(Ok, so I've been really busy- sorry this has taken so long)
Johnny and I decided to take a road trip so he could see a bit more of Spain. Marc and Nuria had mentioned that Costa Brava was fabulous and told us about a tiny town that starts with a C (I could never pronounce it, let alone spell it), but we needed to stop in Girona for lunch first.
Getting out of Barcelona was a bit harrowing, thank God Johnny was driving, I wouldn't have been able to do it. We only made a few wrong turns and we were on the road to Girona. We arrived and were immediately unimpressed. But I've learned town centers can be surrounded by as much suburban bullshit as American cities, so we kept following the signs to the town center. After crossing the river through the town gates, we were instantly in love with the ancient stone village. We wandered through the church (ok, I'm getting a little sick of churches at this point, but it was still cute) and up around the ancient city walls, where we stopped for a kiss till I heard, eeww, gross, and looked down to see two 8 year old British boys being hushed by their mother.
We stopped for a well deserved glass of wine and decided we liked this city and we should find a hotel. The deal was sealed with another glass of wine and we started looking for a hotel. We found one that wanted $150 euro a night, it was a bit much so we told them we'd be back. Couldn't find another hotel that had availability so we went back to bite the bullet. Then a second hotel clerk pushed in front of ours and said- Oh you meant TWO people- That's actually $220 euro. Bullshit, I know when I'm being had, I wanted to storm out but Johnny was in the bathroom. Storming out two minutes later really doesn't have the same effect as immediately storming out. But damn it, I stormed anyway.
We finally found a hotel who had a hysterical front desk clerk (really, if all people had this guys sense of humor and willingness to help the world would be a better place). He didn't have rooms either, but called his friend and sent us over. We paid and asked for the key, and left the bags at the front desk without even seeing the room we were so hungry and went back to the old town for dinner.
We shared the snails in Catalyn sauce (which is an incredible sauce), I also had over done rabbit and nasty french fries as is traditional in catalyn cooking. But we had fun with the owner who was very happy to give Johnny tastes of whiskeys from the region.
We stopped at a little bar that was empty on our way home and ordered a beer. It quickly filled up, complete with a Gironan girl who LOVED America. She latched on to us like crazy, telling us how much she loved New Jersey. Um what, have you been there? No, but Bon Jovi and the Boss are from there, I can't wait to go. Um, yes you can.
The next day we drove towards Costa Brava but noticed the signs that said
France 36 KM. Oh, screw Costa Brava, let's go to France, so we headed north. We landed in Porta Vendres. Just too cute for words, found a very unassuming hotel overlooking the port and went for lunch. The only place open at the point was a pizza place. I was a bit disappointed, but then we got the pizza with carmalized onions, sauteed mushrooms, ham and creme fraiche. God bless the French. It was amazing.
The day brought hail and rain which we watched from our balcony. It came as fast as it went and we watched an incredible rainbow over the port.
Dinner that night, was incredible. We though we wanted to go to a certain restaurant and walked there, but nobody was there, so we went back to our hotel restaurant that was packed. (by the way, screw reviews, just go to the one that's packed). This place was amazing (way nicer than our hotel). We had the menu of the day which consisted of lobster bisque, roasted duck breast with a sauce that was amazing...and then they brought out the cheese tray and set it on our table. It was this huge amount of cheese and we waited for them to come serve it for us. They didn't, finally the Frenchman sitting next to us asked the waiter if he was going to serve us our cheese. No, it's all for them, take what you want. Oh my, now I'm in heaven. They had real Roquefort cheese, that is the most amazing cheese I've ever had. It so lives up to the name, too bad they can't import non-pasteurized cheese into the states. Actually maybe it's a good thing, because I would weigh 300 lbs if they did.
I asked for whatever was chocolate on their desert menu. They brought me a bowl of strawberries. I looked at Johnny like a 6 year old girl whose ice cream just fell off the cone. He quickly got the waiter and rectified the situation. And all was right in the world.
The next day we had breakfast in Couliers, which is just charming. AND I actually got to see a 65 year old man in a g-string- Viva La France! I have the picture to prove it. Then we drove along the cost down to the town that was named with a C. We found it after a bit and were once again thrilled. Found an amazing B&B overlooking the port and went exploring. Found a great bar filled with Spanish fisherman. We asked where there was a French restaurant (we figured we were so close to the border there had to be one- there wasn't). So we went to a cute little Italian restaurant in a cave or a basement or something. Then we walked around looking for something else to do. There wasn't anything.
The next morning I woke up at sunrise hearing people singing and went to the balcony to see crowds of people walking towards the beach singing and dancing. I couldn't figure out if they were like the 7 Dwarfs heading out to sea or had just come from a party.
At breakfast that morning I ask the hotel owner. He said, but I have double paned the windows- I'm not complaining just curious as to what all these people were doing. To which he let out an exasperated breath- Some people in this town only live at night!
I guess Johnny and I weren't out late enough to see the disco. We drove down the rest of Costa Bravo on our way back to Barcelona. It was nice, but I also knew when we got there that he'd have to leave, and that made it a little less nice.
Wednesday, June 10, 2009
Friday, May 1, 2009
My First US Visitor!
I reconnected with an old friend from high school, Johnny Smith last fall on FB, and when I'd come home we'd meet for drinks. It was nice, in a strictly platonic way (I'm moving to Europe for a year, what else could there be?). Until we kissed on New Year's Day, and things changed. We kept in close contact after I left and he finally came to visit me at the first of April.
He was taking a taxi from the airport and I was waiting on my balcony for him to arrive. My apartment is on a pedestrian only street that runs diagonal to the main road. It has tiny one way streets going up and down the hill, and I knew he'd be dropped off about a block away on the street that goes away from the main street. I finally saw a taxi with somebody in it looking up the street and knew it was him. The taxi pulled out of view, and I knew he'd be coming from around the corner, which he did two minutes later, dragging his suitcase. I was so excited, but wait- are those skinny jeans he's wearing? The man is almost 40 he can't be wearing skinny jeans. Oh my, does he really walk like that? Oh God no, how could I have been so wrong? Is that a fauxhawk? - This guys a tool! How am I going to spend two weeks with this idiot?
And then I looked down and the taxi was stopped right beneath my balcony, with the real Johnny Smith paying the driver and looking amazing, dressed like an adult with gown up haircut and everything. He looked up and smiled and my heart skipped.
It was so much fun to show somebody around, and be reminded of all the little differences between Spain and the US, that I just don't see anymore. It was also nice because Johnny speaks Spanish fluently. Actually the first time he started speaking Spanish I exclaimed- "Now THAT's what Spanish is supposed to sound like!" There's just such a difference between Mexican Spanish and Spanish Spanish.
But as Johnny soon found out, Catalonian's don't like speaking Spanish. And if you speak Spanish, well then you should speak Catalan too. So they'll just answer you in Catalan. I don't know how many times I'd ask Johnny what people were saying, and he'd have no idea.
The most important place for Johnny to see was the Familia Sograda. Still my all time favorite building in Spain. Johnny had mentioned that he was uncomfortable with heights. So I realized that taking the elevator to the spirals was not going to happen. I'm not afraid of heights, but the staircase is so small and twisty and there's so many people trying to get views that I had to take the elevator backdown. With all those people it was just nerve racking. So we walked around and I saw the secret elevator that goes up had no line. (the one when you first walk in had a 40 minute wait). I thought oh, well then it won't be bad, there's nobody up there to freak you out. So we got on the elevator, by ourselves (you're usually crammed in with 8 other people)and went up.
So we started walking up the staircase and all of a sudden I noticed Johnny was getting closer and closer to the stairs, oh my god is he on his hands and knees? It was like watching the evolution of man, in reverse. He turned around and sat down, "I think we should go". Ok, we can do that, as he butt bumped the way down the stairs, all I could think is "there's a big difference between uncomfortable and debilitating fear". But he was able to laugh at himself and I learned that maybe I should listen to what people tell me.
And to think, he was going to take the gondola ride because I wanted to go. We went for an amazing dinner at a 5 star restaurant, ate a bunch of tapas and cooked really nice meals at home. Shopping here for specific items is an all day adventure- but it was fun to pick out the perfect cut of tuna at the markets, haggle with the vegetable vendors. I took him to my favorite wine store in the market and he had a great time with the shop owner (Johnny is a beverage distributor- so he can talk with any bartender or wine expert there is).
Oh, did I mention Johnny brought me supplies from home? 12 boxes of Kraft Mac & Cheese (Thick & Creamy), American measuring cups (2 sets- one for my friend Marc), a jar of Peanut Butter (also for Marc), Listerine Strips and two Secret Solid- Powder Fresh. Isn't it Romantic? Actually the best thing ever too, Season 2 of 30Rock! It was like heaven to be able to watch some American TV. And I couldn't wait to get into the Mac & Cheese.
The weather was on and off, so we kept our options open. One day it was finally nice out so we jumped on the train to Mount Serrat, which is an 11th century monastery in the mountains outside of Barcelona. We arrived at the train station and we looked up to see the gondola which takes you up. Johnny looked at it extra hard. My God, I'm such an asshole. I saw him at Familia Sograda, now I'm taking him a mile up a hill in Gondola?
He's was amazing good with this one, he did let out a big breath when he finally got out of it, The monestery is pretty cool, but no monks. Go figure. After spending a couple hours checking it out. We took the gondola back down and went for a drink at the bar at the base. The bar, is actually in a farmers backyard and we were the first to arrive. The family was having lunch and their 12 year old kid jumped up and poured our wine for us. More people came in, but then they heard the train and they all took off running. I looked at our hosts and said, the train doesn't arrive for another 30 minutes right? She laughed and said, right, that was a different train, we'll let you know when you have to go. Another farmer that had been there gave me plant that he grows. It's a hybrid between Rosemary and Heather. he explained that it was good luck and you get to make one wish from it. So I did.
He was taking a taxi from the airport and I was waiting on my balcony for him to arrive. My apartment is on a pedestrian only street that runs diagonal to the main road. It has tiny one way streets going up and down the hill, and I knew he'd be dropped off about a block away on the street that goes away from the main street. I finally saw a taxi with somebody in it looking up the street and knew it was him. The taxi pulled out of view, and I knew he'd be coming from around the corner, which he did two minutes later, dragging his suitcase. I was so excited, but wait- are those skinny jeans he's wearing? The man is almost 40 he can't be wearing skinny jeans. Oh my, does he really walk like that? Oh God no, how could I have been so wrong? Is that a fauxhawk? - This guys a tool! How am I going to spend two weeks with this idiot?
And then I looked down and the taxi was stopped right beneath my balcony, with the real Johnny Smith paying the driver and looking amazing, dressed like an adult with gown up haircut and everything. He looked up and smiled and my heart skipped.
It was so much fun to show somebody around, and be reminded of all the little differences between Spain and the US, that I just don't see anymore. It was also nice because Johnny speaks Spanish fluently. Actually the first time he started speaking Spanish I exclaimed- "Now THAT's what Spanish is supposed to sound like!" There's just such a difference between Mexican Spanish and Spanish Spanish.
But as Johnny soon found out, Catalonian's don't like speaking Spanish. And if you speak Spanish, well then you should speak Catalan too. So they'll just answer you in Catalan. I don't know how many times I'd ask Johnny what people were saying, and he'd have no idea.
The most important place for Johnny to see was the Familia Sograda. Still my all time favorite building in Spain. Johnny had mentioned that he was uncomfortable with heights. So I realized that taking the elevator to the spirals was not going to happen. I'm not afraid of heights, but the staircase is so small and twisty and there's so many people trying to get views that I had to take the elevator backdown. With all those people it was just nerve racking. So we walked around and I saw the secret elevator that goes up had no line. (the one when you first walk in had a 40 minute wait). I thought oh, well then it won't be bad, there's nobody up there to freak you out. So we got on the elevator, by ourselves (you're usually crammed in with 8 other people)and went up.
So we started walking up the staircase and all of a sudden I noticed Johnny was getting closer and closer to the stairs, oh my god is he on his hands and knees? It was like watching the evolution of man, in reverse. He turned around and sat down, "I think we should go". Ok, we can do that, as he butt bumped the way down the stairs, all I could think is "there's a big difference between uncomfortable and debilitating fear". But he was able to laugh at himself and I learned that maybe I should listen to what people tell me.
And to think, he was going to take the gondola ride because I wanted to go. We went for an amazing dinner at a 5 star restaurant, ate a bunch of tapas and cooked really nice meals at home. Shopping here for specific items is an all day adventure- but it was fun to pick out the perfect cut of tuna at the markets, haggle with the vegetable vendors. I took him to my favorite wine store in the market and he had a great time with the shop owner (Johnny is a beverage distributor- so he can talk with any bartender or wine expert there is).
Oh, did I mention Johnny brought me supplies from home? 12 boxes of Kraft Mac & Cheese (Thick & Creamy), American measuring cups (2 sets- one for my friend Marc), a jar of Peanut Butter (also for Marc), Listerine Strips and two Secret Solid- Powder Fresh. Isn't it Romantic? Actually the best thing ever too, Season 2 of 30Rock! It was like heaven to be able to watch some American TV. And I couldn't wait to get into the Mac & Cheese.
The weather was on and off, so we kept our options open. One day it was finally nice out so we jumped on the train to Mount Serrat, which is an 11th century monastery in the mountains outside of Barcelona. We arrived at the train station and we looked up to see the gondola which takes you up. Johnny looked at it extra hard. My God, I'm such an asshole. I saw him at Familia Sograda, now I'm taking him a mile up a hill in Gondola?
He's was amazing good with this one, he did let out a big breath when he finally got out of it, The monestery is pretty cool, but no monks. Go figure. After spending a couple hours checking it out. We took the gondola back down and went for a drink at the bar at the base. The bar, is actually in a farmers backyard and we were the first to arrive. The family was having lunch and their 12 year old kid jumped up and poured our wine for us. More people came in, but then they heard the train and they all took off running. I looked at our hosts and said, the train doesn't arrive for another 30 minutes right? She laughed and said, right, that was a different train, we'll let you know when you have to go. Another farmer that had been there gave me plant that he grows. It's a hybrid between Rosemary and Heather. he explained that it was good luck and you get to make one wish from it. So I did.
Friday, April 3, 2009
Marrakech
I arrived home from Switzerland at midnight on Sunday and caught a plane at 2pm on Monday. Just enough time to do some laundry (well, actually not, it was cold and the clothes didn’t quite have time to dry) and repack for warmer weather.
I met Greg (my French friend from earlier posts) at the airport and we took a cab to our “riad”. We were staying in the Medina or the old section of Marrakech. The taxi dropped us off at the entrance of an alleyway and a kid grabbed our suitcases and took us down these narrow windy alleys to a wooden door. I was a bit scared and this did not look like anyplace I would want to stay. But once the door opened and we stepped into the courtyard I felt like I was staying in one of the buildings in the Alhambra. It was absolutely stunning and after much paperwork to fill out for the government, they took our bags up these tiny stairs to the second floor and into one of the most beautiful hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in, it wasn’t huge, but enough room for the two of us. There was a slight issue though- the bathroom doesn’t have a door- no, that’s not going to be awkward. But we figured out a routine, and there was a nice terrace to hang out on when it was some elses turn in the bathroom. We dropped off our bags and met the host on the rooftop terrace for a pot of Morrocan tea. It was ser ved in a purple tent with purple silk couches and lots of pillows. Greg said he felt like he was in a theme hotel, I said this is what the themes are based on, but it’s the real thing.
We went to dinner that night. Because Greg actually researches cities before he shows up, he had a very specific restaurant he wanted to go to. A man asked us if we needed directions, and assured us he knew the restaurant we wanted to go to and he’d take us there. Well he took us to completely different restaurant, that was our first lessonn in Morrocan hospitality, they all have an agenda. But it was cool and too late to turn back. We were greated by lines of people all clapping and rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring while we walked in. There were musicians and dancer going around, and the entire restaurant was done with the Moroccan plaster that is just breath taking. We decided to have an aperitif and I wanted champagne. Greg ordered me a glass and the waiter came with a small bottle and said the price was $220 Durham for a glass or $315 for the entire bottle. I said I’d take the whole thing, and he kept repeating the price and confirming that was what I really wanted. Please I’m going to nitpick between $2.20 or $3.15. for champagne just give me the whole tiny bottle. I mentioned how cheap it was to Greg and he said, actually, you have your exchange rate wrong, it was $31.50 for the bottle. Oh, um sorry. The food was amazing, and there was so much of it, I just couldn’t stop eating. (by the way, I realize after Morrocco and Switzerland, that I’m not really a picky eater, I just don’t like most Spanish food). Greg was not impressed with the belly dancers, “they’re fat”, well of course they are- give me a month with this yummy food at my disposal and I’ll be fat too, and they’re all wearing Berkas- who cares if they’re fat. When the bill came it was then Gregs turn to goof up the math. The waiter said that 10% was a fabulous tip, and Greg tipped him. The waiter asked him three times if this is what he meant, he waived them off saying, of course. Then he sat back and thought. Shit, I just tipped 20%. We must have looked like the most stuck up rich people ever to the waiters. Dinner cost $1,600 Durhams, about $160 euro, or $208 U.S., not cheap by any means. Might have been cheaper if we hadn’t been such idiots.
We left the restaurant around 11pm and the streets were deserted. We found out why at 4am when the prayer sirens went off for a half an hour and the streets were filled with people around 5am starting their day. We too were up early and went to the terrace for a yummy breakfast. We were the only ones there and sat down. I have no idea how they knew when we’d get up, but almost instantly they were there were piping hot pastries, fruit, juice and coffee. One of the pastries was a thick tortilla like thing, that I just couldn’t get enough of. It was the closest thing to tortilla I had had since January and it was good. If it had been thinner I would have sworn I was in South Tucson.
We set off to explore the Medina with plans to be back for the Hamman (traditional Morroccan bath) they have at the riad at noon and for my massage at 1. The market was everything you would expect, with people everywhere and those awful “direction” people. You couldn’t stop to look at anything or get your bearings without somebody wanting to give you the history or take you someplace, or course for a fee, that was never discussed up front.
It took us a couple hours after our “spa” and a shower to find the restaurant Greg wanted to go to. He was really annoyed with the people at this point and wouldn’t talk to anybody.
And fair enough, Morroco’s second language is French, so he had to do most of the talking and negotiating, and he’s really not used to negotiating- as much as I tease him about being a nasty Frenchman he really is very polite. When I asked him to come to Morrocco with me, it was because I didn’t want to be a single woman in an Islamic country on my own, I had no idea that he would have to be the translator too. So he was more than allowed his bitching, and it was usually pretty funny too.
Dealing with that market and trying to figure things out really did exhaust us, we went back to the Riad to have a couple beers, and take a quick nap before we went to dinner. We never made it to dinner- and once again were woken by prayer sirens at 4am. You’d have thought, that meant we’d be up early, but we still slept in till 9:30, but still in time to get up for breakfast on the terrace. Seriously, this town is exhausting.
We left the riad to go find one of Greg’s friend’s older sisters. I guess she used to be a famous teen actress in France, and moved to Marrakech to open an art gallery. It took us awhile to find it, and kept meeting old women that wouldn’t let us go down their streets, kept saying “it’s closed, it’s closed” (meaning don’t come down our street). Fair enough, how much of your life can be a tourist attraction? When we finally found her gallery it was in fact closed.
By the way, I really do like being lost in cities with Greg, it’s pretty funny. We got suckered by another kid who knew where we wanted to go and ended up at an herb store. He was talking to Greg about how he liked the French and the Brittish, but hated Americans. Greg smiled and pointed to me and told him that I was American. Without blinking he said, “Yay America! Bush Bad, but Obama Good!” The salesman at the store I didn’t want to go to, was so good that I spent $55 euro there. What can I say, I’m a salesperson and I loved to be sold to.
We then walked 45 minutes out of the Medina through the new part of the city to the Jardins. Greg was not impressed, “this we walked 45 minutes to? It took us 10 minutes to see it all. I’m going to buy a big piece of land outside of Paris, plant some crap then expect people to pay $3 euro to walk through it.” But we did have yummy treats at the café there.
On our way back I asked Greg if we could go back to the Medina so I could buy the gord I had seen. He put his hand on my shoulder and said sweetly “of course, my horse”. I gave him a funny look and he said, “this is a phrase yes? I have heard this before.” (Have any of you ever had the recurring dream that you were walking African streets discussing talking horses to a Frenchman?- oh just me then?)
After being lost in the Medina for a few more hours trying to find the Espices square where I had first seen the goard, and a little bit of play acting by Greg and me (I don’t want this awful thing in our apartment- why do you want this?) I was finally owner of the goard I coveted at the price I wanted to pay.
Walking back to the riad we were trying to cross the street and waiting for the city bus to pass. All of a sudden it stopped in our way. I looked, there was nothing blocking it, and it was holding up traffic. Then I looked at the bus and noticed the driver and a few guys around him were waving madly at Greg with big huge smiles. I looked at Greg who was staring at them trying not to smile. Um, what the hell was that? Greg was shaking his head while he explained that they were just letting him know that they were impressed with his choice of companion. Are you kidding me? Do you know how pissed I would be as a passenger on that bus? Up until that point I was very impressed with how unlike the Spanish they were in this regards. I hadn’t even felt as much as a leer (thank Allah). I guess in Islam they just don't leer directly at you. (oh, and by the way people when you do visit an Islamic country, please wear some clothes. Short shorts and tank tops without bras are fine in Mexico, they are just lack respect here)
We changed our clothes and took off for a restaurant I picked out (but not before Greg consulted the guide book to make sure it was worth it, he’s a bit like an old man that way). That one was pretty easy to find and we found a policeman to guide us there, so it didn’t cost us anything.
This restaurant was even more amazing than the first one. And as Greg pointed out the belly dancers not as fat. He all of a sudden was interested in the entertainment. Go figure (oh, that’s a funny pun). I’m not sure how dinner last 6 hours but we didn’t get home till the sirens were going off. Greg had to leave at 8am to catch his flight and I stayed in bed and enjoyed the riad till I had to leave at 11:30.
I really did love this city, I loved the outfits, the sounds, the smells, the negotiating, the being pissed off, the almost being hit by scooters every 5 minutes. They only serve beer at hotels and expensive tourist restaurants- which is a good thing, because you need every wit about you while traversing these streets, but somehow you become intoxicated just being there.
I met Greg (my French friend from earlier posts) at the airport and we took a cab to our “riad”. We were staying in the Medina or the old section of Marrakech. The taxi dropped us off at the entrance of an alleyway and a kid grabbed our suitcases and took us down these narrow windy alleys to a wooden door. I was a bit scared and this did not look like anyplace I would want to stay. But once the door opened and we stepped into the courtyard I felt like I was staying in one of the buildings in the Alhambra. It was absolutely stunning and after much paperwork to fill out for the government, they took our bags up these tiny stairs to the second floor and into one of the most beautiful hotel rooms I’ve ever stayed in, it wasn’t huge, but enough room for the two of us. There was a slight issue though- the bathroom doesn’t have a door- no, that’s not going to be awkward. But we figured out a routine, and there was a nice terrace to hang out on when it was some elses turn in the bathroom. We dropped off our bags and met the host on the rooftop terrace for a pot of Morrocan tea. It was ser ved in a purple tent with purple silk couches and lots of pillows. Greg said he felt like he was in a theme hotel, I said this is what the themes are based on, but it’s the real thing.
We went to dinner that night. Because Greg actually researches cities before he shows up, he had a very specific restaurant he wanted to go to. A man asked us if we needed directions, and assured us he knew the restaurant we wanted to go to and he’d take us there. Well he took us to completely different restaurant, that was our first lessonn in Morrocan hospitality, they all have an agenda. But it was cool and too late to turn back. We were greated by lines of people all clapping and rrrrrrrrrrrrrrring while we walked in. There were musicians and dancer going around, and the entire restaurant was done with the Moroccan plaster that is just breath taking. We decided to have an aperitif and I wanted champagne. Greg ordered me a glass and the waiter came with a small bottle and said the price was $220 Durham for a glass or $315 for the entire bottle. I said I’d take the whole thing, and he kept repeating the price and confirming that was what I really wanted. Please I’m going to nitpick between $2.20 or $3.15. for champagne just give me the whole tiny bottle. I mentioned how cheap it was to Greg and he said, actually, you have your exchange rate wrong, it was $31.50 for the bottle. Oh, um sorry. The food was amazing, and there was so much of it, I just couldn’t stop eating. (by the way, I realize after Morrocco and Switzerland, that I’m not really a picky eater, I just don’t like most Spanish food). Greg was not impressed with the belly dancers, “they’re fat”, well of course they are- give me a month with this yummy food at my disposal and I’ll be fat too, and they’re all wearing Berkas- who cares if they’re fat. When the bill came it was then Gregs turn to goof up the math. The waiter said that 10% was a fabulous tip, and Greg tipped him. The waiter asked him three times if this is what he meant, he waived them off saying, of course. Then he sat back and thought. Shit, I just tipped 20%. We must have looked like the most stuck up rich people ever to the waiters. Dinner cost $1,600 Durhams, about $160 euro, or $208 U.S., not cheap by any means. Might have been cheaper if we hadn’t been such idiots.
We left the restaurant around 11pm and the streets were deserted. We found out why at 4am when the prayer sirens went off for a half an hour and the streets were filled with people around 5am starting their day. We too were up early and went to the terrace for a yummy breakfast. We were the only ones there and sat down. I have no idea how they knew when we’d get up, but almost instantly they were there were piping hot pastries, fruit, juice and coffee. One of the pastries was a thick tortilla like thing, that I just couldn’t get enough of. It was the closest thing to tortilla I had had since January and it was good. If it had been thinner I would have sworn I was in South Tucson.
We set off to explore the Medina with plans to be back for the Hamman (traditional Morroccan bath) they have at the riad at noon and for my massage at 1. The market was everything you would expect, with people everywhere and those awful “direction” people. You couldn’t stop to look at anything or get your bearings without somebody wanting to give you the history or take you someplace, or course for a fee, that was never discussed up front.
It took us a couple hours after our “spa” and a shower to find the restaurant Greg wanted to go to. He was really annoyed with the people at this point and wouldn’t talk to anybody.
And fair enough, Morroco’s second language is French, so he had to do most of the talking and negotiating, and he’s really not used to negotiating- as much as I tease him about being a nasty Frenchman he really is very polite. When I asked him to come to Morrocco with me, it was because I didn’t want to be a single woman in an Islamic country on my own, I had no idea that he would have to be the translator too. So he was more than allowed his bitching, and it was usually pretty funny too.
Dealing with that market and trying to figure things out really did exhaust us, we went back to the Riad to have a couple beers, and take a quick nap before we went to dinner. We never made it to dinner- and once again were woken by prayer sirens at 4am. You’d have thought, that meant we’d be up early, but we still slept in till 9:30, but still in time to get up for breakfast on the terrace. Seriously, this town is exhausting.
We left the riad to go find one of Greg’s friend’s older sisters. I guess she used to be a famous teen actress in France, and moved to Marrakech to open an art gallery. It took us awhile to find it, and kept meeting old women that wouldn’t let us go down their streets, kept saying “it’s closed, it’s closed” (meaning don’t come down our street). Fair enough, how much of your life can be a tourist attraction? When we finally found her gallery it was in fact closed.
By the way, I really do like being lost in cities with Greg, it’s pretty funny. We got suckered by another kid who knew where we wanted to go and ended up at an herb store. He was talking to Greg about how he liked the French and the Brittish, but hated Americans. Greg smiled and pointed to me and told him that I was American. Without blinking he said, “Yay America! Bush Bad, but Obama Good!” The salesman at the store I didn’t want to go to, was so good that I spent $55 euro there. What can I say, I’m a salesperson and I loved to be sold to.
We then walked 45 minutes out of the Medina through the new part of the city to the Jardins. Greg was not impressed, “this we walked 45 minutes to? It took us 10 minutes to see it all. I’m going to buy a big piece of land outside of Paris, plant some crap then expect people to pay $3 euro to walk through it.” But we did have yummy treats at the café there.
On our way back I asked Greg if we could go back to the Medina so I could buy the gord I had seen. He put his hand on my shoulder and said sweetly “of course, my horse”. I gave him a funny look and he said, “this is a phrase yes? I have heard this before.” (Have any of you ever had the recurring dream that you were walking African streets discussing talking horses to a Frenchman?- oh just me then?)
After being lost in the Medina for a few more hours trying to find the Espices square where I had first seen the goard, and a little bit of play acting by Greg and me (I don’t want this awful thing in our apartment- why do you want this?) I was finally owner of the goard I coveted at the price I wanted to pay.
Walking back to the riad we were trying to cross the street and waiting for the city bus to pass. All of a sudden it stopped in our way. I looked, there was nothing blocking it, and it was holding up traffic. Then I looked at the bus and noticed the driver and a few guys around him were waving madly at Greg with big huge smiles. I looked at Greg who was staring at them trying not to smile. Um, what the hell was that? Greg was shaking his head while he explained that they were just letting him know that they were impressed with his choice of companion. Are you kidding me? Do you know how pissed I would be as a passenger on that bus? Up until that point I was very impressed with how unlike the Spanish they were in this regards. I hadn’t even felt as much as a leer (thank Allah). I guess in Islam they just don't leer directly at you. (oh, and by the way people when you do visit an Islamic country, please wear some clothes. Short shorts and tank tops without bras are fine in Mexico, they are just lack respect here)
We changed our clothes and took off for a restaurant I picked out (but not before Greg consulted the guide book to make sure it was worth it, he’s a bit like an old man that way). That one was pretty easy to find and we found a policeman to guide us there, so it didn’t cost us anything.
This restaurant was even more amazing than the first one. And as Greg pointed out the belly dancers not as fat. He all of a sudden was interested in the entertainment. Go figure (oh, that’s a funny pun). I’m not sure how dinner last 6 hours but we didn’t get home till the sirens were going off. Greg had to leave at 8am to catch his flight and I stayed in bed and enjoyed the riad till I had to leave at 11:30.
I really did love this city, I loved the outfits, the sounds, the smells, the negotiating, the being pissed off, the almost being hit by scooters every 5 minutes. They only serve beer at hotels and expensive tourist restaurants- which is a good thing, because you need every wit about you while traversing these streets, but somehow you become intoxicated just being there.
Family Ties- A Very Special Episode
After arrving back in Chur I went to book a ticket to Sufers, the ticket agents were intrigued with my story and grabbed my paper work and started searching on the internet. They couldn’t find Margrith, but they did tell me exactly where I should go for the restaurant. I wasn’t sure if I should book the ticket back after two hours or three hours. I decided to go for three hours. When I arrived in Sufers, it was even tinier than Tamins and up much further in the mountains and filled with snow and overlooking a crystal clear glacier lake. Obviously a skiers dream, and there was even a hotel with the restaurant. It took me about 10 minutes to check out the town and I headed to the restaurant. I sat down and asked the woman if she knew Margrith. Sadly, Margrith passed some years ago. I asked if Margrith had any children that were still there and explained to her that I thought Margrith may be my family. She mentioned her daughter, Annalis, but she didn’t speak English, so she’d be no help. Um, that’s kind of not the point. There were only two other people in the restaurant, so she was not busy, so I kept asking her questions- I had three hours to kill. She finally called the daughter, Annalise, who didn’t seem too interested. Then Paula would call with another question and the more we dug, the more interseting it became. Annalis was calling with new questions and information as frequently as Paula was calling her. There was one conversation where Paula I think was telling her not to bother coming because I only spoke English (which kind of bummed me out). And one huge conversation while Paula told Annalis that Anna had gone to Africa. She was not as interested to hear that Anna had became a very wealthy and respected woman in her community in MN.
Her English was very limited, and we spoke with charades and pictionary a lot. At one point, Paual saw the incrspiction I had written down from one of the headstones and I asked her what it said. She said God, then looked frustrated, and grabbed a pen to draw a stick figure with a hat, and a sheep, to which I exclaimed, “The lord is my shepard and I shall not want”. We had a good fit of giggles over that one. The more we dug into it, the more exciting it became for both of us, and she pulled out a phone book to start calling people.
Finally Paula pantomines that Anna had been pregnant and was forced to leave Switzerland. During one of the phone calls she wrote down “Von Werdenberg”, and I immediately knew this was the name of the baby’s daddy, of course seeing the Von, I also knew what that meant. Von signifies higher class, or “Lords” of the area. Anna got knocked up by the local gentry’s son, and instead of him taking any responsibility, just let her get kicked out of the village to fend for herself. All of these years of questioning Anna’s story, we now had a reason for the unexplainable beginning.
But what surprised me even more, Annalis was not a descendent of one of Anna’s siblings, but rather Anna’s first child that was left behind in Switzerland to be raised by her mother while she was shunned. I asked Paula what they did with unwed mothers at that time, she was ashamed when she said, they were just kicked out with any money or resources. She was quick to add that they no longer did that today.
So this explains, why Anna traveled throughout Europe and Africa frequenting mining towns. She was a 16 year old girl in the 1860’s with no family, and no resources, she did what she had to do. But she never let it stop her from anything. Family stories paint her as a woman of taste, beauty, refinement, determination, culture and intellegence, she also learned eight languages. She probably didn’t have these traits in Tamins, as the daughter of a cobbler who had died when she was young and must have learned them through the trials she endured. I have to say I’m very proud to have such a strong woman in my lineage. I’m also really proud that I come from a country that no matter who you were, or what you came from you could reinvent yourself so completely with no prejudices. I’m sure if she hadn’t been kicked out she would have continued to live her life in the class she was born into, instead of becoming the amazing woman she became.
I had to run to catch my bus, Paula and I were having so much fun we lost track of time. I could have stayed hours more. I promised I would go visit the two elderly sisters that may be my relatives that are in the nursing home in Churs tomorrow. I spent the next day tracking them down, but couldn’t find them. They were a lot older than Margrith so they had probably passed on too. But if I retire I’m retiring in Switzerland, those homes are swank and the food looked amazing.
I have to admit I’m even more intrigued with this story now and can’t wait to go back with a translator to get the details.
Her English was very limited, and we spoke with charades and pictionary a lot. At one point, Paual saw the incrspiction I had written down from one of the headstones and I asked her what it said. She said God, then looked frustrated, and grabbed a pen to draw a stick figure with a hat, and a sheep, to which I exclaimed, “The lord is my shepard and I shall not want”. We had a good fit of giggles over that one. The more we dug into it, the more exciting it became for both of us, and she pulled out a phone book to start calling people.
Finally Paula pantomines that Anna had been pregnant and was forced to leave Switzerland. During one of the phone calls she wrote down “Von Werdenberg”, and I immediately knew this was the name of the baby’s daddy, of course seeing the Von, I also knew what that meant. Von signifies higher class, or “Lords” of the area. Anna got knocked up by the local gentry’s son, and instead of him taking any responsibility, just let her get kicked out of the village to fend for herself. All of these years of questioning Anna’s story, we now had a reason for the unexplainable beginning.
But what surprised me even more, Annalis was not a descendent of one of Anna’s siblings, but rather Anna’s first child that was left behind in Switzerland to be raised by her mother while she was shunned. I asked Paula what they did with unwed mothers at that time, she was ashamed when she said, they were just kicked out with any money or resources. She was quick to add that they no longer did that today.
So this explains, why Anna traveled throughout Europe and Africa frequenting mining towns. She was a 16 year old girl in the 1860’s with no family, and no resources, she did what she had to do. But she never let it stop her from anything. Family stories paint her as a woman of taste, beauty, refinement, determination, culture and intellegence, she also learned eight languages. She probably didn’t have these traits in Tamins, as the daughter of a cobbler who had died when she was young and must have learned them through the trials she endured. I have to say I’m very proud to have such a strong woman in my lineage. I’m also really proud that I come from a country that no matter who you were, or what you came from you could reinvent yourself so completely with no prejudices. I’m sure if she hadn’t been kicked out she would have continued to live her life in the class she was born into, instead of becoming the amazing woman she became.
I had to run to catch my bus, Paula and I were having so much fun we lost track of time. I could have stayed hours more. I promised I would go visit the two elderly sisters that may be my relatives that are in the nursing home in Churs tomorrow. I spent the next day tracking them down, but couldn’t find them. They were a lot older than Margrith so they had probably passed on too. But if I retire I’m retiring in Switzerland, those homes are swank and the food looked amazing.
I have to admit I’m even more intrigued with this story now and can’t wait to go back with a translator to get the details.
Family Ties
In 1862 when my great great grandmother, Anna Ruedi, was not yet 16, she left Tamins Switzerland to travel throughout Europe and Northern Africa, eventually finding her way to Fairbolt MN at the age of 21. There she met my great great grandfather and they were married within weeks. It’s a story that’s always intrigued me, and has left many unanswered questions. Why would she leave her home when she was so young, why are the majority of cities in her passport mining towns, why did she marry so quickly in America, why did she never go visit the friends she supposedly traveled from Cairo to see that were only 15 miles away in the next mining town? My fabulous Uncle Dave had researched her and studied her records, so I had some clues as to who she was, but without a doubt the things he would uncover just led to more questions
When I found out I was going to St. Moritz I took a look at the map and realized that Tamins was in between St. Moritz and Zurich, I decided to stop for a couple nights to check it out.
Tamins doesn’t have a hotel, in fact when I mentioned to the stoner ski rental guy that I was going there, he asked me why. The train ticket guy in St. Moritz also explained that I would not find much, but he became very helpful when I explained it was where my family was from.
I was staying at the near by city of Chur (pronounced Khur), in the morning I took the bus to Tamins (it doesn’t even have a train station). When we arrived at the stop that had Tamins written in flowers I looked around and my heart dropped, it was worse than I imagined, nothing but condos from the 80’s. Oh well, at least this will be a quick day and started to get off the bus. The driver stopped me and said that I had one more stop. Then we went up these tiny windy roads into the hills and into this beautiful hillside village that looked like something out of a Swiss story book. I walked around some, there was the occasional people on the street, but not many and I realized they were not used to tourists with cameras and eyed me suspiciously. The mailman spoke to me, and I asked him if there were any Ruedi’s left in town, he said no.
I made my way up to the church on top of the hill, hoping it was the one where Anna was baptized, but it had been replaced by a new church in the 1880’s and the graveyard was very new. But I did find two Ruedi’s who had died, one in 1993 and one in 1995, one was 87 and the other 74 when they passed. Well, at least that’s a start. I spoke to the baker (whom I bought a piece of rhubarb pie from, but it wasn’t rhubarb pie, it was rhubarb quiche, and surprisingly, not as disgusting as you would have thought) she mentioned a Ruedi and wrote down a name for me, but she didn’t speak English and I’ll have to figure out what she said. I spoke to another man who didn’t know of any Ruedi’s either. At this point, I figured it was time to give up and go back to Chur. As I was making my way down the hill I noticed a restaurant, I figured I might as well have lunch before I go.
I walked in, and you could tell they weren’t quite sure what to do with me. I stood there waiting for somebody to help me, finally a woman who was eating lunch with a large group got up from her meal and approached me. She spoke some English and guided me to a seat and said she’d be back with a menu. She came back and explained that there was no menu today they were only serving one dish I had no idea what she said it was, but I told her it was exactly what I was in the mood for. The group next to me kept looking at me, but I knew they didn’t speak English so I’d just nod. But for the most part I was left in peace to read my book. After lunch (which was pork with bernaise sauce, once again not as disgusting as you’d think) I decided to go for it and showed the history my Uncle Dave had written down and pointed to Anna’s name to the woman who had seated me. She said “yah I know, one moment let me go get my mom.” In the mean time all the customers are just going behind the bar and getting what they wanted, a few were doing dishes.
The mom came over and her daughter translated (daughter happened to be there on vacation with her 9 month old son and had lived in London 20 years ago, so it was her job to serve me as she was the only one who knew English). They knew my family and started telling everybody who I was and much discussion started happening. She smiled at me and said they are talking about your family. We have all been here hundreds of years and know your family, the postman and the others are not from here, we are. Her mother gave me a name of Margrith Ruedi Streil and told me she owned a restaurant in the town of Sufers and I should go meet her, they would tell me about my family. At one point, an old dyky woman gave me the multiple kisses on the cheek and then snuck a kiss on the lips. It was rather awkward and I was not expecting it. My new friend then walked me to the Ruedi’s house on the hillside. A very unassumming house that had the year 1970 painted on the chimmney. I mentioned that the house was new, so maybe the last house a Ruedi inhabbited, but couldn’t have been where Anna lived. She said no, 1970 was the last year it was rennovated, but the house has always been here.
We walked back down the hill she mentioned that the man who kissed me was one of the greatest ski trainers in Swiss Olympic history and is from Tamins. I exclaimed, Oh my, that was a man, I’m so relieved, I was really kind of creeped out. We had to stop in the street to catch our breath from laughing so hard. (his hair was amazing).
I said, I should go back to Chur to catch a bus to Sufers, she said the bus didn’t show up for another 30 minutes, so I should have a beer first. So I came back in, the group was really in full swing with drink at this point, and I was the center of Swiss attention. The ski trainer was in full swing trying to flirt, as far as I could tell the only English phrase he knew was “you have a nice body”, which would bring cheers and laughs from the rest. Oh and one woman was wearing a check blue and white shirt, with long black braids. She looked just like Heidi would have if Heidi was 40. They wouldn’t let me pay for my beer, and sent me off with business cards and promises to let them know what I found.
When I found out I was going to St. Moritz I took a look at the map and realized that Tamins was in between St. Moritz and Zurich, I decided to stop for a couple nights to check it out.
Tamins doesn’t have a hotel, in fact when I mentioned to the stoner ski rental guy that I was going there, he asked me why. The train ticket guy in St. Moritz also explained that I would not find much, but he became very helpful when I explained it was where my family was from.
I was staying at the near by city of Chur (pronounced Khur), in the morning I took the bus to Tamins (it doesn’t even have a train station). When we arrived at the stop that had Tamins written in flowers I looked around and my heart dropped, it was worse than I imagined, nothing but condos from the 80’s. Oh well, at least this will be a quick day and started to get off the bus. The driver stopped me and said that I had one more stop. Then we went up these tiny windy roads into the hills and into this beautiful hillside village that looked like something out of a Swiss story book. I walked around some, there was the occasional people on the street, but not many and I realized they were not used to tourists with cameras and eyed me suspiciously. The mailman spoke to me, and I asked him if there were any Ruedi’s left in town, he said no.
I made my way up to the church on top of the hill, hoping it was the one where Anna was baptized, but it had been replaced by a new church in the 1880’s and the graveyard was very new. But I did find two Ruedi’s who had died, one in 1993 and one in 1995, one was 87 and the other 74 when they passed. Well, at least that’s a start. I spoke to the baker (whom I bought a piece of rhubarb pie from, but it wasn’t rhubarb pie, it was rhubarb quiche, and surprisingly, not as disgusting as you would have thought) she mentioned a Ruedi and wrote down a name for me, but she didn’t speak English and I’ll have to figure out what she said. I spoke to another man who didn’t know of any Ruedi’s either. At this point, I figured it was time to give up and go back to Chur. As I was making my way down the hill I noticed a restaurant, I figured I might as well have lunch before I go.
I walked in, and you could tell they weren’t quite sure what to do with me. I stood there waiting for somebody to help me, finally a woman who was eating lunch with a large group got up from her meal and approached me. She spoke some English and guided me to a seat and said she’d be back with a menu. She came back and explained that there was no menu today they were only serving one dish I had no idea what she said it was, but I told her it was exactly what I was in the mood for. The group next to me kept looking at me, but I knew they didn’t speak English so I’d just nod. But for the most part I was left in peace to read my book. After lunch (which was pork with bernaise sauce, once again not as disgusting as you’d think) I decided to go for it and showed the history my Uncle Dave had written down and pointed to Anna’s name to the woman who had seated me. She said “yah I know, one moment let me go get my mom.” In the mean time all the customers are just going behind the bar and getting what they wanted, a few were doing dishes.
The mom came over and her daughter translated (daughter happened to be there on vacation with her 9 month old son and had lived in London 20 years ago, so it was her job to serve me as she was the only one who knew English). They knew my family and started telling everybody who I was and much discussion started happening. She smiled at me and said they are talking about your family. We have all been here hundreds of years and know your family, the postman and the others are not from here, we are. Her mother gave me a name of Margrith Ruedi Streil and told me she owned a restaurant in the town of Sufers and I should go meet her, they would tell me about my family. At one point, an old dyky woman gave me the multiple kisses on the cheek and then snuck a kiss on the lips. It was rather awkward and I was not expecting it. My new friend then walked me to the Ruedi’s house on the hillside. A very unassumming house that had the year 1970 painted on the chimmney. I mentioned that the house was new, so maybe the last house a Ruedi inhabbited, but couldn’t have been where Anna lived. She said no, 1970 was the last year it was rennovated, but the house has always been here.
We walked back down the hill she mentioned that the man who kissed me was one of the greatest ski trainers in Swiss Olympic history and is from Tamins. I exclaimed, Oh my, that was a man, I’m so relieved, I was really kind of creeped out. We had to stop in the street to catch our breath from laughing so hard. (his hair was amazing).
I said, I should go back to Chur to catch a bus to Sufers, she said the bus didn’t show up for another 30 minutes, so I should have a beer first. So I came back in, the group was really in full swing with drink at this point, and I was the center of Swiss attention. The ski trainer was in full swing trying to flirt, as far as I could tell the only English phrase he knew was “you have a nice body”, which would bring cheers and laughs from the rest. Oh and one woman was wearing a check blue and white shirt, with long black braids. She looked just like Heidi would have if Heidi was 40. They wouldn’t let me pay for my beer, and sent me off with business cards and promises to let them know what I found.
St. Moritz
My cousin Stephanie had contacted me to let me know she was going to be in St. Moritz with a group of skiers. I immediately told her I’d be joining her, I was so excited to snowboard in the Alps. Seriously, if you’re going to live in Europe for a year, how do you not ski the Alps at least once? This was an idea lost on my Barcelona friends.
So I caught a flight to Dusseldorf then on to Zurich. I forgot how big men could be while I was in Spain, and was quickly reminded of it in Germany. They were huge and they all looked like they could be a relative. Everyone spoke English and they were all in a hurry. On the plane from Dusseldorf to Zurich I was staring out the window, when I heard and very sweet and very yodely YaHOOoo! It was the attendant trying to catch my attention. It took me all of my might not to just start giggling. Did she really just Yahoo me? Do they really say that?
I arrived in Switzerland and was met with customs who asked where I was coming from. I said Barcelona, but my flight came through Dusseldorf. He searched my passport and said, neither country has stamped your passport. I shrugged and said, but you can, I like the stamps. He then said “it is not an option, countries are supposed to stamp the passport so we know where you are coming from, if they don’t the system doesn’t work, this is unacceptable”, and I knew I had arrived in Switzerland.
Ok, so this is totally my bad, but I didn’t realize that the Swiss don’t accept the Euro, they’re on Francs. So the 15 minute ride from the airport to the train station cost me $47 euro. The driver tried to keep the change from y $50. Um, no. Sorry, $47 euro for 15 minutes, you don’t get a tip, he reluctantly gave me back a $5 Franc. Um, what the hell is this coin? It wasn’t till I got to the hotel that I found out the Franc is worth 40% less than the Euro, so the ride should have just cost me way less. Bastard.
But I got to the train station at 7:30 for the last train that left at 7:37. Got my ticket and on the train in the nick of time. Arrived in St. Moritz at 11pm and found Stephanie.
It was so good to see her, and I met my new friend Dorey who was sharing a room with Stephanie. The next day we woke to go snowboarding. Stephanie said she wanted to snowboard (I think she may have been doing it just for me) while Dorey continued to ski. We figured Dorey ditched us after awhile, so we headed to the kids slope to practice a bit. Once we got kicked out of there, we headed to have a beer. We decided to go for the large one, when we finished the waitress asked if we needed more, we said no we have to snowboard and should have our wits about us. To which she said, if you’re new to snowboarding you need one more half beer, it is just the right amount to keep your wits but give you courage. So we had a half beer. Who are we to argue with the experts?
Don’t even get me started with the T-bar lift. I never got the hang of that thing, and at one point they had to shut it down as I was being dragged up the hill by my legs with it. Oh, and it turns out Dorey didn’t ditch us, we ditched her. She was a little perturbed when we found her at the hotel, but a Minnesota perturbed so not that bad. (Sorry Dorey)
The next day we decided to wander around town. We stopped at the ski shop to pick up something and found our friends John and Argentina boy. These kids were hysterical, the typical stoner ski bums, but they giggled at everything we said, so we liked them. We decided to have a drink of water and Stephanie went to the dispenser, it was kind of difficult, but she finally got one out and poured herself a glass. Then she noticed that they had extras and said it would be easier just to use those, and passed them out to Dorey and I. When we finished an older ski guy came up and took the cups from us. He promptely put them into the dispenser Stephanie had got hers from. There was a moments pause before we all just turned around and walked out, we weren’t even capable of saying a decent thank you or goodbye. Dorey, couldn’t make it up the stairs she was laughing so hard. Steph, you just drank out of the trash!
The town was fabulous, everyone spoke English, it was like being in one of those little towns that the model train maker make. Of course everything was overpriced, it’s Switzerland, and the most ritzy ski town in Switzerland, but still cheaper than Aspen.
One of the ladies in the group broke her pelvic bone the first day, so we visited her in the hospital. Ok, if you’re ever going to break something skiing do it in St. Moritz, the place was like a high end spa. And the cost was $6000.00 francs (about $5,500) for a four day hospital stay, for cash that’s a pretty good deal.
The Alps were pretty intimidating and on the last day I finally gave up snowboarding. The day started out perfect, but after about 6 runs, the clouds came in and you couldn’t see the snow from the sky and couldn’t tell there was a hill till you were already going down it. I gave up and hit the Heineken tent, I had nothing to prove. Steph and Dorey continued on. Steph got stuck in a ravine and had to climb up an ice wall. Thankfully a man stopped to help pull her up. But of course Steph, the nicest person in the world and from MN, hanging from an ice cliff said, “oh no, that’s ok I don’t want to bother you.” Thankfully he insisted. I hit her when I heard that one. There is a point where manners are not longer relative.
We went out one night. I got hit on by a young German who when he heard my age said very creepily, “oh, 39, so you know what you want”. Um, yeah that’s not you. At least the 28 year olds in Spain that hit on me don’t voice that opinion.
All in All St. Moritz is definitely an experience I’m glad I could share with James Bond, I wish I was more athletic, but I’m not, so I can say I did it and be happy.
So I caught a flight to Dusseldorf then on to Zurich. I forgot how big men could be while I was in Spain, and was quickly reminded of it in Germany. They were huge and they all looked like they could be a relative. Everyone spoke English and they were all in a hurry. On the plane from Dusseldorf to Zurich I was staring out the window, when I heard and very sweet and very yodely YaHOOoo! It was the attendant trying to catch my attention. It took me all of my might not to just start giggling. Did she really just Yahoo me? Do they really say that?
I arrived in Switzerland and was met with customs who asked where I was coming from. I said Barcelona, but my flight came through Dusseldorf. He searched my passport and said, neither country has stamped your passport. I shrugged and said, but you can, I like the stamps. He then said “it is not an option, countries are supposed to stamp the passport so we know where you are coming from, if they don’t the system doesn’t work, this is unacceptable”, and I knew I had arrived in Switzerland.
Ok, so this is totally my bad, but I didn’t realize that the Swiss don’t accept the Euro, they’re on Francs. So the 15 minute ride from the airport to the train station cost me $47 euro. The driver tried to keep the change from y $50. Um, no. Sorry, $47 euro for 15 minutes, you don’t get a tip, he reluctantly gave me back a $5 Franc. Um, what the hell is this coin? It wasn’t till I got to the hotel that I found out the Franc is worth 40% less than the Euro, so the ride should have just cost me way less. Bastard.
But I got to the train station at 7:30 for the last train that left at 7:37. Got my ticket and on the train in the nick of time. Arrived in St. Moritz at 11pm and found Stephanie.
It was so good to see her, and I met my new friend Dorey who was sharing a room with Stephanie. The next day we woke to go snowboarding. Stephanie said she wanted to snowboard (I think she may have been doing it just for me) while Dorey continued to ski. We figured Dorey ditched us after awhile, so we headed to the kids slope to practice a bit. Once we got kicked out of there, we headed to have a beer. We decided to go for the large one, when we finished the waitress asked if we needed more, we said no we have to snowboard and should have our wits about us. To which she said, if you’re new to snowboarding you need one more half beer, it is just the right amount to keep your wits but give you courage. So we had a half beer. Who are we to argue with the experts?
Don’t even get me started with the T-bar lift. I never got the hang of that thing, and at one point they had to shut it down as I was being dragged up the hill by my legs with it. Oh, and it turns out Dorey didn’t ditch us, we ditched her. She was a little perturbed when we found her at the hotel, but a Minnesota perturbed so not that bad. (Sorry Dorey)
The next day we decided to wander around town. We stopped at the ski shop to pick up something and found our friends John and Argentina boy. These kids were hysterical, the typical stoner ski bums, but they giggled at everything we said, so we liked them. We decided to have a drink of water and Stephanie went to the dispenser, it was kind of difficult, but she finally got one out and poured herself a glass. Then she noticed that they had extras and said it would be easier just to use those, and passed them out to Dorey and I. When we finished an older ski guy came up and took the cups from us. He promptely put them into the dispenser Stephanie had got hers from. There was a moments pause before we all just turned around and walked out, we weren’t even capable of saying a decent thank you or goodbye. Dorey, couldn’t make it up the stairs she was laughing so hard. Steph, you just drank out of the trash!
The town was fabulous, everyone spoke English, it was like being in one of those little towns that the model train maker make. Of course everything was overpriced, it’s Switzerland, and the most ritzy ski town in Switzerland, but still cheaper than Aspen.
One of the ladies in the group broke her pelvic bone the first day, so we visited her in the hospital. Ok, if you’re ever going to break something skiing do it in St. Moritz, the place was like a high end spa. And the cost was $6000.00 francs (about $5,500) for a four day hospital stay, for cash that’s a pretty good deal.
The Alps were pretty intimidating and on the last day I finally gave up snowboarding. The day started out perfect, but after about 6 runs, the clouds came in and you couldn’t see the snow from the sky and couldn’t tell there was a hill till you were already going down it. I gave up and hit the Heineken tent, I had nothing to prove. Steph and Dorey continued on. Steph got stuck in a ravine and had to climb up an ice wall. Thankfully a man stopped to help pull her up. But of course Steph, the nicest person in the world and from MN, hanging from an ice cliff said, “oh no, that’s ok I don’t want to bother you.” Thankfully he insisted. I hit her when I heard that one. There is a point where manners are not longer relative.
We went out one night. I got hit on by a young German who when he heard my age said very creepily, “oh, 39, so you know what you want”. Um, yeah that’s not you. At least the 28 year olds in Spain that hit on me don’t voice that opinion.
All in All St. Moritz is definitely an experience I’m glad I could share with James Bond, I wish I was more athletic, but I’m not, so I can say I did it and be happy.
Burning Down the House- Las Fallas
My friend Dave I met in Valencia (the political science teacher from Flint) wrote to ask if he could come to Barcelona so he didn’t have to deal with Las Fallas. I asked him what Las Fallas was and he explained it to me. I said of course you can come up for a couple nights, but I’m coming back with you so I can check this out. He ended up not being able to come to Barcelona and I had to finish up my Eurail, so I hopped on the train to meet him for the night.
I arrived at the train station and was not ready for the crowds that greeted me. The sleepy little town I had visited the month prior had been transformed into one giant party. There were people everywhere and fireworks going off constantly, and this was at 3pm.
Las Fallas is the largest firework festival in Europe. One night they compete to see who is going to do the fireworks for the Olympics and other worldwide festivals. I wish I had been there that night, but I arrived for the burnings, that were maybe more spectacular.
I told Dave I would just take a taxi to his apartment, he laughed and said that wasn’t going to happen. So he picked me up from the station and we walked through the crowds to his apartment. (He was right, there was no way a taxi was getting through this) dropped off my bags and we quickly hit the streets to check it out. Pasadena has nothing on this city. Huge 30 foot tall paper mache statues that are just beautiful, funny and intricate, that people have spent a year planning and building to the cost of sometimes a million euro, all ready to be set ablaze. And they’re everywhere. Every neighborhood has one, and since neighborhoods are only sometimes a block or two, you can’t look anywhere without seeing one.
Around midnight they light the “statues” with fireworks, there’s a huge shift backwards as the people in the front rows try to get out of the way of the heat. You try to catch as many burings as you can, but most are set off at the same time to avoid this type of confusion. There’s beer in the street and everyone is just having a huge party. We hit a bar that Dave had many friends in, so it was a good time. Then we took off and hit another bar, when we were walking home at about 5am the city looked like a war zone.
The next morning (afternoon?) we woke up and went to get something to eat. The streets were quiet, they were absolutely clean and there was absolutely no sign that any of this had gone on the night before. It was a little bit like the Twilight zone.
So of course it was only 1pm and none of the restaurants that serve the good paella were open yet, so Dave and I went to the bar that we first met in and ordered a beer. Oh my, I was not ready for that, but the second one went down a lot faster. Finally it was 2pm and we could go get our paella, the good stuff Dave had told me abou the first time I was there- no tiny crabs, actually I ordered the rabbit version, as my stomach really couldn’t handle fish at that moment. We ordered another beer with lunch. Then Dave had to go teach a class and I wandered around Valencia for a bit more, dragging my suitcase behind me. I had another beer at the train station and thought, perfect, I’ll be able to sleep the whole way home. But then somebody committed suicide on the tracks, so the trains was delayed by two hours, and I had to stay awake for it, then my buzz was gone so I was up the entire time on the train. Ugh.
I made it home at 11pm with barely enough time to shower and change for Andre’s going away party. I was tired, but caught my second wind around 3am, just in time for the bars to close. Thankfully Marshall has an apartment so we moved the party there. I once again got home between 5 and 6 am, oh and let me tell you how well I slept that morning.
I arrived at the train station and was not ready for the crowds that greeted me. The sleepy little town I had visited the month prior had been transformed into one giant party. There were people everywhere and fireworks going off constantly, and this was at 3pm.
Las Fallas is the largest firework festival in Europe. One night they compete to see who is going to do the fireworks for the Olympics and other worldwide festivals. I wish I had been there that night, but I arrived for the burnings, that were maybe more spectacular.
I told Dave I would just take a taxi to his apartment, he laughed and said that wasn’t going to happen. So he picked me up from the station and we walked through the crowds to his apartment. (He was right, there was no way a taxi was getting through this) dropped off my bags and we quickly hit the streets to check it out. Pasadena has nothing on this city. Huge 30 foot tall paper mache statues that are just beautiful, funny and intricate, that people have spent a year planning and building to the cost of sometimes a million euro, all ready to be set ablaze. And they’re everywhere. Every neighborhood has one, and since neighborhoods are only sometimes a block or two, you can’t look anywhere without seeing one.
Around midnight they light the “statues” with fireworks, there’s a huge shift backwards as the people in the front rows try to get out of the way of the heat. You try to catch as many burings as you can, but most are set off at the same time to avoid this type of confusion. There’s beer in the street and everyone is just having a huge party. We hit a bar that Dave had many friends in, so it was a good time. Then we took off and hit another bar, when we were walking home at about 5am the city looked like a war zone.
The next morning (afternoon?) we woke up and went to get something to eat. The streets were quiet, they were absolutely clean and there was absolutely no sign that any of this had gone on the night before. It was a little bit like the Twilight zone.
So of course it was only 1pm and none of the restaurants that serve the good paella were open yet, so Dave and I went to the bar that we first met in and ordered a beer. Oh my, I was not ready for that, but the second one went down a lot faster. Finally it was 2pm and we could go get our paella, the good stuff Dave had told me abou the first time I was there- no tiny crabs, actually I ordered the rabbit version, as my stomach really couldn’t handle fish at that moment. We ordered another beer with lunch. Then Dave had to go teach a class and I wandered around Valencia for a bit more, dragging my suitcase behind me. I had another beer at the train station and thought, perfect, I’ll be able to sleep the whole way home. But then somebody committed suicide on the tracks, so the trains was delayed by two hours, and I had to stay awake for it, then my buzz was gone so I was up the entire time on the train. Ugh.
I made it home at 11pm with barely enough time to shower and change for Andre’s going away party. I was tired, but caught my second wind around 3am, just in time for the bars to close. Thankfully Marshall has an apartment so we moved the party there. I once again got home between 5 and 6 am, oh and let me tell you how well I slept that morning.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
