10 December 2006


this weekend is an aqueduct...three days appended to the usual two. despite my fiercest intentions to leave town, here i remain in madrid. if only i could relive the following weekends:
  • 1996, lake powell, utah: a broken tooth, a trip out of town, a suite at the hilton. a much-needed change of scenery and re-entry to the "real world." a drive through the desert in the light of dawn, racing toward the ferry, shiny new tooth and weekend complete.
  • 1998, long beach island, new jersey: a typical new york weekend away from dartmouth resuted in a beachy vacation on the jersey shore. i remember asbury park, batting cages and a perfect burger. for the unfortunate landlocked, any contact with the beach is a bonus, no matter the company or the weather.
  • 2003, atlantic city, ny: a spontaneous roadtrip, we were homesick for our westcost casino options and sought shelter in south jersey. after much trolling and much disappointment it was the lounge at harrods that scratched the itch. normally, ice-laden beer taps would be but a novelty, but combined with the wiley matchstick bar tricks of our trusty server there was undeniable magic in the air.
  • 2005, denmark. we went to gabe's wedding, only to find out that it wasn't so much a wedding as a luncheon. but no matter, sky and i had been to copenhagen before so we didn't mind the sojourn into the danish countryside. a four-hour train ride from the airport and we arrived in the middle of nowhere with snow falling and nobody to pick us up, the train emptied and everybody else hastened off into their cars while we stood in the dark night waiting. there is the moment when you realize nobody is coming, and you drag your rolling suitcase into town, find a phone and call gabe. hours later all was well, we were among friends and subject to the best non-wedding lunch in western europe. then days of finicky weather, danish country culture, gabe's offspring and levys galore. all in all, a memorable weekend.
  • 2006, portugal. one year ago, to the date. another random roadtrip, a journey that ended on the white-sand beaches of portugal, warm in the dead of winter. we soaked in the beach villages, collected shells, revelled in the simplicity of a peaceful weekend away. at night there were three chiringuitos on the beach, one was full of guitar-playing hippies who were somehow intimidating. yet, we made our way in and moments later i was strumming and ariel was singing: joni mitchell. the night fishermen came in for their espresso, we had a few port wines and headed back to the guesthouse, opening the oven to warm ourselves up. do you remember portugal? can a weekend be more idyllic?
today's question: how much can you squeeze out of a weekend? is a weekend time to rest or to rage?

1 comment:

Paul Gladis said...

If I don't wake up either on a couch in a house 200km from home next to a strange woman whose name I don't remember or propped up against a back alley dumpster on a Tuesday afternoon with a massive headache and a new scar - then it wasn't a weekend worth writing home to Mom about.