Moving About: Travelling, Swimming, and Running

Also known as, the things I do when I'm not sitting on my butt.

I promise I do more than sit around and read.

I also sit and chat to relatives, sit and drink a cup of tea, sit and write, sit and knit (or try to knit--I'm supposed to be learning, but I have a natural talent for dropping stitches), sit and listen to the news on the radio, sit and watch television. And now I've decided to sit and update this blog.

So instead of description, here is a little bit of action and moving around:

1. Travelling: I did a little bit of travelling the last two weeks. First I went to Wicklow with a cousin who directs a choir for senior citizens there once a week. It was a nice small town in the hills. You could see a few sheep grazing from the window of the choir-room. Last week,  I took the train up to Dublin with my grandparents to see a second-cousin (or something like that-- I'm never quite sure how the "once-removing" and "seconding" thing works) perform in the opera La Boheme. The music was very impressive. I'd never been to an opera before, so now I can check that off my list of cultural experiences!

We also went to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells. The book itself was incredible. The exhibits showed how it would have been handstitched, how the dyes were created, and how the intricate details in the drawings related to the text. After the exhibit, we walked through an old library with tons of old books, both shelved and displayed in glass cases. I tried to imagine studying in such a space: two stories of wooden shelves full of worn books with narrow ladders to reach from one level to the next, or just to grab a book from the highest shelf. Picture the library from Disney's Beauty and the Beast but small and wooden.

The final trip was much closer to Waterford. On Friday we drove to Wexford to see the Notre Dame Folk Choir sing at The Annunciation Church, where a group of former Notre Dame students work. There is something strange about seeing people in another country, and I think they were surprised to see me too. It was so familiar to see them all and to hear their music, but it was all out of context in Ireland, with my grandparents.

2. Swimming and Running: It was actually a bit hot last weekend, and so I finally went swimming! It's been a long time since I've been in Ireland in the summer, so the last time I went swimming in the sea, I was ten (I skipped the traditional "jump in the sea Christmas day" when we were here a year and a half ago. There was something more appealing about staying inside with the fire and not freezing to death). I have no idea what the water would be like in the winter, but it was still quite cold last weekend. On Saturday I went to Newtown Cove, a small rocky swimming area just down the road from my grandparents' house.There are a group of people who swim there year-round (including one of my uncles who doesn't need any extra excuses to tease a person), so I knew if I went I would have to get in or lose face. I did not want to be that American who couldn't handle the cold.

The worst part is getting into the water. No matter how warm it is, once you are standing on the edge of the slip in your swimsuit, the temperature seems to drop. Some people jump in to get it over with, but I decided to walk down into the water so I could retreat if necessary. There is a railing that you can hold walking down the concrete ramp, slowly letting the water raise to your ankles, your knees. And then when you finally ease into the water, there is a terrible moment when the breath is shocked out of your body and you wonder if you are going to be able to move. Like brain-freeze in your chest (and sometimes normal brain-freeze too).

Luckily, it gets better after a few seconds. Or maybe your body is just too numb to tell.

I went swimming twice again on Sunday: once in Newtown Cove with my aunt, and later that afternoon at the beach in Annestown. By the time we got out to Annestown, the sun had disappeared and the temperature had dropped considerably, but the waves were huge, so we decided to go in anyway. We stayed in for about an hour. I didn't think I was that cold, but when I got out my hands were so stiff and numb I couldn't get my clothes on.

It is nice to jump in the water after a good run, though. Even though it seemed to get cold just when I finished running, I was warmed-up enough that a cold swim still sounded nice.

I've started running with my aunt this week. I'd forgotten how much it helps to run with someone else (much like the swimming-- once I've committed, I hate to embarrass myself by backing out). On Monday she invited me to go with her running group. The other women chatted with one another while we ran through narrow country roads, occasionally asking me questions like, "You wouldn't have roads like this in Minnesota, would you?" (No, we would not.)

"Can cars drive both ways here?" I asked, guessing the answer.

"Yes."

Two cars might just fit if they both drove in the ditch. Whenever a single car came (luckily we never encountered two at once), we all had to shift to one side to let it pass and one of the women would yell to the group up ahead. "Car!"

Perhaps not the safest place to run, but much more interesting (and prettier) than running on the sidewalk at home where one block is a straight half mile and the scenery is limited to the cornfield across the road.

Slang and Food

I was sitting at the kitchen table where my little cousin was doing her homework, and I read a small post-it that her teacher had written describing how to write a lowercase e:

"Start in the middle and go around like a shellakybookie."

What on earth is a shellakybookie, you might ask? Well, I had the exact same question. Answer: Waterford slang for a snail.

Slang of course pops up occasionally in normal conversation, and my aunt thinks it is fun to "educate" me intentionally as well. And my cousins love to "correct" me when I use American words. My cousin Hannah also likes to mock my American "accent" as well (though to be fair, she also likes to imitate British accents: "Allo, gov'na!")

I've been informed that a "sidewalk" is not a sidewalk, it's a "footpath." Last week, I stopped to use the bathroom in a cafe by the beach. When I asked where the public restrooms were, the barrista responded (jokingly), "Why? Are you going to take a snooze?"

Clearly, I should have said "bathroom."

My aunt's mini-van is not a "van." It is a "people carrier."

I'm sure there are more, but I can't remember them all.

Before coming here, a lot of people asked about the food in Ireland. They wanted to know what kind of food was typical or traditional here, but I honestly didn't have an answer. I still don't, but here are a few things (obvious and perhaps a bit less obvious) that I've seen served here:

First, the obvious:
1. Fish and chips. You can usually order sausages, fried chicken, burgers, or chicken burgers if you prefer them to fish. I tend to pick chicken for some reason, so I actually haven't had fish with my chips yet. But they are both delicious!
2. Potatoes. Served in any form--mashed, roast, fried. My cousin Hannah likes to call the roast potatoes "hotties" for some reason.
3. Brown bread. So good, especially toasted with butter and jam. It is denser than normal brown bread (more like a soda bread).

The less obvious:
1. Blaas. This is a local specialty. Basically, blaas are soft rolls covered in flour. They are good just with butter or with meat and cheese. I've also seen burgers with a blaa instead of a bun.
2. Vanilla slice. If you just listen to the ingredients, it sounds delicious: thin pastry, custard, cream, topped with a little vanilla icing (and sometimes coconut). Okay, so probably not everyone would like this dessert, but I happen to like custard a lot, and I'm definitely not opposed to any of the other ingredients. For some reason the first time I tried it, I didn't like it. But last week I had some homemade vanilla slice, and it was delicious!
3. Digestive biscuits. On our trip to Madrid at the beginning of the semester, I introduced my friends to digestive biscuits, a kind of biscuit that is common in Ireland (and apparently in Spain as well). We got them practically every weekend we were travelling. We usually ate them with tea or Nutella, but they are actually best with butter (something we didn't typically have in Spain). My aunt and uncle usually buy the chocolate variety, which is also really good.
4. Biscuit cake. In case digestive biscuits aren't good enough on their own, they can also be put into a cake. It's kind of like fudge with biscuit pieces inside. I believe you can use digestive biscuits or "rich tea biscuits," another kind of hard cracker-like biscuit.
5. Chicken curry. I usually eat this with rice, but it is also commonly served over chips. Chippers or restaurants often have "curry and chips" as an option.

As with the slang, I'm sure there are more food items I could mention, but these are the few examples that come to mind. I'll try to include some more as they come up!

The North and other adventures

I forgot to finish this post from a week ago, so here it is now:

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I've now officially been to Northern Ireland, but since it was just for a shopping trip, I don't have too much to say about it, though I'm glad I finally went. My uncle and aunt picked me up at 6:00 in the morning last Saturday, and we drove for about 3 hours to a town just over the border. The only major difference: everything was in sterling and pounds instead of euros. Most stores posted the exchange rates and accepted payment in euros (though change was given in sterling/pounds). We shopped most of the morning, had fish and chips for lunch, shopped a little more, and then drove back to Waterford. The drive itself was actually quite nice, especially in the morning. Most of the fields were just green grass, sometimes with sheep or cows grazing in them, but there were also fields full of bright, bright yellow flowers I do not know why these fields were here, or what the flowers were called, only that they made a striking pattern against the green. Very different from driving through the corn fields from Minnesota to Iowa!

I've been staying with another aunt and uncle this week, doing the usual reading, writing, and running (and, okay, some less productive things as well), but I've also gotten out a bit to see more of Waterford and Tramore. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I went in to St. Anne's Tennis Club in Waterford to watch a tennis tournament that two of my aunts are playing in. There is a bar inside that overlooks seven of the courts, so we sat inside, drank some tea, and tried to keep track of three games at once. I was asked if I played tennis (no, not at all, unless you count hitting the ball into the net repeatedly), and I remembered that I had taken a few tennis lessons in Ireland one summer. And after thinking about it for a minute, I realized that the club where we were was probably where these lessons had been. I don't know how correct my memory is (since it's been known to invent some stories and then believe they are true), but I remember going to these lessons for a few days before quitting because some of the other kids were laughing at how bad I was. The laughing might be an invention; my lack of tennis skills is definitely real. If only playing tennis was as easy as watching it!

Today I went to work with one of my cousins, who teaches at a school for children with Autism. It was very different than any school I've been in. There were about seven students (all boys), and the teachers were paired one-on-one with the kids. There were only two classrooms, but each teacher had a space sectioned off, and the students worked individually with a curriculum designed according to their particular abilities and needs. I've always thought that special-needs teaching would be very difficult, but I was still amazed by the amount of patience all the teachers had. There was a lot of repetition of questions, waiting for answers, and reviewing tasks.

It's been fun being around my little cousins a bit more too. I've played a lot of Guess Who, watched some Disney Channel and Peppa Pig (a cartoon piglet with a British accent), and listened to stories about the drama of grade school.

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I had a busy weekend with my cousin's communion on Saturday (a huge ordeal here), but this week will probably be pretty low-key. More tennis, baby-sitting, and hoping that the weather is good!

Duck Days

Week 1: so far, so good.

There was a lot of rain the first couple of days (my four-year-old cousin told us it was a "day for the ducks" when we picked her up from school), but it has since been a bit nicer, and the last few days have been sunny. I'm not planning on going swimming yet, but there were a good number of surfers out on the beach yesterday.

The "spending time with cousins" part of the plan has certainly been successful so far: I've played a lot of hide-and-seek, babysat, and helped with homework and baking a cake. And after staying this week with my grandparents, I'm moving over to my aunt and uncle's house, so there will definitely be more time with those four cousins.

The rest of the plan is going along too. My aunt took me to the library, and I'm going to be able to use her card to check out books. The library is not very big, but I found a few of the books on my list already. First requested book: The Hunger Games! I'm hoping it gets in soon because I only have a few of my own books with me, and I just finished The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo a few days ago. The verdict: I don't understand what all the hype was about. It wasn't well-written (even given the fact that it was translated. I can't imagine the long blocks of dialogue felt natural even if they were in the original Swedish). It was full of useless details (I tried very hard to appreciate this, because it did reflect the overload of facts that a journalist or detective would have to sort through in the case of the investigation. Perhaps I, the reader, was meant to experience this frustration with them as I picked through paragraphs of unnecessary information to unearth what was actually relevant to the story? But I don't like this explanation. Call me a lazy reader, but when an author starts giving me the dimensions of a room, I think it's a bit too much. Just describe the room please. Thank you.)

Aside from my personal opinions about the book, reading it made me think about what makes a book a bestseller. Because I realized that I don't know. Before, I thought of a bestseller as a book that was: 1. well-written in terms of clarity and character-development, and 2. engaging/provoking to a large group of people. That is, probably not experimental, "academic," or overly intellectual, not necessarily ground-breaking in the literary sense, but still page-turning and thought-provoking. The mystery part of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo would qualify as page-turning (at least, this is what kept me slogging through the excess information), but it took a long time for the mystery to develop. I did not expect a "best-seller" to require readers to blindly stick with a book for so long before producing the impetus to keep reading.

So maybe I just don't have enough respect for readers. Or maybe a recommendation from a friend who's read (and finished) the book is enough to inspire people to keep reading a book even if the beginning is slow. If I hadn't heard the book title mentioned so many times and discussed by so many friends, I probably would have read the first few chapters and dismissed it. So the power of a recommendation (or even the curiosity sparked by someone's negative opinion of a book) is no small thing. But someone still has to be the first person to read the book and recommend it. Perhaps they have more patience than me!

Apologies if these thoughts seem like a bit of an information overload themselves, since the details of what I've been reading don't exactly say much about Ireland. It just happens that a good chunk of my time here has been devoted to finishing that book, so that is what I have on my mind!

Anyway, as for Ireland itself, I do really love it here. People have been asking if I am bored, asking if I have enough to do, but the time just seems to slip away really pleasantly. I can't count the number of times in the past I've wished for more time to do all the things I want to do, and now suddenly here it is! And in one of the most beautiful places I know. I've established a running route the past few days that takes me along the coast and down to the "prom," the long strip of sidewalk by the beach. The water is particularly nice when it is sunny, but it's even pretty on the grey days. Two thoughts on running:

1. I hate hills. Especially steep hills-- I would choose a long gradual hill over a short steep one any day. I have a new appreciation for the flatness of Minnesota and Indiana (something I never thought I'd say). There is a particularly steep hill here running down to the prom called Galway's Hill. I have changed my run so that I avoid this hill, even though it means a longer run with a longer hill.

2. Running by water is the best. I grew up running around lakes (thank you, Minnesota), and in high school loved running around Nicollet Island, over Stone Arch Bridge, or really anywhere along that strip of the Mississippi. But I have a new love of running by the sea, which obviously was not an option in the Midwest.

As for writing, I've been having a bit of a block, but obviously not bad enough that I can't ramble on about what I've been doing and thinking. More about Ireland in the next post!

What are you going to do for two months?

After saying good-bye to Toledo and Spain, I am ready for part two of my time abroad: Ireland! After leaving Toledo yesterday afternoon, I took the bus to Madrid, the metro to the airport (with my giant suitcase-- I explained to a couple who remarked on its size that I had been here for three months. And to be fair, I still have about two months to go), and then caught a flight to Dublin, where my cousin was waiting to pick me up and drive  the two hours to Waterford.

This plan to stay in Ireland for the next month or so (I fly back to the U.S. on June 22) developed after the hiccup with my schedule back in January. In summary, I was supposed to stay in Spain until the beginning of June, and then spend two weeks (not months!) in Ireland. When my plans to stay in Spain fell through, I decided to go to Ireland anyway and leave my return date for the end of June.

The question that people have been asking (and that I had been asking myself as the end of the semester approached) is what exactly I was going to do in Ireland for that length of time.

The customs man in Dublin actually had the same question, along with fifty more:

"Where are you from?"

"Why aren't you in school?"

"Where are you going in Ireland?"

"How long are you staying here?"

"What family do you have here?"

"Are you going to work?"

And finally:

"What are you going to do for two months?"

I had come up with a list of things for my own sake before I came here. I wanted to read (I have a list about a page in length). I wanted to run. And I wanted to write. I knew I would probably spend a lot of time playing with my cousins, possibly babysitting, and I had looked into volunteering a bit.

But standing in front of the customs man--a stony-faced, skeptical-sounding person--after a half-day of traveling, I couldn't quite capture the hodge-podge assembly of "things I was going to do."

And so I picked the simplest answer: "I'm going to write."

He looked at me, as skeptical as ever:

"What are you going to write?"

Afterwards, I wondered what would have happened if I had pulled out some of my brainstorms and outlines, or if I had started to explain lists of characters and settings. Instead, I just said something vague about a thesis, a project, something for school next year.

He then asked how much money I had, what I would do if I got sick (I could almost hear his thoughts: idealistic college student going to Ireland to write? For two months? She's going to run out of money and stay here forever. Does she even know these family members she's talking about? This sounds like the worst plan ever) before finally stamping my passport and letting me through.

I felt a little silly afterwards, because I really don't know exactly what I'm going to do here for two months, and I have now told a complete stranger that I am planning to "write."

But so far things seem to be going fairly well.

My cousin met me at the airport, and though the plane was an hour late we made it into Waterford by 2:30am. I spent today catching up with family members, playing hide-and-seek with cousins, going to the library, going for a run, and now (true to my word!) writing. It's not a thesis, but I think it counts for something.

As for my plans for this blog, since I am still abroad, still traveling and thinking, I've decided to keep writing here. Or maybe to start writing again. Ideally, I will recount some of the stories I skipped over in Spain (okay, so the majority of my stay in Spain). But since I've been promising to do this (and failing) I'm really okay with writing anything. Maybe some trips in Ireland. Maybe just some thoughts about what I'm reading. I guess it depends what exactly I do end up doing "for two months."

Los últimos días

Time in Toledo has flown by, and I have just this morning and afternoon before I have to go. A few days ago, as we were finishing up finals and starting to talk more and more about going home, I thought that this last weekend would drag by as I waited anxiously to leave. Especially after saying good-bye to most of the group on Friday night at the Fund’s graduation ceremony (yes, we had a ceremony. Complete with a speech, diplomas, a slideshow, and food), I imagined spending Saturday missing everyone and bored with Toledo. But now it’s Sunday and part of me still doesn’t want to leave.

I really couldn’t think of a more perfect end though. After finals on Wednesday, we had a “Fund Formal” which basically consisted of dressing up (if you felt like it), going to the old wall that surrounds the historic part of the city, and the proceeding to the bars. Most people stuck around and went to the clubs after that, but I left early with Ellie (who was leaving the next morning) to spend some more time on the wall talking and looking out at the old bridge over the river.

Thursday was pretty laid back. Ellie and Molly left for their 2-week trip to Eastern Europe. The rest of us hung around the Fund, walked by the river, and then went out to Enebro’s one last time. Friday was a little bit busier: we got our grades, ate our last lunch at the Fund, met with professors, and had our little graduation ceremony.

And then Saturday! The day that I envisioned as long and lonely was so beautiful and full. I spent the morning packing and doing some last minute shopping, and then my host mother and I went to see the Spanish “Forrest Gump.” There is a man who has been running for the last month to raise awareness for cancer research. His name is José Maria, but they call him Forrest because he has been running for so long. The run ended yesterday in Toledo. My host mother’s friend, who works for the cancer association in Toledo, organized his reception into the city. Unfortunately, it was raining all morning, so only a small group of people showed up to cheer in the cold, but it was still a lot of fun. We huddled under a small tent, wearing t-shirts that read ¡Corre, Forrest, corre! (Run, Forrest, run!) When he finally arrived, joined by a group of runners from Toledo, they played the Forrest Gump soundtrack and cheered him over the finish line.

After lunch, I went to the café/bar by the Fund to read and have one last café con leche (I was not a big fan of coffee before coming here, but the coffee in Spain is just so much better). The bartender recognized me, and asked why I was still here (since most of the students had already left). I talked with her and a couple sitting at the bar for a while, and they complimented me on my Spanish. I stayed there for about half an hour, reading Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald (I have been reading this almost all semester because I never want to read after doing my reading for class, but I have stopped slacking now and am finally finishing it). Afterwards, I met up with Vanessa, Rebecca, and Madeline to see some of the tourist sights of Toledo that we’d missed. Vanessa had her practicas (internship) at the tourism office and they gave her some passes for free. We saw a monastery, the synagogue, and a few churches (one which had El Greco’s famous painting, El entierro del señor de Orgaz. We’d talked about it in my theology class a little, but Vanessa and Madeline were both in an art class and were able to explain it a little more. Not my favorite El Greco painting, but it was good to see it.)

The weather had gotten much better at this point, and so after saying goodbye, I headed back to the apartment to change and go for a run. It was cool and just a little breezy (the perfect temperature for running) and the sun was low in the sky and reflecting off the river. I took my usual route by the palacio, glancing through to see the small group of olive trees for the last time. There is a herd of sheep that sometimes graze under the highway (it’s less strange than it sounds, I promise), and they were there that night. At first I was glad (one last look at the sheep! Another last in Spain!) but then I realized that I had to run past said sheep, and I didn’t like the way that they were looking at me. After awkwardly jogging in place, trying to decide if I should turn around and take a longer loop around them, the sheep herder showed up in his car. The sheep ambled to the side to make a path for him and, consequently, a path for me. As I passed them, one of the sheep baa-ed at me, and I jumped a little to the side and kept running. The sheep herder laughed at me inside his car, and I had to admit that it was a little ridiculous to be afraid of a sheep.

I spent some time with my host mother that evening, watching the news and chatting over dinner. It’s surprising how much Toledo has come to feel like home. I have a running route, people recognize me in the streets, in the supermercado, in certain cafes. I pass students and teachers from the colegio where I volunteered. I know the different areas of the casgo. The strangest part of all, though, is that I will be leaving here in a few short hours. I will be leaving and I might never come back. It is one thing to leave a “home” knowing that you will return someday. It is one thing to leave a temporary place and know that you won’t see it again. But I have settled in here somewhat, and at the very least it will be years before I come here again, and then I will be just another tourist.

It has been wonderful here, despite my small complaints, and I am very sad to leave. I am excited to be heading to Ireland for these next two months, and to go back to Minnesota after that, but still I hate to go. I suppose it must end the way that all study abroad programs end: with a hope of coming back someday and with an appreciation for the months spent here. So ¡adios, Toledo! Or rather, ¡hasta luego! I hope to see you again soon.

Carnaval

As of today, I have been in Spain for 2 months! My host mother reminded me yesterday, and I couldn't believe it. Time is passing so quickly, and yet, I feel like I've been here forever. I recognize the streets, finally know my class schedule, and feel much more comfortable speaking Spanish.

I have, however, fallen very behind in updating this blog. The problem is that catching up with old posts is a lot harder to do than writing about something that just happened, but I also don't want to leave anything out.
I wrote the following post about Carnaval this last week and didn't finish it until now...so I'm even more behind than I originally said! But the weather is beautiful, and I have a plan to go to a cafe, sit outside, and catch up with the rest of the posts in the sun!

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Well, the inevitable has happened and I am weeks behind updating this blog! First I blamed it on midterms, and then on all the travelling, but now I am back in Toledo for the next two weeks and have no excuse! (That is not strictly true... I have a play that I am supposed to be reading open in front of me, and a couple of papers I could be writing... but at least this feels a little more justifiable than checking my email for the umpteenth time or daydreaming)

It is strange that we have been in Toledo for about a month and a half now, and even stranger that there is so little time left. So far I have been to Madrid, Valencia, Barcelona, Cordoba, and Grenada in Spain, and also Portugal. The rest of the time here is a little bit less hectic, but we still have plans to go to Morroco, Italy, and possibly a couple more cities in Spain.

So to catch up on the weeks that I missed: three weeks ago was the week before midterms, so almost everyone stayed in Toledo. It also happened to be Carnaval, a huge celebration before Cuaresma (Lent). The religious connections with Carnaval have pretty much disappeared, at least as far as I can tell, and it in Toledo it is now basically a huge party on the street that lasts for the entire weekend. There are tons of costumes, music, and parades. I missed the parades on Saturday afternoon, but that evening we met up in Plaza Zocodover (the main plaza in the casco) where there were musicians performing on a large stage and tons of people milling about in their costumes. There were people dressed as toilets, air-fresheners, M&Ms, chickens with capes-- pretty much the most creative Halloween costumes you could think of. There were a considerable amount of men dressed up as women. The Fund had a few props that we could borrow for costumes (fairy wings, hats, sparkly shirts), and some people borrowed costumes from their host families or improvised with clothes they already had and cheap props from the supermercado. I didn't dress up Friday, but on Saturday I went as Pippi Longstocking (mismatched clothes and braided pigtails).

Because drinks are more expensive in the bars, a lot of people "botellón" in the parks before actually going out. Botellón (which literally means "bottle") refers to the cheaper bottles (or, if you're feeling especially cheap, boxes) of wine that can be purchased at the supermercados. Usually, botellón is not allowed in the casco, within the city walls, but there was a clear exception for Carnaval. People stood on the edge of the square drinking pop and wine. It was really surprising how many people can fit in one small square!

The strangest custom of Carnaval, however, was the burning of the sardine. I still don't know the significance of this event, and my host mother couldn't explain it to me. Basically, there is a big procession on Sunday evening with a large sardine (made of paper and wire) down to the river. My host mother told me that the sardine would be burned, thrown in the river, and then buried, but it was actually a little different. Unfortunately, the sardine wasn't burned or buried or even thrown in the river. Instead, it was sent out onto the river in a boat. Everyone crowded by the edge of the river to watch a huge firework show. Afterwards, there was free sardines and bread for everyone. I had tried sardines before at my host family, and they are actually quite good. First, you pull the spine out, and then you eat the entire fish whole. It sounds a little strange, but trust me, they are delicious.
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So that was Carnaval! Hopefully in the next few days I'll finish the posts for Lisbon and Andalucia, and be able to write a bit about Toledo again.