ANECDOTES

According to the definition, anecdotes are generally (auto)biographical, intended to provoke humor.  Maybe some of these will, perhaps not.

1. Spanish lesson: 

When I was in the U.S. Navy and on our first cruise to the Mediterranean and our ship (USS Norris DD-859) was headed to the Spanish port of Valencia, I was thrilled finally to be going to a Spanish-speaking country to try out my Spanish on natives and to learn some more of their language.  I certainly did! Before reaching Valencia I had read in the guidebook about the "Chinatown” there. When I went on liberty, I started to ask people where it was—I wanted to find a good Chinese restaurant.  They all looked at me strangely; some didn’t answer and others vaguely gestured, “Over there.”  Maybe I am not using the right words? “Barrio chino.” I finally found it and started looking around. “I don’t see any Chinese people.” Bars and shops and so forth, typically Spanish looking it all was.  Turns out I had not used the wrong Spanish words—'barrio' and 'chino' were the right ones. I simply had the wrong meaning attached to them: 'Barrio chino' means red light district. I don't recall seeing any red lights that night, however.

2. Flight of the bumblebee: 

My cousin David and I were maybe twelve-years old and his family had come to our house in Murrayville for Sunday dinner, which means midday in the rural Midwest. He and I decided we needed to go to the toilet and proceeded to the two-seater outhouse. While doing our business, my sister Diana decided to have some fun by locking the door on us. Unable to leave that delightful place, we started to yell and pound on the door for her to release the latch.  Our noise was not welcomed by the bumblebees that had a nest there, and they proceeded to let us know how they felt. Finally, she opened the door and we exited screaming and swatting at the bees. My pants got dropped in the middle of the driveway and my left hand proceeded to swell up. I haven’t listened to the Rimsky-Korsakov piece in years.

If you want to hear "Flight of the Bumblebee, " go to the link. It's bound to get your dog's attention.


3. Nearly deported from Damascus, Syria: 

I had been appointed a member of an accreditation team of the Middle States Association to help evaluate the American School in Damascus. I asked the travel agent here in Colombo about visas for Americans, and she said, "Oh, no problem. You can get one on arrival, just like in Cairo." It seems the immigration officials in Damascus were not aware of that. They grabbed me by the arms and made me run, nearly dragging me, back to the plane--I protesting of course--, but at the last minute there was a reprieve and finally after hours of my waiting, the U.S. Embassy worked it all out with the Syrians. After that, I entered the country, did my job with the re-accreditation team and got the hell out of there.

4. "The Kingdom" story, not funny at all:

They recruited me to teach grade 9 English, but when I got there the assignment had changed to grades 2 and 4, for which I was not suited then, never would be, nor am I still to this day! Imagine being told you have those children for ninety minutes and you will teach them English for 90 minutes. Grade 4s hardly can sit still for 45 minutes of anything, give up after twenty minutes with Grade 2s. Not a very good situation for anyone, but the worst part came towards the end of the year in Grade 4. The little princes concocted the story that I had thrown their holy book on the floor, spat upon it and then had yelled, “Eat pork.” Needless to say I was removed from the campus to the safety of my apartment, where I packed the essentials in preparation for a hasty departure from “The Kingdom.” Turns out, however, that the little princes couldn't keep their three stories straight, and I was saved. I did leave shortly after the end of that term. 

5. Casa Paco, Madrid:

 One does not immediately think of Madrid, Spain, as anywhere to get an absolutely succulent beef steak, but in my experiences of the world I have found no better place than Casa Paco for the beef-steak aficionado.  Apparently, others agree:

 This place is a short stroll from the Plaza Mayor and is one of the best steak houses I have ever been in. [Address: Puerta Cerrada 11]

I rate it up there with Peter Luger's in Brooklyn, NY.

There is a small bar at the front decorated with tiles as per many other places in Madrid and the bar itself is nothing special. However the meat is the reason to be there. [If you are a stickler for commas, like me, you will find this Brit article leaves them out or uses them incorrectly.]

They will cut Fillet [sic] or sirloin steaks to whatever size you want - I am partial to a 500gm fillet. [My favorite was 500 gm of solomillo, medio hecho—medium rare, but it was more like American rare.]

The meat is served on sizzling hot plates, in fact the meat will continue to cook on the plate so you may want to order it less well cooked than normal.

Very reasonable prices and a fair selection of wines. They do serve other items but apart from side dishes, nearly everybody has steak.

Paco is no longer with us, [a euphemism for passed away J] but the place is full of photos of the man with different celebrities and I think it is his daughter that now presides over the place. [It was said that Paco always knew just how much to cut and never had to slice off a bit more to get 500 gm!]

You will almost certainly need to book, and be warned there is a dress code - they do not allow men in shorts. [What respectable tourist from anywhere would go to the Plaza Mayor at night in shorts?]

Source of the article quoted above:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/travel/article-587949/Casa-Paco-Madrid.html#

Casa Paco reminds me of another experience in the same area of Madrid. See the next anecdote.

 

6. Steven the Pimp:

It was the summer of 1977 and I was studying in Madrid with New York University.  One evening some of my companions wanted to go to the old part of Madrid for drinks and tapas.  Since I was by then well acquainted with the city, I said I knew of a great place at the Plaza Mayor.  So, off we headed taking the Metro from the Madrid university campus to Puerta del Sol. From there we walked up the Calle Mayor, took a left and landed in the old central square called the Plaza Mayor. Diagonally across the square is a bar/café grotto-like place called “Las Cuevas de Luis Candelas.” We went in and descended to one of the grottoes and found seats all around the center of the smallish room. Naturally, a herd of tourists drew the attention of the patrons already there.  We ordered some red wine and tapas and proceeded to chat and have a good time.  A while later a Spaniard came up to me, whispering in my ear, to ask if I could arrange something for him.  He had taken a fancy to one of my friends.  Oh, I failed to mention—all of my companions were young women.  I never did find out how much he was willing to pay!

 

 

 
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