TravelswithCharie

To write about Venice is to tell only half the story. For Venice is a sensory feast. It is not easy to convey in words all that it offers. Rather it must be experienced. How do I explain what I felt on seeing it for the first time? I heard the bora fiercely making its way across the islands drowning the alto voce of the gondolier. I hungrily followed the scent of freshly baked pastries in the early morning hours when the locals were still dreaming in bed. And I got hopelessly lost in the labyrinthine alleys only to find myself in a quiet piazza only a stone's throw from the hordes of visitors in Piazza San Marco. Venice seeps through the bones leaving an indelible impression.

Michaelangelo's David is quite a man! Thank goodness he's in a museum. There are enough hunks out there to add spice to travel. My friend Vero fell for the tour guide she met on a Nile cruise. The best part is that he liked her too. But there's more. He is at least 15 years younger! Sweeeeet! My favorite romantic writer, Marlena de Blasi, met her husband while traveling in Venice. I love her story about their first meeting (he called her from a phone in the restaurant where she and her friends were eating), his trip to the U.S. to see her, how she gave up her successful career and moved to Venice, Italy and spent "A Thousand Days in Venice" followed by "A Thousand Days in Tuscany". A solo woman traveler I met on a bus tour of Europe several years back was having an affair with the bus driver. She couldn't understand why he chose her among the other ladies in our tour group. But she was glad he did. She was having the best time discovering Europe with

The real beauty of the Court of the Lions lies in the harmonious co-existence of three religious architectural influences. At the center of the courtyard is a fountain with 12 lions, representing the twelve tribes of Judah. Exquisite columns form a cloister surrounding the courtyard, a typical feature in cathedrals and monasteries throughout Europe. Geometric patterns in the traditional Mudejar style decorate the rooms. Much of the bright, rich colors of the tiles have survived to this day. Looking across the courtyard, I can understand the lagrimas of Boabdil, the last Sultan, who was exiled to Africa after the Spaniards reconquered Granada. How often had he gazed at this courtyard and appreciated the symmetry of the columns, inhaled the sweet scent of oranges that are a staple in these parts, was lulled to sleep by the tinkling of water from the fountain and awoke reinvigorated in the coolness of his opulent surroundings. Asi es la vida. * * * Image by Rosario Charie Albar

I was idly browsing in the souvenir section of Madrid's El Corte Ingles when I stumbled upon my roots. There amongst tacky mementos and beautiful damascene jewelry, I found the coat of arms of my grandmother's family. According to the brief history written on the wooden plaque, the Barrios family came from Guipúzcoa in the Basque region of Spain. In succeeding years they branched out to the province of Burgos and established a new ancestral seat. The Barrios clan belonged to an old and noble dynasty. When the King of Spain set out to reconquer Granada from the Moors in the late 15th century, the Barrios gentlemen accompanied him. This bit of history came as a surprise to me because I was on my way to Granada to see the legendary Alhambra. My journey was transformed.

By Rosario Charie Albar There I was, only on my second day in Madrid and shopping already. I had a good excuse though. I needed to buy some pantyhose because I had brought only 2 pairs for a 10-day trip. And it was freezing cold. On approach to Madrid’s Barajas airport, I could see the countryside blanketed in white. Local television reported on various accidents caused by foul weather. They also showed weekend vacationers who were stuck for hours on their way to ski resorts because the roads were closed from heavy snowfall. The salesgirl at El Corte Ingles was very helpful. I told her I needed the thickest pantyhose they sold and she showed me two dif ferent kinds made by a famous French designer. On examining them, the 11-euro pantyhose was much thicker than the 8-euro one so I decided to buy the former. I wanted to kick myself for forgetting to buy nylons at home where it is far cheaper. The salesgirl congratulated me for choosing a really good pair and what’s more, she added, it wa

Sure, I took a long walk on the beach this morning but breakfast at my cousin’s house was too good to resist. Think of crabs, alimasag (baby crab) , prawns, fish relleno, bangus, exotic fruits like mango, pineapple with its prickly skin, sineguelas , and “short” bananas. And for dessert, banana leaf-wrapped sweet rice ( ibus ). How can I turn my back on this tantalizing spread? And the lap lap of the sea, only steps away, provided a relaxing tune to help my appetite along. Never mind that I will have to walk longer and farther tomorrow to make up for all the goodies I ate (without guilt) today. * * * Image by Rosario Charie Albar

It sounds very rich to say,"My Private Museum". I wish I have one. But I'm not wishful thinking. Instead, I'm adding new paintings to my current collection of artworks. From Roxas City I brought home two oil paintings. Unang Apo is by Lino Villaruz and Cooking Woman is by A. Villanueva who is a former student of Lino's and is now a teacher of art himself. Cooking Woman is a very good copy of a painting done by the famous Fernando Amorsolo. Villaruz's style borders on abstract with elements of pointillism. Notice the dots that shower his canvas. It reminds me of Seurat's paintings. I've seen Lino's other works including one in the style of Picasso's Portrait of Dora Marr . "Ang Unang Apo" (First Grandchild) by Lino Villaruz Oil on canvas 18 x 24 Cooking W o man touches me because it is a poignant reminder of home. The water jar in the background is the same kind we had in our house. We played with clay pots as children and made &qu