It's Wine Country

Tumbling out of the car, I stepped into a stream of sunshine, still cool due to it being morning. Around me stood brown brick buildings, old, collecting sunshine. It smelled fresh, like spring. Having been subjected to rain and wind for the previous two weeks, I welcomed the sun and the vitamin D. I was in Ollauri, a small Spanish town in La Rioja, Spain's wine region, known for the 16th century bodega* Conde de los Andes.

Although I am no wine connoisseur, and will never be one of those people who knowledgeably swirls her Merlot in a thick-stemmed red wine glass while postulating pretentiously on the hints of rich flavor my taste buds pick up, I find wineries to be rather interesting. I have always been of the opinion that there is something rustic and homely about wineries. They have their own stories, their own traditions, their own flavors. The wine business is an entire culture, and a rather popular one, at that. Furthermore, I find the amount of work and effort that goes into producing wine unbelievable. It seems to me a continuous task. Considering wine has to age for a generous amount of time, imagine how much wine is produced daily to keep shelves full worldwide!

Walking through the stone cellar of Conde de los Andes, I saw bottles of wine, covered in a gentle web of white mold, that have been aging since 1918. 1918. These bottles barely missed WWI and have lived through WWII, the Cold War, and the invention of the internet. Even if I did have 300E that I wanted to invest in a bottle of red, I doubt that I could ever bring myself to open it. A 92 year-old bottle of wine is more an antique than a beverage.

I was still somewhat mulling over the concept of an almost centennial bottle of wine when I arrived in Elciego, a small Basque town that houses Marques de Riscal, a bodega designed by giant, twisted, metal sheet aficionado, architect Frank Gehry.

The incredibly modern design of the winery stands out immensely amidst the constant brown tradition of Elciego. It is rather stunning.

But that's what Spain is, the perfect mix of the old and the new.

*winery

Everything Is Topsy Turvy, Upside Down

Pushing past all the drunk Spaniards in Twenty, the most popular student nightclub in pint-sized Burgos, I noticed an odd assortment of X-Men characters, cowboys, and Robin Hoods getting their groove on to Eurotrash music (stereotypes do start somewhere), sparsely interjected with Black Eyed Peas or Lady Gaga. Or Red Hot Chili Peppers. Still a newcomer to Burgos, it took me a few moments to realize that this huge, poorly soundtracked costume fest was due to Carnaval, a week-long celebration that involves a variety of parades and other outdoor events and, of course, costumes.

The weekend progressed with more costumes: members of Kiss, matadors, bull runners, 80s aerobics instructors, Jokers, and soldiers. During the daylight hours, little kids ran all over the center of Burgos dressed as little Zoros, princesses, firemen, Supermen, and SpongeBob Squarepants (there is nothing cuter than a three-foot tall yellow box bobbing down a medieval bridge on red stockinged feet). Being a lazy college student with incredibly important things to do, such as hang out on Facebook all day, I cannot admit to having participated in many of the events, but I did venture out on Sunday evening to experience more than just tales of the--apparently--famous Burgos Carnaval.

Despite the biting cold, I managed to catch part of a jubilant procession heading down El Paseo de Espolón, lead by a colorful entertainer on stilts. I expected him at any moment to burst out into "Topsy Turvy" from Hunchback of Notre Dame because, well, he looked just like the jester, except that he was not animated.

Let's compare:

Following the procession, and a quick coffee, I witnessed the appearance of Lo monstre*, the mythical Burgos dragon in search of public affection and some comestibles. The dragon and his followers stopped in front of El Arco de Santa María, where the dragon rose up into the air, spread his wings, and blew smoke out of his pulleyed jaws.

The mechanical aspect of the presentation was rather fascinating, actually, but I do have to admit that the Spaniards possess a plethora of odd customs, such as burying sardines. No joke. ¡Viva Carnaval!**

*the monster

**long live the carnival

I Went to Salzburg and All I Got Was a Mild Stick Beating From a Demon

The crowd parted rather quickly, loud enough for me not to discern between screams of awe and laughter. I saw a shaggy-haired demon heading towards me, staring venemously with tiny, rubber, black dots--eyes. I panicked and turned rapidly to follow my friends, but the demon had found his target. He grabbed my arm and lightly hit me with a stick. The crowd was amused but quickly closed in again. The demon disappeared, the sound of his stick hitting the sidewalk the only marker of his presence.

No, the Alpine yuletide does not involve public humiliation. I had walked right into the middle of an old pagan tradition: men dressing up as demons and running around with sticks, hitting people. Welcome to Christmastime in Salzburg, Austria, a tiny valley town alive with history and beauty, surrounded by the Alps, and at this time of the year, decked out in Christmas markets, which warm the December chill, and weird traditions.

So I was lucky enough to be properly initiated into Salzburg, but despite the title of this post, that wasn't all I did. The highlight of my weekend in Salzburg was the Sound of Music tour, a four-hour endeavor that took me to all the classic film's principle locations: the lake, the houses used as the front and back of the Von Trapp residence, the gazebo, and St. Michael's church--from the wedding scene--which is located in the small town of Mondsee just outside of Salzburg. It was amazing, as well as mildly surreal, seeing all the places that had existed only on my television for thirteen years. However, my favorite part of the tour was seeing the Austrian countryside through the windows of the tour bus as it rolled down the autobahn.* I saw rolling green fields, the towering Alps, glistening lakes, and small houses dotting the uneven terrain. I had the opportunity to get off the bus and take pictures of the town of St. Gilgen--and Wolfgangsee, the lake--and Mondsee, which is one of those charming Alpine towns that only seem to exist on postcards.

Salzburg itself is a charming Alpine town, the likes of which also appear on postcards: old European buildings, churches, orange-lit Christmas markets selling traditional glühwein (hot spiced wine) and stollen (Christmas bread), and the ambiance of local authenticity. Despite modern times, Germanic tradition seems to be deeply rooted in Salzburg. St. Nicholas walks around, distributing peanuts and candy to children, the demons float through the crowds with their sticks, carolers sing on the steps of the Dom Cathedral, and vendors at the market dole out--for money, of course--every handcrafted good imaginable. The Christmas spirit is alive and well, and despite the evening chill, I'm happy to be there among the demons.

*highway