Shame on Seamus

I’ve been gone from this blog for a little while and for part of that while, I was in Spain. This was my third trip in four years to the Iberian Peninsula and as always, I had an awesome time and a lot of salty food. Seriously, most of our meals had so much salt that it was actually visible on the food. Not only that, but they don’t even put pepper on the table. In fact, they seemed a little miffed when I asked for some on behalf of my mother. Maybe that’s because I asked for a bell pepper instead of the kind that comes in a shaker. I don’t know. My Spanish is a little oxidized. I mean rusty.

Anyway, one of the highlights of the trip was getting to fly overseas first class. After being chosen for a surprise upgrade, I did my best to blend in by taking photos and hoarding everything they gave me.

Pictured: the lobster amuse-bouche served with butter AND margarine.

By the end of the flight, I had about as much space as I would have had in coach due to all of the blankets and “comfort kits” I had wedged into the seat and the pocket in front of me. And at the end of the flight they gave me a ceramic house filled with liquor, which I enthusiastically accepted. Mo’ money, mo’ weird free shit.

Speaking of weird shit, I present a peacock eating garbage:

This gorgeous creature was living on the grounds of a fabulous Moorish palace but instead of spending his days wandering the shrub maze or lounging near one of the many fountains waiting for oranges to drop from the trees, he digs through the trash. Follow your bliss, little ‘cock. The name for peacock in Spanish, pavo real, is actually one of my favorite language things ever. It translates literally to “royal turkey” which makes some sense when you think about their similarities, but I really wish someone would write a cultural history of how the Spaniards decided on this poultry hierarchy. Was there any discussion, or did everyone just agree that the big, flashy asshole got to be king of the turkeys?

And that was Spain! More or less.