Aveiro, the "Portuguese Venice"

I know - those long boats and canals look familiar. At first glance, you could be forgiven for thinking those are gondolas on the Grand Canal in Venice. Nope. Although similar to gondolas, these are called moliceiros, and the locale is Aveiro in Portugal.

Not to worry if you hadn't heard of Aveiro, neither have most of the Spanish people I've met. Located just an hour outside of Porto, this small city is often dubbed the "Portuguese Venice" because of its similarities with that more illustrious Italian city. 

Having visited three big cities in a row - Granada, Sevilla and Lisbon - I wanted a break from the crowds, and needed a place to simply relax and be free from the pressures of sightseeing.

There are lots of smaller towns that touted their features in glossy brochures, but Aveiro stood out because of the novelty factor. Like any tourist, I was curious about those canals and long boats, not having any plans of visiting touristy Venice anytime soon (I took the gondola ride there ten years ago), I figured the city and moliceiro ride would be a good substitute.

Clearly the forty-five minute jaunt on the canals was going to be the highlight of my stay here. After a short wait to gather the minimum six passengers (on a weekend!), we set sail and passed underneath numerous bridges (the most interesting is pictured above with Aveiro's emblem), saw the huge McDonald's logo pasted on the huge mall dominating the center of town, and a few other noteworthy buildings. The architecture along the banks doesn't exactly inspire comparisons with Bruges or Amsterdam, to be honest.

Moreover, sorry to disappoint romantics, but there is no hunky gondolier in striped shirt rowing the moliceiro  and belting out opera arias as you sip expensive champagne. Commentary is provided by a staff person who struggled to be heard above the din of the motor as he alternated among Portuguese, French and English, with varying levels of proficiency in each. 

That proved to be the only touristy thing I did in Aveiro, and two days passed by quickly spent just strolling around, visiting the upscale mall with all the name brands, and eating a lot of sweets. So, it wasn't quite like the real Venice, but then that was probably for the best.

Yellow Pastry tour of Portugal

"So why is it called bolas de Berlim?", I asked Paula, a local Portuguese whom I met at the hostel in Porto. "It didn't come from Germany, did it?".

Paula laughed, then replied "No, of course not. Because it has two halves, with the thick cream in the middle. Sort of like East and West separated by the wall".

This bizarre explanation with outdated political reference notwithstanding, the bolas de Berlim is just one of many sweet treats in pastelarias' display cases that entice passers-by to ogle and stop for a quick snack.

While critics might harp that Portuguese cuisine doesn't rise to the same meteoric heights as their larger Iberian neighbor, in the sweets department it's definitely no slouch. 

My personal favorite is the pasteis de nata, sweet custard tarts topped with burnt caramel and surrounded by a flaky crust. Four cafes lined the seven-minute walk from my hostel in Lisbon to the metro stop, so every day I would venture inside a different one, order two pasteis with cafe con leche, and devour them standing at the counter.  Hard to beat that for a mid-morning snack.

In Aveiro, a traditional pastry called ovo mole still rules. Shaped in different forms such as shells, fish, and clams, these treats have a very thin wafer-like exterior, and a very sweet inside made of egg yolks and sugar. 

I found the ovos moles quite addictive, and found an excuse to pop one into my mouth every few minutes, only to discover to my chagrin that my newly-purchased box of twelve is now empty. Oh well, time to go back to the store for more.

There are lots more Portuguese pastries that I haven't tasted, possibly for the better,  health-wise. Just these three alone brought my sugar intake to stratospheric levels, and only lots of walking offset the calories (how many, I didn't want to know) that were consumed. Don't let anyone fool you into thinking Portuguese food isn't great, but cast your eyes towards the pastelarias.

Alhambra in Granada

I wasn't that quite enamored with Granada, despite glowing feedback from other travelers I've met. Perhaps it was because I was coming off an emotional high from Valdelavilla, but more likely the intense heat that made walking around a miserable affair. 

My hostel was situated in the Albayzin, an area with narrow, unmarked and uphill alleys filled with Moroccan tea houses and shops. In fact, it felt like being in Morocco at times, and fortunately it was only a few minutes hike up to the Mirador de San Nicolas, a popular hangout at sunset for the great views.

That big palace on the cliff is the Alhambra, the star attraction in this city. Perhaps the most well-preserved of all Moorish architecture in Spain, over three million tourists visit the expansive grounds and palace every year.

As you can imagine, it pays to buy your ticket online in advance. I logged in on a Saturday and the earliest availability was for Wednesday evening, which worked out just fine. Alternatively, people have reported success by showing up early (around 7am) to join the queue. 

There's not really much else to say about the Alhambra that other people haven't already said. Even if you're not into palaces and architecture, the Alhambra is well worth spending a few hours in.  It does live up to all the hype, and one can only marvel at the intricately carved and colorful patterns adorning the walls.

Don't Stand so Close to Me

Watching a live bull fight for the first time is quite mystifying, especially if you're almost totally ignorant on the topic but have only heard heated arguments on the pros and cons of this spectacle. 

Apparently, one of the trademarks of an excellent torero (or matador in English) is how close he is willing to stand near a specially-bred toro bravo, provoke it to rush at him, laughing in the face of physical injury or worse, death. Pure insanity, if you ask me, but part and parcel of this slice of Spanish culture. 

Here's a short video to illustrate the artistry and skill of our torero, as he shows his mastery over the wounded bull.  As you can see, my advice has fallen on deaf ears.

Click this link if embedded video doesn't show up.

These theatrics go on for a while until our protagonist has judged that the bull is ready to be put to death. He then takes out his sword (cleverly hidden behind the cape) to strike the final blow. Sometimes though, these proud and hardy bulls are tough to put away. 

Below, the bull has the sword sticking out of his back, but is improbably still on his feet. The torero's assistants wave their capes furiously to make him even more dizzy and weak. After all, their boss has to get his applause from the crowd. 

Click this link if embedded video doesn't show up.

On a slightly more gruesome note, after the inevitable has occurred,  the clean-up crew comes to take the bull out of the ring, a final indignity suffered by the brave beast. Then it's on to the next round at La Maestranza. 

Click this link if embedded video doesn't show up.

A Star is Born in Valdelavilla - Part III

"I LOVE blondes!!!", screamed Greg, as he turned around after zipping across the room like a madman, his arms raised to the skies for dramatic effect. "Blondes with long hair and boots and short skirts and a big chest...". Then, using his normal voice, "That's how you should do it. You're being too normal".

I glared at him through the black-rimmed glasses straight out of Harry Potter that he made me wear ("it's funnier"), and wished this would all end soon, before physical and mental fatigue overcame me.

We were in the third hour of rehearsals for the Valdelavilla Players' most ambitious production yet, a fifteen-minute collage of scenes from Woody Allen's "Play It Again, Sam", with yours truly cast in the title role of Allan, a whiny neurotic whose wife recently left him. (Woody himself played the role in the movie, those were the days).

Showtime was but two hours away, and the cast hadn't gotten down their parts yet. As the lead star, I bore the brunt of Greg's criticism, and his caustic mood was made worse by an abscessed tooth. Every little mistake that David, Rebecca, Laura or myself made irritated him. Moreover, being a former professional theater director, Greg was used to working with real actors, not "normal" language volunteers who shirked from the spotlight - heck, I never even gave Powerpoint presentations at work, and now I was tasked to play a character who alternated among three different moods - neurosis, whining, and dream-like fantasy.

I admit that I was flattered when Greg approached me on the second day, and broached the idea of having me play Allan. "You can do it, I'm sure of it", were his exact words. He continued, "Besides, you're the only option I have - the only other male Anglo is too old to play a 29-year old character". I consented to do it, in the spirit of camaraderie with every volunteer and program participant in Valdelavilla, despite the absence of any acting experience whatsoever.

But now, as he barked at me to run onstage from the sofa to the chair at the corner, to give "MORE, MORE, MORE" in acting hyper, full of pent-up energy, I had second thoughts. However, it was too late to cancel now, and I would let everyone down, so I resisted the urge to scream back at him, told myself to calm down, and just soldiered on.

eagerly awaiting our production of "Play it Again, Sam"

So, we rehearsed, over and over. And got better, step by step. At some points I could even hear Greg laugh out loud as we ran through the scene. I made a few more boo-boos, mostly due to overeagerness (maybe I was turning into Allan!) in reciting my lines without waiting for my co-stars' prompts, but laughed them off.

Finally, we were ready for the big show. Or as ready as could be. I took the stage and sat on the right hand side of the sofa, agitated and fumbling nervously, waiting for my friends' knock on the door.

The rest was a blur - pacing around the stage, reciting my lines (which I had mostly memorized, though we were allowed to read from the script), screaming at the top of my voice to drown out Linda's phone conversation as she tried to set me up, trying to remember Greg's litany of advice (e.g. wait for laughter to stop before proceeding with next line, run from one spot to another WHILE saying your lines), and just acting like the crazed person my character was supposed to be, and then switching to the deflated whiner mode when reminded of my failures.At various key points, I heard Greg's distinctive laugh rising above the other audience members', and smiled a little in self-satisfaction.

Then just like that, it was over. The cast joined hands for the traditional bow to uproarious applause. At dinner time, the other participants took their turns to shake my hand and offer their congratulations. Clearly, my laid-back demeanor did not inspire much confidence in delivering an incredible performance.  No, I repeated over and over, I had never acted before. "Get out of here", I responded with a big smile to those who suggested that I should consider exploring community theater as a career option, adding, "all that red wine must be clouding your judgement".

The kudos flowed even during the after-dinner scene. Several barflies, including B., a drama teacher, pronounced myself as having rendered the Best Performance in a Lead Role in a Musical/Comedy among the three nights of entertainment at Valdelavilla, and even my tormentor Greg took me aside, and said "We did it. I had my doubts after the first thirty minutes of rehearsal, but you improved so much. Now you're the talk of the (tiny) town".

Don't bother looking for Youtube videos. Sadly, there is no video nor photographic evidence that documents this epic event. I still don't know how I pulled through without any nerves, staying as cool as a cucumber*, nor why I bothered to stay up till 2am memorizing the dialogue. Perhaps if career opportunities in the Informatics field dry up, a niche playing Woody Allen characters onstage might not such be a bad idea.

*"fresco como una lechuga" in Spanish, literally "cool as a lettuce", since cucumber is pepino. Not sure how this came about.


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