Author: Mike

Thus far I’ve made small progress here trying to form a private group for poker games.  Meanwhile, I have signed up for a Hold ‘Em tournament at the casino in nearby Espinho.  There are about 9 casinos in Portugal.  Only 3 feature poker.  Fortunately one is nearby. More later.

Later.  Casinos here open about 4pm and close around 3am.  Hmmm!   Poker rooms open at 9pm for tournaments, with 10pm cash games for early washouts.

We were about 50 players across 6 tables.  They had big screen displays of all the tournament stats you could ask for: #buyins, #rebuys, total pot, how many players remaining, average stack size as well as the usual blind postings and time remaining this round.  Pretty cool.

I’m happy to brag about making the final table with 125+% of the average stack, and a €2300. total prize pool. I hadn’t played in 6 months. You may recall I got totally spanked and sent home last July, in Bucharest.

My joy was cut short by, shall we say “questionable choices” that knocked me out in 2 (really!) hands.  How can you play so well for 3 hours, then turn into the complete poker shnook of the universe?  Ahh, the overconfidence of AKs!  We’ve all been there.  Some more than others!

The good news:  This tournament carves €50 out of the prize pool for each player who makes the final table and yet misses the cash at the end.  At least I got my buyin back. (sigh!)

 

Hoping all is well with you!

Wrapping a few weeks in Romania, and, yes — Transylvania. Serious castle hopping. Top of the bill was Bran castle, purported home to Bram Stoker’s infamous vampire.

Emerging from the eastern European communist bloc in ’89, Romania was largely unaware of western pop culture. Learning of Dracula and his celebrity in the west, the Romanian chamber-of-commerce moved a county line some few hundred yards putting the castle into Transylvania and “ka-ching!”

Our tour guide offered: Vlad “the impaler” did in fact swill goblets of his victims’ blood. Not a big a stretch to recast him as “the Count,” and open for business!

While Romanian trains pale in comparison to their neighbors, one unmatched feature though is the berry vendors working the aisles in motion. Fresh! Sweet! Inexpensive! Wow, I am so easy!

Visiting Brasov, a beautuful central Romanian town for a few days, we made our way through the 3rd narrowest street in Europe, and saw some very coloful graffiti- – much of it in English. Some sad soul had written,“We were a perfect match. Sadly, matches burn.”

Humor is different here. Even with their families and friends, laughter feels controlled, almost conditional. In the UK, cheek is valued for it’s own sake. Italy? It’s just in the air!

The one funny sign we saw in 4 weeks in Romania was for “The Cathouse Massage Parlor – – We bite! We scratch!”

Traveling around, I sense a day-to-day fatalism among eastern Europeans: a fog that seems to deepen as you move east, and to lift as you go west. Hmm.

Romanian food and wine, on the other hand, are terriffic. Shepard’s pie, beef schnitzel, apple strudel, lamb + veal burgers, goat kebab, their version of Greek salad, and…. sarmale (stuffed cabbage rolls of minced pork/veal), and a dessert called pavlova.

In the most Romanian Irish pub you’ll ever see, Cookie asked for a modest substitution. Our host said, “No, try it our way.” To her credit she did and made a really enjoyable discovery. Same with the wines. you will occasionally get a clinker. But that’s nothing next to the pleasure of discovering an unknown new treasure. No way around it: Ya gotta try stuff!

Sa aveti o zi buna!

Mike & Cookie/Claudia

A bridge west of the celebrated Pointeveccia lies the Trinity. Defending Florence at the Arno River in late 1944, the Germans blew the bridge to hinder the Allies’ crossing. The war rolled on north where it ended months later.

The people of Florence (or Firenze, as they say) restored the bridge, salvaging original stones from the river bottom. They re-assembled the puzzle of blasted pieces, as nearly as possible the way they lay before the explosion.

Replacement of irreparably shattered bits were mined from the same quarry used in 1569. The original head from a statue dedicated to spring was recovered from the river in 1961. A labor of love.

Greetings from the Romanian rail system en route to Brasov!!

Romanians are unfailingly polite but further down the grim scale than their Western European counterparts. Far fewer funny signs!

Nothing like the Italian joie de vivre or cheerful British cheek.

Which reminds me: our Best Sign in the UK Award, (Bakery Special Mention): “Fat people are hard to kidnap. Stay safe! Eat more cake!!”

People I’ve spoken with here seem leery of their government and worried adoption of the Euro will raise prices but not wages. Most of them support Croatia in the World Cup but expect France to win.

Best to all!

Mike + Cookie

Hello from rain soaked Romania!

We’re camped in Bucharest, well south of the flooded areas. People here respond amazingly to any attempt to speak their language. It’s like hitting the best friends button. If they know you’re from California though, conversation veers to amazement you’d come here from there.

Flew in from London a few days ago. My overwhelming impression of the Brit capitol is energy. It buzzes with rebuilding, upgrades and modernization. Smart planning in evidence everywhere, especially transportation.

British food has either improved, or we’ve gotten smarter about where to go and what to order. Had a great time with daughter Christina for a few days before she flew home. Saw The Play That Goes Wrong in Covent Garden. Funniest thing I’ve seen on the stage since Spamalot.

This month’s Best Sign in the UK Award, (London Pub entrance category):
“Hand me the booze and watch me get fabulous!”

On the road poker (London): Durnerin £97/ Aspers 888 Poker Room £11. Turns out I was merely a transfer agent, dropping about the same amount in a Russian Mafia joint here in Bucharest. They spanked me and sent me home!!

With Cookie home for son Brett’s wedding last month, I hit some historical spots: Plymouth, Hastings and Dover.

In the southern English hamlet of St. Margaret’s Cliffe, bussing it from my airbnb to Dover Castle, I rode with the village idiot. Please understand “idiot” in a traditional medical sense. Not the perjorative.

“Mum” puts him on the bus with a daylong pass as a treat. He sits in a top deck front seat with his juicebox, happily drooling, waving to the sheep and singing along with whatever the music on his air pods.

Locals and drivers all know him. At the end of day, when they see his Mum at the bus stop, they help him off. I doubt he suspects anything amiss in his condition. In fact he looks quite pleased with himself! Job well done!!

Mindful of our children and grandchildren’s health, I send a big grateful shout-out to whichever Buddha, God, or Allah calls the shots around here.

Mike + Cookie