I'm kind of pissed at myself. I didn't go out at yesterday because of my hangover, but the weather was perfect. Today it was cold and rainy and I walked the Alhambra balancing the guided tour, a camera and an umbrella all in gloves. It was really hard and really cold. I guess drinking does have drawbacks besides cirrhosis.
But oh my god it is amazing. I have to come back when the weather is better and the flowers are blooming. Tonight I attended a flameco show in the caves of the socramonte district, where all the gypsy's live. I got in the cab and asked him to take me to the district. As we were driving he asked which restaurant. I told him I didn't have any reservations, so I was just going to walk around and see what I could find. This did not make him happy. In fact he wouldn't let me out of the cab till he found me a cave that could take me. At first I was a bit dubious thinking he just wanted a higher fare, but the look on his face conviced me otherwise. I arrived late for the show, but they let me stay for the whole of the next. (I actually started to leave, but the doormen grabbed me and explained I was allowed to stay for the next one, which I thought was very nice). The dancers were great, they'd be dripping in sweat and exhaustion by the end of their 10 minute dances. But then I found them all smoking behind the restaurant, which really surprised me.
There were two American girls there that are studying in Madrid for the semester that were in Granada for the weekend. It's funny how I knew they were American the second I saw them. I bought them a drink. I remember how grateful I was in college to have old people buy me drinks.
When the show finished the doorman grabbed me and the American girls and said he was calling us a taxi. I said I wanted to walk around some and he said no, you can't. They even sent somebody with us to the corner to wait for the taxi's with us. (everyone else arrived and left by tour bus). So obviously, the Socramonte district is not a place for single females. I'm so hiking over to that district tomorrow. And I will walk around, but not at night. I leave for Barcelona by plane tomorrow night. I'm excited. I'm meeting a friend of Tom Zoellners for dinner on Mondayand Eduardo will be in town on Tuesday for business so we'll have dinner. It's the first city I've been to that I actually have plans. I'm also waiting to hear from a galley owner one of my work friends knows there. Hopefully I'll have dinner with him on Wednesday. And maybe Barcelona will be my new home. I don't know, but I need to start thinking about this really hard. Or at least just find a laundromat. I could postpone the apartment finding for a while, but not the laundry.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
I went out last night as is my custom, with my book and no plans, but to wander the streets to see what is there. I came across a sushi restaurant, which was closed but I had an immediate craving, so I sat at the bar next door it till it opened drinking white wine. The sushi was not bad and I enjoyed my dinner. On my way home I saw from a distance this glowing jewel of an green house with ornate windows and a crystal chandelier, I was soon to find out it was built in 1904. I could not resist it. So I went for a last glass of wine. They even had sauvignon blanc, which has been hard to find. I spoke a bit to the bartender and soon pulled out my book.
I was then approached by two men close to my age, one blonde and nice looking, who spoke English, the other looked like the head pickpocket from Oliver Twist. Large with dark eyes and a goatee, I suspected he was of gypsy descent which is so prevelant in Granada, he came complete with a cheap suit.
The blonde asked me very chivalarously to join their group and promised no harm would come to me. My calling card says Marcia Ring, Adventurer, not Marcia Ring, bookworm, so I of course accepted their offer. I joined their group at the end of he bar which consisted of a beautiful Brazilian girl who swore she spoke no English, but was the best of them all. She was in her 20's and had moved to Spain three years before, she was also very outgoing and soon there were shots of Tequila at her request. The other was a tiny man named Antonio, he may have been a jockey in his earlier years.
After the tequila and a few rounds of pretend golf (the gypsy, Fredrico, loved his golf), we soon headed out to Antonio's disco. The Blonde, Joseph, kept telling me how rich Fredrico was and how everything would be taken care of. His excitement to be surrounded by men such as Fredrico and Antonio was evident as he kept whispering in my ear, that he was a mear waiter, but these men owned the city. And Antonio, I asked, well, Fredrico was rich, but Antonio was his boss.
As we were leaving the Brazilian, Barbara, said, she must go home to change her shoes. Um, where are we going? I'm in an old black sweater, walking boots and a pair of sweats that if I wear one more time without washing will give me a rash. She said I looked beautiful and not to worry about such things, and took off with a man that had been there, but I didn't quite notice.
So we hopped in a taxi and arrived at Antonio's disco. I changed my drink to beer, as wine is not good for the long haul and was given a one in a beautiful blue bottle, much like a fancy mineral water that they told me was the best beer in all of Spain. It was pretty darn good. I must remember the name of it. Barbara soon joined us in a new beauiful black dress and heels that would make a seasoned drag queen fall over. Fredrico felt it was his duty to teach me to Flamenco. He kept telling me to keep my hips still and move with my feet. When the music would change to something contemporary, he would clap his hands and order the DJ to change it back, which the DJ bregrudgeonly did. He then commanded Barbara to dance to show me the right way. She was all hips and Fredrico applauded, muey perfecto! I commented that she used her hips and he said, well, Barbara does as Barbara does, but you must not use your hips. Ok, so I'm not a 20 something Brazilian beauty that can get away with whatever I want.
Before too long we hit another bar, this one I think Fredrico owned. I started to talk to some Americans and the blonde quickly took me by the waist and explained that I was with Fredrico and Antonio and I was not to talk to other men. Umm, Ok. I noticed Barbara talking to many, he said, well, Barbara does as Barbara does. We very loudly walked the empty streets of the city center and found another bar. At this point I knew I was past the point of no return and quietly asked the blonde for taxi. But there is no quiet in this group and my farewell to my new amigos took many hugs and kisses and promises to call. I stumbled to my hotel room about 4 in the morning. Thankfully this hotel has a spa which I have longed for and I think today is the perfect day to take advantage of it.
I was then approached by two men close to my age, one blonde and nice looking, who spoke English, the other looked like the head pickpocket from Oliver Twist. Large with dark eyes and a goatee, I suspected he was of gypsy descent which is so prevelant in Granada, he came complete with a cheap suit.
The blonde asked me very chivalarously to join their group and promised no harm would come to me. My calling card says Marcia Ring, Adventurer, not Marcia Ring, bookworm, so I of course accepted their offer. I joined their group at the end of he bar which consisted of a beautiful Brazilian girl who swore she spoke no English, but was the best of them all. She was in her 20's and had moved to Spain three years before, she was also very outgoing and soon there were shots of Tequila at her request. The other was a tiny man named Antonio, he may have been a jockey in his earlier years.
After the tequila and a few rounds of pretend golf (the gypsy, Fredrico, loved his golf), we soon headed out to Antonio's disco. The Blonde, Joseph, kept telling me how rich Fredrico was and how everything would be taken care of. His excitement to be surrounded by men such as Fredrico and Antonio was evident as he kept whispering in my ear, that he was a mear waiter, but these men owned the city. And Antonio, I asked, well, Fredrico was rich, but Antonio was his boss.
As we were leaving the Brazilian, Barbara, said, she must go home to change her shoes. Um, where are we going? I'm in an old black sweater, walking boots and a pair of sweats that if I wear one more time without washing will give me a rash. She said I looked beautiful and not to worry about such things, and took off with a man that had been there, but I didn't quite notice.
So we hopped in a taxi and arrived at Antonio's disco. I changed my drink to beer, as wine is not good for the long haul and was given a one in a beautiful blue bottle, much like a fancy mineral water that they told me was the best beer in all of Spain. It was pretty darn good. I must remember the name of it. Barbara soon joined us in a new beauiful black dress and heels that would make a seasoned drag queen fall over. Fredrico felt it was his duty to teach me to Flamenco. He kept telling me to keep my hips still and move with my feet. When the music would change to something contemporary, he would clap his hands and order the DJ to change it back, which the DJ bregrudgeonly did. He then commanded Barbara to dance to show me the right way. She was all hips and Fredrico applauded, muey perfecto! I commented that she used her hips and he said, well, Barbara does as Barbara does, but you must not use your hips. Ok, so I'm not a 20 something Brazilian beauty that can get away with whatever I want.
Before too long we hit another bar, this one I think Fredrico owned. I started to talk to some Americans and the blonde quickly took me by the waist and explained that I was with Fredrico and Antonio and I was not to talk to other men. Umm, Ok. I noticed Barbara talking to many, he said, well, Barbara does as Barbara does. We very loudly walked the empty streets of the city center and found another bar. At this point I knew I was past the point of no return and quietly asked the blonde for taxi. But there is no quiet in this group and my farewell to my new amigos took many hugs and kisses and promises to call. I stumbled to my hotel room about 4 in the morning. Thankfully this hotel has a spa which I have longed for and I think today is the perfect day to take advantage of it.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
The Food
Okay, I know I'm supposed to tell you all how fabulous it is and how I've never tasted such wonderful things in my life and that is true for some of it. But I need to tell you about the rest.
Now I'm a picky eater. When I was born it was not fashionable to breast feed and I was allergic to cows milk, so I could only drink goats milk, a near impossible commodity to obtain in the Northern corners of North Dakota. My mother said it turned me into the picky eater I am today.
Now this does not mean I don't like unusual or foreign foods. I can eat snail, raw octopus and cow head right up there with the best of them. I just like to know and have those foods prepared in the way I like them. Or at least know how they are going to be prepared, so I can prepare myself. I start thinking about what I want hours before I plan on eating it and in the states know exactly where to go to obtain the object of my desires. Usually I'm satisfied, but I have been known to cry at a KFC because they were out of white meat (my thoughts are very specific), and substitutes are very upsetting to me.
Obviously in Spain, I no longer wake wanting a specific item, as I do not know where the day will take me. But it is the time between the order and the arrival of the plate that my disappointment becomes almost tragic.
So a few things I have learned during my travels. All cafes that post pictures of food outside their door were given the pictures by the same food vendors in the early 90's. The food will not resemble even closely the picture they display. If you see a cafe that has the same pictures of food as 1,000 other restaurants you've come across, do not go in. The picture in front of the pizzeria that has the mouth watering New York style pepperoni pizza on it, will not have any pizza with pepperoni, it will be York ham, with no sauce, there is no pepperoni in Spain, I must wait for Italy for that, and even then I'm still dubious. The delectable looking gazapacho with the bright red color, will be a strange yellow color etc.
If you are at the train station and you think a Bacon, tomato and cheese sandwich sounds good-and thoughts of crispy bacon enter your head- be careful- it will arrive and the bacon will be smoked, but not cooked. Now, it wasn' entirely evil, but I couldn't eat the fatty parts.
The sit down restaurants have not let me down on the taste and fabulousness of the food, but I get anxious not knowing exactly what I'm prepared for. Sauce may mean paste- baked may mean stewed, with tomato may mean tomato spread. You just don't know! Or the menus just say things like York Ham, Baked Sea Bass, Filet. You have no idea what will accompany it or what the flavors may be. To give them credit, most restaurants will go to the trouble of creating a menu in English for you, even if it is not the most detailed.
Of course this is my ignorance, not their fault by any means. As today, I passed this fabulous chocolate store that had incredible looking ice cream, almost gellato type when I first arrived and thought I must go back. After walking a mile up a hill to see a castle and back down I thought it would be the perfect treat. I found it again and waited for it to reopen. To finally choose my chocolate ice cream. I of course could not understand the labels and chose the most sumptious looking one I saw. My mouth watered with anticipation- but then it was orange and chocolate. I HATE orange and chocolate. (and no, they didn't have tasters like Baskin Robbins). Orange and chocolate would not be bad, if they used the orange and no the rind, but they never do, even in the states. The rind is disgusting. For those who like orange and chocolate, I am sure you would have loved it.
But I think the worst was last night when I ordered a bottle of wine from the hotel and a can of olives. (hey, I'm single- a half bottle of wine with olives is a perfectly acceptable stay at home dinner). Until I put one in my mouth. Oh my god, why would they do that, what is that taste, are these bad, as I'm running to the bathroom to spit it out. I went back to look at the can and very small over the picture of a bird, was the word, anchove. They were soaking in fish water! That is just not right. And why oh why, was there a picture of a bird, instead of a fish?
So that is my rant, thank you for listening, I feel slightly better.
Now I'm a picky eater. When I was born it was not fashionable to breast feed and I was allergic to cows milk, so I could only drink goats milk, a near impossible commodity to obtain in the Northern corners of North Dakota. My mother said it turned me into the picky eater I am today.
Now this does not mean I don't like unusual or foreign foods. I can eat snail, raw octopus and cow head right up there with the best of them. I just like to know and have those foods prepared in the way I like them. Or at least know how they are going to be prepared, so I can prepare myself. I start thinking about what I want hours before I plan on eating it and in the states know exactly where to go to obtain the object of my desires. Usually I'm satisfied, but I have been known to cry at a KFC because they were out of white meat (my thoughts are very specific), and substitutes are very upsetting to me.
Obviously in Spain, I no longer wake wanting a specific item, as I do not know where the day will take me. But it is the time between the order and the arrival of the plate that my disappointment becomes almost tragic.
So a few things I have learned during my travels. All cafes that post pictures of food outside their door were given the pictures by the same food vendors in the early 90's. The food will not resemble even closely the picture they display. If you see a cafe that has the same pictures of food as 1,000 other restaurants you've come across, do not go in. The picture in front of the pizzeria that has the mouth watering New York style pepperoni pizza on it, will not have any pizza with pepperoni, it will be York ham, with no sauce, there is no pepperoni in Spain, I must wait for Italy for that, and even then I'm still dubious. The delectable looking gazapacho with the bright red color, will be a strange yellow color etc.
If you are at the train station and you think a Bacon, tomato and cheese sandwich sounds good-and thoughts of crispy bacon enter your head- be careful- it will arrive and the bacon will be smoked, but not cooked. Now, it wasn' entirely evil, but I couldn't eat the fatty parts.
The sit down restaurants have not let me down on the taste and fabulousness of the food, but I get anxious not knowing exactly what I'm prepared for. Sauce may mean paste- baked may mean stewed, with tomato may mean tomato spread. You just don't know! Or the menus just say things like York Ham, Baked Sea Bass, Filet. You have no idea what will accompany it or what the flavors may be. To give them credit, most restaurants will go to the trouble of creating a menu in English for you, even if it is not the most detailed.
Of course this is my ignorance, not their fault by any means. As today, I passed this fabulous chocolate store that had incredible looking ice cream, almost gellato type when I first arrived and thought I must go back. After walking a mile up a hill to see a castle and back down I thought it would be the perfect treat. I found it again and waited for it to reopen. To finally choose my chocolate ice cream. I of course could not understand the labels and chose the most sumptious looking one I saw. My mouth watered with anticipation- but then it was orange and chocolate. I HATE orange and chocolate. (and no, they didn't have tasters like Baskin Robbins). Orange and chocolate would not be bad, if they used the orange and no the rind, but they never do, even in the states. The rind is disgusting. For those who like orange and chocolate, I am sure you would have loved it.
But I think the worst was last night when I ordered a bottle of wine from the hotel and a can of olives. (hey, I'm single- a half bottle of wine with olives is a perfectly acceptable stay at home dinner). Until I put one in my mouth. Oh my god, why would they do that, what is that taste, are these bad, as I'm running to the bathroom to spit it out. I went back to look at the can and very small over the picture of a bird, was the word, anchove. They were soaking in fish water! That is just not right. And why oh why, was there a picture of a bird, instead of a fish?
So that is my rant, thank you for listening, I feel slightly better.
Monday, January 26, 2009
Malaga
I'm in Malaga. My first impressions were not so good, it looked oddly Floridian, but I'm quickly changing my mind, and changing it to a prettier Santa Barbara, if that's possible. Had dinner with a Spanish pilot I met on the train, nice guy, (There are no planes between Seville and Malaga, I found out, because I too was wondering what the hell pilot was doing on a train) He took me to an outlet mall near the airport, complete with a Nike's outlet, for the restaurants there. It's as bad as the blind date who once suggested Applebees. With all the amazing food and beautiful places to be, you decide on a chain in an outlet mall? And don't worry, I took a cab there, he said he'd drive, but I didn't feel like going all Natalie Hollaway and stuff, so insisted I find my own way. Wish it wouldn't have cost me $35 euro round trip, dinner was only $27. I let him pay. But he was so nice the atmosphere did not matter. And I think he was trying to make me feel more at home, and we both learned words we did not know.
Had lunch today with two Dutch girls that major in International business. We were all looking for a spa. Couldn't find one to save our lives. My new friend Eduardo from Madrid said "it is not the Spanish woman's custom" when we were IMing. Well how the hell do they all look so fabulous if they've never had a facial? My skin has dried into a prune since I've been here. I am going to say it's the dry air and not the wine. I did though finally find the only masseuse in Malaga. He works at the Arabian bathhouse. It took forever to find it down these tiny little streets, but it was impressive. I just did the massage and not the bath, as from what I could see in the brochures, there weren't bathing suits, and Matt has told me some stories about German bathhouses, and the only people at reception was a gay British couple in their 50's.
I bought a bottle of wine last night from the front desk (Yes! all front desks have a fully stocked bar tucked away somewhere ready to sell you a bottle for $7 euro.) I went to get my money and he said, no I charge to your room. I said, I booked on Expedia an you don't have my credit card, I should pay. He said, it's only $7 euro, if you don't pay, you don't pay - and shrugged his shoulders. Just finished the last of it and wondering if I should go buy another, or get in the shower and go see the town at night. Or maybe I'll go down to El Cortis Inglis and get a mask, buy a bottle of wine and give myself my own facial. It is getting cold out there. And how many nights can you walk strange city streets?
mmm, white wine in bed with a moisturing mask. I wish there was more on TV than CNN in English.
Had lunch today with two Dutch girls that major in International business. We were all looking for a spa. Couldn't find one to save our lives. My new friend Eduardo from Madrid said "it is not the Spanish woman's custom" when we were IMing. Well how the hell do they all look so fabulous if they've never had a facial? My skin has dried into a prune since I've been here. I am going to say it's the dry air and not the wine. I did though finally find the only masseuse in Malaga. He works at the Arabian bathhouse. It took forever to find it down these tiny little streets, but it was impressive. I just did the massage and not the bath, as from what I could see in the brochures, there weren't bathing suits, and Matt has told me some stories about German bathhouses, and the only people at reception was a gay British couple in their 50's.
I bought a bottle of wine last night from the front desk (Yes! all front desks have a fully stocked bar tucked away somewhere ready to sell you a bottle for $7 euro.) I went to get my money and he said, no I charge to your room. I said, I booked on Expedia an you don't have my credit card, I should pay. He said, it's only $7 euro, if you don't pay, you don't pay - and shrugged his shoulders. Just finished the last of it and wondering if I should go buy another, or get in the shower and go see the town at night. Or maybe I'll go down to El Cortis Inglis and get a mask, buy a bottle of wine and give myself my own facial. It is getting cold out there. And how many nights can you walk strange city streets?
mmm, white wine in bed with a moisturing mask. I wish there was more on TV than CNN in English.
Seville
Was incredible. Tiny, windy streets, beautiful gardens and palaces and so much more. I walked for hours each day stopping in little cafes and stores. Of course I had to cab it home every night in Seville, because for the life of me I just could not find my hotel. If it took me two hours and I still hadn't found it, I'd find a cafe, have a couple drinks then get a cab. I got harrassed by this really drunk old guy at one of the cafe's on the last night. The bartender kept screaming at him, no molesta! no molesta! I realized I was like one of those animals on the way to Rocky Point. I'd finish my night at the restaurant on the corner, where the same people came every night and they started to know me.
I did make it to the train station so I could book my ticket to Malaga(which looks like a thousand miles away on the map, but is only a 20 minute walk) and got my eyebrows done for $5 euro! It costs $20 in the states. I told the girl that in the US it would cost that much, she said she must move there. But she didn't realize how much more expensive everything else is. I really can't explain how inexpensive the food and the booze and the taxi's are. I did make it to the Palace, Plaza de Espana and Plaza de America, which were both beautiful and pleasant to walk around. And each had young lovers in corners. I was a bit jealous.
But the Spanish there was unrecognizable. In Madrid it had been so clear and easy, Seville it was mumbled, fast and jumbled.
I did make it to the train station so I could book my ticket to Malaga(which looks like a thousand miles away on the map, but is only a 20 minute walk) and got my eyebrows done for $5 euro! It costs $20 in the states. I told the girl that in the US it would cost that much, she said she must move there. But she didn't realize how much more expensive everything else is. I really can't explain how inexpensive the food and the booze and the taxi's are. I did make it to the Palace, Plaza de Espana and Plaza de America, which were both beautiful and pleasant to walk around. And each had young lovers in corners. I was a bit jealous.
But the Spanish there was unrecognizable. In Madrid it had been so clear and easy, Seville it was mumbled, fast and jumbled.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Madrid and Obama!
I arrived in Madrid on Saturday knowing that Tuesday was election day. Throughout my wanderings if I saw a bar that mentioned English TV, as in football (especially American Football) I would stop and ask if they were going to air the Inuaguration. They all looked at me as though I had a hole in my head (presumably from my imaginary blowdryer). So I resorted to the internet to find the Democrats Abroad party at the InterContinental Hotel.
I can say I couldn't have been more pleased. I found a woman in her late 30's in line that lived in Madrid with her husband while he is stationed here for a job in windmills and watched with 300 hundred expats the swearing in. The first party was free and the woman introduced me to many ex-pats and we had a fabulous time. I'm pretty sure as I was on Spanish TV as one woman I met, was black and we kept being asked to pose for the cameras together celebrating. It was the photo op that journalists love.
I had wanted to go to the after party which was $45 euro, but they told me it would be a black tie affair and as I have nothing in black tie I stayed with them at the hotel bar. Then I saw people arriving and realized it was much more casual than they had assumed, so I jumped in a taxi to my hotel, changed into a cocktail dress and came back for the party.
When I got to the door I asked where I could buy the ticket. The American woman explained that I needed to go down the hall, turn left, then right, up the stairs and turn left. I looked at her with a look of fatigue. She promptly said: Or you're already here, so you might as well just go in. Yay her! I wouldn't have minded payin since it was free wine and food, but I just couldn't stand the thought of being lost again.
I promptly met the Alex P. Keaton of Spain (who of course being Spanish, is a Democrat). He studied law in Chicago so his English was amazing and he had many connections there. My favorite was a Spanish couple in their late 70's. She looked like she may have been 50, while he looked like a cadaveour that had been reanimated. But he kept up with her and the four of us discoed to American music together.
Too much wine later and APK (from this point known as Eduardo) ended up in a row of bars that I really should remember more. Actually at this point it is all a big foggy, but I remember talking incessently about the food (why can't they take the heads of the shrimp? Am I supposed to eat that tiny crab? I broke it open and found nothing but black organs, I am I really supposed to eat that?) I guess a drunk woman's words really are a sober woman's thoughts. Thankfully he found it charming (or so I think since he did Facebook me).
At about 3am, I finally called a cab to my hotel to get ready for my train to Seville, while Eduardo went to the airport to catch his 6am flight to Barcelona for a business meeting. At least the train didn't leave until 2pm which gave me time to rest, while I have no idea how Eduardo made it through the day (he did post on Facebook that he was really tired about 3pm, I can only imagine that's my fault)
I can say I couldn't have been more pleased. I found a woman in her late 30's in line that lived in Madrid with her husband while he is stationed here for a job in windmills and watched with 300 hundred expats the swearing in. The first party was free and the woman introduced me to many ex-pats and we had a fabulous time. I'm pretty sure as I was on Spanish TV as one woman I met, was black and we kept being asked to pose for the cameras together celebrating. It was the photo op that journalists love.
I had wanted to go to the after party which was $45 euro, but they told me it would be a black tie affair and as I have nothing in black tie I stayed with them at the hotel bar. Then I saw people arriving and realized it was much more casual than they had assumed, so I jumped in a taxi to my hotel, changed into a cocktail dress and came back for the party.
When I got to the door I asked where I could buy the ticket. The American woman explained that I needed to go down the hall, turn left, then right, up the stairs and turn left. I looked at her with a look of fatigue. She promptly said: Or you're already here, so you might as well just go in. Yay her! I wouldn't have minded payin since it was free wine and food, but I just couldn't stand the thought of being lost again.
I promptly met the Alex P. Keaton of Spain (who of course being Spanish, is a Democrat). He studied law in Chicago so his English was amazing and he had many connections there. My favorite was a Spanish couple in their late 70's. She looked like she may have been 50, while he looked like a cadaveour that had been reanimated. But he kept up with her and the four of us discoed to American music together.
Too much wine later and APK (from this point known as Eduardo) ended up in a row of bars that I really should remember more. Actually at this point it is all a big foggy, but I remember talking incessently about the food (why can't they take the heads of the shrimp? Am I supposed to eat that tiny crab? I broke it open and found nothing but black organs, I am I really supposed to eat that?) I guess a drunk woman's words really are a sober woman's thoughts. Thankfully he found it charming (or so I think since he did Facebook me).
At about 3am, I finally called a cab to my hotel to get ready for my train to Seville, while Eduardo went to the airport to catch his 6am flight to Barcelona for a business meeting. At least the train didn't leave until 2pm which gave me time to rest, while I have no idea how Eduardo made it through the day (he did post on Facebook that he was really tired about 3pm, I can only imagine that's my fault)
Madrid
I arrived in Madrid via airport. I originally planned on taking a train there, but after the 28 hours traveling to Lisbon the thought of a 10 hour train trip was really just too much for me so I booked a last minute flight.
Now, have I mentioned I'm on a budget for this whole excursion? And hotels will eat up your budget faster than anything, so while I'm avoiding hostels (while preparing for my trip, I avoided Under the Tuscan Sun and Eat, Pray, Love and instead focused on the movie Hostal and the song EuroTrash Girl, I felt I would be much better served), my hotels are chosen for their location and not their amenties. The Hotel Asturia did not disappoint in location, after a brief check in and arrangment of things, I walked out the doors to find crowds of people all starting their Saturday night in what could only be described as the Time Square of Spain. It was amazing!
After a few hours of wandering around, I settled on a bar near the hotel, so I wouldn't be lost once I had a few. Met a wonderful couple from Ireland. Now, one of my favorite pasttimes is to make fun of Irish Americans, as really, who wants to kiss them? But I will never turn down a beer or six with the real thing. They were about to leave, when I realized they were not in fact Brittish, and I started talking to them. They stayed for hours.
Things got a bit hazy and I found myself outside the bathroom with the Indian immigrant bartender that was so amazing at speaking, suddenly thrusting a rather large, hard, undignified tongue down my throat. Thankfully it was so jolting that even after 5 glasses of wine I knew I needed to get back to my hotel room. I wish I could say I was nicer in the process, but ewww. I might be a drunk single American, but nobody wants that.
The next morning found me in need of a hair dryer, as once again, location and not amenities (I also knew I would need to buy a new one once arriving). I found a Sephora and thought they may have one.
After spending 3 days in Lisbon with the non comprehendable Portugese, I almost felt as if I was fluent with my pidgen Spanish once I arrived in Madrid and could even have brief conversations about the weather and Obama (muey frio, Obama muey bueno) with the bartenders and approach people knowing I was saying things that almost made sense. But for the life of me I did not know the Spanish word for blowdryer. So I stood in the middle of the store with several perplexed ex-beauty queens staring at me as I pointed at my head with two fingers going, vmmmmm. They may have thought I was contemplating suicide as they were very fragile with me as they ushered me out of the store.
But then I came across El Coris de Inglis, the Target of Spain, and success, my hair would be fabulous in my journeys!
Now, have I mentioned I'm on a budget for this whole excursion? And hotels will eat up your budget faster than anything, so while I'm avoiding hostels (while preparing for my trip, I avoided Under the Tuscan Sun and Eat, Pray, Love and instead focused on the movie Hostal and the song EuroTrash Girl, I felt I would be much better served), my hotels are chosen for their location and not their amenties. The Hotel Asturia did not disappoint in location, after a brief check in and arrangment of things, I walked out the doors to find crowds of people all starting their Saturday night in what could only be described as the Time Square of Spain. It was amazing!
After a few hours of wandering around, I settled on a bar near the hotel, so I wouldn't be lost once I had a few. Met a wonderful couple from Ireland. Now, one of my favorite pasttimes is to make fun of Irish Americans, as really, who wants to kiss them? But I will never turn down a beer or six with the real thing. They were about to leave, when I realized they were not in fact Brittish, and I started talking to them. They stayed for hours.
Things got a bit hazy and I found myself outside the bathroom with the Indian immigrant bartender that was so amazing at speaking, suddenly thrusting a rather large, hard, undignified tongue down my throat. Thankfully it was so jolting that even after 5 glasses of wine I knew I needed to get back to my hotel room. I wish I could say I was nicer in the process, but ewww. I might be a drunk single American, but nobody wants that.
The next morning found me in need of a hair dryer, as once again, location and not amenities (I also knew I would need to buy a new one once arriving). I found a Sephora and thought they may have one.
After spending 3 days in Lisbon with the non comprehendable Portugese, I almost felt as if I was fluent with my pidgen Spanish once I arrived in Madrid and could even have brief conversations about the weather and Obama (muey frio, Obama muey bueno) with the bartenders and approach people knowing I was saying things that almost made sense. But for the life of me I did not know the Spanish word for blowdryer. So I stood in the middle of the store with several perplexed ex-beauty queens staring at me as I pointed at my head with two fingers going, vmmmmm. They may have thought I was contemplating suicide as they were very fragile with me as they ushered me out of the store.
But then I came across El Coris de Inglis, the Target of Spain, and success, my hair would be fabulous in my journeys!
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Lisboa
The Portugese keep telling me how much friendlier they are than the Spanish. I can't wait to see wa the Spanish say about the Portugese.
All in all, people have been extremely nice and accommodating. The first day I woke to rain and went to get an umbrella at the mall near the hotel.
Let me tell you, if I had seen these clothes before I left home, I would have arrived naked and sent the taxi straight to the stores. But then I looked at the price tags and even at half off, I couldn't afford them. So I guess it's all good.
I went to find the city center. Found it and it was cool. Walked around stopped to get some wine at a cafe. When I asked how much the bartender said 7. I thought that's kind of pricey for mediocre wine, but I've paid more for less before. I gave him a 10 euro and he handed me back 9.30. Ok, that wine just got a lot tastier.
Then I decided to go to the hotel before dinner. It took me a while to find my way back. But I found this great old bull ring that had been converted to a shopping plaza. Decided not to go in, but keep going to the hotel. Two hours later I came across the same bull ring and decided it was time to get a cab. Took all of 2 minutes ad 3 euros to get to the hotel and it was well worth it.
Had dinner near the hotel that night because my legs just couldn't go any further.
The next day I took off again in a different direction. Came across kind of a scary part of town, but decided to take a chance and go up this tiny windy side street over the hill. Well, guess what I found? The real city center and it was amazing. Absolutely fell in love with Lisboa at that point. Spent hours walking up and down hills and then into the main area wiht all the shops to ave lunch.
Took a taxi home to get ready for dinner.
Asked the taxi driver to take me back to the city center and he said of course. But he took me to the port instead. I decided to go with it.
There were lots of bars and restaurants and looked like the new tourist attraction, diner of sheeps cheese, olives and sauteed shrimp was very good and my bartender was very attentive.
Went out for a drink afterwards and ran into the Honors business majors from NYCU. I can't wait to download that photo for you, It was like hanging out with Harold and Kumar multiplied by 5 and minus the pot. They were the first Americans I've run into. Turns out not many Americans visit Lisbon, but the place is swarming with Brits. They're all kind of pudgy so I'm not really hanging out with them. Just kiding, but seriously, not the best looking group of people by any means. I'm off to Madrid this afternoon.
When I figure out how to download my pictures I'll start posting them I swear!
All in all, people have been extremely nice and accommodating. The first day I woke to rain and went to get an umbrella at the mall near the hotel.
Let me tell you, if I had seen these clothes before I left home, I would have arrived naked and sent the taxi straight to the stores. But then I looked at the price tags and even at half off, I couldn't afford them. So I guess it's all good.
I went to find the city center. Found it and it was cool. Walked around stopped to get some wine at a cafe. When I asked how much the bartender said 7. I thought that's kind of pricey for mediocre wine, but I've paid more for less before. I gave him a 10 euro and he handed me back 9.30. Ok, that wine just got a lot tastier.
Then I decided to go to the hotel before dinner. It took me a while to find my way back. But I found this great old bull ring that had been converted to a shopping plaza. Decided not to go in, but keep going to the hotel. Two hours later I came across the same bull ring and decided it was time to get a cab. Took all of 2 minutes ad 3 euros to get to the hotel and it was well worth it.
Had dinner near the hotel that night because my legs just couldn't go any further.
The next day I took off again in a different direction. Came across kind of a scary part of town, but decided to take a chance and go up this tiny windy side street over the hill. Well, guess what I found? The real city center and it was amazing. Absolutely fell in love with Lisboa at that point. Spent hours walking up and down hills and then into the main area wiht all the shops to ave lunch.
Took a taxi home to get ready for dinner.
Asked the taxi driver to take me back to the city center and he said of course. But he took me to the port instead. I decided to go with it.
There were lots of bars and restaurants and looked like the new tourist attraction, diner of sheeps cheese, olives and sauteed shrimp was very good and my bartender was very attentive.
Went out for a drink afterwards and ran into the Honors business majors from NYCU. I can't wait to download that photo for you, It was like hanging out with Harold and Kumar multiplied by 5 and minus the pot. They were the first Americans I've run into. Turns out not many Americans visit Lisbon, but the place is swarming with Brits. They're all kind of pudgy so I'm not really hanging out with them. Just kiding, but seriously, not the best looking group of people by any means. I'm off to Madrid this afternoon.
When I figure out how to download my pictures I'll start posting them I swear!
The Journey
Whoever said it's not the destination but the journey never flew commercial airlines. While my seat mates were pleasant enough, a young English couple traveling with her parents, I can say I nor my butt were made to sit in one place for 10 hours. It didn't help that the plane for some unknown reason was 80 degrees. But I persevered (not like I could jump ship) and landed in Heathrow with a surprise. We had to fly around an additional 40 minutes due to fog. As we were descending I looked out the window and said, once we break through this cloud I should be able to see something, and bam we were on the runway and I still couldn't see out the window.
I guess that's why there's a whole line of coats named after that fog, it's pretty impressive and I've spent sometime in San Francisco.
So of course the plane to Lisboa was delayed by 4 hours, and I already had a 4 hour layover planned. Now this in itself would not have been bad. I was planning on having a beer then sleeping by the gate. But I guess in Heathrow they don't tell you the gate until 20 minutes before the fligh is to depart and it took them three hours to tell you that the flight would be four hours late. So I stayed awake continually checking the display boards for any news.
Thankfully the beer is cheap in London.
Got on the flight to Lisboa and met a wonderful Portugese man who taught me all the basics of the language and gave me a few pointers. He finally looked at me and said, I think it is time for you to sleep, which I promptly did.
My first night in Lisboa was me sleeping soundly for um, 16 hours. Which was ok, because it rained really hard all that morning or so I'm told. It had calmed down by the time I woke at 3:30pm.
I guess that's why there's a whole line of coats named after that fog, it's pretty impressive and I've spent sometime in San Francisco.
So of course the plane to Lisboa was delayed by 4 hours, and I already had a 4 hour layover planned. Now this in itself would not have been bad. I was planning on having a beer then sleeping by the gate. But I guess in Heathrow they don't tell you the gate until 20 minutes before the fligh is to depart and it took them three hours to tell you that the flight would be four hours late. So I stayed awake continually checking the display boards for any news.
Thankfully the beer is cheap in London.
Got on the flight to Lisboa and met a wonderful Portugese man who taught me all the basics of the language and gave me a few pointers. He finally looked at me and said, I think it is time for you to sleep, which I promptly did.
My first night in Lisboa was me sleeping soundly for um, 16 hours. Which was ok, because it rained really hard all that morning or so I'm told. It had calmed down by the time I woke at 3:30pm.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
And I'm off!
I'm sitting here waiting for my sister to pick me up with Jacque (my roommate for the past month who graciously shared her amazing house with me) drinking a cup of coffee. I'm starting to feel a bit sick to my stomach and can't believe what I've been talking about for months is finally coming true.
I've had an incredible time in Tucson this past month. I know why this will always be my home and I can't wait to get back to all the amazing people here.
Oh yea, that's foreboding, I'm already thinking about coming home. Of course I do have short term memory problems so will probably be just fine once I'm there.
I've had an incredible time in Tucson this past month. I know why this will always be my home and I can't wait to get back to all the amazing people here.
Oh yea, that's foreboding, I'm already thinking about coming home. Of course I do have short term memory problems so will probably be just fine once I'm there.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
