Monday, May 21, 2007
TRANSIT
Garry Winogrand was a mid-century photographer, in the tradition of William Eggleston, Alfred Stieglitz, and Stephen Shore, who used the street as his subject and, without manipulation or explicit commentary, hinted at both fact and truth in the ordinary and extraordinary. This photograph, of Los Angeles International Airport, is one of my favorites. Flying used to be exciting and novel, and maybe it still is for some (I still enjoy it). There's something weightless, airy, streamlined and soaring that the curves of the tower, the fading palms and the two female figures form, a feeling that may have faded in the era of limited access, no-liquids and general apprehension at airports around the world.
Saturday, May 19, 2007
ROAD TRIP
Pitchfork is reporting that on Sunday, June 10, Will Oldham will play I See A Darkness (roughly his 2nd or 3rd best all time album according to The Economist Pocket World in Figures), in its entirety, at the tenth anniversary of Wild and Wooly Video, which seems like an Oldham thing to do. I mean that as a compliment. I've always loved Oldham's willingness to play off the beaten path stuff. The guy seems to schedule whole tours as excuses/vehicles to take road trips through otherwise ignored California coast, deep South and European small towns. Blowfly will play as well. All for five bucks!
Friday, May 18, 2007
INFO
Highest Quality of Life
New York=100
1 Zurich, Switzerland 108.1
2 Geneva, Switzerland 108.0
3 Vancouver, Canada 107.7
4 Vienna, Austria 107.5
5 Auckland, New Zealand 107.3
6 Dusseldorf, Germany 107.2
7 Frankfurt, Germany 107.0
8 Munich, Germany 107.0
9 Bern, Switzerland 106.5
10 Sydney, Australia 106.5
Lowest Quality of Life
New York=100
1 Baghdad, Iraq 14.5
2 Brazzaville, Congo-Braz. 30.3
3 Bangui, Central African Republic 30.6
4 Khartoum, Sudan 31.7
5 Pointe Noire, Congo-Brazzaville 33.9
6 Ndjamena, Chad 37.2
7 Sana'a, Yemen 38.2
Port Harcourt, Nigeria 38.2
Nouakchott, Mauritania 38.2
10 Ouagadougou, Burkina Faso 40.5
(Stolen from The Economist Pocket World in Figures 2007 Edition)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
FISH FOOD
1. Pocky-Candy biscuit sticks coated in chocolate at the top. One of the national candies of
2. Conveyor Belt Sushi-The industrial but cute alternative to traditional
sushi bars. Sit down and grab what you want as it wanders around the bar
like a model train. Plates are colored to indicate price. Some have machines that determine how long the fish has been on the belt and discard it accordingly.
3. Shiraume (Ryokan and Kaiseki, Kyoto)-Kaiseki refers to a multi-course, choreographed and stylized meal of largely local elements where presentation is well on par with taste. Each course, ideally, complements and accentuates the next. It’s particularly popular in the Kansai region around
4. Tsukemono-“Soaked things” or Japanese pickles. Pickled in salt or
brine, or sometimes soy sauce, miso or vinegar. As a friend of mine told
me before I went over, “the Japanese pickle everything.” Though not
necessarily conducive towards maintaining a low-sodium diet, the array of
pickled daikon, turnips, cucumbers, ume and Chinese cabbage is a nice
starter or side dish, or just something to munch on over a glass of beer.
5. Daiwa Sushi-Located in
market in the world, where one dodges Bobcat crate moving vehicles and
tries not to step on escaped crabs crawling on the water soaked floor.
Daiwa is located outside of the main warehouse, amongst an open air market where you can find wet and dry goods as well as t-shirts. The bar seats around 12 people with wiggle room if you want to go to the restroom. On the sidewalk, the hostess organizes those waiting for a seat into crisp parallel lines for what can be an hour wait. Once inside, if you’re smart, you’ll choose the multi-course, prix fixe Omakase (chef’s choice) option, which runs around 60 bucks for around 12-15 servings of sushi. I’ve never tasted sushi the way I tasted it here and suspect I never will
until I make it back, sushi with a proximity to the sea that is in no way unpleasant. I tried to order sperm sac of cod but was told it was “out of season.”
6. Japanese sweets-Subtly sweet delicacies presented in elegant glass
counters and served with small shot glasses of cold tea. After we visited
a sweets store in Tokyo, having just been treated to service that would
fit in at a four start restaurant while only spending around $10 total,
the clerk chased us down the street to return the $2 tip we left. There
are as many types as you might find in a similar American store. Machaya-Youkan are jelly concoctions composed of bean paste and green tea. Kuri-Manju are stuffed with white bean paste and chestnuts and baked. The flavors are mild and delicate rather than rich and creamy, fleeting rather than cumbersome.
7. Udon-Udon are the thick, wheat based noodles, about as thick in
diameter as those chilled cheese sticks you can get in the dairy section,
that populate the broths of many Japanese soups, as well as cold dishes.
I’ve been consistently disappointed with all of the udon dishes I’ve had
over here since my experience one Sunday night in Rappongi at an udon
restaurant set into the ground like a cave right off of the train station.
Liberated from the distracting array of vegetables and additives that
might be include with the soup at a Western restaurant trying to cover its
ignorance, this bowl featured a simple and steaming broth with flaky pieces of green onion and egg that saturated the noodles towards Ameratsu. I’ll never look at a bowl of udon the same way.
8. Sembei-Kind of like sand dollar-shaped versions of those rice
crackers you find in Oriental snack mix at the airport. Made to order
over fire kettles as you watch.
9. Yakitori-Basically referring to grilled meats (and sometimes
vegetables) on skewers that function as bar food in
last nights in Tokyo we tracked down the Lonely Planet recommended Piss
Alley, a narrow Occupation Era alleyway of simple eateries that seems to
sweat history and ambience, and functions as a culinary way-station and
bar for thirsty, tired and hungry sararimen before they embark at Shinjuku station for the trip home. Orders are made to order on a grill a few feet in front of you by the owner and then served alongside tsukemono and beer as you rub elbows on the closely packed bar stools.
10. Vending machines-Vending machines are everywhere in
their American counterparts, though, rather than stocking them with
stomach eating purveyors of carbon, the Japanese opt for a diverse mix of
coffee drinks, green tea concoctions, beers and fruit drinks. I lived off
these things in the morning to afternoon hours as I toured the standard
tourist sites. And it was nice to be able to grab a beer at night in the
hall of my hotel.
11. Starbucks-Walk into a Tokyo Starbucks on with a hangover on a Monday morning and you’re immediately greeted with something that sounds like it starts with an S and probably means something like "good morning" and sounds like it came from a bird of paradise. Spending $6 for coffee and a bagel never felt so refreshing and esteem boosting.
12. Okonomiyaki-Translates to something along this lines of “whatever you like” and also called Japanese pizza, Japizza and the seemingly outdated and perhaps offensive Japcakes, Okonomiyaki is a pan-fried pancake/pizza/omeletteesque dish, cooked before your eyes, made with okonomiyaki sauce, egg and other ingredients including onion, mayonnaise, shrimp, squid, noodles, cheese, fish flakes, ginger, octopus and noodles. We stepped into two separate
(Obviously this is only the surface of what the Japanese have to offer. I’ll leave the rest to my next visit, or Anthony Bordain. For a much more informed view, go to www.bento.com.)
Tuesday, May 15, 2007
PRODUCT
If you've ever wondered what Air Mozambique serves for breakfast and dinner, or how the crew meals on Air France differ from the passenger meals, this somewhat exhaustive site might help. Pictures included. I'm assuming, without looking extensively, that the non-American airlines fare a bit better than the American ones.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
CINEMA STARS
One thing you might come out with after three hours in Into Great Silence is that it must be pretty fucking boring to be a monk. You might also wonder at times as to the point of it all, the isolation, the bread making, the legislated seclusion from "seculars." But observations like that really just belie the point. The documentary was shot, after a 16 year wait to get permission, at Grande Chartreuse, a monastery in the French Alps. Somewhat reminiscent of one of Werner Herzog's early documentaries in style (sans his priceless narration), Into Great Silence simply observes, concentrating on facts and life as it is, and completely avoiding comment (a departure from Herzog). Shots of monks carrying out chores, inducting new members and eating are interspersed with romantic shots of the landscape surrounding the monastery and expressionist shots of rain, snow and puddles that Stan Brakhage would love. The overall mood is stark and somber, which makes moments such as one in which the monks sled and ski down a snow saturated hill all the more amusing.
Friday, May 11, 2007
GRANADA, ESPANA. CHRISTMAS 2006.
The silence I found one late afternoon in
Lying contentedly in one of
My interest in
The fortress has a long history beginning with its construction by a Jewish man, Samuel Ha-Nagid, under the direction of the Islamic rulers of
From the summit of one of these the unfortunate Boapdil took his last look at
When you visit the
The fortress sits perched atop a hill, opposite the Muslim quarter, above the central part of the city. Must see sites include the Palacios Nazaries, the Alcazaba and the Generalife gardens. That being said, an allotment of a few hours to visit the lesser known parts is rewarding.
A bus runs from Plaza Nueva in the center every ten minutes or so, but I choose to walk. Later on, on my last day in Granada, I venture up a less frequented street, Cuesta de los Chinos, to the edge of the palace, up a sometimes crumbling street, past old walls with foliage covered ruins, evoking visions of what came before. On my first visit, though, I choose the more frequented Cuesta de Gomerez.
As you approach the grounds the first thing you view is the Puerta de las
Like a good album, the
It would take too long, and likely fall into tedium, to go into all of the noteworthy moments of my first trip to the
I schedule my return visit for a Friday night, a cold late December one in which I opt for the bus rather than the walk up the path. Arriving early I take a stroll around what I’ll call
At night there is a different ambiance, the crowds replaced with a select few, reminding me, as we walk in the dark, dimly lit receiving quarters of the Palacio of that classic scene in La Dolce Vita when Warhol starlet Nico leads a pack of late-nighters on a candlelit journey through an old Italian villa. The Palacio de Nazares is even more dreamlike at night, the view of the Albaizin and San Nicholas now stars puncturing black, the Court of the Lions even more entrancing in the silence. The section that holds me tightest, though, has to be the Patio of the Gilded Room, in some ways the simplest and most non-descript of spaces, a square court with 30 foot walls, an open ceiling and, in the center, a small circular fountain that bubbles as the moon looks down on it, and as I look up at the moon. In a way, it encapsulates everything great about the
Wondering through the Albaizin, later on, is like a walk through the
My afternoon walk in the Albaizin begins at its base, alongside the Calle del Darro, around the riverside square that sits under the
Walking down Camino Nuevo de San Nicholas, I find more tiny bars, packed with twenty-somethings, hunkered over tiny plates and small glasses. I take one last gaze over the city, the Cathedral below now the star, rather than the Alhambra, and then begin my descent, sans map, turning down alleys and back again, passing a somber church tower, descending stairs that lay on top of each other, and finally wonder onto Calle Caldereria Nueva, into the commercial district that most echoes the North African heritage of so much of the city’s identity, past inviting fragrances, into cave-like stores selling textiles, Arabesque décor, teas, and down past the teateria’s and pita shops, and onto Calle Elvira, where I take another early dinner/second lunch at one of the ubiquitous tapas bars.
Ultimately, much of the memory of the trip will be tied to meals: sitting off Plaza Nueva watching the parade of people roll past, 30 minutes into my arrival, coffee and morning pastry in hand, with the natural mural formed by the Iglesia de Santa Ana and the towering Sacromonte in the distance; elbowing up to the counter at Bodega Casteneda around six or seven, before the crowds, for jamon Serrano, queso Manchego, olives, perfectly crusty bread, salmon topped with cream cheese and caviar and a civilized portion of gold-toned beer; Arabic soup, babbagonoush, eggplant cous cous, and Arabic tea at a low-ceilinged, almost cave-like nook, found at the top of a narrow strip of steps in the Albaizin; my breakfasts and late lunches on the Darro, in the Paseo del Padre Manjón ; and the joys of stopping for a beer in the squares of the highlands or lowlands of Granada as public space becomes grounds for the tables and chairs of restaurants for those who would rather sit by a fountain and watch the parade of stray cats, dogs and people.
In the end, though, the greatest pleasure in
On a quiet Sunday morning I make my way up to the Sacromonte, a hilly settlement known for its gypsy population, to the east of the Albaizin. An overwhelming amount of the residents live in cave-houses, hollowed out and naturally cool abodes that only add to the mystery of the subculture. It’s very quiet, eerily so even in full daylight. Flamenco clubs compete for space with homes that seem in complete symbiosis with the earth. Frank Lloyd Wright would smile. At a lookout point, high up on the hill, on the grounds of a fairly interesting cave dwelling museum, I find two perspectives, one of the somewhat known angles and curves of the city below, another more mysterious one of the deep valley to the east.
In the afternoon, I make my way back towards my hotel, past Plaza Nueva, towards the famed Cathedral of Granada. A friend of mine, who’s actually much smarter than me, wrote a thesis in examination of a complex chicken and egg question. He made a vain attempt to decide if the deep faith and devotion of Medieval Christians led to the beauty of Cathedrals, and all the toil, blood, and struggle that it took to build them, or vice versa. A visit to the Cathedral suggests the strong possibility of the latter, but perhaps the former as well when you account for the fact that it took nearly 200 years to build it. You’ve seen plenty of European cathedrals in photo books whether you’ve been to the continent or not. Photo books, though, simply can never prepare you for the sheer sense of space and magnificence and reverence for something, that the interior of one of this stature exudes and demands, through breathlessly soaring arches, multiple naves, immense white columns like legs of giants, gold that makes you feel guilty, and numerous Flemish paintings and expertly cut statues. Like
Following my visit to the Cathedral, walking around the narrow streets of Plaza Bib Rambla, on the edges of the Albaizin and the Realejo, I find a collection of smartly dressed, thinly manicured Andalucians, kids often in toe. Small bars, no bigger than an American bedroom, seem intimidating in their expected exclusivity. Chalkboards on the sidewalk, or perhaps in the window, casually list the tapas, wine and entrée offerings: jamon iberico, paella, oxtail stew among the most ubiquitous. It’s one of those places where a good portion of those walking seem to be walking to walk, without an intended destination, as if they themselves are travelers. At night the streets glow with Christmas lights and wandering families, many on their way to the numerous BELEN sites, miniature models of the birth city of
My hotel, the Hotel Navas sits on Calle Navas, a noisy, pedestrian-only, street that runs perpendicular to Calle Reyes Catolicos, itself one of the biggest streets in Granada. For the two weeks I spend there the street is intermittently crowded from the mid-afternoon hours, in which parents fill the bars while their children play on the streets, to late in the evening, when the “dinner” crowd arrives. I wake up several nights around four A.M. as the last stragglers leave their marks.
The hotel is more than adequate, though lacking in romance. I do, though, enjoy the ambience as I sit in the lobby one afternoon, next to a family of three, and hear the ringtones of the father’s cell phone: the eerie, sinister grooves of the main song (penned by Germany’s Goblin) from Dario Argento’s Suspiria. I knew I was in
It was also fairly amusing to watch the looks of amusement, or perhaps disgust, from the families enjoying dinner in the dining room across the alley from my second story room, when I opened my patio window and propped my bare feet on the rail, in the cold of December, with the idea of watching the people below. They, however, were enjoying a civilized and, I suspect, proper Andalucian meal, among family, on a week in which all concern for work seemed to disappear across the city in deference to the holiday. I was interrupting the meal.
Later that evening I wandered into neighboring Realejo, just as the sun had set, not really expecting anything marvelous. I grab a schwarma from one of the popular Middle Eastern fast food spots that seem to exist on every corner and, just when I’m starting to feel like heading back, happen upon the small square that abuts the Church of Santo Domingo, grey and possibly crumbling but captivating for this very reason. The church, and the square, is deserted at this hour. Alone with an ancient statue and the face of the church, I’m confronted with many of the reasons I came here, in complete solace, in an otherwise bustling mid sized city, looking at my latest trophy and, selfishly, refusing to take a picture of it.
Stay
Hotel Navas
958 22 59 59
Calle Navas 22
Hotel Zaugan del Darro
958 21 57 30
Carrera del Darro 23
Casa del Capitel Nazari
958 21 52 60
Cuesta Aceituneros
See
902 44 12 21
Cathedral
(off Gran Via de Colon)
Eat
Restaurante Arrayanes
958 22 84 01
Cuesta Maranas 4
Bodegas Castenada
Calle Almireceros
Calle de Elvira
Al Andalus
958 22 67 30
Calle de Elvira
Mirador de Morayma
958 228 290
Pianista García Carrillo 2
(Sadly, I lost the list I kept during my visit in which I listed every meal I had and sketched a very rough map of the city with the locations and restaurant names as well. Trust me when I say that I ate well.)