Tag Archives: funny

The Paella Incident

Hola from Madrid!
After three weeks near Murcia on the Neanderthal dig, I’m back in the big city and trying to regroup to start Part II of my adventure.

Part I in the tiny town of Dolores de Pacheco probably yielded the most fodder for fun. The last three nights, we finally all broke loose, along with the Perseid Meteor Shower. The night the meteors started falling, we all headed back to the cave at Cabezo Gordo, to listen to a local orchestra performing the music from E.T. It really was surreal. There, under the stars, not 100 feet from the cave where we spent our days excavating where the Neanderthals lived, was an orchestra of beautiful music! We knew the locals understood the significance of the location, when after the E.T. theme music finished, suddenly another tune began: the theme music for Indiana Jones, followed, amazingly, by the theme from the Flintstones! That modern stone age family could somehow be seen as the descendants of our Neanderthals, after all, and Indiana Jones, well, that’s what we were on, an archaeological adventure.

It turns out, an imprpomptu poll had been taken among the young women at one point: who was more handsome: Ryan Gosling or Harrison Ford in Indiana Jones IV. You guessed it: HF won.

That face could only beat Ryan Gosling in a group of wanna-be archaeologists.

The meteor shower was followed by a night of heavy drinking, which, you kind of need when you have 15 people crammed into a grammar school, living, eating and working together. The drinking actually spurred a great idea by me, one of the Spaniards and our lone Italian paleoanthropologist: we needed a party with a lot of sangria and some really good Spanish food, so, the planning began…and was then soon stalled by what will forever be remembered as the paella incident.

The core of our party was to be a traditional paella cooked by our Spanish planner. Things started to go awry when he found out we couldn’t have the party during the day when the comida or main meal is eaten. As for me, I always assumed the party would be at night. Who drinks during the day? Well, the Spaniards for one, but a party is a night-time thing in my book. Once he realized that we couldn’t have a party in the day, he told me he wouldn’t cook a paella. The only reason this concerned me is that I put my marketing chops to good use and completely sold everyone on paying a few euros to go toward food, including an authentic paella by an authentic Spaniard.

Then, things got out of hand. This Spaniard (who shall remain nameless) explained that he would NOT cook a paella at night, since it just. wasn’t. done. I argued that we were with a bunch of foreigners who didn’t care what was supposedly correct in Spain, that they just wanted his damn good paella. We argued, back and forth. Me being minimally persuasive due to the language barrier (trust me, it’ll take time before I can again argue in another language) and him insisting that paella was just not eaten at night. The rice is too heavy, and there is no WAY he was going to cook a paella at the wrong time of day.

No se come una paella por la noche!

To my utter surprise, he was so adamant about this, that he stormed out the room, slamming tables and doors as he went!

Paella was not had by all in the end, but I started drinking soon after the argument: 4 glasses of beer at dinner, a gin & tonic out later, followed by crema de orujo, a concoction similar to Bailey’s that’s from Galicia, where my grandfather is from.

The drink of the gods, from Galicia

I don’t know what’s in this stuff, but it is now a staple to my diet! Ahhh, forgetfulness and the ability to laugh followed soon thereafter.

How low can you go?

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Irish Dance

In September of 2011, after my father passed away, I escaped altogether for a trip that included 10 days traveling alone in Ireland.

At a pub in Dublin one night, I struck up a conversation with a pair of musicians from Cork in a place called the Hughes Bar near the B&B where I was staying.

The Hughes Bar at 19 Chancery St, Dublin, Co. Dublin City, Ireland

At the Hughes, I was lucky enough to catch a “Trad Session” of traditional Irish music and met these two men, who were apparently experienced musicians in their own right (in their words). Now, I don’t know a lot about Irish music (Van Morrison is about as far as I go) but these two men told me that the music was exceptionally good that night,

When asked about my itinerary for the remainder of my time in Ireland, they insisted that for the best music in the country, I go a pub called the Crane Bar in Galway, where I was headed a few days later.

The Crane Bar at 2 Sea Rd Galway, Co. Galway, Ireland

In fact, as soon as I checked into my B&B in Galway, I discovered that I was within a 10 minute walk of this very pub! I gussied as best as I could, screwed up my courage and in I went. The music was just about to start on the 2nd floor, so I made my way to the bar, grabbed my token Guinness (when in Rome…) and forlornly looked around.

As a single woman in a strange country, I felt conspicuously alone, but fortunately, that lasted only about five minutes, since I spotted a stool at a table close to the front of the tiny stage. I pushed through and asked the two men seated at the table if I might sit, to which they of course replied “YES!” Alas, there are also benefits to being a single woman in a strange country as well.

In no time at all, the gent to my left and I struck up a conversation. He was a professor from Germany who was about to teach a semester in Dublin on an exchange program through the EU. We talked all night, non-stop, pausing for drinks as we made plans to meet in our travels around the country. Queue the violins! Ah, but this being a Trad Session, they WERE no violins, only fiddles.

And, those fiddles were interrupted by a local Galwallian woman (are they like Mainiacs, Massholes and my favorite: Saskatchawannabes?) woman who started her very own version of Lord of the Dance in the corner. She was all stomping feet and sloshing beer. This little lass was LOUD and she wanted to continue dancing, regardless of the bartender’s multiple requests that she STOP RIGHT NOW.

And, as amazing as it sounds, she was in fact escorted out of The Crane and onto the sidewalk for, get this: dancing too LOUDLY!

But, should I ever return to Ireland, off to the Crane I will go!

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The Crane Bar

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The Crane Bar 53.269860, -9.060422

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