The Latest T-Boy Film, Travel & Music poll is devoted to a positive cultural experience when visiting a new destination. Below you’ll find orignial content not found anywhere else on the globe by Richard Carroll, Audrey Hart, Ringo Boitano, Deb Roskamp and even two by yours truly. I hope you enjoy the entries as much as I enjoyed its compilation. – Ed

Richard Carroll: T-Boy Writer

Tango Culture: Buenos Aires

Traveling the world like so many others, I never believed that a city and it’s music would have the greatest culture impact. A musical magic that quickly captured me. Buenos Aires seems to float on a tango C chord, the wave lengths drifting through the city leaving a rhythm touching the heart. A dramatic, sensuous, feel-good rhythm, where some of the most gorgeous women in the world are moving their feet to a music that is the essence of Buenos Aires. The city, near the bottom of South America, is where tango was born in the America’s, and it’s alive and thriving. Walking through the neighborhoods one is greeted by tango, and often couples dancing tango in a sensuous and precise sway that is mesmerizing, where legs and feet are as precise as a jeweled Swiss clock. The city has tango boutiques, tango hotels for visitors in love with the art, tango night clubs, tango schools, and best of all a large downtown dance hall where the portenos go to dance after a long days work. You see street workers, fashionable ladies with a briefcase, and other portenos, all filing into the dance hall. The men on one side of the room, the ladies on the other, They dance tango with various partners for an hour or so and head for home, each going their separate way. Not a place to meet your lifetime lover. It’s just a place for the portenos to dance tango. Tango in Buenos Aires is the culture of the city and the magic is for both visitors and portenos alike.

Audrey Hart: T-Boy Food Writer

Chimichanga Culture: Tucson, AZ

No city is more associated with the Chimichanga than Tucson. The city’s tourism office published an ad in the nationally circulated Food & Wine magazine, inviting Americans to visit Tucson, “home of the chimichanga.”

Chimichanga, or “chimi,” has achieved cult-like status in Tucson where residents take their chimis very seriously and prefer large, overstuffed versions. Every restaurant and eatery have its own version of this favorite dish. But many consider El Charro Café’s the best and most authentic. – Source: Food Timeline.
Family legend says that owner Monica Flin in 1928 accidentally dropped a stuffed beef burrito in a pot of boiling oil. She immediately shouted some profane expletives, but noticed younger family members in the kitchen, and abruptly changed the swear word to “chimichanga,” the Spanish equivalent of “thingamagig.” Tucson was awarded the nation’s first UNESCO City of Gastronomy Designation, and Gourmet Magazine named El Charro Café, “One of America’s 21 Most Legendary Restaurants.”

See El Charro Café’s Chimichanga Recipe here.

Ringo Boitano: T-Boy Writer

The Culture of Family: Tahiti and Her Islands

Our jeep commenced deep into the mountainous valley of Tahiti’s Papenoo; a true Garden of Eden with fertile displays of ginger, vanilla, taro, noni and breadfruit. The medicinal and cosmetic benefits of the pants and flowers are well utilized by the Tahitians, renowned for their health, physical beauty and spiritual serenity.

My guide was an Euro-Tahitian anthropologist, who has lived in Tahiti Nui his entire adult life. He explained the intricacies of Tahitian culture, where the past meets the present, and that the Gallic texture of today is often only evident on the surface. The French police keep the islands safe but will never enter a home when there’s a family dispute or even violence. Often times when a local commits an egregious crime, justice is handled the tribal way, where the offender might ‘accidentally’ fall from the top of a mountain or ‘mysteriously’ drown while fishing.

When a Tahitian woman reaches the age to give childbirth, she is encouraged to take as many lovers as she chooses. When an infant is born, the child is given to a group of older women, often aunts (slang, motu mamas) to be raised by the community in wide open mountain valleys. From my guide’s studies, he believes that Tahiti and Polynesia illustrate the most tolerant and sophisticated child rearing practices in the world; a world where the youth find meaning through relationships with the family, community, spatial terrain, ancestral spirits and God.

Ed Boitano: T-Boy Writer

The Culture of the Currach: Aran Islands

Due to their isolated location at the very edge of Ireland, the Aran Islands are naturally detached from the rest of the world and have maintained unique customs and ways of life for centuries. With a population of around 900 people, Inishmore (Inis Mór) is the largest of the Aran Islands, approximately eight miles-long by two and a half-miles wide. If you have just a day, this is the island you must see. Its principal village is Kilronan where you’ll find tour guides, horse drawn carriages and bicycle rentals waiting as soon as you get off your ferry. The Aran Islands’ relatively flat landscape makes an ideal setting for walkers of all levels, while the 30-minute bike ride from the pier to Dún Aonghasa is one of the most popular cycling routes in all of Ireland.

Before you depart on your tours, stop by Ionad Arann Heritage Centre, a three-minute walk from the village of Kilronan, an excellent visitor’s center, which provides a good introduction and guided tour taking you back more than two thousand years in the life and times of the Aran Islands.

The center demonstrates the art of currach making– a traditional island boat made by stretching a fabric over a sparse skeleton of thin wooden/wicker laths, then covered in tar. The currach has been used on the islands for centuries and is designed to battle the rough seas that face the open Atlantic Ocean. Documentary film director Robert Flaherty was fascinated to find that the Aran fishermen would not learn to swim, since they knew they could never survive any sea that swamped a currach, and would drown without a struggle. His filming of the dramatic shark-hunt – whose liver the islanders would boil to make lantern oil for trade – was a centerpiece of his staged documentary masterpiece, the 1934 film, Man of Aran.

Deb Roskamp: T-Boy Photographer

Fado Culture: Lisbon, Portugual

The fadista sang mournful tunes with lyrics of resignation, fate and melancholy; best defined by the Portuguese word saudade, (longing), symbolizing a feeling of irreparable loss and lifelong damage. Fado (‘destiny, fate’) is a melancholic genre whose birthplace is Lisbon’s port districts of Alfama, Mouraria and Bairro Alto in the 1820s. Initially, its musical style was performed in cafes, taverns and ‘half-door’ houses (bordellos) to sailors, bohemians, and courtesans who were mainly from the urban working-class.
Today, throughout the world, Fado is regarded as the Portuguese musical symbol of culture and tradition. The music is performed without any form of electric amplification by either a female or a male vocalist, and accompanying music, generally by guitars (10- or 12-string guitars), one or two violas (6-string guitars), and occasionally a viola baixo (a small 8-string bass viola). Most of the repertoire follows a double meter (four beats to a measure), with lyrics arranged in quatrains or in any of several other common Portuguese poetic forms.

I listened to the musicians while dining in a restaurant. The music took me back to imagining women singing these ballads to their sailors, as they set out to explore the world, disappearing beyond the horizon.

Raoul Pascual: T-Boy Webmaster and Illustrator

The Clean Culture of Japan

This country stands above all others in terms of selflessness. Something about the Japanese and upholding family honor. It was back in the 80s when I went to Tokyo, Nagoya and Kyoto for a business trip. For the most part, the streets were super clean (no trash anywhere… (not even a single cigarette butt), the people were hard working and disciplined. They said you could leave your luggage in the middle of the street and no one would steal it. They reminded me of worker ants with individual integrity functioning for the greater good of the hive.

Ed Boitano: T-Boy Writer

Irish Session Music: Doolin, Ireland

“What brings you to Ireland?” asked my friendly cab driver. “All the above and more, and with a very keen interest in Irish music,” laughed thee. The cabbie smiled, “You know, I sing too. Give me a couple pints of Guinness and I’ll sing all night fer yah.” My mood was already euphoric; now kicked up a step higher, well aware that a trip to the Republic of Ireland is a cultural immersion of living history, heartfelt poetry, ethereal landscapes and locals with hospitality in their very DNA. And, yes, I soon found my traditional Irish Session (‘seisiún’) bands, playing jigs (faster rhythms) and reels (stepdance music in ‘reel’ time), and an occasional ballad about the Great Famine and emigration.

Doolin (Dúlainn) is an Atlantic coastal village in County Clare, considered the home of traditional Irish session music. And the local attractions are not bad either, with the Cliffs of Moher, the Burren, and a port that leads to Aran Islands just around the corner. But what could top a Doolin pub meal washed down with a pint of the black stuff at one of the village’s rollicking establishments? Well, grab your next pint and bask in the intoxicating music of an Irish session band on the floor.

The size of the groups may vary, and members are sometimes new to one another, yet seemingly never missing a beat on the Bodhrán Drum. Traditional instruments generally included fiddle (the life blood of a session); harp; flute and whistle; Uilleann Pipes; guitar, mandolin and banjo; accordion and concertina, and the Bodhrán Drum. You’ll notice the Irish have the gift of the dance where evidence suggests that the sun worshipping Celts and the Druids practiced a circular formation pagan dance which has a commonality to the modern Irish set dancing of today. And, if you’re feeling particularly festive, you can join in on a dance; in my case, a rather clumsy and improvised one.

At a conversational break, a musician informed me that the Irish dancer once carried a heavy stone in both hands, preventing them from holding hands with the opposite sex. Then adding, “I’d probably need a shackle (Handcuff, carrying alcoholic beverages in both hands at the same time).” What could I say, besides Sláinte! (Pronounced: ‘slaan-sha’) and ordered another Guinness.

The post Cultural Impact when Traveling appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Dear Maria,

Yes, Magellan lost his head in the Philippine island of Mactan in 1521. Ferdinand Magellan (Fernando de Magallanes in Spanish) was actually born in Portugal (Fernao de Magalhaes) but his expedition was funded by Spanish investors when his own country rejected his exploration proposal. Whether he changed loyalty to Spain is not clear but the Philippines is named after King Philip of Spain.

Magellan’s story is one instance where the old adage “the victor gets to write history” rings true. The PBS History website and Spanish movies like “1898: Our Last Men in the Philippines” depict the Filipinos as uncivilized thankless primitives. From Western perspectives, the Spaniards were the cultured benefactors who came to save the Filipinos from their ignorance. From the Filipino’s viewpoint, the Spaniards were the oppressors. The Spanish monks sworn to celibacy were notorious to have families on the side.

Western literature does not explain how Magellan was killed but ask a Filipino and he can tell you that that Lapu Lapu, the local tribal chief, cut off Magellan’s head. It may be conjecture but in fairness, the PBS video stated that Lapu Lapu’s many tattoos proved he was a strong warrior (how did they know that?) — now that’s conjecture if you ask me.

There is a popular, humorous, clever song about “Magellan” composed by funny man, Yoyoy Villame. You can watch the video below but here’s fair warning that Yoyoy ‘s accent is so thick, you may have to read the captions to understand the lyrics.

Excerpt of the song as you might hear it:
“En March sixteen, Pipteen Hundred Twenty one, the Phelepeens was disco-bird by Magellan.
[In March 15, 1621, the Philippines was discovered by Magellan.]”

Magellan’s claim to fame: The first man to circumnavigate the world. But actually, Magellan, was already dead when the ship Victoria arrived at Seville, Spain on September 9, 1522. The real navigator who accomplished this feat and whose fame was stolen from him was Juan Sebastian de Elcano. Hard to believe that was 500 years ago.

Magellan is also credited to have discovered the Philippines. That’s an insult to the Filipinos whose ancestors had a functioning civilization before the Spaniards forced them into Catholicism. Magellan’s arrival prompted the colonization of the Philippines that lasted for 300 years and, sadly, instead of sharing the technology, the Spaniards kept the natives uneducated in order to hold on to their power. The Catholic missions did put up schools and it taught the local elites (ilustrados) Western culture. Sure enough. the ilustrados, with eyes opened, realized the oppression of their people and started a movement of unrest with their writings. This led to the Philippine Revolution in August 1896.

It seems like the Philippines is always getting the short end of the stick (maybe it’s because most Filipinos are so nice and genteel … an admirable character trait but easy prey to opportunistic bullies) because, when the Filipinos finally united to stop the abuse, they partnered with America who helped drive the Spaniards out. However, seeing the weakened state of the Philippine revolutionaries, the Americans decided to take the Philippines for itself. The United States turned the Philippines into one of its commonwealth countries. Unlike the Spaniards, Americans brought in the protestant brand of Christianity and tradition of educating the natives. They started the public school system. At one point, the Philippines boasted it had the highest per capita literacy in the world. Thanks to America everyone (not just the ilustrados) could get an education. This affiliation with America forced the Philippines’ involvement in the US-Japanese War. Countless lives were lost from the Japanese atrocities. But after the war, the Philippines became the economic envy of South East Asia — more advanced even than Japan in the late 50s. But politics, greed, and corruption creeped in … but that’s another story.

Final observations

There are Philippine statues, paintings, food products and even a fish named after the barbarian Lapu Lapu but there are none for Magellan. As to your question: is it safe for Spaniards to visit the Philippines? Of course it’s safe. Despite the bad blood between the 2 countries, today Filipinos can travel freely to Spain without a visa. Many Spaniards consider the Filipinos as their brothers. Today the remnants of the Spanish influence can be seen in the Filipino names, street names, words in the Filipino language and in many of the food. The mulatos (or lighter-skinned cross-bred children of the Spaniards) are considered to be so attractive that they are plucked to be actors and models regardless of their intelligence or talent. This is part of the colonial mentality deeply ingrained in the Filipino psyche.

Another testament to the kind and forgiving heart of the Filipinos: they have great relations with the Japanese (maybe they’re attracted to Japan’s affluence). In fact, the Japanese (ashamedly) seem to remember what their warring ancestors did to the Filipinos more than most Filipinos today. Japan has also donated greatly to boost the Philippine economy. — Pedro Panduko

Send in your questions

This installment of our advice column comes to you from our Filipino-American expert, Mr. Pedro Panduko (this is his pen name). Ask him anything about the Philippines and he will give his expert opinion. Ask about the food, the beaches, politics, history, the people, customs, superstitions, economy, etc. He can even share affordable travel ideas.

Meet our Filipino-American: Pedro Panduko

Pedro was born in Aklan, a South Eastern province of the Philippines. He speaks Tagalog, Visayan and English. He was studying in Metropolitan Manila when his family decided to move to California, USA in the 90s. He’s a typical hard-working Filipino who enjoys sports (especially basketball, boxing and football), food, cars and action movies. He currently is the quality controller of a medical marijuana plant. No, he doesn’t sample the product (at least that’s what he wants us to believe), but he sure knows how to grow the best ones. He loves his family and America. He and his wife immerse their smart and talented kids into the American culture.

The post Dear Filipino-American: Did Magellan Lose His Head? appeared first on Traveling Archive.

This wasn’t a conscious thought. As the travel restrictions weighed more heavily upon me I started to broaden my cooking, unconsciously seeking out new recipes from favorite countries that reminded me of my visits. Then one day I realized I’d taken a grand tour of Europe without leaving my dinner table. Over the course of two weeks I cooked ten different international meals. With the resulting leftovers and lunches I had 14 days of reminiscences of past visits while enjoying the taste of each country.

And it wasn’t just Europe I visited. I went to Cuba (I wish!) New England (a favorite summer haunt) and to North Africa for an adventurous dish. But it really all started rather simply in Mexico.

I’m a big fan of tacos, but not one of “messy eating around the dinner table” tacos. So now I make taco bowls to be eaten with a fork and spoon. Yes I’ll still eat tacos as street food, say, in Mexico City, with sauce dripping down my chin and arms, but doesn’t this look more inviting?

The next evening I was transported to Spain over a dish of Chicken Chilindron. This dish could be from any Mediterranean country except for the addition of smoked paprika, a.k.a. smoked pimenton, a very distinctive Spanish spice added for its red smoky heat. The aroma and taste had me right back in Extremadura, Spain, where smoked pimenton has its own DOC.

For a Friday in Lent I made cod cakes. The Iberian Peninsula is historically connected to cod, with Basque fishermen crossing the Atlantic, way before Columbus “discovered” the New World, to catch and dry fish for transport back home. All the salt cod you see today is descended from their preserving tradition. The Portuguese fished New England’s cod banks as well. This recipe is from an older Portuguese woman I once knew. It is healthier and more complex than the deep fried Spanish cod croquettes I love.

The next three dishes could easily be lumped into an Italian trifecta. Not that I was on a roll here. And certainly pizza the way I make it has nothing to do with Italy. But it’s still good and does have Italian-American roots. No, these reflect a desire for a more extended stay in the boot of Europe.

And while the scallops in white wine and garlic could be found along any Mediterranean coast, serving them on pasta got the dish included here.

But the true dish of Italy I made was a huge batch of slow-cooked Bolognese sauce, fragrantly simmering all day in my kitchen. It made a great base for some homemade ravioli I enjoyed for many days before freezing a quart for another trip, er, I mean meal. And speaking of slow cooking, I also made a vat of Pasta e Fagioli, unconventionally using some Rancho Gordo pinto beans I got as a Christmas gift. (If nothing else, we’ve all learned to improvise ingredients during this pandemic shut down.) I enjoyed the soup’s rich deliciousness many times.

Then, while I was in the neighborhood, I thought I’d skip across the Mediterranean to taste a bit of Ethiopia. It wasn’t my plan, but I was inspired by a description of berbera spice mix on Milk Street Radio one Sunday. Apparently Ethiopians put berbera spice in everything, everyday, and each house has its own distinctive blend. I researched the basic recipe and made my own, adding and subtracting to my tastes. By the second batch I knew to use less hot ingredients, so everyone in the household can enjoy this taste of North Africa. The result is Doro Wat, an Ethiopian chicken dish with a red onion to chicken ratio of 1:1, a head of garlic, and a half cup of berbera spice blend. Wow! Just Wow! I doubled the next batch of berbera I made so I can use it every day, too.

Europe bound once more, I had a layover in Greece, because I always wanted to. And because I had all the ingredients for this delicious sounding dish: Greek Braised Chicken, a.k.a. Kota Kapama. It’s not what you’d think – no olives or feta cheese – just a healthy amount of cinnamon and allspice rubbed into the skin-on chicken thighs before they are braised in a tomato and wine stock. It was just so fragrant and tasty – Yum!

On my last visit to France (and the word “last” takes on new meaning during this pandemic as I wonder if we’ll ever travel again . . . ) I was in the Lorraine region when I remarked that during my entire visit I had not tasted the celebrated local dish, quiche. Arrangements were promptly made, and quiche was served with drinks before dinner, by a chef who disdainfully told me that we “never serve quiche here.” (I can only throw my hands in the air and exclaim “THE FRENCH”! when I think of it. They should serve quiche more often – and more civilly.) It was delicious. Since then I have it on rotation in my kitchen, using up bits and pieces of ingredients and things “going bad” in the refrigerator. This one used up the sheets of phyllo pastry left over from the Greek spinach and feta dish, Spanakopita, that I ate all of but neglected to photograph!

Last year a sale on pork loins left me with an eight pound loin (I cannot resist a food sale!) Half was butterflied, stuffed with herbs, wrapped in prosciutto and braised (with much work and little reward except that it was pretty) while the other was frozen. I thawed that for the next two dishes.

The first was a slow-cooked New England balsamic and stock braise on red potatoes and carrots. It fits the travel theme because we visit family in New England often. Coastal Maine and New Hampshire are favorites for summer fun and food, so while it wasn’t lobster rolls I was cooking, it was comfort food.

But the real reason to cook the pork, besides making room in the freezer, was for the leftover pork needed to make Cuban Sandwiches. With thinly sliced pork loin, Swiss cheese, ham, dill pickles, and two kinds of mustard layered in a crusty loaf, then pressed and grilled, these are always a favorite in our house. They were so satisfyingly chewy-delicious served with a horseradish cole slaw and a cold beer. Heaven!

There was another Cuban dish – Braised Chicken. It tasted great, but except for the raisins, olives, and capers it looked just like all the other chicken dishes pictured above. So, instead of looking at same ol’ same ol’, here’s a picture of the Cuban Sandwiches plated:

So wasn’t that a fun vacation to the culinary hotspots of the world? You got to read it and enjoy a vicarious tour through kitchens of seven countries, while I gained five pounds cooking and eating! Does that seem fair to you?

Do you like to recreate the dishes of your favorite vacation destinations? Please tell me about them in the comments below (and share the recipe!) Thanks for reading.

The post Vicarious Culinary Travel During a Pandemic appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Murdered by Titans, Dionysus/Bacchus was reborn. His worship generated irrational exuberance, frenzied revels by women, and much early theater and standup comedy. When condemned by Rome as a sinister source of vice and revolutionary unrest, the frolic was periodically rejuvenated by slaves and poor free men.

These traditions — celebrating man as a free being without hierarchy — blended easily with the various pagan rites of spring practiced by Germanic and other tribes. The Church tried to suppress carnival but ultimately decided if you can’t beat ‘em, join ‘em, layering on compatible beliefs as they co-opted the locals. Carnival, or carne vale, comes from Latin, and means “flesh, farewell,” as Carnival heralds in the Lenten fast that leads to Easter. The mix with local and aboriginal beliefs creates an amazing array of traditions, extending to the New World and locales as far flung as India.

Most Americans know Carnival though New Orleans Mardi Gras, or through Rio or Trinidad, but the roots are firmly in Europe. Napoleon and Hitler banned Carnival. Its anti-authoritarian roots quickly grew back.

For years I’ve shouldered the task of chronicling carnivals across different cultures — sense of duty. With anti-authoritarian and satirical roots planted by the ancients, Carnival is a superb barometer of how people view the forces bumping their lives around, as well as of the U.S. image abroad.

One sojourn included sleepy towns in Portugal. In Torres Verdes, the centerpiece — not a float, the centerpiece — was called “Bushlandia.” Artfully rendered, five or so stories high, the sculpture offered up Bush as a primitive king in furs, wielding a jeweled club and a scepter with a golden skull. He wore a crucifix on which was a soldier. Bush sat within the jaws of giant skull beneath the crown of the Stature of Liberty, about which crawled wormy critters in turbans. Other heads of the coalition of the willing — old Europe, new Europe, always confusing — were in his court. Prime Minister Tony Blair fanned Bush with feathers and scratched his backside. On the sculpture’s flip side, a bearded fellow hauled a wheelbarrow of explosives. Beneath him a government minister struggled to feed the world’s poor children. Nuclear missiles flanked Bush. Penguins blew time-out whistles as toxic waste washed over nature. To the beat of Brazilian bands amid the samba gyrations of hotties, all revelers passed before Bush. A small town in Portugal made a colossal comment on U.S. leadership.

Carnival jabs are thrown throughout the world. My first carnival was in Cologne, Germany. Barely a month after the Monica Lewinsky scandal broke in 1998; I nearly kicked my camera off my balcony, lunging for it as a masterpiece of German engineering rounded Koln Cathedral. A grinning Bill Clinton, big as a Mack truck, groped a peeved Statue of Liberty, followed by a padlocked White House atop which stood Uncle Sam throwing blood sausages to a crowd roaring approval.

They could take a joke even if finger-wagging phonies like Joe Lieberman and members of the pious press couldn’t. Germans couldn’t understand America’s mania over this fiasco as more pressing worldly concerns tumbled into the fire.

No one brought out the carnival knives like Bush. Some years back, despite German officials urging softer blows prior to a Bush visitation, a Cologne float had Bush shooting flames from a cross fashioned like a machine gun. On another, Uncle Sam bent over, trousers down, while the German Chancellor climbed a ladder up his backside, with nose a shade darker. In a later carnival, Angela Merkel fared better, portrayed as Elastic Girl, while Bush walked barefoot through bowls of fat labeled “Kyoto”, “New Orleans”, and “Atomic Conflict”.

A carnival in Dusseldorf once offered up Iran’s president as a rocket, caught by a United Nations net, (not, ahem, a U.S. net).

The greatest punches are thrown in Basel, Switzerland. This unique Protestant take begins in a blacked-out city at 4 AM the Monday after Ash Wednesday. Thousands of costumed pipers and drummers accompany huge gas-lit lanterns painted with satirical images of political figures and issues of the day. A carnival favorite, Silvio Berlusconi — likened to a hybrid of the Godfather and Benito Mussolini, running his media empire like an Orwellian villain — will no doubt once again be prominent. The Swiss miss Bush, another favorite — and boy did they work him over — but while Bush now keeps a low profile, Berlusconi offers up new material.

If small towns in Portugal can use Carnival to speak truth to power, why can’t Washington? The threat of ridicule at Carnival might rein in excesses, perhaps an invasion, a war without end.

A modest proposal: bring Carnival to Washington. The city may not have the religious roots of many carnival strongholds, but no place can fake religion like Washington. Imagine Carnival’s potential in the Nation’s capital. True, it’s a challenging venue where fewer people can take a joke. On the other hand, we’ve no shortage of folks willing to play the fool.

What richer vein to mine than the players of the 2012 election? Envision a float with Karl Rove and his super PAC backers shredding dollar bills into confetti blown from a cannon at the crowd, or simply tossing dollar bills in lieu of beads. Sheldon Adelson, the Vegas and Macau casino magnate reported to have spent $150 million in the 2012 election, could have a float shaped as a giant craps table, with potential suitors for his 2016 blessing throwing the dice. Or perhaps Adelson and his political entourage would burn an effigy, not of the carnival spirit, but of the Foreign Corrupt Practices Act. Maybe Adelson could lend some showgirls, always welcome in Carnival. Newt Gingrich could appear as Dr. Frankenstein for hire, creating Palestinians as an invented people, after Adelson largess. And what else for Mitt Romney than a float with a dog driving a racecar with #47 on it, sponsored by Delphi Automotive, with Mitt strapped on top? Perhaps a float with debate podiums showcasing Joe Biden, made up as The Joker, debating Paul Ryan, made up as Eddie Munster.

From around the world, pickings are good. Kim Jong Un could ride astride a giant onion with a “Sexiest Man Alive” banner. Silvio Berlusconi on a float of a television news studio, surrounded by nightclub dancers, tax accountants and a frustrated jailor-in-waiting. Dedicate a float to the world’s richest communists, perhaps China’s princelings, or former KGB officials, certainly Putin. Portray Afghanistan officials emptying out the Bank of Kabul as warlords divvy up bribes for mineral rights. Pakistan officials sit in a toll booth for U.S. military supplies, or conduct a scavenger hunt for Bin Laden souvenirs. A Vatican float would put a butler at the helm. Castro could be Lazarus. The President of Egypt might do the King Tut Strut. Depict Bibi Netanyahu hiding his Romney/Ryan yard signs, or chasing the peace process with a drone. Hamas as the pirates of Never-Neverland; Mahmoud Ahmadinejad as a standup comic. A rogues gallery of dictators is easy enough. Taliban schoolmasters. Press intrusiveness into private lives could be represented by Rupert Murdoch wearing East German bugging equipment from “The Lives of Others.”

How about twin socialites in mink-trimmed camouflage guarding generals? An authoress at a book booth signing copies of “All In”?

Bankers, anyone? Where does one begin with bankers? Lined up at the “bailout bonus window”? Their lawyers? Their lobbyists? Captured regulators? Senators carrying buckets of water for them? A gilded revolving door between Wall Street and government appointments? Take a cue from writer Matt Taibbi: portray Goldman Sachs as “a great vampire squid wrapped around the face of humanity, relentlessly jamming its blood funnel into anything that smells like money” — now that’s a carnival float ready to roll.

Perhaps a float showcasing the one percent on strike from job creation. A Wonderland Tea Party complete with the Koch brothers as the Mad Hatter and March Hare. President Obama as Don Quixote riding a giant lame duck into battle. Super PACs pouring money into funnels in politicians mouths — money being speech — while five Supreme Court justices take turns striking poses as the monkeys insistently oblivious to appearance of mischief.

Imagine Donald Trump as Rapunzel trapped in Trump Tower — or, soon, the Old Post Office tower — his strawberry-golden tresses braided with birth certificates from Kenya. Carnival’s long tradition of cross-dressing, poking fun at gender roles, might lend some style to the debate over same-sex marriage. A drill team of men wearing burkas would be a good extension. Undecided voters as whirling dervishes? Gerrymandered districts as Rorschach tests? Somewhere there’s a theme for WikiLeaks, climate change deniers, journalists recycling press releases, elected judges putting in the fix for contributors, Texas school board members challenging evolution, beset upon by giant Darwin finches. Congressional lemmings running over the Fiscal Cliff. The Internet as Pandora’s Box. The Electoral College throwing dunce caps to voters not in swing states. Drones flying overhead could make parades ever more exciting. Nominate Pinocchio as Carnival King.

Some things are not so funny — it’s a fine line between humor and pathos. Satire can only sustain so much tragedy before it turns sour. There’s not much to be done with Syria, for example, that isn’t pulled down by reality.

But consider carnival’s pagan roots, the rites of spring chasing the winter demons, to hopeful fertility, to planting anew. Carnival remains irrepressible despite authority’s many stompings over the centuries. When Carnival collided with the Church, it softened with themes of redemption and renewal. The carnival spirit, burned in effigy, departs taking the woes of the year, leaving all with a clean slate.

Has there ever been a city more in need of a do-over than Washington?

Read Skip Kaltenheuser’s Ode to Carnival Past and Future, Sadly Not Present

The post Carnival Beckons: A Carnival Musing for 2013 appeared first on Traveling Archive.

Azulejo (Portuguese) is a form of ceramic tile work and can be discovered on the interior and exterior of churches, palaces, ordinary houses, schools, and even railways stations. They were not only used as an ornamental art form, but also had a specific functional capacity like temperature control in homes. Azulejos still constitute a major aspect of Portuguese architecture with many Azulejos chronicling the major historical and cultural aspects of Portuguese history.

On a travel media press trip to Portugal I was captivated and, indeed mesmerized, by this beauty that seemed to frequently surround us. Sitting outside the main line railroad station in Porto with its peaceful and totally restful environment, I felt more relaxed than I ever thought possible. This was my first visit to this spellbinding country, and it validated (at least to me) why I was so thrilled to accept an invite to this sometimes overlooked European destination. Quite simply, Portugal is a gorgeous country.

One of the many delights of sampling Northern Portugal is seeing the local scenery virtually as it was many, many years ago. As but one example: On one of our “Local bus tours,” we came across a classically evocative, almost from a centuries old fable, this wonderful looking lady (see photo) who was show casing her freshly picked grapes, and telling us – in Portuguese! – how special HER port wine was. Sadly, we did not have time to sample any of it!

If there is one sight that constantly also stuns the visual senses in Portugal, it’s the profusion of what I call “humming hillsides” with row upon row of grapes. Their symmetry is a joy to behold, and it looks as if some giant hand had very carefully laid out a perfect quilt of latticed greenery. That, plus the aroma that wafts lazily towards you, is wonderfully intoxicating and yes, another genuinely breathtaking sight.

The Douro River is one more eye-catching and indeed spectacular tourist attraction, and for a unique “tourist perspective” of Portugal, let me also recommend you take one of the many short cruises along this alluring river. After a few days in this scintillating country, I knew that Azulejos were all over the place, but it still surprised me to see they were in the local train station of Pinhao. Gazing upon what would normally be just a plain old railway station, the Pinhao station had been transformed into an Azulejos masterpiece. As I sat on a nearby station bench reviewing all the local scenery, I realized this would remain one of the most elegant railroad stations I’d ever seen, and where I’d be happy to wait for a train regardless of how long the wait.

The Azulejos tiles were introduced by the Moors in the 16^th century onwards, and the Pinhao station should be a must see attraction on YOUR trip to Portugal. It features 24 alluring Azulejos that colorfully depict the local region’s scenery and culture.

Read more about this dazzling destination.

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And the amusement was mine, one shared with fellow passengers as scenery unfolded around every bend in the river. Red-tile roofs topped white stucco buildings of quinta — wine estates — and villages popped up along the banks, church spires rising from their centers.

I was aboard the Emerald Radiance. Unlike Emerald Waterway’s other ships, this one is smaller, 112 passengers instead of 182, to fit inside the Douro’s dams. It passed through five on our eight-day “Secrets of the Douro” itinerary beginning and ending in Porto near the mouth of the river at the Atlantic Ocean.

Such a voyage wasn’t possible a generation ago. The Douro had been a wild river flowing through a narrow passage cut by wind and rain, a raging torrent during high water, too shallow for ships when the water subsided. The dams, built from the 1960s to 1980s for flood control and hydroelectric power, tamed it. Now resembling a necklace of lakes, the river is navigable for 130 miles, all the way east to the Spanish border.

In 2001 a chunk of the river valley became a UNESCO World Heritage site, not only for its importance as a wine region but also for its dramatic landscape and historic structures. Excursions from the ship touched on several more UNESCO sites.

In Porto, Portugal’s second-largest city, a walking tour led me through a web of lanes and alleys and down the pedestrian Santa Catarina where many stores occupy buildings in the art nouveau style. I stopped to take photos at the belle époque Majestic Café where J.K. Rowling sipped coffee during her stay in Porto and dreamed up Harry Potter stories. Around the corner a queue stretched more than a block outside the entrance to the Lello & Irmao bookstore with lavish art nouveau furnishings and a staircase said to have inspired one depicted at Hogwarts in the Potter films. The 1906 building has become a mecca for Potter fans.

River ships arriving and departing Porto pass under the double deck Luis I iron bridge made by a student of Gustave Eiffel in 1887. The master himself, creator the Eiffel Tower, designed another of Porto’s five bridges, but it is Luis I that gets the most attention. Daring — or foolish — youths jump off its lower deck into the river, a spectacle best seen from the adjacent Ribeira neighborhood of pastel-hue houses and arcades. Waterfront cafes, bars and shops make Ribeira a popular spot to hang out, day or night.

Our walking tour transitioned to a motor coach to cross the bridge to the opposite bank of the Douro and the “new town,” Vila Nova de Gaia or simply Gaia. To avoid taxes in Porto, the Douro Valley’s earliest winemakers kept storehouses here to be close to Atlantic where sailing vessels from around the world docked.

About half of the wines made from grapes grown along the Douro are table wines. The other half of the region’s grape harvest becomes port. About 48 hours into their fermentation, grape spirit — 77 proof — is added giving port a high alcohol content.

The Douro River Valley ranks as the oldest demarcated wine-growing region in the world, established in 1756. Only fortified wines from the valley’s eastern vineyards can legally be called port, a name protected within the European Union.

Wine producers still keep warehouses in Gaia. Our group stopped for a tour and tasting at Taylor’s Port founded in 1692. One of the managers led us through the port-making process, telling us about three of Taylor’s up-river vineyards where grapes are still stomped by foot. Port comes in several varieties — including tawny, ruby, rosé —consumed with dessert or as a nightcap. White port, such as the chip port we sampled at Taylor’s, is drier and served as an aperitif.

Portugal’s other well-known wine, Mateus Rosé, also comes from the Douro River Valley near the town of Vila Real where our group visited the 18^th-century Mateus Palace. Its fanciful exterior, with baroque towers and flourishes, appears on the label of the wine’s iconic, flask-shaped bottle. But that’s where the palace’s connection to this sweet, slightly fizzy wine ends. The Count of Mangualde, who owns the palace and resides there part of the year, does not make Mateus Rosé but collects a royalty for the image on every label.

The connection between wine and the Douro kept popping up all week during my cruise. In the village of Pinhao, the ship’s tour escorts led us on a walk to the old train station where 24 blue-and-white tiles from the 1930s illustrate wine cultivation and production. Passengers had a chance to try tile painting in a workshop on board, one of several Emerald Radiance activities that also included a presentation by “Cork Lady” Paula Guimaraes. Most of the world’s supply of cork comes from Portugal harvested from the bark and used not just to seal wine bottles, but for making a variety of products Paula laid out in the Horizon Lounge: wallets, hats, belts, jewelry.

I joined passengers one night for a dinner on shore in the warehouse of the Quinta da Pacheca wine estate. Strolling musicians entertained us as we drank wine and port and feasted on local fare, some dishes incorporating olives and almonds grown on trees alongside vineyards in the valley. The “Almond Capital of Portugal,” Vila Nova de Fox Coa, lies just a few miles from the Douro on the route our excursion took to the Coa Valley Archeological Park.

The world’s largest open-air Paleolithic rock art site encompasses about 50,000 acres at the confluence of the Douro and Coa rivers. Petrogylphs dating back 10,000 to 40,000 years were found here during preliminary work to construct a dam on the Coa in the 1990s. The discovery was kept secret, but when word leaked out preservationists rallied to save the area. UNESCO stepped in, adding it to its list of World Heritage sites in 1998.

But the museum merits a visit for two additional reasons: its location and its architecture. The building stands on a hillside overlooking both river valleys. I walked onto the terrace of the museum café for the week’s best view of steep hillsides terraced with vineyards. A ship slowly cruised the Douro far below, an ant floating through a canyon.

Other Instagram-worthy views presented themselves on the ship’s excursion to Lamego. Our motor coach dropped us at the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Remedies perched on a hilltop overlooking the red-tile roofs of the city. Our tour escorts gave us the option to ride the motor coach down to the city center, but encouraged us to tackle the 686 steps and take time to enjoy the view. The stairway is broken up by nine terraces where the now-familiar blue-and-white tiles form murals of religious scenes and statues depict the Stations of the Cross. Changing views of the city below and the sanctuary above kept my camera clicking and in less than an hour I finished the descent, my gimpy knee no worse for the wear. On religious holidays, the faithful make the more difficult climb up the granite stairs, some on their knees.

We put Portugal behind us on an excursion into Spain. Salamanca lay a two-hour drive from where our ship docked at the Spanish border. Yet another UNESCO World Heritage site on our cruise, the Old City deserves its nickname, “The Golden City,” for the tawny sandstone buildings aglow in the midday sun.

Our walking tour led us through the 18^th-century Plaza Mayor with its City Hall and Royal Pavilion, the public market where platters of ham, cheese and olives were passed around for us to sample, and the city’s first university dating back 800 years.

The 33,000 university students in this city of 150,000 give Salamanca a youthful vibe and we were charmed by the music students who performed for us at the end of our tour. Dressed in the medieval costumes of troubadours, they assembled in a shady courtyard to play traditional songs on guitars, accordion and tambourine.

We’d reached the farthest navigable section of the river at the Spanish border, so the Emerald Radiance turned around for its return to Porto giving passengers a second opportunity to go through the locks on the Douro’s five dams. This exercise never failed to draw a crowd to the sundeck. Even passengers like me who are fairly clueless about mechanical things are impressed by these feats of engineering and thankful for their existence. Without the dams, a river cruise across this colorful swath of Portugal would not be possible.

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Three countries the easy way: you don’t have to drive, you don’t have to schlepp your suitcase around, you get picked up at your hotel each morning and you get as many days as you’d ever want in Morocco – and you don’t have to spend a lifetime learning to speak Moroccan Arabic!

Insight Vacations, of course, is only one of the tour operators covering this area of Western Europe and the top left part of Africa but as we travel around, we hear it is the most dependable. We like the fact it is part of a large company, the Travel Corporation, which carries a million dollar bond on its members, and the fact that it’s been in business for a long, long time.

Dependable is important when some of the travel touches a country like Morocco, a place you are not likely to be visiting again and where you would surely hope to get it done right that one time.

An Insight Vacations staff member collects us in Madrid airport and takes us to our hotel. Our tour leader, Toni Aguilar, welcomes us there enthusiastically. “You are going to see our countries better than you ever imagined possible,” he says. “What you see will be like picture postcards. But the photographs will be yours and they will stay in your memory.”

Our Picture Postcards

We are going to start our three-country trip in what he calls “The Land of the Bull.” We think he means the land of the bullfight but he means we will see several replicas of bulls propped up in farmers’ fields standing like the advertisements they once were for the Osborne sherry company.

Our coach is a gorgeous Mercedes-Benz, with enlarged seating space and a toilet. It will take us into this land of windmills, made famous when Cervantes told us how Don Quixote tilted at them, but windy Andalusia still harnesses its blustery weather even today.

We will meet Cervantes and his favorite characters more than once as we travel across our countries with Insight in what the company calls “the Art of Touring in Style.”

The question we got asked on our return was typically, “Was it all that special compared to what other tour operators offer? We don’t know what all the other companies offer but we were well pleased with Insight Vacations. It was true to the promises on its website. The hotels were better, much better, that what we’ve experienced with other tour operators as were the chosen and special restaurants. Both hotel and restaurant staffs looked after us really well. Toni made an interesting suggestion that we wear our identification tour badges for the first day only then not wear them. He felt when we came into what were often upscale restaurants we’d be received better as a small group rather than thought of as a tourist party to be shuffled to a less charming rear room.

The coach, carefully washed and polished, was gleaming at us every morning, the amiable drivers impressive with their skills on the occasional narrow mountain roads – and Toni, our suave tour operator was very helpful with the pride persons take in themselves when they know they are doing a really good job. Insight Vacations hospitality was not unlike what we saw in an Old Master oil painting in one of our hotels: understated but personal and friendly.

Spain’s cities and small towns were all different. Poised at an elevation of 3400 feet Toledo above the river Tagus seemed more like a German medieval hill town and Salamanca rather like a French university city. In the main square of Salamanca people sit surrounded by plaques on the walls dedicated to previous monarchs. Amongst them is a plaque to, of all people, General Franco, the man who creating a civil war, and almost destroyed his country.

Lisbon comes in like a breath of springtime. What a magnificent history for such a relatively small country; at 36,000 square miles it is about one fifth the size of Morocco. Here lies the body of Vasco de Gama, the famous explorer and navigator of the New World lying in state in the Jeronimos Palace and round the corner beside the figure of a wine snob showing he knows all about Port wine stands another snob. (See one you’ve seen ’em all!)

So it’s people who make photographs special. In Morocco how a man values his donkey. How a woman values her cell phone or her baby. And how an older woman values a job, work that keeps hunger at bay.

And what does a nation validate? Again, work. Its reputation – even if from Hollywood. Its history, here guarding the capital, Rabat. Its tradition: ze the belly dance. Its ceremonies. And in the main market square in Marrakesh, the same market that opened Hitchcock’s The Man Who Knew Too Much, two performers who jingle as they move but they’re having fun.

Then once we get off the ferry from North Africa there’s Gibraltar complete with its famous Barberry Apes.

And Spain’s famous cities: Cordoba. Once the most splendid Arab city in the world. And there in the Old Jewish Quarter, the Arabs of the past pay a tribute to a Jew, the Jewish scholar and physician, Maimonides.

Seville comes in the heart of Andalusia, that mystical part of Spain that holds on the best to all Spain’s traditions. It has the second largest bull fighting arena in the world and…

…And it has the flamenco, the most intimate personal dance of any nation. The dancers, our guide says, do not take their style, their tempo from the music but from the audience’s reaction and support – and the musicians take their timing from the dancers. In the Cathedral here lies the body of Christopher Columbus. The Dominican Republic said it had his body but our bones were tested with DNA from his brother Diego. This is the correct grave.

Surrounded by simple homes stands Granada, the special but somewhat simple place the Moors built to show how superior their religion and their art was, compared to Christianity. To today’s tourists dragging through tours of the Great Cathedrals of Europe, the Arabs failed to demonstrate that superiority but Granada does not leave a bad taste in the mouth, an impact on one’s conscience that the poor peasant of medieval Europe were beggared to create the wealth of The Church.

This will be a great year to repeat this tour.

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