I arrived in Madrid a little after 8pm. I was a little nervous, because I had never truly traveled alone, at least not with someone to pick me up on the other side (really makes me appreciate my dad all those times). Once arrived at the airport, I was to take three different metro lines, which sounded quite daunting, and the Madrid metro is only slightly less of a maze than the Barcelona system, but guess what readers!! I had NO problems and I made it in one piece without getting lost. The worst that happened was that once I left the metro I started down the street going the wrong direction, but I quickly realized my mistake and turned around.
When I did successfully locate my hostel, it turned out that their system had crashed that day and my bed was given to someone else, so they upgraded me from a 10 bed dorm to a 4 bed dorm! It was fantastic! I went to my room and guess what, more good news: not only was my room right next to the toilet, but we had our own private shower right there in the room! That was really nice. I put my stuff down, grabbed my iPod, and went downstairs to use the Internet and socialize. Being alone, I was really trying to be in the common areas as much as possible so as to maximize the possibility of making friends. Hostels are perfect for that, by the way. I think they have a bad reputation for being dirty or dangerous, but as a young traveler I prefer them to hotels. Also, if you're going to be in Madrid, I really really recommend No Name City hostel, where I stayed. It's got a great location, free wifi and four computers you don't have to pay to use (amazing, right?) and it was super clean and they had air conditioning! That, my friends, is a rare find. I paid 50€ to stay there for three nights. So that's my informal travel tip.
Anyway, the common area closed at midnight before I could really meet people, but no matter. I went to bed and promised myself to be more outgoing the next day.
Though I was in a room with four beds, only two of them were booked. The other belonged to another lone traveler, a French Canadian girl (from "the french part," she said after I looked confused when she told me she was from Canada) who was staying Madrid for ten whole days. We got up around the same time the next morning, so we went to breakfast together. I really had no plans for the day other than to get a map and go to the first monument that seemed the slightest bit interesting, so when Julia (that was her name) said she was going to the Reina Sofia museum and that I could join her if I wanted, I thought it sounded like a great idea. It was also 10am on Sunday, and I saw online that entrance was free from 10:00 to 2:00 on Sundays ('nother informal travel tip).
It was a short walk from the hostel, and I think Julia might have gotten mixed up, because she led us to the Prado. But no matter-although the Prado does NOT offer free entrance from 10:00-2:00 on Sundays, they DO offer free entrance with valid student ID, so that was a nice surprise. As if Madrid wasn't already a classic tourist destination, another reason to go is that they love to offer student discounts.
The Prado's temporary exhibit was called La Última Raphael, which I guess you might translate as 'the last of Raphael'. It was quite a bit smaller than I would have hoped, but it was really interesting. It was about a radiography study of Raphael's paintings. With that they were able to see the whole process underneath the finished work. They could see the different "drafts," essentially. Gee I hope I'm explaining this well...You could see that he gave a man a beard, but later decided to paint over it and take it away, and also that he changed one woman's facial expression fifteen times. Also, they learned that he always painted his subjects naked first and then "dressed" them later on. Anyway, I thought it was interesting.
We walked through nearly the whole museum, but after two and a half hours, I was feeling pretty done with it. We walked around and found a nice tapas place to eat. After, we went to the botanical gardens (which also has a discount for students). It was so, so beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I wish I had the lexical skills necessary to describe it to you, because it just so happened that I didn't bring the right memory card for my camera. I did get one single picture, however, of the inside of the greenhouse, which made me feel like I was in the movie Jurassic Park.
After that we were both feeling quite tired, so we went back to the hostel for a siesta. A while later, we headed out to find a spot to watch the big fútbol game.
We found a good pedestrian street and encountered a great many people trying to get us to go to their bars, but really all places are going to show the game and offer the same beer. You pick a spot for its atmosphere. So we went into a loud place with lots of people and sat down.
If you didn't see the game, you probably live under a rock, but Spain was on fire. They were unstoppable and the people were loving it. 4-0 was the final score, certainly something to be proud of, though an Italian girl I met (what an awful time to be Italian in Madrid, huh?) said that no one really expected Italy to win. But in any case, the Spanish were celebrating and no one, no one knows how to celebrate like the Spanish. We didn't really know what to do after they won, so we headed down the street in search of a bar, but after a while we found ourselves following a large group of people dressed in red and yellow down a long street and into one of the main plazas.
Obviously people plan ahead for these kinds of things, knowing there's a possibility that they could win. However I had no idea they would plan for such a large celebration. There were police barriers blocking the street that led to the giant plaza where everyone was gathered, and street venders were already out with their coolers of cervezas and their giant Spanish flags or red and yellow scarves. They were ready, they were.
Anyway, the square was so filled with people you could hardly walk around. It was impossible not to enjoy yourself in that atmosphere, unless maybe you were Italian, but after just a short time I was ready to head back to the hostel. It was the sort of thing you can't really stay and enjoy if you're on your own. I would say that this Madrid night could have easily surpassed the Ibiza night in fun-levels had I only been with the same friends. Yes, it was that fun.
So, we headed back to the hostel fairly early. I woke up slightly earlier than my French Canadian roommate and went downstairs to use the Internet, where I met three Australians, a boy from Sydney and two girls from Perth. They're doing something I'd never heard of...and now I'm forgetting the name, but there are several buses running the same course. So there's a western tour that does several cities in France, all over Spain, and Portugal. Or something like that. Also a northern tour and an eastern one. Anyway, it sounds like a really good idea, because you can get off at any city you choose, spend as long as you want there, and get back on at any day you choose and go to the next place.
Anyway, I had no plans for the day so I happily accepted their invitation to go out with the three of them. The first stop was Puerta del Sol, which is a really big plaza right in the center of Madrid. If you're a lone traveler and don't really know what to do, Puerta del Sol is a good place to start. There are tons of good shops around and any street you go down, you will most certainly find a monument or church. A little informal travel tip, don't let Madrid's enormous map intimidate you. The city center is where most everything is, and it's actually very walkable. I walked with my new Aussie friends from one side of the city to the other and back easily without even realizing how far we'd gone. Also, don't be so quick to use the metros. I found this to be true with most cities, but the distances look so much longer than they feel while you're walking them in real life. Also you see so much more and you get your bearings better when you walk. And the euros you save, not to mention the extra calories from the cervezas and gelato you burn are added bonuses.
So yeah back to my day. We headed toward the Palacio Real, passing by the mayor's house and the Ayuntamiento de Madrid (city hall) in the process. Then after brief walk along the Parque del Campo del Moro, we ate lunch at a cafe, where I got to feel important and play translator for everyone.
Then we headed to Templo de Deblod (which, side note, sounds really hilarious when spoken in a Sydney accent), where there is a small museum situated in a park with a great view. It houses some ancient Egyptian gold or something. Unfortunately I never got to find out for sure because they'd closed for the day 10 minutes before we got there. So if you're ever in Madrid and the Templo de Deblod sounds like something that'll tickle your fancy, just FYI, it closes at 2:00 pm.
So we were on our way, back through Puerta del Sol, past the Paseo del Prado, and through Plaza Independencia and the Puerta de Alcalá, which im sure holds some sort of historical significance (hey I never said this was going to be a history lesson) and finally into the gigantic and famous Parque del Buen Retiro. Beautiful and buzzing with activity (and best of all-FREE), this should easily be at the top of your list of places to visit. There are always tons of people out and about on a sunny day, and there's a really pretty "estanque," or um, well I don't know what the translation is for that and I can't be bothered to look it up, but it's a little man made lake in front of an impressive monument to Alfonso XII. Then we took a leisurely stroll back to the hostel, passing by the Plaza de Cibeles, where we could see barricades at the ready and a stage set up all in preparation for the night's parade and celebration. From there we walked past the Fuente de Neptuno, which was especially fun because someone had jumped the fence, dove into the fountain, and climbed up the statue to tie a big Spanish flag round Neptune's neck as a cape. Brilliant. Just genius. I wish I'd thought of that.
After this we regrouped at the hostel, looking at things to do for that night. There was a flamenco show that sounded interesting, so we agreed to meet later on.
I went upstairs for a little siesta, and I found I had a new roommate. Another Australian (geez they're everywhere, aren't they?), her name was Marquita or something complicated like that. She was really sweet, so I feel bad not remembering her name. It's the least I could have done.
That night, a flamenco show didn't end up working out so I went out with my newest Aussie roommate to get dinner. We had a nice, culturally rich discussion in which she told me about all the places I should visit in Australia, and all about our respective travels and future travels, and all the differences between the united states and ausland.
After dinner she suggested, "Shall we go for a wandah?" (wandah is Australian for wander, by the way) So we headed down the street in the same direction I had gone the night before, only this time there were somehow, previously thought impossible, more people. Families, big groups of teenagers, old people; it seemed everyone in Madrid was there. It would have been impossible to get to the center, but they had set up large screens throughout so everyone could see what was going on.
I had been told earlier that day that the players were to come to Madrid the following day, riding in on a big roofless bus in a big parade, but it turns out, they came a day early! They must've heard that I was leaving the same day they were coming and decided to come a day early. Wasn't that sweet of them?
Again the energy was tangible. All of Madrid seemed to be there, and everyone was in a good mood. Good is an understatement. Fantastic. At one point I saw on the large screens a bird's eye view of the plaza and the neighboring streets, and it occurred to me that I was in there, that screaming sea of red and yellow, and this was probably THE biggest party on earth that night. I can't imagine that anywhere, there was a bigger group of people celebrating. Being a part of moments in history like this reminds me of why I travel.
Anyway, after a while we went back to the hostel. After the high wore off, we realized that we couldn't understand anything the MC was saying and that my Australian roommate was still fighting a cold, and me catching an early train the next day, we thought a good night's sleep was a good idea.
So I leave you not with a travel tip, but many small informal ones. If you've not been to Madrid, you absolutely must go. If you have been to Madrid, find a reason to go back. What was originally nothing more than a pit stop between being with B in Holland and meeting my friends on the beaches of Cádiz ended up being one of my favorite memories. To sum up, my time in Madrid was exhilarating and unforgettable, and most certainly better than the last time.
El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Wednesday, July 4, 2012
Four Cities in Four Days Part 2: Amsterdam and Leeuwarden
Part two. So where did we leave off? B and I got back to our hostel at the end of our day in Antwerp.
I didn't realize this before I came, having never spent a summer in Europe, but the sun goes down so late. Not until about 11:00 at night does it get really dark. It made going to bed before dark feel really, really strange. But it had to be done. We were exhausted and we also had an early train to catch.
We were up by 7am and headed to the station around 8. Everything seemed in order, and yet somehow, we ended up on the wrong train. Thanks to B and her ability to speak Dutch, we caught the problem early on and were able to nip it in the bud. We got off the train at the first stop and waited for one to come in the opposite direction to take us back to the station.
A woman came by while we were waiting and asked me a question in Dutch, so I looked inquisitively over at B, as if to say, "I understand your question but unfortunately I don't have an answer for you, but perhaps my friend here..." They chatted for a minute and judging by the giggles and shrugs, I gathered that B had told the woman about our mistake. She smiled reassuringly and spoke to me again in Dutch. And then B said something again, in which I picked out a word that sounded suspiciously like "American," and the woman sweetly looked at me and said, "It will be alright." Aw, thank you, kind stranger.
The train arrived some minutes later, and B and I picked a spot right by the door, praying to god that no one came by to check our tickets, as ours were for a different train. We were almost so unlucky. I saw a man approach the woman who told me it would be alright. He was asking her to buy a ticket. The train ride was only 6 minutes back to the station, but he was right beside us and it made me nervous. But get this! The woman, ever so coyly, went through her gigantic purse, looking for her wallet and stopping to make a comment about how she should really clean out all the trash inside and to offer the man a piece of gum and to finally insist that she had exact change in there somewhere. It took her exactly the same amount of time to busy the man as it did for us to get back to the station and for B and I to make a clean getaway. What a pleasant surprise! I didn't know random acts of kindness existed in Europe!
Okay so after our little delay, we arrived in Amsterdam a little late. We dropped our bags in a locker at the station and went on our way.
We first tried the Ann frank house, but tickets were 9€ and B said it was pretty underwhelming inside. Apparently there isn't even access to the attic in which her family hid, which kind of seems like the whole point. Not to mention the line, which would take over an hour.
Travel Tip #7
If you're going to the Ann frank house, book online first. Link here:
So we decided to skip that. We went to the Rijksmuseum, which is famous for the giant red and white "I Amsterdam" letters, but it was under construction and wasn't complete. You could still visit it, but it was still full price at 14€, which just seemed silly. So we had a visit to the famous letters, a popular tourist photo opp, and took pictures.
We took a stroll through the flower market, which was interesting to see. For those of you who think pot and red light district when you think Amsterdam, they're also famous for their tulip fields, windmills, and canals. Oh, and bikes. You know what the most frequent crime in Amsterdam is? Bike theft.
On our way to a flea market down the road, we spotted an ice bar. So we went in.
The thing about ice bars is, they seem like such a great idea when you're going in, and the next thing you know, you're shivering like an idiot holding your tiny ice cup of your 10€ drink, wishing you could feel your toes and wondering if you might have to amputate them after all this. So um, don't go to ice bars. The coolest part would be the pictures you get from it, and that's usually not even allowed (they want to take their own pictures so they can charge you 13.95€ for them later), so just take a picture from outside and lie and say you went in. Your friends will believe you.
After, we warmed up with some award winning Belgian fries (although at this point we were in Holland) and took a walk to see the monuments. Then we embraced our inner tourists and went on a canal tour. Another thing I didn't know about Amsterdam is how much of a canal city it is. Really it's just a step down from Venice. The city also has a famous shortage on housing, so houseboats are a really big thing. There's even a houseboat museum, if you can believe that.
On the tour, they told us that they put rails up lining the canals because cars kept driving into the river. It worked for a while, and they averaged only 1 car per week. But I guess people got over confident, because currently they average THREE cars per week driving into the canal. Just a little fun fact.
After our canal tour, feeling thoroughly exhausted, we caught a train back to B's hometown of Leeuwarden. Her mom graciously picked us up from the train station. B warned me that her mom didn't speak fluent English, but I thought she did quite well. B's house was really nice, but I hardly had the energy to be impressed. We went to bed pretty soon after getting home and slept until a glorious 11am.
We first went food shopping for ourselves. A small(ish) market was just around the corner from B's house, across the street from a bakery. The sun was shining and kids on bikes rode past housewives walking their dogs and the whole thing created the image of a perfect suburb. After eating a sandwich and watching an episode of CSI with Dutch subtitles at B's house, we hit the town.
First to see was Leeuwarden's own leaning tower. Halfway through construction of the Oldehove, they realized that the tower was leaning because the soil it was built on was too soft. But master builder Jacob van Aken decided to continue, trying to compensate for the tilt by building more on the other side. Eventually they realized they couldn't continue construction and it remains unfinished, leaning, and crooked.
From the top we could see all the important buildings of Leeuwarden, the tallest building to a bank in the shape of a sphere.
After the panoramic view, we went to get some ice cream and B gave me a short walking tour of her city. She showed me where she we to high school, where she graduated, where her and her friends would hang out if the weather was nice, and where she had her first job. This was the most interesting part because everything else is a cool part of history, but this little tour was endearing.
We walked along Leeuwarden's canal, where tons of people sit out in the sun or go boating. After a while of walking, we went back to her house, where her mom cooked us all an amazing dinner (I know at this point of eating almost literally whatever I can get, I am very easily impressed, but I assure you a hot home-cooked meal was very, very appreciated) and we sat around, watched TV and chatted.
It was off to bed fairly early, as we were still quite tired from walking for hours and hours for the previous four days. So that is my tale of Brussels, Antwerp, Amsterdam, and Leeuwarden. Two countries, four cities, four days. My story continues, of course, but this is where the title becomes no longer applicable.
The next day was B's birthday! We slept in yet again, waking up in our own time. First thing was to go to the store and buy a cake. They're more what I would call "pie," but who's to say, really?
Then it was back to her house to eat it, of course, and to open presents. She received her much-anticipated new smart phone, and it was back into town to get her a fancy cover for it. We walked through town a bit more, and then decided to take a canal tour, which was kind of fun because B was being a tourist in her own town.
The tour was in Dutch, but I had B to translate the interesting stuff for me. We saw what's left of the oldest building in Leeuwarden, what used to be a big brothel, and a railing that was put up to line the canal, because a member of the royal family drank too much and they worried that he might fall in.
After the tour we went to the train station to meet B's childhood friend Daphne. Or maybe Dafne. I didn't ask. That night we went to a fancy restaurant for B's birthday, where we had a meal of several courses and even though there was a lot of Dutch talk, I had a great time surrounded by a family atmosphere.
The next day, I had to catch my flight back to Spain at 5, but having to get to the airport around 3 and that it was about an hour and a half drive away meant we didn't have a whole lot of time that morning. I said my goodbyes and thanked them for everything and was on my way.
If you're a regular tourist, you might find Leeuwarden a little dull if you don't have a friend there, but it is quite the charming little town. It seems like a really nice place to live. Holland in general was really enjoyable, so don't pass it up if you get the chance. Belgium was great to visit as well, though the people take some getting used to. I may be partial to Holland because of B and her family's hospitality. All in all, an exhausting, wonderful week.
And remember:
El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.
I didn't realize this before I came, having never spent a summer in Europe, but the sun goes down so late. Not until about 11:00 at night does it get really dark. It made going to bed before dark feel really, really strange. But it had to be done. We were exhausted and we also had an early train to catch.
We were up by 7am and headed to the station around 8. Everything seemed in order, and yet somehow, we ended up on the wrong train. Thanks to B and her ability to speak Dutch, we caught the problem early on and were able to nip it in the bud. We got off the train at the first stop and waited for one to come in the opposite direction to take us back to the station.
A woman came by while we were waiting and asked me a question in Dutch, so I looked inquisitively over at B, as if to say, "I understand your question but unfortunately I don't have an answer for you, but perhaps my friend here..." They chatted for a minute and judging by the giggles and shrugs, I gathered that B had told the woman about our mistake. She smiled reassuringly and spoke to me again in Dutch. And then B said something again, in which I picked out a word that sounded suspiciously like "American," and the woman sweetly looked at me and said, "It will be alright." Aw, thank you, kind stranger.
The train arrived some minutes later, and B and I picked a spot right by the door, praying to god that no one came by to check our tickets, as ours were for a different train. We were almost so unlucky. I saw a man approach the woman who told me it would be alright. He was asking her to buy a ticket. The train ride was only 6 minutes back to the station, but he was right beside us and it made me nervous. But get this! The woman, ever so coyly, went through her gigantic purse, looking for her wallet and stopping to make a comment about how she should really clean out all the trash inside and to offer the man a piece of gum and to finally insist that she had exact change in there somewhere. It took her exactly the same amount of time to busy the man as it did for us to get back to the station and for B and I to make a clean getaway. What a pleasant surprise! I didn't know random acts of kindness existed in Europe!
Okay so after our little delay, we arrived in Amsterdam a little late. We dropped our bags in a locker at the station and went on our way.
We first tried the Ann frank house, but tickets were 9€ and B said it was pretty underwhelming inside. Apparently there isn't even access to the attic in which her family hid, which kind of seems like the whole point. Not to mention the line, which would take over an hour.
Travel Tip #7
If you're going to the Ann frank house, book online first. Link here:
So we decided to skip that. We went to the Rijksmuseum, which is famous for the giant red and white "I Amsterdam" letters, but it was under construction and wasn't complete. You could still visit it, but it was still full price at 14€, which just seemed silly. So we had a visit to the famous letters, a popular tourist photo opp, and took pictures.
We took a stroll through the flower market, which was interesting to see. For those of you who think pot and red light district when you think Amsterdam, they're also famous for their tulip fields, windmills, and canals. Oh, and bikes. You know what the most frequent crime in Amsterdam is? Bike theft.
On our way to a flea market down the road, we spotted an ice bar. So we went in.
The thing about ice bars is, they seem like such a great idea when you're going in, and the next thing you know, you're shivering like an idiot holding your tiny ice cup of your 10€ drink, wishing you could feel your toes and wondering if you might have to amputate them after all this. So um, don't go to ice bars. The coolest part would be the pictures you get from it, and that's usually not even allowed (they want to take their own pictures so they can charge you 13.95€ for them later), so just take a picture from outside and lie and say you went in. Your friends will believe you.
After, we warmed up with some award winning Belgian fries (although at this point we were in Holland) and took a walk to see the monuments. Then we embraced our inner tourists and went on a canal tour. Another thing I didn't know about Amsterdam is how much of a canal city it is. Really it's just a step down from Venice. The city also has a famous shortage on housing, so houseboats are a really big thing. There's even a houseboat museum, if you can believe that.
On the tour, they told us that they put rails up lining the canals because cars kept driving into the river. It worked for a while, and they averaged only 1 car per week. But I guess people got over confident, because currently they average THREE cars per week driving into the canal. Just a little fun fact.
After our canal tour, feeling thoroughly exhausted, we caught a train back to B's hometown of Leeuwarden. Her mom graciously picked us up from the train station. B warned me that her mom didn't speak fluent English, but I thought she did quite well. B's house was really nice, but I hardly had the energy to be impressed. We went to bed pretty soon after getting home and slept until a glorious 11am.
We first went food shopping for ourselves. A small(ish) market was just around the corner from B's house, across the street from a bakery. The sun was shining and kids on bikes rode past housewives walking their dogs and the whole thing created the image of a perfect suburb. After eating a sandwich and watching an episode of CSI with Dutch subtitles at B's house, we hit the town.
First to see was Leeuwarden's own leaning tower. Halfway through construction of the Oldehove, they realized that the tower was leaning because the soil it was built on was too soft. But master builder Jacob van Aken decided to continue, trying to compensate for the tilt by building more on the other side. Eventually they realized they couldn't continue construction and it remains unfinished, leaning, and crooked.
From the top we could see all the important buildings of Leeuwarden, the tallest building to a bank in the shape of a sphere.
After the panoramic view, we went to get some ice cream and B gave me a short walking tour of her city. She showed me where she we to high school, where she graduated, where her and her friends would hang out if the weather was nice, and where she had her first job. This was the most interesting part because everything else is a cool part of history, but this little tour was endearing.
We walked along Leeuwarden's canal, where tons of people sit out in the sun or go boating. After a while of walking, we went back to her house, where her mom cooked us all an amazing dinner (I know at this point of eating almost literally whatever I can get, I am very easily impressed, but I assure you a hot home-cooked meal was very, very appreciated) and we sat around, watched TV and chatted.
It was off to bed fairly early, as we were still quite tired from walking for hours and hours for the previous four days. So that is my tale of Brussels, Antwerp, Amsterdam, and Leeuwarden. Two countries, four cities, four days. My story continues, of course, but this is where the title becomes no longer applicable.
The next day was B's birthday! We slept in yet again, waking up in our own time. First thing was to go to the store and buy a cake. They're more what I would call "pie," but who's to say, really?
Then it was back to her house to eat it, of course, and to open presents. She received her much-anticipated new smart phone, and it was back into town to get her a fancy cover for it. We walked through town a bit more, and then decided to take a canal tour, which was kind of fun because B was being a tourist in her own town.
The tour was in Dutch, but I had B to translate the interesting stuff for me. We saw what's left of the oldest building in Leeuwarden, what used to be a big brothel, and a railing that was put up to line the canal, because a member of the royal family drank too much and they worried that he might fall in.
After the tour we went to the train station to meet B's childhood friend Daphne. Or maybe Dafne. I didn't ask. That night we went to a fancy restaurant for B's birthday, where we had a meal of several courses and even though there was a lot of Dutch talk, I had a great time surrounded by a family atmosphere.
The next day, I had to catch my flight back to Spain at 5, but having to get to the airport around 3 and that it was about an hour and a half drive away meant we didn't have a whole lot of time that morning. I said my goodbyes and thanked them for everything and was on my way.
If you're a regular tourist, you might find Leeuwarden a little dull if you don't have a friend there, but it is quite the charming little town. It seems like a really nice place to live. Holland in general was really enjoyable, so don't pass it up if you get the chance. Belgium was great to visit as well, though the people take some getting used to. I may be partial to Holland because of B and her family's hospitality. All in all, an exhausting, wonderful week.
And remember:
El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.
Four Cities in Four Days Part 1: Brussels and Antwerp
On Sunday the 24th, I said a tearful goodbye to Valencia and hopped on a flight to the capital of Europe. And even before I get this story started, I must establish the following:
Travel Tip #3
Do NOT leave important things to be done on Sunday. Unlike the states, not many places are open on Sundays.
Also...
Travel Tip #4
When flying into Brussels through Ryanair, just an FYI, it's a 13€ and 45 minute bus ride before you actually get to Brussels.
So yes, the capital of Europe. An exciting place for a young student of business like myself. But as soon as the plane touched down, I realized I was certainly not in Kansas anymore. It's been a while since I've experienced proper culture shock, so maybe I was overdue. Firstly because I noticed the ominous grey clouds outside and looked around the plane at my fellow passengers to see people wrapping themselves in sweaters and scarves while I sat like a fool in my skirt and sandals. Secondly getting off the plane and getting smacked in the face with French and Dutch. That was quite a shock for me-not that I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a different language, but because I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd been in a place where I didn't speak or understand the language. I guess I'd forgotten what that was like. Suddenly I very deeply empathized with my friends who went to Spain and didn't speak Spanish.
Anyway, a 45 minute bus ride later, I made my way to Brussels Central Station, where I was to meet an old sister of mine, Birgit (who shall be called B from now on, as it's much easier on my English speaking brain). B is from Holland, and studied abroad at UNCW for a year, where she became a sister of Alpha Xi Delta, which is how we came to be friends. When I contacted her via facebook to let her know I was in Europe, she very enthusiastically responded with an exciting trip through Belgium, to Holland with a stop in Amsterdam before going back to her hometown of Leeuwarden.
So there I was, lugging my 9kg duffle (sorry I don't have access to a converter right now, but 9kg is in the neighborhood of 16lbs), frazzled after about an hour more of travel than I had expected, and I hadn't been in Brussels Central Station for longer than 2 minutes when a suspicious looking man approached me and asked how much it would cost for a week of sex. At this point I think this may be appropriate:
Travel Tip #5
If a strange man approaches to tell you he thinks you are beautiful, he is not being nice. He is trying to purchase you.
So I very quickly fled that scene, and it wasn't long before I saw B. We took an expensive bus ride (2.50€!!!!) to the Van Gogh Youth Hostel, where we settled in. Then we left to find a cheap place to eat. Along the way, as if to excuse myself while squeezing past a gentleman on a particularly narrow sidewalk, I gave him a half smile and walked on. To which he began to cat call me in French! Luckily I don't understand French or I might've been offended. I know I've already said it, but it bears repeating: It's difficult for people like me, products of southern united states, where we very often greet complete strangers we pass on the street, but unfortunately this may carry mixed signals. I don't want to make sweeping generalizations, but if you're a young woman and you smile at a European man, you will almost certainly be propositioned.
Okay, I'm obviously joking, and I certainly don't mean to ascertain that all my observations are 100% accurate across all of Europe, but I'm simply sharing said observations. It seemed much less likely to be approached by a man in Spain than it did here. If you made eye contact or-god forbid-smiled at a man in Spain, you might, perhaps, maybe get a playful "Hola, guapa," but it was always with the air that he didn't expect any further response. In stark contrast, the men in Brussels, it seemed to me, go beyond simply trying to talk to you or "hit on you," and just try to buy you. Just...you know, a warning.
Okay, enough about the creepy men in Brussels. In our first morning, we first went to a Brussels-wide famous restaurant for none other than Belgian waffles. It was in a structure that I think either used to be a train station or was built to look like one (good thing I did my research first before writing this blog, right?). Then we walked around the whole day, neither of us being particularly skilled with a map. We found ourselves in the museum area, where everything was, woefully, closed. Here we go again...
Travel Tip #6
Most stores and museums in Brussels are closed on Mondays. If you're going to spend a day in Brussels, make sure it's not on a Monday.
We did find things to do and see, however. We made our way to a lambic brewery that was on the other side of the city, stopping along the way to see various monuments and important buildings. Lambic is a kind of Belgian beer that uses what's called spontaneous fermentation, which I couldn't explain if I tried, but I'm sure wikipedia could be helpful for the curious. Anyway, at the end we got to try some, and boy is it awful. It's really sour, and usually about twice as alcoholic as normal beer. Also all the bubbles have gone during this "spontaneous fermentation" process, so it's not fizzy and there's no foam. All these things kind of make it taste like 1 part flat beer, 1 part white wine. For some of you, that may seem like your jam, but I was happy to have tried it once (for the cultural aspect only) and never again.
We walked back toward the center and stopped to get Belgian fries, which are kind of like American fries, or Spanish fries, or any other kind of fries, really, but with mayonnaise. They were delicious.
We returned to the hostel for a break, and to set a plan for the following day. For dinner we went to a place recommended to us by a map that's part of a series called Use-It Europe. It's a budding company that uses volunteers to make maps for tourists, so all the maps are made by locals and have tips and suggestions. It's pretty cool, and I would suggest them (they're free and usually available at hostels or info centers) if you're ever in Antwerp, Bruges, Brussels, Ghent, Leuven, or Mechelen. Just don't use them as your bible though; they tend to leave out a lot of the bigger tourist attractions (probably because the writers assume you already know about them).
Anyway, the locals' suggestion was good, but pricey. The service was quite slow, but it's okay because B assures me it's not like that in Holland.
After dinner, we went to Delirium.
Yes, I made it to the bar that everyone had been urging me to go to, what was once a tiny bar on a tiny street is now a whole street of bars boasting a wide selection. We picked one that was particularly "poppin" as the kids say, but we were overwhelmed by the number of choices and neither of us had the slightest idea of what to pick. So I closed my eyes, pointed to the menu, and ordered. I can't remember the name of it, something with "gold" in the title. Anyway it was pretty vile, as most Belgian beers are, but I was about a third of the way through it when I saw on the label that it was 10%. That's dangerous for a young sprout like myself. Anyway, after that we decided to go to one more bar to try one more drink. We picked a tequila bar and guess what we had our shots with!! Orange slices and cinnamon!! These crazy Europeans, lemme tell ya.
After tequila, we went back to the hostel to get in bed relatively early because we were catching an early train to Antwerp in the morning.
We arrived at the Antwerp Central Station, 4th place winner of Newsweek's most beautiful train station award. Actually I don't think it was an award so much as just a rating. Anyway, it's pretty. We walked to our hostel, which had a really creepy atmosphere, like you were in a dark and creaky attic no matter which floor you're on. We checked in and grabbed a map and headed for our first destination: to get food.
After that we walked through the city from one side to the other, and circled back around. On the way we saw the Olv Kathedraal, which is a really old and impressive cathedral. We didn't go in because you start to get cathedraled-out, and it didn't seem worth it at 5€.
We walked on and saw the Stadhuis, which is the city hall. It's also really impressive and also marks the tourist classic Grote Markt, which, um, I'm not really sure what it translates to. After that we walked to the riverside, where stands a fortress called 'T Steen. A for real fortress! After, it functioned as a prison, and until 2008, it was a museum. Since then, it's been a "pop up party spot." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I think I can infer.
Anyway, then we walked on to our intended destination: the 360 view museum. It's only a euro to enter if you're under 26, and the exhibits were decent, but the coolest part was the terrace on the roof. It was a great view of the city and it's harbor-the second biggest in Europe.
Our next stop was Spoor Nord, which is a former-wasteland-turned-park. There are two big fountains and all the girls come to sun bathe, the boys come and play soccer in the nearby field or skate in the neighboring skate park, and all the kids come to play in the water. There's also the Cargo Zomerbar, an old abandoned train station that's been turned into a restaurant and sometimes a concert hall. It was bright and sunny at this point, and it gave the feel of a neighborhood block party.
After eating, we took a leisurely stroll back to the hostel, but not before stopping to look at the somewhat famous "graffiti forest." This is the underpass of a bridge where there is some truly impressive graffiti. Pictures on facebook (in a month)!
Travel Tip #3
Do NOT leave important things to be done on Sunday. Unlike the states, not many places are open on Sundays.
Also...
Travel Tip #4
When flying into Brussels through Ryanair, just an FYI, it's a 13€ and 45 minute bus ride before you actually get to Brussels.
So yes, the capital of Europe. An exciting place for a young student of business like myself. But as soon as the plane touched down, I realized I was certainly not in Kansas anymore. It's been a while since I've experienced proper culture shock, so maybe I was overdue. Firstly because I noticed the ominous grey clouds outside and looked around the plane at my fellow passengers to see people wrapping themselves in sweaters and scarves while I sat like a fool in my skirt and sandals. Secondly getting off the plane and getting smacked in the face with French and Dutch. That was quite a shock for me-not that I wasn't expecting to be greeted with a different language, but because I didn't realize how long it had been since I'd been in a place where I didn't speak or understand the language. I guess I'd forgotten what that was like. Suddenly I very deeply empathized with my friends who went to Spain and didn't speak Spanish.
Anyway, a 45 minute bus ride later, I made my way to Brussels Central Station, where I was to meet an old sister of mine, Birgit (who shall be called B from now on, as it's much easier on my English speaking brain). B is from Holland, and studied abroad at UNCW for a year, where she became a sister of Alpha Xi Delta, which is how we came to be friends. When I contacted her via facebook to let her know I was in Europe, she very enthusiastically responded with an exciting trip through Belgium, to Holland with a stop in Amsterdam before going back to her hometown of Leeuwarden.
So there I was, lugging my 9kg duffle (sorry I don't have access to a converter right now, but 9kg is in the neighborhood of 16lbs), frazzled after about an hour more of travel than I had expected, and I hadn't been in Brussels Central Station for longer than 2 minutes when a suspicious looking man approached me and asked how much it would cost for a week of sex. At this point I think this may be appropriate:
Travel Tip #5
If a strange man approaches to tell you he thinks you are beautiful, he is not being nice. He is trying to purchase you.
So I very quickly fled that scene, and it wasn't long before I saw B. We took an expensive bus ride (2.50€!!!!) to the Van Gogh Youth Hostel, where we settled in. Then we left to find a cheap place to eat. Along the way, as if to excuse myself while squeezing past a gentleman on a particularly narrow sidewalk, I gave him a half smile and walked on. To which he began to cat call me in French! Luckily I don't understand French or I might've been offended. I know I've already said it, but it bears repeating: It's difficult for people like me, products of southern united states, where we very often greet complete strangers we pass on the street, but unfortunately this may carry mixed signals. I don't want to make sweeping generalizations, but if you're a young woman and you smile at a European man, you will almost certainly be propositioned.
Okay, I'm obviously joking, and I certainly don't mean to ascertain that all my observations are 100% accurate across all of Europe, but I'm simply sharing said observations. It seemed much less likely to be approached by a man in Spain than it did here. If you made eye contact or-god forbid-smiled at a man in Spain, you might, perhaps, maybe get a playful "Hola, guapa," but it was always with the air that he didn't expect any further response. In stark contrast, the men in Brussels, it seemed to me, go beyond simply trying to talk to you or "hit on you," and just try to buy you. Just...you know, a warning.
Okay, enough about the creepy men in Brussels. In our first morning, we first went to a Brussels-wide famous restaurant for none other than Belgian waffles. It was in a structure that I think either used to be a train station or was built to look like one (good thing I did my research first before writing this blog, right?). Then we walked around the whole day, neither of us being particularly skilled with a map. We found ourselves in the museum area, where everything was, woefully, closed. Here we go again...
Travel Tip #6
Most stores and museums in Brussels are closed on Mondays. If you're going to spend a day in Brussels, make sure it's not on a Monday.
We did find things to do and see, however. We made our way to a lambic brewery that was on the other side of the city, stopping along the way to see various monuments and important buildings. Lambic is a kind of Belgian beer that uses what's called spontaneous fermentation, which I couldn't explain if I tried, but I'm sure wikipedia could be helpful for the curious. Anyway, at the end we got to try some, and boy is it awful. It's really sour, and usually about twice as alcoholic as normal beer. Also all the bubbles have gone during this "spontaneous fermentation" process, so it's not fizzy and there's no foam. All these things kind of make it taste like 1 part flat beer, 1 part white wine. For some of you, that may seem like your jam, but I was happy to have tried it once (for the cultural aspect only) and never again.
We walked back toward the center and stopped to get Belgian fries, which are kind of like American fries, or Spanish fries, or any other kind of fries, really, but with mayonnaise. They were delicious.
We returned to the hostel for a break, and to set a plan for the following day. For dinner we went to a place recommended to us by a map that's part of a series called Use-It Europe. It's a budding company that uses volunteers to make maps for tourists, so all the maps are made by locals and have tips and suggestions. It's pretty cool, and I would suggest them (they're free and usually available at hostels or info centers) if you're ever in Antwerp, Bruges, Brussels, Ghent, Leuven, or Mechelen. Just don't use them as your bible though; they tend to leave out a lot of the bigger tourist attractions (probably because the writers assume you already know about them).
Anyway, the locals' suggestion was good, but pricey. The service was quite slow, but it's okay because B assures me it's not like that in Holland.
After dinner, we went to Delirium.
Yes, I made it to the bar that everyone had been urging me to go to, what was once a tiny bar on a tiny street is now a whole street of bars boasting a wide selection. We picked one that was particularly "poppin" as the kids say, but we were overwhelmed by the number of choices and neither of us had the slightest idea of what to pick. So I closed my eyes, pointed to the menu, and ordered. I can't remember the name of it, something with "gold" in the title. Anyway it was pretty vile, as most Belgian beers are, but I was about a third of the way through it when I saw on the label that it was 10%. That's dangerous for a young sprout like myself. Anyway, after that we decided to go to one more bar to try one more drink. We picked a tequila bar and guess what we had our shots with!! Orange slices and cinnamon!! These crazy Europeans, lemme tell ya.
After tequila, we went back to the hostel to get in bed relatively early because we were catching an early train to Antwerp in the morning.
We arrived at the Antwerp Central Station, 4th place winner of Newsweek's most beautiful train station award. Actually I don't think it was an award so much as just a rating. Anyway, it's pretty. We walked to our hostel, which had a really creepy atmosphere, like you were in a dark and creaky attic no matter which floor you're on. We checked in and grabbed a map and headed for our first destination: to get food.
After that we walked through the city from one side to the other, and circled back around. On the way we saw the Olv Kathedraal, which is a really old and impressive cathedral. We didn't go in because you start to get cathedraled-out, and it didn't seem worth it at 5€.
We walked on and saw the Stadhuis, which is the city hall. It's also really impressive and also marks the tourist classic Grote Markt, which, um, I'm not really sure what it translates to. After that we walked to the riverside, where stands a fortress called 'T Steen. A for real fortress! After, it functioned as a prison, and until 2008, it was a museum. Since then, it's been a "pop up party spot." I'm not exactly sure what that means, but I think I can infer.
Anyway, then we walked on to our intended destination: the 360 view museum. It's only a euro to enter if you're under 26, and the exhibits were decent, but the coolest part was the terrace on the roof. It was a great view of the city and it's harbor-the second biggest in Europe.
Our next stop was Spoor Nord, which is a former-wasteland-turned-park. There are two big fountains and all the girls come to sun bathe, the boys come and play soccer in the nearby field or skate in the neighboring skate park, and all the kids come to play in the water. There's also the Cargo Zomerbar, an old abandoned train station that's been turned into a restaurant and sometimes a concert hall. It was bright and sunny at this point, and it gave the feel of a neighborhood block party.
After eating, we took a leisurely stroll back to the hostel, but not before stopping to look at the somewhat famous "graffiti forest." This is the underpass of a bridge where there is some truly impressive graffiti. Pictures on facebook (in a month)!
Saturday, June 30, 2012
My Time in Valencia
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.
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.
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."
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