Exploration of Iberia (with details only mom and dad probably care to read)

Monday July 14--Flight to Lisbon
One of the great advantages of living in my new London home is proximity to Heathrow.  I took full advantage of this and got a cheap early flight to Lisbon.  This was actually the first multi-city trip I'd ever taken completely by air.  I prefer trains because stations are always in the center of town and require far less time for security.  Usually, they're comparable in cost to air travel, but not in Portugal and Spain.  Air travel was far cheaper than trains, and there is actually no easy way to get from Lisbon to Madrid by train.  So, despite my general distaste for the process of air travel, I booked lots of one way tickets.  My first flight was at 8:10 am, and my general rule is to be at airports 2 hours beforehand, so I had to catch the tube at 5:30.  But, it's important to note that I could do this in the first place.  Of course, I pack light and don't check bags, so I really didn't have to be at the airport this early.  However, I'm paranoid about airports.  I flew TAP Portugal for the first time.  No problems, and the airport was an easy metro ride from downtown.  I again stayed in Hostelling International hostels, as they've always been dependable.  My Lisbon hostel had a good location, free wifi in the lobby, lockers in the room, and warm showers.  That's all I generally need.  I headed down to the water to explore the city on the way.  Lisbon has some pretty new buildings and some really shabby old ones.  The pretty parts of the city are not far removed from the sketchy-looking parts.  It was hot and sunny, which I actually found to be a shock to the system after a year in England.  Lisbon is a port city, but there's really no beach, so that was a tad disappointing.  After wandering about and taking some pictures, I got really tired, so I took a cold shower and a nap back at the hostel.  My nap went longer than expected, so I woke up in time for a late dinner.  I wandered back downtown and found a nice place to have some pasta and read my Kindle (I was rereading 1927 by Bill Bryson).  Getting back to the hostel, I crashed for the night.  The lack of air conditioning did get on my nerves, but I survived.  I am also reminded again and again that my sleep mask from REI is one of the best purchases I've ever made.

Tuesday July 15--Lisbon
Today was a day for some serious walking.  The major sights of Lisbon (in a place called Belem) are about 4 or 5 miles away from my hostel, and I'll happily walk that on a sunny day.  It was a gorgeous day and Belem is a much prettier area than I'd seen the previous day.  On the way, I had lunch at a pizza place by the Ponte 25 de Abril bridge, a sister bridge to the San Francisco Bay Bridge and named for the Carnation Revolution that ended a dictatorship in 1974.  The waiter there was excited to speak English with me, and he honestly had an American accent when he spoke.  He was also envious of my Kindle, telling me that Amazon has very few titles in Portuguese except for some Brazilian authors.  He found speaking English far easier than reading it.  He served me a caipirinha, which is a Brazilian cocktail.  It was a lovely afternoon.  Walking along the river, I came across a tennis-like game played in a transparent walled court.  It is called padel tennis and is popular in Iberia and Latin America.  Yet another sport to try sometime.  After seeing all the sights of Belem, including the Belem Tower, the monument to the discoveries, the tomb of the unknown soldier, and the big monastery/church, I found a little park area in the Belem Cultural Center and took a nap under a tree.  Walking back along the same route I came seemed boring, so I took a different way that ended up looked rather seedy in many parts.  That happens relatively often, but that's why I pick the daytime to be adventurous.  Nothing happened, so I probably overestimate dangers, but some parts of Lisbon did give me the willies.  Overall, walked more than 10 miles on a hot and sunny day but managed to stay hydrated and unburned the whole time.  I'm proud of that.  Also, I did a great deal of thinking, as often happens when I walk.  I came up with a good list of priorities for the coming year, so it was productive thinking.  I'll expand upon those later, perhaps.

Wednesday July 16--Flight to Madrid
I had yet another early morning flight, so I really needed some sleep, but I had the unfortunate luck of sharing a room with a loud snorer on a night when I couldn't use earplugs since I needed to hear my alarm.  So, I got very little sleep and ended up indulging an idea of walking to the airport.  Unsurprisingly, airports are not really made with pedestrian traffic in mind.  Plus, I ended up walking through some sketchy areas at night, but it was ultimately uneventful, so I'll consider that bucket list item fulfilled and not try it again.  Madrid was uncomfortably hot, over 100 degrees, and there was no a/c in my hostel, so I couldn't even take a nap.  I walked around Madrid to take in some of the sights, but it was too hot and I was too tired to really enjoy it. I was sluggish and cranky.  I did eventually find a shady place in a park to lie down and relax, but it was even hot in the shade.  You know it's hot when wind only makes it worse because the breeze is hot.  I stayed hydrated, if not cool, at least.  My hostel also had an elevator in which I could feel it drop slightly when I stepped inside.  It did not inspire confidence.  There were no lockers in the room, so I felt a bit exposed with my bag unsecured, but there was no trouble.  In my experience, travelers in hostels are generally respectful of other travelers' stuff.  I thoroughly enjoyed a cold shower as I never had before, so that was a nice new experience.  I knew I couldn't enjoy my time without some escape from the heat, so I started browsing hotels for Seville.  I very nearly booked one until I checked and found that my hostel would indeed have air conditioning.  So, I just made a plan for the next day.

Thursday July 17--Madrid
My plan was to see the major sights of Madrid in the morning before the heat really got too intense and then spend the rest of my day bouncing around the many museums and staying indoors.  I saw the royal palace and attached cathedral, passed by several parades of dignitaries being escorted to the palace, picked up some local treats in the shopping areas of the Gran Via and Plaza Mayor, and even discovered an interesting Egyptian spot in the middle of the park.  The Temple of Debod was moved to save it from being flooded by a Nile dam, and it was donated to Spain for help they'd given earlier.  Madrid happens to have some great museums, and I visited the Prado and the Reina Sofia (modern art).  You can actually check out several pieces from Reina Sofia on the Google Art Project, but unfortunately not the Prado.  I am still quite a novice appreciator of art, but I was impressed by El Greco, Goya, Picasso (in a way I hadn't been before), and Dali.  El Greco was one I'd never even heard of, and his works honestly looked like impressionism a few hundred years early.  I was surprised and delighted by that.  Picasso and Dali did a lot of work during the Spanish Civil War, and Reina Sofia had a lot of photography from this time, so it got me reading up on the era.  I had never given it much thought before, but it's fascinating stuff.  The Reina Sofia also reminded me that modern art has completely screwed with my mind.  I followed directions to a room that was supposed to house a collection of some famous artist I didn't know.  When I finally got there, I found myself in an empty room, though obviously a presentation space.  Instead of realizing immediately that I was obviously in the wrong room, I spent a short time examining the blank walls for any signs of markings and thinking "Is this an extreme minimalist or something?  Is this honestly what the artist intended?"  If John Cage can sit there in silence and call it a musical piece, it is not impossible for a blank room to be presented as visual art.  I was just in the wrong room, of course, but damn you, modern art, for what you've done to my head!

Friday July 18--Flight to Seville
One thing I found in Madrid and Seville is that, though I could not converse, I could communicate basic requests in Spanish.  It did come back to me a bit.  If I set my mind to it and spent some serious time in Spanish speaking countries, I do think I could learn to speak it.  I don't know if I'll have the time or opportunity, but I do think it's at least possible now.  Anyway, this time I took a taxi to the airport.  The 30 Euro I paid for the taxi was as much as I'd paid for 2 nights in my hostel, so you can see why I avoid taxis if I can.  Early morning flights are cheap, but they do generally rule out buses and subways for getting there.  When I travel, I eat things that are cheap and easy, except for dinner when I'm willing to splurge on something more local and interesting.  Usually sandwiches and whatnot are cheap and easy, but let's face it, McDonald's is as convenient as they come.  They're cheap, they're everywhere, and they're generally open nearly all day.  One of my goals this trip was actually to avoid McDonald's as much as I could.  At Madrid airport, early in the morning, there was nothing open except McDonald's.  I walked toward it with a defeated attitude.  Then, a bakery and sandwich shop opened literally as I was walking past it.  It was karma, and I appreciated it.  Seville is a beautiful city, prettier than Madrid in my opinion, and is not nearly as big.  I effectively explored much of what I wanted to see in a day.  I'm sure there's more to do there, but I like to do taste-testing kinds of trips.  I walk around and see as much as I can, get a feel for the city, then move on.  If I find it really interesting, I plan a dedicated return trip.  It's not everyone's ideal type of travel, but it's what I like.  My hostel in Seville had a/c, which made me really happy, but just like the one in Madrid, it had only one key per room.  There was no way to leave the door unlocked, so to take a nap, I had to leave the key in the lock outside in case any roommates wanted to come in.  It's an odd system.  The prettiest place in Seville was Plaza de Espana (there was one of these in every Spanish city I visited), which was full of Islamic architecture in the middle of a beautiful park.  I spent a good deal of time there.  I also explored the city center, which is a maze of narrow streets.  It's quite picturesque, and it provided a little respite from the sun.  Seville Cathedral charged way too much for admission, but it was still fun to see, though I do get a little sick of seeing church after church.  Part of me is amazed at the architecture, and part of me is amazed at the thought that the church had enough money and resources to build on such a grand scale while the majority of the people in the surrounding community had absolutely nothing. That being said, Seville Cathedral is huge and gaudy, but not as architecturally impressive as others I've seen.  I did get to see the tomb of Christopher Columbus, though.  From there, I headed to the bullfighting arena, which is quite impressive for being several hundred years old.  There were no bullfights going on while I was in Seville (I missed it by a day!), but I would have seen one if I'd had a chance.  I don't actually like the thought of bullfighting, but I'm curious to see it, and Seville's arena would have been the place to do it.  One thing I found fascinating was that the Hall of Fame house within commemorated as many bulls as it did bullfighters.  Sometimes the bulls win, and sometimes the bullfighters win.  I wouldn't exactly call it a fair fight, but the heads of the bulls up on the wall were from ones that killed bullfighters.  Interesting culture.

Saturday July 19--Seville
I saw just about everything I wanted to see on Friday, so I slept in and comfortably due to the a/c, and just found some pretty places in Seville to sit in the shade and read a little bit.  I also spent some time talking with my roommate, a young guy from Libya who was in Spain trying to get a place on a soccer team.  He was a Muslim, and since it was Ramadan, he couldn't have any food or water from sunrise (about 5:30am) to sunset (about 9:15 pm).  On a hot summer day, that's just crazy.  He was even training for soccer for a couple hours.  That's dangerous.  He casually mentioned things about life in Libya like "there really is no government there" and "my father still is afraid to say anything bad about Gadafi" that made me realize just how different a life he had than mine.  This is why I travel.  Anyway, I had tapas for dinner and then saw a flamenco show.  The music is as beautiful as the dancing.  An evening stroll by the water was the last thing I did in Seville.

Sunday July 20--Flight to Barcelona
I finally had a flight that wasn't at the crack of dawn, so I slept in nicely and got the airport with no stress.  I was flying Ryanair, which is so low cost that they make you print out your boarding pass from home and are the one airline that had no smart phone boarding pass.  TAP Portugal, EasyJet, and British Airways all allow me to just have a boarding pass on my iPhone.  I got to my Barcelona hostel late in the afternoon, so I made a circular plan on my map for a little walk around town.  I would head down the major shopping street, head down to the water, then walk back toward the hostel along the beach.  The first two parts worked out fabulously.  I underestimated the distance, but I am not afraid of long walks.  As I headed toward the water, the neighborhoods got sketchier. I kept thinking "I have to be getting closer."  It took a lot longer than I'd thought, but when I reached the water, I was not near a beach.  I was in the docks, and the road along it didn't look promising.  So, I could either make the really long trek back the original route, or I could take a shortcut past the docks that involved walking along a highway.  I said, "Oh, it's all part of the adventure" and walked up the on ramp.  I stayed on the shoulder when there was one, and when that disappeared I walked on the other side of the guard rail.  I was about about halfway along my 3/4 mile or so highway shortcut when I got stopped by motorcycle cops.  They spoke no English, and I spoke no Catalans (what they speak in Barcelona instead of Spanish), but "What the hell are you doing?   You can't walk along the highway!" was clearly communicated.  Then they stopped traffic. I honestly thought I might be arrested.  As it happened, they simply ushered me over to the other side of the highway where there was more walking room.  I thought "Hey, thanks!" until I saw them pointing me back the way I came.  I had to climb down a hill to get off the highway, then walk along the sketchy docklands to get back to my starting point before the on ramp, and then came the arduous backtrack.  Oh, and I got to see the traffic jam I'd caused as I walked back.  When I got back to the hostel, I decided to call it a night.  Oh, and the hostel gave me my second experience with mixed dorms (my first was in Canada).  You might not think I should complain about sharing a room with mostly college girls, but unless there's an orgy it is quite an awkward situation for this 36 year old.  As it happened, no orgies.

Monday July 21--Barcelona
The air conditioning was wonderful, but apparently someone among the 12 in the dorm room preferred to shut it off sometime during the night, so I slept well and woke up sweaty.  Ugh, kids.  Still, my blessed sleep mask and earplugs allow me to sleep through young girls getting ready in the morning, so I woke up refreshed.  I decided to head straight for the beach to make sure it was actually there, and when I saw a wonderful stretch of sand and Mediterranean bodies, I plopped down and soaked in the sun for a while.  I thought about going swimming, as I had brought my trunks, but I didn't like the idea of leaving my things out in the open on a crowded beach while I was in the water.  One of the drawbacks of solo travel, I guess.  So, I just enjoyed the sun and headed back through town to see some of the beautiful churches, parks, outdoor markets, and narrow streets.  The one thing I wanted to see most, Sagrada Familia, was actually still under construction.  Cheap flights to Barcelona are available from London, so I may very well have to return there.

Tuesday July 22--Barcelona
One thing I really miss while traveling is American breakfasts.  I miss them anyway, but especially when traveling.  Europe is great for finding sandwiches and things during the day, and sitting down to a nice dinner is very easy, but breakfast is mostly pastries here.  There is no equivalent of Sheetz or Wawa here, let alone Eat 'n Park.  Still, I managed to get some food in me and go down to the Olympic park.  There are beautiful views of the city from there, and I spotted a church up on a hill overlooking the city from a prominent position.  I couldn't resist heading up there, especially since my map said the stadium of FC Barcelona was on the way.  The trip up that hill was long and arduous.  I again underestimated the distance, but thankfully I stayed hydrated the whole time.  When I finally got there, I was rewarded with a great view of the city, even though I realized it was a relatively small church.  It just happened to be one with a great view, and a small amusement park next to it as well.  That was an odd pairing.  I decided to take the metro back to the hostel, and after a nap and a shower, I went out for a drink.  I am not an overly social guy anymore, but I found a nice Irish pub for a beer.  As it happens, a nice Brazilian woman sat down next to me and we conversed for hours.  I walked her back to her hostel, and that was the end of that, unfortunately.

Wednesday July 23--Flight to London
I woke up with a sorry discovery that three strong beers were enough to give me a hangover.  I really don't drink that often. I took my hangover down to the beach, where I lay for a good 90 minutes.  I had a relatively late flight, so since I was in no mood to walk around with a headache, and since several hours on the beach would turn me a nice shade of red no matter how much sunblock I used, I decided to indulge in a massage.  This was a good idea, and it allowed me to end my trip in as relaxing a manner as possible. I made my way to the airport early as always, and since I already had my boarding pass, I spent 90 minutes waiting.  Still, better early than late.  On the other end, I had the unprecedented experience of finding no line at immigration.  I was on the tube 30 minutes after my plane touched the ground.  It was a glorious end to the trip.

American athletes don't smile much

There are a few things that annoy me about soccer, as I have said, but one thing I really like is that the athletes tend to actually look happy when they score.  American athletes don't do that so much it seems.  They often look pissed off or even bored when they score.  Barry Bonds used to watch home runs soar with a look of "Oh, I need to go all the way around the bases now.  I wish I could have someone else do this part."  After winning the NCAA championship this year, the UConn players looked absolutely pissed.  It seemed like winning the game, which is generally the goal, had become an act of defiance.  Rarely do I see a touchdown in the NFL that isn't followed by someone finding a camera to scream at.  The more I've watched sports in America, the less joy I see in the players.  The joy is increasingly replaced with anger at some perceived affront.  "They said we couldn't do it" is shouted a lot, and it's not accompanied by a smile.  I actually watched a UConn player run around angrily yelling "I told you!" after winning the biggest game of his life.  This man is fortunate enough to have great athletic talent which has made him popular with just about everyone since he was a child, earned him a full college scholarship (though education is probably not his priority), put him in the center of a national spotlight, and will likely cause people to throw money at him by the millions, and he looks like he's rebelling against his oppressors. I just don't get that.  I also could do without the faux humility of pointing to the sky after every athletic achievement.  Catching a ball and crossing a line someone drew on the ground must be raised to cosmic importance, after all.

After years of watching American sports, I find it refreshing to see athletes actually enjoying themselves.  Sure, they are prima donnas diving on the ground every 5 minutes, but they actually smile when they score! They are getting paid ridiculous amounts of money to play a game, and it actually shows.  Well, not with Mario Balotelli, but with most other people. Watch the World Cup, and you will see goal scorers running to the sides grinning ear to ear, sliding on their knees, and getting buried under other smiling teammates.  That's what I want to see.  If scoring a goal in game can't make you happy, why are you playing?  Soccer, I give you a tip of my hat.  Bravo for keeping some joy in sports.  Well, among the athletes at least.  I suppose soccer fans exude something other than pure joy.

Kids are cruel

I spoke with a student of mine that normally keeps pretty quiet but was obviously close to tears.  She ended up telling me about an experience that was eerily familiar.  She's a pretty solidly Christian girl, believing all the Nicene Creed kinds of things, and it apparently puts her in a minority in this school.  It's a Christian school with Cathedral services twice a week, so I couldn't help but be a little surprised.  She said that other girls in her year, and one girl in particular, tease her quite regularly about her religious beliefs. She feels ostracized and alone, and she tends to suffer privately.  I usually just listen when my students tell me these things, as that's the one thing people need most, but I decided to share my own experiences this time.  After all, I was teased pretty regularly for the same thing, except mine was for not being Christian in a heavily Christian community.  So there we are, an atheist and a Christian, both feeling a bit alone in this community for different reasons, but realizing that both Christians and atheists can be jerks.  And both knowing that kids can be incredibly cruel.  But at least that knowledge made her smile.

Red cards, yellow cards, and pussy cards

One benefit of living in the UK is that I get to finally watch the World Cup in a country that cares about it.  Even though I hear that the ratings in the USA are higher than normal, I also know plenty of people are more interested in baseball at the moment.  Every pub here is showing the World Cup.  Every student and colleague is talking about the World Cup.  People are filling out brackets. (You see, England, this is why you need more tournaments.  Brackets are fun!) So I am watching a lot of soccer.  But I'm not calling it football.  I have my limits.

I love playing soccer.  I even like watching soccer.  But I don't love it.  I'm really trying, but there is one major thing getting in the way.  Soccer players are pussies.  Not all of them, but way too many of them.  They are world class athletes that can sprint like track stars and can boot a ball like it's shot from cannon.  Yet, if anyone comes within a foot of them, they dive on the ground and grab their knees.  Always their knees.  Sometimes, they cover their faces, too. I'm assuming it is because they can't help laughing while they roll around screaming.  The worst part is that it works like a charm.  The referee stops the game and gives them the ball for this.  No group of athletes is so often rewarded for such blatant flopping as these, even surpassing Tom Brady and a bunch of wide receivers.

I get so excited watching the games, because the action really is intense.  And then I find myself muttering "pussy" constantly as they flop.  I started talking to soccer fans here, and they do agree with me.  They get frustrated by it, too.  They say, "It's just part of the game. You can't really stop it."  I disagree.  I have a solution.  The pussy card.  If you commit an honest foul, and it's intentional or a bit rough, you get a yellow card, two of which cause you to miss the next game.  If you commit a really bad foul, like really trying to injure someone, you get a red card and are ejected from the game.  I propose we add a third card, the pussy card.  Any time someone flops while trying to draw a penalty, flag him with a pussy card.  Not only will it call people out for this style of play that is ruining a great sport, but it will give a statistic that is easily tracked.  Right now, people say "I think Ronaldo/Messi/Ballotelli/other random star flops a lot.  You'll see.  Watch."  But that's fuzzy.  Imagine if you could just say that Ronaldo has earned 10 pussy cards this year.  There is power in numbers, folks.

My rocks

I am a traveler, but I don't put pins in a map, collect Hard Rock Cafe shirts, or take a million selfies.  I like rocks as my chosen mementos.  It feels more like I'm saving an actual piece of the place I visited.  On the down side, I am pretty much guaranteed to be "randomly" selected for additional security at the airport.  Here are some of my favorites

Marble from the Greek island of Paros (2007)

This was my first travel rock.  On the epic Greek adventure organized by the Curriers and attended by the most awesome group of friends (Team Bacchus!), we took a tour of an old marble quarry.  It blew my mind to think I was walking on a really big formation of marble, because the place looked mostly orange.  I thought marble was white.  The tour guide said that the more orange the outside, the brighter white the inside, and she invited us to break open any rock (marble is relatively soft) to see.  I grabbed the first big stone nearby and hurled it at a boulder.  The thing shattered, and this beautiful shard was the result.  I thought to myself, "Not only is it beautiful, but it's marble! That's freaking Greek!"

Navajo sandstone from Zion Canyon (2010)

I mean, outside Zion Canyon.  I definitely didn't take a rock from a National Park, which is totally not allowed.  This beautiful orange stone is everywhere in Utah, and it nearly defines the place in my mind.  The orange rock and the blue sky complement each other so beautifully out there. I found this slab not far from the road when I stopped to take some pictures.

Glacial deposit from Capitol Reef National Park (2010)

I mean, outside Capitol Reef.   I definitely didn't take a rock from a National Park, which is totally not allowed. Among the miles of orange landscape in Utah, you see random black rocks that easily stand out.  They are completely unrelated to any of the surroundings and were deposited there glaciers 13,000 years ago or so.

My Blarney Stone (2012)

I found this in Blarney Castle, Ireland.  It was in the gardens.  I couldn't resist having my own Blarney Stone.

By the way, I had a much better rock from the Aran Islands off Galway.  The whole island is made of a beautiful gray limestone.  I found a perfect shard, but it ended up being way too heavy to carry all over the island.  I regret putting it back.  I should have kept it.

Chalk from the White Cliffs of Dover (2012)

On my first EF Tour to London, we were blessed with a day off to get out of the city.  I took a group (the Noones, the Seldens, Christine and Gen) to see Dover.  It was the coldest, windiest day imaginable, and these folks were just the happiest people you could ever hope to be with on a day like that.  I told them about my fondness for rocks, and they embraced it.  We found a little place littered with fallen stones, and each of us got our own little piece of the cliffs.

Pumice from Pompeii (2013)

Okay, I didn't actually go to Pompeii.  It's still on my to do list.  On my second EF Tour, we had a free day in Rome.  I really wanted to go to Pompeii, but the vast majority of the group was staying in Rome, so I was needed there.  Luckily, Sammie Johnson is amazing and brought me back rocks since she was one of the few students who took the guided tour to Pompeii.  This is volcanic rock from a city buried by a volcano.  So very awesome.

Part of the Travertines of Pamukkale (2013)

These formations in Turkey are covered in mineral deposits (mostly calcium) from the mineral springs flowing over the rocks, gathering in pools, and evaporating.  I did not break off a piece from this natural wonder, I swear.  I was actually lucky enough to find this sitting next to the base of one of the formations.  I couldn't believe my luck.  Perfect cross section.

Limestone from a calanque in Marseille (2014)
Marseille is surrounded by rock formations called calanques, steep limestone formations common on the southern coast of France.  The bright white/light gray rocks with the blue water makes such a pretty backdrop.  I went for a nice walk up into the hills, and I found this smooth, beautiful specimen while sitting down on an outcrop.

Papa Schnids

A month ago, I stole a brilliant idea from Abby and gave a good amount of thought about what I learned from Mama.  But I have been lucky enough to have two awesome parents.  Being a teacher and having worked with a lot of kids in broken families, I don't underestimate just how lucky I am to have both of them.  And while both Mama and Papa have taught me how important it is to be loved and to show it openly, I have learned a slightly different set of lessons from Dad than from Mom.

Random acts of kindness are the way to go

Seriously, my father is the master of this.  He once cooked a full breakfast of eggs, bacon, toast, and OJ for a life guard at the beach.  The life guard thought it was unusual, to be sure, but he did not turn it down.  

Doing things for others feels far better than taking things from them

I still remember bringing Tracy home and telling her to ask my father to make her a burger.  She said, "I'm not randomly asking your father to cook for me."  I responded, "Trust me.  If you ask him to cook you a burger, he'll love you forever."  She decided to trust me, and I was right.  I'm not sure which was better, the look of excitement in my Dad's eyes, or the look of astonishment in Tracy's.

Take your time. Relax.

My father does not run.  Ever.  I have never seen him move beyond a cool, leisurely pace.  He also does not stand in lines.  "I spent 5 years in the Navy standing in line for everything.  Never again."  The man knows how to avoid stress. 

Teaching takes patience, and communicating on their level.

My father does not talk down to people, and especially not kids.  That's one reason, other than his eggs, that so many people love him.  He has an amazing talent for teaching kids to tie their shoes.  I don't know how he does it, but they follow him like no other.

Always appreciate a hard day's work

My father has been a truck driver, a window washer, a janitor, and several other things.  He always got his job done, and he never claimed that any job was beneath him.  It always comes to my mind when I tell kids to clean up and some smart ass says "this is the janitor's job."  

Storytelling is an art

My father tells stories.  It's what he does.  And they are never boring.  Especially when they start with, "This one time, in the Navy, I wasn't supposed to be drinking but . . ."  I sometimes try relaying my father's stories, but they're never nearly as funny when I say them.  Damn it.  And facts are kind of irrelevant.  If I tell my father something mundane that happened in my day, he'll make up a far more interesting plot when he tells it to my mother.  

Never underestimate a smile and a positive attitude

On the night of my high school graduation, my dad was grilling burgers and hot dogs for everyone.  The boys needed no convincing, obviously, but the girls were not chowing down as much.  My father wanted everyone's arteries hardening and lips dripping with grease, so I kept hearing him say "Come on, darlin', this is the best burger you'll ever have in your life."  Before long, even the borderline anorexics were having hot dogs with everything.  Saying no to my father is just not as easy as you'd think.

Know your strengths.  Stick with what works.

My father only uses two golf clubs, a 5-iron and a putter, and he beat me every time.  He will cook eggs every morning and every night, if you let him, and his eggs are phenomenal.  He once told me "Just because someone invented a nail gun, it doesn't mean a hammer won't work anymore."  Wise words, father.  One of my father's strengths is definitely not naming children.  If my mother hadn't intervened, I would either be Jesse James Schneider or Rudolph Maximilian Schneider.  

Don't throw anything away

Okay, this only comes in handy sometimes.  I sometimes had to go surreptitiously throw something away in my neighbor's trash can if I wanted it to be truly gone.  My father has a weird desire to save absolutely everything, just in case you need it later.  I can't tell you how many coolers my father has given me over the years.  To be fair, I did need one every time.  And he is more than happy to take care of my stuff while I'm abroad.  I'm sure the 53 inch TV isn't an imposition, but the car certainly is.  Would your father wash and wax your car every week while you're away?  I'm talking about detailing with a toothbrush!  I didn't think so.  I win.

Love you, Dad.

Passing judgments on places I visit

This spring, I have really been doing what I enjoy most about living in Europe, traveling.  Prague, Paris, Marseille, Nice, and Monaco.  Next month, I'll stick pins in my map at Lisbon, Madrid, Seville, and Barcelona.  I'm collecting cities like baseball cards.  A few random notes from each:

Prague

Really good, really cheap beer.  Amazingly beautiful women.  Great architecture, and a lot of hills from which to appreciate it.  I took a nap in a park by the river.  I was very relaxed in Prague.

Paris

Paris is a lot more spread out than you might think.  The public transit works very well, but they need to sort out their ticket system.  Changing lines without leaving a station necessitated me scanning my ticket 3 times. Paris is a gorgeous city, but it really treasures looks over practicality.  There aren't many cities that can make me check my map 4 times on a single block to make sure I'm not going in a circle.

Marseille

Really pretty by the water, not so much away from it.  They build continuous benches all along the coast to make sure people can appreciate what is really an amazing view.  But damn it's windy.  I like cities where night life, hiking, and kite surfing are all easily accessible.

Nice

It's Ocean City with a lot more money.  Honestly, if you've seen one boardwalk, you've seen them all.  It was far too difficult to find a beer in the city, though.  I guess it is France.  But they do take jazz seriously.  I'm all in favor of that.  

Monaco

If you have a whole lot of money and really like showing it off, this is the place to go.  If you're a teacher traveling on the cheap with just a pair of shorts and a few changes of shirts, then you'll get some pretty pictures outside of the buildings.  They will not let you inside.  This city is built on a coast mountain range, so be prepared for lots of hills and stairs.

France, in general

Now that I have gotten out of Paris, I feel justified in having an opinion on the country, even if I have yet to visit much of the countryside and smaller towns.  It's nice, really, but Canada's better.  There, I said it. I just prefer maple cream cookies to any kind of cheese. And Canadians are prettier.