A Different Toledo

/ Julie M. McKinnon
Toledo, Spain

View from Museo Victorio Macho in Toledo, Spain.

As a longtime Toledoan, my first visit to Spain had to include time in Toledo. I felt duty-bound.

Actually, the three-day stop in the medieval Spanish city was a glorious highlight of a very memorable trip. Picturesque is only the beginning. Sunset, for example, made the view from Museo Victorio Macho spectacular, bathing the nearby buildings and river gorge in a fiery glow.

My first good look at Toledo, Spain, was on a Sunday night; the quiet added to the mystique. Narrow streets wound by dark shop windows until coming to Toledo’s Cathedral, lit up and surreal towering over the neighborhood.

The Cathedral with its daunting interior and rich art collection is a major tourist attraction. So are the Alcázar, Plaza Zocodover and the old city’s numerous gates and bridges.

Many Americans just take a day trip from Madrid, but Toledo is worth more time. Here are a few other travel tips for Toledo:

  • See El Greco’s “The Burial of the Count of Orgaz” in Santo Tomé. Study the masterpiece, and especially enjoy the artist’s depiction of his son.
  • Stroll around Santa Cruz Museum. Soak in some of the city’s history.
  • Find an artisan who does traditional damascene, black steel inlaid with silver, gold or copper wire for pendants, plates and other decor. Ask for a demonstration.
  • Interact with locals at the market, which is held on Tuesdays. Pick up a scarf or other bargain souvenir.
  • Don’t forget to look for Calle de Toledo de Ohio. It does exist.
Calle de Toledo de Ohio street sign in Toledo, Spain.

Calle de Toledo de Ohio sign in Toledo, Spain.

Pack a Bath Mat

/ Julie M. McKinnon / Leave a comment

Soap

The sudden force of falling onto the side of the hotel bathtub in Paris literally took my breath away – and cracked three ribs, one in multiple places.

I laugh about it now, but the fall nearly two years ago still makes me leery of hotel showers. I took bird baths for five days on a stop in Stuttgart last year because my room had a shower that was a mirror image of the one in Paris. I dubbed it the “death trap.”

All I was doing on my fourth day in Paris was reaching out of the shower for a bar of soap I left on the sink. It happened so quickly, but I must have slid on shampoo suds. After running my fingers over my side several times to make sure nothing seemed out of line – and somehow managing to get out of the tub – I did a quick search on my smartphone for advice from well-known healthcare organizations.

Turns out, there isn’t much to be done. Medication can help control pain while breathing, but doctors don’t wrap cracked ribs anymore. They do warn that it’s possible for a fractured rib to puncture a lung.

That last bit caused me to spend days taking deep breaths around the Louvre, Versailles, Montmartre and other sites to check if I still could. Wine therapy wasn’t enough to dull the pain the first day, so the next morning I went to a pharmacy for help. I waited until I was home to see a doctor and get X-rays, but I figured out where the nearest hospital to my hotel was just in case.

So, I offer this travel advice:

  • Pack a bath mat. I’m looking for a thin one for my next trip to Italy even though I only take a backpack on trips.
  • Take a smartphone and charger. Make arrangements with your cellphone carrier to have an international data plan while traveling abroad.
  • Install a translator app for foreign travel. It will help explain what happened to a pharmacist or physician, as well as come in handy on other occasions.
  • Carry your health insurance card. If you’re really anxious, call your insurer’s customer service to find out what to do if you are injured in the area where you plan to travel.
  • Make sure you have everything you need in the shower before turning on the water. Enough said.

All in a Name

/ Julie M. McKinnon / Leave a comment
Grandma Olive with her husband - Grandpa Harry - and eight children.

Grandma Ollie with her husband – Grandpa Harry – and their eight children.

As a journalist, I always use my middle initial. Even when the newspaper I worked for typically wasn’t so formal, I insisted.

It may seem unlikely that someone who lives in a small house, drives a compact car and avoids doing more than blow drying her hair would want to use a middle initial. But mine is special.

My Mom wanted to name me after her Mom, but she thought Olive would be strange for a child. She didn’t want me called “Olive Oyl,” and Grandma’s nickname of “Ollie” was decidedly old fashioned. So she christened me with Grandma’s middle name: Margaret.

My other Grandma died when I still was a baby, but I have very fond memories of Grandma Ollie. I can picture her steel-grey bun, colorful dresses and eye-crinkling smile. Going to her house or on vacation with her was a treat.

Ironically, Olive McKinnon would have been a simple but distinctive byline. I doubt if Grandma Ollie was the type of woman to worry about formalities, but I’m pretty sure she would approve of my including our middle initial instead.