Agafem L.A. Metro Rail

I didn't recognize the ciutat I toured by Metro Rail with my germana gran. So much has changed in Los Angeles as witnessed riding the Gold line on our day trip of the city we grew up in. We began our trip at Atlantic Blvd. and boarded the train excited to know our excursion did not involve  a car, parking fees, and expensive gasoline. The cost of a single ride is $1.50 for a one way ticket or $5.00 for an all day pass for use of the extensive metro system. These noias had every intention of getting their money's worth for what we considered a fabulous deal for five dollars each.

I never imagined we would one day see a metro system in Los Angeles. Years back the thought of riding a metro train in L.A. seemed absurd because Angelinos are known for driving their cars two blocks instead of anar a peu to a 7Eleven. We were astonished at the amount of people using the metro to travel and tour the city, and even more impressed by the amount of tourists walking the streets of downtown L.A. with cameras in hand. I felt safe walking through parts of Los Angeles that were once bleak and lifeless.

Our first sight seeing stop was Little Tokyo and continued onward to L.A. City Hall. Each day I will post pictures of each site we visited.

First stop: Little Tokyo Village Plaza.

Adeu!

My germana gran

Messages left on wish trees in Little Tokyo Village Plaza.

Noia Sees Flamenco in Boyle Heights

As unbelievable as it might sound, this Noia has not seen a tablado in Barcelona or anywhere else in Spain. Mol trist. That is what happens when you are married to a Guapo who feels really Catalan and feels no interest to see spectacular pounding of heels on a wooden floor by flamenco dancers.

Of all places to see flamenco dancing without me even planning it was at a bar in...Boyle Heights. It's a city within the limits of Los Angeles. It's the equivalent of me saying, "I went to Gràcia to see a tablado in Barcelona."

L.A. has changed tremendously since I moved away ten years ago. The only place back in the day to find anything Spanish was at a restaurant called El Cid on Sunset Boulevard and what a disappointment. The gal  dancing flamenco at Eastside Luv put all her energy dancing on top of the bar as did guitarist Gabriel at the opposite end. Who knows what other Spanish surprise I'll find along the way as a guiri in my own town.

Feeling a bit jet lagged, my noia friend and I left the bar at elevenish and crossed the street to admire a very Hispanic metro entrance of the fabulous L.A. metro system. 

p.s. I took pictures my cell phone so excuse the lack of zoom and crispness of the photos.

p.p.s. I met a great gal from New York astonished as I was with all the great changes in L.A.

Bona nit!

La Tigueresa

A Not So Typical Spanish Steak

I have had my fair share of filets, or what is know in America as sirloin steak. As an American, I'm a natural born steak lover, especially if it's angus beef cooked medium rare. I am without mistake, a carnivore. Until today, I never thought it possible to find a restaurant that would serve steaks larger than what is served back home in America. Normally when you ask for steak in a restaurant here, you get an eight ounce steak--maybe a nine ounce steak if you're lucky. 

Such prejudiced thinking has changed after eating at el racó de la sidra. Listed on their menu is a 1.2 kilo steak. People, the kilo to pound conversion is two and a half plus pounds of steak. I have never seen such a gran, gran steak in my life. The waitress comes out and shows you the the raw piece of steak that can feed a family of five, to see if it meets the approval of the ordering patron. In this case, it was the approval of two tall men over six feet tall that gave the waitress an OK sign with bobbing heads and ear to ear smiles.

The two women accompanying said two men cringed and ordered one dish of cod fish with pepper and onion and another dish of a normal six ounce steak with a side dish of rice. If ever you find yourself in the small town of Rubí with hungry husbands regressing to a primal state of wanting to eat a slab of meat that looks as if someone has just hunted a dinosaur with a spear and hacked it with a good stone ax, this is the lloc adequat.

Before shocking you with pictures of the steak, everything we had on the menu was very bon! And the sidra, perfecte per un dia calorós!

Big man #1 slicing off his piece of meat.

Bigger man #2 slicing off his piece.

Big man #1 and #2 with finished  2.5 plus pound of steak.

My First Correfoc

Another embarrassing self-confession: for the first time in -- years I was a spectator of a correfoc.

Saturday night I formed part of the mass of gent inhaling smoke, escaping firework showers, and walking in a drum procession behind the correfoc. Corre means run. Foc means fire. Put the two translated words together and you get fire run, but I prefer to call it Firework Run. Locals come prepared to the firework run wearing hooded sweatshirts and handkerchiefs covering their mouths to prevent an excess of smoke inhalation. These firework revelers stand under the combusting sparks and brave it until they can't take the risk of getting burned and then flee to safety.

The Diables de Sant Cugat set off fireworks dressed in fire retardant devil costumes and scared the bejesus out of me with firework sparks flying in every direction at Plaza Ocatavià. We followed the correfoc procession with other night revelers and drummers behind the correfoc. I recorded the Diables at the Quatre Cantons plaza and inadvertently shook my camera a little too much because I had a little po and feared going blind with the closeness of the fireworks.

I returned home smelling like smoke, with irritated lungs, and a big somriure on my face.

Bones Festes Santcugatencs!

The Diables making their circle of fire with sawdust.

Smart noies protecting their body and lungs.

Fum

Tast de Vins...hiccup

This is an embarrassing confession: after living in Sant Cugat for four years, Guapo and I attended the Festa Major celebrated June 28-July 1, 2012 for the first time. The lure, vin. But it's not our fault we didn't attend sooner. I'm going to hold up my hand, cross my heart, and jurar that our absence of festive fun was due to City Hall's scare advertisement. This was the first year we received in our mailbox a cute folded pamphlet with a schedule of all events happening in the next few days to honor the town's patron saint, Sant Pere.

Excited by the schedule, I took a highlighter and marked everything I wanted to attend. The first lure was "XIII Tast de vins amb Ritme" circled multiple times with a bright neon yellow highlighter. OK, I'm lying. The first event I eyed was "El campanar, l'església i el Claustre." I have always wanted to have a guided tour of the Sant Cugat Monestary, but when my eyes skimmed the words wine tasting and monastery, I knew mans down which event had preference on my calendar. 

Are these two men drinking wine?

Tickets to the wine tasting sold out at Vins Noé rather quickly, leaving Guapo and I to arrive one hour before the wine tasting event for ticket purchase at the monastery. We had an incredible time tastant wines. After the fifth stall we took our wine tasting to a slower pace because it was starting to affect our caps. By the sixth stall I accidently  took another wine patron's wine glass left between a buttress, where I had left my glass when I walked away to snap pictures. My reaction to her outburst of "Esa es mi copa!"-- I look at her. I look at the wine glass. Look at the other two wine glasses on the cloister wall. Ha ha ha ha ha ha. Sorry!

Guapo tasting wine

Towards the end of the stall route three things happened.

Un: I snapped a picture of a man tasting wine. He glared at me and a bystander his friend made it known to me I had taken a picture of a wine critic for La Vanguardia by the name of Jua...Mu...I asked him to repeat the wine critic's name twice, but I was too wine infused to remember the critic's name.

Dos: For the first time I gathered up some courage to walk up to a happy couple and ask if I could take their picture. Their response was, si!! Yippee for me, I'm learning not to be a pollastre!

Tres: I met a pleasant lady from Rubí (a town next to Sant Cugat) who expressed her dissatisfaction with the music this year while exalting the choice of wines. She confirmed that coming to Sant Cugat for it's town festival is something she always looks forward to despite not living in Sant Cugat. 

Well pleasant lady, California Noia and Guapo too will be looking forward to the Festa Major, especialment the wine tasting. Chin chin!

Jazz by The Bridges Trio. I dug their beat.

Happy couple

 This morning I came across a circular picture in La Vanguardia's Sunday supplement  of a critic who looks very much like this man. Could this be Javier de las Muelas?

Recommend their brut nature.