Monday, March 30, 2009
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Interlaken fine: saying bye to sweet, sweet mountains and Baboo
*******Sunday********
We had really lucked out with weather Saturday. On Sunday, we woke up to clouds and threats of drizzling raindrops. Defeated, Justin gave up on his hope of heliskiing and decided to just leave after breakfast.
We woke up around 07:00 again, unnecessarily early for the circumstances since we weren't going back up to the mountain. But Alex and Justin were craving an American breakfast with scrambled eggs, and Justin had learned of the diner nearby the day before. They got their eggs and bacon, and I had my authentic muesli, straight from Switzerland.
There's not much to say about the rest of the day; we walked around and explored the rest of the town with our free time between check-out and when our train arrived to take us back to the airport. I'd like to forget the security at the airport, where the guard who may or may not have spoken English emptied out my entire bag looking for a shampoo bottle that, I had repeatedly pointed out, was in the plastic bag he had removed from my backpack as the very first item.
I already wasn't happy since my face was a giant burning tomato, but I let it go pretty quickly because I had just gone through a day of the best snowboarding of my life. That, and the waiting area for our Flybaboo plane was arranged with white (probably fake) leather chairs set up in circular positioning that definitely had some good feung shui. The flight had great food again, but between it being delayed an hour and the long train plus transfer, it was a long ride home. Still, while I crossed off "snowboarding in the Alps" from my life to-do list, I added another: snowboard Austria, Italy, France, Australia and Colorado. Also, get back to Interlaken for at least a straight week.
We had really lucked out with weather Saturday. On Sunday, we woke up to clouds and threats of drizzling raindrops. Defeated, Justin gave up on his hope of heliskiing and decided to just leave after breakfast.
We woke up around 07:00 again, unnecessarily early for the circumstances since we weren't going back up to the mountain. But Alex and Justin were craving an American breakfast with scrambled eggs, and Justin had learned of the diner nearby the day before. They got their eggs and bacon, and I had my authentic muesli, straight from Switzerland.
There's not much to say about the rest of the day; we walked around and explored the rest of the town with our free time between check-out and when our train arrived to take us back to the airport. I'd like to forget the security at the airport, where the guard who may or may not have spoken English emptied out my entire bag looking for a shampoo bottle that, I had repeatedly pointed out, was in the plastic bag he had removed from my backpack as the very first item.
I already wasn't happy since my face was a giant burning tomato, but I let it go pretty quickly because I had just gone through a day of the best snowboarding of my life. That, and the waiting area for our Flybaboo plane was arranged with white (probably fake) leather chairs set up in circular positioning that definitely had some good feung shui. The flight had great food again, but between it being delayed an hour and the long train plus transfer, it was a long ride home. Still, while I crossed off "snowboarding in the Alps" from my life to-do list, I added another: snowboard Austria, Italy, France, Australia and Colorado. Also, get back to Interlaken for at least a straight week.
Interlaken II: Rudolph, the red-nosed Amanda and the most sore I've *ever* been (and loving it!)
*********Saturday**********
The entire day is more or less a blur of incredibly intense, mind-blowing, adrenaline-pumping, and probably unrepeatable snowboarding. We woke up before 07:00 to head down to breakfast before we left. For 5.50 euro, the slices of bread with various jams and cheese were barely worth it, but I was too anxious to get up the mountain to eat much anyway.
Justin's heliskiing had been cancelled again for the weather, so he was awesome enough to not only drive us up to the mountain, but to stop at a rental place so we could pick up some gear. Yet another thing Swiss skiing has over mountains in the USA: prices. Cheap, cheap prices. I got a board, boots, helmet and gloves, and the rental cost me a 60-something CHF deposit (probably something like 50ish euros) and only about 70 CHF total, including the sunglasses I bought since they had completely sold out of goggles for rent or purchase. We walked our equipment up to the mountain, paid our 50 CHF for the one-third section of the mountain we'd be exploring (which we didn't even make it all the way through in one day), and headed to the first train to take us up to the mountain.
The mountains near Interlaken have a pretty ingenious ticketing system. For all the trains, cable cars, lifts and pulleys to get further up the mountain, all we needed was a card that we stuck in our left jacket pockets. The turnstiles for each lift have some kind of scanner than picks up the card and unlocks the turnstile to let each person through. It's quick and so simple, and yet as used to the sticker tickers we hang off a zipper at home, I never would have thought of something like this. So easy.
The mountain was a bit confusing; lifts were all over the place and took us all over the place. We got vague directions a few times from people who spoke mostly German and spent the rest of the time winging it. As random as we were in our exploring, I don't think we took any of the sam trails twice. It probably wouldn't have mattered if we had taken the same path, since basically the entire mountain, even if it wasn't designated, was a trail. Wherever the snow wasn't packed into a pre-made path, it was surrounded by gorgeous fresh powder just begging to be carved and faceplanted by me. It was super sunny with scarcely any clouds. The snow glittered as it reflected the sunlight, making the entire day even more incredible. I realize probably about an hour in that I forgot sun + snow = serious Amanda sunburn. Idiotically, I had managed to completely forget how easily I burn and how simple it would be to burn on such a snowy mountain on such a sunny day. But with nothing I could do about it, I enjoyed the skiing and tried not to think about it again until we got back to the hostel that night when Alex and Justin decided to nickname me Rudolph.
We just kept boarding and boarding from about 09:00 to 13:00. Around then, we checked a map and decided to take a lift all the way to the top after we broke for lunch. We ate in a lodge on a gorgeous peak. When your ears pop on nearly every lift, you get an idea of how high up you're moving. That was probably my best gauge of height, though, since the views from the tops of nearly every lift were so breathtaking that the distance up was no longer very comprehendible to me.
I'll be honest, I was nervous on our way up to the highest peak on our part of the mountain. It was the first time I'd been boarding this season (and the only time, unfortunately, but I'd never have it any other way) and the only way down from the top was a black diamond trail. I was just a bit worried about breaking myself on the hill, but figured a black diamond is just a steeper version of any other trail and I'd just board down slowly.
I got a little more worried when we got in the cable car to take us up the mountain. Justin, I and one other guy were the only people with snowboards in the car. A thought nagged me in the back of my brain: so few snowboards, could that mean the entire way down was moguls? But nah, I figured the other guy with the snowboard either could probably speak German and would have seen some warning or had already gone up to the top once before.
Turns out, women's intuition strikes again. On the way up, I look out the window of our car to see dozens of skiers navigating large bumps in the snow. On the entire trail. For at least a third of the way down. I wasn't thrilled, but there was only one way down. And the adrenaline from the incredible views and being at the top of the highest trail got the best of me. Still, I more or less crawled my way through the moguls, but as a result was able to make it to the bottom without falling. It wasn't the most heart-pumping moment of the day, but flying and sinking through all the fresh powder off the side of so many trails made it worth it.
We spent 9 a.m.-5p.m. on the mountain. Our last trail probably took us at least a good 45 minutes–we skied and boarded from nearly all the way at the top through the most serene, tree-lined paths at the edge of beautiful cliffs all the way to the bottom of the mountain. As soon as we got back to the hostel I could tell how sore I already was and how sore I would be the next day. My face was more than worthy of the Rudolph nickname I'd acquired, and it stung. I peeled for the next few days, but it didn't bother me at all. I had my one day of boarding in the Alps and a goal crossed off my list of things to do before I die. Really, knowing that fact and the feeling of the mountain and the best boarding I've had made it the perfect day.
We showered when we got back and discussed dinner. Justin had seen a Hooter's down the road and I was in a group of guys with an affinity for chicken wings. Justin also had somehow never met a vegetarian before me and spent a good 15 minutes inqusitioning me before we left for food. Then him, Alex, Sian and I walked down to the Hooter's, who I have to hand it to for making some pretty decent veggie nachos.
We headed back to the brasserie for one last beer, and then, exhausted and so, so happy, I fell asleep within minutes.
The entire day is more or less a blur of incredibly intense, mind-blowing, adrenaline-pumping, and probably unrepeatable snowboarding. We woke up before 07:00 to head down to breakfast before we left. For 5.50 euro, the slices of bread with various jams and cheese were barely worth it, but I was too anxious to get up the mountain to eat much anyway.
Justin's heliskiing had been cancelled again for the weather, so he was awesome enough to not only drive us up to the mountain, but to stop at a rental place so we could pick up some gear. Yet another thing Swiss skiing has over mountains in the USA: prices. Cheap, cheap prices. I got a board, boots, helmet and gloves, and the rental cost me a 60-something CHF deposit (probably something like 50ish euros) and only about 70 CHF total, including the sunglasses I bought since they had completely sold out of goggles for rent or purchase. We walked our equipment up to the mountain, paid our 50 CHF for the one-third section of the mountain we'd be exploring (which we didn't even make it all the way through in one day), and headed to the first train to take us up to the mountain.
The mountains near Interlaken have a pretty ingenious ticketing system. For all the trains, cable cars, lifts and pulleys to get further up the mountain, all we needed was a card that we stuck in our left jacket pockets. The turnstiles for each lift have some kind of scanner than picks up the card and unlocks the turnstile to let each person through. It's quick and so simple, and yet as used to the sticker tickers we hang off a zipper at home, I never would have thought of something like this. So easy.
The mountain was a bit confusing; lifts were all over the place and took us all over the place. We got vague directions a few times from people who spoke mostly German and spent the rest of the time winging it. As random as we were in our exploring, I don't think we took any of the sam trails twice. It probably wouldn't have mattered if we had taken the same path, since basically the entire mountain, even if it wasn't designated, was a trail. Wherever the snow wasn't packed into a pre-made path, it was surrounded by gorgeous fresh powder just begging to be carved and faceplanted by me. It was super sunny with scarcely any clouds. The snow glittered as it reflected the sunlight, making the entire day even more incredible. I realize probably about an hour in that I forgot sun + snow = serious Amanda sunburn. Idiotically, I had managed to completely forget how easily I burn and how simple it would be to burn on such a snowy mountain on such a sunny day. But with nothing I could do about it, I enjoyed the skiing and tried not to think about it again until we got back to the hostel that night when Alex and Justin decided to nickname me Rudolph.
We just kept boarding and boarding from about 09:00 to 13:00. Around then, we checked a map and decided to take a lift all the way to the top after we broke for lunch. We ate in a lodge on a gorgeous peak. When your ears pop on nearly every lift, you get an idea of how high up you're moving. That was probably my best gauge of height, though, since the views from the tops of nearly every lift were so breathtaking that the distance up was no longer very comprehendible to me.
I'll be honest, I was nervous on our way up to the highest peak on our part of the mountain. It was the first time I'd been boarding this season (and the only time, unfortunately, but I'd never have it any other way) and the only way down from the top was a black diamond trail. I was just a bit worried about breaking myself on the hill, but figured a black diamond is just a steeper version of any other trail and I'd just board down slowly.
I got a little more worried when we got in the cable car to take us up the mountain. Justin, I and one other guy were the only people with snowboards in the car. A thought nagged me in the back of my brain: so few snowboards, could that mean the entire way down was moguls? But nah, I figured the other guy with the snowboard either could probably speak German and would have seen some warning or had already gone up to the top once before.
Turns out, women's intuition strikes again. On the way up, I look out the window of our car to see dozens of skiers navigating large bumps in the snow. On the entire trail. For at least a third of the way down. I wasn't thrilled, but there was only one way down. And the adrenaline from the incredible views and being at the top of the highest trail got the best of me. Still, I more or less crawled my way through the moguls, but as a result was able to make it to the bottom without falling. It wasn't the most heart-pumping moment of the day, but flying and sinking through all the fresh powder off the side of so many trails made it worth it.
We spent 9 a.m.-5p.m. on the mountain. Our last trail probably took us at least a good 45 minutes–we skied and boarded from nearly all the way at the top through the most serene, tree-lined paths at the edge of beautiful cliffs all the way to the bottom of the mountain. As soon as we got back to the hostel I could tell how sore I already was and how sore I would be the next day. My face was more than worthy of the Rudolph nickname I'd acquired, and it stung. I peeled for the next few days, but it didn't bother me at all. I had my one day of boarding in the Alps and a goal crossed off my list of things to do before I die. Really, knowing that fact and the feeling of the mountain and the best boarding I've had made it the perfect day.
We showered when we got back and discussed dinner. Justin had seen a Hooter's down the road and I was in a group of guys with an affinity for chicken wings. Justin also had somehow never met a vegetarian before me and spent a good 15 minutes inqusitioning me before we left for food. Then him, Alex, Sian and I walked down to the Hooter's, who I have to hand it to for making some pretty decent veggie nachos.
We headed back to the brasserie for one last beer, and then, exhausted and so, so happy, I fell asleep within minutes.
Interlaken, giorno I: Flying Baboo, fondue, and exchange rates
18 marzo 2009
Never in my life has my entire body been so sore–hands and feet included, with an exception of maybe my ears–and never in my life have I had such a bad sunburn on my face. And yet, never in my life have I had such an incredible, intense, probably unmatched (for many, many years at least) snowboarding experience. The Alps were completely and absolutely gorgeous. Everyone on the trails knew what level they were at and stuck to it, meaning no beginners on their first days saying, "Hey, I can kind of stand on this board, I must be good enough to go on an expert slope!" Trails were more of a suggestion than a rule, and if there was a trail, there was most likely fresh powder everywhere around it dying to be carved. The high wasn't quite like the thrill of skydiving, but the heart-pumping, eye-popping rush of a free-fall was probably the closest I felt to the seven straight hours of snowboarding I did last weekend in the Swiss Alps.
*****Friday******
Spending the night in Rome Thursday so we wouldn't have to wake up at some ungodly hour like 5 a.m. was probably one of the best things we could have done. Though the hostel made for a bit of a strange experience, we had a place to sleep right near Termini so we could basically just hop on a train to Fiumicino.
At 7:22 a.m, our train pulled out of the station towards the airport. I sat with Nick's cousin, who was just finishing her visit in Italy for her spring break. Alex (aka Simone, I'll probably use it interchanably) and Nick sat together a-ways down. A few minutes into the train ride, Simone came over to us.
"You're not going to believe this," he said.
"...," we said.
Simone had left his jacket, in the pocket of which was his camera, in the hostel. I had remembered seeing it on top of the armoire in our room, but hadn't said anything because I figured it was eye-level for him. And, as a coat, not really something you'd forget. But that's exactly what happened, and Nick took his role as jacket-savior and stopped back at the hostel to retrieve it after he said his goodbyes to us at the airport and before heading back to Viterbo. He collected, camera and all, but it meant it was up to me to take photos for the weekend. Not that it was a problem; I probably would've taken at least as many photos anyway.
We arrived at the airport a couple hours early, so we had time to chill and get a coffee before boarding. The funny thing I've noticed about European airports: I want to hold my hands up in peace signs and say "I'm not a crook" every time I board and leave a plane. In all the flights I've taken around Europe so far, passengers have to walk outside and either into a bus that takes us to or just walk directly up to the plane. We climb a staircase to get on the airplane that's always just chilling somewhere on the tarmac. It's a pretty different experience than any flight at home.
Flybaboo, the airline we were taking to Switzerland, was an ever stranger experience. As we got off the bus to the plane, before me stood the smallest, most decorated and most-propellored flight I've ever been on. The plane only held 74 passengers, I later learned from some info wedged into the seat pocket. We sat right over the wings and the propellors both there and back, during which we spent much time discussing how Flybaboo could afford to be such a nice airline when the flight was less than half full on the way there and not much more so on the way back.
It seriously was the nicest flight I've had, though. It takes about an hour and a half to get between Fiumicino in Italy and Geneva in Switzerland. But during that time, Flybaboo gives all it's passengers mini bottles of Evian water, a mini sandwich with meat (if you so choose), a mini veggie sandwich, a dessert of some kind (pudding with apple bits on the way there, a clementine on the way back), coffee or tea, and a Toblerone that would probably be referred to as "fun-sized" in the US.
Plus, the chairs were roomy enough and I didn't feel like the seat in front of me was just grazing my nose like I did on the Ryanair flights to Barcelona. Honestly, with the airplane as sparsely packed as it was, they must be staying in business with overflowing flights to their other locations. Otherwise, I have no idea how they can afford to be so nice. Still, if I ever need to get somewhere in France or to any of their other locations in the future, I'm definitely flying Baboo.
Once we landed in Geneva, we ran for the train that we weren't sure if we'd make. We thought we only had a few minutes to catch our three-hour ride to Interlaken, but when we found the train station connected to the airport, the nice French-speaking lady at the ticket counter showed us we had a cushy half hour to kill. So we picked up some surprisingly good Greek sandwiches (olive bread, veggies, lots of feta cheese, mmmm) at a little cafe in the station. And we got our first Swiss Francs (CHF) as change, because Switzerland turned up their noses to the Euro.
A note about some aspects of Swiss culture: The CHF are kind of ridiculous to me. All coins from one cent to five CHF are silver and have the exact same designs on them. The only thing that varies is their size, which generally makes sense if you exclude the fact that the 1/2 CHF coin is smaller than the one cent. The bills look kind of like monopoly money with giant faces on them. I just don't understand the coin system though; I can see that taking years to figure out and a need to check every coin to find the right denomination, even for people who live there their whole lives. Also, Switzerland is divided into French and German speaking parts. It's funny how much of a language comes back to you when you're surrounded by it and sometimes need to know it. Still, I was dumbfounded by how the train company had managed to find enough ticket takers such that every one we encountered was able to ask us, "Deutsh? Frances? English? Espanol?" etc until he found a language in which he could tell us to let him check our passports.
The train ride was calm and went smoothly. An foursome of Brits, two men and two women probably in their 30s, sat in the seats behind us and helped us change trains to get to Interlaken, since they had the same destination. The view from through the windows of the train was breathtaking, just like the view from the airplane had been. But when we got of the train and finally saw those huge, massive, snowy, grassy, rocky and tree-covered mountains in person, that was it. I knew that the one weekend would not be nearly enough. And still, right now, I know that while I crossed off my life goal to ski the Swiss Alps, I have a new goal to replace it, and that's to return and board for at least a straight week.
We checked into our hostel/bar. The hostel part was called the Happy Inn Lodge, which was appropriate because they must've had everyone who worked there pass a test proving they could smile for hours on end before they were hired. (At least, that went for everyone but the woman working the breakfast shift, but she was another story.)
Since we still had a bit of daylight, we decided to walk around. I photographed every mountain I saw, as will be visible on Flickr. We were starved, and the Sandwich Bar recommended by Hostelworld was right next to our hostel so we stopped in for sandwiches. Alex got a swiss cheese one, of course, which I tried and was the first time I've really enjoyed swiss cheese. I guess I've just never had real swiss cheese before and that's why it's never been good. I ordered brie and nuts with lettuce and tomato. I know food tastes better when you're hungry, but as simple a sandwich as it was, it tasted incredible.
After some stops at the tourist center to orient ourselves and prepare for Saturday and sufficient exploring around town, we went back to the hostel's bar for a beer before dinner. Of course I can't recall the name of it now, but we tried the dunkel (dark) version of the beer brewed in Interlaken and it was fantastic. Sitting in the room when we got back was our soon-to-be snowboarding buddy Justin, a 24-year-old US soldier stationed near Venice for the next few years and taking a weekend off for some serious snowboarding before he bought a house and got serious with life. He was heading towards a nap and we were heading towards the bar downstairs, so we told him we'd see him later and set off.
We stopped at the brasserie downstairs for some beers before dinner. What better beer to try in Interlaken, we thought, than one brewed there in the town. We got two of the dark version, and it was incredible. Maybe I'm just easily pleased when it comes to beer and wine, but rarely ever have I tried a new drink this semester that I couldn't appreciate. Filling up Alex's glass, the tap ran out and the bartender managed to accidently spray foam everywhere, including partly all over my face. So when I cleaned up a bit and we finished our Swiss beers, we headed to dinner.
Hostelworld had recommended this place, Bebbi's, because it was supposedly the only restaurant in Interlaken with chocolate fondue. Well, chalk up another win to Hostelworld, because not only did we try the chocolate fondue, we got a pot of the cheese fondue for fairly cheap and free ice cream at the end of the meal. I don't think I've had fondue since I was a kid, where I have a mostly repressed memory of going to a fondue restaurant with Alyssa and my parents. The place smelled awful, probably stinking of all the melting cheese on everyone's tables. Maybe the smell just doesn't bother me as much now; maybe I just have a higher tolerance for stinky cheese stench. Or maybe that other place from my childhood really just smelled that bad. Either way, this place did not stink nearly the same. The cheese fondue was amazing and at the end of the pot our waitress came back and scraped off the bottom of the pot where a layer of hardened fried cheese had formed. It sounds pretty nasty writing it now, and it seemed pretty nasty before I tried it, but she convinced us by saying it was her "favorite part" of the bowl. The chocolate was fantastic too, and we got a whole bunch of fruit and marshmallowy shapes to eat it with.
What was strange about the restaurant was it seemed to cater to asians. I guess a lot of asian tourists head to Interlaken; there certainly seemed to be a lot of them around, or maybe it was just that they all happened to be at the restaurant that night. Probably as a result, at one point the man we took to be Bebbi–or at least the current owner of the restaurant–put on a stereotypical asian hat with little bells hanging from it and two other workers popped out of the back room under one of those giant Chinese dragon puppets with the bulging eyes while an obviously asian-inspired tune played out of the stereo speakers. Then, after a jolly laugh from the asians filling up the restaurant, Bebbi pulls out one of those horns that looks like a giant shofar, the kind of horn in the Ricola commercials. This is a bit less surprising and more appropriate, given that Bebbi is also wearing giant funny pants with cow print on them. On the way back from the restroom, Alex got pinned by the giant horn and had a chance to try it. After a whole bunch of people semi-unsuccessfully gave it a try, Bebbi himself goes at it and belts out a crazy tune that sounded like it could've been a trumpet. Must've taken some serious practice.
After, we were stuffed and content with the odd restaurant. We stopped at the bar under our hostel one last time before heading up to bed early. There, we sat with Justin and Sian, a Canadian from Vancouver/Toronto studying in Cambridge, England. Justin was planning on some heli-skiing early the next morning (where a helicopter takes the group up to the top of some backcountry and they basically jump out of the plane with their boards on their feet and ski down), but said if he was bumped or it was cancelled as had been the theme for him so far, he'd drive Alex and I up to the mountain. We accepted, extremely thankful for the possibility that we wouldn't have to deal with the trains up the mountain, and we all headed up to sleep.
Never in my life has my entire body been so sore–hands and feet included, with an exception of maybe my ears–and never in my life have I had such a bad sunburn on my face. And yet, never in my life have I had such an incredible, intense, probably unmatched (for many, many years at least) snowboarding experience. The Alps were completely and absolutely gorgeous. Everyone on the trails knew what level they were at and stuck to it, meaning no beginners on their first days saying, "Hey, I can kind of stand on this board, I must be good enough to go on an expert slope!" Trails were more of a suggestion than a rule, and if there was a trail, there was most likely fresh powder everywhere around it dying to be carved. The high wasn't quite like the thrill of skydiving, but the heart-pumping, eye-popping rush of a free-fall was probably the closest I felt to the seven straight hours of snowboarding I did last weekend in the Swiss Alps.
*****Friday******
Spending the night in Rome Thursday so we wouldn't have to wake up at some ungodly hour like 5 a.m. was probably one of the best things we could have done. Though the hostel made for a bit of a strange experience, we had a place to sleep right near Termini so we could basically just hop on a train to Fiumicino.
At 7:22 a.m, our train pulled out of the station towards the airport. I sat with Nick's cousin, who was just finishing her visit in Italy for her spring break. Alex (aka Simone, I'll probably use it interchanably) and Nick sat together a-ways down. A few minutes into the train ride, Simone came over to us.
"You're not going to believe this," he said.
"...," we said.
Simone had left his jacket, in the pocket of which was his camera, in the hostel. I had remembered seeing it on top of the armoire in our room, but hadn't said anything because I figured it was eye-level for him. And, as a coat, not really something you'd forget. But that's exactly what happened, and Nick took his role as jacket-savior and stopped back at the hostel to retrieve it after he said his goodbyes to us at the airport and before heading back to Viterbo. He collected, camera and all, but it meant it was up to me to take photos for the weekend. Not that it was a problem; I probably would've taken at least as many photos anyway.
We arrived at the airport a couple hours early, so we had time to chill and get a coffee before boarding. The funny thing I've noticed about European airports: I want to hold my hands up in peace signs and say "I'm not a crook" every time I board and leave a plane. In all the flights I've taken around Europe so far, passengers have to walk outside and either into a bus that takes us to or just walk directly up to the plane. We climb a staircase to get on the airplane that's always just chilling somewhere on the tarmac. It's a pretty different experience than any flight at home.
Flybaboo, the airline we were taking to Switzerland, was an ever stranger experience. As we got off the bus to the plane, before me stood the smallest, most decorated and most-propellored flight I've ever been on. The plane only held 74 passengers, I later learned from some info wedged into the seat pocket. We sat right over the wings and the propellors both there and back, during which we spent much time discussing how Flybaboo could afford to be such a nice airline when the flight was less than half full on the way there and not much more so on the way back.
It seriously was the nicest flight I've had, though. It takes about an hour and a half to get between Fiumicino in Italy and Geneva in Switzerland. But during that time, Flybaboo gives all it's passengers mini bottles of Evian water, a mini sandwich with meat (if you so choose), a mini veggie sandwich, a dessert of some kind (pudding with apple bits on the way there, a clementine on the way back), coffee or tea, and a Toblerone that would probably be referred to as "fun-sized" in the US.
Plus, the chairs were roomy enough and I didn't feel like the seat in front of me was just grazing my nose like I did on the Ryanair flights to Barcelona. Honestly, with the airplane as sparsely packed as it was, they must be staying in business with overflowing flights to their other locations. Otherwise, I have no idea how they can afford to be so nice. Still, if I ever need to get somewhere in France or to any of their other locations in the future, I'm definitely flying Baboo.
Once we landed in Geneva, we ran for the train that we weren't sure if we'd make. We thought we only had a few minutes to catch our three-hour ride to Interlaken, but when we found the train station connected to the airport, the nice French-speaking lady at the ticket counter showed us we had a cushy half hour to kill. So we picked up some surprisingly good Greek sandwiches (olive bread, veggies, lots of feta cheese, mmmm) at a little cafe in the station. And we got our first Swiss Francs (CHF) as change, because Switzerland turned up their noses to the Euro.
A note about some aspects of Swiss culture: The CHF are kind of ridiculous to me. All coins from one cent to five CHF are silver and have the exact same designs on them. The only thing that varies is their size, which generally makes sense if you exclude the fact that the 1/2 CHF coin is smaller than the one cent. The bills look kind of like monopoly money with giant faces on them. I just don't understand the coin system though; I can see that taking years to figure out and a need to check every coin to find the right denomination, even for people who live there their whole lives. Also, Switzerland is divided into French and German speaking parts. It's funny how much of a language comes back to you when you're surrounded by it and sometimes need to know it. Still, I was dumbfounded by how the train company had managed to find enough ticket takers such that every one we encountered was able to ask us, "Deutsh? Frances? English? Espanol?" etc until he found a language in which he could tell us to let him check our passports.
The train ride was calm and went smoothly. An foursome of Brits, two men and two women probably in their 30s, sat in the seats behind us and helped us change trains to get to Interlaken, since they had the same destination. The view from through the windows of the train was breathtaking, just like the view from the airplane had been. But when we got of the train and finally saw those huge, massive, snowy, grassy, rocky and tree-covered mountains in person, that was it. I knew that the one weekend would not be nearly enough. And still, right now, I know that while I crossed off my life goal to ski the Swiss Alps, I have a new goal to replace it, and that's to return and board for at least a straight week.
We checked into our hostel/bar. The hostel part was called the Happy Inn Lodge, which was appropriate because they must've had everyone who worked there pass a test proving they could smile for hours on end before they were hired. (At least, that went for everyone but the woman working the breakfast shift, but she was another story.)
Since we still had a bit of daylight, we decided to walk around. I photographed every mountain I saw, as will be visible on Flickr. We were starved, and the Sandwich Bar recommended by Hostelworld was right next to our hostel so we stopped in for sandwiches. Alex got a swiss cheese one, of course, which I tried and was the first time I've really enjoyed swiss cheese. I guess I've just never had real swiss cheese before and that's why it's never been good. I ordered brie and nuts with lettuce and tomato. I know food tastes better when you're hungry, but as simple a sandwich as it was, it tasted incredible.
After some stops at the tourist center to orient ourselves and prepare for Saturday and sufficient exploring around town, we went back to the hostel's bar for a beer before dinner. Of course I can't recall the name of it now, but we tried the dunkel (dark) version of the beer brewed in Interlaken and it was fantastic. Sitting in the room when we got back was our soon-to-be snowboarding buddy Justin, a 24-year-old US soldier stationed near Venice for the next few years and taking a weekend off for some serious snowboarding before he bought a house and got serious with life. He was heading towards a nap and we were heading towards the bar downstairs, so we told him we'd see him later and set off.
We stopped at the brasserie downstairs for some beers before dinner. What better beer to try in Interlaken, we thought, than one brewed there in the town. We got two of the dark version, and it was incredible. Maybe I'm just easily pleased when it comes to beer and wine, but rarely ever have I tried a new drink this semester that I couldn't appreciate. Filling up Alex's glass, the tap ran out and the bartender managed to accidently spray foam everywhere, including partly all over my face. So when I cleaned up a bit and we finished our Swiss beers, we headed to dinner.
Hostelworld had recommended this place, Bebbi's, because it was supposedly the only restaurant in Interlaken with chocolate fondue. Well, chalk up another win to Hostelworld, because not only did we try the chocolate fondue, we got a pot of the cheese fondue for fairly cheap and free ice cream at the end of the meal. I don't think I've had fondue since I was a kid, where I have a mostly repressed memory of going to a fondue restaurant with Alyssa and my parents. The place smelled awful, probably stinking of all the melting cheese on everyone's tables. Maybe the smell just doesn't bother me as much now; maybe I just have a higher tolerance for stinky cheese stench. Or maybe that other place from my childhood really just smelled that bad. Either way, this place did not stink nearly the same. The cheese fondue was amazing and at the end of the pot our waitress came back and scraped off the bottom of the pot where a layer of hardened fried cheese had formed. It sounds pretty nasty writing it now, and it seemed pretty nasty before I tried it, but she convinced us by saying it was her "favorite part" of the bowl. The chocolate was fantastic too, and we got a whole bunch of fruit and marshmallowy shapes to eat it with.
What was strange about the restaurant was it seemed to cater to asians. I guess a lot of asian tourists head to Interlaken; there certainly seemed to be a lot of them around, or maybe it was just that they all happened to be at the restaurant that night. Probably as a result, at one point the man we took to be Bebbi–or at least the current owner of the restaurant–put on a stereotypical asian hat with little bells hanging from it and two other workers popped out of the back room under one of those giant Chinese dragon puppets with the bulging eyes while an obviously asian-inspired tune played out of the stereo speakers. Then, after a jolly laugh from the asians filling up the restaurant, Bebbi pulls out one of those horns that looks like a giant shofar, the kind of horn in the Ricola commercials. This is a bit less surprising and more appropriate, given that Bebbi is also wearing giant funny pants with cow print on them. On the way back from the restroom, Alex got pinned by the giant horn and had a chance to try it. After a whole bunch of people semi-unsuccessfully gave it a try, Bebbi himself goes at it and belts out a crazy tune that sounded like it could've been a trumpet. Must've taken some serious practice.
After, we were stuffed and content with the odd restaurant. We stopped at the bar under our hostel one last time before heading up to bed early. There, we sat with Justin and Sian, a Canadian from Vancouver/Toronto studying in Cambridge, England. Justin was planning on some heli-skiing early the next morning (where a helicopter takes the group up to the top of some backcountry and they basically jump out of the plane with their boards on their feet and ski down), but said if he was bumped or it was cancelled as had been the theme for him so far, he'd drive Alex and I up to the mountain. We accepted, extremely thankful for the possibility that we wouldn't have to deal with the trains up the mountain, and we all headed up to sleep.
Monday, March 9, 2009
My first trip to an Italian castle (sort of)
domenica 8 marzo 2009
********Saturday*******
Last time Hana, Seul and I had missed the train from Rome that fatefully Sunday a few weeks ago, we decided to wait a half hour at Valle Aurelia, take the train to Bracciano, wait another hour and a half there and take the next train to Viterbo.
It was a few days before that when I found out Bracciano was the town in which Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes got married in a giant castle. And it had a really huge lake. So what reason was there not to go?
So, Saturday, Hailey, Jacky Lauren and I took the train to Bracciano. Important learned facts of the day: It is, in fact, physically possible for my hair to air dry and not look completely terrible. Learned from waking up, going running, taking a shower, and getting a call that they were leaving to go catch the train in 15 minutes if I wanted to come, giving me 15 minutes to get dressed and make a PB&J for the tracks.
I think walking around all day put all of us in a really good mood. It wasn't too chilly, it was sunny and gorgeous outside, and the views from Bracciano, especially where the castle towers over everything and where you can go down to the lago are incredible.
We arrived in town about 14:00, while everyone was still having their pausa pronzo. The town was pretty quiet and deserted and the castle didn't open again until 15:00 anyway so we decided to walk down to the lago. We stopped through a small park with a tiny playground. I tried to go down the slide and discovered my bum was a bit too wide. A man with a tiny adorable australian dog walked by and told us the playground was for bambini. He laughed and shook his head and walked off, but came back to talk to us more a few minutes later. Like most other italians who realize we don't really speak italian, he asked us if we were english. We told him we were American. He asked us if we liked Bracciano, said Viterbo wasn't nearly as good, and told us we should stay the next day for the Festa della Donna. We loved Bracciano, wondered why everyone including some people who live here aren't big fans of Viterbo, and still have no idea what the Festa della Donna actually celebrates even though it supposedly took place in Viterbo today as well.
At any rate, the guy was really nice and gave Jacky some tiny yellow flowers that he said were for the Festa and then took a picture of the four of us on the bridge of the playground. I played with the puppy for a bit and we walked in separate directions.
We walked down to the lake. When I say down, I mean in a literal downward sloping direction. Meaning the entire walk back was intensely uphill, but it was worth it because the lago was gorgeous and there were ducks.
A hefty walk later we got back up to the top of the hill and back towards the castle. It was a bit of money to get in that I didn't really want to pay for and neither did Lauren, so we just stayed outside in the sun while Jacky and Hailey toured the castle. Maybe one day I'll go back and see the inside, because I do think that would be really cool. I don't think I've ever seen the inside of a castle before?
Lauren was hungry and got some pizza and we sat in the sun on a fountain in a square we'd passed earlier. I mooched some of her pizza bianca and we discussed who's family was more odd while small children with tricycles ran around and old men in hats sat on benches. After a while a younger, scruffy looking guy plopped a large bag down towards a railing on one side of the square. Believe it or not, he broke out a huge bag on balloon animal balloons. He made himself a balloon hat, put it on, and of course it attracted the kids in the square and they started going up to him. He made them all balloon animals and gave me some good ideas to add to my routine when I get back home. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, which is probably not a big deal because the odds that he spoke english anyway are pretty small. Besides, I have no idea what the words are for "balloon" or "animal" in Italian.
We walked around a bit and left soon after Hailey and Jacky got out of the castle. I, of course, fell asleep on the train home. Jacky, Hailey and I stopped at the big Despar on the way back to our apartments and I was disappointed by their serious lack of soy milk and Gatorade. Still, I found a small container of soy milk, a little Powerade (which I have now learned is wayyyy too sugary) and a pack of HappyDent gumma to make my teeth happy.
We made dinner and watched Eurotrip, which neither Hailey nor Jacky had seen before, and called it an early night.
********Sunday********
I don't have much to say for myself for today. I was too lazy to get myself outside to go running or really do anything. Hailey and I planned out everything except one flight and two hostels for spring break though, so those plans are now pretty accomplished. Which is quite exciting. And I got an e-mail from my dad with info about when their flights to and from Italy will be, meaning they are officially visiting me after spring break. AND I woke up to a text message from Alyssa saying it's official, she's coming to Italy with Mom and Dad, which definitely made my morning.
Coming up this week: An international student day thing on Thursday, which means being observed in all Thursday classes and free food. And, leaving Friday morning for the Alps! Be prepared for a super-stoked entry following next weekend =).
Ci vediamo!
********Saturday*******
Last time Hana, Seul and I had missed the train from Rome that fatefully Sunday a few weeks ago, we decided to wait a half hour at Valle Aurelia, take the train to Bracciano, wait another hour and a half there and take the next train to Viterbo.
It was a few days before that when I found out Bracciano was the town in which Tom Cruise and Katie Holmes got married in a giant castle. And it had a really huge lake. So what reason was there not to go?
So, Saturday, Hailey, Jacky Lauren and I took the train to Bracciano. Important learned facts of the day: It is, in fact, physically possible for my hair to air dry and not look completely terrible. Learned from waking up, going running, taking a shower, and getting a call that they were leaving to go catch the train in 15 minutes if I wanted to come, giving me 15 minutes to get dressed and make a PB&J for the tracks.
I think walking around all day put all of us in a really good mood. It wasn't too chilly, it was sunny and gorgeous outside, and the views from Bracciano, especially where the castle towers over everything and where you can go down to the lago are incredible.
We arrived in town about 14:00, while everyone was still having their pausa pronzo. The town was pretty quiet and deserted and the castle didn't open again until 15:00 anyway so we decided to walk down to the lago. We stopped through a small park with a tiny playground. I tried to go down the slide and discovered my bum was a bit too wide. A man with a tiny adorable australian dog walked by and told us the playground was for bambini. He laughed and shook his head and walked off, but came back to talk to us more a few minutes later. Like most other italians who realize we don't really speak italian, he asked us if we were english. We told him we were American. He asked us if we liked Bracciano, said Viterbo wasn't nearly as good, and told us we should stay the next day for the Festa della Donna. We loved Bracciano, wondered why everyone including some people who live here aren't big fans of Viterbo, and still have no idea what the Festa della Donna actually celebrates even though it supposedly took place in Viterbo today as well.
At any rate, the guy was really nice and gave Jacky some tiny yellow flowers that he said were for the Festa and then took a picture of the four of us on the bridge of the playground. I played with the puppy for a bit and we walked in separate directions.
We walked down to the lake. When I say down, I mean in a literal downward sloping direction. Meaning the entire walk back was intensely uphill, but it was worth it because the lago was gorgeous and there were ducks.
A hefty walk later we got back up to the top of the hill and back towards the castle. It was a bit of money to get in that I didn't really want to pay for and neither did Lauren, so we just stayed outside in the sun while Jacky and Hailey toured the castle. Maybe one day I'll go back and see the inside, because I do think that would be really cool. I don't think I've ever seen the inside of a castle before?
Lauren was hungry and got some pizza and we sat in the sun on a fountain in a square we'd passed earlier. I mooched some of her pizza bianca and we discussed who's family was more odd while small children with tricycles ran around and old men in hats sat on benches. After a while a younger, scruffy looking guy plopped a large bag down towards a railing on one side of the square. Believe it or not, he broke out a huge bag on balloon animal balloons. He made himself a balloon hat, put it on, and of course it attracted the kids in the square and they started going up to him. He made them all balloon animals and gave me some good ideas to add to my routine when I get back home. I didn't get a chance to talk to him, which is probably not a big deal because the odds that he spoke english anyway are pretty small. Besides, I have no idea what the words are for "balloon" or "animal" in Italian.
We walked around a bit and left soon after Hailey and Jacky got out of the castle. I, of course, fell asleep on the train home. Jacky, Hailey and I stopped at the big Despar on the way back to our apartments and I was disappointed by their serious lack of soy milk and Gatorade. Still, I found a small container of soy milk, a little Powerade (which I have now learned is wayyyy too sugary) and a pack of HappyDent gumma to make my teeth happy.
We made dinner and watched Eurotrip, which neither Hailey nor Jacky had seen before, and called it an early night.
********Sunday********
I don't have much to say for myself for today. I was too lazy to get myself outside to go running or really do anything. Hailey and I planned out everything except one flight and two hostels for spring break though, so those plans are now pretty accomplished. Which is quite exciting. And I got an e-mail from my dad with info about when their flights to and from Italy will be, meaning they are officially visiting me after spring break. AND I woke up to a text message from Alyssa saying it's official, she's coming to Italy with Mom and Dad, which definitely made my morning.
Coming up this week: An international student day thing on Thursday, which means being observed in all Thursday classes and free food. And, leaving Friday morning for the Alps! Be prepared for a super-stoked entry following next weekend =).
Ci vediamo!
Day trip outside Italy: Walking through 50+ rooms of art at the Vatican
domenica 8 marzo 2009
So I realized I never wrote up Sunday from the Barcelona trip. There wasn't really much to say, other than entire day of traveling (11 a.m. to 9 p.m., or thereabouts) and a sequel to that first time I missed a train to Viterbo from Rome on a Sunday and had to wait two hours for the next one. Of course, it was also raining, so kind of an eh way to end the weekend.
Things picked up again this week though, despite my first final on Thursday. Got a 20/20 on the oral part, so that's a plus. Jacky declared next Tuesday black bean burrito night part III, which is another success. Monday night will be stereotypical italian/Purim dinner, which should be fun since I haven't been to a Monday night dinner in about a month.
Time is flying here, because sometimes cliches are the best way to describe the situation. I come to a lot of random realizations that I tell myself I should blog about later, but I never remember to write them down so they mostly end up lost somewhere in my memory. Mostly cultural things, I think, but just more stuff to send me to shock when I get back to the US.
*******Friday********
Friday our Renaissance class had a field trip to the Vatican with the art history class. It almost seems unfair to count it, but you can call this trip number two outside the country.
Being in Vatican City was pretty fascinating, and I managed to control the weather by bringing both an umbrella and sunglasses and not much room to carry either. So it was cloudy most of the day but didn't rain, although I did don my shades at some point for a few minutes.
Anyway, seeing inside the Vatican was way, way more awing than the outside, but was more of a downer when thinking of the reality behind it. That building is ridiculous inside. Gold surrounds and fills everything. Statues, mosaics and paintings of Jesus and other holy scenes and characters are everywhere. Towards one end is basically what can be construed as a giant wooden chupah that I think the art history professor said was something like 48 meters tall. A fountain of holy water with two giant angel babies that are taller than me stand near the entrance. A massive, probably holy clock surrounded by fiery bursts of gold towers over everything at the exact opposite site of the building from where we walked in. And, since the building is shaped like a cross, two huge open spaces where the hands go housed more giant art, sculptures, gold and marble. I'm also pretty sure at least three masses were going on in there at the same time.
The Vatican museum tour was kind of disappointing, partly because of the fact that I could hear virtually nothing the art history professor was saying even as she gave us some background info before we even entered either of the buildings. The other part was because she needed to leave at 14:30 so her plan was to rush us through the museum to the Sistine Chapel and then peace out, leaving us to decide what to do next. Our Renaissance professor basically let the art history prof. handle the trip, which was disappointing because she probably knew all kinds of things that we'd never find out otherwise about the Vatican.
I somehow ended up separated from most of the group for most of the trip through the museum. For a while I was with Christine, Hana and Emily, but pretty soon it was just Emily and me. We realized later on when we met back with the group that the four of us had taken the long way to the Sistine Chapel, which explained the rooms of art that we walked through, eventually numbering past 50-something before we got to the chapel.
Emily and I lost Christine and Hana somewhere around the School of Athens. I know it was there because in everyone's craze to find the chapel, I had forgotten that painting of Raphael's was there. Absolutely. Incredible. After seeing it in photos so many times, it was completely breathtaking to see in person. We must've just stood in front of it for at least a good 10-15 minutes before moving on. Looking through all the greats that Raphael painted took a while to soak in. I knew even as we were walking out of the room that painting would be the highlight of my day.
And it really was. We also saw Rodin's "The Thinker" and two of Dali's paintings, neither of which we had known were there and both of which we were amazed to see. Fifty-plus rooms later, we got to the Sistine Chapel. Maybe I was jaded by walking a literal mile, at least, to get to it, maybe it was low expectations after Raphael's work, but I honestly wasn't nearly as impressed by the chapel as I thought I would be.
Don't get me wrong, Michaelangelo is a master. I was so struck by the lines, columns and other shapes on the ceiling he made appear completely 3-D by simply painting them. Especially considering how long ago he painted it, he got all the optical illusions completely perfect. At first I didn't realize some of the columns and frames around the art on the ceiling weren't actually there, but made of shades of white paint. Seriously, wow.
Maybe it's just been too overhyped. But where Adam and God nearly touch their fingers (aka the ET hands) in the "Creation of Adam" is a small panel in the center of the ceiling, virtually unnoticeable unless I looked for it. I had to search and then turn my head upside-down to find it. Maybe the problem is it's too far away to thoroughly study. All I know is, along with the Pieta, these were the only works I've wanted to see that were more unimpressive when I saw them in person.
Still, for Raphael, Rodin and Dali, the trip was worth it. Emily and I found the group just as they were leaving the chapel (we must've spent half the time in there that they did) and just as she'd promised, the art history professor was gone at 14:30. Our Renaissance professor was lost somewhere in the museum, possibly still looking at the chapel or possibly in some other room; where ever she was, she didn't have a cell phone so no one could reach her. It'd been weeks since I'd had some good gelato and Christine said she knew a great place with soy (!!!) gelato on Corso Italia and she was going over there to go shopping with Lauren, Hana and Felicia, if I'd like to come.
Would I!! We metro'ed from the Vatican back into Italy, my mouth already watering for some good gelato. We walked to the street through a huge gate that I hadn't remembered seeing before, but maybe I'd never been all the way down the corso before. Just inside the gate was a huge obilisque carved with hieroglyphics, a tribute to I have no idea what.
What I do know is we walked into the first tiny shop on the corso because it looked cute, and hanging there inside was exactly the kind of bag I'd been looking for to replace my one that's begun ripping. Figuring it'd be at least 15 euro, I flipped over the price tag to see how much I wouldn't want to pay for it. Printed on the back of the tag, it told me: 4.90 euro. I did a double take, figuring it was a mistake. But the guy at the counter told me the bag costs 4.90. So I bought a new bag to replace my ripped one. A few stores down, right next to H&M, I bought vanilla soy gelato and frutti di bosco regular gelato and it was absolutely incredible. Next time I'm in Roma I'm heading directly to that gelateria.
A good day all in all. A long day, for sure, filled with interesting thoughts and realizations about christianity, but more importantly, filled with appreciation of knowledge from Raphael and appreciation of gelato from my belly.
So I realized I never wrote up Sunday from the Barcelona trip. There wasn't really much to say, other than entire day of traveling (11 a.m. to 9 p.m., or thereabouts) and a sequel to that first time I missed a train to Viterbo from Rome on a Sunday and had to wait two hours for the next one. Of course, it was also raining, so kind of an eh way to end the weekend.
Things picked up again this week though, despite my first final on Thursday. Got a 20/20 on the oral part, so that's a plus. Jacky declared next Tuesday black bean burrito night part III, which is another success. Monday night will be stereotypical italian/Purim dinner, which should be fun since I haven't been to a Monday night dinner in about a month.
Time is flying here, because sometimes cliches are the best way to describe the situation. I come to a lot of random realizations that I tell myself I should blog about later, but I never remember to write them down so they mostly end up lost somewhere in my memory. Mostly cultural things, I think, but just more stuff to send me to shock when I get back to the US.
*******Friday********
Friday our Renaissance class had a field trip to the Vatican with the art history class. It almost seems unfair to count it, but you can call this trip number two outside the country.
Being in Vatican City was pretty fascinating, and I managed to control the weather by bringing both an umbrella and sunglasses and not much room to carry either. So it was cloudy most of the day but didn't rain, although I did don my shades at some point for a few minutes.
Anyway, seeing inside the Vatican was way, way more awing than the outside, but was more of a downer when thinking of the reality behind it. That building is ridiculous inside. Gold surrounds and fills everything. Statues, mosaics and paintings of Jesus and other holy scenes and characters are everywhere. Towards one end is basically what can be construed as a giant wooden chupah that I think the art history professor said was something like 48 meters tall. A fountain of holy water with two giant angel babies that are taller than me stand near the entrance. A massive, probably holy clock surrounded by fiery bursts of gold towers over everything at the exact opposite site of the building from where we walked in. And, since the building is shaped like a cross, two huge open spaces where the hands go housed more giant art, sculptures, gold and marble. I'm also pretty sure at least three masses were going on in there at the same time.
The Vatican museum tour was kind of disappointing, partly because of the fact that I could hear virtually nothing the art history professor was saying even as she gave us some background info before we even entered either of the buildings. The other part was because she needed to leave at 14:30 so her plan was to rush us through the museum to the Sistine Chapel and then peace out, leaving us to decide what to do next. Our Renaissance professor basically let the art history prof. handle the trip, which was disappointing because she probably knew all kinds of things that we'd never find out otherwise about the Vatican.
I somehow ended up separated from most of the group for most of the trip through the museum. For a while I was with Christine, Hana and Emily, but pretty soon it was just Emily and me. We realized later on when we met back with the group that the four of us had taken the long way to the Sistine Chapel, which explained the rooms of art that we walked through, eventually numbering past 50-something before we got to the chapel.
Emily and I lost Christine and Hana somewhere around the School of Athens. I know it was there because in everyone's craze to find the chapel, I had forgotten that painting of Raphael's was there. Absolutely. Incredible. After seeing it in photos so many times, it was completely breathtaking to see in person. We must've just stood in front of it for at least a good 10-15 minutes before moving on. Looking through all the greats that Raphael painted took a while to soak in. I knew even as we were walking out of the room that painting would be the highlight of my day.
And it really was. We also saw Rodin's "The Thinker" and two of Dali's paintings, neither of which we had known were there and both of which we were amazed to see. Fifty-plus rooms later, we got to the Sistine Chapel. Maybe I was jaded by walking a literal mile, at least, to get to it, maybe it was low expectations after Raphael's work, but I honestly wasn't nearly as impressed by the chapel as I thought I would be.
Don't get me wrong, Michaelangelo is a master. I was so struck by the lines, columns and other shapes on the ceiling he made appear completely 3-D by simply painting them. Especially considering how long ago he painted it, he got all the optical illusions completely perfect. At first I didn't realize some of the columns and frames around the art on the ceiling weren't actually there, but made of shades of white paint. Seriously, wow.
Maybe it's just been too overhyped. But where Adam and God nearly touch their fingers (aka the ET hands) in the "Creation of Adam" is a small panel in the center of the ceiling, virtually unnoticeable unless I looked for it. I had to search and then turn my head upside-down to find it. Maybe the problem is it's too far away to thoroughly study. All I know is, along with the Pieta, these were the only works I've wanted to see that were more unimpressive when I saw them in person.
Still, for Raphael, Rodin and Dali, the trip was worth it. Emily and I found the group just as they were leaving the chapel (we must've spent half the time in there that they did) and just as she'd promised, the art history professor was gone at 14:30. Our Renaissance professor was lost somewhere in the museum, possibly still looking at the chapel or possibly in some other room; where ever she was, she didn't have a cell phone so no one could reach her. It'd been weeks since I'd had some good gelato and Christine said she knew a great place with soy (!!!) gelato on Corso Italia and she was going over there to go shopping with Lauren, Hana and Felicia, if I'd like to come.
Would I!! We metro'ed from the Vatican back into Italy, my mouth already watering for some good gelato. We walked to the street through a huge gate that I hadn't remembered seeing before, but maybe I'd never been all the way down the corso before. Just inside the gate was a huge obilisque carved with hieroglyphics, a tribute to I have no idea what.
What I do know is we walked into the first tiny shop on the corso because it looked cute, and hanging there inside was exactly the kind of bag I'd been looking for to replace my one that's begun ripping. Figuring it'd be at least 15 euro, I flipped over the price tag to see how much I wouldn't want to pay for it. Printed on the back of the tag, it told me: 4.90 euro. I did a double take, figuring it was a mistake. But the guy at the counter told me the bag costs 4.90. So I bought a new bag to replace my ripped one. A few stores down, right next to H&M, I bought vanilla soy gelato and frutti di bosco regular gelato and it was absolutely incredible. Next time I'm in Roma I'm heading directly to that gelateria.
A good day all in all. A long day, for sure, filled with interesting thoughts and realizations about christianity, but more importantly, filled with appreciation of knowledge from Raphael and appreciation of gelato from my belly.
Wednesday, March 4, 2009
Barcelona II: Looooong Day
As always, photos at http://www.flickr.com/photos/manda_face/
03 marzo 2009
*******Saturday*********
We woke up at 08:30 to get breakfast. The hostel had a pretty nice spread compared to some of the other ones we'd stayed at, and I was able to eat some cereal so I was happy. After eating, we went to walk down La Rambla. Even early in the morning, the street was getting full with vendors selling all kinds of (adorable) pets, thousands of flowers, souvenirs and street performers everywhere. You know those guys who stand on a platform on a sidewalk, have painted themselves gold and stand really still for hours? Think of that, but down entire sections of the street. Also, think of them way more elaborate. Like one guy in a giant bird costume, a couple guys in headless-man costumes and another guy, painted gold of course, sitting on a gold painted bike next to a skeleton lady on another gold painted bike.
We killed a few hours there until the tour our hostel offered in connection with the Travel Bar a few blocks down for free. The tour was supposed to start at 11:30. We waited there with two other girls until close to noon when the girl giving the tour came over to us and said she had to cancel it because not enough people had showed up. Still, she was really nice about it and marked on our map the places she would've taken us. Then she gave us a discount for the pub crawl that night, which worked out pretty well.
It was kind of difficult to tell where we should be going when we actually started walking around the Gothic Quarter though, so we didn't see everything she marked. Still, we're pretty sure we walked down the streets where the Jewish area used to be and saw a few really nice cathedrals and piazzas. After we figured we explored a good amount of it, we headed towards the metro to head up towards some of Gaudi's buildings.
I'd never heard of Gaudi until I did a bit of research about the city before the trip. He's basically a really cool architect that made buildings that look like they're dripping and curving with lots of fluid lines. If I were rich, I would've gone inside all of them too, because they were really fascinating from the outside.
I don't know if Gaudi was like Picasso, where he had some kind of vision problem and just saw things as curvy. Maybe he wasn't a genius architect at all and that really was the way he saw the world, but if that's true then he still saw everything in a really cool way. Plus you have to have some skill to figure out how to make a building look like it's melting but still stay standing through centuries.
We stopped at Sagrada Familia, Casa Milla and Casa Botllo. Sagrada Familia is still unfinished and has been under construction since Gaudi started it some centuries ago. The other casas were similar, but the exteriors were very bendy and looked kind of like they'd been molded from Play-Doh.
We also tried to hit up Park Guell where a whole bunch more of Gaudi's buildings were supposed to be. When we got to the metro stop for it, we saw a sign pointing us towards what we thought was the direction of Park Guell. We saw a giant hill at the top of which was something that looked like it had a lot of trees and plants so we figured it had to be right.
Well, after about a 20 minute trek uphill we ended up at a park called something like the Garden of Tourists. Aka, not Park Guell. We stayed there and looked around for a few minutes. It was pretty, yeah, but it was a small average park. We started to leave and looked to the left. Down another hill, then up another really huge hill, off in the distance we saw Park Guell. We saw the staircases that lined the road to get to it and the ant-sized people headed towards it. It would've been really cool to see, but there was no way Hailey was climbing that hill. I felt bad for making her climb the first one to the wrong park anyway, so we headed back to the metro.
We metroed back towards the hostel and Hailey went back for a nap. I wasn't particularly tired yet, so I figured I'd explore some of the windy streets in the gothic quarter that we'd passed through and had some really awesome looking shops.
I found a Quiksilver, a Vans store that was blasting "One Armed Scissor" by At the Drive-In, and a Claire's that I came this close to buying a new bag from. Other than that, all the stores were names I had never heard of or seen before. One was called "New Yorker" or "New York Style" or something like that and was basically like another H&M.
Before we had arrived in Barcelona, one of the info packets I had been reading said there was a really cool hipster market called El Mercadillo somewhere in the gothic quarter but that it was really hard to find. I don't know if that was a lie or if I just ended up on some really obscure streets, but I walked right past it so of course I went in.
It was set up like a really crowded and smaller version of the Tri-County Flea Market. All the stalls were selling punkish and hipster items. Giant "Palenstino" neckerchiefs were everywhere, for sale and on kids and merchants necks. Gauged earrings, punky bracelets, checkerboards and some really cool clothing brand was everywhere. Barcelona has no shortage of hipsters just walking through the streets, but this market was packed with them and it was definitely where they bought all their stuff.
I didn't buy anything during my stroll, but I think this was the first time I've really enjoyed window shopping. So many of the stores have such cool things that were just really awesome to look at. I need to get back to this city so I can see more of Gaudi's architecture, more of the town in general, and more of the shops in the gothic area.
When I got back to the hostel, Hailey was literally just waking up from her nap. It was around 17:30, still a couple hours too early for dinner. We both sat on our beds filling in postcards we'd bought from a stand the day before. I guess after window shopping I was more tired than I thought, because all of a sudden I woke up on my bed a little after 18:30 not remembering that I'd fallen asleep.
We went out in search of stamps (which we never found) and some food for dinner. We needed to meet at the Travel Bar at 21:30 for the bar crawl and there was a 30 minute Flamenco show we wanted to see at 20:30 beforehand. We walked down to La Rambla again, in the direction of the flamenco show and the Travel Bar.
Hailey considered KFC for dinner while my mouth watered at some of the surprisingly many vegetarian and vegan restaurants in the area (yet another reason I need to go back). In the end, we found a place with three tapas and a drink for 7.90 euro. We got six between us that ended up being all vegetarian, which worked out well for me. I think my favorite way to eat a meal is tapas since you get to try so many different things, and the tapas we had in Barcelona was insanely delicious. And, again, more fantastic sangria, this time made with cava, or champagne.
We found a gelato place near the restaurant and on the way to the flamenco show. I wasn't sure what to expect of gelato in Spain, but it was surprisingly good and pretty close to the quality of the converted ex-bank now-gelateria in Viterbo.
The flamenco show was amazing. The musicians played for about 15 minutes and the dancer came out for the second half of the show. I wish our seats positioned us more so we could've seen the guitar player's hands, because he was incredible at Spanish guitar. I was enthralled and spent most of the time, even after the dancer came on stage, watching him. The girl who was singing had a really shrill voice, which wasn't really pleasing. But the guy who was the other singer had a great stage presence and a really quirky way of moving his shoulders while he clapped his hands. The dancer was also amazing. I tried to imagine how long she must've been dancing to be able to move her feet that quickly.
After the show we went to the pub crawl and had a last delicious sangria as our free drink at the Travel Bar. It was a lot of fun, especially after we met three girls from Vassar who were studying in Paris and on their spring break. We met them at the third bar before the club and hung out with them for the rest of the night. One of them was even from Port Washington, knows Jesse and is family friends with Steven Donnelly. Talk about random, but I love six degrees of separation like that.
We enjoyed our drinks, chatted with the girls we met and danced a bit at the club at the end of the night. I think a guy tried to teach me some salsa dancing at one point but I definitely was not able to follow his feet.
We left late and took the long walk back from Barceloneta to our hostel. We did pass the Columbus statue at the bottom of La Rambla though, so I was glad we had the chance to see that before we left. By the time we got back to the area with the hostel, we were too tired to stop for donor kebabs or felafel or at the caffe our almost-tour guide had told us had amazing, think hot chocolate that they sold with bread to dunk. It's making my mouth water now and is yet another reason I need to get back to Barcelona.
We were back in the hostel around 04:00, enough for about six hours of sleep if we missed breakfast and woke up in time for check-out.
03 marzo 2009
*******Saturday*********
We woke up at 08:30 to get breakfast. The hostel had a pretty nice spread compared to some of the other ones we'd stayed at, and I was able to eat some cereal so I was happy. After eating, we went to walk down La Rambla. Even early in the morning, the street was getting full with vendors selling all kinds of (adorable) pets, thousands of flowers, souvenirs and street performers everywhere. You know those guys who stand on a platform on a sidewalk, have painted themselves gold and stand really still for hours? Think of that, but down entire sections of the street. Also, think of them way more elaborate. Like one guy in a giant bird costume, a couple guys in headless-man costumes and another guy, painted gold of course, sitting on a gold painted bike next to a skeleton lady on another gold painted bike.
We killed a few hours there until the tour our hostel offered in connection with the Travel Bar a few blocks down for free. The tour was supposed to start at 11:30. We waited there with two other girls until close to noon when the girl giving the tour came over to us and said she had to cancel it because not enough people had showed up. Still, she was really nice about it and marked on our map the places she would've taken us. Then she gave us a discount for the pub crawl that night, which worked out pretty well.
It was kind of difficult to tell where we should be going when we actually started walking around the Gothic Quarter though, so we didn't see everything she marked. Still, we're pretty sure we walked down the streets where the Jewish area used to be and saw a few really nice cathedrals and piazzas. After we figured we explored a good amount of it, we headed towards the metro to head up towards some of Gaudi's buildings.
I'd never heard of Gaudi until I did a bit of research about the city before the trip. He's basically a really cool architect that made buildings that look like they're dripping and curving with lots of fluid lines. If I were rich, I would've gone inside all of them too, because they were really fascinating from the outside.
I don't know if Gaudi was like Picasso, where he had some kind of vision problem and just saw things as curvy. Maybe he wasn't a genius architect at all and that really was the way he saw the world, but if that's true then he still saw everything in a really cool way. Plus you have to have some skill to figure out how to make a building look like it's melting but still stay standing through centuries.
We stopped at Sagrada Familia, Casa Milla and Casa Botllo. Sagrada Familia is still unfinished and has been under construction since Gaudi started it some centuries ago. The other casas were similar, but the exteriors were very bendy and looked kind of like they'd been molded from Play-Doh.
We also tried to hit up Park Guell where a whole bunch more of Gaudi's buildings were supposed to be. When we got to the metro stop for it, we saw a sign pointing us towards what we thought was the direction of Park Guell. We saw a giant hill at the top of which was something that looked like it had a lot of trees and plants so we figured it had to be right.
Well, after about a 20 minute trek uphill we ended up at a park called something like the Garden of Tourists. Aka, not Park Guell. We stayed there and looked around for a few minutes. It was pretty, yeah, but it was a small average park. We started to leave and looked to the left. Down another hill, then up another really huge hill, off in the distance we saw Park Guell. We saw the staircases that lined the road to get to it and the ant-sized people headed towards it. It would've been really cool to see, but there was no way Hailey was climbing that hill. I felt bad for making her climb the first one to the wrong park anyway, so we headed back to the metro.
We metroed back towards the hostel and Hailey went back for a nap. I wasn't particularly tired yet, so I figured I'd explore some of the windy streets in the gothic quarter that we'd passed through and had some really awesome looking shops.
I found a Quiksilver, a Vans store that was blasting "One Armed Scissor" by At the Drive-In, and a Claire's that I came this close to buying a new bag from. Other than that, all the stores were names I had never heard of or seen before. One was called "New Yorker" or "New York Style" or something like that and was basically like another H&M.
Before we had arrived in Barcelona, one of the info packets I had been reading said there was a really cool hipster market called El Mercadillo somewhere in the gothic quarter but that it was really hard to find. I don't know if that was a lie or if I just ended up on some really obscure streets, but I walked right past it so of course I went in.
It was set up like a really crowded and smaller version of the Tri-County Flea Market. All the stalls were selling punkish and hipster items. Giant "Palenstino" neckerchiefs were everywhere, for sale and on kids and merchants necks. Gauged earrings, punky bracelets, checkerboards and some really cool clothing brand was everywhere. Barcelona has no shortage of hipsters just walking through the streets, but this market was packed with them and it was definitely where they bought all their stuff.
I didn't buy anything during my stroll, but I think this was the first time I've really enjoyed window shopping. So many of the stores have such cool things that were just really awesome to look at. I need to get back to this city so I can see more of Gaudi's architecture, more of the town in general, and more of the shops in the gothic area.
When I got back to the hostel, Hailey was literally just waking up from her nap. It was around 17:30, still a couple hours too early for dinner. We both sat on our beds filling in postcards we'd bought from a stand the day before. I guess after window shopping I was more tired than I thought, because all of a sudden I woke up on my bed a little after 18:30 not remembering that I'd fallen asleep.
We went out in search of stamps (which we never found) and some food for dinner. We needed to meet at the Travel Bar at 21:30 for the bar crawl and there was a 30 minute Flamenco show we wanted to see at 20:30 beforehand. We walked down to La Rambla again, in the direction of the flamenco show and the Travel Bar.
Hailey considered KFC for dinner while my mouth watered at some of the surprisingly many vegetarian and vegan restaurants in the area (yet another reason I need to go back). In the end, we found a place with three tapas and a drink for 7.90 euro. We got six between us that ended up being all vegetarian, which worked out well for me. I think my favorite way to eat a meal is tapas since you get to try so many different things, and the tapas we had in Barcelona was insanely delicious. And, again, more fantastic sangria, this time made with cava, or champagne.
We found a gelato place near the restaurant and on the way to the flamenco show. I wasn't sure what to expect of gelato in Spain, but it was surprisingly good and pretty close to the quality of the converted ex-bank now-gelateria in Viterbo.
The flamenco show was amazing. The musicians played for about 15 minutes and the dancer came out for the second half of the show. I wish our seats positioned us more so we could've seen the guitar player's hands, because he was incredible at Spanish guitar. I was enthralled and spent most of the time, even after the dancer came on stage, watching him. The girl who was singing had a really shrill voice, which wasn't really pleasing. But the guy who was the other singer had a great stage presence and a really quirky way of moving his shoulders while he clapped his hands. The dancer was also amazing. I tried to imagine how long she must've been dancing to be able to move her feet that quickly.
After the show we went to the pub crawl and had a last delicious sangria as our free drink at the Travel Bar. It was a lot of fun, especially after we met three girls from Vassar who were studying in Paris and on their spring break. We met them at the third bar before the club and hung out with them for the rest of the night. One of them was even from Port Washington, knows Jesse and is family friends with Steven Donnelly. Talk about random, but I love six degrees of separation like that.
We enjoyed our drinks, chatted with the girls we met and danced a bit at the club at the end of the night. I think a guy tried to teach me some salsa dancing at one point but I definitely was not able to follow his feet.
We left late and took the long walk back from Barceloneta to our hostel. We did pass the Columbus statue at the bottom of La Rambla though, so I was glad we had the chance to see that before we left. By the time we got back to the area with the hostel, we were too tired to stop for donor kebabs or felafel or at the caffe our almost-tour guide had told us had amazing, think hot chocolate that they sold with bread to dunk. It's making my mouth water now and is yet another reason I need to get back to Barcelona.
We were back in the hostel around 04:00, enough for about six hours of sleep if we missed breakfast and woke up in time for check-out.
Barcelona: "Ma-ma-ma-myyyy Girona!"
03 marzo 2009
Officially, I am in love with the city of Barcelona. One full day there on Saturday with a flight on Friday afternoon and another back on Sunday afternoon was not nearly enough time to soak in that place. It was gorgeous, it was incredible, it had architecture unlike any of the square (literally and figuratively) buildings in America, it had windy gothic street and some of the coolest stores I've ever seen. If I ever get back to Europe, I'm going back to Barcelona for sure.
******Friday*******
For the first time since I arrived in Viterbo, I woke up when it was still dark outside. At 06:01 a.m., just as I had set it, my alarm went off and began ringing with a sound that's not hard to hate, even if on its own it's not that unpleasant. I had packed the night before, so it was just last minute things; Hailey came to my door at 6:30 and we peaced for the train.
RyanAir has its perks. It's got ridiculously cheap flights that get you relatively close to where you want to go. The problem is in the word "relatively." From Roma, RyanAir only flies out of Ciampino airport. Ciampino is in Roma like Dulles is in DC. Basically, it's not. The same goes for the airport "in" Barcelona, which is actually an hour-and-a-half busride from the city.
So, we took the hour-and-a-half train ride to Rome, rode the metro from three stops away from one end to the last stop at the other (another 40ish minutes), caught a bus from the metro for a 20-minute ride to airport, flew for about an hour 15 minutes, paid 21 euro for a roundtrip ride on the bus from the Girona airport in Spain to Barcelona (1.5 hours each way) and took the metro to our hostel. So what you make up for in cost, you pay for in convenience. Serious lack of convenience.
The hostel was really friendly and lively, but our room consisted of 10 beds, us, one guy who didn't say two words to anyone, a british couple, a german girl, a canadian girl, a really tall blonde girl, two older women probably in their 60s that must've just been bored and traveling, and one bed that never had the same person in it.
We weren't in Barcelona for half an hour when Hailey's everything that can go wrong will go wrong weekend began. Looking for money to pay our tab for the hostel, Hailey realized her wallet was gone. Luckily, all her money hadn't been inside her wallet, so she still had cash for the weekend. Still, she lost her credit card and IDs and we had a fun time trying to cancel her cards and getting through to her parents back home. I have to say though, through it all she kept a really cool head and didn't let it get to her too much.
There was not much else we could do, so we went to walk around and try to keep her mind off it. We walked down a nearby street to a market we'd heard about, which, much like two more markets we saw later, was complete with all kinds of clothes, shoes, accessories and linens lining the outer ring and an insane assortment of fresh foods in the inner part. Viterbo hasn't had grapes (that I've seen, at least) since I've been here. I spotted these enormous purple grapes at one of the stands in the center, so I had to buy them. Soooo worth it.
We walked around a bit more and eventually got back to the hostel. We figured, for dinner we'd just walk around and find one of the places we'd passed that had all looked phenomenal. Meanwhile, we also deduced that the part of the gothic quarter where our hostel was must've also been the middle eastern area, because every other shop was either a fast food place selling donor kebabs or a barber.
We were in Barcelona, after all, so I was hungering for some paella and sangria for dinner. It certainly wasn't difficult. We walked about five minutes before we found a couple that looked good and picked one. Somehow, we ordered ourselves a seafood paella (for me), a paella con carne (for Hailey) and a liter of sangria. For the two of us.
Here's the thing about Barcelona. It's in Spain, but in the Catalan part. As a direct result, they speak mostly Catalan there. I had naively gone to the city excited to use my mediocre at best Spanish from high school. Not only was it way more difficult than I expected to switch my brain off of italian, but then we got to Barcelona to find out nothing was in Spanish anyway. And Catalan, though it has a few words that cross over, is nothing like Spanish. Catalan has words with t's and x's right next to eachother. It has c's with little squiggly lines on the bottom like they have in French. It has nothing that I knew how to pronounce.
So, probably because of the Catalan majority, we ordered quite a bit of sangria. Luckily, our plates also had quite a bit of paella so it evened out. And my stomach was satisfied, because I got my Spanish paella like I'd wanted and some seriously delicious sangria.
We figured, at this point, we'd go check out the nightlife. At the hostel they told us there were quite a few good bars and clubs in Barceloneta, by the beach area. And they were probably right, but not in the area we took the metro to. The stop was pretty dead and we walked around for quite a bit without finding anything that looked promising. Hailey was exhausted anyway, so we headed back to the hostel to sleep in our room that by this point, unfortunately, smelled like feet.
Officially, I am in love with the city of Barcelona. One full day there on Saturday with a flight on Friday afternoon and another back on Sunday afternoon was not nearly enough time to soak in that place. It was gorgeous, it was incredible, it had architecture unlike any of the square (literally and figuratively) buildings in America, it had windy gothic street and some of the coolest stores I've ever seen. If I ever get back to Europe, I'm going back to Barcelona for sure.
******Friday*******
For the first time since I arrived in Viterbo, I woke up when it was still dark outside. At 06:01 a.m., just as I had set it, my alarm went off and began ringing with a sound that's not hard to hate, even if on its own it's not that unpleasant. I had packed the night before, so it was just last minute things; Hailey came to my door at 6:30 and we peaced for the train.
RyanAir has its perks. It's got ridiculously cheap flights that get you relatively close to where you want to go. The problem is in the word "relatively." From Roma, RyanAir only flies out of Ciampino airport. Ciampino is in Roma like Dulles is in DC. Basically, it's not. The same goes for the airport "in" Barcelona, which is actually an hour-and-a-half busride from the city.
So, we took the hour-and-a-half train ride to Rome, rode the metro from three stops away from one end to the last stop at the other (another 40ish minutes), caught a bus from the metro for a 20-minute ride to airport, flew for about an hour 15 minutes, paid 21 euro for a roundtrip ride on the bus from the Girona airport in Spain to Barcelona (1.5 hours each way) and took the metro to our hostel. So what you make up for in cost, you pay for in convenience. Serious lack of convenience.
The hostel was really friendly and lively, but our room consisted of 10 beds, us, one guy who didn't say two words to anyone, a british couple, a german girl, a canadian girl, a really tall blonde girl, two older women probably in their 60s that must've just been bored and traveling, and one bed that never had the same person in it.
We weren't in Barcelona for half an hour when Hailey's everything that can go wrong will go wrong weekend began. Looking for money to pay our tab for the hostel, Hailey realized her wallet was gone. Luckily, all her money hadn't been inside her wallet, so she still had cash for the weekend. Still, she lost her credit card and IDs and we had a fun time trying to cancel her cards and getting through to her parents back home. I have to say though, through it all she kept a really cool head and didn't let it get to her too much.
There was not much else we could do, so we went to walk around and try to keep her mind off it. We walked down a nearby street to a market we'd heard about, which, much like two more markets we saw later, was complete with all kinds of clothes, shoes, accessories and linens lining the outer ring and an insane assortment of fresh foods in the inner part. Viterbo hasn't had grapes (that I've seen, at least) since I've been here. I spotted these enormous purple grapes at one of the stands in the center, so I had to buy them. Soooo worth it.
We walked around a bit more and eventually got back to the hostel. We figured, for dinner we'd just walk around and find one of the places we'd passed that had all looked phenomenal. Meanwhile, we also deduced that the part of the gothic quarter where our hostel was must've also been the middle eastern area, because every other shop was either a fast food place selling donor kebabs or a barber.
We were in Barcelona, after all, so I was hungering for some paella and sangria for dinner. It certainly wasn't difficult. We walked about five minutes before we found a couple that looked good and picked one. Somehow, we ordered ourselves a seafood paella (for me), a paella con carne (for Hailey) and a liter of sangria. For the two of us.
Here's the thing about Barcelona. It's in Spain, but in the Catalan part. As a direct result, they speak mostly Catalan there. I had naively gone to the city excited to use my mediocre at best Spanish from high school. Not only was it way more difficult than I expected to switch my brain off of italian, but then we got to Barcelona to find out nothing was in Spanish anyway. And Catalan, though it has a few words that cross over, is nothing like Spanish. Catalan has words with t's and x's right next to eachother. It has c's with little squiggly lines on the bottom like they have in French. It has nothing that I knew how to pronounce.
So, probably because of the Catalan majority, we ordered quite a bit of sangria. Luckily, our plates also had quite a bit of paella so it evened out. And my stomach was satisfied, because I got my Spanish paella like I'd wanted and some seriously delicious sangria.
We figured, at this point, we'd go check out the nightlife. At the hostel they told us there were quite a few good bars and clubs in Barceloneta, by the beach area. And they were probably right, but not in the area we took the metro to. The stop was pretty dead and we walked around for quite a bit without finding anything that looked promising. Hailey was exhausted anyway, so we headed back to the hostel to sleep in our room that by this point, unfortunately, smelled like feet.
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