So Gavin and I woke up the next day, he went to his room to get ready and I showered. Then him and Daryl met me at my room and we went in search of lunch.
That was really hard. We went to a fabulous restaurant on the walk (the only restaurant on the walk) looking over the bay and life was good. But they wouldn't serve us. I'm not kidding we sat for 30 minutes before we got menus, and at the hour mark without anyone taking our order we finallly left.
I pointed out the cutest little village to the left and suggested we just walk down that way. It was a beautiful walk, but when we got to the cute little village we realized it was just 80's condo's done up in the appropriate fashion. But we were too hungry to care and sat at the one restaurant in that area. That waiter was much faster than the other, but not by much.
Lunch, not all it could be, especially not on hungover tired stomachs. Then we spent the rest of the day just exporing the city. It really is amazing, with fountains at every turn, victorian architecture and the best dressed people in all of Spain. (In Barcelona they do not dress well, here they did).
We finally went to dinner. We did find a great restaurant that had good food (thank god). We were all so exhausted though I think we were home by 10pm. Gavin once again took up residence, and he's a 30 Rock fan so we watched a few episodes then turned to our books. Next thing I knew it was morning and my book was still in my hands.
Oh, and one of the Spaniards from the night before Facebooked me and sent me a message. It was the cutest message you've ever seen, complete with jeje's (which are Spanish for hee hee). Turns out they're all taking an English course and wanted to have lunch with us the next day so they could practice they're English. Now the mystery is complete.
Gavin and Darryl were leaving that day for a barbeque in France, and I was leaving to go home, so we parted and I went to do more exploring before my train left.
Had the most mediocre lunch in the most fabulous square ever (actually I think this was a circle) with a huge fountain in the middle. I think I spent 2 hours there reading my book and sipping coffee and eating. The sun was shining and it was glorious.
I got on the train (I booked first class) and they served me my champagne and then nothing. They didn't talk to me again for 4 hours, while they served other people sandwiches. I have to admit I was feeling a bit put out.
So we're about 2 hours from home and all of a sudden the train stops, in the middle of nowhere. We sit there for 10 minutes, I'm thinking, what is wrong? Then the train starts to go backwards, Ok, maybe there's a malfunction and we're going back to the last train station, which was like 40 minutes before. But then we quickly arrive at another train station.
People board. Including a fabuously gorgeous man who sits right in front of me. Not much you can do here to strike up a conversation, so I go back to my computer. Then the crew comes through and makes everyone stand up so they can switch their seats around so everyone is sitting forward. Well, I'm on the end, I stand up thinking they're going to switch my seat, but my seat doesn't turn, so all of a sudden that handsome man is facing me. Um hello.
So we both work on our computers (turns out he's fluent in English) and then they serve us a complete hot dinner with wine. We had no choice but to put our computers down and face each other. It was like Insta-date.
He runs the online department of a Spanish newspaper, so of course we had things to talk about. And I had fun. I have to admit it was like something out of Sex and the City, I mean who really gets thrown into these things with handsome, charming, intelligent Spanish men just with the turn of a seat?
He was meeting friends, and I went home to blog. It feels good to be home.
Friday, March 13, 2009
San Sebastian
I arrived in San Sebastian and was immediately blown away. It is by far the prettiest city in Spain and now I know why Hemmingway loved it so much. I arrived at the hotel and asked the front desk what time the restaurants closed. He said 11pm (ok, now this is like going from Hollywood to Santa Barbara). So I dropped off my bags and headed out. It was barely 8:30 and all the shops and cafe's were closed. A few bars were open, but that was it.
After much seaching I found one that met my requirements and went in for a couple of beers and read my book. Nobody talked to me besides the bartender and I went back to the hotel room about 11:30pm. My room was beautiful, it was on the 6th floor with crown molding, jutting balconies and a large double bed. I sat on the edge of my bed and my sister Skyped me. We had a nice conversation while I drank a couple of the tiny beers from the fridge. I went to sleep about 12:30 knowing that times were different here and I should be up early.
When I awoke at 9am I started getting ready and was almost complete when I tossed back the covers to put them in place. There was a large pair of men's leather ski glove exactly where I had been sitting the night before talking to my sister. It took me a moment of pondering as to what exactly this meant. Then I inspected the room more, nothing was missing (and yes I counted my panties- I've had them stolen before) but there was a large cigarrette ash on my side of the bed kind of near the center. My heart just stopped.
I finished getting ready and went down to the front desk carrying the glove in the tissue. While trying not to cry, I explained what I had found. There was a sales manager as well as the front desk clerk that were just staring at me with horrified eyes.
He asked if I wanted to call the police, and I said I thought he should (my spanish not enough in the circumstance). He made me immediately change rooms. When I pointed out the ash he did not look happy at all.
So I sat in my room waiting for the police to come and they never did. I finally left word with the front desk that I would be back in a couple hours once I had lunch (which I never ate) if the police need to speak to me. I came back and hung out in my new room, which was not half as nice my old one, and instead of a nice big double bed had two twins (I didn't realize how handy that would come in).
I e-mailed Marc in Barcelona and told him what happened. He told me to call the front desk, immediately and have them send over an English speaking officer. Instead I went to the police station myself. They were very nice and concerned, but I don't think they knew what to do with this. From all accounts San Sebastian is the safest place in Spain and returning lost wallets might be the most they know how to do.
But the woman who spoke English (and sat behind a desk in plain clothes, was this the detective or the secretary, I didn't know) was totally appalled and an officer who spoke better English was called in off the street. Angeles bought me a coke, it was going on 6pm and I hadn't eaten yet, oh that coke was needed. After much discussion between them I finally said, look, here's the deal. You can't do anything for me, you need to make a report. The report comes in handy if there's another case such as this, then you have a trail. That's all I want. Much more discussion, they decided to make a report. Like I said, they weren't the best equiped to handle this (oh, why couldn't I have been this forceful with the front desk?)
So I left them, and wandered some more. I hear the tappas are great here, but unlike the rest of Spain they just keep them out in the open and not under sneeze gaurd. I was finally getting used to food not being refrigerated, but now people are laughing, smoking and coughing over it. I just couldn't do it. I found myself back in old quarter looking for a restaurant I had seen earlier, when I saw a German band on the street, I passed them and threw them a coin, and took off. Got turned around and found the German band again, started to get annoyed and walked away, when they started playing "Roll out the barrell", which was my father's all time favorite song, so I stopped and I knew he was with me. Seconds after it finished (and I threw them a couple euros) I found the restaurant I was looking for and sat down for a well deserved dinner.
When I finished dinner it was 9:30pm, the last thing I wanted to do was go back to my hotel room. I decided I wanted to actually talk to people and I broke my cardinal sin and went in search of an Irish bar. I couldn't find one and gave up. As I was walking home I saw it, the beckoning light of the Guiness sign.
The bar wasn't crowded but there were two Brits sitting at the bar and I asked them if I could join them, and then quickly unloaded my burden on them. One was an ex-cop and he was horrified, I just felt so much better.
I finally got sick of feeling creeped out and decided to have some fun, they were nice good guys. So we went to another bar, exactly like all other bars, but people danced in this one. So we danced too. After a while a group of early 20 something Spanish boys showed up and took an unusual interest in us, they barely spoke English, but just kept talking to us. I was taking pictures and they kept posing, then the fabulous international word was spoken- FACEBOOK? Yes, YAY FACEBOOK! So we exchanged names.
After a lot of dancing the Spaniards grabbed us and told us to come with them. Neither the Brits or I had any idea of what was going on but we followed. They took us to the river and pulled out a trumpet (trombone, trum something) and one started playing music at 3am in the morning with no one around to take coins from, just for the shear joy of playing music by the river. We all danced and it was good.
Gavin, one of the Brits agreed to sleep in my room (turns out they were staying in the same hotel as me). I told you that twin bed would come in handy, and it was nice that he was there.
After much seaching I found one that met my requirements and went in for a couple of beers and read my book. Nobody talked to me besides the bartender and I went back to the hotel room about 11:30pm. My room was beautiful, it was on the 6th floor with crown molding, jutting balconies and a large double bed. I sat on the edge of my bed and my sister Skyped me. We had a nice conversation while I drank a couple of the tiny beers from the fridge. I went to sleep about 12:30 knowing that times were different here and I should be up early.
When I awoke at 9am I started getting ready and was almost complete when I tossed back the covers to put them in place. There was a large pair of men's leather ski glove exactly where I had been sitting the night before talking to my sister. It took me a moment of pondering as to what exactly this meant. Then I inspected the room more, nothing was missing (and yes I counted my panties- I've had them stolen before) but there was a large cigarrette ash on my side of the bed kind of near the center. My heart just stopped.
I finished getting ready and went down to the front desk carrying the glove in the tissue. While trying not to cry, I explained what I had found. There was a sales manager as well as the front desk clerk that were just staring at me with horrified eyes.
He asked if I wanted to call the police, and I said I thought he should (my spanish not enough in the circumstance). He made me immediately change rooms. When I pointed out the ash he did not look happy at all.
So I sat in my room waiting for the police to come and they never did. I finally left word with the front desk that I would be back in a couple hours once I had lunch (which I never ate) if the police need to speak to me. I came back and hung out in my new room, which was not half as nice my old one, and instead of a nice big double bed had two twins (I didn't realize how handy that would come in).
I e-mailed Marc in Barcelona and told him what happened. He told me to call the front desk, immediately and have them send over an English speaking officer. Instead I went to the police station myself. They were very nice and concerned, but I don't think they knew what to do with this. From all accounts San Sebastian is the safest place in Spain and returning lost wallets might be the most they know how to do.
But the woman who spoke English (and sat behind a desk in plain clothes, was this the detective or the secretary, I didn't know) was totally appalled and an officer who spoke better English was called in off the street. Angeles bought me a coke, it was going on 6pm and I hadn't eaten yet, oh that coke was needed. After much discussion between them I finally said, look, here's the deal. You can't do anything for me, you need to make a report. The report comes in handy if there's another case such as this, then you have a trail. That's all I want. Much more discussion, they decided to make a report. Like I said, they weren't the best equiped to handle this (oh, why couldn't I have been this forceful with the front desk?)
So I left them, and wandered some more. I hear the tappas are great here, but unlike the rest of Spain they just keep them out in the open and not under sneeze gaurd. I was finally getting used to food not being refrigerated, but now people are laughing, smoking and coughing over it. I just couldn't do it. I found myself back in old quarter looking for a restaurant I had seen earlier, when I saw a German band on the street, I passed them and threw them a coin, and took off. Got turned around and found the German band again, started to get annoyed and walked away, when they started playing "Roll out the barrell", which was my father's all time favorite song, so I stopped and I knew he was with me. Seconds after it finished (and I threw them a couple euros) I found the restaurant I was looking for and sat down for a well deserved dinner.
When I finished dinner it was 9:30pm, the last thing I wanted to do was go back to my hotel room. I decided I wanted to actually talk to people and I broke my cardinal sin and went in search of an Irish bar. I couldn't find one and gave up. As I was walking home I saw it, the beckoning light of the Guiness sign.
The bar wasn't crowded but there were two Brits sitting at the bar and I asked them if I could join them, and then quickly unloaded my burden on them. One was an ex-cop and he was horrified, I just felt so much better.
I finally got sick of feeling creeped out and decided to have some fun, they were nice good guys. So we went to another bar, exactly like all other bars, but people danced in this one. So we danced too. After a while a group of early 20 something Spanish boys showed up and took an unusual interest in us, they barely spoke English, but just kept talking to us. I was taking pictures and they kept posing, then the fabulous international word was spoken- FACEBOOK? Yes, YAY FACEBOOK! So we exchanged names.
After a lot of dancing the Spaniards grabbed us and told us to come with them. Neither the Brits or I had any idea of what was going on but we followed. They took us to the river and pulled out a trumpet (trombone, trum something) and one started playing music at 3am in the morning with no one around to take coins from, just for the shear joy of playing music by the river. We all danced and it was good.
Gavin, one of the Brits agreed to sleep in my room (turns out they were staying in the same hotel as me). I told you that twin bed would come in handy, and it was nice that he was there.
Pamplona
On Sunday I took the train to Pamplona. Very uneventful, I arrived and went searching for dinner. The streets were empty (I was willing to give it to them that it was Sunday night, they're usually dead in most towns) I finally found a bar that fit my requirments - not too crowded, not completely empty, there's a seat at the bar and the lighting isn't too bright. Of course this bar was called Bar Arizona. I kind of liked that. The tappas were to die- seriously the best I've had so far, with 4 beers and three tapas my bill came to $10. And don't think I'm a total lush, their beers are something like 6 ounces. The bartender friendly even if his English as worse than my Spanish :). Then back to my hotel. The next day my timing was completely off. I was using Barcelona rules- that's kind of like using New York rules while, well, in, Cleveland. Their siesta was earlier and longer, and during their siesta most restaurants are closed. In Barcelona and the south that's when restaurants are at their busiest. Now the town center of Pamplona is beautiful, it's not all that big and like Valencia, the surrounding parts are just 70's apartment complexes. I was starving for lunch and tried this one place, but of course they were closed till after siesta. So I tried another that had a picture of a "mama" in an apron aparantly trying to say "home cooking". I sat on a wooden bench and asked for the menu of the day (have I mentioned by law they have to serve a menu of the day with starter, entree, desert and drink somewhere in the $10 to $20 range). Yeah, this place didn't have one and was super expensive. I was the only person in there.
I had seen from the other menus in the city that "tacos bacalas" were very prevailant here. I was curious, what exactly are Spanish tacos? So after being annoyed that I couldn't order a menu of the day, I decided just to suck it up and go with the tacos for $23 euro. I really wanted some starch, I knew they wouldn't have tortillas, but I was really curious what they would serve them in.
I got a piece of fish.
That's it, a piece of fish in some cream sauce. They charged me another $2 for a roll I didn't order, but was so thankful I had it. And another $4 for the two cokes I ordered (but at least they were large cokes and it was the best deal I've yet to have on cokes). There was another $5 euro thown on the bill for something, so I paid $32 euro to have lunch on a wooden bench with waiters ignoring me, oh and it was freezing, so much so I had to put on my gloves. Really the Romanians that ripped me off $150 were a better deal than this place.
Turns out tacos is the cut of fish, the other half of the fish is called the burrito, hence my confusion. I did not like that restaurant at all.
Most people here do not speak English, so there weren't any friends to be made or conversations to be had and I was quickly bored. The churches were all locked (unlike other cities who leave them open to come in at any time) and there were no museums.
The next day I pretty much wandered waiting for my train. It took me forever to figure out where to eat. Once bitten twice shy. About 4pm I finally settled on a little restaurant that was next to the one I had spent an hour walking back to but was closed.
Oh, God Bless them. My starter was fried foie with pear, then a brocolli rellano (they use onion instead of chili) then a red pepper rellano, and then a mini filet with more foie. (have I mentioned foie may be my most favorite food in the world, don't like pate, but foie is heavenly). The waitress was wonderful, the place was warm and lunch cost me $16 euro.
Pamplona was redeemed.
I had seen from the other menus in the city that "tacos bacalas" were very prevailant here. I was curious, what exactly are Spanish tacos? So after being annoyed that I couldn't order a menu of the day, I decided just to suck it up and go with the tacos for $23 euro. I really wanted some starch, I knew they wouldn't have tortillas, but I was really curious what they would serve them in.
I got a piece of fish.
That's it, a piece of fish in some cream sauce. They charged me another $2 for a roll I didn't order, but was so thankful I had it. And another $4 for the two cokes I ordered (but at least they were large cokes and it was the best deal I've yet to have on cokes). There was another $5 euro thown on the bill for something, so I paid $32 euro to have lunch on a wooden bench with waiters ignoring me, oh and it was freezing, so much so I had to put on my gloves. Really the Romanians that ripped me off $150 were a better deal than this place.
Turns out tacos is the cut of fish, the other half of the fish is called the burrito, hence my confusion. I did not like that restaurant at all.
Most people here do not speak English, so there weren't any friends to be made or conversations to be had and I was quickly bored. The churches were all locked (unlike other cities who leave them open to come in at any time) and there were no museums.
The next day I pretty much wandered waiting for my train. It took me forever to figure out where to eat. Once bitten twice shy. About 4pm I finally settled on a little restaurant that was next to the one I had spent an hour walking back to but was closed.
Oh, God Bless them. My starter was fried foie with pear, then a brocolli rellano (they use onion instead of chili) then a red pepper rellano, and then a mini filet with more foie. (have I mentioned foie may be my most favorite food in the world, don't like pate, but foie is heavenly). The waitress was wonderful, the place was warm and lunch cost me $16 euro.
Pamplona was redeemed.
Another week in Barcelona
My days here are mostly filled with running errands (they take so much more time here then you'd think was possible) and checking out the sites in Barcelona
On Wednesday I was on the far side of town when I got a message from Silvauna to meet her at the BMAC- but her phone was dying so she hoped I would come. I had no idea what the BMAC was, and I didn't notice her text for an hour, but I decided to try and jumped in the cab. Turns out BMAC is the Barcelona Museum of Art Contemporary (I always expect those to be MOCA's, hence my confusion). I got there and of course she was no where to be found, so I gave up and started to walk around more. As I was passing this cafe a gust of wind knocked down a sign and I took that as my cue to sit and get a glass of wine. Once I had ordered I heard an American voice and turned to look. It was my friend Dustin and his new girlfriend Marie. Quinky, so they invited me to join them. As we were talking all of a sudden Silvauna appeared in front of me. She was sitting two seats over having a glass of wine with her roommate Valentina (a lovely Italian girl).
She was trying to also get a hold of Miguel but since Silvauna's phone was dead she couldn't reach him. Dustin had the number, but he didn't answer. We gave up and went to the museum. Who was the last in line there- Miguel and his girlfriend Anna. Talk about timing.
After the museum we went for dinner. The place Miguel wanted to go had a 20 minute wait and it was cold and he had 4 hungry girls that were tired. I thought I knew where we were so they all followed me. As they were all following me I realized I had no idea where in the world I was, so I just picked a door and said, I think this place is good. Turns out it was and Dustin and Marie were there- double quinky dink. It was just like Tucson.
A couple afternoons later while doing some more exploring I stopped in a bar that was almost empty. I like them that way, but it quickly filled up with Brits. Ugh. Oh well, the bartender is nice and you have your book. Then an American man was ordering beer, the bartender asked him where he was from and he said Atlanta. I piped up, he may live in Atlanta but he's not from there. He was from Cleveland, but is now a pilot based in Atlanta. He was there with the airline crew on the Atlanta to Barcelona flight. So he invited me to dinner with the rest of the group.
The captain knew a place, that I have been trying to find again, but for the life of me can't. We arrived and the captain recieved a warm greeting from the owner. When it was mentioned that there were 8 of us the owner paused and then loudly exclaimed "UPSTAIRS!" while dramatically throwing his arms heavenward and we were ushered to a private room. This room was cool, I guess it had been used by a Catalyonian Rebel to plan his strategies, a little bit of history I wasn't expecting. The captain ordered for us- "Bring us wine and appetizers". (I should think of this when I can't read the menu). Dinner was easy to order- monkfish or lamb. I went with the monkfish. The captain told everyone who had ordered lamb to share their fried artichokes with the monkfish orderers because they were so delicious. But I noticed that they really didn't have that much on their plates, so as I was saying, they didn't have to share, I suddenly said "Wait!..." and I turned to the waiter and said "Bring us more artichokes!". Everyone at the table applauded and they were quickly brought out. Wine glasses were never empty and when one of the attendants and I went to have a cigarette in another private little room, the waiters made sure we had a bottle with us.
Then came desert, we ordered individual deserts, but they also brought us chocolate truffles and homemade donoughts, as if the huge servings weren't enough and as they were serving us they also brought champaigne that we didn't order. They filled each of our glasses and then started decanting another two bottles. My brain was screaming, you can't decant champange! I didn't notice that the decanter also had a spout and the owner was suddenly teaching us how to do champagne shots. It was a bit like Mexio and tequila shots, as they stood behind you and poured it straight into your mouth. Thankfully they did not shake our head or twirl you around on their shoulders. That's when, with the party was in full swing, some Spaniards sat down with us. It tooks us all a second as they just started drinking our wine and smoking cigarettes (which we had not been doing in the room). They had heard of this famous room and wanted to see it, so they just joined us. At that point it was a free for all anyway, with the owner and waiters all drinking champange and cognac with us, so what were two more?
The bill came and the cost? $40 euro a person. My God I love this city. So the group walked me home, oh those are some great pictures. I had never done more than nod at the armed guards outside the Catylonian capital, but according to the pictures they are more than happy to pose with drunk American women.
The crew said that usually crews were not this much fun and most people went their separate ways. I don't know if that's true or not, but I sure am glad that I found the crew that clicked and was open to the Catylonian way of dining.
On Wednesday I was on the far side of town when I got a message from Silvauna to meet her at the BMAC- but her phone was dying so she hoped I would come. I had no idea what the BMAC was, and I didn't notice her text for an hour, but I decided to try and jumped in the cab. Turns out BMAC is the Barcelona Museum of Art Contemporary (I always expect those to be MOCA's, hence my confusion). I got there and of course she was no where to be found, so I gave up and started to walk around more. As I was passing this cafe a gust of wind knocked down a sign and I took that as my cue to sit and get a glass of wine. Once I had ordered I heard an American voice and turned to look. It was my friend Dustin and his new girlfriend Marie. Quinky, so they invited me to join them. As we were talking all of a sudden Silvauna appeared in front of me. She was sitting two seats over having a glass of wine with her roommate Valentina (a lovely Italian girl).
She was trying to also get a hold of Miguel but since Silvauna's phone was dead she couldn't reach him. Dustin had the number, but he didn't answer. We gave up and went to the museum. Who was the last in line there- Miguel and his girlfriend Anna. Talk about timing.
After the museum we went for dinner. The place Miguel wanted to go had a 20 minute wait and it was cold and he had 4 hungry girls that were tired. I thought I knew where we were so they all followed me. As they were all following me I realized I had no idea where in the world I was, so I just picked a door and said, I think this place is good. Turns out it was and Dustin and Marie were there- double quinky dink. It was just like Tucson.
A couple afternoons later while doing some more exploring I stopped in a bar that was almost empty. I like them that way, but it quickly filled up with Brits. Ugh. Oh well, the bartender is nice and you have your book. Then an American man was ordering beer, the bartender asked him where he was from and he said Atlanta. I piped up, he may live in Atlanta but he's not from there. He was from Cleveland, but is now a pilot based in Atlanta. He was there with the airline crew on the Atlanta to Barcelona flight. So he invited me to dinner with the rest of the group.
The captain knew a place, that I have been trying to find again, but for the life of me can't. We arrived and the captain recieved a warm greeting from the owner. When it was mentioned that there were 8 of us the owner paused and then loudly exclaimed "UPSTAIRS!" while dramatically throwing his arms heavenward and we were ushered to a private room. This room was cool, I guess it had been used by a Catalyonian Rebel to plan his strategies, a little bit of history I wasn't expecting. The captain ordered for us- "Bring us wine and appetizers". (I should think of this when I can't read the menu). Dinner was easy to order- monkfish or lamb. I went with the monkfish. The captain told everyone who had ordered lamb to share their fried artichokes with the monkfish orderers because they were so delicious. But I noticed that they really didn't have that much on their plates, so as I was saying, they didn't have to share, I suddenly said "Wait!..." and I turned to the waiter and said "Bring us more artichokes!". Everyone at the table applauded and they were quickly brought out. Wine glasses were never empty and when one of the attendants and I went to have a cigarette in another private little room, the waiters made sure we had a bottle with us.
Then came desert, we ordered individual deserts, but they also brought us chocolate truffles and homemade donoughts, as if the huge servings weren't enough and as they were serving us they also brought champaigne that we didn't order. They filled each of our glasses and then started decanting another two bottles. My brain was screaming, you can't decant champange! I didn't notice that the decanter also had a spout and the owner was suddenly teaching us how to do champagne shots. It was a bit like Mexio and tequila shots, as they stood behind you and poured it straight into your mouth. Thankfully they did not shake our head or twirl you around on their shoulders. That's when, with the party was in full swing, some Spaniards sat down with us. It tooks us all a second as they just started drinking our wine and smoking cigarettes (which we had not been doing in the room). They had heard of this famous room and wanted to see it, so they just joined us. At that point it was a free for all anyway, with the owner and waiters all drinking champange and cognac with us, so what were two more?
The bill came and the cost? $40 euro a person. My God I love this city. So the group walked me home, oh those are some great pictures. I had never done more than nod at the armed guards outside the Catylonian capital, but according to the pictures they are more than happy to pose with drunk American women.
The crew said that usually crews were not this much fun and most people went their separate ways. I don't know if that's true or not, but I sure am glad that I found the crew that clicked and was open to the Catylonian way of dining.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
A day with another Tourist
I met Greg outside his hostal the next day for lunch. He wanted a diner so he could get an omlette with lots of cheese (I knew that wasn't going to happen, melted cheese not so big here and have yet to see a "diner"). I pointed to one and he thought it was a bit scary looking. So then he had to make the choice. So he picked out a cute little restaurant with a patio.
Greg speaks no Spanish (in fact the first night I met him I called him mi amigo and he exclaimed- oh awesome you know Spanish!) He asked if they had any omlettes and the waiter said- NO. So I ordered him a tortilla (in spain tortillas are omlettes) he asked for extra cheese and the waiter said NO. Nothing on the menu looked paticularly interesting so I ordered the cream soup. But before that came the bread. Now, they don't serve butter with bread, but rather a few whole cloves of garlic and two whole tomatoes. Greg was just looking at it confused and I was able to show off my new skills. I quickly unpeeled the garlic, and rubbed it on the bread, cut the tomato in half (with Greg pointing out that all the tourists were staring at me) and spread that on the bread, then drizzled some olive oil on it and sprinkled a dash of salt. Just like a native. He admitted it was good, but wondered how many plate of tomatoes and garlic were just left untouched by the confused tourists. He assummed it was probably about 80% and he might be right.
Then our food arrived. Greg eyed his "tortilla" questionably but admitted it was pretty good. My "cream" soup on the other hand was the subject of much interest and scorn. It was broth with mushy spaghetti and chunks of uncooked bacon, garbanzo beans and other unidentifiable objects that Greg would point too and say "what is that?". Oh my, I was so hungry and it was so terrible. Then I have Greg saying-- "Do you remember when you said, maybe we should try this patio, and I said no, this looks good, then you said we should maybe try the next patio and I said no, I think this place looks the best. I bet you do not forget that conversation for a long time."
So then we decided to go to the Pablo Picasso museum. It took us 2 hours of trying to find it (and it was in the neighborhood) and many awkward conversations. Greg wouldn't even try to speak Spanish, just walked right up speaking English. They wouldn't talk to him, so I would ask in Spanish and they'd be helpful, but since of course my Spanish really sucks I could never understand the directions, and don't try and count on Greg to remember the hand signals ("They are worse than the French! Don't they know everyone is supposed to know English, it is how we are able to travel!" On a side note: I have heard this from many Europeans that speak English, they get very frustrated that someone does not, they learned it so they could communicate everywhere and when others don't it just ruins the whole concept)
Of course Picasso museum was closed, so we hit the Dahli instead, but not before getting some scrumptious looking deserts at a bakery and taking a break to listen to a trumpet player in a church square.
My friend Eduardo from Madrid was in town that evening. So I told Greg that we should have a glass of wine, then I would go home and take a nap before I met Eduardo for a nice dinner. And him and Silvauna would meet Eduardo after dinner. I thought it was a nice plan, I really like hanging with Eduardo. But then Silvauna called in the middle of drinks. She was with her friend Sandy (a Canadian currently living in Amersterdamn), so we went in search of them. Yeah, if we could not find the Picasso museum, there was no way in hell we were finding a bar in a neighborhood we had never been too. But we tried!
I stopped to ask a cute old couple where Born Square was. Surprise they knew no Spanish, because of course they were French. So I waived Greg over and he was very patient as this old couple pulled out every map and guide and tour book they had looking for a very unfamous square. About 30 seconds into the conversation we realized they were going to be no help whatsoever, but boy were they nice, unfortunately it took them about 5 minutes to figure out they knew nothing. Greg was being as polite as he could possibly be, but he looked like he was talking to his grandmother while she extolls the virtues of wearing clean underwear.
We called Silvauna defeated and she says they're on their way to meet us. That's when Greg came up with the idea of becoming street performers to pass the time. After much discussion of what kind of performance would be best (we settled on singing punk rock) and Greg starting to go into the souvenigier store to get a hat (to collect the money, the bet was we had to perform until we got a euro) Silvauna thankfully showed up and saved us from ourselves.
I called Eduardo who, being fabulously Eduardo, was not disappointed at all and met us at the bar, as did Sandy's husband (boyfriend?) who was German. It was determined that none of us had to work the next day (even Eduardo, it was travel day for him, he usually has to be back at his hotel room by midnight) so we went dancing. Now that was fun. Too bad Greg got mugged while we were leaving, still not sure how that happened. (see I told you I was tougher than him).
We put Silvana back in the cab and walked home. The next day Greg had to be out of his hostal at 11am, so my buzzer woke me up at 11:15 with him at the door. Which was good because I had to meet Luci for coffee. He slept on my couch while I went and I promised to pick up some food for lunch when I got back.
I knew I had some fondue in the fridge, so I picked up a couple apples and a loaf of bread. "You brought me an APPLE? What the hell am I supposed to do with an APPLE? You promised me lunch!"
Here I am trying to be all European and it's the Frenchman that insists we get Pizza Hut. (weird cheese of course)
We just recovered that day, but I think I turned Greg into a 30 Rock fan and he finally left to catch a bus to the airport for his flight to Athens.
It really was fun and since Greg is also traveling extensively, I hope not my last time in a strange city with him.
Greg speaks no Spanish (in fact the first night I met him I called him mi amigo and he exclaimed- oh awesome you know Spanish!) He asked if they had any omlettes and the waiter said- NO. So I ordered him a tortilla (in spain tortillas are omlettes) he asked for extra cheese and the waiter said NO. Nothing on the menu looked paticularly interesting so I ordered the cream soup. But before that came the bread. Now, they don't serve butter with bread, but rather a few whole cloves of garlic and two whole tomatoes. Greg was just looking at it confused and I was able to show off my new skills. I quickly unpeeled the garlic, and rubbed it on the bread, cut the tomato in half (with Greg pointing out that all the tourists were staring at me) and spread that on the bread, then drizzled some olive oil on it and sprinkled a dash of salt. Just like a native. He admitted it was good, but wondered how many plate of tomatoes and garlic were just left untouched by the confused tourists. He assummed it was probably about 80% and he might be right.
Then our food arrived. Greg eyed his "tortilla" questionably but admitted it was pretty good. My "cream" soup on the other hand was the subject of much interest and scorn. It was broth with mushy spaghetti and chunks of uncooked bacon, garbanzo beans and other unidentifiable objects that Greg would point too and say "what is that?". Oh my, I was so hungry and it was so terrible. Then I have Greg saying-- "Do you remember when you said, maybe we should try this patio, and I said no, this looks good, then you said we should maybe try the next patio and I said no, I think this place looks the best. I bet you do not forget that conversation for a long time."
So then we decided to go to the Pablo Picasso museum. It took us 2 hours of trying to find it (and it was in the neighborhood) and many awkward conversations. Greg wouldn't even try to speak Spanish, just walked right up speaking English. They wouldn't talk to him, so I would ask in Spanish and they'd be helpful, but since of course my Spanish really sucks I could never understand the directions, and don't try and count on Greg to remember the hand signals ("They are worse than the French! Don't they know everyone is supposed to know English, it is how we are able to travel!" On a side note: I have heard this from many Europeans that speak English, they get very frustrated that someone does not, they learned it so they could communicate everywhere and when others don't it just ruins the whole concept)
Of course Picasso museum was closed, so we hit the Dahli instead, but not before getting some scrumptious looking deserts at a bakery and taking a break to listen to a trumpet player in a church square.
My friend Eduardo from Madrid was in town that evening. So I told Greg that we should have a glass of wine, then I would go home and take a nap before I met Eduardo for a nice dinner. And him and Silvauna would meet Eduardo after dinner. I thought it was a nice plan, I really like hanging with Eduardo. But then Silvauna called in the middle of drinks. She was with her friend Sandy (a Canadian currently living in Amersterdamn), so we went in search of them. Yeah, if we could not find the Picasso museum, there was no way in hell we were finding a bar in a neighborhood we had never been too. But we tried!
I stopped to ask a cute old couple where Born Square was. Surprise they knew no Spanish, because of course they were French. So I waived Greg over and he was very patient as this old couple pulled out every map and guide and tour book they had looking for a very unfamous square. About 30 seconds into the conversation we realized they were going to be no help whatsoever, but boy were they nice, unfortunately it took them about 5 minutes to figure out they knew nothing. Greg was being as polite as he could possibly be, but he looked like he was talking to his grandmother while she extolls the virtues of wearing clean underwear.
We called Silvauna defeated and she says they're on their way to meet us. That's when Greg came up with the idea of becoming street performers to pass the time. After much discussion of what kind of performance would be best (we settled on singing punk rock) and Greg starting to go into the souvenigier store to get a hat (to collect the money, the bet was we had to perform until we got a euro) Silvauna thankfully showed up and saved us from ourselves.
I called Eduardo who, being fabulously Eduardo, was not disappointed at all and met us at the bar, as did Sandy's husband (boyfriend?) who was German. It was determined that none of us had to work the next day (even Eduardo, it was travel day for him, he usually has to be back at his hotel room by midnight) so we went dancing. Now that was fun. Too bad Greg got mugged while we were leaving, still not sure how that happened. (see I told you I was tougher than him).
We put Silvana back in the cab and walked home. The next day Greg had to be out of his hostal at 11am, so my buzzer woke me up at 11:15 with him at the door. Which was good because I had to meet Luci for coffee. He slept on my couch while I went and I promised to pick up some food for lunch when I got back.
I knew I had some fondue in the fridge, so I picked up a couple apples and a loaf of bread. "You brought me an APPLE? What the hell am I supposed to do with an APPLE? You promised me lunch!"
Here I am trying to be all European and it's the Frenchman that insists we get Pizza Hut. (weird cheese of course)
We just recovered that day, but I think I turned Greg into a 30 Rock fan and he finally left to catch a bus to the airport for his flight to Athens.
It really was fun and since Greg is also traveling extensively, I hope not my last time in a strange city with him.
New Friends
After Carnivale I spent another two days I spent running erands, such as returning the costume and dealing with Vodafone, but I walked for miles during these days.
On Wednesday I woke up and my feet hurt, I mean just hurt even after a nights rest, so I decided to stay in (the weather was nasty too), Thursday morning they still hurt, so I entertained myself with a good book.
Friday I invited Silvauna out for lunch. We had a really nice one at an upscale restaurant with a bottle of wine. Then we walked to her neighborhood for desert and oh, another glass of wine, ok, two more glasses of wine. She was supposed to meet Marshall and Miguel for drinks. Miguel was bringing another girl and I really didn't want to impose on this "double date". But Silvauna insisted I walk her to the bar and then Marshall wouldn't let me leave either, so I stayed.
But I think this dating thing is a bit casual here, as Miguel brought his friend from France too, so yay, I had somebody to talk to. And I'm so glad I stayed, the French guy, Greg, was way too much fun. When the party broke up Greg invited me to the disco, but it was already 2:30am so I flipped a quarter and it was heads, my cue to go home.
As I was walking home (on a large street, with people around) a sanitation worker bumped into me. I thought, that's weird, there was nobody near us, why would he have to bump me? Then he did it again. I said, no agusta! Vamoose! And he just kept following me. I'd scream Vamoose louder and he'd keep coming I finally went into a bar and the bartender told him to scram and said I'd be fine. But I know that guy, he wasn't being deterred that easily. So I took the bartender out to the street and found the sanitation worker hiding in a door way. So the bartender told me to go back inside and somebody poured me a drink while the bartender had it out with the sanitation worker. I actually had fun with all the old guys that were trying so hard to speak English, and I taught them how to flip a quarter. About 3:30 I finally made it home. (When I met Luci for coffee a few days later she explained that Vamoose, does not mean go away, it actually means "let's go") I almost spit my cafe con leche out of my nose.
Saturday had drinks by my house, more old Spanish guys trying really hard to speak English, but it was fun.
Sunday I met up with Marc and Nuria to go to the photo exhibit at the Cultural Center then walked around some more and stopped for Turkish tea. Greg, the Frenchman, finally met up with us about 5 (he had facebooked me at 5:30am saying he had just gotten home from a party, so I knew I wouldn't be seeing him much before then). He was still a little green around the gills, but a cup of espresso and a couple Heinekens and he was fine.
So we walked over to Gracia, with me showing him the Gaudi buildings along the way. He was happy with the walk so he could tell people he actually saw some sites. Silvauna met up with us then we went back to our neighborhood to meet the Chileans that Greg was sharing a hostile with. Ugh, it was the Spanish equivalant of O'Malleys, filled with college kids. Silvauna was saying she was too old for it and tried really hard to stay away. Silvauna is 27, so you can imagine how I felt. We drank sangria, which I did not enjoy, it was like drinking jungle juice. Thankfully Greg noticed the look on my face and ordered me a Heinekin. That so went against the game we were playing - "Which country can be the rudest?"- the French, the Portugese or the Americans. Silvauna really wanted to play and assured us that the Portugese were very rude people - but she really was just no match and Greg and I were quickly in a tie.
The Chileans and Silvauna all started speaking Spanish, I at least had Greg to talk to. I don't know how the Australian guy one of the Chileans picked up on was doing it. But from the looks of him conversation was not his strong suit, so he was probably just releaved. (I had mentioned to Greg the theory of Senior abuse, you know when the unattractive Sr. can get a cute freshman just because he's a Sr. and the girl knows no bettter? I think the Australian was pulling "blonde" abuse. Greg assured me that was the case, but we should not mention it because the Chileans left the next day and she's would be happy and no wiser)
We put Silvauna in a cab and Greg walked me home. But I was still hyper so I walked him back to the street his hostal is on. He stopped and said, what is the point of this? I walked you home so you would be safe. I said, Oh, no I'm much tougher than you, it's much better you not walk by yourself.
And America takes the lead.
On Wednesday I woke up and my feet hurt, I mean just hurt even after a nights rest, so I decided to stay in (the weather was nasty too), Thursday morning they still hurt, so I entertained myself with a good book.
Friday I invited Silvauna out for lunch. We had a really nice one at an upscale restaurant with a bottle of wine. Then we walked to her neighborhood for desert and oh, another glass of wine, ok, two more glasses of wine. She was supposed to meet Marshall and Miguel for drinks. Miguel was bringing another girl and I really didn't want to impose on this "double date". But Silvauna insisted I walk her to the bar and then Marshall wouldn't let me leave either, so I stayed.
But I think this dating thing is a bit casual here, as Miguel brought his friend from France too, so yay, I had somebody to talk to. And I'm so glad I stayed, the French guy, Greg, was way too much fun. When the party broke up Greg invited me to the disco, but it was already 2:30am so I flipped a quarter and it was heads, my cue to go home.
As I was walking home (on a large street, with people around) a sanitation worker bumped into me. I thought, that's weird, there was nobody near us, why would he have to bump me? Then he did it again. I said, no agusta! Vamoose! And he just kept following me. I'd scream Vamoose louder and he'd keep coming I finally went into a bar and the bartender told him to scram and said I'd be fine. But I know that guy, he wasn't being deterred that easily. So I took the bartender out to the street and found the sanitation worker hiding in a door way. So the bartender told me to go back inside and somebody poured me a drink while the bartender had it out with the sanitation worker. I actually had fun with all the old guys that were trying so hard to speak English, and I taught them how to flip a quarter. About 3:30 I finally made it home. (When I met Luci for coffee a few days later she explained that Vamoose, does not mean go away, it actually means "let's go") I almost spit my cafe con leche out of my nose.
Saturday had drinks by my house, more old Spanish guys trying really hard to speak English, but it was fun.
Sunday I met up with Marc and Nuria to go to the photo exhibit at the Cultural Center then walked around some more and stopped for Turkish tea. Greg, the Frenchman, finally met up with us about 5 (he had facebooked me at 5:30am saying he had just gotten home from a party, so I knew I wouldn't be seeing him much before then). He was still a little green around the gills, but a cup of espresso and a couple Heinekens and he was fine.
So we walked over to Gracia, with me showing him the Gaudi buildings along the way. He was happy with the walk so he could tell people he actually saw some sites. Silvauna met up with us then we went back to our neighborhood to meet the Chileans that Greg was sharing a hostile with. Ugh, it was the Spanish equivalant of O'Malleys, filled with college kids. Silvauna was saying she was too old for it and tried really hard to stay away. Silvauna is 27, so you can imagine how I felt. We drank sangria, which I did not enjoy, it was like drinking jungle juice. Thankfully Greg noticed the look on my face and ordered me a Heinekin. That so went against the game we were playing - "Which country can be the rudest?"- the French, the Portugese or the Americans. Silvauna really wanted to play and assured us that the Portugese were very rude people - but she really was just no match and Greg and I were quickly in a tie.
The Chileans and Silvauna all started speaking Spanish, I at least had Greg to talk to. I don't know how the Australian guy one of the Chileans picked up on was doing it. But from the looks of him conversation was not his strong suit, so he was probably just releaved. (I had mentioned to Greg the theory of Senior abuse, you know when the unattractive Sr. can get a cute freshman just because he's a Sr. and the girl knows no bettter? I think the Australian was pulling "blonde" abuse. Greg assured me that was the case, but we should not mention it because the Chileans left the next day and she's would be happy and no wiser)
We put Silvauna in a cab and Greg walked me home. But I was still hyper so I walked him back to the street his hostal is on. He stopped and said, what is the point of this? I walked you home so you would be safe. I said, Oh, no I'm much tougher than you, it's much better you not walk by yourself.
And America takes the lead.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
