England and Scotland

I'm neither English nor Scottish.  So why did my trip to the UK feel so much like visiting part of my own history?  I suppose it's a combination of factors.  Until world history in high school, the majority of history we learned in school was Anglocentric.  It's just so much a part of our culture here, or at least mine growing up.  Part of our stories, our historical sites, our media.  When the American Revolution was fought, none of my ancestors had anything to do with it ... unless it was that stray Native American line.  But mostly, my ancestors were off in Greece and Italy and Austria-Hungary and Belgium and Denmark, not caring at all.  In my head, though, that's not how it goes.  So I was excited to spend some time in a place that already felt, in an odd way, like my territory.

What did I do on my trip besides see concerts?  Plenty.  Though I had a few free hours in London last summer, I was pleased to spend a bit more time there this year.  Not nearly enough, of course.  But I had afternoon tea with Paul at The Wolseley, explored a proper British department store, walked across the Thames, and paid a visit to the original Reckless Records on Berwick Street.  We left for Newcastle-upon-Tyne from King's Cross Station, and if it weren't for construction issues, I would definitely have visited Platform 9-3/4 too.  I'd like to take in London by the gulp rather than small sips, but this will do for now.

In Newcastle, we visited Grainger Market, which opened in 1835 and boasts the world's smallest Marks & Spencer store.   It also has some yummy food.  We ate both a lunch and a traditional English breakfast there, all made with market ingredients.  Side note: breakfast sausage in England and Scotland beats the hell out of our weak, wrinkly American version.  But I'm not a huge fan of black pudding.  Grainger Market wasn't the only place we sampled the food and drink of Newcastle: a cafe called The Scrumpy Willow and the Singing Kettle makes a mean banana lassi.  And I thought lassis were only made of mango!

From Newcastle we went to Glasgow, arriving on the same day as the Pope.  We steered clear of Papal activities, though, keeping occupied well away from Bellahouston Park.  We wandered around the city centre, Buchanan Street, Argyle Street, and the Barras neighborhood.  Glasgow's architecture is pretty great, owing much to Charles Rennie Mackintosh.  My first thought upon seeing some of his designs was of local hero Frank Lloyd Wright.  They were contemporaries in the Arts & Crafts world at the turn of the century, it turns out, but Mackintosh's work seems more fanciful somehow.  I also admired a huge metal art deco peacock on the Princes Street Shopping Centre.  Mackintosh didn't have all the fun in Glasgow.

I took a solo day trip to Edinburgh on Friday, armed with maps and advice from locals Iain and Ann. Clouds rolled away in the morning, leaving me with a bright, sunny day to enjoy the city.  I walked to the top of Calton Hill, exploring the Old Calton Burial Ground on the way.  I strolled the Royal Mile to Edinburgh Castle and spent hours exploring its nooks and crannies, admiring the spectacular views.  I ate wild boar sausage at the castle cafe, and visited St. Margaret's Chapel: the oldest building in Edinburgh, dating back to the 1100's.  I got some excellent shopping in on High Street and the surrounding area.  I wandered down wynds and closes, and visited the small Writer's Museum.  I found the statue of Greyfriars Bobby.  I browsed at the Central Lending Library, reading a chapter from a book debating whether Jane Eyre could have been happy in the years following the book's conclusion.  And I got back to Glasgow in time to pick up a late dinner from Wagamama.

The next day was my last in Scotland, and I finally took the Clockwork Orange (Glasgow's subway) west.  Signs for the Papal Mass still pointed the way from Ibrox to Bellahouston Park, though the Pope himself had Popemobiled away days earlier.  My destination was House for an Art Lover, designed by Charles Rennie Mackintosh.  I loved it.  It blows my mind that house and furnishings were dreamed up by Mackintosh when the Victorian style was still in vogue.  The smooth, clean lines and abundance of light seemed decades ahead of their time.  Aside from the house, I walked around in the park and enjoyed more art and gardens.  On my way back, I nearly got swept up in the tide of red-and-blue-clad Glaswegians headed to Ibrox for the afternoon football game.  I  bought myself a scarf from one of the many street vendors set up near the stadium.  A couple more hours puttering around Buchanan Street, and then it was time to take a bus to the airport.  I flew to London that night, and back home in the morning.

So that was my trip.  I'd love to get back to Scotland, and see more of the countryside next time.  I'm not sure when I'll be able to make that happen, but I've learned that you never can tell.

Watch the miles flying by

I'm freshly back from the United Kingdom, with a lingering desire to keep traveling.  Rock tourism once again gave me the push to book a holiday I might otherwise have waffled on indefinitely.  Thanks to some helpful scheduling, I checked a major item off The List!  As is customary, my trip had a musical component and non-musical component.  In this post, I'll talk about the concerts: Wilco in London, Newcastle, and Glasgow.

London was an afterthought in planning, but I'm grateful it worked out.  Originally I had my eye on the two northern GA shows, which fit in with work and let me visit Scotland.  After researching routes, though, it made the most sense to begin in London.  Since both Paul and I were arriving on the day Wilco was playing, shouldn't we try to attend?  Fortunately, despite the short notice, everything fell into place.  We were treated to an excellent show at Royal Festival Hall, and I would have been bummed to miss the onstage debut of Synthesizer Patel!  Sanjeev Kohli appeared in character with a keytar during "You Never Know," to the confusion and/or delight of all.  Songs like "Poor Places" and "Reservations" sounded great from our seats, as did "How to Fight Loneliness."  The unlikeliest-song-during-which-to-bust-a-string award went to "Some Day Some Morning Sometime," and Jeff had to wait for a new guitar before making the intended transition into a scorching "Laminated Cat."  On a secondary note, we had fun people spotting.  With a comedian like Sanjeev making cameo appearances, Philip Selway opening, the 7 Worlds Collide gang, and friends like Bill Fay, Wilco has amassed many London connections.

Newcastle was a shorter show than London, but the general admission atmosphere was a nice change of pace.  The crowd was enthusiastic, though in terms of makeup and dress it couldn't measure up to the attendees of a certain other show.  The O2 Academy in Newcastle houses multiple venues, and in the secondary theater, the night's headliner was Skeletonwitch.  Hopefully nobody went to the wrong concert by accident.  Jeff did some great impressions of the black metal band Venom, natives of Newcastle; and we got a great version of "Shouldn't Be Ashamed."  Though Jeff's displeasure with a videotaper and underwhelming security caused a bit of friction late in the show, it was another solid night of rock.  And there was one more to go.

My last show was at the Barrowland Ballroom in Glasgow.  The venue has character to spare.  It's an old dance hall on the third floor of a building with wooden stars on the ceiling, and the decor and fonts reminded me of a style I'll call "70's bowling alley chic." The neon sign outside puts all other signs to shame.  Barrowlands crowds have historically been known to chuck bottles of piss at the stage, but happily that element didn't seem to be in attendance for Wilco.  Instead, we got one of the best shows I've seen in awhile.  It was one of those nights when every song seemed to be performed at 110%, and the crowd roared its approval in between.  The show was again shorter than those we'd been seeing in the U.S., but it didn't suffer for it.  There were many highlights, but my favorite moment was recognizing the opening chords of the encore's final song: "Kicking Television" at last!  I was thrilled that Jeff remembered my request, and they were willing to play it.  Later I figured out I last saw "Kicking TV" in May of '05.  As great as it sounded in Glasgow, I wonder why it doesn't appear more.  But if it did, maybe it wouldn't pack such a punch.

It seems likely I won't have another chance to see Wilco until well into 2011.  I'm glad I made this trip across the pond for one last hurrah in 2010.  Then again, I'm always happy to have gone.  I must note that this wasn't my last rock tourism trip of 2010, however.  Stay tuned ... there's some more chipping away at The List to be done in October.

London and Málaga: getting started

Another trip over; another handful of blog entries unwritten. When I'm away I often put off writing, claiming I'll catch up when I get back. It's true I have a habit of taking "vacations" that don't quite earn the name: they're go go go all the time, which is fun and exhilarating but leaves little time for reflection and blogging along the way. I then find myself back home and dealing with work and all the real life things I'd put on hold. Writing about two weeks' worth of Spain and Portugal and trying to do justice to the experience at the same time is a tall order, but I have to give it a go.

I have a standing list of places I want to visit, but what to do when that list is miles long? Those familiar with my blog know I'm a sucker for combining travel and live music. I love both, but more than that, the chance to see my favorite bands can serve as the extra push that actually gets me to book a flight to a place I've always wanted to see but hadn't yet carved out the time. Which is how I came to see more of Spain and Portugal than I would have thought possible (or, perhaps, advisable) in just under 14 days.

As the true logistical implications became apparent in the later stages, I had misgivings. While planning with Paul, I attempted to put my foot down more than once. "No Granada! The routing makes no sense!" "Maybe I'll just stay in Lisbon for an extra day and bypass that three-hour rental car drive each way." "We're not going to have any time to see Santiago de Compostela!" But somehow, I could never quite resist the allure of the complete run, in all its crazed glory. "Well ... in Granada there's apparently this amazing parador in the Alhambra." "It would be a shame to skip Braga." "Maybe if we flew instead of taking a bus we'd have more time in Santiago to see the cathedral." In the end, I couldn't pass up any new place, even for a limited visit. (Except for Tenerife. I did hold firm on Tenerife - the Canaries were not in the cards for me this time around.)

And so, here's where I went during my two weeks off: London, Málaga, Madrid, Granada, Sevilla, Lisbon, Braga, Santiago de Compostela, San Sebastián, and Barcelona. Hot. Damn. London was a layover with just enough time to take a train into the city. I had a layover in Amsterdam on the way home, but there was no time to leave the airport. I had to settle for a complimentary stroopwafel on the KLM flight and a resolution to check the Netherlands off my list at a future time.

Now I've mentioned all the places I went, but have I told you about them? No. Therein lies the challenge of the recap post - which is why this is going to be Part 1. One of my chief frustrations is trying to characterize the general feeling of a city. They are all different, but there's no easy adjective to encapsulate each. So here's a mini report on my experiences, accompanied by a photo or two. Not real summaries, but impressions and random memories that may do a better job in a format short of 500,000 words.

London
Like I could really say anything about London based on a 2-hour jaunt from Gatwick to Victoria and back on the train. I saw Buckingham Palace, and a guard, and the Victoria Memorial. I bought a British sausage thing for breakfast. The trains left from platforms and a snack trolley came through and I kept thinking of Harry Potter. There were hot guys dressed in hula outfits waiting to board a train when I got back to Gatwick - I'm guessing it was some sort of dare and not a British quirk, but I'm in support regardless.



Málaga
It's funny how impressions of a place can be shaped by exactly where you go. (Or, perfectly sensible.) I was alone for my first few hours in Málaga, going on way too many hours without sleep. I didn't have a city map, just a memory of the general layout from looking up directions to the hotel. I set out in the late afternoon for one of the main city thoroughfares. Unfortunately it was Sunday, so almost everything was closed. The river, which had been a landmark on maps and printed directions, surprised me by being completely dry. People walked around and playing games of volleyball where there should have been water.

Contrast this with my experience later when Paul and I ventured out. We got a map and recommendations from the front desk of the hotel and surprise number one was that the heart of the city - at least the old town - wasn't where I'd gone at all. Cross the river(bed), walk down some steps, around a corner or two, and presto: small winding streets and alleys, tiendas, tapas bars, churches, plazas, and plenty of people. It was a different world. I'd read that Málaga has historically been overlooked as a destination in itself, instead treated as a gateway to the various beaches and smaller towns on the Costa del Sol. It's recently been enjoying a renaissance in some older areas, and that seemed very evident to me. Things were charming and pristine; the streets laid with shiny stone that actually squeaked under my sandals. I liked Málaga, but as I remarked to Paul (especially as we walked back late each night), the old town almost felt like some bizarre sanitized theme park version of Spain.

That's not completely fair, of course. In our day and a half in Málaga, we ate tapas and paella, ducked into random shops, saw a political rally/concert at a major square, and explored La Manquita - Málaga's cathedral that took so long to build that it's a mishmash of different architectural styles. We were thwarted in our attempt to see the Alcazaba (damned Mondays) and the Picasso Museum was out for the same reason. But we saw the excavation of a Roman amphitheater, and nobody stopped us from climbing up the big hill to the remains of the Castillo de Gibralfaro. (Chalk that up as a place where you don't expect to run into anyone wearing a Brewers hat, but it just goes to show you never can tell.) The views from the walk up, and the fortress itself, were probably my favorite parts of Málaga. Plus, of course, there was a concert Monday night. Concert #1.



Next up, Madrid.