Via De La Plata, Part II -- The Hospitalero Hates Us

The Alcuescar monastery's albergue  -- actually named: Casa de la Misericordia de la Congregacion de Esclavos de Maria y los Pobres (!) -- is  a very tight ship. It's closed from 2 to 4, and if you try to sign in at 2:01 you're out of luck. We arrived at 1:30 so signing in wasn't a problem. But later, Frances and Landon (two pilgrims we had met earlier), dw and I crossed an unexpected and invisible line, putting the hospitalero and his flunky into a noisy, petulant rage.

The day's walk was a pleasant path along Roman roads, through oak savanna and orchards of acorn oaks and olive trees, with an occasional walnut tree, three lime trees, and random cork oaks. We walked through low rolling hills with patches of brush, sparse dry grass, stone fences and few other signs of civilization. With an early enough start (6:15) we nearly finished walking before it got really hot. This section was like much of the next two weeks: Pleasant, lovely, each day subtly different from the last, little farming because of the rocky, boulder strewn land, and our passage unnoticed. If a landscape can seem to be aware, this land was indifferent, not seeking to amaze with spectacle, or threaten with danger, or even soothe with restful scenes -- it was as if thousands had passed and would pass and none could leave a mark on this hard edge of land.

   The trail through the length of Extremadura is marked with 18" granite cubes, each with a tile that denotes the direction of the trail, whether it's near the Roman road, or actually on the Roman road. Along with this day's cubes, we passed the Cruz del Nino Muerto, which marks the spot where a young shepherd, on his way to a Fiesta in Alcuescar, was killed and eaten by a wolf (in the far past). In the same area, paralleling the path, was an extra high, extra sturdy barbed wire fence, with an electric strand, which (if I understood the signs) enclosed a pasture for fighting bulls (beware: here be death!) 

Once in town, having avoided any hungry wolves, and having secured our beds for the night, we made an early afternoon paseo. Alcuescar is pleasant enough, if unexceptional. We headed for a 7/8th century Visigoth church but it was too far out of town so we turned back before we reached it. We tried to see the town's church, and the steeple was readily visible but after a series of dead-end streets, blind alleys, up and down hills, twists and turns with the steeple appearing in different places we gave up. It was very confusing and designed (we thought) to keep out vagrant riff-raff.

   We passed a large, seemingly private party. It was centered on a bar with people overflowing into the streets, front and back. The loud music oddly included Yankee Doodle Dandy and Camptown Races. Also featured in the party was a small boy in a stroller who seemed very angry that his dad wouldn't let his stroller just coast down a hill. Although the street was very steep the lad might have survived the ride.

Back at the albergue we learned the strict hours: Doors locked in the afternoon from 2 to 4 -- no one in or out. Doors locked 9PM to 7AM -- no one in or out. Lights out at 10PM (it wasn't clear if the electricity was actually turned off) The locked doors couldn't be opened from the inside. I wondered about fire laws.

   At 7PM the hospitalero led the four of us to the plain dining room. With standard metal folding tables and steel chairs it was a serviceable space and the meal was serviceable, although it ended with a large platter of perfectly ripe, delicious chunks of watermelon. The meal started with the hospitalero and his flunky (who looked like he either slept on a pallet in a closet or in a hole scraped out behind the building) insisting on their specific chairs. After eating we four peregrinos sat around enjoying a post-prandial conversation when the host and his flunky re-entered the room and started washing the dishes. Washing with an amazingly noisy crashing and banging of metal bowls and trays and ladles in the metal sink. They left and the four of us looked at each other with amazement. Someone said: "I think they want us to leave."  We all got up, finished clearing the table and washing the remaining dishes -- then the two hosts re-entered and started stacking the chairs on the table -- again with great crashing and banging. It was extraordinary and among the 20 caminos the four of us had walked, unique. The hosts didn't actually scream at us: "Get the hell out!" but that's what they meant. The four of us laughed about it, but on another level it was very rude and annoying. The hospitalero and his minion were volunteers but they clearly didn't want any actual peregrinos staying there.

Promptly at 7AM the next morning we were released. All four of us burst out of the building and breathed a sweet breath of freedom. Oddly the day wasn't very hot so the late start didn't matter much. This day we passed four Roman miliarios; the mile posts which aren't actually a mile apart, or any regular distance apart. Whatever they measured it wasn't distances. Depending on whether or not they're broken, the posts are four to six feet tall and 18 inches in diameter (1.5 to 2 M, and .5 M ) The inscriptions are mostly worn away but even without special scans some are visible: some dates are legible and one was dedicated to "the Divine Nerva". One of the first we passed is known as the miliario correo for the notch chiseled into it. At one time it was used as a mail drop for the nearby Casa de Santiago de Bencaliz. We put a self-addressed post card into it (with postage) and at some point Angelika from Austria picked it up, added a short note,  and mailed it. We were thrilled when we got home that the card was waiting for us. So we had successfully used a 2000 year old mail box. That was fun.
   Again we walked through a large acorn oak orchard. We finally realized that after the acorns drop, pigs are turned loose in the orchard --- on their way to becoming expensive jamon.
   Our end for the day was Aldea del Cano. Another modest village with a large tree stump/trunk dumped in the middle of the main plaza -- that puzzled us until we got back home and  friends (Sharon S., and Manuel C.S.P.) found an explanation on the web: The stump is the basis for a giant Christmas Bonfire.caceresaldetalle.blogspot.com.es/2016/08/tradicion-del-tuero-en-aldea-del-cano.html  (bonfire photo from the web)

   The afternoon of our arrival, I was sitting reading on the porch of our albergue, when a semi-sober local guy invited me into a bar for a drink. I accepted and it was an experience. He spoke slightly more English than I speak Spanish, but we did communicate: He was from Bilbao and comes down every holiday to visit his 86 year old mother, because he's a very good son. I'm from Oregon USA, and my mother is deceased. His father who he dearly loves died several years ago and he is iffy about dearly loving his mother, but he's a very good son. The area is very hot, but he's used to the heat and enjoys his holiday visits. I had a beer, he was drinking some sort of awful, sweet, sherry like stuff. (the bartender gave me a taste), which is better than beer, but beer is still manly. Finally I convinced him that I had to shower, but he's a very fine man, and I'm a very fine man. We're both very fine men. Which is good to know.

POEM FOR TODAY:
Only the Air Spirits know
What is found beyond the mountains.
Yet I urge on:
Go on and on
On and On!
(Traditional Inuit)

FACTOIDS:

Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven was inspired by Charles Dicken's pet raven "Grip". Grip was featured in Barnaby Rudge: "what was that -- tapping at the door?" and "Tis someone -- knocking at the shutter." Also, Edouard Manet illustrated Mallarme's French translation of The Raven.
 
QUOTE; "Ignorance breeds confidence --" Thucydides

Knock
Knock
Knock, knock
Knock, knock, knock
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock
Who's there?

Fibonacci.

(OK. Not all jokes are actually funny)

And so it goes. DJA

It's A Long Walk To Santiago

It's a long way to Santiago
It's a long walk we know.

It's a long way to Santiago,
Especially when you're slow.

From Salamanca to Zamora
To Ourense way down low --

It's a long, long walk to Santiago
Whichever way you go.  *

*Thanks to Stuart and Sacha, who appear later.

(To be sung to the tune of It's A Long Way To Tipperary -- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mPLS5nNFWTU)

Two thousand years ago Caesar Augustus realized he had a bunch of retired soldiers on his hands. Soldiers who were trained in mayhem and who were apt to get cranky if they had too much idle time, so Augustus established Augustus Emerita as a retirement/farming community for the men. A retirement home in Extremadura -- The hard edge of civilization.
   Augustus Emerita was at the center of Southwest Spain and the center of Extremadura where it was too hot to march around with sword and shield causing mayhem.
   Emerita morphed into Merida where it's still too hot to march around, but sometimes assorted peregrinos, such as dw and I, set out to walk the Via de la Plata to Santiago de Compostela (more ambitious peregrinos start farther afield in Seville or Malaga, Marbella, Cadiz, or Gibralter)

Merida is a splendid city containing the best, most complete Roman ruins in Spain. There was some sort of civilization that pre-dated the Romans, and a series of excavations uncovered gold jewelry and other relics which no one wanted so the British Museum took them. During Napoleon's Peninsular wars the British chased the French out of Merida and between the two armies the Roman ruins got more ruined, but the amphitheater, the circus, the aqueduct and other buildings are wonderful relics. At some point the Spanish Duke of Corbos built a palace and used the ruins of the Roman Temple of Diana as a front porch but the temple is still interesting. The nearby Not Trajan's Arch is plain (the marble facade was stripped off centuries ago) but nicely monumental, and the Historical Museum (with Roman as well as some pre-Roman relics) is one of the best of its kind I've ever seen.
   Extremadura was the home of a bunch of conquistadors: Cortes, Desoto, Francisco Pizarro (as well as several extra Pizarros) and others --- dw and I decided they went aconquering because it was too hot to stay home.

   Between the Roman times and the errant conquistadors, the Moors ruled Merida, building the Alcazaba -- a walled fortress -- intending to keep ruling the city and area. It didn't work but it was a good effort. Of particular interest is the aljibe -- a small building with stairs leading down to a well (which is like a swimming pool in a basement). It's cleverly designed as the well is near enough to the river so that water seeps in, but far enough away that the water is thoroughly filtered. The well and the building are in remarkably good shape, as are the gold fish that swim in the water. Probably the gold fish are not original.

After two nights and a day spent touring the city we started walking. The first few miles were on a green painted bicycle/pedestrian path followed by a packed sand path with quartz crystals sparkling in the sun. On this first day we passed a Roman dam (Proserpina), still functioning, though it's largely a recreational lake now. The dam is quite large and has clever elements such as back bracing so it doesn't collapse when the water gets low. Those Roman engineers knew their stuff.

    During the day we were passed by six walkers and four bikes. More pilgrims than we expected. (we expected to be passed -- nearly everyone we talked with on this walk had done multiple caminos -- they all knew their stuff, were ready to put in miles, and with very few exceptions were faster than we were). But we were surprised on this day by the number of peregrinos. In fact on this first day we met more pilgrims on the trail than on any other day until we passed through Ourense nearly at the end of the walk (most days we didn't meet any fellow peregrinos).

In the early afternoon, shortly after El Carrascalejo, we met a herd of 40 dingy gray sheep; each wearing a brass bell, and each bell with a pleasant mellow tone. The soft crunching of hooves and mixed chiming was a delight. We stepped off the path to give them room. The herding dog really gave dw the once over -- checking to see if she was up to no good. She didn't seem to be, so he went about his business threatening the laggards.

   Later we passed a herd of 30 cows who found us fascinating, so we entertained them with a short song and dance routine:   We're having a heat wave,
                                         A tropical heat wave,
                                         The temperature's rising,
                                         It isn't surprising,
                                         She certainly can can, can

                                   

The cows loved the song and soft-shoe. They all moved closer for a better look and paused their cud chewing. We kept it short, as we were near our stop for the afternoon and we wanted to move on. "Thankyou, thankyou verymuch."  --- A bow, tip of the hat, and two more kilometers to Aljucen where our first day ended. The temperature was in the mid-nineties (35C). Barely tolerable. dw: Barely survivable, you mean.

SOME ROMAN STUFF: Emperor Trajan (98 to 117 A.D) was born near present-day Seville. He was celebrated as one of the five greatest emperors. After Trajan, and for the rest of Roman history, emperors were honored by the Senate with the prayer: "Felicior Augusto, melior Traiano" -- "May he be luckier than Augustus, and better than Trajan." In Dante's Divine Comedy, Trajan is the only emperor allowed into heaven.

TRIVIA: The coat of arms for Appenzell Switzerland features a rampant bear with an erect penis.

A CURIOUS EVENT: Many years ago, when I was a letter carrier, one of my customers was an older (65 or so -- older to me at the time) woman who lived in a small, slightly shabby house. She was a pleasant, if rough edged woman and I spoke with her most days. One afternoon, as I approached her house, she was smoking a cigar and stomping back and forth on her sidewalk.
   "Gee", I said, "What's the matter?"
   "I'm so mad I want to kick a dog or something!"
   "Oh, that's not good, What happened?"
   She stopped pacing and looked at me: "I just found out the man I've been living with is my ex-husband! If I can find that son-of-a-bitch I'm going to shoot him!"

   Truthfully, I didn't know what to say: "Wow, that's --- shooting's not a --- "
   She glared at me, eyes squinted against the cigar smoke, and growled: "I mean it!"

   I think her life had been significantly different from mine.

---------- And so it goes, DJA ---------
 

 
 
 
 
 

But I Digress

---- The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
------
"O Oysters, come and walk with us!"
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We cannot do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
------
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:

------

Four other Oysters followed them,
And  yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more --
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.

The Walrus and the Carpenter walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.

"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes -- and ships -- and sealing-wax --
Of cabbages -- and kings --
And why the sea is boiling hot --
And whether pigs have wings."

     Our first thought was indeed to walk along the sea, but without the Oysters -- Neither of us are oyster fans. Wretched things, oysters,  and the thought of slurping down a raw oyster is disgusting. Humankind spent a few million years trying to discover fire and now certain people choose to revert many millions of years and eat raw oysters -- secretly delighting in tiny burbling oyster screams as the poor things slide down gaping maws. --- But I digress.

We've been walking a lot lately, covering and re-covering North and Northeast Portland (with an occasional foray into Southeast and Southwest) and repeated trips into Forest Park. Frankly it has become boring, and we look for interest wherever we can find it.
     "Which way did you walk?"
     "Ainsworth to Denver, then I zig-zagged over to Alberta and Williams, and etc., etc."
     "Did you see anything interesting?"
     "Well, letmethink --- No."
And so it goes, with some occasional variety:

The other day as I walked past an elementary school, I saw a group of 6 year olds playing some sort of game with a large piece of multi-colored nylon. As I came abreast I heard their leader (a 13 or 14 year old) say: "Lets put the tent away, and then we'll play Red Rover." A little girl plaintively replied: "I don't know Red Rover."

Not to brag, but I could have told her all about Red Rover. I could have chilled her little heart with tales of Red Rover, for we played Red Rover when I was in elementary school. My school was one room (later expanding to two) with the normal age range of 6 to 14, except the school drew from a logging and a farming community which were largely transient so there were many kids who had moved from school to school too often and been held back, so the age range expanded to 16 or 18 or 23 or so it seemed.
     For anyone who doesn't know Red Rover, the rules are simple: Players are divided into two teams. Each side holds hands in a line, the lines separated by 20 feet, and in turn, the captains would say: "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Jimmy right over." And little Jimmy, legs churning, would dash between the lines, bash into the other side, and attempt to break through. If he succeeded, he would choose an opponent and both would return to Jimmy's original side. If he failed to break through, he would join the other side. The goal was for one team to capture all of the other players.
     Strategy is complex: If the captain calls for little Jimmy to come over, there's a good chance Jimmy will be captured -- however he'll also be a weak link, introducing the chance to lose a 24 year old. Eventually all the "big" kids will be on one side (Unless it's necessary, no captain would ever say: "Red Rover, Red Rover, send Bubba right over.") but in the end the Big Kid would be called and he, or she, --- at 28 and muscled from gnawing down trees, would come roaring between the lines. Bashing into a line of cowering 6 and 7 year olds, flinging them about like tiny tenpins, ricocheting off the outhouse and flying into the blackberry thicket. --- That was Red Rover.
    We didn't always play Red Rover. Another popular game didn't have a name, but could have been called: "Fling the little kid into Roaring River" A corner of the school yard had a modest grove of Douglas Fir trees, one of which had a large, long and thick branch which came close enough to the ground that a Big Kid could jump up and grab it. Several would then pull it to one side, a Little Kid would climb on, cling as tightly as possible -- the Big Kids would let it loose and the Little Kid would get a low-budget carnival ride --- If the Little Kid didn't hold on tightly enough he would be flung into a nearby fir trunk, or perhaps fly down the hill toward Roaring River. It was very exciting.
     Also exciting but in a different way (and in truth frowned upon by adults) was "Mumbly-Peg", or "Stretch-em" -- a game involving pocket knives. The players would stand three feet apart, throw, and try to stick their knife into the ground. In turn, each player would throw the knife near his own foot: the goal was to stick your knife into the ground as close as possible to your foot; and wherever the knife stuck, you would move your foot next to it. Your feet would get farther and farther apart -- the loser would be the one who couldn't move his feet any farther apart or who fell over. If you actually stuck the knife in your foot, you won. Adults didn't like the game because it could damage shoes. (yes, we did carry pocket knives to school -- some (dw) have claimed the knives were used to sharpen quill pens but that isn't true)
     My sister will (I am sure) verify that this is all sort of true. But I digress.

dw and I decided we would walk another Camino, and we've been training. We considered the Northern Route -- along the Bay of Biscay (too hilly, and perhaps too urban), The Portuguese Route -- along the Atlantic (the first half from Lisbon seems highly urban and industrial -- not pleasant), and after consideration we decided to walk the Via de la Plata. We won't walk the entire route, instead we'll start at Merida -- still walking about 500 miles -- certainly sufficient for us. The route follows, and is about 50 to 100 miles east of the Portugal/Spain border. It will be different from the other two we've walked. The Via de la Plata is much less traveled and passes through a more lightly populated region. It'll be interesting.


Some  sights in our walking area:

JOKES: Plateau -- the highest form of flattery.

How do you think the unthinkable?
   With an ithberg.


TRIVIA:  Odin rode an 8-legged horse, which will be eaten by a wolf at the end of the world. So the wolf will be eating a hairy, meadow-muffin producing centipede.

When he played Micawber in "David Copperfield", W.C. Fields insisted on including a juggling scene. The studio heads vetoed the idea, noting that Dickens made no mention of juggling in the book.
     "He probably forgot." replied Fields.
When that idea failed, he suggested that after the funeral of Copperfield's mother, Fields should do his pool table act while telling a story about a snake. That idea was also vetoed, but it certainly would have made a different movie.

---------  And so it goes. DJA --------

Lafayette, We Are Here

I'm Walking to New Orleans   (The songs in this entry are all longer. I won't mind -- and won't know -- if anyone skips all or part of the music.)

As we were walking down Bourbon Street I asked dw: "Did you see that naked green woman?" And she replied: "I didn't notice her."
    I certainly noticed the naked green woman. She was pretty, young, petite with definite curves; wearing sandals, a very very tiny butt-floss bikini bottom, shamrock pasties and nothing else except a coat of shamrock-green body paint -- from her toes to the top of her hair-in-a-bun. She was the vanguard for the New Orleans St Patrick's Day Parade.
   "If she had been a green near-naked George Clooney with shamrock pasties, I bet you would have noticed." I thought, as we approached the Angry Baby.

We had driven from Wisconsin to Lafayette, Louisiana  and later New Orleans to watch and cheer on Steve -- dw's brother -- who was running his 50th state marathon. (not his 50th marathon, he -- and his SO Kay have run more than 50 -- including some 50K and 100K runs) But this run would complete his "marathon in every state" goal. (Kay made the same goal two years earlier)

The drive itself was mildly pretty in spots, but mostly uninteresting until we got to Louisiana itself where we had to detour west to avoid flooding. For miles the elevated freeway was isolated, with on and off ramps flooded -- flat land, no drainage and very heavy rain -- there were many roads closed but no one seemed to think it was a disaster -- just an inconvenience. Apparently when you live in hurricane country a bit of flooding is just a chance to use your piroque to go grocery shopping.

When we got to Lafayette we went to a tourist info office (5 minutes waiting in the car for a particularly heavy rain shower to pass), collected a city map and some brochures for things to do, checked in at our motel, and then connected with Steve, Kay, and the rest of his cheering section. Steve had arranged for housing and t-shirts for all of us -- one of the posse was a home brewer and had brought two excellent beers, others contributed assorted food stuff as well as other beers and wine -- moderation ruled as several (besides Steve and Kay) were running the marathon -- it was  a fun party.

dw and I enjoyed exploring Lafayette. The Martin Zydeco accordion factory was closed but we peeked through the windows of the non descript wooden building -- and couldn't see anything. We visited the fine University of Louisiana art museum which was featuring a collection of Haitian art -- which both dw and I really like, and a collection of haute couture dresses made with pages from romance novels -- amazingly detailed. And we visited the cathedral, which is nice, unusual, and which probably wasn't built with slave labor or enforced financial contributions, which makes it even better. From what we could see Lafayette doesn't have much in the way of interesting architecture or old buildings but it is an attractive city with an alive city center.
    The morning of the marathon (officially:  Zydeco Marathon & 1/2) we all collected and escorted the runners to the starting line. The temperature was pleasantly cool and awesomely humid (condensation was literally running off walls) -- but -- at least for someone who wasn't running -- it seemed like a good day for a run. (later Steve said the weather at the start was fine and later, as it got warmer, the humidity decreased so the whole run was at least tolerable) After a bit of breakfast, the cheering section met at the half-way point with beers, bells, and zydeco music. After the last runner passed we then collected at the finish line (because of the layout of the run and street closures it wasn't practical to cheer at another location).

    One of the more interesting runners was a woman pushing a runner's stroller (with toddler) -- as she passed and we cheered her on, she noticed John holding a stadium cup of beer. She asked: "Hey, have you got another one of those?" so he gave her his cup. She chugged it, belched, returned the cup, said "Thanks"  and ran on -- she got an extra vigorous cheer. A fun day for all of us.
     After crossing the finish line, Steve and Kay didn't seem tired, and in fact did a brief dance step or three. Amazing I think. Even more amazing, after a shower and a bit of food, several of the group -- including Steve, Kay, two other runners, and dw and I -- went to Whiskey River for some zydeco music and dancing.

Whiskey River, on the La Rose Bayou (Blue Bayou), is a dance hall/bar and on that afternoon featured "Geno Delafous and the French Rockin' Boogie" -- My Zydeco Shoes -- It was a hoppin' joint. The band had the accordion of course, plus a guitar, drummer, triangle, washboard and a five string electric bass player. The five-string bass is something I've never seen before so on one turn around the floor, I guided dw right up to the band stand to see if I was imagining something, but it was indeed a five string guitar. dw and I danced several dances. I remembered, well enough, how to waltz, and a standard Texas two-step fit the proper zydeco so we (I) managed not to be embarrassing. We didn't try the line dancing as that seemed to require knowing what you were doing.

    A fun evening. Whiskey River had one bartender who was noted for jumping over the bar to sort out miscreants, another (Alberta) who was noted for being awesomely slow, and an outside food cart (Whiskey River Ambassador) who was noted for telling customers that his food was inexpensive (it wasn't), and better than anything you could get in town (it really wasn't). I didn't notice anyone who got drunk enough to swallow his line (it was hard enough to swallow the food) but there was nothing  else available to eat.

The day after Whiskey River, several of the group moved on to cabins at Lake Fausse Pointe State Park (again arranged by Steve) where we spent a relaxed two days: Watched alligators -- little guys we could have rassled had we wanted; took some easy walks -- avoiding the extensive flooding and heeding the signs that warned of water moccasins; and noted a variety of birds, one deer and some small beasts (who also managed to avoid the water moccasins) and some butterweed flowers -- A very pleasant time with friends and family -- hanging out in a cabin built over the water.

After Lake Fausse, Steve, Kay, dw and I, toured Avery Island -- home of McIlhenny Tabasco Sauce. As we drove up, it was obvious that Avery Island isn't an island, rather it's a hill. A hill? In the Mississippi delta? That seems unreasonable. But it's actually the top of a large salt dome which was mined before and during the Civil War. We toured the Tabasco factory and the extensive grounds which were lovely with lakes, small bayous, live oaks with Spanish moss, a large snowy egret rookery, and assorted statuary. We got a small bite to eat at the bad cafeteria. Got some samples of Tabasco ice cream at the gift shop (way better than you would think) And in all enjoyed another relaxing day.

    This was the end of our marathon celebration: Steve and Kay moved on to a cruise ship (Galveston) and dw and I drove to Chauvin (SW of New Orleans) to see a sculpture garden -- and then to New Orleans with the naked green lady and the Angry Baby.

New Orleans was interesting and we wished we had spent more time there. The French Quarter was appropriately seedy and gearing up for a St. Patrick's Day Parade. (our lunchtime waiter: "Oh, yeah. St. Patrick's parade is our second biggest one. There's not an Irishman within five hundred miles but we use any excuse for a parade and drink.") At Napoleon House we had an excellent gumbo for lunch. (Napoleon House was offered as a refuge for Napoleon during his exile -- he didn't make it, but the name stuck) We could have tried gator, but decided against that: (at the tourist office) "Get fresh gumbo, it's really good almost everywhere. If you have to try gator, get it grilled not fried. Fried is awful."

    We walked the Warehouse Arts District and enjoyed some really good galleries. And of course we walked the French Quarter. I thought of getting some beads by threatening to show my hairy old moobs but decided against it. I enjoyed the green woman, and we both noted the angry baby -- who was a guy in shoes, a diaper, and a large pumpkin sized baby head. When you took his picture he would assume an aggressive stance and double flip you off.
    We were too early for much live music. Naturally the bars were playing music but the live bands wouldn't start for an hour or more after we needed to leave. There were a few street bands but they were really terrible -- I've heard better here in Portland (I think we just had bad luck with the street bands) -- they were bad and were playing against each other so what you heard was dissonant cacophony -- so unpleasant we weren't even slightly tempted to stay and listen.

     And finally, on the way back to Wisconsin, we stopped at Carthage, Illinois and visited our grandson, Shane.
____________________________

Louisiana sent a 122 pound sweet potato as one exhibit to the 1901 Buffalo, NY Worlds Fair
____________________________

RUNNING TO PARADISE   W.B. Yeats

As I came over Windy Gap
They threw a halfpenny into my cap,
For I am running to Paradise.
And all that I need do is to wish,
And somebody puts his hand in the dish
To throw me a bit of salted fish,
And there the king is but as the beggar.

My brother Mourteen is worn out
With skelping his big brawling lout
While I am running to Paradise.
A poor life, do what he can,
And though he keep a dog and a gun,
A serving maid and a serving man,
And there the king is but as the beggar.

Poor man have grown to be rich men,
And rich men grown to be poor again,
While I am running to Paradise.
And many a darling wit's grown dull
That tossed a bare heel when at school;
Now it has filled an old sock full
And there the king is but as the beggar.
__________________________________

Tigers have striped skin. They need it, so when they go punk and shave off all of their hair, they'll still have stripes.
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Pyramidion: The capstone of a pyramid.
Jirble: To spill a liquid by shaking or unsteady movement. i.e. -- At dinner this evening, I nearly jirbled my wine.
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So a horse walked into a bar and ordered a drink. The bartender said: "You know, you come in here pretty often, are you an alcoholic?"
   The horse answered: "I think not." and disappeared.
This, of course, is a joke concerning the philosopher Descartes and his famous dictum: "I think, therefore I am."
   I could have explained that first, but that would have been putting Descartes before de horse.

What do you call an alligator wearing a vest? -- An investigator.
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And so it goes. DJA



  

 

Extra! Extra! Read All About It!

I believe many people are interested in what actors earn: I did a quick calculation, and as an extra on "Portlandia" -- ignoring carried over earned interest, debentures, and the P/E ratio -- and assuming I can get a similar role every week, I'll be a millionaire in 300 years.
  
The appropriate theme song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_BObK59njSg

I saw a brief news article which mentioned that extras were being hired for "Portlandia". I have watched and enjoyed the show a few times, even though we don't have cable -- and I thought I had a good idea of what being an extra would entail -- and I was sort of correct: but it was more boring than I anticipated.
     I went online, filled out the form with the requested head shot and a full length shot, and to my surprise was notified within a week that a slot was available if I wanted it. After another three days, the agent told me of the time and place and said I should wear business casual. And paying close attention to that was a mistake, I would have been better off if I had gone for a bit of a scruffy look, and worn my beret -- which I considered but decided against.

The episode I was in will air sometime between January and March -- it is possibly episode number three in the new season -- the particular skit concerns a 90's vegan restaurant (we were requested not to reveal any particulars)

I arrived at the extra assembly point at 1PM but being on time wouldn't have mattered much, as I didn't get called to the actual shooting location until about 6PM (but being on time is always good) First we filled out normal new employee paperwork (SS#, tax stuff) which surprised me as I assumed the extras would be considered contract people, responsible for their own taxes and withholding, and not as regular employees (much easier for the production company). I assume the difference is because of some union contract (as a good union guy, I'm not complaining) After that we were photographed by an assistant using a smart phone, and I'm sure the photos were sent to a woman ten feet away sitting in front of a laptop (probably the extra casting director).  After laptop mixing and matching and some modest costume changes (there were 16 extras) we were divided into three groups and again photographed.

The assembly area took up the parking spaces on two sides of the street: four 8X8 canopies (one with the laptop woman) a rented box van, five 3X8 folding tables with chairs, three motor homes (one with a bump out thing), each with a generator, and two port-a-pottys  -- for crew only -- except we extras ignored that sign -- the "crew only" bit was the only questionable thing I saw. Some of the extras (me, for one) were sitting there for 5 hours and we weren't supposed to pee?

At two PM we were told we could break for lunch (which was provided) at a nearby pizza place. We had to wait until the regular crew got their food (buffet style) which didn't bother me as they  probably had a limited amount of time. The food: good fresh salad stuff, a cashew tofu thing or a cashew chicken thing (both adequate), rice, fish, mixed fruit, and some cookie type things for dessert. It was all right.
    Then back to the waiting area with the four canopies (the woman was finished clicking away) and the box van with a bunch of unidentified stuff (sound? lights? scaffolding?) stacked in the box and two people sort of tucked in a corner, typing away doing who knows what. One of the motor homes was for costumes, the other two -- who knows -- the generators kept running, but no one came or went.
    Occasionally a pedestrian would walk by, generally ignoring us. Occasionally a pedestrian with a scruffy dog would walk by, also ignoring us except one of the scruffy dogs tried to pee on a chair (the dog was pulled away but still provided the highlight for that hour) --- excitement knew no bounds.
    (I expected the waiting, but I thought we would be able to watch the taping -- no such luck. But it did make sense: No one at the active location wanted a bunch of extras yakking in the background, or wandering around tripping over cables.)
   
The first group was called into action. Those of us left behind (me) felt dismayed and abandoned. Then the next group was called and the final four (me) really felt abandoned, ignored, and denied entry into the light. As a sop, we were told we could access the snack van (it looked much like one of those half size school buses) which was full of all of the snack stuff you would ever find in a 7-11, and more besides (for example: fifteen two quart size jars of candy: mints, taffy, chewy-gooey, chocolate bits etc.) I scored a Blue Bunny neapolitan ice cream sandwich, and a bottle of water, and returned a second time for a can of sparkling water. --- living large ---

Every ten or fifteen minutes a crew member would walk by, wearing a tool belt, ear buds, a small walky-talky radio, perhaps a roll of blue painters tape hanging on a hook.  We who were still waiting (me) would look up longingly, a haunted look in our (my) eyes. I considered organizing "Hey, gang! Let's put on a show!" but my lethargy was overwhelming. At last all our (my) hopes were gone, a crew guy walks by and no one looks up.  We (I) felt destined to forever be unused: cast into the dust bin of discarded extras -- sitting there --  mocked by two costume racks and the passing crew members.

The actual restaurant!

    And then we were called! There were four of us: A couple who were going to be parents of a college kid, the college kid, and me, who was going to be an old guy who dumps his young paramour. Alas, after I was seated in place, chatting with the quite attractive young woman, I was unceremoniously bumped -- moved over to a table where I was just some guy sitting talking with a different young woman. The first young woman was pretty and pleasant, but I could have dumped her standing on my head -- back when I was an actor I played a fair number of rats and cads. Oh well. Later in the scene I and a few other extras wandered back and forth in the background --- ideally, looking like we belonged there and ideally, looking non-goofy.

A few details: When I arrived, two guys were cutting to size and writing cue cards. I didn't see the cards again, but I suppose they were used before my group was called to action.
   The café had an appropriate 90's cigarette smokey look -- provided by some kind of smoke generator. I don't know what it was, but it didn't smell.
   Carrie Brownstein (also of Sleater-Kinney https://youtube.com/watch?v=itxAqoADuxM) looked great in a plum/purple pencil-skirt suit. (before I was bumped, she came up said: "Hi, how's it goin'?" and offered her hand. I shook it of course and said: "Very well, thank you.") 
   And lest anyone think I'm objectifying women with my comments about their appearances: Fred Armisen looked dashing in a plaid shirt, wig and soul patch. (Fred Armisen wasn't in my little scene. He was just hanging around in the background, off camera, his work done for the day) -- I think Armisen is still the musical director for "Late Night With Seth Meyers" I have no idea how he does both "Portlandia" and "Late Night". 
   The taping was done with two cameras, with a third seemingly unused. There was a monitor that showed the action live, and Brownstein used it to direct the parents and college kid as they were being taped. (I assume the sound is adjusted later) The director watches both the live action and the monitor, and with digital cameras, re-takes and small adjustments can be done immediately. For example, those of us wandering around for background color were wandering around too quickly so during another take we were told to wander more slowly. (showbiz!)
   I was surprised at how few lights were used -- digital requires less light than film, but they only used a few lights and a few reflectors.
   It was hot. It was a hot day and the crew put up fans but it was still hot.
   I think I would do it again. Boring though it was, there was enough interest for a repeat or two. 

 A POEM FOR TODAY:

For acting
 we are here,
 and it is true.
We have so many
 roles to play
 that are at times
 unimaginable.
And yet we are
 playing and
 we are acting
 to our best capacity.
We are the actor
We are the player
For a short time here.
     Gajanan Mishra

BOOKS: Paper (Mark Kurlansky) ---This is the fourth book by Kurlansky I've read. (I've also read: Salt, A World History; Cod - A Biography of the Fish That Changed the World; Birdseye: The Adventures Of A Curious Man) I've enjoyed them all, but Paper was my least favorite. It's a history of paper and printing and how they changed the world, and were changed by the world. There wasn't a lot was new to me, and that's probably why it's my least favorite of the four.
     A couple of tidbits: About 1490 Aldus Manutius starting printing and opened a book shop in Venice (among other things, he developed the italic type style as well as the modern semicolon and comma) A sign on the front of his shop read: "State your business briefly, and then immediately go away." --- Impractical, but I bet most shop keepers would sympathize.
     And: In 1477 William Claxton printed the first book printed in England. It was a book of sayings of philosophers that Anthony Woodville had translated from French -- Translated while he was walking the Camino de Santiago. When dw and I walked the Camino we just enjoyed the scenery and bitched about our feet. 

In Montramartre -- Picasso, Matisse and the Birth of Modernist Art (Sue Roe) Another interesting book about the artists, agents, collectors, and hangers-on, and how they interacted. Any young person who wants to be an artist should read this book. All those guys (and a few women) really worked at their art. There are few revelations but the book is well done and well organized. Roe does a very good job of balancing the stories of the different artists and their problems.

A WORD: Acnestis -- the part of the back which an animal cannot reach to scratch. In Denali National Park, some signs are heavily studded with nails -- the point sticking out. The Rangers did that because the grizzlies kept ruining the signs by leaning on them to scratch their backs. It wouldn't be natural, of course, but would it have killed the Park Service to put in a few heavy steel posts for the bears to use. I'll bet not a single bear has a "made in China" bamboo back scratcher. 

And so it goes. DJA