Category: Lopsided Observations

We fell in love with Pimientos de Padron the first time we had them. And it was so long ago we can’t agree on where it was that we first experienced them. They are unique to Spain and it turns out they originated in this town, Padron. We walked here today, in a continual rain, from Caldas do Reis. There was a sameness to the route. The surface was mostly crushed stone, otherwise it would be a mud pit. They get a lot of rain here and the forests look more like jungles.

But the peppers are only a small part of Padron’s import and significance to our Camino. Legend has it that it was here that Saint James the Apostle first preached the gospel in what was known as Hispania. And when he was beheaded in Jerusalem nis disciples brought his body parts back in Padron in a stone boat! The boat was found tied to a big Celtic stone, something called a padron. We visited the stone today where it now sits, at the base of the alter in the church of Santiago de Padron.

.The story has it that Saint James’ remains were transported to Santiago, the city that was named after him, and they are kept in a vault below the cathedral. Tomorrow we reach our destination, Santiago de Compostela.

We were having a beer in a restaurant on the outskirts of Pontevedra when I got a prompt on my watch. “Margaret, you’ve crushed your Move goal.“ My watch is tethered to Peggi’s phone and neither one of us has ever set any goals for the app. It’s sort of annoying, all the “Looks like you’re exercising. Do you want to record your workout?” stuff. I just ignore it. It records our movement anyway. I can’t complain. Everyone in Europe takes Apple Pay, the cafés, bars, restaurants, supermercados. I don’t have to fumble with my wad of Euros.

Checking the news from home we saw that Luna played at the Haunt in Ithaca last night. Personal Effects played a gig there with Grandmaster Flash back in the day. Would have liked to hear Luna.

We are below the 100 kilometers to Santiago mark and so we’re starting to see more pilgrims. When we did the big one, the Camino Frances, last year, we experienced the same influx near the finale, people with day packs who hopped on at the last stop. They have their bags sent ahead. They remind me of what we used to call weekend hippies back in the sixties. They test your patience,. They call you on your judgmental steak. They remind you there is virtue called temperance and an ideal revered to as acceptance.

Our shoes were wet and soggy from yesterday’s rain so I stuck the hotel room’s hair dryer down in our shoes. I left it in one of mine and got sidetracked. I managed to melt the Merrill insert that was glued to the sole of my shoe. It was detached and about three quarters of its original size. To my surprise the shoe felt more comfortable walking without it.

We originally planned on stopping in Redondela but we got there so early, after maybe five hours of walking, that we decided to move on to the next town. We stopped for a beer and Peggi found a place online right on the Ria de Vigo, which is really more like a bay off the Atlantic Ocean. Rio is river in Spanish and Ria is a salt water river. We arrived in time for dinner just before four and we sat in the glassed in dining room overlooking the Ria and the bridge to Vigo.

The Hotel Antolin is like something out of an old movie. The employees seem like they have been working here their whole lives. The furniture is dark. It is well past it’s prime but still able to attract groups of businessmen for lunch. The chef waited on us and left the table while taking our order to blow her nose. There is a bar downstairs which we plan on visiting before bed. Antolin is long gone.

The rain brought these lovely creatures out. They are delicacy here. You often see them announced in a bar with a small sign that reads “Hay Caracoles.” We have not seen them advertised here yet but we have seen signs reading “Hay Angulas.” Eel. 

The Camino de Santiago gets you well out of the well worn tourist areas. When you walk on country roads and paths though tiny towns you wind up shopping where the the locals do. The receipt from the bakery we stopped at on the way out of town, a place called Petinga Doce Pastelarias on Rua de São, shows we paid 0,80 for Abatanado (espresso) and 2,30 for a tall glass of “Sumo Nat Lara”  (fresh squeezed orange juice) and most astonishingly, 0,85 for two delicious pieces of apple pastry. That was our last breakfast in Portugal.

Mid morning we stopped at the smallest grocery store we have ever set foot in and came out with a four pack of strawberry yogurt, two bananas and a liter of bottled water for 1,83 Euros!

In Tui, Spain, this afternoon we had sea bass, the whole fish cooked on the grill and served with boiled potatoes with Ensalada Mixta (a hearty salad (greens, tomatoes, onions, carrots, eggs and tuna), a bottle of house red and flan for desert. 23 Euros for the both of us. 

When you walk all day you enhance your appreciation of food.

I have to thank Peggi for that title.

We watched Portugal win 3-0 over Luxembourg in the UEFA EURO Qualifiers in our room last night. Ronaldo scored the second goal.

Tonight we’re staying at a place on the town square in Caminha. We had some vegetable soup at the place next door. We were too tired to walk any further. Our room faces Santa Tecla Mountain in Spain. It is right across the Rio Miño But we won’t enter Spain until the end of the day tomorrow when we cross the river. We’ll follow the river inland from the ocean to Tui where we will hook up with the Central Caminho Portuguese.

The sun hasn’t even set and I’m ready for bed. It was an eight hour walk today and tomorrow’s Is longer, about thirty two kilometers. I just watched a fellow pilgrim walk across the square. Not that we’ve seen him on the Camino, I could Just tell he was a pilgrim by the way he was walking. I know how he feels.

We have not run into many others on thIs Camino. For the first few days we crossed paths with a mother and daughter. They were really cute and fun to see. Not sure where they were from but they didn’t speak English. And we met a couple from Australia this morning. They were about our age. We talked to a young guy from Germany who was walking with a woman from Austria but we saw both of them walk by later, when we were sitting in a café, and they weren’t together anymore. We passed others but they we’re unmemorable. We had coffee this morning with a woman who told us we were the first pilgrims she saw back in Porto. English was not her native tongue but I gathered we were somewhat memorable.

Approximately half of my photos from Portugal, or Spain for that matter, are what I guess you would call architectural details. Point blank shots of window treatments or old doors or stone walls. They border on abstract paintings. I take the same sort of shots in Rochester but not as high a percentage.

Walking is a meditation. Most of an hour can pass without speaking a word even when you’re traveling with a partner. But traveling by foot from one town to the next, with everything that is important on your back, is both exhilarating and immensely satisfying. Twenty miles is a long walk. The rewards are abstract and beautiful.

The locals in towns along the way, Caminho da Costa, can spot pilgrims a block away. Most, though, don’t pay any attention. When we pass someone out for a stroll and make eye contact they usually greet us with “Bom Caminho.” So many people here speak some English, the de facto international tongue, that a few have simply said, “Good walk.” I like the way that sounds.

We like eating early which means we have get a meal in before 3 o’clock when everything closes. Otherwise we have to wait until seven when the restaurants begin to open again. You would think we are in Spain.

We left Vila da Conde and continued up the coast, keeping the ocean on our left. Wind technology is not new. There are plenty of old windmills still standing along the windy coast of Portugal. Although their blades, if they are still attached, don’t turn anymore.

We passed though fragrant eucalyptus groves and stopped in the town square of Póvoa de Varzim for coffee. We’ve discovered that if you just ask for café you get a small cup of espresso. That’s what the locals drink so we have jumped on board.

On the way out of town we stopped at the church of San Rogue, a popular saint along the Camino as he is said to have given away all his belongings before setting out on his own pilgrimage to Rome. Along the way he attended to the the sick so he has plenty of devoted followers seeking his intervention.

My watch says we walked 24.3 miles today. We left Porto at 9 AM and proceeded to walk for twenty minutes only to wind up where we started. Instead of following directions we should have just followed our noses. We’re taking the Coastal route, instead of the interior route, to Santiago but it turns out there are two Coastal routes. We’re taking the one that is referred to as the Literal Coastal route. It is no exaggeration to say that fifteen of the 24 miles we walked were on a boardwalk that runs parallel with the beach. The wooden boards, covered in sand in places, were an ideal surface for a long distance walk. We arrived at our destination just after dark but in time to find a grocery store where we bought yogurt and bananas for tomorrow.

It was windy today so the ocean was rough. We could barely keep our hats on at times. It was hazy most of the day which was a godsend. When the sun came out it was uncomfortable. We stopped in Angeiras at a seaside restaurant for a late lunch and started with a Bohemian Beer (Original), the first we have had of those, and a plate of olives. The waiter recommended the mackerel. There were three of them on the platter he brought out and it came with a bowl of boiled potatoes, yellow from all the olive oil, and perfect Mediterranean green salad.

Tomorrow we walk again. The Camino in Portugal is not as well marked as the one in Spain so we will just, keep the ocean on our left” as they say. Our life is getting simpler.

Today is Republic Day which commemorates the overthrow of the monarchy in 1910. There are no signs of celebration here. Tomorrow the Portuguese go to the polls and are expected to maintain their democratic socialist alliance. 

We started our day with coffee in the room, a canister of dark stuff, and then two cups at breakfast. I still didn’t feel fully awake so we stopped at a café for a café pingado and that did the trick. We were ready for the Museu Nacional de Arte Contemporânea do Chiado where we saw a show called “Inner Space.” The introduction featured a quote from J. G. Ballard that contained the title.

We were entranced by a video installation by the Italian artist, Davide Trabucco,. He explored “the permanence and variation in architectural forms over time” with depictions of the Tower of Babel, aerial views of the Mayan pyramids, Sol Lewitt’s drawings and the Frank Lloyd Wright house in Rochester, New York.

I’ve always been afraid of Virtual Reality headsets for fear they would upset my equilibrium but Peggi appeared to be having so much fun I went for it. Another artist’s installation was all virtual with no reality and it did upset but it was worth it.

We stopped in three churches and they were every bit as good as the museum. Santo António is the patron saint of Lisbon and Portugal (as well as marriage and lost things) and the church built in his name was heavenly. San Roque is as revered in Portugal as he is in Spain. The church with his name had a museum attached to it which included a sixteenth century statue of the saint that had survived the earthquake. And our final church of the day was closer to the center of Lisbon, richer with more gold encrusted flourishes and beautiful statues.

Lisbon is not as old as other European cities as it was completely destroyed by a 8.5 earthquake on All Saints Day in 1755. The sidewalks are covered in tile and even some of the streets are tiled. Many of the buildings are tiled as well. The distinctive blue and white tile, so typical of Portugal, is everywhere but I like the geometric patterns.

We had our first really good cup of coffee in a café across the street from where we are staying. We stumbled on the café pingado by asking for espresso with milk. It turns out there only a drop of mall in the tiny cup but it was like heaven.

We were still struggling with the basics of Portuguese but it doesn’t matter in the old part of the city. Most people want to speak English. Our waiter told us people his age don’t even use the Portuguese word for “yes,” which is sin, because it is too close to the Spanish word for yes, “si.” They resent Spain because it is so much bigger. They use the German word, “ja.”

We managed to eat most of our garden’s produce before leaving town We’re getting a second crop of cilantro. It likes to reseed itself. Our tomatoes have pretty much run their course but our red peppers are just turning red. We gave a bag of jalapeños to our neighbors and Peggi made eggplant parm with every one of our eggplants. Our kale will still be hardy when we return

The Netflix disc of Buñuel’s “The Phantom of Liberty” will have to wait until we return. We packed our bags after walking up to the post office on Waring Road where we sent off my sister-in-law’s sweater and sandals, items she left at our house when she and my brother were up for his 50th high school reunion.

The woman working behind the counter noticed that we were all wet from the rain and she asked if we wanted to borrow one of the post office’s umbrellas. She said we could bring it back next time. We assured her we were fine. I just didn’t want to get my rain coat wet before packing it. She added, “well, at least the rain water is good for your hair.” We had never heard that one.

We tried packing only ten pounds but we both exceeded our limit. My backpack came in at 13.5 and Peggi’s weighed 12. I had my iPad in there and a bag figs from the co-op but I was surprised to find my bag weighed more than Peggi’s. We each only have one change of clothes, our toiletries,a jacket and some rain gear. And, of course, there’s the chargers for my watch, camera and iPad. Maybe it was my size 12 shoes that gave me the edge.

Ever notice how the coolest car’s aren’t even locked? Peggi and I were doing the downtown Landmark Society tour, walking from the luxury lofts in the Sagamore to Craig Jenson’s architect office on South Union when we spotted this red Corsa Corvair parked in front of Skylark lounge.

We knew it had to be Casey’s so we stopped in to say hi. He was sitting with Carpenter Al at the the bar and they told us they were redoing the old Otter Lounge on Monroe Avenue in the Tap & Mallet mold. Casey told us he had put 3,000 miles on his car this summer just driving around town. Fifty years ago Joe Barrett, Dave Mahoney and I drove to Woodstock in a turquoise Corvair, Joe’s mom’s. It wasn’t a convertible though.

“God is best known in not knowing him” or “If you comprehend it, it is not god.” -Saint Augustine

Robert De Niro’s character in “King of Comedy” collected autographs from stars and he had a saying that went, “the more scribbled the name, the bigger the fame.” Sonya Livingston gave a reading today to a packed house on the third floor of the old library building downtown. She read a few chapters from her new book, “The Virgin of Prince Street,” and quoted Saint Augustine whose “Confessions” I just brought home in paperback form from a garage sale.

After the reading and question and answer period a line formed at the merch table. Jim Mott, Sonya’s husband, was handling book sales. Peggi told Sonya we had bought her book as an eBook and I asked if she would sign it. She laughed and said, she had never signed an ebook before. What I asked her to sign was really a blank sheet in my Procreate app.

The book is a collection of essays on the parts of Catholicism I like best. The devotion, the rituals, the miracles and specifically the statues, one in particular. I too was baptized in Corpus Christi Church on the corner of Prince and East Main. My parents had a one room apartment one block down at Main and Alexander. I loved Ghostbread (her first book) so much I bought copies for friends. I can’t wait to read this one.

I didn’t know Ronaldo was named after Ronald Regan. I think that was our first topic of conversation when we met Anne Haven’s at Colleen Buzzard’s studio this afternoon. It was a mini closing party for Anne’s show which comes down this weekend. After climbing four flights of stairs in the Anderson Alley building you are rewarded with three delightful pieces hanging in the hallway. They set the table for what’s inside.

We sipped cider and ate chocolate covered almonds from the same bowl as shown filled with cherries in one of her paintings . The top is tilted forward reminding me of both Matisse and Guston but looking entirely like a Haven’s.. On the door to the gallery is a piece about seeing with a quote from Saint Thomas. At some point we began circling the room while Ann talked about the creation of each piece. Not cut from whole cloth but manufactured with homemade plans that are open enough to go playfully awry. As Fred Lipp used to say, “Painting is an adventure, not the execution of a plan.” And the adventure is made visible in each of Ann’s pieces.                                   

When you hop on a bike and ride down the same street you have driven down hundreds of times you perceive it differently. And then when you walk down that street it is all new again. But the biggest thrill is walking down a street you have never been on before. Often the most ordinary neighborhoods reveal the biggest surprises.

Margaret Explosion is a similar experience for me. We hope to go somewhere we have never been before. And it is usually at a walking pace. Tonight’s performance is our last of four this month.

A half hour earlier the text from Rick read. “Looks like we’re rained out.” But then the sun came out and he texted back. At this point it would be pushing it unless one of us won two out of two. I hesitated and texted back, “I have yoga at six.” We went for it.

This year Rick has arranged it so the day’s loser provides a beer for the next match. We are even this month but I lost last time so I poured. I won but it took three games. Peggi was already finished eating and I wolfed mine down. Pasta, Peggi’s homemade sauce and of the organic sausage we get at the co-op. I was prepared for a restless class.

It started to drizzle as we drove to Brighton and then the sun came out. A giant rainbow stretched across the expressway. It was warm in the small gym so the doors were propped open. There was a lot of activity on the athletic fields outside. I wanted to be out there.

Peggi and I were a few minutes late and Jeffery had the class rolling tennis balls under their feet. He talks through class helping you focus on the the pose but sometimes he digresses. We had just rolled out our mats and he was talking about a product called Arnica, something dancers put on sore muscles. Then he told us he was helping a friend fix some plumbing and he had a pipe wrench in his hand when the friend whacked the wrench with a hammer and hit his thumb. He told us he talked to his thumb, massaged it and because of his yoga practice it never turned blue.

It was a fairly rigorous class. Lots of balancing poses and tree into warrior three. “Tree into 3.” Near the end of class he gave each of us a sunflower seed. We out it in our hands, studied it, closed our eyes, felt it, put it in our mouth, let it sit on our tongue and then cracked it with our teeth before slowly digesting it. The meditation was interrupted by a booming sound system outside. I sounded like a pop song was run through every one of Phil Marshall’s effects boxes at the same time.

It took us a couple of days to finish watching the Atletica/Juventus Champions League match that we recorded on Wednesday. It was billed as a matchup of the the new and the aging Portuguese stars, Joao Felix and Christiano Ronaldo, and they both had moments of brilliance. In the end they each took a point home, not to Portugal but to their respective club team’s city. 

We have been boning up on all things Portuguese. Cranking an Apple Music Fado playlist around the house and preparing to order coffee in their tongue. We saw Madonna lives in Lisbon now but she will be out on tour when we’re there. I’m sure it will be lovely but I’m already looking forward to walking right out of that country and into Spain.

We walked along the lake today and noticed a respectable amount of beach in place. We saw the guy with the camouflage pants and shaved head in the park. Earlier in the summer we connected him to the pickup truck with “Don’t Tread On Me” stickers, the creepiest of which reads “Meet My Family” above a row of guns, arranged by height from pistol to AR-15. He likes to let his dog run free despite the “Dogs Must Be Leashed” signs. And then he wants to say hi to us. “How’s the family?” No thanks.

I was in such a hurry to finish last night’s blog post that I left a huge chunk of copy in the copy/paste realm. I wanted to be in front of the tv for the third segment of Ken Burn’s Country show. So far we have survived Peter Coyote’s deadening narration and we are really enjoying the show. I found it surprising that right from the start people like The Carter Family and Jimmy Rodgers were going after an old timey sound. I always thought they were the old timey sound. The current Americana fixation is as old as the hills. Of course genre busting artists like Hank Williams, Patsy Cline and George Jones are in their own league.

In 1973 I was living with Peggi in a small rented house on the outskirts of town. We set up our bedroom on the porch. It was enclosed with wrap-around windows. We converted the bedroom to a band room and I was playing drums in there one night when someone knocked on the door. I opened the door and three guys were standing there. I was in my early twenties and these guys were old, well into their thirties. I was certain they were there to complain about the noise but they said they’d been outside listening and they wanted me to join their band. Apparently “Frank Canada” (listed on the card) had left the band and these guys were desperate. They had two gigs coming up that week.

This was Bloomington, Indiana I could tell by looking at them that they were talking about a kind of music I knew nothing about. I tried my best to talk my way out of this but a few days later I found myself out in the country, rehearsing in the living room of a trailer. Black velvet paintings on the wall and strange people sitting in the living room while we played songs I had never heard of. They kept asking, “You know that song called such and such?” and I would go, “No.”

Somehow we got through the gigs and rehearsed the next week in the bass player’s barn without the lead singer. Turns out the bass player, who had a sweet voice, and the rhythm guitar player, who loved Waylon Jennings, were conspiring to give Butch Miller (the cad) the boot and start their own band. They found a young guitar player with slicked back hair who worked at the Bloomington hospital and sang just like Johnny Cash. The three of them traded songs and we were booked every weekend and holiday for the next year and half in Eagles, Elks, Moose Clubs, American Legions, VFWs, coon hunts and anywhere cigarettes were smoked and Falstaff Beer was served.

I fell in love with the stuff, Classic Country by today’s definition. I recommended Dave Mahoney for the band when we left town and I think they changed their name to “The Breakers.”

Most of the days on our upcoming walk, the Camino Portuguese, will be twenty miles long so we need to be ramping up. Today we decided to walk to Atlas Eats on Clinton Avenue. We really hustled on the way over because they close at two. There was a band playing in the park next to House of Guitars and the HOG had all kinds of equipment out on the sidewalk. Some sort of tent sale. I waved to Bruce who was standing in the doorway and we kept going.

At Atlas the workers were all talking about Woodstock. Brenda had just watched the movie and Gerry had just re-read “Back to the Garden” by Pete Fornatale. I told them I was there but I didn’t see much of the music. Brenda had just taken a batch of cookies with psychedelic swirls out of the oven. She is calling them “Lemon Sunshine.” I had my usual, the tofu and kimchee bowl, and Peggi had the 13 Grain toasted cheese with salad.

On way back “Cosmic Meditation,” a two piece with congas and guitar, was on the bandstand so we hung around for a bit. A small sign in front of the stage read, “Please Keep Out of the Rain Garden.” I went into the store and Armand’s WAYO radio show was coming over the speakers. I was surprised to see him in store and I said there’s a guy that sounds just like you on the air. He told me he records his weekly show in the studio at the HOG and just sends it to the station. If you haven’t heard him you have to check him out. He has a great radio presence.