Every once in a while, I see a comment about expats or just regular tourists engaging in the evil behavior of . . . over-tipping. Tipping by visitors (permanent or otherwise) is a place where cultures engage, with predictable controversy. Now for the record, I support large tips. I have history here. Long ago, my mother was a waitress at clubs like The Elks, and she earned only tips. Dad was a cop, and we were a lower middle-class family, basically one missed paycheck from poor. So those nights when my mom came home sad or even crying about a table of wealthy local businessmen leaving pocket change as a tip made an impression. We tip 20%. More if we like the service, or if it’s for breakfast (the work required of the staff is the same, but breakfast entrees are usually much cheaper). And we round up. I don’t tell other people how to tip, as I don’t have their experience, and they don’t have mine. I do call bull*bleep* about some of the complaints/justifications I hear about tipping.
One complaint I hear is that one shouldn’t over-tip because it raises prices. No one has yet explained to me what magic economic effect would cause this, beyond the fact the waiter has additional money to spend. If that were the case, if we don’t tip at all, will prices start dropping? There are studies which show tipping culture in general reduces prices, because the business owner has less cost (the diner is in effect replacing part of the cost of a salary). There is nothing to support the assertion over-tipping raises prices overall. Nada.
Maybe don’t over-tip because it makes the waitstaff expect higher tips, and they’ll provide some others with worse service if that person doesn’t share your over-tipping style? I am unsure why it is my responsibility to enable another diner’s tipping style. And are the servers at your favorite restaurant that petty? They don’t just do their job, short of a few examples where a really outrageous client gets “special (negative) treatment”?
Don’t over-tip because it disrespects local culture? Okay, time to come clean. I often hear this from people who railed on about embracing different cultures when they were back home, but now that the shoe is on the other foot, they’re saying the visitor has to adopt the local culture. As a visitor, it’s always a dilemma about how much local culture to adopt, to tolerate, or to reject. I wouldn’t overtip a waiter in France because it might offend them, thus defeating the intent of my trying to recognize their superior service. There I adopt the rounding up tradition for tipping. If I was visiting the Chinese countryside, I would not adopt the older locals’ habit of spitting; I would tolerate it, not making a big deal about it. And I won’t even speak of some local customs in other places that any decent human being would abhor. There is no hard-and-fast rule to one’s engagement with foreign cultures while traveling. Certainly as an expat one is more immersed in the culture and must be more aware. There are endless expat debates about paying mordita (bribes) as a part of local culture, versus working to change that unfortunate part of the culture.
To my mind, tipping is more of a personal choice than a cultural concern. In that regard, arguing about tipping is like arguing about flavors: “I like chocolate better than vanilla”. . . “No way, vanilla is way better than chocolate!” I don’t think less of those who tip less, unless of course they offer a poor excuse for doing so. I don’t care how others feel about my tipping, unless someone tries to tell me why I’m wrong.
As an expat, I write frequently about how much we enjoy this lifestyle: living in a different culture (a less expensive and less acquisitive one), still full of new things to learn, new people to meet, new places to see. We know it’s not for everyone, and that’s fine. If we didn’t love it, we wouldn’t still be so happy after eight-and-a-half years as expats!
This is not one of those times. We recently had a few, shall we say, challenging experiences I wish to relate. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m going to complain, but rather, shed light on something common to expats that may go missing in the glossy pages of International Living or the TikTok feeds sent to you about the glories of expatdom.
Late last year, for absolutely no valid reason at all, my state of Jalisco announced it was invalidating all old licence plates and replacing them with new ones. Actually, they did state the new ones had a QR code embedded in them, but some of us already had such codes on our old plates. The good news was the turn-in and replacement would happen over the course of the entire year, in an orderly fashion (right!) based on the last digit of your current plates. The better news (from the government’s perspective) was you could pay in advance online for your new plates, your required annual registration, and your emissions inspection, all bundled together at a discounted total price. It was good news for the government because virtually no one went and got emission inspections, so now the government at least got you to pay extra, whether you ever went and got your emissions inspection or not. I give them credit: that part was clever.
The bad news for the rest of us was the “orderly fashion” turned out not to be so. People due to change plates early in the year reported long delays, because the new plates weren’t ready to be issued yet. The website we were supposed to use didn’t work at first, then it only worked with FireFox browser (who knew FireFox was still around?) Or you could go to the clothing shop next door to the recaudadora (DMV) office–and no, I am NOT making this up–and the woman there could use her desktop to make your appointment for a small fee.
Others reported a quintessential problem of Mexican bureaucracy: the petty bureaucrat at the recaudadora. The government specified what you needed to bring in: proof of residence, proof of identification, proof you paid online, and your original factura (the original sales receipt for your car, which passes for a title down here). That last document is a real challenge: there are many types, based on whether you bought new or used, and you’re never supposed to have it in your car, as the paper itself proves ownership: if someone steals your car with the factura in it, they can claim it’s theirs!
Those necessary documents are pretty straightforward: here’s where the pettiness comes in. Original and one copy, or just original? Copy on both sides, or one per page? How many forms of identification? Copies in black and white or color (the latter being considered a sign in Mexico of potential forgery, so . . .)? I guarantee you, whatever set of copies you have, they’re incorrect.
I let the matter rest for most of the year, until I saw about one-quarter of the cars on the road with new plates. Then I saw some online posts that the system was more regular now, so I figured it was time to bite the bullet. I downloaded a Chrome Extension to run FireFox, accessed the website, made an appointment, and made all the appropriate copies (or so I thought).
But wait, ¡hay mas! as they say down here. We arrived for our appointment to find that citas (reservations) are just a thing, not real. You get in line like everybody else. I noticed while we waited that about two-thirds of the people trying to get new plates were turned away: not a good average. At least it wasn’t a gringo thing: the pinche burócrata was treating the poor Mexicans in line just as badly as he would soon treat us. We dutifully arrived at the front, where the official told us we needed copies of our Permanente cards, not passports, and a different form showing we had already paid. Strike One. He sent us to the helpful office around the corner where another enterprising pair of women had set up a copier and printer to help us. We made new copies and printed another receipt. “Nope, copies too dark, and this still isn’t the correct receipt” he told us. Strike Two. We didn’t have any more options for receipts, so we retreated to eat a delicious lunch of sesame-crusted tuna, then home to lick our wounds and scour our receipts for the right one.
In the official’s defense, we did have the wrong receipts. In Mexico, when you pay an official fee online, you often get three or more documents verifying your payment, but some of them are just links to a different government website where you have to print out yet another form. You have to have just the right form, although ALL the forms show you paid the correct amount, and in fact you couldn’t even get this far in the system (if one wants to call it that) without having already paid the right amount. *Sigh* In our defense, we pointed out we used the helpful ladies the official pointed us to, so how come their copier wasn’t sufficient? He shrugged, called his boss over, who also shrugged. We left the line. Maybe next time. This was all just a reminder that humility and acceptance are graces in high demand for expats.
There’s the culprit, hiding in plain sight. Are all the wires supposed to be hanging like that?
All this happened amidst a power outage in our neighborhood. Seems Monday night, something went “BOOM” and we lost power around 1:00 am. By the time we woke up the next morning, defrosting was already happening. But such outages are not uncommon here, usually lasting a few hours, so we ate a larger than normal breakfast of things not likely to last and tried to resume normalcy, awaiting the return of la luz (literally light, more generally electricity). Except our community has a well, and a pump, and that requires luz, so we had no water in addition to no power. As I said, we’ve been through this before: we have a garrofón, a giant plastic jug full of 20+ liters of fresh water lying in wait, just in case. We have smaller reusable water jugs in every bathroom, for extra water to flush in the same circumstances. We have a gas stove top, so when the power is gone, we can take out the matches and still cook, old-school. We have fancy French presses, a high-tech/lithium-ion/one-shot espresso maker, and a small mocha pot from Italy, so coffee is always available, as long as mankind doesn’t forget how to make fire (or push the button on the portable espresso device).
So the first morning wasn’t so bad. Except it was only the first morning. Seems the power company, a federal utility that goes by the initials CFE (and no, there is no truth to the rumor it stands for Can’t Find Electricity) saw a blown transformer and repaired it, but they never checked to see if that fixed all the homes that had lost power. It didn’t, and our community were the lucky hold-outs. When recontacted the second morning, they snapped to, and we had power restored (with water) in just thirty-six hours. If you’re counting, that’s well past the “throw-everything in your fridge out” limit, but just inside the “throw everything in your freezer out as well” limit. Phew.
Why am I regaling you with this? Mexicans adjust to the frequent absence of water and power. They primarily rely on garrofónes, since they don’t have wells and municipal water systems are not always potable, which means not at all. The basic level of electrical use, meaning a small refrigerator, a small television, some lights, is practically free. And if it goes out, you can always call up a relative and go visit to recharge. Or do without (gasp!). That fridge usually contains only a few items, as mamá goes out to the local tienda or mercado a few times a week to get fresh foods or perishables, and liter bottles of Coke never go bad (or is that never get worse?). And there’s no giant (capable-of-hiding-a-corpse size) freezer full of things Costco convinced you to buy, either. Storms come (in the rainy season), the power goes, life goes on.
But for expats, power and water loss are a bigger deal. Luz is what brings in North of the Border (NOB) television and the internet via Starlink and TelMex connections. Expats have things like Alexa devices, air purifiers, air conditioning, music systems, treadmills, power garage doors, a host of kitchen gadgets, and an untold number of personal apparatus from cell phones to computers to tablets to ear buds to hearing aids to CPAP machines. No power is no bueno. As much as we try to adapt to local culture, most expats are NOT trying to become Mexicans, nor do they seek to mirror how the locals live. If we did, we’d be immigrants, not expats.
In the thirty years we lived in and around Washington DC, we only had two major power outages. One was Hurricane Isabel (2003), which felled so many trees we in suburbia were without power for three days. The other was two days without power when the transformer for our apartment building in Shirlington blew up. A minor outage of more than a few hours meant untold pain for the local power company, and they fixed things up quickly. In our eight-plus years lakeside, we’ve had three or four major outages, and many, many minor ones. Enough to convince me that reliable power back-up is a necessity here for expats, not a convenience. We’re scoping out some home power stations, in effect large rechargeable batteries which can pull us through the outages we have experienced with a full fridge/freezer, internet, and maybe even TV. They are not cheap, but they are dependable, and that’s the cost of peace of mind. At the rate I am replacing fridge food, it’s a bargain.
If you’re especially observant (and my friends are), you’ll note the common theme in this post: relying on big, government-run utilities or services generally doesn’t work well. If Dante were alive today, the Mexican recaudadora would certainly merit its own ring in the Purgatorio, if not the Inferno. And CFE doesn’t respond to customers because, well, it doesn’t have to. Somewhere in the United States today, there is some slick, young huckster telling people that what we need is government-run grocery stores and child care centers.
Yup, it’s going to work this time. What could go wrong? And that still isn’t the correct receipt!
Musings, observations, and other half-completed thoughts that occurred to me as we took a transatlantic cruise (Miami-Barcelona), stayed in Andalusia and Alicante (Spain), then briefly toured Rome on the way home (via London and Los Angeles).
I have no idea what this warrior is supposed to be doing; Spear-throwing?
The “tourists go home” movement is mostly theater. We visited the Canary Islands, Barcelona, and Sevilla, three hotbeds of protest against foreign tourists in general and apartment-buying foreigners specifically (we are both). We saw none of it. There are occasional protest events, but they’re scheduled and conducted for the cameras and local politics (this Sunday’s protests are an example). It’s not that there isn’t a real issue: lack of affordable housing is very real, as is over-tourism. The first is primarily a problem because Spain’s socialist government hasn’t tried very hard to increase home/apartment construction since their economy imploded back in 2008. Now they have a huge backlog, and too much demand, not enough supply. And the other part is Spanish property owners changing their rental units to tourist rentals. Who wants to rent to your fellow Spaniards when they can invoke unwise renter protections and live rent-free for years while you try to evict them? Whose problem is that? The tourists? Foreign owners represent a single-digit percentage of Spanish properties. And everybody knows that Spain is riding an economic wave right now at least partly fueled by tourism. So expect a lot of press noise and political posturing, but just love from those you meet on the street.
I’ve complained every year in these posts about the growing slovenliness of travelers in general, i.e, adopting American-casual as appropriate attire. It’s official. In the Year of Our Lord 2025, you can no longer spot an American using the usual dead-giveaways (until one opens his mouth). Baseball caps are ubiquitous on men of all ages. Shorts, too. Women in workout leotards. Both sexes with oddly-named collegiate attire (“Carolina U.” in purple?) or English slang prints (sometimes quite offensive, but I guess not if you’re not primarily an English-speaker). Europeans still get dressed up for things, but if they’re just walking down for a cappuccino and a croissant, they’ll look like they might be headed to Mickey D’s!
Modern technology has pretty much ended one’s ability to get really lost. GPS is always “watching you, watching you” as Hall & Oates sang. Google has mapped the entire planet, then photographed its streets, too. I’ve come to rely on Google for locations and times of operations for local businesses, especially bars, cafes, and restaurants. And it’s been pretty accurate in major cities. But we like to get out and about, to small cities, towns, and even villages. And there,the days and hours of operation, even whether the business is still in business, are all quite lacking. The businesses themselves don’t keep the data updated, and the locals who frequent them already know. So remember, Google may get you to that little bit of heaven cafe you seek, but whether it’s open or not? Only heaven knows!
Always the Commander; he needed guidance!
There is no need to pretend you’re a Canadian, eh! Europeans don’t generally bring up politics with strangers. We met many locals, in taxis, on tours, in cafes, and we were never shy about being Americans. Of course we had two advantages: speaking Spanish and being able to say we live in Mexico, which everybody finds endlessly fascinating, so there’s no need to talk about US politics. While Americans seem to enjoy immediately picking red and blue sides, other countries don’t. So if you don’t shove it (your MAGA-hate or -hat) in a local’s face, nobody else will care, either.
Transatlantic cruises are a real alternative to red-eye flights to Europe. You can scale your costs to your budget (inside cabin/no frills, balcony with drinks package, sweet suite) compared to economy/premium economy/first class airfare. Yes, you need to get back, eventually. But you do buy 10-14 days of leisure, a few ports-of-call, and minimized jet lag. For those with the luxury of time, it is a very attractive alternative. Caveats: don’t try to discover whether you like ocean cruises on a transatlantic one. The Sargasso Sea is no place to learn you have a landlubbers stomach (although they’ll have plenty of meds on board if you do). Do research the various lines, as their offerings are very different and aimed at different crowds. Transatlantic cruises will generally feature an older, more well-off clientele, that is, people who have the time (most importantly) to spend. But in general transatlantic cruises are less pricey (per day) than other cruises, because they are one-offs (the ship needs to get from here-to-there for the upcoming season).
The EU and UK have added new travel authorizations. These are not visas, which are legal permissions to visit. Long ago, western nations agreed to visa-free travel between certain countries to facilitate business and tourism. After 9/11, the problems with this approach were apparent. The US was first off the mark with ESTA, the Electronic System for Travel Authorization. The EU has been trying to initiate a similar system called ETIAS (European Travel Information and Authorization System) for a decade, and it’s still not in effect! The UK has rolled out its Electronic Travel Authorization or ETA. All of these are administrative reviews done online. You pay some money, submit personal/travel data, and get a response which verifies your data is tied to your passport and good for travel over a specified period (usually 2+ years). The processes are simple and should be quick, as long as you haven’t been naughty, traveled to odd locations, or have a name like Bill Bin Laden. Anyway, what do you need to know? You need to complete the process before you travel! And it may apply to transit at airports, too. We were returning from Rome via London/Heathrow, and neither the government, the airport, nor the airlines could assure me we would not leave the secure area of the airport to make our connections, so we could technically “enter” the UK and need ETA. We got it (instantly) as a precaution, and it’s good for two years. Better safe than sorry. When the EU’s ETIAS comes online, you’ll need to do the same for continental Europe. Be prepared! (Late update: the Heathrow Express bus ran between the terminals on the secure side, so we didn’t need our ETA at all. But if we had checked luggage, we might have needed it.)
Always the therapist!
We remain impressed with Spain’s national train system. It was one of the worst in Europe, but a few years back, the government stopped controlling the market, let in competition, and invested in infrastructure (courtesy of the EU). The results have been tremendous. You can get comfortable, high-speed train tickets for 20-40 Euros that take you quickly cross country. Most of the lines connect in Madrid, but even with the connections they are fast. We were just on a fast line from Madrid that clocked in at 299 kph (that’s 186 mph!). There are plenty of locals lines (cercanias), trams, a few subways, and of course many busses. On the high speed network, both Renfe (the Spanish national line) and Iryo (a Italian-Spanish consortium) impressed us. Comfortable cars, multiple classes, good service, even good food at the cafeteria car. We were less impressed with Ouigo (the French-owned alternative) which seems to have adopted the budget airline model of customer service. But all were quick and inexpensive. Pro-tip: if you’re visiting Spain and moving around, skip the airports and use the train. Just book your tickets early, as there are huge discounts for early booking and the trains do fill up. Second pro-tip: if you take a high-speed train, your ticket is good for local travel before/after the main ride (ie., getting to/from the train station on other trains/trams or connecting between trains).
Maybe everybody else knows this, but here goes in case someone doesn’t: we like keeping up with the news/shows we watch regularly while we travel. So we bring a long our Firestick and remote, then plug it into the smart TVs every hotel/rental has. It updates automatically to the new television, then brings up our channels, viewing apps, etc., all as we like it. Perhaps it’s just because we use YouTube TV (not YouTube, which is different) on the Firestick. But I’m betting other streaming devices and providers have similar options. It’s a nice touch of home, and takes up very little space (about the size of an electric shaver). Don’t forget an international plug adapter!
I’m sure a few friends are thinking, “where?” Alicante (ah-lee-KAHN-tay) is one of those places which hasn’t really made it onto the cognitive map of most Americans and Canadians, but the English know it well! Nestled on Spain’s southeast coast, due south of better-known Valencia, Alicante is the largest city along the Costa Blanca, 200 kilometers of pristine beaches overlooked by looming mountains. Alicante has become a tourism hotbed for Germans and English, and the latter group includes a sizable population of permanent expats (even after Brexit). Sizable as in almost 20% of the local population!
Santa Barbara castle from our apartmentI did say looming, no?
Despite entering the month of June, the weather in Alicante was a bit better than Andalusia. Slightly more humid, slightly cooler, perhaps due to the moderating effect of the Mediterranean Sea. The city itself is not that large, about 350k at last count. But it is large enough to have all the accoutrements of city life, with the added benefits (or is it drawbacks) of tourist attractions. Within five blocks of our apartment in the tourist zone, about ten blocks from the beach, we passed a Taco Bell, McDonald’s, KFC, Burger King (Rey de la hamburguesa?) and Five Guys. Sigh. But a million tapas, cervecerias, and arrocerias, too.
The tourist/beach vibe was strong in Alicante. We saw folks headed down toward the beach early in the morning, and last-minute returnees as late as 10:00 pm (dead give-away? Nobody takes their beach umbrella on a tapas crawl). The Costa Blanca is basically one long beach, so finding a strip to your liking is easy. Developers have taken to dropping a cascade of high-rises just off the beach strip, but there’s still plenty of room in the sand and nothing cordoned off as private property (as far as we could tell).
We did some less touristy things, but more in line with apartment hunting, such as riding the tram and metro lines from one end to the other to get a feel for different neighborhoods. We’ve also contacted a local firm to consider a long-term rental for next year, perhaps as another form of trying the experience out. With such a rental (approximately 90 days), we could really settle in and even take some regional trips from the home-base. One local told us we might be able to establish the kind of relationship which would allow for a semi-permanent rental agreement, sort of a “preferred customer” thing where we could even leave some clothes and things behind for next year. We’ll see.
Why did Alicante impress us so much more than Sevilla (which was totally surprising to me)? Sevilla has more history, more culture, for sure. Cuisine is a wash: both have great food. Locals were equally friendly in both, although we saw a few signs of tourism fatigue in Sevilla. Alicante is just more live-able: cooler, with the tourist pull being the beach, not the old town. And it’s considerably less expensive.
So if you’re visiting Spain, you must visit Sevilla. If you want to hit a beach town, Alicante is just one of many in Spain. For living, the situation changes. I guess it’s a supply-and-demand thing: there is only one Sevilla, (limited supply, unlimited demand) but many great beach towns (unlimited supply, limited demand).
Our two-week sojourn in Andalusia is coming to an end. We based ourselves in Sevilla (say-VEE-ah), better known in English as Seville. Our small (50m2) apartment was next to Santa Maria la Blanca church, at the edge of the old Jewish quarter (juderÃa) in the old town. Literally in one of those tiny alleyways the city is famous for: the first thing our taxi-driver told us was how he couldn’t get us there (too small).
“Our” alley
Those teeny pedestrian alleys are a feature, not a bug. Temps hit over 38° Celsius while we visited (100° F!). Out in the sun, you quickly realize the importance of . . . not being out in the sun. But hit those alleyways, and the shade includes a blast of cool air, as the winding passages not only keep the sun/heat out, they channel winds like canyons do naturally. Pro-tip: navigate the alleys during the days, even if they take longer, because they are far more confortable.
Cathedral, alcázar, horse-drawn carriages, and tourists, all-in-one
Our apartment location was perfect: fifteen minutes (or less) walk to the Cathedral, the train stations, the Setas, the Triana market, just about everything. Sevilla is an eminently walkable place,and what extra exploration we wanted to do was available by tram, a very limited subway, or an excellent train system (local and high-speed).
This trip we wanted to settle in and enjoy the local rhythms (so to speak), while checking out neighborhoods in case we want to set up a home-base here. So we had no tight sight-seeing schedule, but rather tried to simulate living (vice visiting) here. We did decide not to try cooking too much; while the apartment had a basic set of kitchenware, cooking anything beyond the most simple dishes would have been too inconvenient (for the chef and the dish-washer). That and Sevilla is famous for its tapas bars, so why not?
Casa Morales, a tapas bar favored by locals (but known to tourists, too)
I’ve seen estimates there are more than 3,000 tapas bars in Sevilla. Having walked the town for two weeks, I think it’s an undercount. As you may know, tapas probably originated in Andalusia, most likely as free snacks placed on small plates atop drinks (to keep the flies away). In many places in Spain, tapas remain this way. But tapas in Sevilla evolved: they have become a cultural tradition. They are not free. They come in different sizes (tapas for one, raciones to share, plato for a meal). They highlight local delicacies and fusion of different cuisines.
And they are delicious! Carrillada (beef or pork cheeks) and rabo del toro (Bull’s tale) are slow-cooked, savory, and fork-tender. Every kind of fried fish, including things like cod, squid, octopus, cuttlefish, anchovies and dogfish. Pringa (pork stew) on a sandwich! Spinach and garbanzos, a warm, flavorful side dish, and of course, jamón iberico. These thin slices of the most succulent pork one can imagine, salty and sweet (some are only fed acorns), and accompanied by a surfeit of local cheeses. The servings sizes may be small, but the flavors are immense and quite filling. We regularly planned more tapas than we would order, and sometimes even more than we could eat.
Tried to take a long-resolution photo, but we ate too fast. Had tuna tartar, patatas bravas, and tuna brioche
We tried to meld our normal daily schedule with Spanish approaches. Breakfast (desayuno, literally “de” as in ending and sayunar as in fasting) is small here, usually a coffee and perhaps a small, sweet pastry. Late morning, Spaniards will have a snack (almuerzo), often some toast with olive oil and/or tomato rubbed on it (very good). Lunch is a big meal, often eaten in groups, where plates of tapas, etc., are shared. There can be another round of snacking (merienda) in the later afternoon, with dinner (not usually a big meal as in the West) not before 8:00 or even 10:00 pm! We had a single, big breakfast of coffee, fresh bakery items and pan con tomate, did some sight-seeing or neighborhood recon, then hit a tapas bar for one-of-everything, por favor. That was it for our eating day (we gave up eating dinner a few years back, which neither of us miss), although I usually had a little merienda in the afternoon.
Funny thing about tapas bars: we made a point of getting to some of the more famous ones, but every one we went to was between good and great. Businesses, especially food businesses, take great pride in their offerings here. Heck, the snack bars at the train station had better-than-average food. So you don’t really need to squeeze into a reservation slot at La Bartola, just walk around and follow these rules:
Start at any major tourist sites and walk away from it, using the smallest street you can find.
Look for places with no English-language menu offered.
Look for places which do advertise their seasonal tapas or a “menú del dÃa.”
Select the place with the most locals eating there.
Ask the waiter “que me recomienda” (Kay may reck-oh-mee-END-ah”) to get their advice.
Never fails. And don’t be too strict in applying these rules. In a very touristy town like Sevilla, many local places have started putting English-language signs up (as they work for nearly ALL tourists). And maybe there aren’t any locals in the bar because it’s not local eating time. Be flexible! We did eat at places like La Bartola (we even walked in without reservations and only a short wait), and it was also very good. Sadly, such places have become “Insta-fodder,” overrun by younger tourists trying to be totally themselves by doing what everybody else is doing on social media. #signofthetimes.
I tried my wine experiments yet again, with great results. One is to just ask for the vino de casa (house wine) which is usually very nice. The other is to walk into any supermarket, go to the local wine section, and pick the first bottle I see. This trip it was a local red blend called Mucho Más and it was . . . excellent. For E3.50 (about $4.00 USD). Priceless.
We took a food tour, which by luck turned into a private tour with just us on it. Since we had already visited once, and already knew much about Andalusian cuisine, we spent more time talking about living in Seville and other cultural points. Our guide pointed out that while most people know to try pan con tomate for breakfast, the locals go one step further. Take your toast and give it a solid dose of extra-virgin olive oil. Let it set for a minute. Then, instead of simply rubbing on tomato puree, pour on Salmorejo, a cold, tomato-based, rich soup full of garlic. This local delicacy (Salmorejo) is beloved as a refreshing break from the meat-heavy tapas menus, but I never would have thought of it for a breakfast topping!
As for touristy things, we did visit las setas, a very recent (2011) all-wood art monument resembling giant mushrooms. The lower level has a small museum with some ancient artifacts uncovered during the construction, the ground level with shops and cafes, then a top level with a very good observation point over the city, albeit a trifle pricey (E16@). Some say the view is especially fantastic at sunset, and there is a light show on the Setas once dark sets in. Pro-tip: it doesn’t get dark before 10:30 pm in tourist season, so plan accordingly!
The people give a “little” perspective on the immensity of the structure
We also attended laudes and mass in the altar mayor (main altar) in the cathedral. It’s free for those wishing to worship, but worth the ticket (and audio guide) just to take in the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. The security folks gave us the side-eye when we said we wanted to attend services, and they did hover nearby throughout, making sure no one tried to otherwise enjoy the setting in a touristy way. Necessary if not welcoming, but understandable nonetheless. I did sneak a photo of Christopher Columbus’ tomb, camouflaging it as a photo of one of the priests at our mass (mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa!)
Critóbal Colón, held aloft by four kings of España!
Other sites worth visiting are the Archivo de Indias, which contains all the Spanish correspondence about the New World during the age of exploration. Ever wonder why Brazil speaks Portuguese and mostly the rest of South America Spanish? Blame the Pope and the treaty of Tordesillas, which divided the entire world between Spain and Portugal. The records of the Conquistadores? All here. Free to visit, too! Nearby is the Torre de Oro, a small former watchtower which contains a very nice Spanish naval museum (they did win at Lepanto, after all, if not with the Armada) and views of the city for a small donation.
La Parroquia de San Miguel Arcángel, on the plaza in San Miguel de AllendeGrand entrance at Tres Raices
Our second stop was in the famous San Miguel de Allende, another expat hot-spot. We certainly experienced the infamous San Miguel effect: walking uphill to arrive at a destination, than returning whence we started and (seemingly) walking uphill again! San Miguel is significantly more populated than the Chapala area where we live, and the town has more of an artsy, haute couture feel. Both Judy and I had the same reaction: the centro is Georgetown (DC types will understand)! The centro area is filled with gringo-friendly (if pricey) shops and restaurants, and is surrounded by large Mexican neighborhoods. We had a spectacular breakfast at a restaurant called Moxi, where the chef is (apparently) of Michelin-star quality. The food certainly was.
Wine paring dinnertastings and more tastings
Around San Miguel we visited the Dos Buhos, Tres Raices, and San Lucas wineries, with many of the same tastings results: amazing locations, uneven (but overall acceptable) wines. The highlight here was a wine pairing dinner at Los Remedios Hacienda, located in a tiny pueblo (called San Pablo, I believe). Here we had a memorable symphony of good wines, paired with a series of delicious dishes, in an unmatched setting. The vineyard is centered upon a redeveloped 16th century hacienda, wherein some of the original buildings and walls remain. Unforgettable. As for San Miguel? We could see what attracts so many expats, even if it’s not the place for us.
Twilight at the HaciendaStrain your eyes at the top center and you’ll make out El Pipila!
Our final brief stop was Guanajuato, a onetime silver mining town along the Camino Real (royal highway) in Mexico. Built among a series of steep ravines cut by rapid rivers through the rocky countryside, today it’s known for colorful casas, favorite son Diego Rivera (famous 20th Century Mexican muralist) and its university. The town is visually stunning: parts straddle the high ridges, other parts cling to the canyon-sides. Everywhere are well-maintained, colorful houses and buildings. The raging waters that once brought death and destruction have been literally buried, and their former courses replaced with winding roadways! Likewise, old silver mining tunnels now function as roads through the steep hills, complete with pedestrian walkways (but no lighting!). I would caution that although I am comfortable navigating most cities with Google Maps or Waze, Guanajuato was an exception. Many times my apps would tell me I was standing in the middle of a highway, when in fact I was standing 200 feet above a buried one! I would caution against driving in the town, even only to avoid severe parking shortages.
The Basilica, just one of many picturesque Spanish colonial vistas!
Guanajuato has a real college-town atmosphere, and loads of history. Most striking is the story of El Pipila. Born Juan Amaro in 1783, he had birth defects which gave him a funny stride, and a suitable nickname among his fellow silver miners: el pepila (“the turkey”). At the outbreak of the war for independence, the Spanish leadership in Guanajuato barricaded themselves and their families in the local grain storage site or alhondiga, a large, fortified building which would allow them to hold out until Spanish troops arrived to relieve them. The insurgents could not breech the walls, but El Pipila placed a slab of rock on his back and maneuvered–under fire but protected by the slab–to the main door, which he set on fire. The insurgents surged forward, and proceeded to slaughter everyone inside. When the Spanish crown authorities retook the city and initially crushed the rebellion, they decapitated the four leaders of the insurgency and placed their heads on the four corners of the building! El Pipila became the archetype for the rebellion, which despite so many setbacks, eventually prevailed. El Pipila survived the war and went back to mining silver.
Our time was so very brief here, but the town is enchanting, and well worth spending more time for the history, the culture and the annual Cervantes international celebration.
We had a great time touring the vineyards and walking the towns. The climate was pleasantly moderate, the people friendly (although ingles was only common in San Miguel!), the entire area safe. Best of all, there were many opportunities to see Real Mexico.
Overnight train travel is returning to Europe after a few decade hiatus. Should you try it? Bottom Line Up Front from the late Amy Winehouse:
Way back in the Cold War, I got a few chances to take the train system in western Europe, and it was a great experience: inexpensive, efficient, timely (especially when run by Germans). A few times I got to take night trains, in second-class cars where the opposing seats pulled out and together to form one large bed for the four-to-six riders. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but it worked. I even got one opportunity to take an overnighter which crossed from (then) Czechoslovakia through East Germany into West Germany. I had a sleeper berth on that one, with the added service of a East German Border Polizei shining a night-stick sized flashlight in my face at zero dark thirty.
I enjoyed the trains, especially the night trains; there is something about the gentle rocking motion, the fun of waking up at your destination, the freedom to walk around and enjoy the scenery, or go eat in a cafe car that just appealed to me.
The end of the Cold War and the gradual elimination of borders and customs among European countries should have been a golden age for trains. But as it happened, governments looked at the cost of maintaining national rail systems and they blinked. Deregulation allowed cut rate air carries like RyanAir to offer low-cost travel in direct competition. And the big national railways were directed to compete with each other, rather than cooperate. Long-range overnight train travel was among the casualties.
Recently, there has been a surge of interest in bringing back overnight trains. Some countries are limiting middle distance flights for ecological reasons. The rail system has solid infrastructure and most of the waste or redundancy has been wrung out of the system. So several companies or national lines are re-introducing overnighter trains.
When planning our current trip, I stumbled across the website “The Man in Seat 61” (link here) and it gave detailed instructions for almost any European rail adventure. Sure enough, there were such instructions to get from Amsterdam, where our cruise ended, to southern Italy, where our expat investigation began. We signed up for the OBB Nightjet train, run by Austria, which took us from Amsterdam Centraal to Zurich Hauptbanhof. There we caught another famous line across the Alps to Milan for a day stop. Then back to a day trip on a Frecciarossa high-speed (300 kph) train all the way to Bari. After a tour in Sicily, we signed up for a Trenitalia sleeper train which not only took us from Palermo, Sicily, to Rome, it also is the only train which boards a ferry (to cross the Messina Strait).
Sleeper car on the ferry, headed across the Strait of Messina
I was most looking forward to the Nightjet experience, but it didn’t live up to my expectations. First, it leaves at almost nine pm, which means you’ll be spending some quality time in the train station with all your luggage. When time came to board, the car concierge couldn’t find the correct key to unlock the inner security door, leaving a pile of customers stuck halfway into the train. This was an augur of things to come. She was very good at telling us what she couldn’t do, but less helpful otherwise. She did explain that the “call button” worked (i.e., it rang in her work area) but she would rarely be there so don’t bother. Hmmmmm.
One of four beds shown: one more folds down on the left, and there are two up top across from each other
We booked a two person sleeper, which was private and cozy. There was an adequate air system which seemed to provide the warm/cool air desired, good storage space, and a hidden wash basin. The bed was comfy enough, although I did flag down the concierge and have her open the middle row bed (each cabin has four beds, three on one side and one on the other) since the rounded-off top of the cabin made my head and feet touch the opposing walls. We filled out a nice little card (in four languages) with a selection of six breakfast items like coffee, brötchen (fresh German rolls) cheese and various meats.
The ride itself was uneventful: a few stops, no interruptions, and very sleep-able. Some of the staff took to holding a conversation outside our cabin, but they moved on before it turned into a problem. Around seven in the morning, the concierge was due to deliver our breakfast order. By seven-thirty, I was getting concerned, since we were due to arrive before eight-thirty. She knocked on the cabin door to announce she had only some yogurt, coffee, and orange juice, and would we like that? You take what you can get, so we agreed. But what was the purpose of the elaborate order the night before? Finally, the train arrived on time in Zurich.
The Trenitalia night train boarded in Palermo just before seven in the evening, but it had no cafe car, so we were warned to bring a meal along if we wanted one. The cabin was smaller than the Nightjet one. Both were clearly refurbished stock from the 1970s/80s. Again, possibly four beds, good storage (although much of it is overhead, tough to use for a large suitcase), and a hidden sink. The cabin steward surprised us with some travel snacks, bottled water, and I was even able to buy a small bottle of wine.
The cabin was a little stuffy, so we turned on the air conditioning. It worked well for about ninety-minutes, then suddenly switched to heat. The cabin quickly turned into a sauna, so I jumped out to find the steward. I flagged him down, and explained what the problem was; he was probably the least-English-fluent person we met on the entire trip. But he nodded, put his hand on the air vent (warm), checked the control (set to coldest), shook his head, then . . . opened the window. That was it. He couldn’t turn the heat off, but he could open the window. Which sounds ok, except the train was travelling at more than one-hundred miles per hour. At that speed, the sound is deafening, worse still when you pass another train going in the opposite direction.
Sample test question: Pat leaves Palermo going east at 100 mph. His air conditioning stops working in ninety minutes. Assuming otherwise normal conditions, how long does it take for Pat to fall asleep?
A) Instantly, but he wakes every few seconds due to the noise.
B) thirty minutes, but the dripping sweat wakes him up.
C) two hours, then he dreams of murdering the cabin steward.
D) All of the above.
From the revised SAT
Granted, we made it from Amsterdam to Zurich, and Palermo to Rome, in one piece. And the cost was less than separate airline tickets and a hotel room. But the experience was decidedly bargain, but not at cut-rate prices. Maybe it will take a little longer for the night train experience to peak.
Our trips in business or first class aboard Trenitalia were better: faster, cleaner, more comfortable, better food, wifi, and customer service. If you book far enough in advance, they can be very economical, but that is an art form in itself, and I recommend the Seat 61 website for all the key tips.
So for the time being, only consider a sleeper train if it has a new cabin. Stick to day trips on the high speed lines, and leave the sleeping to hotels. Maybe someday the sleeper will return!
Word association time: what word comes to mind when someone says Sicily? Probably mafia or Godfather, first. Maybe cannoli, but that could be linked to the famous “Leave the gun, take the cannoli” line from the movie, too. Until fairly recently, it was fair to connect the largest island in the Mediterranean Sea with organized crime. Mafia control, portrayed in the Godfather movie trilogy, got so bad in the 1990s that they literally blew up several judges who had the audacity to question their hold. But la Cosa Nostra (as they are known) overplayed their hand, and the bombing led to a sustained campaign to break them down. Successive Italian governments tracked them down, and even Pope Francis joined in, excommunicating them in 2014. After thirty years, organized crime has returned to the shadows, unable to flex its muscles in the daylight.
But Sicily remains a poor, underdeveloped place with an abundance of history and culture. Whether the former attributes outweigh the latter is a matter of personal opinion.
The Norman palacea church with Norman aspectsbut notice the Arab andother influences mixed in
We started our tour in Palermo, the island’s one-time capital and largest city. Palermo was a royal city, and a must-see part of the Grand Tour for European nobility in the eighteenth century. It has a proud heritage that mixes Phoenician, Roman, Greek, Norman, Arab, and Spanish influences. But today these influences largely reside in monuments and meals, and the main feel of the city is a blue-collar, slightly grimy vibe. I’d call it Naples without the cachet.
Norman ceilingByzantine artworkArab influences
The other large city is Catania, on the east coast, literally in the shadow of Mount Etna. It has some of the same challenges, but seems a little more successful, having more a university town vibe than Palermo. The volcano is a must-see tourist stop, so that’s one advantage; it also accounts for unique soil and terroir, benefiting wines, cheeses, vegetables and the like.
Catania central squareRoman thermal suite under the CathedralOne small lava field on Etna, which dominates the eastern shore
Getting around Sicily is a challenge. First, it’s large. Second, it is mountainous. It does have a bus, train, and car routes, but all of it runs on a sinuous network that could make a Formula One driver queasy. Palermo and Catania have decent airports, the latter subject to Mount Etna’s whims. So you can spend a lot of time getting from one site to another, or even around a town.
Monks built a earthen wall to protect against the 1669 Etna eruption. Now they have a two-tiered campus
The small towns in Sicily are inviting, once you can get to them. There life operates on a different level. They benefit from the fertile volcanic soil and the warm and (usually) moist climate, but mostly from the history. On the island, you can find some of the best Greek temples, Roman villas, baroque churches, and even Punic sites.
A Greek, a Roman, and a Bishop walk into a bar…
Maybe you like history?
From Garibaldi’s campaignGreek mythology in a fountaintemple/mosque/church
How about scenery?
Marble quarriesSurfside vistasstreet scenes
Of course there’s always the food:
Sicilian street food lunch at Florio wineryPork ribs in spicy saucePasta Alla NormaCaponata and “spicy” potatoesStufatino (beef stew)Lamb & potatoes
Sicily? Worth a visit. Given the geography, I suggest a tour, especially one themed to what you like: history? Food? Wine? Your ethnic background? One challenge is that Sicily is already warm in the traditional “shoulder” season, so the crowds start building earlier in the Spring than elsewhere in Europe. As to our sweepstakes for another expat site, this visit confirmed it is off our list. While it is charming and alluring, it is too hard to get to and too hard to get around. If I was an Italian-American looking to rediscover my Sicilian roots, it might be a different story.
I know, you’re thinking, “Bari? Why are you in Bari? Wait, where is Bari?” Answering the last question first, Bari is a port city on the Adriatic coast of Italy, across from Albania, and it’s the capital of the Italian region of Puglia, often referred to in English as Apulia. But to make it easy, Puglia is the heel of the Italian “boot.”
Little ears and ravioliand pizza, of course
“Why” merits a longer answer. This part of our trip is to experience a taste of expat life in southern Italy. Like we did in Spain’s Andalucia in January, we’re visiting this expat hot-spot to see how it “feels” to us. No agenda, no list of must-see/do’s, just six nights in Bari Vechia (old town). Southern Italy has become something of a magnet for American expats, especially those with Italian roots. The region has great weather, great food (‘natch), and decent value for cost of living, including housing.
We arrived on a Wednesday evening, expecting a quiet, work-night scene for a regional capital of 300,000+. So we were surprised by large crowds, closed streets, and a very festive atmosphere. When I asked the taxi driver if this was a normal sight for a late Spring weekday, he said, “no, it’s the festival for San Nicolas.”
Basilica of San Nicolas (very Norman or Romanesque!)
Now I knew Bari had an affinity for Saint Nick (San Nicolas de Bari is one of his official titles), and I knew all about Saint Nick in his Santa Claus personna, I even knew he originally was Bishop of Myra, in present-day Turkiye. But his feast day is December 6th, not May 9th. What gives? Seems we stumbled into an interesting historical phenomenon which goes back over 900 years, involving Muslims, Catholics, Orthodox, Turks, Byzantines, Venetians, relics, miracles, and Vladimir Putin. Seriously.
The Saint, back from his boat trip and walk around town
Nicolas was a famous Bishop in Myra, martyred during the Diocletian persecution around 343 Christian Era (CE). He was a Greek living in the Roman Empire, known for his piety and many miracles. Although there are no definitive accounts of his life, his cult emerged after his death. He is beloved by both the Orthodox and Catholic Rites of Christianity, becoming the basis for Santa Claus in the latter, while there are more churches dedicated to him in Moscow than any other Orthodox saint. He is the patron saint of sailors, prostitutes, repentant thieves, brewers, pawn-brokers, and students, groups which are certainly not mutually exclusive.
The saint’s remains resting place, and the devotion they attract
In 1054 CE the Church split into competing Catholic and Orthodox branches in the Great Schism, and in 1087 the Seljuk Turks overran the Bishopric of Myra, capturing the tomb of Saint Nick. A group of merchants and sailors in Bari, Italy, decided to raid and return (most of, Venetians later grabbed the rest) the saint’s remains to Christian hands. They brought them back to Bari on May 9th, establishing a “feast of the translation” (i.e., transportation, which sounds so much better than “theft”) at a new church in Bari. We had wandered into the middle of that feast.
The Crypt Church
And what a feast. Dignitaries from East and West attend, this year the biggest being the Latin Patriarch of Jerusalem. The statue of San Nicolas is collected up by the faithful and processed down to the docks, where sailors take it out for a night at sea. The next day, they re-enact the “translation” and the faithful gather to welcome their beloved saint home. The statue has a “skirt” attached to it (covering up the men carrying it) so it looks like it “walks” up from the port to the basilica. It moves to a spot on a promenade where it stays while masses of Thanksgiving are held in the Basilica Catholic Church upstairs and the Orthodox Crypt Church below, where the saint’s remains, well, remain. During the final mass, a priest crawls under the altar to the tomb containing the remains, unlocks it, and draws out: water. Although the box containing the bones is sealed, some form of liquid, called manna by the faithful, has been accumulating since the saint died. Of course this manna has miraculous properties and is diluted and widely shared among the believers.
One of the clothes used to collect the manna
What’s really a miracle to me is the way Catholic and Orthodox get along so well during all this, whereas in Jerusalem and elsewhere they are usually at each other’s ecclesiastical throats. For example, even Putin was allowed to make a pilgrimage to Bari in 2007! So Bari is full of Orthodox and Catholic faithful.
The view from our balcony: three eras of church wall
Pulpo looked better than it tasted
Bari Vecchia, where we stayed, is a typical medieval maze of tiny streets, repurposed castles, palaces and churches, with a blossoming harbor and new city spreading out landward from the small peninsula. The entire area is easily walkable: mostly flat, and our evening passeggiata often went completely around the seafront. There are oodles of cafes serving up espresso, osterias for seafood, pizzerias for focaccia barese. The locals are especially proud of their local pasta, called orecchiette or little ears. Women still set up tables in the narrow streets and make the pasta fresh while you watch. We were impressed with the local Primitivo and Negroamare red varietal wines. The pasta and focaccia were excellent; we have yet to find pulpo (octopus) which rivals what we find in Mexico, but the search goes on!
Waiting for focacciastock photo, because we ate it too fast!
In addition to all that Saint Nick history, Bari has a surfeit of other historical regimes. Its earliest traces are Phoenician and Greek, then Roman, Byzantine, Norman, and finally Spanish, with each group leaving a mark architecturally. Under the Aragonese Queen Isabella, Bari passed to her daughter Bona Sforza as Duchess. She later married and outlived King Sigismund the Old of Poland, holding both titles (Queen of Poland and Duchess of Bari, among others) at the same time. So much for the patriarchy.
Old Norman castle,updated with Aragonese battlementsPolignano: jump in!
We took two day trips from Bari: thirty minutes south (on the local train) to Polignano a Mare, and forty minutes north to Trani. We wanted to see what smaller, less touristy towns in the area were like. Polignano is a small town famous for its cliffs, and Red Bull even sponsors a cliff diving event there every year. Trani has a bustling port and a fantastic cathedral.
Seaside Cathedral of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary
To be honest, the entire coast of Puglia is filled with small-to-medium sized towns that are very similar. Each has a small beach or port area, an old city, then a newer development (usually around the main train station) which consists of apartment blocks. Weekend or Summer vacation apartments for Italians stretch out from there. I would be hard-pressed to tell you which to select to visit; all have something to offer, but there isn’t a lot to distinguish between them in my opinion.
Puglia has been a tourist destination for Italians–looking for a quiet, inexpensive beach/shore trip–for a long time. It delivers on that promise, and remains less expensive, less pretentious (I’m looking at you, Amalfi coast), but still pleasant. Whether it has what it takes to be right as an expat haven for us? That’s a question still pending!
I only had to pay the tour guide five Euros to concoct a story requiring everyone to kiss under this arch to ensure a happy marriage.
I wish I could give you a full (not fulsome) review of the wonderful northern Italian city of Milano, aka Milan. But we were only there less than twenty-four hours, so a limited review is all I can provide. Suffice it to say the city deserves a much longer investigation, and since it is an international air hub, look to visit it to begin or end your next European journey.
After Amsterdam, we booked an overnight train trip on Austria’s OBB Nightjet which took us in early evening from AmsterdamCentraal to a morning arrival in Zurich. There we caught a connection to Milan on a quite picturesque route over, through and under the Alps. More on those train trips will be forthcoming later on our trip.
Fresh breads
We arrived in Milano Centrale in the mid afternoon and checked in at the Hotel Bristol immediately next door to the station. The Bristol is a throwback to classy European hotel style with well-decorated rooms, eclectic art, and a breakfast buffet to die for. We explained to the concierge that we were in town for just one meal, right now, which unfortunately falls between the Italian lunch and dinner hours. He directed us to an osteria, Mama Rossa’s, a few blocks away. It was fantastic, and the waiter couldn’t help himself but to give give us an amuse bouche, extra bread, extra wine, and a lesson in Puglian cuisine, once he learned that’s where we were headed next.
Caprese, anyone?Just looking at this again makes my mouth water
We waddled/staggered (did I mention the free apperitivo? The gratis limoncello?) out of Mama’s and jumped on the metro down to the Duomo: Milan’s majestic cathedral. The Duomo is quite literally a site to behold. Every corner, every window, every spire and doorway is covered with frescoes, carving, and religious symbolism. If you go–and you should–take a guided tour or get an audio guide and take your time. But we weren’t there for the tour. We just wanted to visit and pray.
I have mentioned previously that many European churches, basilicas, and cathedrals have tourist charges, but also permit “the faithful” to visit free of charge. The cost is just decorum and limited or no photography. We found the religious entrance and asked if we could go in and pray. The female guard took a look at me, wearing a small back pack and speaking English, and my wife, with a real camera around her neck. She said, “Not now. You should wait for the next Mass.” “Ok,” we replied, “when is it?” “Five-thirty.” “Great,” we said and walked around to a place where we could sit for thirty minutes and wait.
Such attention to detail!
I watched as the guard let one group of locals (no handbags, no back packs, no cameras, speaking Italian) after another through to pray. I could tell she was watching me, watching her. She finally decided we must be legitimate, and she waved us over at five-fifteen. We found our way around to a small chapel directly behind the main altar, where we got the opportunity to attend a full Mass in Italian on a Tuesday evening. We made a point of thanking the guard on the way out!
May the Lord forgive me for a quick shot from behind the main altar!
Exhausted from our “relaxing” overnight train adventure, with bellies full of gnocchi, spinach, and meatballs and livers reeling from wine and spirits, we called it a night, knowing we were on the road again the next morning to Puglia.
This was just a hit-n-run visit; we knew that going in. Milan has so much art, fashion, culture and industry it demands your time. Still, it was a special meal, a special hotel, and a special Mass: of these great visits are made!
