Ole!

Ferdinand ran to the middle of the ring and everyone shouted and clapped because they thought he was going to fight fiercely and butt and snort and stick his horns around. But not Ferdinand. When he got to the middle of the ring he saw the flowers in all the lovely ladies' hair and he just sat down quietly and smelled. He wouldn't fight and be fierce no matter what they did. He just sat and smelled. And the Banderilleros were mad and the Picadores were madder and the Matador was so mad he cried because he couldn't show off with his cape and sword. So they had to take Ferdinand home. And for all I know he is sitting there still, under his favorite cork tree, smelling the flowers just quietly. He is very happy.
-Munro Leaf

I arrived in Espana just in time to witness quite a historic and controversial event. Yesterday, the parliament of Cataluna (the region of which Barcelona is a part)voted to outlaw bullfighting, one of the most Spanish of Spanish traditions. While the animal rights movement certainly had something to do with it, it is widely believed that Cataluna used this issue to further distance themselves form the rest of Spain. (They already have their own language, Catalan)
It is interesting to watch the Spaniards debate over preserving a longstanding cultural tradition, even if that tradition appears violent and cruel to the majority of those who live within that culture.
I attended a bullfight ten years ago when I lived in Madrid. It was gory and unpleasant, but it was also fascinating to observe the spectators and their passion for what they consider not to be sport, but art. I can see both sides of the argument, but the Taurus in me will always have me rooting for the bull.
Stay tuned: Blah, blah, blah

Step By Step

I've been spending some time hiking in the mountains recently. While the scenery has been spectacular, sometimes the terrain has been less than optimal. What passes for a marked trail here is quite different than those that I remember hiking with the Horvaths in the Rockies. At certain points, the "trails" have consisted of piles of rocks on the exposed sides of cliffs. Each step requires intense concentration, and deciding upon which rock to tread takes serious deliberation. One stray thought, I learned, about, say, the pirohy I'll be eating for dinner at the end of the hike, or my nervousness about returning to the real world in a couple of weeks, could lead to a nice stream of blood running down my leg, or worse.
While hiking, I am learning to be in the moment, to not think or worry so much about food, or more serious matters. Hopefully, this learning can translate into other parts of my life, when I'm not wearing hiking boots. To be fully present in my work, in my play, and in my relationships seems like a good goal.
But I can't think about that now. I need to keep my eyes and mind on the trail.
Stay tuned: Road trip!

Tick, Tock or Ignorance is Bliss

Aside from the Charles Bridge, the most famous Prague tourist attraction is probably the Astronomical Clock. Every hour, on the hour, from 9 am to 9 pm, hordes gather to watch the clock do it thing, which involves skeletons ringing bells, apostles parading, and a golden cock crowing. The clock was was so valued, in fact, that the Prague officials had its designer's eyes gauged out so that he would be unable to recreate it elsewhere.
Despite the fact that the entire spectacle only lasts a total of around 30 seconds, people have no qualms about waiting for the show for long periods of time on the uneven cobblestoned street. As I mentioned earlier, the clock only struts its stuff until 9 pm. Unfortunately, not all tourists are of the guidebook-toting variety, and they show up at 10, 11, and midnight to await the clock's magic. More than once, we witnessed the crowd, eyes wide with anticipation, watch as the clock did absolutely nothing but chime the hour. The funny thing was, though, that this did not phase them. They clapped and hooted and hollered after that bell chimed 10 or 11 or 12 times. It appears that if you don't know that you are missing skeletons and apostles and golden cocks, you are perfectly content with what you are given.

Stay tuned: How do you solve a problem like Maria?

Communicative Approach or Flap Those Arms

The teaching of foreign languages has changed in the 20 years since I first opened a Spanish textbook. While I was taught to conjugate and memorize and conjugate some more, the new communicative approach (as I've been told by my Spanish teacher friends) calls for much less bookwork and much more speaking in real-life situations. Johnny and Katie came to visit this week, and I couldn't help but feel that I was taking my Slvoak final exam, communicateive approach style. In my sheltered Bratislava linguistic life, I only ever really speak Slovak to my extremely patient teachers and fiends. But, during JJ and Katie's visit, we ventured out to smaller towns further east, where English is much less common. My Slovak was put to the test, and I'm happy to say, I think I passed.
Purchasing train tickets for a different day from a different station? Got 'em.
Inquiring if the ice cream contained egg? (A friend had an allergy) Successful. (No egg)
Chatting with a sweet man from Vazec about spelunking? Did it. (Even if I had to flap my arms becasue I didn't know the word for bat)

Let's just hope I'm not forgetting my Spanish conjugations.

Stay tuned: Laser shows