

Mom & I in Madrid

Last month, my mother and I spent two weeks in Spain. We spent a few days seeing sights in Madrid, then visited Toledo, Segovia, Cordova and it's Grand Mosque, Granada and The Alhambra and I managed to see Bilbao & its Guggenheim, before returning to The States.

Of course, the trip was amazing. The rich culture, the amazing history & sights, the language, the food, the absurdly good looking men, they all combined into an unbelievable, humbling experience that was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. And being able to see and share it all with my mom added an entire level of awe to these experiences. We met in Madrid and spent most of the trip together, exploring, getting lost, squabbling, but still enjoying every minute together. My obsessive research was often crucial and my mother's simple charm was just as useful as we navigated transit, winding medieval streets and foreign customs.

But, after two weeks, I was anxious to get back to Chicago, to this amazing, magical city I call home. I was anxious and, this is an aside, but I felt like I was was living the scene in "Inception" where the dream-people started to turn against you - suddenly everyone around me was always angry and those last few days alone while my mom began her linguistic conference in Logrono became a surreal experience.

Almost getting stuck in Bilbao was worth this view.

But. I came back, and although everything was exactly as I left it - right away, it also felt completely different. Within hours of being back at work, I felt itchy and uneasy. It may have been the remnants of jetlag at first, but the sensation continued the next day and for several days after my return. It was an acute sort of uncomfort, where my limbs felt lanky and odd, and every thought was incomplete - in a way, there suddenly appeared massive gaps between the shell that is my body and whatever it is that occupies that shell. In those days, my body was an outfit two sizes two big.

By the week's end, the sensation has dissipated, but a change has come. Now, weeks later my routine and situation is largely the same, I have the same job and friends and yet I feel and AM different. It is inexplicable, and I am in no rush to quantify the change. It is a new road that has showed itself to me and is tempting me. It is not an easy road, but it is paved with fulfillment and self-realization.

So this is a beginning. I will write more when more becomes clear. But now: courage, ambition and hard work.

The Woman on the Bus

There was this woman on the bus. She had her son with her who was no more than six. Her skin was the color of brown silk - perfectly smooth, matte, unblemished and her eyes were like thin almonds, as though squinting, they tapered at each end and were accentuated with the most beautiful pair of folds at their ends that made them seem twice as long and gave her face a sense of endless serenity and wisdom. Her lips were full, sensual, accentuated by the slight protrusion of her jaws and her cheekbones were plump, sitting high under her eyes. She was beautiful.

With her hair covered by a simple black rag tied into a knot in the back, she wore a plain white collared shirt that must've been two sizes two big and grey sweatpants and by any white standard she was overweight. With no jewelry save a three stone band and no makeup, save lipgloss, she was still beautiful.

Even if dozens of generations removed, I had the image of this woman dressed in vivid kente cloth that may have been the uniform of her ancestors. I saw her belonging more elsewhere, than here, in Columbus, riding the bus with me and dozens others and her son.

"You gotta eat vegetables to be strong." she told him "Don't you want to be strong?" she asked and struck a bodybuilding pose. "Nuh-uh" was his expected bratty response to which she laughed, pulled him close and kissed him on the forehead. Such a simple exchange, but one that had the full potential of melting glaciers, steel and any other thing in sight. The warmth was palpable and the amount of love pouring out of this woman was overwhelming. Now, to remove an eyelash from her eye she closed her eyes, leaned forward and had him pull open her lids slightly and blow right on it. Not producing the desired effect, she laughed again, rubbing her eye, saying "You're supposed to get it out, not blow it back in!" She had him do it again, more gently. "There you go." Another hug, another kiss.

I could not help but think of myself with my mother when I was that age. We rode the bus back then too - could we have had a similar exchange? In a different place, and time, with different words, but with the same emotions. The thought was almost overwhelming.

On why I the US Holocaust Museum was disappointing

While in Washington D.C. for the Inauguration, I had time to visit most of the museums the city is so well known for. One of them, was the United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, which I thought was especially important to see, not only as a human being, but being both Russian and gay, I would have not only been deported and gassed, but most likely suffered the Nazis' worst medicinal experiments because, while Jews were barely human, for Nazis, gays were something far worse. Also, having heard my grandmother's stories of surviving the war, I simply HAD to go.

So I went.

And it was exactly what I had expected. A big, moving, space that tells one of humanity's darkest stories in a succinct, moving, and powerful way. It was an experience I was glad I had.

Still, I was disappointed, because in the end it seemed like not even the museum could wrap itself around the meaning and impact of the genocide it commemorates. It's design, may be solid, with the top floor being dedicated to the build up of antisemitism before the war, and where the concept of racial purity arose. Then, there's a floor for the opening years of the war, for the ghettos, the pogroms and the beginnings of the genocide, and finally there is a floor for the final years, for the concentration camps and the eventual liberation. This design works, but the museum doesn't mention how between the wars, the German state was essentially dismantled by the Allies as retribution for the immense cost of the first world war. The museum doesn't mention how with their cities destroyed, no jobs or food, massive wartime casualties and post-war demoralization, the German people flocked to Hitler as their savior, instead portraying them as innately anti-Semitic.

That's only a minor quibble compared to what I felt was a glaring omission from the exhibit. Mentioned only once, and briefly, were the bizarre, disturbing and horrendous experiments conducted by the Nazis on everybody from twins to the mentally ill, to the handicapped and specifically on the Roma. I can image they don't want kids seeing it, but you know, it happened, and also wait until your kid is older or even better, explain it to them. Also not covered was the ethical question of using the Nazi's research, sometimes the only data available, in modern science.

Essentially, the museum did not do enough to convey the absolute maltreatment of human beings and the complete disregard and loss of humanity inflicted in the concentration camps. It came close, with videos of the camps' liberation, and a room filled with victims' shoes, but otherwise it relied on the numbers to tell the story and chose to end on a feel-good note of a survivor marrying her liberator. It's enough for most, I suppose, but this is the Holocaust and what was done must in no way be edited or watered down because the droves of people and school groups that visit everyday can not comprehend the meaning of it without first seeing it's extent.

One of the people I went with said she's noticed the exhibit being toned down over the years, because people couldn't deal with it's unabashed portrayal and that's truly disappointing.