We met on the internet, the modern romance of the technological era. So, the foundation of our romance is always about le web. We always joke that everything you need you can find on le web and with Sears and Costco. After my divorce I was a divorced single, working mom, with a two year old son. I had no time to go out and meet anyone. A friend had told me about this new website called AJdate and convinced me to go on. I was such a cynic I would not even post a picture of myself. I felt that if someone was that obsessed with how I looked, they were not for me. Not to mention the safety issues. I wrote, among other things, I am a renaissance woman looking for a renaissance man, and if you have no sense of humor about yourself, please do not apply.
It took about 18 months before D. wrote to me. By then my son was three. D. was finishing his divorce and had a six year old daughter from his second marriage. During our first telephone conversations we realized we had lived parallel lives for 20 years but never met. Yes, we played that ever-popular parlor game in Jewish circles, Jewish geography. We knew some of the same people, lived in some of the same places at the same time, went to the same restaurants, but no one introduced us. He had even been fixed-up with my first cousin 12 years earlier, when he was between his first and second marriage. But not with me. Thankfully, he had no children with his first wife. D.'s personal said something about how he liked people in the house, laughter in the house, children in the house, and most importantly a maid in the house. Now this was my kind of man. What also interested me was he was seeking a woman who was Jewish, but not too Jewish. I definitely wanted to know what that meant.
He told me about being a Francophile, but I am one of the minions of boring American lawyers, a litigator who believes (after litigating hundreds of cases) that everyone is lying, the question is about what, how to find it out, and is it relevant? And, are they big lies or little lies?
So, when he told me about speaking French and traveling in Europe, especially France for 35-plus years, I was admittedly very skeptical. I have traveled, but not like him. My first European experience was in 1977 when I was 17. For years, my mother the culture-vulture had taken us to opera, theater, symphony all of which I loved and understood. But she also took us to museums. Although I understood the historical-type museums, I just didn=t get the art. So, for the summer before I went to college (Brandeis University), I decided to avoid the teen-tour scene my friends were doing, and found a trip through AFIS where we did many countries and cities in five weeks, but traveled with an British art history professor and studied alongside going to the great museums of Europe. It was an eye and mind-opening experience for me. We were in Paris, London, Rome, Viena, Venice, Florence, Capri, Sorento, Munich, Amsterdam and a few other places, but not necessarily in that order. Paris made a huge impression upon me. Yes, I admit, I went to the opening of the first McDonald=s in Vienna. I even went to the McDonald=s on the Champs es Lysee in Paris. But I soaked up the art and the culture and dreamed of returning to explore and understand more of Europe. Although I loved British history, I was immediately enamored with the glamour and allure of Paris.
In those days I remember having to dress in skirts with my shoulders covered to go into the cathedrals, and some of the museums. Unlike now, it was rare to see people in American style t-shirts and jeans.
My other foureys to Europe included a 1984 trip to the Cote d'Azur with my family; a 1992 trip through Spain after I passed the California bar exam; and a 1995 trip to Paris with my first husband.
The most interesting of those trips was certainly my exploration of Spain, a country I found very impressive: beautiful, charming, wonderful museums, good food, nice people, fascinating history.
My journey to Spain was a spiritual exploration. I was traveling alone, but visiting my sister who was living in Barcelona while working for NBC on the 1992 Olympics, and planning to meet a friend along the way. On July 4, I flew from Los Angeles to Washington D.C., to Madrid. On the flight I learned from one group that they were traveling to Salamanca to live at the University for the month and participate in an emersion program for Spanish. I was envious since I had only 12 days to travel before I had to return to my newly started law practice. I had booked the trip through a travel agent recommended by my mother and was expecting modest, pleasant, nice, but not luxurious hotels.
I arrived in Madrid only to find myself at a horrible hotel. I knew I was in trouble when I checked in and the lobby was old and dingy, and dark. I went up to my room that had a tiny window, tiny bathroom, and a tiny bed - not much more than a cot. I immediately called American Express Travel which is always a lifesaver when you are out of the United States. They immediately began to work on alternate arrangements for me within my budget. So, I took a deep breath and began to explore Madrid. I found a beautiful city, with friendly people. I got a light lunch at a small local tapas bar and walked to the Prado for special exhibit they were having on El Greco and found a fabulous escape into a different time and world. Exhausted but artistically satisfied, I returned to my hotel, and spoke again with American Express who had arranged to book me into a much nicer hotel for only $10 more per night. But I knew I was too tired to move that day. So I laid down for a nap, thinking I would go out for a late dinner, but never made it. After a long night=s sleep, I woke up, checked out and checked in to Hotel Suecia, a lovely newly renovated hotel across the street from the Prado. In Madrid I visited El Retiro park and saw the Crystal Palace, visited the Royal Palace, the modern art museum, many of the city squares and markets, took the train to Toledo and walked the city, saw El Greco=s home, the Cathedral, and explored the old Jewish quarter. I met interesting travelers along the way, many of them Jews whose family history arose from being exiled from Spain during the Inquisition, or who arrived in Latin countries during or after World War II. Each person had an elaborate and fascinating family history.
The most spectacular place to explore for me, was El Escorial, the palace complex of the former Spanish monarchs, and where they are all buried, except for Ferdinand and Isabella who are buried in a crypt in a small chapel in Granada. El Escorial is an usual and spectacular spot. The complex contains a lovely cathedral, a palace with a memorable library, and the burial crypts which are lined with marble and gold, and containing caskets made from marble. Room after room of caskets and marble and gold.
After Madrid, I took the train to Barcelona for four days. As I traveled there via train, I observed the topography and made a mental note that it look so much like the American west, particularly California, I could see why the Spanish would feel at home there, while New England looks much like parts of England.
Barcelona is a spectacular city, similar in many ways to San Francisco, built into a bay, up hills, with a tremendous creative history thoroughly demonstrated in its unconventional architecture, particularly that of Antontin Gaudi. I stayed with my sister who was working for NBC on the Olympics, in an apartment on Calle de Caballeros. As I quickly learned, people in Barcelona speak Spanish but prefer to speak Catalan, their regional dialect. The history of the region and its desire to be independent from Spain is legendary.
But, I spoke some classic Spanish as taught in my New Jersey school district in the 70's. Not that I was good at it, but I had studied in middle school, high school and college thinking some day I would actually get to use my skills. I had lived in Hoboken and worked in New York in the broadcasting industry and heard Spanish on the subways, buses and streets, of the cities. During law school I had volunteered, for academic credits, to represent indigent Spanish-speaking clients through the Legal Services Clinic at Seton Hall University Law School. There, I worked with interpreters and heard many different dialects of Spanish, some I could understand, some not.
But here I was traveling in Spain, and expecting to improve my Spanish skills so I could return to L.A. and use them in my work. In Madrid, I was doing well, but Barcelona was another story. As I walked the city and used the metro, over three days I toured the Dali Museum, the Miro Museum, the Barcelona Zoo to see Snowflake the famous Albino gorilla, climbed the towers of the Gaudi Temple De La Sacrada Familia, Parc Guelle, and so many other sights. The most important for me was the Picasso Museum beautifully set in the Gothic quarter of the city. Although I had seen Picasso paintings, I never appreciate his art or understood it until I experienced his art in the Museo de Picasso. The collection contains art from early years as a student including one piece from when he was 13. I spent considerable time viewing the works ranging from his early years in Paris where he imitated Tolouse le Trec, to his many works of modern art, and saw how he could take the same subject over and over and paint it different ways. I was amazed at how prolific he was, what an innovator, totally original. He was a great artist regardless of style or medium. Although I, like many, love impressionism and Van Gogh, there is no other artist like Picasso, after experiencing that Museum. Years later I viewed the collection at the Paris museum of his work but found the collection inferior to Barcelona.
My last night in Barcelona, at the end of a long day walking through the city, I had my Catalan experience. I decided to take a cab back to my sister=s home. I asked the driver in Spanish for calle de caballeros. The driver took it upon himself to drive me to the Catalan version of that street, which is an entirely different location. We then had an argument in my limited Spanish, where he is telling me there is no such street, that he has taken me to the correct street, and I am forced to show him on the map the correct street. He then drove me there, quite angry, insisted I pay the full fare on the meter, which I did, but did not tip him.
From Barcelona, I traveled across the country again via train, to Granada, a beautiful oasis in the desert, to see the Alhambra. American Express had found me a lovely old hotel there, Hotel Washington Irving, set across from the Alhambra, and my room had a view of the complex which was spectacular lit up at night.
I spent two days leisurely walking through the Alhambra, walking the town below, the Cathedral and the Chapel where Isabella and Ferdinand are buried with their children. It was very hot, but there is water everywhere in the Alhambra, springs and fountains and flowers floating in pools. It was breathtaking. But then the following day I had to return to Madrid and catch my flight home.
Throughout this trip I met people from many cultures, and was more open to it because I was traveling alone. But it was lonely to not have someone to share these many amazing experiences with. And the kind of travel is different when you are alone, versus with someone with whom you are romantically involved. Where you go, what you do is different with a lover.
And so with D. I found a different level of travel.
D. and I made our first date for April 2, his birthday, to go to New York and view an exhibit at the Metropolitan Museum of Art, one of my favorite places. He told me later than he planned it for his birthday, so if he liked me at least he would be able to remember our anniversary. As I later found out, D. can remember every car he's ever owned (probably over 100), can take cars apart and put them back together (a rarity in a Jewish man), can tell you everything about heating and cooling systems, and so many things about travel and food, but cannot remember names and dates. Some days I feel lucky he remembers my name and which wife I am.
Normally I would never get in a car with someone on a first date with internet dating, but based on our common knowledge of people, I took a chance. I assumed if I had a problem once I got to the City, I would just take the bus home. I met him near my parents house, where I had deposited my son for the afternoon. Wow, to get out and be an adult, when I was wasn=t working was not something I did too often.
When I saw D. I can't say it was instant love. I was intrigued by him. He was clean-cut. A little stocky, but tall enough at 5'10" to carry it well. Handsome in a way I found appealing. But most importantly, he was intelligent and was all about personality, that was the major attraction for me.
We had lunch, and then walked to the museum. He paid for lunch, I took care of the museum for his birthday gift. That seemed to please him, I suppose to know that I was not cheap. We walked through the exhibit about American painters in France during 1900-1920. I used it as a way to draw him out and get him to talk about France and Paris and see if he was for real, but he was. Finally after about an hour in the museum, he told me how he was enjoying the exhibit, and he felt it was very brave of me to spend this kind of time with him on the first date. I looked at him and said, it wasn't so brave. He asked, why not? I responded, saying exactly what was on my mind, because I felt that if I didn't like you and found we had nothing to talk about, I would have gone and gotten the headsets, (the ones the museum rents) and that way I wouldn't have to talk to you. He thought that was so funny. It was refreshing for me, since not everyone gets my humor.
As I know now about him, D. is so direct and undiplomatic that he appreciated me, my directness. We walked through the Egyptian temple, and the Frank Lloyd Wright room, and the Rodin sculpture area. It was like traveling around the world in art, culture, history and architecture, in a few hours.
By the end of the afternoon, we were both enjoying ourselves and after that, the beginning of a great romance, which would extend across the country and around the world. We fell in love, but can never be one of those couples who could claim we've been married 50 years and never spent a night apart. Since we married in 2001, we have since spent many nights apart, but more together. D. travels more than I, but each journey is an adventure, as you will see.
No comments:
Post a Comment