So readers, it comes time now to close out my little Spanish adventure, but fret not. We are far from finished and though we are done with this chapter, we move on to another. I will be traveling for another month and a half (give or take a few days), so the stories will continue, Internet connection permitting.
First I think it fair to recount my time in Valencia, the city I've called home for the past month. I lived with one other American girl, from the same program. We shared a bedroom, and across the hall in another spare bedroom was a Swiss girl named Tessa. Her mom is English, so she spoke it fluently, much to the dismay of Teresa, who would give us a swift slap on the wrist and insist that we speak in Spanish, a request we mostly obliged to. Then there was her son, a little younger than myself, but we never saw him. He was either in his bedroom smoking pot (not trying to hide it in the slightest) or out with his girlfriend. I hear she has a really nice house. After a couple weeks, two more girls moved in. They were both Irish, and I think they were doing a spanish course for three weeks. And then there was our host mom Teresa. So that was our full house.
The first two weeks were filled with pre-planned and pre-paid activities, or "excursions" as they called them to make it all sound more exciting.
Day 1 was a trip to the Ayuntamiento, a vocabulary word you might remember from my last blog meaning town hall. From there we walked around and saw much of the city. Our guide for the month, Pilar, I think was trying to give us all a setting to create a sort of mental map.
For the first week, everything felt extremely fast paced; our days were jam-packed and the days felt extremely long. On the 28th, we had our first day of classes. We met for an hour and a half of marketing, then each of us took a placement exam for the Spanish class. It seemed pretty clear to each student which class he or she was going to be put in, but we took the test all the same. I think for some reason the professors were expecting us all to be at a slightly lower level than we were, and once the class got started, I mostly regarded it as 2 hours of practice to keep my skills sharp. Our professor was a young(ish) man named David, and David was cool. He wore a leather bracelet and never anything fancier than torn jeans to class. Not quite as vibrant as my previous Spanish professors, but cool. He formatted his classes so that for the first half, we had a quick lecture that turned out to be more often than not, a discussion, and then after a short break, we would have a grammar lesson. The grammar lessons were an alright review, I guess, but how many times can you review certain concepts? The lectures were always worth a listen because he went over things like how to make paella and Agua de Valencia (a drink that is more liquor and not so much "agua"). He also taught us about interesting (key word) Valencian history and culture, like Las Fallas, where artists from all over make statues and bring them to Valencia every year in March to burn them in the plaza de Ayuntamiento. Seems a shame, yes, but it's part of their culture. Most can't give you a good reason why they do it, but to be honest, I dressed up as a carrot and a cellphone and various other hilarious inanimate objects and begged for candy every 31st of October and that seems quite a strange thing to do.
But I digress. After class the first day, we hopped on a bus to go to La Ciudad de las Artes y Ciencias, or the City of Arts and Sciences. It's not really a whole other city, but a street of really cool futuristic buildings, all of which are sitting in a pool of water. First we went to the Oceanographic, which I hear tell is the best aquarium in Europe. I've not been to the other aquariums in Europe, but it would be hard to beat this one. They had a dolphin show toward the end of the afternoon and it was SO cool. I couldn't begin to describe all the cool things they did, but videos will be up on facebook.
They have other cool museums there too, and one in particular had an IMAX theater, where we got to watch that one documentary about saving wild animals. I don't know the name, but it was narrated by Morgan Freeman, does that help?
We also had a couple cooking lessons, where we got to watch the cook make paella, tortilla, gazpacho, and sangria with play-by-play instructions. I've still yet to make any of these things on my own, but I can't imagine I'd be much good at it. As much as I can't imagine I'd ever want to make gazpacho, as gazpacho tastes like someone ate a garlic stuffed tomato and puked it back up and put it in the fridge for later, and that's at the best of times.
We also got to visit el bioparc, which you can probably translate for yourselves. It was a really really cool zoo where they had sooo many animals. If you know me well enough to be familiar with my love for animals, you won't be surprised to hear I was really excited. Giddy as a schoolgirl, you might say. It seems they've rescued so many poor animals from previous owners or zoos that either treated them poorly or didn't have the facilities to treat them well. Some were "damaged goods," like a rhino that was stuck in a cage too small that took to walking in continuous circles in an attempt to be able to move around enough, and continued to do so even when he was rescued and moved to an enclosure with a whole field full of space. Anyway, it's enough to make anyone sad, but also kind of hopeful in a way.
In our third week, we had a visit to the Plaza de Toros. Fortunately this was not to see an actual bull fight. We were guided through the tiny museum first, where we watched a short movie-edited for time but not content-of a bull fight. I didn't look, but from what I did see it's really, really cruel. I would think bull fighting a really cool and interesting part of history, but these fights still happen, and quite often. One part of Spanish culture I'll never be able to get my head around.
Lastly, we had a flamenco lesson. This was nothing short of awkward and hilarious, and even though morale was low and no one seemed thrilled about it, it turned out to be okay, because it was goofy and we could laugh at ourselves.
And that was the last of our "excursions" as they called them. We did have a handful of nights out, and to be honest there's not much to be said there. Sure we had tons of fun stealing about 50 free passes to Mya and doing botellón beforehand (the Spanish version of "pre-gaming" or drinking before you go to a club because it's much cheaper, but the Spanish do it in the streets, and guess what! It's perfectly legal!), but it was your standard fun night out where nothing extraordinary happened, and I'll point out that much of the time, that's a good thing. No, I won't bore you with the details but know this: Valencia has an awesome night life.
So, what did I think of Valencia? Well, the weather was amazing. It rained for a total of an hour or so the entire month I was there. I didn't like that everything felt so spread out. Perhaps I'm just spoiled with the ease of being able to hop in my car and drive myself wherever I want to go, but I just despised having to take three trains to school everyday, and three trains back. I loved my time there but I don't think I'll go back unless it's necessary. And don't misunderstand, when I say that, it's not to say that I didn't genuinely have an incredible experience that I'll remember for always. But there are other parts of Spain I enjoyed more. All in all, Spain is my home away from home, and I'm sad to leave it.
El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.
Saturday, June 30, 2012
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Weekend in Ibiza and Seville!
In our third week, a group of 7 of us decided to take a long weekend to Ibiza. However, the flights back were unbelievably expensive, especially for Ryanair. We found quite a cheaper route going through Seville, but it meant we would only spend one night in Ibiza and three nights in Seville. It seemed unfortunate, but after one night Ibiza, we weren't sure if we could handle anymore.
We arrived on Thursday evening around 7pm, and took a taxi to our hotel, and driving through the city, it didn't look like what you'd think the party capital of the world would look like (oh yeah, did I mention that Ibiza is the party capital of the world? It is. I'm serious, go google it! I'll wait here....did you see?!). It mostly looked like what I think a small town in Greece would look like. Did you ever see that remake of mama mia with Meryl Streep? Yeah, like that. But I have a habit of misjudging people and places when o first encounter them.
First we ate as cheaply as we could, then it was immediately back to the hotel to get ready for the night. We were headed to a show with some big name DJs such as headliner Paul Van Dyke, Deadmau5, ***, and some other people I'd never heard of. I admit, it didn't sound like my scene. Certainly not the kind of music I'd be interested in if it weren't for the rest of the group.
Before going to our concert, we headed to a bar called Deja Vu, owned by a friend of one of the members of our group. Here we were greeted with a free shot (weak, very weak, but free) and a pitcher of sangria (not free). The owner encouraged us to drink more because "one drink at amnesia is 20€." Twenty WHAT NOW?? Yes I heard correctly, 20€ for a drink. One. Just one. We politely declined the offer of cheaper drinks because we were 7 headed to a party of 6500 or more, and our biggest priority was to stick together.
After midnight we hailed a cab (which are in incredibly low supply in Ibiza for whatever reason) and headed off to Amnesia. And let me say, my friend was right when he called it "Malibu with British people." Never have I heard so much English in Spain and not a single American accent to be heard except my own.
Well, how can I describe Cream Ibiza? It could easily fall into the top three of my most fun nights I've ever had (and the number one most expensive), and I only hesitate to say it was my most fun night because I can't immediately recall all my nights and don't wish to be over zealous. It was loud and crowded and hot and there were too many colored lights shining directly in your eyes, and dancing, lots of dancing. All of the things I usually hate, but I was with a good crowd and everyone, all 6500 of them, seemed to be in a good mood.
Unfortunately headliner Paul Van what's-his-name couldn't be there because of some extreme sickness, but I wouldn't have known if no one had said anything. You'd think they'd refund some of our 50€ we paid to get into the stupid show, but like I said, it was definitely the most expensive night of my life. I never found out how much the drinks really were, never having ordered one or asking the bartender out of curiosity, but our group of 7 spent well over 100€ on water alone. A bottle of .35L (or 11.6 fluid ounces, 5.3 oz short of the standard American size bottle. Really tiny, in other words) cost 8€, and if you wanted a glass with ice, 10€. With a roughly 25% premium with the exchange rate, that meant $10 for less than a bottle of water. But demand was inelastic. There was no escaping the need for water. It was so packed and so hot, an even hotter with all the dancing, and when you do it for 8 hours like the spaniards do, you can easily blow 24€ on water (like I did) and think it a reasonable purchase.
So yes, for 8 hours we partied. I think we left the show at a little after 7am, got back to the hotel at a little before 8. We settled in for a short nap, needing to check out before 12. We spent the afternoon at the pool before going to catch our flight to Seville around 7.
Which brings me to...
Travel tip #2:
When booking a hotel, know that you can go with the cheaper option, but they'll mostly be farther from anything worth being close to. You might shy away from a more expensive hotel because of the price, but if you book the cheaper one, you'll end up paying the difference in travel to and from the city center, and it'll take much more of your time. Anyway the point is, if you're booking a hotel in Seville, make sure your hotel is IN Seville.
The 35€ cab drive into the city certainly put a damper on the weekend's activities. Of course, the first night we stayed in the pueblo where we were staying outside the city, called Solúcar. We stopped in a random cheap restaurant, and stumbled upon a live show. I mean, it wasn't much, just 4 adorable little Spanish girls who were average singers, but still cool. We then went back to the hotel and slept for what felt like the first time in a long time.
We didn't get an early start the next day, but we went into the city, had lunch, and walked around. We went back to the hotel when the heat became unbearable (over 100F) and readied ourselves for a night out. It took a while to get anywhere, but first we tried what we'd heard was a really exclusive club frequented by celebrities and sexy fútbol players alike. I didn't have high hopes, but I did recognize how freaking cool it would be to meet a famous and good looking soccer player. Alas, we were turned away at the door. Then we headed to someplace nearby that had a fairly large crowd outside it, but apparently this place was high end. Or they must be with a 40€ entrance fee. Instead we went to a place called Plaza Europa, that was just as lively but for 10€ and a complimentary drink. Again I never found out the real cost of a drink, but 350mL of water was 3€. It's equally ridiculous to buy less than a full bottle of water for $4, but after Ibiza, 3€ seemed quite cheap.
This time we made it back to the hotel before the sun came up. It felt somehow early when we hailed a cab to take us back at 6 in the morning, but we didn't get up until about 3pm anyway. Please don't judge me dear readers, I know just as well as you it feels stupid to spend half your say sleeping and the other half sitting by the hotel pool, but it was expensive an time consuming to get to the city. I find solace in the fact that I'm headed back to Seville in just about a week. I SWEAR, this time I will definitely take advantage of being in in Seville.
There isn't much to be said about the rest of my weekend. Sunday afternoon, what we were awake for, was spent by the pool. We stayed in for the night. We spent our Monday afternoon by the pool as well, before heading off to catch our flight back to Valencia.
As for my final thought, Ibiza was really great, but who could possibly spend more than a couple nights there? You'd go broke by the third day. As for Seville, I don't think I can give a fair assessment, having only really been in the city for an afternoon. Once I go back, I'll let you know. Deal?
We arrived on Thursday evening around 7pm, and took a taxi to our hotel, and driving through the city, it didn't look like what you'd think the party capital of the world would look like (oh yeah, did I mention that Ibiza is the party capital of the world? It is. I'm serious, go google it! I'll wait here....did you see?!). It mostly looked like what I think a small town in Greece would look like. Did you ever see that remake of mama mia with Meryl Streep? Yeah, like that. But I have a habit of misjudging people and places when o first encounter them.
First we ate as cheaply as we could, then it was immediately back to the hotel to get ready for the night. We were headed to a show with some big name DJs such as headliner Paul Van Dyke, Deadmau5, ***, and some other people I'd never heard of. I admit, it didn't sound like my scene. Certainly not the kind of music I'd be interested in if it weren't for the rest of the group.
Before going to our concert, we headed to a bar called Deja Vu, owned by a friend of one of the members of our group. Here we were greeted with a free shot (weak, very weak, but free) and a pitcher of sangria (not free). The owner encouraged us to drink more because "one drink at amnesia is 20€." Twenty WHAT NOW?? Yes I heard correctly, 20€ for a drink. One. Just one. We politely declined the offer of cheaper drinks because we were 7 headed to a party of 6500 or more, and our biggest priority was to stick together.
After midnight we hailed a cab (which are in incredibly low supply in Ibiza for whatever reason) and headed off to Amnesia. And let me say, my friend was right when he called it "Malibu with British people." Never have I heard so much English in Spain and not a single American accent to be heard except my own.
Well, how can I describe Cream Ibiza? It could easily fall into the top three of my most fun nights I've ever had (and the number one most expensive), and I only hesitate to say it was my most fun night because I can't immediately recall all my nights and don't wish to be over zealous. It was loud and crowded and hot and there were too many colored lights shining directly in your eyes, and dancing, lots of dancing. All of the things I usually hate, but I was with a good crowd and everyone, all 6500 of them, seemed to be in a good mood.
Unfortunately headliner Paul Van what's-his-name couldn't be there because of some extreme sickness, but I wouldn't have known if no one had said anything. You'd think they'd refund some of our 50€ we paid to get into the stupid show, but like I said, it was definitely the most expensive night of my life. I never found out how much the drinks really were, never having ordered one or asking the bartender out of curiosity, but our group of 7 spent well over 100€ on water alone. A bottle of .35L (or 11.6 fluid ounces, 5.3 oz short of the standard American size bottle. Really tiny, in other words) cost 8€, and if you wanted a glass with ice, 10€. With a roughly 25% premium with the exchange rate, that meant $10 for less than a bottle of water. But demand was inelastic. There was no escaping the need for water. It was so packed and so hot, an even hotter with all the dancing, and when you do it for 8 hours like the spaniards do, you can easily blow 24€ on water (like I did) and think it a reasonable purchase.
So yes, for 8 hours we partied. I think we left the show at a little after 7am, got back to the hotel at a little before 8. We settled in for a short nap, needing to check out before 12. We spent the afternoon at the pool before going to catch our flight to Seville around 7.
Which brings me to...
Travel tip #2:
When booking a hotel, know that you can go with the cheaper option, but they'll mostly be farther from anything worth being close to. You might shy away from a more expensive hotel because of the price, but if you book the cheaper one, you'll end up paying the difference in travel to and from the city center, and it'll take much more of your time. Anyway the point is, if you're booking a hotel in Seville, make sure your hotel is IN Seville.
The 35€ cab drive into the city certainly put a damper on the weekend's activities. Of course, the first night we stayed in the pueblo where we were staying outside the city, called Solúcar. We stopped in a random cheap restaurant, and stumbled upon a live show. I mean, it wasn't much, just 4 adorable little Spanish girls who were average singers, but still cool. We then went back to the hotel and slept for what felt like the first time in a long time.
We didn't get an early start the next day, but we went into the city, had lunch, and walked around. We went back to the hotel when the heat became unbearable (over 100F) and readied ourselves for a night out. It took a while to get anywhere, but first we tried what we'd heard was a really exclusive club frequented by celebrities and sexy fútbol players alike. I didn't have high hopes, but I did recognize how freaking cool it would be to meet a famous and good looking soccer player. Alas, we were turned away at the door. Then we headed to someplace nearby that had a fairly large crowd outside it, but apparently this place was high end. Or they must be with a 40€ entrance fee. Instead we went to a place called Plaza Europa, that was just as lively but for 10€ and a complimentary drink. Again I never found out the real cost of a drink, but 350mL of water was 3€. It's equally ridiculous to buy less than a full bottle of water for $4, but after Ibiza, 3€ seemed quite cheap.
This time we made it back to the hotel before the sun came up. It felt somehow early when we hailed a cab to take us back at 6 in the morning, but we didn't get up until about 3pm anyway. Please don't judge me dear readers, I know just as well as you it feels stupid to spend half your say sleeping and the other half sitting by the hotel pool, but it was expensive an time consuming to get to the city. I find solace in the fact that I'm headed back to Seville in just about a week. I SWEAR, this time I will definitely take advantage of being in in Seville.
There isn't much to be said about the rest of my weekend. Sunday afternoon, what we were awake for, was spent by the pool. We stayed in for the night. We spent our Monday afternoon by the pool as well, before heading off to catch our flight back to Valencia.
As for my final thought, Ibiza was really great, but who could possibly spend more than a couple nights there? You'd go broke by the third day. As for Seville, I don't think I can give a fair assessment, having only really been in the city for an afternoon. Once I go back, I'll let you know. Deal?
Monday, June 11, 2012
Weekend in Barcelona!
Saludos, avid readers! I hope the start of the week finds you well. After an extremely lazy weekend, I have an extremely lax week of classes. No marketing today or tomorrow, and no Spanish on Wednesday or Thursday. It's just as well. I need to be resting for what I'm sure will be a demanding weekend in Ibiza, which I'm told is the "party capitol of the world" (I know-I'm scared too). While there, we'll be going to a show called amnesia so if that's not foreshadowing, then I don't know what is.
For my parents' piece of mind, I will note that most of the weekend will be spent in the historic and culturally rich city of Seville. So that's good...
Anyway, onto Barcelona. On the 1st of this month, we pulled ourselves out of bed to catch a 6:45 train to barca. It went by reasonably fast, and we arrived around 10am. After dropping our stuff at our super nice hotel (right in the middle of the financial district, also known as the most expensive part of the city, though I would argue las ramblas was), we walked the city a bit with our tour guide Rota. I waited too long to write about this and now I'm having a hard time remembering exactly the order in which we saw things, so I'm just going to write about them as I remember them.
First we saw the Catedral de Barcelona, though I'd seen it before, still quite impressive to see. This time, however, I got to go all the way to the top, which has one of the best views of the city. Something that also has "one of the best views of the city" (there are a lot of good views here in Europe, I've noticed) is the Parque Guell, which again, I had been to once before, though this time around I learned a bit more. Apparently, this character Antoni Gaudi, an architect in the last century or so (okay so I didn't learn THAT much) started this project with the goal of creating a neighborhood of luxury homes. However, there were no buyers and in the end, only two of his homes were sold. They're still there today, and serve as part of the park. The park itself is situated at the top of the most gigantic hill, and I climbed to the very top. Like, hundreds of stairs to the top. You can see all the way out to the sea from there. We met a couple of south africans there who told us, to quote them directly, that you can't swim in the ocean in Barcelona, "because it's full of shit." Apparently there's a lot of pollution, something I wish I'd known when I jumped happily and willingly into the water a year ago. No wonder everyone was staying on the sand.
That night we had libre, or free of preplanned activities, which of course meant us Americans went out. Not much to be said here, in the interest of future employment and all.
The next day, we got an early start, much earlier than I would have preferred, though it was worth it because I got to see some things I hadn't seen before. Namely the casas of Gaudi. That man can turn anyone into an admirer of architecture.
He loved nature and tried his best to allow it to influence all facets of his work. It's because of this, I'm guessing, that he hated straight lines and you'd have a hard time trying to find them. One of the casas was an apartment building, and we actually got to walk through one of them. And it was HUGE! Each apartment (which are currently inhabited by, like, real people) takes up an entire floor and is about the size of 10 of my measly apartment. The other house we went to was built for one guy, one really rich guy with the means to commission Antoni Gaudi to design and build not only the house itself, but also all the furniture inside. I really like what he did with the windows inside. He loved natural light (I love I also share) and really did his research when it came to designing the size, placement, and colors of all the windows.
The next day we went to la sagrada familia, my personal favorite. Again, something I'd visited before, but because it continues still today to be under construction, there were some new things to see. This was sort of the flagship work for Gaudi, and by sort of I mean entirely. Apparently he worked on nothing else in the last twelve years of his life, but continues to dictate what's to be done with the building from beyond the grave, having left plans behind.
Anyway, this post isn't very detailed because I've already been to Barcelona and I already wrote about it. More later about the time I've spent here in Valencia.
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina"
For my parents' piece of mind, I will note that most of the weekend will be spent in the historic and culturally rich city of Seville. So that's good...
Anyway, onto Barcelona. On the 1st of this month, we pulled ourselves out of bed to catch a 6:45 train to barca. It went by reasonably fast, and we arrived around 10am. After dropping our stuff at our super nice hotel (right in the middle of the financial district, also known as the most expensive part of the city, though I would argue las ramblas was), we walked the city a bit with our tour guide Rota. I waited too long to write about this and now I'm having a hard time remembering exactly the order in which we saw things, so I'm just going to write about them as I remember them.
First we saw the Catedral de Barcelona, though I'd seen it before, still quite impressive to see. This time, however, I got to go all the way to the top, which has one of the best views of the city. Something that also has "one of the best views of the city" (there are a lot of good views here in Europe, I've noticed) is the Parque Guell, which again, I had been to once before, though this time around I learned a bit more. Apparently, this character Antoni Gaudi, an architect in the last century or so (okay so I didn't learn THAT much) started this project with the goal of creating a neighborhood of luxury homes. However, there were no buyers and in the end, only two of his homes were sold. They're still there today, and serve as part of the park. The park itself is situated at the top of the most gigantic hill, and I climbed to the very top. Like, hundreds of stairs to the top. You can see all the way out to the sea from there. We met a couple of south africans there who told us, to quote them directly, that you can't swim in the ocean in Barcelona, "because it's full of shit." Apparently there's a lot of pollution, something I wish I'd known when I jumped happily and willingly into the water a year ago. No wonder everyone was staying on the sand.
That night we had libre, or free of preplanned activities, which of course meant us Americans went out. Not much to be said here, in the interest of future employment and all.
The next day, we got an early start, much earlier than I would have preferred, though it was worth it because I got to see some things I hadn't seen before. Namely the casas of Gaudi. That man can turn anyone into an admirer of architecture.
He loved nature and tried his best to allow it to influence all facets of his work. It's because of this, I'm guessing, that he hated straight lines and you'd have a hard time trying to find them. One of the casas was an apartment building, and we actually got to walk through one of them. And it was HUGE! Each apartment (which are currently inhabited by, like, real people) takes up an entire floor and is about the size of 10 of my measly apartment. The other house we went to was built for one guy, one really rich guy with the means to commission Antoni Gaudi to design and build not only the house itself, but also all the furniture inside. I really like what he did with the windows inside. He loved natural light (I love I also share) and really did his research when it came to designing the size, placement, and colors of all the windows.
The next day we went to la sagrada familia, my personal favorite. Again, something I'd visited before, but because it continues still today to be under construction, there were some new things to see. This was sort of the flagship work for Gaudi, and by sort of I mean entirely. Apparently he worked on nothing else in the last twelve years of his life, but continues to dictate what's to be done with the building from beyond the grave, having left plans behind.
Anyway, this post isn't very detailed because I've already been to Barcelona and I already wrote about it. More later about the time I've spent here in Valencia.
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina"
Saturday, June 9, 2012
I'm Back!!!
Well folks, It's that time again. Remember when I said about halfway through my previous Spain trip that I was already making plans to return? Well just take my word on it, because I can't source the exact post and even I don't want to go back and read my whole blog.
So yes! The word on the street is true-I made it back to espana. Two weeks ago. I'm SORRY! I didn't mean to wait so long, it's just that all I've got is this silly little iPod and it's a pain and a half to type on. Anyway, let's hear the story, shall we? I will say this in preface: This will, as will soon become evident, be a "what-NOT-to-do" story. Please learn from my mistakes. (Yes, mistakeS, plural.)
A 45 minute connecting flight (20 minutes shorter than anticipated) boded well for my trip, and I felt confident that everything would go smoothly, even after I failed to find the envelope of over 200 euros I hid from everyone, including myself. I had plenty of time to find my next flight in the gigantic maze that is the Washington Dulles airport, and I even found it without getting lost! I had time to go to an overpriced airport store and buy one of those dorky neck pillows and some $20 earbuds.
Even though they suspended boarding halfway through because of an issue with the air conditioning, we ended up leaving on time and landed a little early. The flight wasn't bad. It was with and airline called Aer Lingus, which if any of you have flown before, you know it's about as comfortable as sitting in a chair for 8 hours breathing the same air as the surrounding 100 strangers can possibly be. I really didn't get much sleep, despite my recent neck pillow purchase. Which is too bad, because I'd been planning on ditching it at the Madrid airport when I landed.
So when I did land, I have to admit, I was a little terrified. For the record, 3100 miles is now the farthest I've ever traveled alone. But right then I was navigating my way through signs written in Spanish directing me to Baggage claim, or reclamo de equipaje, for the curious, where I would meet three of my new friends, with whom I would take a train to Valencia. I found my luggage with no problem, although everyone was shocked at how little I packed. It's become a point of pride for me, being an immaculately efficient packer. We've closed out week two, and I still have yet to re-wear anything from my amazingly 13.5 pound duffle. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I packed a bookbag and a duffle bag that weighed in a 13.5 pounds. One of the boys, who had a duffle bag similar in size to mine, as well as a roller luggage thing and a backpack, was made fun of because he "packed more than a girl." He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, we are going to be here for a month." And I laughed because I'm actually going to be here two months.
Anyway, after realizing that my debit card wasn't working, on which I will rant in the next paragraph or so, we decided to forgo the bus that takes you directly to the train station, because it was about 8am, and it didn't come until 10am. We told ourselves we could just as easily, and for cheaper, get the the station via metro. Ah, we were naive back then. It was a simpler time. Before we were aware of all the more complicated metro systems in the world. So basically what I'm saying is that it took forever and 4 or 5 transfers to finally get there. We arrived a little before the next train left, and unfortunately that meant that it was greatly more expensive, somewhere in the region of 80 euros. Understandably, we went with the next train that left at 2, which was 39 euros. But this meant that 1, we had 4 hours in which to not really do anything, and 2, that our host families wouldn't know when we were meant to arrive at the airport. Allow me to explain...because we bought our tickets so last minute, we weren't able to tell our host families when we would be arriving, so we were going to try and get there around the same time or before our roommates arrived, who had told the families when to come and pick them up. Unfortunately for me, mine got there at about 3, an hour before I did.
More on that later, because we had some time to waste in madrid. We walked around, ate, then went to a park. I don't know what it was called, but it was HUGE. After a visit to a really picture esque garden, we headed back to the train station. It was here, in my uncomfortable chair, waiting to board, that I began to feel the effects of not having slept for about 24 hours. I was getting anxious to get to my new home. However, relief was no where in sight even when we arrived at the Valencia train station, because we were fully aware that we still had much of our journey in front of us.
We took a taxi to the Valencia airport, and after a quick scan of the arrivals area, we realized our professor was no longer there. We sat down, tired, lost, trying to figure out where it was we went wrong.
Eventually, a fast talking Spanish angel (I can't be sure, but I think she was an angel) came up to us and asked if we were american students looking for Dr. Scribner. Which was lucky, because that's exactly what we were.
She hailed us all a cab and sent us on our way. We had a list of names and addresses, and I was the first to be dropped off. I took a quick look at where I was going, thanked the cab driver, and went to the front door.
It was then I decided to give up on life. There was a panel of buttons and a set of instructions as to which ones to press in order to be connected to which apartment. However, these instructions were asking for information that I did not have. Why couldn't it be as simple as knocking on the door and asking for Teresa from puerta tres? Someone left through the front door and I managed to sneak inside, where I asked the front desk clerk in my most pathetic voice for help.
Sympathetic as he was, there wasn't much he could do to help me without more information, but god bless him, did he try. He typed a search into his database for all the Teresas who lived in a number 3, and for all the unfortunate coincidences in the world, would you believe that there were eleven? ELEVEN!! I told him that if only I had Internet access, I could look up where exactly I needed to be (after repeatedly assuring him that there was someone expecting me and I wasn't your regular trespasser). Unfortunately, there was no such Internet access, so I asked him, half joking, if it would be ridiculous if he called all the Teresas in the apartment complex to see if he could find the one who I was supposed to be staying with. Of course, he said yes.
So, I sat down so I could at least be out of the way for all the people who did know where they were going. I did know this: this Teresa, whoever and wherever she was, had been told I was on my way. So the best I could hope for was that if I didn't show up, she would eventually come looking for me.
But then I was struck by a horrible thought: What if I was in the wrong place? All I did was give an address to a taxi driver, and now I'm just to trust that he took me to the right place? I mean, maybe not out of maliciousness, but certainly cab drivers get it wrong sometimes? If I was at the wrong apartments, Teresa may come looking for me, but she wouldn't find me. How would she? How would anyone find me again?? Tears flooded my eyes as this panic struck me, and I swallowed that lump that forms in your throat and told myself, knowing I was lying, that everything would be okay.
But really how could it? With no money (remember how my debit card wasn't working?), no phone, no Internet, I began coping with the idea that I'd be sleeping in the streets that night. I heard the clerk making phone calls and asking in Spanish if the person in the other line was expecting an American student. Every time he'd say, "Bueno, gracias," and hang up. Then he'd dial another number and do it all again. The tears started back up, and I feared they might win against my crumbling resolve.
And then, miraculously, a woman walked into the room saying something in quickly spoken Spanish, but her sentence was interrupted halfway through when she looked over and found what she was looking for: a sad, infinitely lost looking American sitting in the corner laden with bags and bloodshot eyes. And angels descended and sang me the song of unlikely joy.
Teresa and I were united.
Younger than my first host mom, and much more vibrant, Teresa talks a mile a minute and is really energetic. She lives in a really cool apartment with an awesome terrace that overlooks the giant swimmable fountain, the pool, and all the racquetball, basketball, tennis courts (though admittedly the spaniards installed two soccer goals and the basketball baskets are left ignored). My own Valencian paradise. My roommate was lounging outside when I came in, and it sounds like what I had hoped would happen is what happened, but I got lucky, so in the spirit of this travel blog, I give you this:
Travel Tip #1
Prepare yourself as much as you can. If you bank with Suntrust, don't trust them to remember that you're leaving the country. Bring money with you. Don't rely on the Internet to give you all the info you need to get where you're going. If you're too cheap to print it out, for the love of god, write it down.
Anyway, that's it for now. I'll update later about our recent trip to Barcelona.
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
So yes! The word on the street is true-I made it back to espana. Two weeks ago. I'm SORRY! I didn't mean to wait so long, it's just that all I've got is this silly little iPod and it's a pain and a half to type on. Anyway, let's hear the story, shall we? I will say this in preface: This will, as will soon become evident, be a "what-NOT-to-do" story. Please learn from my mistakes. (Yes, mistakeS, plural.)
A 45 minute connecting flight (20 minutes shorter than anticipated) boded well for my trip, and I felt confident that everything would go smoothly, even after I failed to find the envelope of over 200 euros I hid from everyone, including myself. I had plenty of time to find my next flight in the gigantic maze that is the Washington Dulles airport, and I even found it without getting lost! I had time to go to an overpriced airport store and buy one of those dorky neck pillows and some $20 earbuds.
Even though they suspended boarding halfway through because of an issue with the air conditioning, we ended up leaving on time and landed a little early. The flight wasn't bad. It was with and airline called Aer Lingus, which if any of you have flown before, you know it's about as comfortable as sitting in a chair for 8 hours breathing the same air as the surrounding 100 strangers can possibly be. I really didn't get much sleep, despite my recent neck pillow purchase. Which is too bad, because I'd been planning on ditching it at the Madrid airport when I landed.
So when I did land, I have to admit, I was a little terrified. For the record, 3100 miles is now the farthest I've ever traveled alone. But right then I was navigating my way through signs written in Spanish directing me to Baggage claim, or reclamo de equipaje, for the curious, where I would meet three of my new friends, with whom I would take a train to Valencia. I found my luggage with no problem, although everyone was shocked at how little I packed. It's become a point of pride for me, being an immaculately efficient packer. We've closed out week two, and I still have yet to re-wear anything from my amazingly 13.5 pound duffle. Yes, ladies and gentleman, I packed a bookbag and a duffle bag that weighed in a 13.5 pounds. One of the boys, who had a duffle bag similar in size to mine, as well as a roller luggage thing and a backpack, was made fun of because he "packed more than a girl." He simply shrugged his shoulders and said, "Well, we are going to be here for a month." And I laughed because I'm actually going to be here two months.
Anyway, after realizing that my debit card wasn't working, on which I will rant in the next paragraph or so, we decided to forgo the bus that takes you directly to the train station, because it was about 8am, and it didn't come until 10am. We told ourselves we could just as easily, and for cheaper, get the the station via metro. Ah, we were naive back then. It was a simpler time. Before we were aware of all the more complicated metro systems in the world. So basically what I'm saying is that it took forever and 4 or 5 transfers to finally get there. We arrived a little before the next train left, and unfortunately that meant that it was greatly more expensive, somewhere in the region of 80 euros. Understandably, we went with the next train that left at 2, which was 39 euros. But this meant that 1, we had 4 hours in which to not really do anything, and 2, that our host families wouldn't know when we were meant to arrive at the airport. Allow me to explain...because we bought our tickets so last minute, we weren't able to tell our host families when we would be arriving, so we were going to try and get there around the same time or before our roommates arrived, who had told the families when to come and pick them up. Unfortunately for me, mine got there at about 3, an hour before I did.
More on that later, because we had some time to waste in madrid. We walked around, ate, then went to a park. I don't know what it was called, but it was HUGE. After a visit to a really picture esque garden, we headed back to the train station. It was here, in my uncomfortable chair, waiting to board, that I began to feel the effects of not having slept for about 24 hours. I was getting anxious to get to my new home. However, relief was no where in sight even when we arrived at the Valencia train station, because we were fully aware that we still had much of our journey in front of us.
We took a taxi to the Valencia airport, and after a quick scan of the arrivals area, we realized our professor was no longer there. We sat down, tired, lost, trying to figure out where it was we went wrong.
Eventually, a fast talking Spanish angel (I can't be sure, but I think she was an angel) came up to us and asked if we were american students looking for Dr. Scribner. Which was lucky, because that's exactly what we were.
She hailed us all a cab and sent us on our way. We had a list of names and addresses, and I was the first to be dropped off. I took a quick look at where I was going, thanked the cab driver, and went to the front door.
It was then I decided to give up on life. There was a panel of buttons and a set of instructions as to which ones to press in order to be connected to which apartment. However, these instructions were asking for information that I did not have. Why couldn't it be as simple as knocking on the door and asking for Teresa from puerta tres? Someone left through the front door and I managed to sneak inside, where I asked the front desk clerk in my most pathetic voice for help.
Sympathetic as he was, there wasn't much he could do to help me without more information, but god bless him, did he try. He typed a search into his database for all the Teresas who lived in a number 3, and for all the unfortunate coincidences in the world, would you believe that there were eleven? ELEVEN!! I told him that if only I had Internet access, I could look up where exactly I needed to be (after repeatedly assuring him that there was someone expecting me and I wasn't your regular trespasser). Unfortunately, there was no such Internet access, so I asked him, half joking, if it would be ridiculous if he called all the Teresas in the apartment complex to see if he could find the one who I was supposed to be staying with. Of course, he said yes.
So, I sat down so I could at least be out of the way for all the people who did know where they were going. I did know this: this Teresa, whoever and wherever she was, had been told I was on my way. So the best I could hope for was that if I didn't show up, she would eventually come looking for me.
But then I was struck by a horrible thought: What if I was in the wrong place? All I did was give an address to a taxi driver, and now I'm just to trust that he took me to the right place? I mean, maybe not out of maliciousness, but certainly cab drivers get it wrong sometimes? If I was at the wrong apartments, Teresa may come looking for me, but she wouldn't find me. How would she? How would anyone find me again?? Tears flooded my eyes as this panic struck me, and I swallowed that lump that forms in your throat and told myself, knowing I was lying, that everything would be okay.
But really how could it? With no money (remember how my debit card wasn't working?), no phone, no Internet, I began coping with the idea that I'd be sleeping in the streets that night. I heard the clerk making phone calls and asking in Spanish if the person in the other line was expecting an American student. Every time he'd say, "Bueno, gracias," and hang up. Then he'd dial another number and do it all again. The tears started back up, and I feared they might win against my crumbling resolve.
And then, miraculously, a woman walked into the room saying something in quickly spoken Spanish, but her sentence was interrupted halfway through when she looked over and found what she was looking for: a sad, infinitely lost looking American sitting in the corner laden with bags and bloodshot eyes. And angels descended and sang me the song of unlikely joy.
Teresa and I were united.
Younger than my first host mom, and much more vibrant, Teresa talks a mile a minute and is really energetic. She lives in a really cool apartment with an awesome terrace that overlooks the giant swimmable fountain, the pool, and all the racquetball, basketball, tennis courts (though admittedly the spaniards installed two soccer goals and the basketball baskets are left ignored). My own Valencian paradise. My roommate was lounging outside when I came in, and it sounds like what I had hoped would happen is what happened, but I got lucky, so in the spirit of this travel blog, I give you this:
Travel Tip #1
Prepare yourself as much as you can. If you bank with Suntrust, don't trust them to remember that you're leaving the country. Bring money with you. Don't rely on the Internet to give you all the info you need to get where you're going. If you're too cheap to print it out, for the love of god, write it down.
Anyway, that's it for now. I'll update later about our recent trip to Barcelona.
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)