Suited to a T

First item on the agenda upon returning to Buenos Aires from Spain: getting Kurt fitted for a suit at "Sastreria Fabio," the tailor around the corner from our apartment. Fabio, a spry gentleman who looks at least a decade younger than his 70 years, learned how to create made-to-measure suits and handle other tailoring chores in his native Naples, Italy, where he apprenticed before immigrating to Argentina.

Fabio explained that when he turned 13 his father gave him two options to roaming the streets with his friends: continuing his schooling or learning a trade. He apprenticed with a tailor for four years, earning knowledge and the occasional monetary tip from his mentor when his capabilities expanded. Lamentablemente, he says, he has had no luck recruiting his own apprentice to carry on the trade.

Kurt was measured for the suit on August 9. For the jacket, a two-button front, three functioning buttons on the sleeves, and two side vents. For the pants, two coin pockets and no cuffs. European style sensibilities prevailed; Fabio dismissed the American predilection for center vents, for example, on the grounds that they rumple too easily.

The first fitting (above right) was August 24. Second fitting was September 1. We picked up the finished suit today (left).  ¡Muy elegante! And just in time for the wedding of favorite son Joey to adorable Lauren on September 25.

Barcelona the Beautiful: A Fitting End to Our 2010 Tour of Spain

We left Haro on July 23, heading east to Barcelona for the final five nights of our tour of Spain. Our drive took us through numerous wind farms, with turbines whirling as far as the eye could see. They reminded us of the storks we had to leave behind in Haro.

We made an unscheduled stop at Lleida, prompted by an article favorite daughter Belén had spotted in the day's edition of El País. Citing fire concerns, the city council had ordered a mosque (actually a garage converted into a prayer hall) closed. The city had earlier prohibited the wearing of full veils in public. Check out Belén's article on the controversy here.

Once in Barcelona, we were able to navigate fairly easily to the Eixample neighborhood, where we had rented a two-bedroom apartment full of Modernista architectural charm but also plagued by a few problems with the hot water heater. Fortunately, another apartment became available . . .

We fell in the love with the neighborhood. Incredible architecture (photos here) was all around us, thanks to Gaudi and his peers. We were reminded of Buenos Aires, but with a thorough steam cleaning and some expansion of sidewalks and streets. We were close to Gaudi's Sagrada Familia (photos here), whose trademark spires we could see from our window, and to the Barcelona city park, or, as it's called in Catalan, "parc de la ciutadella." (Park photos here.) This gem of a green space also houses the Catalan parliament (photos here).

Unlike the Basque language, Catalan is a romance language and similar enough to Spanish that we could understand at least the written version. Try your hand at deciphering this important billboard. Twenty extra points for naming the event it celebrates!

We walked and walked and walked and walked some more. A memorable excursion was our long walk down La Rambla (which quickly became NOT our favorite part of the city) to the port and then over to the Barceloneta neighborhood and the beach. Photos of the port here; photos of the beach here.

And, of course, we made plenty of excursions to restaurants. Our favorite was de Tapa Madre, where we spent one evening catching up with Kurt's niece Sofia and her boyfriend William, who happened to be enjoying their own memorable vacation in Spain before starting college. (Politico Buck Dean also stopped by the table, trying to round up a few votes, but this wasn't a "lock and load" crowd.) In addition to great dishes, de Tapa Madre serves Blanc Pescador, our favorite Spanish white wine and a product of Catalunya. Just a little fizzy, thanks to a short second fermentation. You gotta try it.

El Pais Vasco, or What Do Kurt and St. Ignatius Loyola Have in Common?

Halfway through our stay in Haro, favorite daughter Belén finally recovered from the nasty bug that tagged along with her from London, and all three of us made a day trip to the Basque Country, up higher in the hills and toward the coast, where the fog and cool temperatures set a different mood that complemented the Euskara (Basque) language on highway directions and street signs.

Our first stop was Azpeitia, an incredibly picturesque little burg that was the birthplace of Kurt's great-great-grandmother on his mother's mother's side. Doña Vicenta Azpiazu was the paternal grandmother of Belén Arocena (mother of Kurt's mom Jeanette and namesake of favorite daughter).

Upon our arrival in Azpeitia, we quickly realized that the town was perhaps better known as the birthplace of San Ignatius of Loyola, whose remains are interred in the small yet elegant cathedral built around his family home. Ignatius experienced his famous conversion here as well as he recovered from life-threatening battle wounds. He went on to  establish the Society of Jesus to serve as an army of God. Not surprisingly, Ignatius is the patron saint of soldiers.

The cathedral and its grounds (photos here) are like a mini-Vatican, a jurisdiction unto itself. Directions to the town (photos here) right across the street are provided just in case. There we had a great meal in Kirkuri, a restaurant with no menus: the waitress recites the litany of options, starting with the appetizer, then progressing to main course, and culminating with dessert. Self-serve wine also provided. Total cost: 12 euros per person.

Well provisioned, we headed off to Guernica, ancient capital of the Basques and the target of a devastating bombing attack by German aircraft at the behest of Francisco Franco during the Spanish Civil War. Following Franco's death many years later, the Basque Country regained some of its autonomy, including use of the Basque language. Many still call for complete autonomy, as demonstrated by this highway overpass sign. It's hard to argue with them. Photos of Guernica here.

La Rioja Part II: Holy Moley!

Haro is located on one of the major routes of the Camino de Santiago, which wends its way another 600 kilometers to the Basilica of St. James in Santiago de Compostela. Walking through and around Haro one finds all sorts of signage directing pilgrims along their way, most incorporating some variant on the seashell, a symbol of St. James/Santiago.

Nearby is the town of Santo Domingo de la Calzada, named for its favorite son, who in the 10th century built bridges, roadways, and a hospital to help travelers on the road to Santiago. The cathedral in Santo Domingo contains the remains of the saint, along with a coop full of live chickens, honoring Dominic's most famous miracle.

The story is that a young man was wrongfully hanged for a crime he did not commit. When his parents went to remove his body from the gallows, they found he was still alive. They rushed to the local authority, disrupting his lunch of roasted chicken. "Your son," he assured the parents, "is no more alive than this chicken," at which the bird rose up from the plate and began crowing. 

Santo Domingo - for all you engineers out there - is the patron saint of roads, bridges, and water projects. Just in case you need a little help. . . . 

Down the road from Santo Domingo de la Calzada is the village of San Millán de la Cogolla, home of the Suso ("upper") and Yuso ("lower") monasteries. The former was founded in the 6th century and the latter 10 centuries later. The monasteries have been designated a UN World Heritage Site; the first written evidence of the Spanish language comes from Suso, where monks annotated Latin texts with the vernacular. 

More photos of Santo Domingo de la Calzada here. Photos of San Millán here.

La Rioja Part I: Storks & Wine and More Argentines

Favorite daughter Belén never made it to Nerja; her interview with Rattansi & Ridley plus other business matters had kept her in London until our last day in southern Spain. So as we left Nerja on the morning of July 16, we drove first to the nearby city of Málaga, where we picked her up at the airport before turning north toward La Rioja, considered by many to be the premier wine country of Spain. (Tho for us Argentine wine is still the best!)

We arrived in Haro about 9 pm, about an hour before sundown. We were pleasantly surprised by a cool mountain breeze that required us to pull out our sweaters. A nice - albeit shortlived - change from the heat of the south. Through HomeExchange, we had arranged to trade our rental apartment in Buenos Aires for a comfortable loft in Haro, in a building owned and operated by a Spaniard and his Argentine wife, Sandra. Another small world moment.

Haro is a delightful town, very manageable in size and full of picture-perfect architecture and landscapes. And the food is quite tasty, especially at our favorite restaurant Terete, specializing since 1877 in cordero asado (roasted lamb). Who knew roast lamb was so good? We also recommend the roasted chicken and the bean and chorizo soup. Alas, we never got around to trying out the desserts. 


Haro bills itself as the wine capital of the wine province, a claim that certainly seems fairly justified by the numerous bodegas around the town as well as the many wine and tapas bars in the center.

The most impressive venue we visited was Bodega López de Heredia Viña Tondonia, the third oldest bodega in the province and a real gem of facility, with eye-popping facilities, hand-hewn storage caverns underneath the production area, its own barrel-making workshop, and a delightful tasting room. More photos from this and other bodegas in the area here.

Also impressive were the storks that seemed to have built their huge nests on just about every chimney and steeple in the town. From our living room we could see - and hear - 4 pairs of storks, some still with offspring that showed up regularly at dinner time. Rather than singing or chirping, storks clatter their long beaks while making gutteral noises. Kurt mastered a very good imitation of the interesting sound that is produced. Stork watching became a ritual, as evidenced by this small sample of many many stork photos we took. And for those similarly smitten with these huge gawky miracles of flight, here's a fact sheet on their habits.

World Cup Madness & Family Reunion in Nerja

We arrived in Nerja, a short drive from Granada, just in time to watch the final game of the 2010 Copa Mundial and then celebrate Spain's first-ever championship with just about everyone in town. A few dejected Dutch fans (see below left) were the only exceptions to the jubilant crowds parading through the streets and - in some cases - fountains dressed in red and yellow and wrapped in and/or carrying the Spanish flag.

Lots of photos from that memorable evening. Days later we were still hearing spontaneous bursts of creativity from the bar down from our wonderful rental apartment (thanks Frans & Nuttee), as inspired Spaniards burst out with new songs commemorating the campeones del once de julio.

Nerja, located on the Costa del Sol, is an old town that caters more to tourists from other European countries, unlike than the newish resort of Oropesa del Mar, where almost everyone seemed to be Spanish. It is also the birthplace of Kurt's great-grandmother on his mother's side. Angustias Centurión, mother of his maternal grandfather, was born here in the 1880s, moving as an infant to Cuba, where her military father was stationed to help stifle rebellious initiatives. Angustias later immigrated with her husband to Tampa, Florida, where "El Boy" Fernández (Kurt's mother's father) was born. Meanwhile, the Centurión clan has continued to prosper in Nerja, and Kurt has many distant relatives there.

In our first trip to Nerja in 2000, we met three elderly nieces of Angustias and some of their children. Ten years later, the ladies had passed on, but we reconnected with Loli and Miguel, children of Dolores. Together, they still operate the "Bar Italica" in Plaza Cavana, near the Balcón de Europa. We also met Linda, another Centurión, born in England, whose grandfather was the eldest uncle of Loli and Miguel. Family photos here.

We also got in some serious beach time, along with the usual culinary adventures. Our best find was Jaipur's Indian restaurant, a short walk from the apartment. Jaipur's serves a special wine - named Balti - blended to complement various categories of spicy Indian foods. In the small world department, the blend of chenin and chardonnay we selected comes from Mendoza, Argentina. When we get back home, we're going to track it down. The Argentine connection continues.

We're Out of Argentina, but Argentina Isn't Out of Us

The evening of July 5th, we headed north to escape the coming Argentine winter. About 36 hours and many many valuable Continental miles later, we landed in Barcelona, Spain, where we picked up a rental car and started off for a 3-week vacation in the sun.

Our first stop - fortuitous, since it was the only one not planned in advance - was Oropesa del Mar, along Spain's eastern Costa Azahar, about a 3-4 hour drive south of Barcelona.

The Marina D'Or resort complex there was a wonderful place to get some beach time after the long trip from Buenos Aires and then watch Spain beat Germany to advance to the final game of the World Cup. In the ensuing jubilation we gained lots of little-while friends and learned some valuable chants and songs, such as "Soy español, español, español; soy español, español, español." This easy to remember and quite manageable ditty came in handy the night of July 11, a date now forever etched into the hearts of españoles everywhere. But more on that in a later posting. More photos from Oropesa here.

Next stop: the Alhambra in Granada. Ever since her first visit in 2000 to this grand complex of mainly Moorish architecture and landscaping with Reyes Católicos overlays, Linda had wanted to stay on the grounds for a few nights. The Hotel América, an economical alternative to the Parador next door, more than adequately served the purpose. We had purchased tickets in advance for a day-time visit of the gardens and post-Moorish structures and a wonderful night-time tour of the Nasrid Palaces, built in the 14th century. Photos of the grounds here; photos from the night tour of the palaces here.

What we didn't know was that the 59th annual music and dance festival also was going on. Featured performers the days we were there included Rodolfo Mederos, famed Argentine bandoneon player whom we have heard twice in Buenos Aires, and Daniel Barenboim, Israeli-Argentine pianist and conductor, whom we will see directing the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra (coincidentally based in Sevilla in southern Spain) at the Teatro Colon in August.

But the biggest surprise was running into Argentine president Cristina Fernández (no relation), stopping by briefly on her way home from an official visit to China. We knew something was afoot when we saw a security detail (obvious from the earplugs) casing the restaurant of the Parador, accompanied by officials using such typically Argentine phrases as "chau chau" and "besitos." We returned after dinner time for a glass of wine and, despite security attempts to block us, were able to snag a photo of the presidenta without her trademark heavy make-up and wearing eyeglasses. Even presidentas suffer jetlag.