Dear Readers,
I write to you from my blearied state tonight to share something I found surprising, excellent, and definitely relevant to anyone's life. You will find out what soon enough, but first an explanatory tangent.
Lately I've taken an interest in the art of storytelling. This act/hobby is so important because almost literally everything in our lives revolves around interacting with and engaging other people, and the majority of those interactions are stories in one form or another.
As with all important things, I turned to the vague entity that is the internet for my guidance. The internet has a few things to say to me, and you for that matter on the subject.
Some quick bullets:
Share focus with the listener.
Ask questions and regularly provide answers. Always have listeners wondering.
Provide vivid details of whatever you are describing rather than phrases like "And then this happened."
Even better than the conventional wisdom was Ira Glass's analysis, which more or less blew me away. The man is just a raging dynamo of witticism, fun and wisdom. Earlier tonight, I sat there in my bed watching him spout knowledge while trying to go to sleep, and decided that I had found at least one new hero. I have only left my pleasantly supine repose to speak with you on account of his piece, and the sheer casual force of the sucker.
Here is a link to the first video in the series of four, others can be found in the sidebar.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=loxJ3FtCJJA
If you are interested in writing, radio, any creative act in general, or even at the most basic level, talking to people, I highly recommend checking it out.
Until later,
Tim
Monday, April 11, 2011
Sunday, April 10, 2011
Beyond expectations
Dear reader,
Early this week a friend asked me if I would like to go on a Saturday boating trip. I try hard to accept invitations to things like this, so of course I agreed. He described the voyage as a few hours out to a small island, some snorkeling, and then a return by sunset. Free wine was also mentioned. This description conjured in me, as I'm sure it does in you, an image of a lazy trawl accompanied by the romantic luminescence of the day's end.
I arrived at the dock slightly late, still panting from my jog to get there in the hot sun and fresh air of Alicante in Spring. In front of me sat a speed boat. My initial thought was something to the effect of "Woooooooo". As we boarded the driver smiled and shook our hands, then told us to tie our stuff in. We were informed that sitting down would not work, because it would harm our backs.
We drifted slowly out of the sheltered port, and the captain opened up the engine. The craft, a long slender rubber raft with two rows for passengers immediately planed out, then picked up to skipping over the huge sea waves. We gained speed and each wave became a small jump. Standing up and hanging tightly to handrails designed to keep passengers intact, our mouths were plastered open by the wind. I have no idea how fast we were going, but it felt like sticking my head out of a car window at the least.
After careening for about a few minutes, with the whole group laughing hysterically at how much fun the trip was, we stopped to admire the city of Alicante from a new perspective, far out in the water. Everyone's hair was plastered far back on their heads, like some grotesque 50s prom group, and no where could an unsmiling face be found.
We were then informed that the boat had only been traveling at half capacity.
We picked up again, this time going much faster and jumping even higher, and continued to stop at several more scenic locations along the coast including the nearby town, a pool where there are evidently sunset swims on Sundays, a nude beach (!? Did not know there was a nude beach 15 minutes from my city, Spain is interesting), and finally another long sandy beach.
We stopped there about 900 feet off of shore. The water was roughly fifteen feet deep, and a clear turquoise. We could see the details of the sand below us, and nearby a group of Spaniards were scuba diving and spearfishing. The captain handed out snorkels and we jumped into the water, which was shockingly cold but refreshing.
I got a mouthful of water as I jumped in, and was surprised to see how salty it was. Puget Sound at least never seemed so strong. It was also very easy to float. I could stoop swimming and put on my snorkel mask, and just sit there with my eyes just at water level without any effort, the rest of my body entirely submerged.
We swam around for a bit, traveling in a wide circle from our boat. A nearby old Spanish man waved to us from his sailboat, and we swam over to say hi. The man was docked with a friend, both of them being in possession of very handsome craft, and when we came closer he invited us aboard and asked if we would like a drink. I sat there and drank a Spanish beer while he shared stories about his life and advice on good destinations, and then we said goodbyes to him and his party and went back to our boat.
The sun was still intense, but lowering in the sky, and we dried ourselves off and put the snorkels away while our guide offered everyone some Sangria. (Largely fruit based wine mixture.) I had a few small glasses, and then we made the return voyage, zooming along the water. I'm not sure that I have had too many more exhilarating experiences than feeling the light of a gorgeous sunset with strong, warm wind in my face.
On reaching the dock, we got off, thanked the captain, paid what was a very reasonable 20 euros for the trip, and went home skipping.
What an excellent way to spend an evening,
Tim
Early this week a friend asked me if I would like to go on a Saturday boating trip. I try hard to accept invitations to things like this, so of course I agreed. He described the voyage as a few hours out to a small island, some snorkeling, and then a return by sunset. Free wine was also mentioned. This description conjured in me, as I'm sure it does in you, an image of a lazy trawl accompanied by the romantic luminescence of the day's end.
I arrived at the dock slightly late, still panting from my jog to get there in the hot sun and fresh air of Alicante in Spring. In front of me sat a speed boat. My initial thought was something to the effect of "Woooooooo". As we boarded the driver smiled and shook our hands, then told us to tie our stuff in. We were informed that sitting down would not work, because it would harm our backs.
We drifted slowly out of the sheltered port, and the captain opened up the engine. The craft, a long slender rubber raft with two rows for passengers immediately planed out, then picked up to skipping over the huge sea waves. We gained speed and each wave became a small jump. Standing up and hanging tightly to handrails designed to keep passengers intact, our mouths were plastered open by the wind. I have no idea how fast we were going, but it felt like sticking my head out of a car window at the least.
After careening for about a few minutes, with the whole group laughing hysterically at how much fun the trip was, we stopped to admire the city of Alicante from a new perspective, far out in the water. Everyone's hair was plastered far back on their heads, like some grotesque 50s prom group, and no where could an unsmiling face be found.
We were then informed that the boat had only been traveling at half capacity.
We picked up again, this time going much faster and jumping even higher, and continued to stop at several more scenic locations along the coast including the nearby town, a pool where there are evidently sunset swims on Sundays, a nude beach (!? Did not know there was a nude beach 15 minutes from my city, Spain is interesting), and finally another long sandy beach.
We stopped there about 900 feet off of shore. The water was roughly fifteen feet deep, and a clear turquoise. We could see the details of the sand below us, and nearby a group of Spaniards were scuba diving and spearfishing. The captain handed out snorkels and we jumped into the water, which was shockingly cold but refreshing.
I got a mouthful of water as I jumped in, and was surprised to see how salty it was. Puget Sound at least never seemed so strong. It was also very easy to float. I could stoop swimming and put on my snorkel mask, and just sit there with my eyes just at water level without any effort, the rest of my body entirely submerged.
We swam around for a bit, traveling in a wide circle from our boat. A nearby old Spanish man waved to us from his sailboat, and we swam over to say hi. The man was docked with a friend, both of them being in possession of very handsome craft, and when we came closer he invited us aboard and asked if we would like a drink. I sat there and drank a Spanish beer while he shared stories about his life and advice on good destinations, and then we said goodbyes to him and his party and went back to our boat.
The sun was still intense, but lowering in the sky, and we dried ourselves off and put the snorkels away while our guide offered everyone some Sangria. (Largely fruit based wine mixture.) I had a few small glasses, and then we made the return voyage, zooming along the water. I'm not sure that I have had too many more exhilarating experiences than feeling the light of a gorgeous sunset with strong, warm wind in my face.
On reaching the dock, we got off, thanked the captain, paid what was a very reasonable 20 euros for the trip, and went home skipping.
What an excellent way to spend an evening,
Tim
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Granada
Little boys love castles. That's basically the whole of it. Somewhere, deeply ingrained in the male psyche is a calling to build, forts camps, bivouacs, walls, and most of all, castles. Understandably then, a guy such as myself who still has a fair bit of growing up to do, (here's to it never completely happening), goes nuts over the chance to see a good example of medieval, stone-layed, authentic, castle badassery in its real form. This weekend I went to Granada and visited perhaps one of the most epic castles in Europe.
Prior to arriving in the city, I was already bounding with excitement for our visit, which I displayed by passing out for four hours with my trusty travel blanket on the bus. Our first night there featured a walk around the historic city, and through some gorgeous old buildings, the highlight being a tour of a massive cathedral.
Later in the evening, we went to a live flamenco show. Unlike regular dance shows where the audience sits separated from the dancers in seats facing a stage, the room the some seventy present students sat in was small. Its edges were lined with chairs, and a seven foot by thirty foot dance floor stretched across the room. Before the dancers came out, a waiter took drink orders and presented assorted Spanish beers, wine, and water to the audience. Having the band playing ten feet away, and the furiously dancing performers so close that movements of their elbows and decorated canes often came close to grazing my face made the experience unique and memorable.
I finished the night by going out for tapas, a drink of choice served with whatever tasty snack the house happened to be cooking up at the moment. We had about four, each time getting a different entree with our beer. (The beers were cañas, which are effectively only two thirds of a drink, so over the course of two hours we effectively drank very little.) That night I went to sleep with sweet dreams of a castle in mind.
*** At this point I would like to insert a short rant, skip ahead past the stars if that is not your style.***
At about three, our faithful protagonist, me, was awoken by drunken cries and excessive laughs from the next hotel room over. They came from a group of girls who I generally like, and who are certainly great people, but that night were just horrendous. The sounds came and went through the thin doors of our hotel for about two hours keeping me, and probably some others awake. Normally I don't care about losing some sleep and am all for fun, but when the next day is going to involve a lot of walking, and a lot of walking through some of the most amazing views in Spain, I want to be awake. If you're going to get way too drunk on a vacation reader, go have your fun in a damn bar and keep it relaxed back at your hotel.
***End rant***
I got up still a little tired, but ready to go the next morning at seven. Breakfast was an amazing buffet of meats, egg, wheat bread, and all kinds of fresh fruit. Two cups of coffee made me quickly forget what tired even was. It was time to go!
We took a bus over to the Alhambra, (The name of the castle), where we met with our tour guide. She had one of the coolest things I had yet seen for tours, a bunch of earpieces for the tour members to wear so that they could hear her without being anywhere near. (Photo) The one downside was that if she walked more than thirty feet away, half the tour would have to grab their ears in pain and pull away the pieces from the loud static. I just kept mine off when wanting to wander.
The tour threaded through a morning forest coming to life with birds and the Spanish day, and up through a massive gate into the Alhambra. The enterior of the castle is an enourmous complex of gardens, stadiums, dance halls, and sleeping quarters, and we wound our way through all of these. Even the relatively non-touristy Spaniards at the monument held a fearsome array of digital cameras, lens bags, and video cameras to document the experience. The best terms I can offer to describe many of the gardens and steps are preposterously pretty. I have attached a few photos, but they do not do real justice to the scene, especially since my lovely but finicky camera prefers to shoot at low aperture settings, and so does portraits like a champ and landscapes like a loser.
After touring the castle area itself, we left to walk through a series of fascinating and well tended gardens. These were nestled in the hills above the Alhambra, and from then we were able to catch an even better view of the monument. We concluded our tour walking through a springtime grove of trees and hedges, and back to the original area where we had first received our earpieces. My camera died right as I reached the exit gate, having preformed its duty admirably.
I opted to stay in Granada that night. We walked up into a neighborhood across a great green valley from the castle, and looked at it in the night. Spanish towns do something pretty cool with their greatest monuments, which is to focus dozens of spotlights on them to illuminate their forms in orange light in the dark. This effect is augmented because of the energy conservation of the Spanish people, since almost all house-lights are extinguished past eleven.
The park we went to appeared to be a hot spot for the local youth. There were dozens of young people in its square, many drinking from various bottles of alcohol. (This is called botellon in Spain and is illegal, although only to only a mild extent in terms of actual enforcement.) The stars were gleaming all across the night sky, and we could see the city for miles from our perch. We sat there enjoying the moment for half an hour, and walked back home to sleep.
The next day we woke up, walked through the city for an hour, and caught an afternoon bus back to Alicante having immensely enjoyed the weekend.
It feels like traveling might turn out to be pretty addictive,
Tim
Edit: Photos forthcoming, something is wrong with google upload at the moment, so I will continue to try at occasional intervals.
Prior to arriving in the city, I was already bounding with excitement for our visit, which I displayed by passing out for four hours with my trusty travel blanket on the bus. Our first night there featured a walk around the historic city, and through some gorgeous old buildings, the highlight being a tour of a massive cathedral.
Later in the evening, we went to a live flamenco show. Unlike regular dance shows where the audience sits separated from the dancers in seats facing a stage, the room the some seventy present students sat in was small. Its edges were lined with chairs, and a seven foot by thirty foot dance floor stretched across the room. Before the dancers came out, a waiter took drink orders and presented assorted Spanish beers, wine, and water to the audience. Having the band playing ten feet away, and the furiously dancing performers so close that movements of their elbows and decorated canes often came close to grazing my face made the experience unique and memorable.
I finished the night by going out for tapas, a drink of choice served with whatever tasty snack the house happened to be cooking up at the moment. We had about four, each time getting a different entree with our beer. (The beers were cañas, which are effectively only two thirds of a drink, so over the course of two hours we effectively drank very little.) That night I went to sleep with sweet dreams of a castle in mind.
*** At this point I would like to insert a short rant, skip ahead past the stars if that is not your style.***
At about three, our faithful protagonist, me, was awoken by drunken cries and excessive laughs from the next hotel room over. They came from a group of girls who I generally like, and who are certainly great people, but that night were just horrendous. The sounds came and went through the thin doors of our hotel for about two hours keeping me, and probably some others awake. Normally I don't care about losing some sleep and am all for fun, but when the next day is going to involve a lot of walking, and a lot of walking through some of the most amazing views in Spain, I want to be awake. If you're going to get way too drunk on a vacation reader, go have your fun in a damn bar and keep it relaxed back at your hotel.
***End rant***
I got up still a little tired, but ready to go the next morning at seven. Breakfast was an amazing buffet of meats, egg, wheat bread, and all kinds of fresh fruit. Two cups of coffee made me quickly forget what tired even was. It was time to go!
We took a bus over to the Alhambra, (The name of the castle), where we met with our tour guide. She had one of the coolest things I had yet seen for tours, a bunch of earpieces for the tour members to wear so that they could hear her without being anywhere near. (Photo) The one downside was that if she walked more than thirty feet away, half the tour would have to grab their ears in pain and pull away the pieces from the loud static. I just kept mine off when wanting to wander.
The tour threaded through a morning forest coming to life with birds and the Spanish day, and up through a massive gate into the Alhambra. The enterior of the castle is an enourmous complex of gardens, stadiums, dance halls, and sleeping quarters, and we wound our way through all of these. Even the relatively non-touristy Spaniards at the monument held a fearsome array of digital cameras, lens bags, and video cameras to document the experience. The best terms I can offer to describe many of the gardens and steps are preposterously pretty. I have attached a few photos, but they do not do real justice to the scene, especially since my lovely but finicky camera prefers to shoot at low aperture settings, and so does portraits like a champ and landscapes like a loser.
After touring the castle area itself, we left to walk through a series of fascinating and well tended gardens. These were nestled in the hills above the Alhambra, and from then we were able to catch an even better view of the monument. We concluded our tour walking through a springtime grove of trees and hedges, and back to the original area where we had first received our earpieces. My camera died right as I reached the exit gate, having preformed its duty admirably.
I opted to stay in Granada that night. We walked up into a neighborhood across a great green valley from the castle, and looked at it in the night. Spanish towns do something pretty cool with their greatest monuments, which is to focus dozens of spotlights on them to illuminate their forms in orange light in the dark. This effect is augmented because of the energy conservation of the Spanish people, since almost all house-lights are extinguished past eleven.
The park we went to appeared to be a hot spot for the local youth. There were dozens of young people in its square, many drinking from various bottles of alcohol. (This is called botellon in Spain and is illegal, although only to only a mild extent in terms of actual enforcement.) The stars were gleaming all across the night sky, and we could see the city for miles from our perch. We sat there enjoying the moment for half an hour, and walked back home to sleep.
The next day we woke up, walked through the city for an hour, and caught an afternoon bus back to Alicante having immensely enjoyed the weekend.
It feels like traveling might turn out to be pretty addictive,
Tim
Edit: Photos forthcoming, something is wrong with google upload at the moment, so I will continue to try at occasional intervals.
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