Michael Jennings poem of the day
Love in a Life.
I
Room after room,
I hunt the house through
We inhabit together.
Heart, fear nothing, for, heart, thou shalt find her,
Next time, herself!-not the trouble behind her
Left in the curtain, the couch's perfume!
As she brushed it, the cornice-wreath blossomed anew,-
Yon looking-glass gleamed at the wave of her feather.
II
Yet the day wears,
And door succeeds door;
I try the fresh fortune-
Range the wide house from the wing to the centre.
Still the same chance! she goes out as I enter.
Spend my whole day in the quest,-who cares?
But 'tis twilight, you see,-with such suites to explore,
Such closets to search, such alcoves to importune!
Robert Browning (1812-1889).
Tuesday, November 16, 2004
Monday, November 08, 2004
Redirection
I have a lengthy piece telling some more stories about my August trip to Spain and Portugal over at Samizdata.
I have a lengthy piece telling some more stories about my August trip to Spain and Portugal over at Samizdata.
Monday, October 11, 2004
The decline of England
I now work in the office development at Canary Wharf in East London. The easiest way for me to get home from work near Selhurst station just north of Croydon is to catch an underground train on the Jubilee line to London Bridge, and to then catch a mainline train (there is one every half hour at 19 and 49 minutes past the hour) to Selhurst. When I started the job I found that I would leave work approximately on the hour or half hour. This would allow me to make the connection with the minimum possible time to change trains at London Bridge.
Inevitably, though, I did not always make the connection quite right. And on those occasions where I have missed my train, my subsequent behaviour has turned out to be eminently predictable. Like many railway stations, London Bridge has a bar. I have discovered a tendency on my own part to adjourn to this bar. Once last week I did something horrendous, which was stay in the bar rather than catch the next train after the one I had missed.
I find, sadly, that my aim is now to arrive at London Bridge about 15 minutes before (or alternately, after, depending on how you look at it) my train is due. I then go to the bar and have a pint before heading home. It is becoming one of the highlights of my day.
Sad really.
I think, though, that the railway station bar is an important thing, and while it is not threatened at major London stations like London Bridge, it is elsewhere. On a recent trip to Cambridge I discovered somthing horrendous. The bar in Cambridge station had been taken away, and replaced with a Marks & Spencer food store. The story about how Marks & Spencer's food business is strong while their clothing business is completely stuffed belongs somewhere else, but they are getting quite good at putting little food stores in relatively small locations.
But in a way I think it is sad. I can no longer stop for an alcoholic drink in a bar when delayed at Cambridge railway station, something I have done a few times over the years. The rather dirty and unimpressive little pub in the station is no more. Which is kind of sad. This is the place where Douglas Adams had the famous biscuit incident (as told in "So Long, and thanks for All the Fish"), which he always insisted really happened to him and which he did not steal from Jeffrey Archer). And an English tradition is being taken away and replaced by a store selling ready to heat and/or cook preprepared meals for stressed people like me who work hours that are too long.
Normally I would approve of such progress, but somehow here it is slightly jarring.
(This isn't a dead blog. But, sadly, it is now an occasional blog).
I now work in the office development at Canary Wharf in East London. The easiest way for me to get home from work near Selhurst station just north of Croydon is to catch an underground train on the Jubilee line to London Bridge, and to then catch a mainline train (there is one every half hour at 19 and 49 minutes past the hour) to Selhurst. When I started the job I found that I would leave work approximately on the hour or half hour. This would allow me to make the connection with the minimum possible time to change trains at London Bridge.
Inevitably, though, I did not always make the connection quite right. And on those occasions where I have missed my train, my subsequent behaviour has turned out to be eminently predictable. Like many railway stations, London Bridge has a bar. I have discovered a tendency on my own part to adjourn to this bar. Once last week I did something horrendous, which was stay in the bar rather than catch the next train after the one I had missed.
I find, sadly, that my aim is now to arrive at London Bridge about 15 minutes before (or alternately, after, depending on how you look at it) my train is due. I then go to the bar and have a pint before heading home. It is becoming one of the highlights of my day.
Sad really.
I think, though, that the railway station bar is an important thing, and while it is not threatened at major London stations like London Bridge, it is elsewhere. On a recent trip to Cambridge I discovered somthing horrendous. The bar in Cambridge station had been taken away, and replaced with a Marks & Spencer food store. The story about how Marks & Spencer's food business is strong while their clothing business is completely stuffed belongs somewhere else, but they are getting quite good at putting little food stores in relatively small locations.
But in a way I think it is sad. I can no longer stop for an alcoholic drink in a bar when delayed at Cambridge railway station, something I have done a few times over the years. The rather dirty and unimpressive little pub in the station is no more. Which is kind of sad. This is the place where Douglas Adams had the famous biscuit incident (as told in "So Long, and thanks for All the Fish"), which he always insisted really happened to him and which he did not steal from Jeffrey Archer). And an English tradition is being taken away and replaced by a store selling ready to heat and/or cook preprepared meals for stressed people like me who work hours that are too long.
Normally I would approve of such progress, but somehow here it is slightly jarring.
(This isn't a dead blog. But, sadly, it is now an occasional blog).
Tuesday, October 05, 2004
Sunday, October 03, 2004
This is a blog post, albeit a trivial one
The other day, I was in the supermarket and I noticed some "Australian mature cheddar" cheese for sale. In Australia, the vast majority of the cheese that one eats is local (and in a lot of subcategories of cheese it is hard to buy an imported product, just as it is hard to buy imported wine). However, one doesn't see it very often over here.
As a consequence, I bought a piece. I have just tried it, and it is mighty fine cheese. Whatever maty be said about my native land, the agricultural products are outstandingly good.
The other day, I was in the supermarket and I noticed some "Australian mature cheddar" cheese for sale. In Australia, the vast majority of the cheese that one eats is local (and in a lot of subcategories of cheese it is hard to buy an imported product, just as it is hard to buy imported wine). However, one doesn't see it very often over here.
As a consequence, I bought a piece. I have just tried it, and it is mighty fine cheese. Whatever maty be said about my native land, the agricultural products are outstandingly good.
Thursday, September 23, 2004
Sunday, September 19, 2004
Redirection
I have a piece on the finances of international cricket and the present ICC Champions Trophy over at ubersportingpundit.
I have a piece on the finances of international cricket and the present ICC Champions Trophy over at ubersportingpundit.
Monday, September 13, 2004
Doing things other than blogging
Yesterday, I succumbed and bought the DVD of Kiki's Delivery Service that I have been eyeing for months but hadn't bought because it was a little on the pricey side. I have said it before, but Miyazaki is a god. His films are simply so beautiful, and they have a lovely sense of humor, and such delightful characters. (For some reason the main character is usually a child not far from adulthood).
But I haven't finished watching it yet.
Yesterday, I succumbed and bought the DVD of Kiki's Delivery Service that I have been eyeing for months but hadn't bought because it was a little on the pricey side. I have said it before, but Miyazaki is a god. His films are simply so beautiful, and they have a lovely sense of humor, and such delightful characters. (For some reason the main character is usually a child not far from adulthood).
But I haven't finished watching it yet.
Sunday, September 12, 2004
I love London
This evening I went to see the Pet Shop Boys and a full symphony orchestra play an original musical accompaniment to Sergei Eisenstein's great silent movie Battleship Potemkin in Trafalgar Square. The film was being projected onto a large screen above the musicians, where was either attached or adjacent to Nelson's Column. Despite a little bit of a drizzle, a large audience showed up to watch this, and some members of the audience were quite creative in their choice of vantage point. (The authorities were quite tolerant of this, too). I have particular admiration for the people who waded through the square's water feature and watched the movie and musicians from the top of the fountain in its centre. The view must have been excellent, but I do wonder how long these people took to dry.
I was also struck by how much Russian (and/or other Slavic languages: I can't really tell them apart) I heard spoken by people in the crowd. London today is quite a Slavic place.
This evening I went to see the Pet Shop Boys and a full symphony orchestra play an original musical accompaniment to Sergei Eisenstein's great silent movie Battleship Potemkin in Trafalgar Square. The film was being projected onto a large screen above the musicians, where was either attached or adjacent to Nelson's Column. Despite a little bit of a drizzle, a large audience showed up to watch this, and some members of the audience were quite creative in their choice of vantage point. (The authorities were quite tolerant of this, too). I have particular admiration for the people who waded through the square's water feature and watched the movie and musicians from the top of the fountain in its centre. The view must have been excellent, but I do wonder how long these people took to dry.
I was also struck by how much Russian (and/or other Slavic languages: I can't really tell them apart) I heard spoken by people in the crowd. London today is quite a Slavic place.
Tuesday, September 07, 2004
Thursday, September 02, 2004
Brief Observation
The person sitting at the desk next to mine at my new job is Indian, and is as fantatical a cricket fan is is typical for people of that nationality. This is going to be fun. (Where can I obtaining a large poster of Ricky Ponting batting? If the picture was of him hitting one of those sixes in last year's World Cup final, that would be great).
The person sitting at the desk next to mine at my new job is Indian, and is as fantatical a cricket fan is is typical for people of that nationality. This is going to be fun. (Where can I obtaining a large poster of Ricky Ponting batting? If the picture was of him hitting one of those sixes in last year's World Cup final, that would be great).
Tuesday, August 31, 2004
Sunday, August 29, 2004
Irritants, and a good lunch
Portugal is a "closed Sundays" sort of country, which is a little irritating on Sundays. For one things it means that the internet cafe with the beautiful woman is today closed, so I have had to go elsewhere. Also, it means that the port lodge where I think I left one of my possessions (nothing important) after a long and alcoholic lunch with an American physicist and his wife (who now live in Provence) and during which I somehow managed to discuss the various approaches to solving the Navier Stokes equations is today closed. No matter. I will send them an e-mail and see if I can get it back that way.
And I am now going to look at the Crystal Palace, which is in a park on a hill. Unlike the one in south London, this one did not burn down in the 1920s.
Portugal is a "closed Sundays" sort of country, which is a little irritating on Sundays. For one things it means that the internet cafe with the beautiful woman is today closed, so I have had to go elsewhere. Also, it means that the port lodge where I think I left one of my possessions (nothing important) after a long and alcoholic lunch with an American physicist and his wife (who now live in Provence) and during which I somehow managed to discuss the various approaches to solving the Navier Stokes equations is today closed. No matter. I will send them an e-mail and see if I can get it back that way.
And I am now going to look at the Crystal Palace, which is in a park on a hill. Unlike the one in south London, this one did not burn down in the 1920s.
Friday, August 27, 2004
Now in Porto
All the ways I learned to order coffee in Spanish are no longer any good, and I need to start again. (For some reason Portuguese coffee seems to resemble Italian coffee more than Spanish coffee - I don't know why this is).
I have hard that the Douro valley is beautiful and I have seem photographs of it, but I have to say it really was splendid to come out of the Porto suburbs and then onto a railway line coming downstream on the side of the valley in the morning mist, into a tunnel and then finally into the main Porto railway station (which is quite spectacular, with the lines terminating at one end of a large metal trainshed, and the lines going straight into tunnels at the other end of the platform).
From a couple of hours, Porto is an interesting and rather magnificent city. Crumbling imperial grandeur, still the poorest country in western Europe, but with twenty years of solid growth starting to uncrumble things. (And of course there is all that EU money that has paid for infrastructure that Portugal by itself might not be able to afford for a few more years. A couple of nice modern bridges over the Douro beside a classical high deck steel arch. A large public works project working on beautification of the main square, but which makes it ugly and awkward to get around from now. Possibly some of the most traditional food markets in Europe, but also a couple of shopping malls that are modern and architecturally rather better than the equivalents in England. (I don't know whether to blame planning laws or what, but shopping malls in England are generally dreadful in this regard).
And the internet cafe I am in is perhaps an example. It is in the same street as the nice shopping malls. Rather than crappy four year old computers running Windows 98 and without properly updated software (as was the case in Santiago yesterday), the computers here are small form factor (ie Shuttle like), quite new, have Athlon XP2600+ CPUs, 480MB of RAM, Windows XP Pro, really nice Sony LCD displays (17" with 1280x1024 resolutions). And the person running the cafe is not a hard core geek, but a rather beautiful young woman. She is wearing glasses and looks a little studious and appears able to help people with their tech problems. I am not sure of her overall level of tech competence, but it can't be too bad.
I wonder if she will marry me if I ask nicely.
All the ways I learned to order coffee in Spanish are no longer any good, and I need to start again. (For some reason Portuguese coffee seems to resemble Italian coffee more than Spanish coffee - I don't know why this is).
I have hard that the Douro valley is beautiful and I have seem photographs of it, but I have to say it really was splendid to come out of the Porto suburbs and then onto a railway line coming downstream on the side of the valley in the morning mist, into a tunnel and then finally into the main Porto railway station (which is quite spectacular, with the lines terminating at one end of a large metal trainshed, and the lines going straight into tunnels at the other end of the platform).
From a couple of hours, Porto is an interesting and rather magnificent city. Crumbling imperial grandeur, still the poorest country in western Europe, but with twenty years of solid growth starting to uncrumble things. (And of course there is all that EU money that has paid for infrastructure that Portugal by itself might not be able to afford for a few more years. A couple of nice modern bridges over the Douro beside a classical high deck steel arch. A large public works project working on beautification of the main square, but which makes it ugly and awkward to get around from now. Possibly some of the most traditional food markets in Europe, but also a couple of shopping malls that are modern and architecturally rather better than the equivalents in England. (I don't know whether to blame planning laws or what, but shopping malls in England are generally dreadful in this regard).
And the internet cafe I am in is perhaps an example. It is in the same street as the nice shopping malls. Rather than crappy four year old computers running Windows 98 and without properly updated software (as was the case in Santiago yesterday), the computers here are small form factor (ie Shuttle like), quite new, have Athlon XP2600+ CPUs, 480MB of RAM, Windows XP Pro, really nice Sony LCD displays (17" with 1280x1024 resolutions). And the person running the cafe is not a hard core geek, but a rather beautiful young woman. She is wearing glasses and looks a little studious and appears able to help people with their tech problems. I am not sure of her overall level of tech competence, but it can't be too bad.
I wonder if she will marry me if I ask nicely.
Thursday, August 26, 2004
Tourists in Santiago de Compostella, and toasted ham sandwiches in Spanish bars
The interesting thing about travelling through the places I have been on this trip is that I have been off the package holiday and backpacker circuit. Bilbao now gets people visiting to see the Guggenheim, but these are more older independent travellers. San Sebastian is very much on the backpacker circuit, and Pamplona is on the tourist circuit during its fiesta and the running of the bulls, but less so at other times. But head west of Bilbao and you leave the English speakers behind, although many of these places attract Spanish holidaymakers. La Coruña is famous for its football team, but there are not many Anglophones around unless there is a big football game on. (I was of course there for a medium sized football game, which did mean I bumped into a few Irishmen. It must be interesting when Machester United come to town though).
Which is why arriving in Santiago de Compostella is a little bit of a shock. Santiago is the destination of a famous Christian pilgrimage, to the place where the body of St James was supposedly buried in 44AD. Santiago is a beautiful medieval city, and there are a huge number of people in town, some of them pilgrims who have actually walked one of the various routes to Santiago for religious reasons, some of who have walked one of the routes as they are famous walks, and some who have (like me) come to the city because it is a famous destination. In any event, you arrive in town and you are back on the tourist circuit. There are lots of shops selling souvenirs. There are lots of foreigners on the streets. There are lots of restaurants catering to tourists, the prices of which are more expensive than those in La Coruña (although still not very expensive compared to London). The first news stand I came to in town yesterday had that day's Telegraph for sale, which was nice. (I prefer to read the Times, but the Telegraph would do in the circumstances). The receptionist in the hotel I checked into spoke English. I attended a beautiful sung mass in the cathedral yesterday, and it was standing room only. (Somewhat sadly, security guards checked my bag before letting me in. In the first half of the second millennium the pilgrimage to Santiago was amongst other things a form of Christian solidarity against the Muslim occupation of Spain, and such a site is the sort of thing that the fanatics who now plague our world might target).
Of course, one can leave the medieval centre of town, and one then finds a modern town not containing so many tourists. The bars there charge prices that are about what one pays in La Coruña once more. Yesterday evening around 10pm I found myself wandering outside the medieval city. Whereas most bars have been showing the Olympics on their televisions during the day time, by that time of the evening every television had been switched to football - mostly to the Champions League qualifier between Real Madrid and Wisla Krakow. I found a fairly ordinary looking bar and ordered a beer.
In Latin countries I am never quite sure when a cafe is going to charge me extra for sitting at a table rather than at the bar. Often cafes in city centres will, but those in the provinces won't. (This seems particularly the case in France). Also, those catering to tourists are more likely to charge extra than those catering to locals. (This may be a way of charging extra to tourists given that they are more likely to sit at tables). In any event, as a non speaker of the local languages I find it easier to order at the bar. I can point at the beer tap to make it clear that I want draught beer, or I can point to the tapas in the case on the bar to make it clear I would like some of that. If I want to sit at a table, I sometimes sit at the table after this and take my beer to the table. As long as I do this before paying, the barman can charge me extra for a table if he likes, so an argument in Spanish is hopefully avoided.
And I did this last night, as I wanted to watch the Real Madrid match and there was a better view of the television from one of the vacant tables. The barman responded to this by putting a bowl of peanuts and a plate of crisps on my table. I had consumed a large meal a couple of hours earlier so I did not really want peanuts or crisps, but I appreciated the thought. However, I wasn't sure what to make of the next event, which was that the barman a couple of minutes later placed a toasted ham sandwich on my table. I wasn't quite sure what to make of this. Had I somehow made a random gesture that had been interpreted as ordering a ham sandwich? Do they provide ham sandwiches gratis to drinkers like peanuts in this part of Spain? Are ham sandwiches a way of asserting the modern Christian dominance of Spain?
In any event, it looked a nice ham sandwich, so I ate it. I am a London based equities analyst for a large international bank. I can afford a ham sandwich even if I am charged an extra Euro for it.
However, as I sat there for a little longer I realised something, which is that the mood of Spanish bars changes as the evening goes on. Whereas they are fairly commercial establishments in the daytime, later in the evening they can sort of evolve into more quiet establishments where a few regulars sit and argue about football as the evening goes on. The staff of the bar themselves get some food from the kitchen and sit down at the tables and eat their own meals, all the while chatting with customers and friends and watching football. While the bar is certainly still open and if a customer comes in and orders a beer or a cup of coffee they will certainly serve him, business is not fundamentally what it is about at this time of day. The customers made a point of not ordering anything when the barman was eating, for instance. They clearly did not want to disturb his meal. And I could see that at this hour the little courtesies went in both directions, such as the ham sandwich for me. When the football match was finished and the barman had finished his meal, most of the customers slowly got up, went to the bar, and paid for what they had consumed. I was just charged the cost of a beer. I walked out and headed to the university quarter where I had another beer in a student bar, before heading off to bed. It was a nice evening.
The interesting thing about travelling through the places I have been on this trip is that I have been off the package holiday and backpacker circuit. Bilbao now gets people visiting to see the Guggenheim, but these are more older independent travellers. San Sebastian is very much on the backpacker circuit, and Pamplona is on the tourist circuit during its fiesta and the running of the bulls, but less so at other times. But head west of Bilbao and you leave the English speakers behind, although many of these places attract Spanish holidaymakers. La Coruña is famous for its football team, but there are not many Anglophones around unless there is a big football game on. (I was of course there for a medium sized football game, which did mean I bumped into a few Irishmen. It must be interesting when Machester United come to town though).
Which is why arriving in Santiago de Compostella is a little bit of a shock. Santiago is the destination of a famous Christian pilgrimage, to the place where the body of St James was supposedly buried in 44AD. Santiago is a beautiful medieval city, and there are a huge number of people in town, some of them pilgrims who have actually walked one of the various routes to Santiago for religious reasons, some of who have walked one of the routes as they are famous walks, and some who have (like me) come to the city because it is a famous destination. In any event, you arrive in town and you are back on the tourist circuit. There are lots of shops selling souvenirs. There are lots of foreigners on the streets. There are lots of restaurants catering to tourists, the prices of which are more expensive than those in La Coruña (although still not very expensive compared to London). The first news stand I came to in town yesterday had that day's Telegraph for sale, which was nice. (I prefer to read the Times, but the Telegraph would do in the circumstances). The receptionist in the hotel I checked into spoke English. I attended a beautiful sung mass in the cathedral yesterday, and it was standing room only. (Somewhat sadly, security guards checked my bag before letting me in. In the first half of the second millennium the pilgrimage to Santiago was amongst other things a form of Christian solidarity against the Muslim occupation of Spain, and such a site is the sort of thing that the fanatics who now plague our world might target).
Of course, one can leave the medieval centre of town, and one then finds a modern town not containing so many tourists. The bars there charge prices that are about what one pays in La Coruña once more. Yesterday evening around 10pm I found myself wandering outside the medieval city. Whereas most bars have been showing the Olympics on their televisions during the day time, by that time of the evening every television had been switched to football - mostly to the Champions League qualifier between Real Madrid and Wisla Krakow. I found a fairly ordinary looking bar and ordered a beer.
In Latin countries I am never quite sure when a cafe is going to charge me extra for sitting at a table rather than at the bar. Often cafes in city centres will, but those in the provinces won't. (This seems particularly the case in France). Also, those catering to tourists are more likely to charge extra than those catering to locals. (This may be a way of charging extra to tourists given that they are more likely to sit at tables). In any event, as a non speaker of the local languages I find it easier to order at the bar. I can point at the beer tap to make it clear that I want draught beer, or I can point to the tapas in the case on the bar to make it clear I would like some of that. If I want to sit at a table, I sometimes sit at the table after this and take my beer to the table. As long as I do this before paying, the barman can charge me extra for a table if he likes, so an argument in Spanish is hopefully avoided.
And I did this last night, as I wanted to watch the Real Madrid match and there was a better view of the television from one of the vacant tables. The barman responded to this by putting a bowl of peanuts and a plate of crisps on my table. I had consumed a large meal a couple of hours earlier so I did not really want peanuts or crisps, but I appreciated the thought. However, I wasn't sure what to make of the next event, which was that the barman a couple of minutes later placed a toasted ham sandwich on my table. I wasn't quite sure what to make of this. Had I somehow made a random gesture that had been interpreted as ordering a ham sandwich? Do they provide ham sandwiches gratis to drinkers like peanuts in this part of Spain? Are ham sandwiches a way of asserting the modern Christian dominance of Spain?
In any event, it looked a nice ham sandwich, so I ate it. I am a London based equities analyst for a large international bank. I can afford a ham sandwich even if I am charged an extra Euro for it.
However, as I sat there for a little longer I realised something, which is that the mood of Spanish bars changes as the evening goes on. Whereas they are fairly commercial establishments in the daytime, later in the evening they can sort of evolve into more quiet establishments where a few regulars sit and argue about football as the evening goes on. The staff of the bar themselves get some food from the kitchen and sit down at the tables and eat their own meals, all the while chatting with customers and friends and watching football. While the bar is certainly still open and if a customer comes in and orders a beer or a cup of coffee they will certainly serve him, business is not fundamentally what it is about at this time of day. The customers made a point of not ordering anything when the barman was eating, for instance. They clearly did not want to disturb his meal. And I could see that at this hour the little courtesies went in both directions, such as the ham sandwich for me. When the football match was finished and the barman had finished his meal, most of the customers slowly got up, went to the bar, and paid for what they had consumed. I was just charged the cost of a beer. I walked out and headed to the university quarter where I had another beer in a student bar, before heading off to bed. It was a nice evening.
Tuesday, August 24, 2004
Still in La Coruña.
I'm feeling perfectly fine today. I went to bed at 7.30pm and got up at 9am, and after a croissant and a couple of cups of coffee I now feel just great. I am going to go see the second leg of the UEFA Champions league qualifier between Deportivo and Shelbourn (of Ireland) at the Riazor stadium this evening. Should be fun. I will try to blog something on ubersportingpundit after the event. I wonder how many Irish fans will be here? Not all that many I suspect, as getting here from Ireland is not all that easy, and at this time of year not especially cheap.
Oh yes. By the way, do any of my readers speak Spanish? If so, could someone tell me what the phrase "I paid for the first night when I checked in" would be translated into Spanish? This might be needed, as I had a little trouble communicating with a hotel receptionist this morning.
I'm feeling perfectly fine today. I went to bed at 7.30pm and got up at 9am, and after a croissant and a couple of cups of coffee I now feel just great. I am going to go see the second leg of the UEFA Champions league qualifier between Deportivo and Shelbourn (of Ireland) at the Riazor stadium this evening. Should be fun. I will try to blog something on ubersportingpundit after the event. I wonder how many Irish fans will be here? Not all that many I suspect, as getting here from Ireland is not all that easy, and at this time of year not especially cheap.
Oh yes. By the way, do any of my readers speak Spanish? If so, could someone tell me what the phrase "I paid for the first night when I checked in" would be translated into Spanish? This might be needed, as I had a little trouble communicating with a hotel receptionist this morning.
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