Barcelona

Hola!

So, I visited Barcelona last weekend and while I probably should have written this a few days ago, I had midterms to pretend to study for.

We left Thursday evening on Ryan Air, an airline notorious for super cheap flights. They have a reputation for giving you your money’s worth and absolutely nothing else. We managed to get to Barcelona in one piece and, as we arrived in an airport in some desolate and distant area, we took an hour and a half bus ride to get to the real Barcelona.

Our hostel was everything a hostel is supposed to be. In past trips, I’ve stayed in rooms that they try to make mimic crappy hotels. Not this one. Graffiti hostel has squeaky bunk beds, mismatched sheets, and exactly two bathrooms for all the inhabitants. No one speaks the same language but everyone can communicate a mutual hatred of that girl who hogs the bathroom to blow-dry her dreadlocks. In our room, we had a colorful bunch, including two super fashionable Americans who were going to all four years of college in Italy and a hilarious trio of Canadian Engineering majors (who we made sing ‘O Canada’ to us – and, in fairness, I did sing out national anthem to them upon request).

When we finally got to venture out into the city, our first order of business was to stalk out all things Gaudí, starting with la Sagrada Familia. It was a bit pricey to get in as, while the outside is very ornate with news things catching your eyes upon every sweep over the exterior, the inside parts that you are allowed to view are jumbles of construction (it won’t be finished for another 30 years). However, there is an interesting exhibition on Gaudí’s usage of nature in his designs, as well as a museum showing the various rooms where they construct models for parts of the cathedral.

Next was Parc Güell, full of brilliant colors and whimsy. All along the benches and walls and ceilings outside are vibrant mosaics and the houses that he put in reminded me very much of gingerbread houses with their brown walls and candy-colored stones around the windows. After leaving, we hopped on the subway to get to Las Ramblas, got off at a wrong stop, and ended up smack dab in front of Casa Batllo, the apartments Gaudí built. We didn’t wander in, but the outside was gorgeous.

On the walk to las Ramblas, which is a huge outdoor market place, we stumbled upon a shop of confectionary wonders, where we indulged in pastries (that day and the next too). For some reason, Barcelona seemed to be full of these delectable little stores that tantalize passersby with glazed-treats ad cloying scents.

Las Ramblas had all kinds of insanity to be sold. There were lives chickens and furry bunny rabbits, fragrant flowers and flamboyant street performers, and then we discovered Boqueria. Boqueria is a gigantic farmer’s market type ordeal. It buzzed with shoppers, buying fresh fruit or tangy cheeses or just about anything else. We were particularly fond of the fresh fruit juices. I don’t remember each one I tried, but I did opt to taste the cactus flower juice in one glass. We also purchased eggs to eat for the next two mornings, some fresh fruit, and some dried fruit as well.

After heading home and napping a bit, we got ready and went out to the clubs along the beach. We roamed around, stopping in an ice bar at one point and freezing out underdressed bums off, and finally ended up in one of the clubs. After dancing a bit, around 3 am (remember, I’m on Spanish time), much like a junior high dance, the lights came on and the entire room was herded to the coat check and out of the building. I’ve never closed a club and I must say, it’s a rather uncomfortable experience when the lights turn on and everyone glances awkwardly at one another.

The next day, Ellen made us some tasty breakfast sandwiches and I broke my retainer on fresh coconut. As there wasn’t much I could do, I decided to grin and bear it and we went on with the day. We moseyed for a bit along las Ramblas and along the beach, stopping to eat lunch and get ice cream. Then we found out way to the cathedral, which had a theme park length line sticking out of it that persuaded us that we were kind of tired and, really, would rather just munch on pastries and head to la Boqueria.

Once we got back, we took a nap and had every intention of going out again. However, we ended up having a camp-style conversation with our roommates until the wee hours of the morning. Our conversation and new friend’s rendition of ‘O Canada’ was infinitely more enjoyable than hearing the latest music from two years ago be mixed and remixed.

The next morning we said goodbye to our Canadian friend, packed up, and went with out Americans-studying-in-Italy to el Museo Picasso. Other than the fact that a huge (probably about 30 year chunk) of his career was missing, a lot of Picasso’s early works, particularly from when he was a child and still in school, were on display, along with brief biographies from each time period.

After that, we were forced to say goodbye to Barcelona and head back to Sevilla, which we’ve become accustomed to referring to as “home.” As much as I loved the vibrancy of Barcelona, it was nice to come back to the cozy familiarity of Sevilla.

A bit later this morning, I’ll be leaving for another trip to Morocco. I hope you’re all well and having adventures of your own.

Love,

Natalie

I snapped this picture outside the cathedral and it was one of my favorites of the trip.

Normal Day

Hola.

So, I thought that I might as well put a daily life post (since, I do, indeed have a daily life). Let’s hope this is less boring than it sounds and filled with lots of fun cultural things.

I wake up in the morning and shiver as soon as my feet hit that freezing marble floor in my room. I still sleep in the thick skiing socks that I jacked from my mom at the last minute. Often times in the midst of getting ready, I make toast and gently remind my roommate to get up. If I’m lucky, I’m the person my parents always hoped I’d be and I sit down like a civilized person and eat toast and orange juice. More frequently though, I gulp down orange juice before I leave and munch on toast as I scurry to class.

My walk takes about twenty minutes. Fortunately, Seville is a very pedestrian friendly city. Cars politely wait for bicyclists and walkers to cross and there’s ample space to walk on the main roads (this is not true of the small side streets). If Fiorella is along with me we chitchat and if I’m alone I have my ipod, so it’s really quite pleasant (if I’ve given myself ample time, which isn’t always the case).

After class, I scamper home for lunch, which is the largest meal of the day in Spain. It’s usually two dishes, bread, and a postre, which is dessert. The first course is often pasta or something with garbanzo beans or lentils and the second dish is meat. I’ve liked almost anything so far. There was, however, an incident with some fried fish where I couldn’t handle the fact that they just chomp on those spines with the rest of the small fish (as it would be tedious and almost impossible to separate them). Really, I tried, I ate some, but a rib poked me in the back of the throat and I was done. Anyway, for dessert we have an orange or yogurt.

One thing that’s interesting to mention is that there isn’t a separate living room/dining room set up. This is very common. In the center of the room is what I’ve dubbed “the fire table” and what my host mom calls the “calentita.”  It’s a rectangular table that has a large, thick tablecloth that goes to the floor over it. Underneath, in the middle of the table, is coil heater and when it’s on, everyone sticks their legs until the tablecloth and it’s all warm and cozy. On three sides of the table are couches and chairs (as this is also the living room). It’s important to mention that they only put chairs on three sides because in almost every household, they watch television during meals. Tell me that wasn’t your childhood dream.

In my own house, we favor the Cosmopolitan channel as the women outnumber the men. The day my host brother was coerced into handing over the remote so we could change the channel from futbol (soccer) to “Sexo en Nuevo York” (Sex in the City), it was a small sort of displaced revenge for all the times my brother stole the remote from me. (For the record, it was his real sister who made him change it, not me).

After lunch I nap. Everything closes for siesta so there really isn’t much to do beyond resting. It’s usually a longer nap than I intend because I’m so very, very weak.

Some days I have classes and I scurry to school and some days I have a free afternoon to wander around outside, grab coffee, go shopping, or get around to posting those pictures up on facebook (oh, who am I kidding, I’m terrible at that). 

Anyway, I float around until between 9:30 and 10:30, when it’s time for dinner. Dinner here is smaller than lunch. Usually Spanish tortilla and salad or something along those lines. (Spanish isn’t like the tortilla you’re thinking of, so stop it. It’s a sort of potato and egg dish that’s cooked in a pan so that it’s about an inch and a half or so thick and the size of a frying pan and firm enough to cut like a pie). If I’m lucky I get gazpacho, which I absolutely love. I’m sure you know what it is, but if you don’t, it’s a kind of cold soup or cold beverage made of tomatoes, peppers, cucumber, bread, olive oil, vinegar, bread, and garlic. I’m assured it’s very simple to make and my host dad promised to show me how very soon.

After dinner activities depend on how tired I am, how many classes I have the next day, and whether or not the weather is good. Some nights my roommate and I stay in (occasionally we’ll have a warm milk/tea date in the kitchen) and other nights we go out. Going out may mean just hanging out by the river to talk and drink wine or going to a bar or discoteca. You see, it’s not common for the Spaniards to invite people into their homes, so you have to leave your house to do things. In the South of Spain there’s a big emphasis on revelry and even our host parents encourage us to go out until ridiculous morning hours. 

Then I wander home or back to my room and curl up in bed and start the whole process over again.

I hope that was interesting, I really do. Haha.

Love,

Natalie

P.S. Update on Barcelona trip to come.

Cordoba and Granada

Hola!

Where does the time go? It seems to be running and running and I forget to try to blog to keep up with it.

Anyway, went to Granada and Cordoba this weekend. Cordoba is known for La Mesquita. Granada is known for the Alhambra, Generalife, and free tapas with drinks. I had the pleasure of enjoying all three. I’m sure both have many other lovely attractions, but these are what I was able to partake in during my short stays.

Cordoba was essentially just a trip to see La Mesquita, which is a mosque that was turned into a church. It’s gigantic and known for the red and white striped arches that decorate the interior. Before the Catholics came in and ruined everything, La Mesquita had perfect acoustics due to a large shell-shaped ceiling, now it has okay acoustics to a certain point before you can’t hear anything.

After the tour, we were free to wander around the city and eat the bocadillos our host moms had lovingly packed us. As we moved through the cobblestone streets, we were bombarded with gypsy’s pleas for money. All of them had babies. At first we thought, my, what a fertile population of gypsies. Then we realized that their babies all inexplicably looked exactly the same in features and dress. Yup, they were baby borrowers.

From Cordoba we took a bus ride to Granada where we had only a precious few minutes to lay down before we had to ascend a very high, very steep hill (I’ve determined people living in Granada must have spectacular legs). First we went to see a breathtaking view of La Alhambra and to watch a fire juggler/baton twirler duo fail enough times to extinguish their flames and blend shamefully into the crowd.

Next was an incredible Flamenco show. You see, Flamenco was traditionally performed in caves by gypsies and on the streets. It’s also a very expressive dance tradition that relies heavily on improvisation. Thus, the best Flamenco shows are the most organic ones, the ones where people feel moved to stand up and dance at the plucking of the guitar and the rough, wavering vocals or just at the percussion of a group. However, as one cannot plan a spontaneous show, the next best thing would be this small bar that had been built to resemble a cave. As it were, I’d been to the same place three years earlier when I went to Spain before, but I had a much greater appreciation of Flamenco this time.

It was a spectacular show. I think that the unrehearsed nature of Flamenco makes it so that when the bailaores (as they’re called in Flamenco) move, you can see in the deep lines of their forehead and tightly shut eyes their profound connection to the movements. From what I’ve seen, good dancers always seem as though they dance, first and foremost, for themselves when they perform. However, there’s still a beautiful synthesis between the entire group. If you’ve ever seen a show, the members not dancing are constantly shouting things like “ole,” this is called “jaleo” and is an integral part of Flamenco. It’s one of the ways they play off each other, the same as their complex foot stomping and clapping (as many of these people have an innate understanding of rhythm – unlike most concert clappers).

There were four dancers, three women and one man. The first two women were very young and attractive and more agile than the last woman, who was quite a bit older but had impressive usage of castanets. At the end of the show, each dancer brought an audience member up to the stage to dance. The older woman, clearly being the sassiest of the group, pulled several people to groove in the aisles and then pulled my friend up on stage and proceeded to shake her way down to the floor, daring my friend to go as low as she did (something we all hope we’ll still be able to do in our 70’s).

Post-show, we were set free and ran off to go enjoy the free tapas in Granada. Spain used to give free tapas everywhere, apparently because drunkenness was a big problem and the generous snack-sized helpings with every beverage kept people from getting too inebriated too quickly. Now Granada is one of the few cities to still offer tapas (and large ones at that) and it's a great way to grab dinner.

The next morning we trekked to La Alhambra, a Moorish/Christian palace. It was originally built by the Moors before being conquered and added on to by the Christians (much like a whole lot of Southern Spain). The walls are covered in intricately molded images of Arabic letters and important symbols. Every ceiling in stunningly crafted, one is reminiscent of the night sky. They’re still beautiful, even though the vibrant paint colors have greatly faded. Many of the doorways have what are called stalactite ceilings, which hang down in complex patterns. The whole thing is just an incredibly structure of small details and fountains (water was very important to the Moors). I kept commenting that I couldn’t imagine living there, especially as a child, wandering around and running through ornately decorated rooms as though it were perfectly natural.

Once we left the palace, we wandered through the Generalife, which is an absolutely gigantic garden. It would be a splendid place to just take walks through and to find a place to nestle into and read for hours.

From there it was lunch and going back to Sevilla, which feels so much like home now. I apologize that I’m really slacking over here on updating this blog quickly enough, but I’m sure you’ll be lenient about it, as I’ve been busy enjoying myself.

I hope to post a currently unfinished entry about a typical day here tomorrow. Hope you’re all having adventures of your own.

Love,

Natalie

Rome

Hola!

Okay, so this Rome blog is well overdue (as my mom informed me), but I’ve been running around quite a bit here.

Anyway, Rome was absolutely beautiful and I saw as much as I could feasibly see in three days time.

We were fortunate to have a lovely unofficial tour guide in Becky, who is a friend of Angie (the girl I traveled with) and currently studying in Rome. She took us around and explained some of the archeological sites that are casually nestled in the midst of buildings that are way older than anything in the U.S., but still rather “new” for Europe.

Our first afternoon was mostly confused until we met up with Becky, who we followed like helpless ducklings trail a mother duck. We went to mass at a cathedral I can’t currently remember the name of (okay, there are about 900 cathedrals in Rome, we should be proud if I remember any of them).

Afterwards, we were directly across from the Holy Stairs and so we went in and climbed them. Just so you know, you have to climbed the stairs on your knees (you know, because the Catholics love penitence). My poor Protestant-raised knees were in quite a bit of pain as we ascended the well-worn wood stairs. At bit of background for you: The Holy Stairs are the marble stairs Jesus climbed on his way to be condemned by Pontius Pilate. They were brought to the city by Saint Helen and covered in wood and are now climbed by Christian pilgrims. The observer in me couldn’t help but look around at everyone else (which is probably frowned upon) and I found it absolutely fascinating to watch people. Everyone moving at their own pace, some solemn face, some praying, some ready to just be done with climbing on their knees (I may have fit into this category. Just maybe.)

The next day we saw the Pantheon and Spanish Steps and I insisted that when Angie and I visited the Colosseum and Forum, we take a guided tour. It definitely made both locations worth venturing into (as otherwise there are no markers or explanations). I’ll spare you the (literally) gory details, as I’m sure you’ve heard some of them repeatedly. On the tour we met a lovely mother-daughter duo who was venturing through Italy and were fascinated by our studying abroad. Our tour guide for the Forum was an American woman who had studied abroad in Rome and loved it so much that she eventually moved there.

The following morning we ventured to St. Peter’s Basilica for morning mass. As is my custom, I had to somehow unintentionally cause trouble. When the priest we knew who worked there took everyone through a door where little tourists are never supposed to venture unescorted, I, however, missed the door and got stuck on the other side. After fiddling for several moments with the latch, I managed to get into the hallway where an Italian guard sprang up and inquired as to what exactly I thought I was doing. As I shot down the hallway I chirped, “I’m with the group!” Eventually the priest explained that it was okay and I was with him, but not before the whole group took notice of my rather loud reentrance.

I could probably go on and on but I’ll stop by telling you that after wandering around the Vatican we got blood orange gelato and it may have been one of the most wonderful things I have ever eaten.

I hope you’re all enjoying yourselves and I apologize for the delay of this entry (I currently have a visitor).

Love,

Natalie