(Yes, the answer to our last blog-saloon quiz was Hemingway's "Death in the Afternoon," last chapter, where he sums up everything he left out of the book. His best writing. )
With that in mind I just staggered back to the hotel from "The Oldest Restaraunt in the World," in Madrid, Espana. It's "Botin" on the "Avenue of the Knife Makers," just off the Plaza Mayor. I was here five years ago after my friend Allen Josephs recommended I show up and drop his name. He wrote "The White Wall of Spain" and a great bullfight book on Cesar Rincon. The cafe is mentioned in a thousand books, including "The Sun Also Rises."That night I dined with the ambassador from Brazil and his lovely wife and daughters. Tonight I dined alone on the menu of the day: Andalusian Gazpacho, Roast Suckling Pig, White Rioja wine and the bread of the region. This sits on a street where muleteers and traders rumbled through in the year 1561. The walls seem to curve and wave and molt, and the tile came in on the backs or Moorish mules. Back then even the women had scars on their cheeks. A sign of integrity. Deep song. Cante hondo. The waiter notices I don't touch the ice cream and to compensate, brings lemon sorbet and a very large glass of Spanish Brandy. I heard Lorca and Leonard Cohen ringing in my ears as I wandered out among the throng and called for a coach and horses. Drifting back to the hotel.....singing "Take this Waltz, this waltz, this waltz....with it's very own breath of brandy and death..."
"It's okay to leave some wine in the bottle," said my friend Eric Hillestad. Abrazos to all. TR
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9 comments:
As far as scars on a woman's cheek being a sign of integrity goes, who wrote this?
"It's like loving a woman with a broken nose: you may find lovelier lovelies, but never a lovely so real."
I believe it was Lorca or Bukowski (of course.) TR
Ate at Botin again tonight and had the roast lamb. Great. Unfortunately I was sitting next to a tribe of loud Americans and Canadians so I couldn't sink into oblivion and had to listen to their banter about how they wished the locals would speak more English...Oh North America,we are not the center of the Universe that's for sure....Unless it's Mexico City....love it or leave it? I wish all the ignorant right and left wing assholes would leave so I could farm and rant in peace...but I do wax on....brandy and the road....tr
TR . . . glad to see the brandy bring out your irascible side. The unmistakable dichotomy you etched with your Beauty and the Beast was nice. Between those two and yourself at least one of the bunch is as competitive as old Hem himself. That's a compliment. No fight, no passion.
Sitting here at Old Ironsides in Sacramento with KBMR playing in the background coming from Utah's city of departure where they are preparing for Kate Wolf again. They played your The Kid from Spavinaw. Good song. A detour from US HWY 60 took me through there once. The dam looming above. Snaking down The Mickey Mantle Memorial Highway. Life throws curves.
Other memories. Meeting Father Rocha ( from Barcelona ) who at the time had already been the caretaker of El Santuario de Chimayo Chapel in Chimayo, NM for 50 years. Guardian of the sacred dirt. He blessed a Rosary for me that I had laced through the holy stream that runs in front of the chapel. A gift to mi amor. Father Rocha lost his younger brother to Franco's bullets during a mass execution of seminarians. Killed for The Words of Truth. They were recently canonized en masse. Father Rocha is as holy a man as I have ever met. Someday I hope to be as fortunate as you and visit Spain myself. You have made it all the more tempting with your descriptive and appetizing reportage.
Poets and holy men ( dangerous occupations ) at times. Out here with the walking wounded.
Truth. There is no map to it. You bring it with you . . .
or not.
-ST
Mr. Russell, thanks a lot for writing about my hometown. I would like to see you to play in Zaragoza, but I'm afraid It'll be impossible.
And regarding of the conversation in BotÃn, I wish to speak more English myself.
Saddle Tramp, I you ever come to this side of the pond, phone me, and I'll show you around this town.
Jose Ramon, Madrid, Spain.
Man, after the day I've had today, imagining roast lamb at Botin is exquisite torture.
What a great post. The Hemingway was a great set-up. Keep the cards and letters coming, we need to know someone can get out there on the road and find the universal space, the global village where we're all the same.
Must go back to Madrid soon. All this talk of Hemingway and food reminds me of something I read, that when he lived in Paris and was relatively destitute he would go and stare at Cezanne's paintings of fruit claiming they were best viewed on an empty stomach.
Just now found my copy of DITA - 7/6 (38pence, about 80 cents) back in 1966, pretty expensive then but there were all those photos:
"spelt out between the lines...the outline of the whole of Hemingway's philosophy and art" says the blurb. How true...
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