by Michael Kaeflein

“Hash!” hisses the man. This is Retiro park and it’s a lazy Sunday afternoon. I am nailed to the spot, wondering if I have heard right. “Hash!”, this time more urgently. Yes, this man is trying to sell me soft drugs in the middle of what is arguably Madrid’s most famous park. Talk about a downer, I came to the park to get away from it all, not to take part in shady drug dealings.

Hash or ‘chocolate’ as it is known in Madrid, is in my experience, as ubiquitous as the botellón and as popular as fútbol. Let´s cast a retrospective eye over my encounters with this substance in the past year and a half.

Upwards of sixty percent of the house parties that I have been to, of the lines outside concerts, bars and discos that I have stood in, have had the distinct smell of hash wafting over affairs. On countless occasions I have smelt hash in the streets, sometimes so strongly that I feel that I am back in Amsterdam! One of my flatmates has seen, on several occasions, people on their way to work having a sneaky joint, before they begin what is likely to be a surrealistic day of work.

One of the free daily newspapers reported a few years back that Spanish teenagers consider smoking hash less harmful than cigarettes. The Spanish authorities are trying to change imagine of hash as a ’soft drug’. Police in Barcelona last year began imposing 200 euro fines on people smoking hash and marijuana in the streets.
After countless visits to Retiro park I must have been propositioned by most of the hash dealers in Madrid. That’s quite honestly, why I now prefer to go to Casa de Campo!

by Isaure Cointreau

From now on until the 30th of October the Casa Asia of Madrid has inaugurated a fabulous exhibition portraying China from its early communist years until now. Through a brilliant selection of photos and documentaries China will have no secrets for you.

The history of this country is one that the world has forgotten to acknowledge stopping at the red flag and leaving a shadow behind it. However the Casa Asia sheds some light upon the subject throughout a short but very well laid out exhibit.

All that is presented can be seen as a real archive or document that retraces what has happened, what was there and who were these people who fought for an ideal, linking the past to the present. It is about the story of a country and the people behind it, who have now become authentic symbols of history. Although it is a long tryptique, I would recommend any visitor to sit in the leather couches and watch the documentary that is showing.

The pictures have been collected during four years of research by the curator Liu Heungshing. The aim of the exhibition is therefore to document through shots, either of private or public life, the grand political moments of China from 1949 to 2008.

by Isaure Cointreau

It is five o’clock and we are inside the Teatro Real waiting for the last minute tickets to be sold. People are all anxious to see if they will or not be having a seat for tonight’s show, sitting in the hallway for the ticket office to open. At ten past five the fist couple to be served appears a grin on their face and say:” there is only one ticket left” while taking their leave. All the rest of us stay motionless and hope for the best. The file continues to move and it seems that our fear was just a joke. Let they be damned!

When our turn arrives, the cashier attends to our demand. We want the best for the best price. What is there left? She simply answers, pointing at a map of the theatre our seats: first row, first flour. My friend and I can’t believe it and we gaze at each other performing a kangaroo dance while smiling hysterically. For eight euros (instead of ninety-eight) we will be watching Mozart’s masterpiece, the marriage of Figaro.
After a little run in order to exchange shorts with dresses, trainers with pumps, we were off to La Latina.

Looking for a little piece of quiet in the city, the main idea was to go Plaza Paja. However on the way over there, out of the blue came what we were looking for. Walking down the C/ de la Pasa, a beautiful little plaza came just on to our left. Silence, shade and a café were happily presenting us to a table. Children running around and the wind blowing in the trees’s branches, what a wonder!

Although we would have stayed longer, after a short coffee break in order to refuel as to attend the four hour performance, we were off to the Opera House. The show started at seven O’clock sharp and a few minutes before that we were kindly conducted to our seats. If only our neighbors had known how we got those tickets, they would have screamed for scandal. We just felt very lucky.
This Opera was based on Beaumarchais’s work that goes by the same name. W.A. Mozart had written it for the Austrian court and although the Emperor yawned throughout the first performance in 1786, it is nowadays part of the timeless classic masterpieces.

This is a wonderfully entertaining opera-buffa, as in being of a comical character and sung from the beginning until the end. The ouverture is very famous for its presto (rapid rhythm) and any one would recognize it instantly. However, the magnificent performance of the orchestra is a wonderful introduction to the show and sets you on the right tempo to enjoy what goes behind the curtain. While the blinds are lifted up from the stage, Figaro and his betrothed, Susanna, are the first protagonists to meet with the audience. Through magnificent vocalisms they sing their happiness upon the upcoming wedding and their future projects. However, while he his counting inches as to calculate where to put the nuptial bed, Susanna on her part doesn’t want to live in this room as it is too close to the master’s quarters, afraid she would have to bear his frivolous virtue.

The production was fantastic from the beginning until the end. Not one minute had I thought I would be better off elsewhere. I was like a sponge trying to remember every detail, sound, image and rhythm. However, adding to this I can promise you laughter is also part of the emotions the show will inspire you.
A few things stoke me as extraordinary modern, witty and delightful. While the vocals were going on, some of the themes or topics would be winked at by the production. When Figaro cried his love he suspected of being unfaithful, he blamed all women: “Look at them, women, who torture our hearts…” the lights inside the Opera were then turned on, inviting the audience to look at women in the public. Another time during the garden rendez-vous between the count and the countess in disguise, a delicate flower perfume was to be sent in the whole theatre, and the spectator would once more feel as if being part of the show.

The sets were beautifully made and various. I would have gladly stopped time and try to depict it with some aquarelle paint. The décor were all put together as to help the public imagine and feel closer to the story, and in that purpose details were not neglected. Gardens, palace rooms and chambers, everything was superb, as if they were all composed as a painting by Francois Boucher. However, though I don’t despise minimalism at all it is sometimes nicer to see a good set on stage.

My only regret that night was that apart from witnessing the splendor of Mozart’s gift for music and the talent of those performing before me, it would only last the time of the show, and when the lights would fire up again it would all be part of the past, as if it where only a dream. Though what a wonderful dream it was.

by Mary

Q: What kind of car does Mickey Mouse´s wife drive?
A: A Minnie van!

This Sunday, you shouldn´t expect to hear jokes like this one from comedian David O´Doherty. As in, the jokes he tells will actually make you laugh.

The Irish comedian (a one-time cyclist and one-time jazz musician) comes to Madrid´s Giggling Guiri Comedy Club this Sunday, promising to make you smile for only 14 euros.

O´Doherty prefers to sing his comedy aside simple keyboard tunes, similar to Flight of the Concords, Tenancious D (but tamer), or perhaps singer Ben Folds on his funnier days. O´Doherty´s stories revolve around subjects like missent text messages, bad first dates, tan lines and other awkward issues that face young people today. Typically, he´ll tap away at a little battery-operated keyboard and tell you about his embarrassing parents, his bikerides home and his failed lovelife experiences, taking tangents and asides to make his stories even more funny and slightly uncomfortable.

His humor is hard to describe; perhaps the keyboard element throws his comedy into a realm beyond words. O´Doherty has defined it as ¨very low energy musical whimsy,¨ which one might rephrase into monotone-jokes-told-to-keyboard-sounds. Or something like that.

Anyways, you should see him for yourself. If you´re into the hilariously humdrum (think The Office, or Curb Your Enthusiasm) humdrum yet hilarious entertainment, you´d definitely like the quiet, self-deprecating humor of David O´Doherty. I promise his jokes aren´t as lame as mine!

 by Ruth Kenny

Having promised myself for weeks I would unleash the inner art guru and in awe of those trendy, artsy types floating around the city, I dedicated Saturday afternoon to getting “au courant” with the temporary exhibits at the Reina Sofía.

The first step was to assemble a group of international, artsy types to share the experience. We had quite the cosmopolitan flair going with one Italian, 2 Germans, a francesa and yo! This made for interesting variations of several European tongues and by ‘variation’ I mean we created a hybrid language which vaguely resembled Spanish. Embracing ‘El Intercambio’ bigtime!

The language-barrier was immaterial. When cast in the role of art aficionado, talk is superflous. All that is required is the requisite puzzled slash pained facial expression, the nod of approval and the obligatory ‘ooh’,‘aah’, ‘how marvellous’ appreciation symphony, all of which we had down to a ‘fine art’ by the end of our visit!

The ability to interject with random buzzwords such as ‘depth’, ‘scope’ and the ubiquitous ‘avant garde’ will get you brownie points and have those artsy types who abound in the gallery, jumping out of their skins to listen in on your adept inferences. We ended the afternoon in a nearby cafe pontificating on the artists conceptions of social injustice, people-watching, perfecting our haughty-sneers, the usual artsy kind of...je ne sais quoi!!!

A visit to the Reina Sofía is a definite must for those living in Madrid. It is lovely to leisurely wander through its many exhibitions and displays. The surrounding gardens and terraces, as well as the building itself are fantastic, so for those who Modern Art is to be endured rather than enjoyed it could still be a pleasant way to pass an afternoon. And if not, well you can always amuse yourself playing the savvy art connisseur.

 “My life is the self-realisation of the unconscious” -Paul Thek

The Paul Thek (1933-1988) exhibition had a freshness and vitality that I thoroughly enjoyed, although the The Technological Reliquaries Series (1964-67) baffled me slightly. It consists of a series of Plexiglass vitrines containing wax moulds of his body parts; hair, teeth, bones as well as obscure pieces of meat. This aspect of his work was inspired by the Franciscan catacombs in Palermo where they used bodily remains for decoration. In his own words “I wanted to return the raw, human fleshy characteristics to the art.”Mission accomplished Señor Thek! He is the epitome of an artist’s artist, in that although not always appreciated fully by the art world establishments, he is held in high regard by artists themselves. The exhibition boasts more than 300 pieces of Theks work including drawings, paintings and photographs. It provides an overview of his work, highlighting his unorthodox use of media to transcend artistic category and classification. This ephemeral quality is due in part to the nomadic lifestyle he led, sporadically moving from one European City to another, giving a cosmopolitan flair to his aesthetic. My favourite part of the exhibition was the “Personal Effects of the Pied Piper” which consists of small figurines with the Piper personifying the Messiah whose personal possessions are displayed as if they were archaeological treasures. This alter-ego exemplifies Thek’s globe-trotting in Europe. The exhibition runs until 20 April.

Alia Syed, an experimental film-maker of Indian and Welsh descent currently has her work  “Eating Grass” on display in the Edificio Sabatini. It is visually magnificent: the rich, vibrant colour and dizzy, zooming camera angles combined with the sibilant soundtrack of Urdu and English storylines to astonishing result. I sat in front of the screen for its 22 minute duration in a trance-like state, so mesmorised was I by Syeds’ scenes of intensity and originality. Filmed in Karachi, Lahore and London it has a lovely flow of images of people and places from daily life. The interesting soundtrack of storylines refer to the Muslim practice of prayer five times daily. Eating Grass is also a political work, in that it makes direct reference to President Zulfiker Ali Bhutto of Pakistan’s assertion that his country would have nuclear weapons like those in India even if his people had to eat grass to fund them. The display also includes a previous piece of Alias from 1989 “Swan” which is a vivid depiction of a swan spreading its wings in preparation for flight. The Exhibition runs until 30 March.

The third exhibition of interest I saw was the visually enticing work of sculptor Julio González (1876-1942). Born in Barcelona, González studied at the Escuela de Bellas Artes there before moving to Paris in 1900. He became interested in welding as an art form following a period of learning at the Renault factory at Boulogne-Billancourt. The works selected for the exhibition are mainly iron sculptures, although also featured are a series of drawings related to the creative process in addition to a collection of his creations in the field of jewellery. The pieces on display follow a chronological order and track his life from youth and education in Barcelona to his séjour in Paris and formal encounters with Cubism in the Twenties. His relationship with Picasso is also detailed. At the age of fifty, under the influence of Picasso, González deeply changed his style, exchanging bronze for iron and volumes for lines. The exhibition runs until 1 June.

Rastro-inspired fashion, trendy t-shirts, skinny jeans and the like, usually a pair of interesting psychadelic shoes or colourful converse, vaguely malnourished and sporting a serious expression from all that zen overload. The Reina Sofia Gallery, opening Hours: Monday to Saturday, from 10:00am to 9:00pm; Sunday from 10:00am to 2:30pm and closed on Tuesday.

by Sophie Thomas

Take over 100 unruly students, confine them to two modestly sized coaches for four hours, pump them full of Agua de Valencia and that is exactly what you’re doing: provoking the utter insanity that is already rife during the five-day celebration of the Fallas. And I don’t mean the standard street party insanity of singing, dancing and other drunk and disorderly behaviour. I’m talking about ancient Pagan rituals, Robin Hardy’s The Wicker Man circa 1973 and other pyromaniacal pursuits.

Fireworks, gigantic decorated statues and excessive amounts of flames sound like the perfect recipe for an exciting day out. And exciting it was, but at the same time adjectives such as outrageous and downright bizarre would not be hyperbolic. Perhaps I’m too British, but who on earth made it legal for 7 year-old children and elderly, senile citizens to buy fireworks by the bagful and proceed to launch them sporadically through the streets like madmen? Moreover, might I add that these fireworks are not pretty-there are no vibrant colours–just explosive noise in its simplest form. Is it really necessary to feel like you’re running to the nearest tube station for shelter during the London Blitz of World War II? Is it appropriate to be brought close to heart failure after a snotty toddler’s explosive blows up in the nearby drain he has so conveniently hidden it in? The answer to all of these rhetorical questions is an out and out No. We are not primitive beings; music is now based on rhythm, not erratic outbursts. We are not cave people. I had to repeat this mantra three times upon watching a 70 year old man in some kind of frenetic state, cackling with laughter as he threw firecrackers on the pavement. Forget Salvador Dalí, the Fallas festival is Spanish surrealism at its finest.

Don’t get me wrong, it wasn’t all bad. The ornately painted Fallas were wholly impressive and at times, rather beautiful. For example, the colossal statue of the nymph-like naked women was certainly crafted with a sensuous touch; the sight of it enveloped in ferocious flames was even more poetic. Of course, the English student in me can’t help but attempt to derive an ominous metaphor from the image of a huge, inflammable Barack Obama effigy going up in flames, after only a week long appearance on the Valencian streets. Some of the Fallas were sculpted and painted so vividly that the line between caricature and realism became curiously blurred. This is where my allusions of ancient Pagan customs come into play. I had, and still do not have any idea of the history of the Valencia Fallas tradition. So the juxtapositions between real life and cartoon-like dreamworld, beauty and destructive fire, 21^st Century ‘normality’ and primitive insanity felt more supernatural and dreamlike than traditional.

There are three films I once vowed never to watch again; those being The Elephant Man, the Korean film Old Boy and the aforementioned The Wicker Man. They are too sad, too eerie, too abstract. Too much for me, simply put. Undoubtedly, they are all fascinating and thought-provoking films and it is for this reason I mention them here. Like these three movies, the Fallas festival is a truly unique and exciting experience, but that definitely does not mean that I would choose to witness it again.

Ruthie Rambles

by Ruth Kenny

On Wednesday, I stopped by ‘Le Pain Quotidien’ to sample its breakfast menu and meet with Isabel Vandenbruaene. Isabel was a wonderful host and fountain of knowledge on the Belgian eco-café.
With the café in Fuencarral open since last December and another due to open in Velazquez next month, Le Pain Quotidien caters to a wide international clientele looking for something more than the the ubiquitous Spanish ‘barra de pan’.
The Belgian café chain was founded in Brussels in1990 by Alain Coumont and at its core is the creation of good daily bread. Using high-quality, mostly-organic ingredients the focus is on simple, traditional food prepared well.

This essence of simplicity pervades in the décor of the café, with the walls painted entirely in a shade of cream reminiscent of baguette.The flooring is oak and the furniture is natural pine. There is a fireplace on the back wall, which amplifies the comfortable ‘homey’ feeling created. Vibrant Turkish hangings are inspired by the middle-eastern branches of the café.The décor is similar in each store but each branch has its own distinctive features. In Fuencarral they added a small bar where they serve beer on tap; catering to the Spanish penchant for a ‘cervecita’ with food.

Another feature of all branches is the communal table which seats 22 people and around which friends and strangers alike can stop to break bread and have a chat. In a big city like Madrid, the sense of community and conviviality this creates is special. When I was there the table was full of people taking time out for a ‘merienda’ and a chat.
The relaxed ambiance is complemented by classical background music which switches to lounge and jazz music in the evening time…..

Now to the most important feature of any good eaterie… “la cuisine”

We started by ordering a selection of specialities from the breakfast menu…As I began tasting and sampling from the copious selection on offer I realised my lenten abstinence from chocolate and coffee ( both of which I am ridiculously hooked on) would have to be put on hold…mañana mañana!

We ordered the bakers basket which was a selection of wheat, rye, multigrain, baguette and a flute with nuts and raisins. All baked goods are served with a selection of organic jams and praliné spread ( absolutely heavenly…)..If it hadn’t been for my efforts to appear classy and composed I would have eaten this praliné perfection straight from the jar!!!!

Next up was the Granola “parfait” served with organic yogurt and fresh fruits.. bliss. It was visually appealing and tasted absolutely delicious. The granola was sweetened with organic honey and contrasted nicely with the slight tartness of the yogurt.

This was closely followed by an organic soft boiled egg and a side order of smoked salmon. The egg was cooked to perfection and absolutely delicious with some freshly cracked black pepper. The salmon, garnished with anchovies and tomato and drizzled with lemon juice was also delectable!

I also tasted ( and by that I mean devoured) a croissant and a pain au chocolat, both of which were straight from the oven and melted in the mouth.

As regards beverages all the coffee is 100% organic and sourced from the Peru. I enjoyed the Café con leche which was served in a lovely pottery mug that reminded me of home.. Irlanda..where we drink tea (mostly)and coffee (occasionally) from decent sized mugs( always) and miserable little vasos (never)!). The freshly squeezed orange juice had a nice zest. The novelty for me was the mini bar in the corner where the barista was hard at work preparing drinks for the plethora of patrons….By midday the place was almost full.
Weekends are also particularly busy so I recommend going a little before or after traditional ‘merienda’ time to enjoy a more relaxed breakfast. The full menu is on offer all day long and the bread is baked freshly throughout the day so there’s no fear of getting anything other than the freshest baked goods regardless of when you visit.

There is an adjoining bakery for take-out which is a visual feast. All of the goods are laid out artistically and the permeating aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries is delectable. In addition, all of the condiments served in the restaurant such as the aforementioned praliné spread (por ejemplo)can be purchased!

…..To be continued…. when Ruthie rustles up an appetite for the lunchtime offering at Le pain quotidien.

Le Pain Quotidien, Calle Fuencarral 95, 28004 Madrid

by Ruth Kenny

Valentine’s Day means different things to different people. For those lucky enough to be in a relationship, it is a celebration of the great feeling of being in love and for the singletons in our midst ‘Singletons Awareness Day’ can be one of the low points of the calendar year! For some it presents an opportunity to express unspoken feeling or to propose cliched as it may be. From a commercial perspective, for both florists and chocolatiers it is the busiest day of the year with the likes of El Corte Inglés going to great lengths to capitalize on the opportunity for increased sales of confectionary and gifts. In fact, 14 February is the second most popular ‘Hallmark holiday’ after Christmas with the company selling over 1,300 different styles of Valentine’s cards worldwide. However, one can enjoy the day without subscribing to the hype and commercialisation that goes with it.

San Valentín is celebrated in Spain with the customary roses to girls from their sweethearts and books to men from their ladies. Renowned worldwide as a passionate people, the Spaniards are often elaborate in their efforts to woo their beloved, although V-day is still not as big a deal as in other parts of Europe and America.

St Valentine was a Roman saint, executed in 270 AD for secretly marrying couples in defiance of an order of the Roman emperor. The emperor had banned marriage after Roman men began refusing conscription in order to stay home with their wives. Nowadays, from Madrid to Manhattan and Dublin to Dubai, people all over the world make a special effort for their special sweetheart on 14 February. The traditions vary from place to place. For example in the Far East, in Japan and Korea, women are the traditional gift-bearers. Men reciprocate a month later on ‘White Day’ when they give white chocolate to their loved one.

Even singletons get a special day in Korea, 14 April is Black Day and is celebrated as single folk gather together to eat black jajong noodles,mourn their single life and to lament smug couple syndrome no doubt…depressing or what?!

In most of South America the Día del amor y la amistad (Love and friendship day) is quite popular with the exception of Colombia where Valentine’s Day is celebrated in September. The Brazilian version, Dia dos Namorados, takes place on 12 June and women perform rituals to aid them in finding a husband… screams desperation, Bridget Jones style… Which brings me to my next point: How do singletons fare on this day of coupledom?

For many solteras and solteros out there V-day = D-day. It spells doom and is greeted with trepidation and hysteria. The big challenge is getting through the day without resorting to smug couple homicide! On Valentine’s Day, surrounded by all the hype, it’s easy for single ladies in particular to have visions of themselves as future crazy cat lady!

Personally, I plan to go out with friends for dinner and dancing on Valentine’s Day and the truth be told, if my secret Spanish lothario were to announce his undying love on Valentine’s Day, I’d likely not be that impressed… In the words of Bridget Jones, “I’m still looking for something more extraordinary than that”.

Sharing Chocolate with your Sweetheart on Valentines Day:

I have always maintained that the way to a person’s heart is through their stomach. Nothing says ‘I love you’ like a romantic meal followed by a sweet dessert and nightcap!
So for all the Jamie Oliver’s and Nigella Lawson’s in Madrid, Valentines day presents the perfect opportunity to whip up a sumptuous feast for that special someone….preferably involving copious amounts of Chocolate…
White, Dark, Milk..from heavenly hand-made truffles to luxurious hot chocolate…regardless of form, its mouth-watering melt in the mouth magic (packed in the mandatory red heart-shaped box with a bow) is virtually synonymous with St. Valentines Day.
Following January’s abstinence in the wake of ambitious New Years resolutions in February sales of chocolate boom. Chocolate has become the edible symbol of love. Chocolate makers have capitalized on this association with the first heart-shaped box sold in 1868 by Richard Cadbury. Dating as far back as the Middle Ages Spaniards added cane sugar to sweeten their chocolate drinks. In the 1600’s as chocolate emporiums opened across Europe, chocolate gained popularity not only for its decadence but also for its supposed aphrodisiac properties.

Sweet & Sinful Sensuous Dessert – Chocolate Fondue :

A personal favourite, this is easy to make, delicious to eat and incredibly romantic to share.

Ingredients:
½ cup of heavy whipping cream
12-14 ounces bittersweet/ dark chocolate

For dipping:
Diced pineapple, Sliced bananas, Stemmed strawberries, Orange slices, Marshmallows, Salted prezel sticks.

Directions: Slowly heat cream until it reaches a low boil. Remove from heat and add chocolate. Let stand for 3-5 minutes until it is fully softened,then whisk together. Pour into a fondue pot (or glass bowl) and light a tea light underneath so the fondue remains warm. Arrange skewers alongside fruit for dipping. Serve by candlelight!

Can’t buy me love :
The post Christmas lack of funds and ‘creesis’ doesn’t have to spell a romantic recession. The festival of love and romance that is V-day somehow got contorted into how much you spend. For those on a shoestring budget it is still possible to lavish love. With a little imagination and creativity the results can be magnificent! How about writing a love note or several to your valentine…You could even go all out and blitz your baby with a funny little valentine by sms every hour on the hour!I’m sure that facebook has some valentine superpoke offering or obscure E-kiss option! Another idea would be to fill your sweethearts office with red and pink balloons. For those who like to be different they could celebrate on February 15th when the accoutrements are in rebajas at Corte. This also has the added benefit of being your special day,different from the masses.

The city of Madrid lends itself to romantic walks and candlelit dinners, sharing tapas in a pavement cafe followed by a romantic flamenco show. A winter picnic in Retiro park, or in the Opera Gardens in front of the Palacio Real, or perhaps a romantic stroll down the Paseo del Prado are a good option for the outdoorsy types.

Valentine’s Viaje

For those planning a weekend break for their beloved what better place to spend V-day than the Emerald Isle of Ireland. Here you can visit the original cupid himself in Whitefriar Street Carmelite Church in Dublin. In 1835 Pope Gregory XVI gave the relics of St. Valentine to the church to boost Catholicism and to this day the Church houses a shrine to St. Valentine, consisting of an altar, life-sized statue and wooden casket containing his ashes. One could take a stroll along the Grand canal in Dublin made famous by renowed Dublin poet Patrick Kavanagh, followed by the obligatory trip to a pub for an Irish coffee and some live music.

The whole weekend could take a romantic theme as there are a plethora of magical locations throughout Ireland to enjoy quality time with your partner. If your budget stretches to it you could spend the day at an Irish castle like Bunratty Castle in the heart of County Clare where one can enjoy medieval court and banquet food.. including a serenade for your lover by a minstrel.

If you fancy something ‘super cutre’ you could walk out to Dublin Bay and make like Leo and Kate in ‘Titanic’..flashback to the scene at the prow of the titanic, iconic view of Di Caprio showing Winslet to fly. The doomed ship was built and last seen in Ireland..However a re-enactment could prove difficult an alternative would be to walk out to Dublin Bay and once you reach the lighthouse you are virtually at sea. (Cd Player with Celine Dion would be a nice touch to the jazz the whole thing up and make it really cutre!)

If you feel like you’d go to the end’s of the earth for your loved one why not hit Dunmore Head which is Europes western-most point ( excluding off-shore islands)..Try catch a sunset in the Atlantic ocean and romance blossoms!
Other mystical locations in Ireland to spend treasured moments could be the Celtic city of Galway which has great restaurants and a roaring nightlife for all ages. This great city is also surrounded by countryside with rolling green hills and beautiful woodland..perfect setting for a declaration of love!

Fun fact: The expression “wear your heart on your sleeve” originates from a Middle Age Valentine’s day tradition. Men and women would draw the name of their Valentine from a bowl and they would wear the selected name on their sleeves for one week!

by Jade Conroy

Has anyone else been wondering why on earth there are hundreds of cows dotted around central Madrid? Ranging from an angel cow to a children’s cow, to my personal favourite the “milk on ice” cow, a whole herd of them have landed all over the city.

The Cow Parade has been described as one of the world’s largest public art events and from 16^th January to 21^st March Madrid is acting as a grazing ground for these colourful creatures. Cow Parade invites artists from all over the world to design their versions of these fibreglass farm animals, and parades have already taken place in over 50 cities including London, New York, Buenos Aires and Guadalajara.

So, why cows? According to the organisers of Cow Parade, cows are “universally beloved animals” that “simply make everyone smile” – I beg to differ.

Before the display, artists, painters and designers are encouraged to submit designs which represent an aspect of the culture of the chosen country. Vivienne Westwood and Radiohead are amongst the many names to have designed a cow. Once chosen, the models are individually sponsored by companies such as MasterCard and El Corte Inglés, and the parade commences (well, not literally as the cows are nailed to the ground). After the two month exhibit the cows are put to auction and you’d be surprised how much people are willing to pay. The highest selling cow was one covered in pieces of Waterford crystal by designer John Rocha and it was sold for a whopping $146,000. Elton John and Oprah Winfrey are said to be proud owners of their very own cows.

If you have your eye on one but aren’t prepared to pay big bucks then you always have the option to adopt a cow instead. I’ve always been more of a cat person myself…

by Hayleigh Stewart

The other weekend, my roommates and I finally decide to step foot outside of Madrid and brave the 5-hour bus trip to Granada. We arrive at our hostel and head to our 14-bunk, co-ed hostel room. This room is the cheapest available option, complete with bunk beds and one bathroom for 14 people (because of my salary and my penchant for clothes, I would’ve slept in the kitchen had it been a euro cheaper). Before we know it, we’ve met two Canadian guys who know where to get really cheap mojitos. Jackpot!
The Canadians have been in Granada for three or four days and have already befriended someone who actually lives in Granada. I’m excited to meet a native Granadian, as I don’t have many Spanish friends and would like to practice my horrible Spanish. Unbeknownst to me, their friend is actually a very nice, 20-something Bulgarian guy who somehow speaks worse Spanish than I do. Luckily, this Bulgarian guy has hair that looks exactly like Patrick Swayze’s. The Canadians have recognized this uncanny similarity, and have nicknamed the Bulgarian guy “the Swayze”. The Bulgarian, who I have dubbed the Bulgarian Prince (BP for short), has fully embraced his nickname, and comes into the bar announcing: “the Swayze is here!” We are immediate friends.
Two or three mojitos and two shots later, my head is on my roommate’s shoulder and someone’s handing me a glass of water. Eventually, we’re somehow teleported (my memory gets a little hazy here) to a nightclub where I get a free drink and my second wind, and start dancing like one can only do in a European nightclub. My two roommates are making out on the dance floor (no, not with each other) while I’m pretending to hug one of the Canadians very closely – hoping the whole time that he doesn’t realize his essential position as the only thing that’s keeping the room from spinning completely out of control. Somehow, we all make it back to the hostel (minus the Swayze) and I head into a solid sleep.

I’m woken up by my roommates, who are reminding me about the 10:30 am walking tour we signed up for the day before. MIRK. It’s 9:00 am. I’m wearing my t-shirt and underwear in a co-ed hostel room and am using all of my brainpower to figure out how in the hell I am going to make it from the top bunk to the floor. After half-falling, half-climbing down to solid ground, I manage to put on pants and drink some water. I look in the mirror, and even though my hair looks like I’m unsuccessfully trying to grow dreadlocks, and there’s a solid layer of mascara covering my entire face, I don’t even attempt to improve my appearance before going downstairs for breakfast. At the breakfast table, every hardcore backpacker is there with an  ”isn’t it great to be alive!” attitude, while I’m intensely wishing for death to put me out of my misery. I butter my bread for a solid 10 minutes before I realize that the smell of butter is making me sick. I promptly run back to the comfort of a thin mattress and the worn hostel blanket.
It’s noon when I wake up, and the only other people who are still in the room are the two Canadians from the night before. Both of them do some morning yoga out on the terrace, take showers, and get suitably dressed while I lie on my back and mentally prepare for my second descent from my bed to the ground. Finally, one of the Canadians insists I get up and helps me to the terrace so I can lie in the sun. After five minutes of some Vitamin D therapy, I manage to brush my teeth and put on a bra.
Since my roommates haven’t come back yet, I decide to accept the Canadians’ invitation to the Swayze’s apartment for breakfast. Obviously, the Bulgarian Prince wasn’t expecting mixed-company, because when he answers the door his hair is uncharacteristically rumpled, his bare bear chest is showing through his purple bathrobe, and he’s showing a little too much of his Euro-boxers.

While the Swayze takes a shower, the Canadians and I embark in a one-sided cultural-exchange. They tell me about moose-burgers, the difference between hunting with a bow-and-arrow and going to a bullfight (apparently hunting is better), and the hilarity that is Little Britain.
As we’re hanging out, I look around the BP’s apartment – it’s a very nice, clean one-bedroom with a living room and kitchen. It’s very swanky for a young person to live alone in a nice apartment in Spain. I have assumed that the BP is a student, but I start to become suspicious when I see a Russian copy of Trump 101 lying on his couch. It all makes sense when the Swayze finally emerges from the shower and tells me that his real plan is to open his own Burger Stand in Granada. Since the Swayze only speaks intermediate English, he assigns me the task of thinking up names for said burger joint.

In the midst of our breakfast of pastries, tea, ham and eggs, and bread, somehow the topic of vegetarianism is brought up.
Canadian: Yeah, I was trying to eat less meat before I came here.
Me: Me too. Especially over the summer, I was really trying to eat a lot of soy and cut down on meat, but I gave up when I came here.
Bulgarian Prince: (with a concerned look on his face, to me) You are a vegetarian?
Canadian: (trying to diffuse the situation) No, she’s not a vegetarian.
BP: You like meat?
Me: Yeah, I like meat – I just ate the ham in your eggs.
BP: (relief flooding his face) OK, then I will cook steaks and mushrooms, ok?
So, after at least five pastries and a big plate of ham and eggs each, the Swayze also cooks up four servings of steaks and mushrooms. Everyone cleans all three of their plates but me.

BP: (a proud smile) Yes, whenever I cook for girls they can never eat it all. But this isn’t even half of a Bulgarian breakfast.
Me: Not even half?
BP: Yes. Out of my family, I have an uncle, an aunt, and two cousins living in Spain. I’m the smallest one out of all of them. (The Swayze is at least 6 feet, 230 pounds)
Me: Even your aunt?
BP: Yes, she’s fuckin’ fat.
After breakfast, the four of us decide to embark on an adventure. So we get in the Swayze’s blue Mercedes and head to the caves just outside of Granada. In the mountains near Granada, there are people living in hundreds of caves (some might call them hippies). Apparently, the rule is that if you dig your own cave, you automatically own it free-and-clear. If I ever go bankrupt, the plan is to move out there and start digging.

Despite having been in a fairly-traumatizing motorcycle accident, the Prince shows no fear and insists on driving 180 km on the highway. At the time, I had no idea how fast this was in miles per hour, but was vaguely aware that my surroundings were whizzing by me at an alarming and unnatural rate. Meanwhile, the two Canadians have just been to the World Music Conference in Barcelona. While at the conference, they received a bunch of free CDs from artists all across the world. Since the only other option is the Swayze’s vast collection of John Denver CDs, we decide to show our appreciation for some lesser-known international artists and listen to the free CDs.

Before I know it, we’re all singing and dancing along to Estonian rap, while the Swayze dodges in and out of traffic at what feels like warp-speed. After a 30-minute drive that probably should’ve taken an hour, we feel like we are somewhere in the vicinity of these “cave neighborhoods”. Except, there aren’t really any gated-cave-communities, and we’re a little unsure of where to go to check out these people who we’ve now dubbed “the cave-dwellers”.

To solve the problem, we pick a random gravel road and drive until it ends. It isn’t until we get to the top of a mound of dirt, which has a chimney coming out of it, that we realize we are on top of someone’s home, not to mention on their driveway. A man and his wife have just gotten home, and simultaneously turn around to stare at our car questioningly.

The BP roles down his window. No one in the car knows Spanish.
BP: (to the man) Donde está cava? (Where is champagne?)
Me: (whispering) It’s cuevas! It’s cuevas!
BP: Donde está las cuevas? (Where is the caves?)
Man: says something in Spanish that means: The caves are everywhere, you idiot.
Canadian: (trying to diffuse the situation) Is this your cave? (points to a crappy mound of dirt)
Man: No, this is my house. (Points behind him, to a cave that actually has the facade of a stucco house).
Canadian: Oh! Muy bien! (Very good!)
There’s an awkward silence while this man contemplates the stupidity of these strangers, and then the BP springs into action to back the car out of the driveway and onto the main road. We decide to take a different tactic.

The Prince parks the car in a random gravel spot, and we all get out of the car to explore the mountains. The two Canadians might as well be mountain goats, as it takes them no time at all to leap up the cliffs. I’m kind of outdoorsy but still not in the condition to hike. Meanwhile, the Swayze is wearing purple suede driving moccasins and cursing the dirt on this mountain.

A typical conversation while climbing:
Canadian: It might be cool to live out here.
Bulgarian Prince: Why the fuck would you ever want to live here? It’s like living in a grave; you are six feet underground! There are no windows!
Me: You have a point.
Canadian: But look at the view!
Swayze: (dusting off his driving moccasins) You think you would like it, but you would become sick of these conditions in two hours. This is complete shit, to live here!

Somehow, we all manage to climb (the Swayze and I are taking turns pulling each other up) on top of a particularly high mountain ridge. We look down and see the city of Granada, the snow-capped Sierra Nevada, and the sun beginning to fade beneath the horizon. We all fall silent as we breathe in the chilly mountain air and watch the clouds turn different shades of yellow, purple and blue.
Meditative silence.
The Swayze: “What a fuckin’ nice view.”
More meditative silence.

Needless to say, the Canadians, the Swayze, and I have planned a reunion where we will all celebrate the grand opening of Granada’s one-and-only “Fuckin’ Nice Burger Joint.”