I packed mostly black and white clothes in preparation for my semester in Granada, Spain with the intent of having a more versatile, practical wardrobe. To my delight, I arrived in Granada to find narrow, cobble-stoned streets swarming with chic European women clad in black strappy heels and crisp, white blouses.
But fitting in here in Spain isn´t quite as simple as black and white: my blonde hair screams "outsider" almost as much as tourists sporting white Nike tennis shoes and colorful backpacks. But my appearance isn´t the only thing that sets me apart here: some of my beliefs are like night and day in comparison to those of my European classmates.
Last week, my language class broke into a heated discussion about gender roles and the differences among males and females. Many European cultures are traditionally¨"machismo", which means boys are raised to become¨"strong" men who believe crying is a sign of weakness and that cooking and cleaning is a woman´s job only.
It was no surprise, then, when a Greek young man in my class said he would never get a girlfriend if he acted sensitive and emotional. I couldn´t help but challenge his belief, so I asked him in Spanish: "Do Greek girls no like men who are sensitive and honest?¨" Well, I asked for it, and he gave it right back to me with a sneer: "Would you rather date a guy who´s emotional and weak, or one who´s strong?"
His words felt like a whip, and my cheeks started to burn out of embarrassment. But something else happened- right then and there I felt my desire to be a European girl slip out of my fingers like wet soap. "I think it´s about balance," I said, as my voice rose and my speech became more rapid: "Why do you have to choose between the two?" My Greek amigo shot me a nasty look and rolled his eyes, but this time it didn´t shake me. This time, standing up for what I believed trumped my better judgement to remain silent out of cultural sensitivity.
I feel strongly that the connection between heart and mind, emotion and intellect, is a vital aspect of being human- male and female. In a black and white world, women might only be sensitive and men might only be strong. But since our brains are grey matter, we can have a mix of both and it doesn´t make us any less male or any less female.
That day, I walked out of class with a little extra bounce in my step. And the next morning, as I scoured my closet in search of something to wear, I decided against my favorite monochrome outfit and reached for a red and blue sweater instead. And just for good measure, I wrapped a grey scarf around my neck before heading out the door.
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
Wednesday, September 9, 2009
Almuneca (a day at the beach)
On Saturday, I went with about 12 other students from my program to the beach, which is only an hour away by bus. We left in the morning and spent the day at a beautiful beach with little island-cliffs to our left and mountains to our right. The best part was that we rented reclining chairs with cushions on them under these cute little umbrellas that look like those hats Asian people in the rice fields wear (that's really the only way to describe them). Anyways, I got to take a nap in the shade, and swim around in the refreshing water while getting to know some of the people in my program. So far, I like everyone: it's funny because Tim and I are the only ones from the West Coast. Most people are either from Chicago or Wisconsin or New York. It's so entertaining to listen to their accents- i just love it! And I love teasing them about it :) But they dish it right back at me, and claim that Tim and I have "West Coast accents" (whatever that means!) It was so much fun relaxing at the beach with new friends. And I can proudly say that I did NOT get burned after my horrible experience in France.
Tim was a riot: he brought our hot pink raft that the French man gave us in Nice, and he wore his little blue goggles from Italy. Needless to say, he was the subject of lots of teasing within our group. Tim is the master of flips and cliff jumping, and that day he earned two new nicknames: Shawn Johnson (like the gymnast) and Spider Monkey. He did me proud :) Sadly, he got a pretty bad sunburn, and his host mom laughed at him when he got home. The other day I met his host mom- she is a riot! In the kitchen she has pictures of her grown daughter on the wall, so I was asking her about them. All of a sudden, she goes, "Don't look at those pictures, look at these beautiful ones!" and points to her refrigirator, which is covered in photos of her three CATS! It's hilarious, she's obsessed with them! Apprarantly the refrigirator is the place where Spaniards display their most prized photographs :)
Tim was a riot: he brought our hot pink raft that the French man gave us in Nice, and he wore his little blue goggles from Italy. Needless to say, he was the subject of lots of teasing within our group. Tim is the master of flips and cliff jumping, and that day he earned two new nicknames: Shawn Johnson (like the gymnast) and Spider Monkey. He did me proud :) Sadly, he got a pretty bad sunburn, and his host mom laughed at him when he got home. The other day I met his host mom- she is a riot! In the kitchen she has pictures of her grown daughter on the wall, so I was asking her about them. All of a sudden, she goes, "Don't look at those pictures, look at these beautiful ones!" and points to her refrigirator, which is covered in photos of her three CATS! It's hilarious, she's obsessed with them! Apprarantly the refrigirator is the place where Spaniards display their most prized photographs :)
Running Urban Style
One of the hardest parts about living in Granada is that there aren't a whole lot of places to run in the city. What's more, I don't feel entirely comfortable running in the streets or the park by myself ( I also am horrible with directions). Tim, being the gentleman that he is, meets me before class in the morning to run, even though he lives on the other side of the city. There's a beautiful park a couple blocks away from my house called El Parque de Federico Garcia Lorca (a famous Spanish poet whose summer house was located in the park and is now a museum). The park is enclosed by high walls, and has dirt paths that go around the perimeter of the park. It's full of tall, Dr. Seuss-like trees, fountains, and touchy-feely high school sweethearts who sprawl out on the grass (it's actually a little awkward to run past them). There are usually lots of runners in the park, but almost all men. I don't understand this! If there are female runners, they never wear shorts, even though it's really hot here. As much as I want to blend in here, I absolutely, positively cannot bring myself to run in pants when it is hot- it's inhumane! Even though I get some odd stares, I'm sticking to my guns on this one.
The other day, Tim took me on a killer run that he discovered the day before. In Granada we are already at a high altitude because we're next to the Sierra Navada mountain range. But we upped the ante and "upped" a monster hill that was about a mile long and steep the whole way. At the top, I was coughing up who knows what from my burning lungs. It was a good workout. I also recently joined a gym that's about a five minute walk from my house. It's called "Gimnasio Palandium" and is tiny, but suffiecient. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to go because I've been sick with a cold and sinus infection. I'm going to the doctor today to get some antibiotics, so hopefully I'll be up and running again soon.
The other day, Tim took me on a killer run that he discovered the day before. In Granada we are already at a high altitude because we're next to the Sierra Navada mountain range. But we upped the ante and "upped" a monster hill that was about a mile long and steep the whole way. At the top, I was coughing up who knows what from my burning lungs. It was a good workout. I also recently joined a gym that's about a five minute walk from my house. It's called "Gimnasio Palandium" and is tiny, but suffiecient. Sadly, I haven't had the chance to go because I've been sick with a cold and sinus infection. I'm going to the doctor today to get some antibiotics, so hopefully I'll be up and running again soon.
where in the house is Carmen San Die--- i mean Gonzales
I love chatting with Carmen. She only speaks Spanish, and has that trademark Granada accent that is charming and incredibly frustrating at the same time. In Granada, people swallow the end of words, so instead of saying "Como estas?" you would say "Como esta?" And that's just the beginning... people talk so fast here, AND have a lisp.. it's a challenge to communicate sometimes! Luckily I've been able to understand Carmen for the most part, and we've had some great conversations sitting at the dining room table. She's hosted students for 13 years now (only girls) so she is very patient with me as I stumble along through conjugations and hand motions and visits to my Spanish-English dictionary (what would I do without it?) I'll watch the celebrity gossip shows with her (Spanish equivalent to Entertainment Tonight), and we'll chat about our favorite movie stars and musicians. Carmen has quite an eclectic taste in music: she loves Whitney Houston, Frank Sinatra, and Bob Marley. But most of all, she loves opera- she even took a trip to New York a few years back and went to see Phantom of the Opera on Broadway.
We've had some deep discussions too. One morning I was reading my Spanish Bible at breakfast, and she asked me if I was Catholic. I told her that I am evangelical Christian, and she said she is technically Catholic but thinks the Church is very corrupt so she doesn't ever attend mass. We discussed religion for a while, but it was hard with my limited vocabulary. Even so, it was awesome to openly discuss issues of faith with Carmen. She said she believes all religions are basically the same: they are all paths that lead to the same God in the end. Politely, I told her that I disagree. She persisted: "Yes, they have differences, but they all believe in the same God". I shook my head "no": "sorry, I disagree." The phone rang, and as she answered her call I went back to reading my Bible. "You like reading that, don't you?" she said with a smile. This time, I shook my head "yes".
We've had some deep discussions too. One morning I was reading my Spanish Bible at breakfast, and she asked me if I was Catholic. I told her that I am evangelical Christian, and she said she is technically Catholic but thinks the Church is very corrupt so she doesn't ever attend mass. We discussed religion for a while, but it was hard with my limited vocabulary. Even so, it was awesome to openly discuss issues of faith with Carmen. She said she believes all religions are basically the same: they are all paths that lead to the same God in the end. Politely, I told her that I disagree. She persisted: "Yes, they have differences, but they all believe in the same God". I shook my head "no": "sorry, I disagree." The phone rang, and as she answered her call I went back to reading my Bible. "You like reading that, don't you?" she said with a smile. This time, I shook my head "yes".
Can you say "fried baby eel?"
The Spanish eating schedule is an enigma to me. Everyone knows that you're starving after a whole night of not eating, and need to rev up your engine with a hearty breakfast, right? Well in Spain, most people only eat a piece of toast and a cup of coffee to hold them over until 2 PM, when everyone goes home from school or work to eat the biggest meal of the day with their family. I'm somewhat of a rebel, if you will, because my host mom lets me pour my own cereal in the morning, which I take full advantage of. I'm like a little squirrel storing my food away for the long winter (aka 6 hours of fasting). We have this crazy-good chocolate cereal filled with actual chocolate, and delicious granola with dried fruit in it. Who knew eating dessert for breakfast could be so satisfying? At 2:30 we eat lunch; my host mom's an excellent cook, but she also must think we are squirrels hoarding food for the frosty winter, because she gives us gigantic portions. The other night she made us chicken lasagna AND bread AND giant baked potatoes AND apples... I don't like wasting food, but it's way too much! We try to tell her, but she always just tells us to eat more! I like most of the things she makes: lots of soups, delicious melon, pizza, tortilla espanol (potato, egg, and onion). But Spaniards eat a lot of fried food, which doesn't sit well with me. The other day Carmen brought out fried baby eel- you could actually see the little black eyes. Her and Paco said it was a delicacy, so of course I had to be polite and try it. As a rule, I usually don't eat anything with eyes- it was a big step for me :) Dinner (which isn't quite as big) is usually 9:30 PM, but it makes sense because most people go out with their friends around 10 or 10:30 PM to bars or the park or wherever.
On a Friday night, Tim and I decided to go for a walk around 11 PM. We went to a plaza which turns into the high school hang-out zone after dark. It was so much fun people watching, although I kind-of felt like I was spying. Wherever you are in the world, high schoolers are high schoolers. It was amusing to watch the girls dressed in their heels and short skirts greet the boys, and stand there in a circle with their friends. Tim and I suspected that it must be the their designated meeting place before heading to a discoteca (dance club) or bar (the drinking age is 16 here). The night before, we had taken a walk around midnight and sat down on a bench in a different plaza. There was literally a gang of about 25 cats sauntering around the plaza- it was crazy! Even crazier was the fact that there were still PEOPLE in the plaza... and kids playing on the playground! It's a different world here...
Another night we went out to Mexican food with a group from our program- the only thing missing was Mexicans (all the waiters and cooks were Spanish!) Maybe that's why it was so expensive. There was a group of Spaniards our age in the restaurant, who were saying behind our backs "F-ing tourists!" in Spanish.... I really don't know why some Spaniards hate Americans so much. We weren't being noisy or obnoxious, we were simply eating dinner. Sometimes it's hard to feel welcome in Granada, but it just gives me more motivation to learn Spanish, since I don't want to be viewed as an ignorant, monolingual tourist. But since I'm blonde, I'm always going to stick out here no matter what. It's odd to go from being the majority in Southern California where everyone is blonde, to being the minority in Spain. So far, though, it hasn't given me too much trouble.
On a Friday night, Tim and I decided to go for a walk around 11 PM. We went to a plaza which turns into the high school hang-out zone after dark. It was so much fun people watching, although I kind-of felt like I was spying. Wherever you are in the world, high schoolers are high schoolers. It was amusing to watch the girls dressed in their heels and short skirts greet the boys, and stand there in a circle with their friends. Tim and I suspected that it must be the their designated meeting place before heading to a discoteca (dance club) or bar (the drinking age is 16 here). The night before, we had taken a walk around midnight and sat down on a bench in a different plaza. There was literally a gang of about 25 cats sauntering around the plaza- it was crazy! Even crazier was the fact that there were still PEOPLE in the plaza... and kids playing on the playground! It's a different world here...
Another night we went out to Mexican food with a group from our program- the only thing missing was Mexicans (all the waiters and cooks were Spanish!) Maybe that's why it was so expensive. There was a group of Spaniards our age in the restaurant, who were saying behind our backs "F-ing tourists!" in Spanish.... I really don't know why some Spaniards hate Americans so much. We weren't being noisy or obnoxious, we were simply eating dinner. Sometimes it's hard to feel welcome in Granada, but it just gives me more motivation to learn Spanish, since I don't want to be viewed as an ignorant, monolingual tourist. But since I'm blonde, I'm always going to stick out here no matter what. It's odd to go from being the majority in Southern California where everyone is blonde, to being the minority in Spain. So far, though, it hasn't given me too much trouble.
my (very Spanish) apartment
I live up on the seventh floor in an apartment building close to downtown. Down below is a very dangerous neighborhood: there's an ice cream shop on the corner with the most incredible hazelnut gelato, a croissaint shop across the street that smells of fresh baguettes and chocolate filled pastries, and a cafe around the corner with cafe con creme (coffee with cream), chocolate con churros, and WIFI (where I'm sitting right now). I practically live in Cafe Colon in the morning, because both my roommates have morning classes while mine are from 4-8 PM. I always order my morning coffee for a euro, and sit in the same seat by the window. The owner must know me as that-blonde-girl-with-the-tiny-bladder, but in my defense, i drink coffee everyday (and lots of water). Unfortunately, the cafe is also a bar, which means people can suck on their cancer sticks and send nasty smoke my direction- i promise I'm not bitter, just concerned for their health! I always order in Spanish, but since the owner lived in Florida for 15 years, he ALWAYS answers me in English- so much for immersing myself in the culture :) With that said, I have to restrain myself daily from buying coffee AND ice cream AND a chocolate filled croissant- because believe me, I would.
But back to my house: it sits at the end of the hall, and has a huge living room with full-length windows looking down on the street below. We sit on couches instead of chairs when we eat, and there's a giant flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. The living room/dining room is furnished with antique furniture, old photographs, posters of Prague and New York (Carmen's favorite places), and ancient paintings. An old camera sits on the shelf next to photo albums and musty books, and even though the room has big windows, it still has that dark, dignified feel to it. Down the hall is Carmen and Paco's room and bathroom, and a small kitchen that has an adjacent laundry room. Further down the hall (close to the front door) is Rachel's room, our bathroom, and me and Hannah's room. When you enter our room, you first have to walk through a tiny, dark hallway. We have two twin beds, a window that opens up to the laundry room ( don't worry, it's bright), and closets on the far wall. It's kind of fun because I can hear Carmen humming to herself every time she does laundry. There's a clothesline right outside, that looks like one of those Tibetan prayer flags when it's full. Every time Carmen hands me my clothes through the window into my room, it reminds me of a drive-through fast food joint... I'm thinking of calling it McLaundry (sorry, bad joke) Our room is pretty dark most of the time, since the lights are rather weak and we are in the back of the house. But it's not that bad- it's kind-of like a little cave: very private and cozy, with paintings, posters, and mirrors smothering the walls.
I don't want to drag this on, but i do want to say that the shower is the oddest part of the house. It's like one of those stand-up boxes magicians use to make people disappear- you literally can't move it's so small. I just hope I don't ever get stuck in there :) The other day I broke the wall attachment for the spigot, so now it's like one of those nursing home showers where you just have the sprayer to hold above your head. Actually, I take that back. I don't think nursing home shower water is quite as cold as ours... it definitely wakes you up in the morning! Did I mention that I also broke the the string attached to our overhead light in the bedroom? Yeah, I haven't had very good luck with household appliances on this trip. Luckily Carmen likes me, or feels sorry for me, or a little bit of both.
But back to my house: it sits at the end of the hall, and has a huge living room with full-length windows looking down on the street below. We sit on couches instead of chairs when we eat, and there's a giant flat-screen TV on the opposite wall. The living room/dining room is furnished with antique furniture, old photographs, posters of Prague and New York (Carmen's favorite places), and ancient paintings. An old camera sits on the shelf next to photo albums and musty books, and even though the room has big windows, it still has that dark, dignified feel to it. Down the hall is Carmen and Paco's room and bathroom, and a small kitchen that has an adjacent laundry room. Further down the hall (close to the front door) is Rachel's room, our bathroom, and me and Hannah's room. When you enter our room, you first have to walk through a tiny, dark hallway. We have two twin beds, a window that opens up to the laundry room ( don't worry, it's bright), and closets on the far wall. It's kind of fun because I can hear Carmen humming to herself every time she does laundry. There's a clothesline right outside, that looks like one of those Tibetan prayer flags when it's full. Every time Carmen hands me my clothes through the window into my room, it reminds me of a drive-through fast food joint... I'm thinking of calling it McLaundry (sorry, bad joke) Our room is pretty dark most of the time, since the lights are rather weak and we are in the back of the house. But it's not that bad- it's kind-of like a little cave: very private and cozy, with paintings, posters, and mirrors smothering the walls.
I don't want to drag this on, but i do want to say that the shower is the oddest part of the house. It's like one of those stand-up boxes magicians use to make people disappear- you literally can't move it's so small. I just hope I don't ever get stuck in there :) The other day I broke the wall attachment for the spigot, so now it's like one of those nursing home showers where you just have the sprayer to hold above your head. Actually, I take that back. I don't think nursing home shower water is quite as cold as ours... it definitely wakes you up in the morning! Did I mention that I also broke the the string attached to our overhead light in the bedroom? Yeah, I haven't had very good luck with household appliances on this trip. Luckily Carmen likes me, or feels sorry for me, or a little bit of both.
Granada y mi familia espanola
September 9th
On August 30th, Tim and I arrived in Granada around 10:30 PM after a long afternoon of travel via the ferry and the bus. We got really, really lucky because we literally had to run off the ferry in Malaga, flag down a taxi, and run onto the bus that left five minutes later for Malaga... we were so relieved we made it!! After taking a taxi to the Hotel Carmen in Granada, I met my roommate Hannah when I accidentally woke her up upon entering our hotel room. Poor Hannah had to travel the entire day with a col/flu- i felt so bad for her! The next morning I went downstairs to the breakfast buffet and met my other roommate, Rachel. I am so blessed to have awesome roommates. Hannah (who I share a room with) is also a junior in college, is a linguistics major, and goes to school at UT Knoxville. Hannah is an avid rock climber and lacrosse player, and we have a LOT of fun together. Rachel just graduated from high school in Chicago, and is here for the whole year. She is quite the fashionista, and also wants to major in journalism. Rachel's boyfriend is also studying in Granada- what are the odds?
After breakfast and a little walking tour of Granada, we went back to the hotel and met our host mothers. My host mother's name is Carmen, and what better way to describe her than SPANISH. I don't think I could imagine a more Spanish woman. She is rather short, with long, dark hair she always wears pulled back. She usually wears long house dresses an a black apron when she cooks, that she ties under her arms like a strapless dress. Her ancestors are all from Spain, and her dad was actually a soccer player on the world famous soccer team, Real Madrid! But it gets better... even though soccer is practically in her blood, Carmen prefers to watch bullfighting- yes, bullfighting!! And, like all good Spanish mothers, she adores her son- and i don't use the word "adore" lightly. Carmen and Paco (her husband, who I will describe in a minute) have four children, but only one son. The entire refrigirator is covered in pictures of their son, who lives in Mallorca and is an accomplished seafood chef. She always, always talks about him, but rarely about her daughters- it's pretty funny! Carmen and Paco have been married for 40 years, and they call each other "mi nia" and "mi nino" (my girl and my boy). Probably back when they started calling each other that, they WERE kids!
Paco is a very amusing older man: every morning around 8 AM he puts on the same baby blue gym shorts that he wears over his pot belly and his red workout shirt and goes to the gym to swim. When he comes home, his sits in his chair in the living room with his shirt off and watches TV. Carmen told us that about 10 years ago, Paco had a head injury, and has some memory loss. He seems a little aloof, but he's very sweet. One day last week, Carmen and Paco's daughters came over with their children. One of the daughters (whose husband also came) has a six year old son, and the other daughter has a two year old daughter and a four year old son. I'll just say that I think Spanish children are absolutely adorable!! In contrast to American children, Spanish parents dress their kids up in cute little dresses and collared shirts (a little impractical but it melts your heart). Carmen brought out some candy and gifts for the kids, and then put on Mulan in Spanish. I tried to follow the conversation, but oh my gosh! Her daughters talked a mile a minute and it sounded like a different language. Defeated, I slumped back on the couch and attempted to watch Mulan with the kids. But every five minutes, Paco would randomly break out in some Spanish folk song about having to painstakingly chose between three pretty girls in Granada in his robust, deep voice. The funny thing was, no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they just kept talking! Not even his granddaughter, Aurora, who he kept trying to lure over: "Aurora, dame besos!" (Give me kisses! ). Both her and her brother were more interested in the handheld Gameboy that Grandma had taken down from the highest shelf for them to play with. I felt kind-of bad for Paco, but he didn't seem to mind; he just kept on singing and I loved every minute of it.
On August 30th, Tim and I arrived in Granada around 10:30 PM after a long afternoon of travel via the ferry and the bus. We got really, really lucky because we literally had to run off the ferry in Malaga, flag down a taxi, and run onto the bus that left five minutes later for Malaga... we were so relieved we made it!! After taking a taxi to the Hotel Carmen in Granada, I met my roommate Hannah when I accidentally woke her up upon entering our hotel room. Poor Hannah had to travel the entire day with a col/flu- i felt so bad for her! The next morning I went downstairs to the breakfast buffet and met my other roommate, Rachel. I am so blessed to have awesome roommates. Hannah (who I share a room with) is also a junior in college, is a linguistics major, and goes to school at UT Knoxville. Hannah is an avid rock climber and lacrosse player, and we have a LOT of fun together. Rachel just graduated from high school in Chicago, and is here for the whole year. She is quite the fashionista, and also wants to major in journalism. Rachel's boyfriend is also studying in Granada- what are the odds?
After breakfast and a little walking tour of Granada, we went back to the hotel and met our host mothers. My host mother's name is Carmen, and what better way to describe her than SPANISH. I don't think I could imagine a more Spanish woman. She is rather short, with long, dark hair she always wears pulled back. She usually wears long house dresses an a black apron when she cooks, that she ties under her arms like a strapless dress. Her ancestors are all from Spain, and her dad was actually a soccer player on the world famous soccer team, Real Madrid! But it gets better... even though soccer is practically in her blood, Carmen prefers to watch bullfighting- yes, bullfighting!! And, like all good Spanish mothers, she adores her son- and i don't use the word "adore" lightly. Carmen and Paco (her husband, who I will describe in a minute) have four children, but only one son. The entire refrigirator is covered in pictures of their son, who lives in Mallorca and is an accomplished seafood chef. She always, always talks about him, but rarely about her daughters- it's pretty funny! Carmen and Paco have been married for 40 years, and they call each other "mi nia" and "mi nino" (my girl and my boy). Probably back when they started calling each other that, they WERE kids!
Paco is a very amusing older man: every morning around 8 AM he puts on the same baby blue gym shorts that he wears over his pot belly and his red workout shirt and goes to the gym to swim. When he comes home, his sits in his chair in the living room with his shirt off and watches TV. Carmen told us that about 10 years ago, Paco had a head injury, and has some memory loss. He seems a little aloof, but he's very sweet. One day last week, Carmen and Paco's daughters came over with their children. One of the daughters (whose husband also came) has a six year old son, and the other daughter has a two year old daughter and a four year old son. I'll just say that I think Spanish children are absolutely adorable!! In contrast to American children, Spanish parents dress their kids up in cute little dresses and collared shirts (a little impractical but it melts your heart). Carmen brought out some candy and gifts for the kids, and then put on Mulan in Spanish. I tried to follow the conversation, but oh my gosh! Her daughters talked a mile a minute and it sounded like a different language. Defeated, I slumped back on the couch and attempted to watch Mulan with the kids. But every five minutes, Paco would randomly break out in some Spanish folk song about having to painstakingly chose between three pretty girls in Granada in his robust, deep voice. The funny thing was, no one seemed to pay any attention to him, they just kept talking! Not even his granddaughter, Aurora, who he kept trying to lure over: "Aurora, dame besos!" (Give me kisses! ). Both her and her brother were more interested in the handheld Gameboy that Grandma had taken down from the highest shelf for them to play with. I felt kind-of bad for Paco, but he didn't seem to mind; he just kept on singing and I loved every minute of it.
Monday, September 7, 2009
Bright lights, small city
Later that night, we went downtown to where the Melilla fair was just beginning. Although the actual carnival part of the fair was not open yet, there was a free show set up, so we went to check out the Argentinian concert/dance performance. We pulled up white plastic chairs near the back, behind the sound both where a curly-haired young woman in a white flowing sundress and white sandals stood on a chair with a video camera- I recognized her from the ferry. The show was so much fun- there were pulsing drums and upbeat Argentinian music that was hard not to tap your feet to. In parts, the Argentinian dance crew were traditional outfits and for the more contemporary, artistic numbers they were a bit more scantily clad :) I loved sitting there, surrounded by Spanish people, rocking to the smooth melodies and strong, clear voices that sang out into the crowd.
Like Paris, Melilla really comes alive at night. The next night, there was a fireworks show down by the water- EVERYONE was out, even little kids despite the fact that it was 10 PM. It was the closest I've ever been to a huge fireworks show. Some literally felt as if they were going to shoot down and shower me with neon rain-- luckily that didn't happen :) But some fireworks flew up and sparkled mid-air, then shot down into the sea below, snaking their way under the glimmering surface of the water. It was absolutely beautiful, and absolutely deafening at the same time!
But the best night of the fair came when we headed to the carnival, which goes for a week and often lasts all night. There were the most impressive lights set up like arches and intricately designed into unique patterns that stretched around the perimeter of the carnival. There were tons of rides, many of which were for little kids. There were food stands, little vendors, and carnival games boasting fluffy stuffed animals and cheesy prizes. But the best part of the fair wasn't the set-up or the lights, or even the rides: it was the people. In Spain, people actually dress up to go to the fair- including the little kids. Almost every little girl we saw under the age of about 8 was dressed in the most adorable bright little flamenco outfits with matching heeled shoes of the same color. Their shiny hair was slicked back into buns, and their faces were painted with makeup- it was kind-of odd, but also very precious. Even better, many little boys were also wearing traditional flamenco outfits- black pants and white little vests- it was soooo cute!! I loved watching the little kids go around and around on the rides, looking so dignified and proud in their fancy attire. Many of the adults also dressed up, and some moms wore matching dresses with their daughters. If people weren't wearing traditional flamenco outfits, they were at least semi-dressed up with heels or a nice shirt. I don't think I've ever enjoyed people watching as much as I did that night! It was so much fun to stroll around the fair and take it all in- just to be a part of the excitement and joy that permeated the air. We also had some delicious chocolate con churros- the perfect way to end the night. The next day, Tim and I would be leaving for Granada-- I didn't want to go! Sometimes I feel that a little piece of my heart is in that city, as cheesy as that may sound. But I love it there- it's truly an incredible place.
Like Paris, Melilla really comes alive at night. The next night, there was a fireworks show down by the water- EVERYONE was out, even little kids despite the fact that it was 10 PM. It was the closest I've ever been to a huge fireworks show. Some literally felt as if they were going to shoot down and shower me with neon rain-- luckily that didn't happen :) But some fireworks flew up and sparkled mid-air, then shot down into the sea below, snaking their way under the glimmering surface of the water. It was absolutely beautiful, and absolutely deafening at the same time!
But the best night of the fair came when we headed to the carnival, which goes for a week and often lasts all night. There were the most impressive lights set up like arches and intricately designed into unique patterns that stretched around the perimeter of the carnival. There were tons of rides, many of which were for little kids. There were food stands, little vendors, and carnival games boasting fluffy stuffed animals and cheesy prizes. But the best part of the fair wasn't the set-up or the lights, or even the rides: it was the people. In Spain, people actually dress up to go to the fair- including the little kids. Almost every little girl we saw under the age of about 8 was dressed in the most adorable bright little flamenco outfits with matching heeled shoes of the same color. Their shiny hair was slicked back into buns, and their faces were painted with makeup- it was kind-of odd, but also very precious. Even better, many little boys were also wearing traditional flamenco outfits- black pants and white little vests- it was soooo cute!! I loved watching the little kids go around and around on the rides, looking so dignified and proud in their fancy attire. Many of the adults also dressed up, and some moms wore matching dresses with their daughters. If people weren't wearing traditional flamenco outfits, they were at least semi-dressed up with heels or a nice shirt. I don't think I've ever enjoyed people watching as much as I did that night! It was so much fun to stroll around the fair and take it all in- just to be a part of the excitement and joy that permeated the air. We also had some delicious chocolate con churros- the perfect way to end the night. The next day, Tim and I would be leaving for Granada-- I didn't want to go! Sometimes I feel that a little piece of my heart is in that city, as cheesy as that may sound. But I love it there- it's truly an incredible place.
North Africa
August 25th
Today we took the ferry across the Mediterranean sea from Malaga, Spain to Melilla, North Africa. Melilla is a Spanish city (colony) that sits right next to Morocco on the coast of North Africa. Tim and I went to go visit our family friends, a couple who have lived in Melilla for many, many years. The ferry ride was very long (seven and a half hours to be exact!) I was able to sleep a little, but I couldn't do much else since I started getting seasick. The ferry was HUGE- there were lots of rooms with seating, as well as a cafeteria, an outside deck with a pool, and a bar with couches and chairs. We went over to the bar to watch Harry Potter in Spanish, but gave up after a group of Moroccan men talked their heads off so loudly in Arabic right in front of the TV that it was impossible to hear the movie. I did feel kind-of bad, though, because Tim and I had some ice cream in front of everyone, while half of the people on the boat were Muslim. Why does that even matter, you might wonder? Well, because a week before was the start of Ramadan (fasting during the daylight hours) for all Muslims. So eating in front of people who are fasting the entire day isn't exactly a nice thing to do. In my defense, I had completely forgotten it was Ramadan. But luckily, there were also Spanish people on the boat, many who were not Muslim and do not fast.
We arrived in Melilla around 8:30 PM, and were greeted by our friends, who live in a flat near downtown, and that night we had some delicious spaghetti that reminded me of home and my mom especially, who is a very good cook! The next day, we spent time exploring the city, and helped put a back on a couch- there was a lot of sanding, varnishing, sawing, and nailing involved. Although it was hard work, Tim and I welcomed the change of pace. After traveling around for two weeks, actually WORKING gave us some purpose and direction, which was definitely good for us. We had lunch at the house with the (grown) daughter and husband of our friends, who have the cutest little baby boy! He had just learned to walk, so he teetered around the living room, picking up random objects and smiling with the cutest little jack-o'lantern grin I have ever seen :) That evening we all went for a walk around the city... down to the beach, the marina, the plazas. It was around dusk, and was absolutely beautiful.
Melilla is a unique city.The population is very diverse, even though it's pretty small place. It's also a place of striking contrast: About half of the population is Muslim (Morroccan), while the rest of the population is mostly Spanish. There are Jewish and a Hindu neighborhoods, and a large group of Catholics. It's amazing to me that, for the most part, Melilla is a peaceful place. If you go out for a walk, you will see many Muslim women with their bodies and heads covered, Moroccan men with their dark skin and glinting brown eyes, Spanish women who wear tight jeans, sandals, and colorful tank tops, as well as Spanish men with light features wearing t-shirts. It is so fascinating! I loved seeing Spanish and Muslim women stand next to each other in line, living their normal, but so very different lives side by side. Young and old, conservative and liberal, deeply religious and agnostic. The contrast between the women in particular struck me with such intensity- I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's because I empathize greatly with all women, since (of course) I am one as well.
Muslim women fast just as their husbands and older children do, but instead of fasting for a month during Ramadan, those between puberty and menopause must make up for the fasts they miss during their time of menstruation. so they must fast for even more time than the men. Also, most Muslim women spend the whole day in the kitchen during Ramadan, preparing food for their children during the day, and for the rest of their families for the night- usually a huge feast. This year, Ramadan is in August, a horrible time to be stuck in the kitchen and fasting, since you cannot even drink water when you fast. A Muslim woman must submit to her husband; her life is very different than the Spanish woman who might live next door.
The Spanish woman in Melilla wears what she pleases. Although many older Spanish women dress rather conservatively, many younger generations wear jeans or shorts, and tank tops during the summer when it's hot. They do not fast, and aren't subject to the many rules and patriarchal customs of Muslim women. It must be hard for Muslim young women to see their Spanish friends from school grow up alongside them with much more freedom. I know that Muslim women want to adhere to their religious beliefs, but that doesn't mean it would be easy. I guess I just can't imagine what it must be like to grow up as a Muslim young woman... to have to cover up my body and sacrifice so much of the freedom that I take for granted daily.
August 26th
We went into Morocco the next morning, and decided to fast to better understand what it is like to participate in Ramadan. It was hot and sticky, but I wore long pants and covered my shoulders out of respect (and also not to get stared at). We first headed up to the hills across the border to see some monkeys that a man keeps in a yard, where visitors can watch them jump on top of their cars and crawl around. When we got there, the place was barren. Apparently, many African immigrants trying to get into Melilla illegally eat the wild monkeys in the hills while they are hiding out and waiting to cross the border. We didn't know if this is what happened, but it wouldn't be surprising. We stopped at a brand new store called Marjane, which is basically a Moroccan Walmart with everything you can imagine- it was pretty cool! It is the first one of its kind in the city of Nador. Next, we drove to a small town to visit one of their friends at his house. There was a little family-run store next to the house, where a little girl stood barefoot outside in a fancy ballgown laced with dirt, staring at us as we went inside to greet their friends. The women of the house were covered, but they were so warm to us. We sat in their living room, bordered with intricately embroidered couches and pillows and tiled walls.
After a little while, we headed to the beach. It was almost completely empty, since people do not go swimming during Ramadan because the water will get into their pores. The shopping area nearby looked like a ghost town, even though it was supposedly a new, touristy area of the city. The ocean was like bath water, and was clean and clear. We sat next to the ocean, and Tim and I made a sand castle and threw a frisbee around. I would through it into the water and he would try to dive while it was in mid-air and catch it (it sounds cooler than it actually was, though!) In a couple hours, we piled into the car once more and drove through the countryside to the "souk", or outdoor market in Nador. Everywhere, people were selling things: fried bread, little bracelets and keychains, spices, fruit, pirated DVDs... parts of it were like a huge flea market, with endless rooms and stalls chock-full of STUFF. We went down into the food market, where stalls of spices and dried fruit, meat, fish and vegetables stand pressed up against each other in the dark shadows of the humid halls with only a tiny pathway to walk. We got some dried figs and dates, as well as some green olives for when we would break the fast later that day. In the heat, it was hard to walk very fast with little to know energy. Everyone looked lethargic, hungry, and slightly grumpy. We trudged along through the market, constantly being stopped by little kids who smelled of urine begging for money, as well as old men with squinty eyes and furrowed brows, holding out their shaking hands in hope of some spare change. Although I had been there once before, it broke my heart. The suffering there is not simply found in the crisis of economic hardship and poverty... it's there in people's eyes, in the empty stomachs and hidden, long dark hair. It's found in the pleading voices and dirty toes of little children who follow you like stray dogs in the street.
As we headed back to the car to return to Melilla, I felt the pain of my own stomach grumbling and complaining. I wiped the sweat off of my forehead, and closed my eyes in attempt to dispel some of the dizziness that fitfully held my thoughts in a jumbled, clouded state. My throat was dry from lack of water, and my eyes burned in the dry sun. I hated wearing long pants and a long shirt in the heat- it was ridiculous! But at the same time, I was in no place to complain. I felt a deeper understanding for Moroccan women, as well as a deeper sense of gratitude for my own life circumstances. The word freedom is so ambiguous- what does it even mean to be free? In the US, we get to say what we want, have barbecues in our backyard, and shoot off fireworks in celebration. But the celebration of freedom is found in other, simpler ways too: in the feeling of bare legs and shoulders stretched out under the sun at the beach, in the healthy, "organic" food we can eat everyday, in women's rights and soapy, warm bathtubs prepared for little kids and nursing homes for the elderly. In air-conditioned shopping malls, street cleaners, regular trips to the dentist and after school activities. We often equate freedom with fairness, with our "rights". But our freedoms are more than that-- they are tremendous gifts some people would give anything for. Coming across the border, the patrol man looked at Tim's passport and mine, then handed them back and said, jokingly: "America, taking over the world!" I forced a laugh, but a part of me cringed at those words... I don't want to just be a taker, but also a giver.
Today we took the ferry across the Mediterranean sea from Malaga, Spain to Melilla, North Africa. Melilla is a Spanish city (colony) that sits right next to Morocco on the coast of North Africa. Tim and I went to go visit our family friends, a couple who have lived in Melilla for many, many years. The ferry ride was very long (seven and a half hours to be exact!) I was able to sleep a little, but I couldn't do much else since I started getting seasick. The ferry was HUGE- there were lots of rooms with seating, as well as a cafeteria, an outside deck with a pool, and a bar with couches and chairs. We went over to the bar to watch Harry Potter in Spanish, but gave up after a group of Moroccan men talked their heads off so loudly in Arabic right in front of the TV that it was impossible to hear the movie. I did feel kind-of bad, though, because Tim and I had some ice cream in front of everyone, while half of the people on the boat were Muslim. Why does that even matter, you might wonder? Well, because a week before was the start of Ramadan (fasting during the daylight hours) for all Muslims. So eating in front of people who are fasting the entire day isn't exactly a nice thing to do. In my defense, I had completely forgotten it was Ramadan. But luckily, there were also Spanish people on the boat, many who were not Muslim and do not fast.
We arrived in Melilla around 8:30 PM, and were greeted by our friends, who live in a flat near downtown, and that night we had some delicious spaghetti that reminded me of home and my mom especially, who is a very good cook! The next day, we spent time exploring the city, and helped put a back on a couch- there was a lot of sanding, varnishing, sawing, and nailing involved. Although it was hard work, Tim and I welcomed the change of pace. After traveling around for two weeks, actually WORKING gave us some purpose and direction, which was definitely good for us. We had lunch at the house with the (grown) daughter and husband of our friends, who have the cutest little baby boy! He had just learned to walk, so he teetered around the living room, picking up random objects and smiling with the cutest little jack-o'lantern grin I have ever seen :) That evening we all went for a walk around the city... down to the beach, the marina, the plazas. It was around dusk, and was absolutely beautiful.
Melilla is a unique city.The population is very diverse, even though it's pretty small place. It's also a place of striking contrast: About half of the population is Muslim (Morroccan), while the rest of the population is mostly Spanish. There are Jewish and a Hindu neighborhoods, and a large group of Catholics. It's amazing to me that, for the most part, Melilla is a peaceful place. If you go out for a walk, you will see many Muslim women with their bodies and heads covered, Moroccan men with their dark skin and glinting brown eyes, Spanish women who wear tight jeans, sandals, and colorful tank tops, as well as Spanish men with light features wearing t-shirts. It is so fascinating! I loved seeing Spanish and Muslim women stand next to each other in line, living their normal, but so very different lives side by side. Young and old, conservative and liberal, deeply religious and agnostic. The contrast between the women in particular struck me with such intensity- I'm not exactly sure why. Maybe it's because I empathize greatly with all women, since (of course) I am one as well.
Muslim women fast just as their husbands and older children do, but instead of fasting for a month during Ramadan, those between puberty and menopause must make up for the fasts they miss during their time of menstruation. so they must fast for even more time than the men. Also, most Muslim women spend the whole day in the kitchen during Ramadan, preparing food for their children during the day, and for the rest of their families for the night- usually a huge feast. This year, Ramadan is in August, a horrible time to be stuck in the kitchen and fasting, since you cannot even drink water when you fast. A Muslim woman must submit to her husband; her life is very different than the Spanish woman who might live next door.
The Spanish woman in Melilla wears what she pleases. Although many older Spanish women dress rather conservatively, many younger generations wear jeans or shorts, and tank tops during the summer when it's hot. They do not fast, and aren't subject to the many rules and patriarchal customs of Muslim women. It must be hard for Muslim young women to see their Spanish friends from school grow up alongside them with much more freedom. I know that Muslim women want to adhere to their religious beliefs, but that doesn't mean it would be easy. I guess I just can't imagine what it must be like to grow up as a Muslim young woman... to have to cover up my body and sacrifice so much of the freedom that I take for granted daily.
August 26th
We went into Morocco the next morning, and decided to fast to better understand what it is like to participate in Ramadan. It was hot and sticky, but I wore long pants and covered my shoulders out of respect (and also not to get stared at). We first headed up to the hills across the border to see some monkeys that a man keeps in a yard, where visitors can watch them jump on top of their cars and crawl around. When we got there, the place was barren. Apparently, many African immigrants trying to get into Melilla illegally eat the wild monkeys in the hills while they are hiding out and waiting to cross the border. We didn't know if this is what happened, but it wouldn't be surprising. We stopped at a brand new store called Marjane, which is basically a Moroccan Walmart with everything you can imagine- it was pretty cool! It is the first one of its kind in the city of Nador. Next, we drove to a small town to visit one of their friends at his house. There was a little family-run store next to the house, where a little girl stood barefoot outside in a fancy ballgown laced with dirt, staring at us as we went inside to greet their friends. The women of the house were covered, but they were so warm to us. We sat in their living room, bordered with intricately embroidered couches and pillows and tiled walls.
After a little while, we headed to the beach. It was almost completely empty, since people do not go swimming during Ramadan because the water will get into their pores. The shopping area nearby looked like a ghost town, even though it was supposedly a new, touristy area of the city. The ocean was like bath water, and was clean and clear. We sat next to the ocean, and Tim and I made a sand castle and threw a frisbee around. I would through it into the water and he would try to dive while it was in mid-air and catch it (it sounds cooler than it actually was, though!) In a couple hours, we piled into the car once more and drove through the countryside to the "souk", or outdoor market in Nador. Everywhere, people were selling things: fried bread, little bracelets and keychains, spices, fruit, pirated DVDs... parts of it were like a huge flea market, with endless rooms and stalls chock-full of STUFF. We went down into the food market, where stalls of spices and dried fruit, meat, fish and vegetables stand pressed up against each other in the dark shadows of the humid halls with only a tiny pathway to walk. We got some dried figs and dates, as well as some green olives for when we would break the fast later that day. In the heat, it was hard to walk very fast with little to know energy. Everyone looked lethargic, hungry, and slightly grumpy. We trudged along through the market, constantly being stopped by little kids who smelled of urine begging for money, as well as old men with squinty eyes and furrowed brows, holding out their shaking hands in hope of some spare change. Although I had been there once before, it broke my heart. The suffering there is not simply found in the crisis of economic hardship and poverty... it's there in people's eyes, in the empty stomachs and hidden, long dark hair. It's found in the pleading voices and dirty toes of little children who follow you like stray dogs in the street.
As we headed back to the car to return to Melilla, I felt the pain of my own stomach grumbling and complaining. I wiped the sweat off of my forehead, and closed my eyes in attempt to dispel some of the dizziness that fitfully held my thoughts in a jumbled, clouded state. My throat was dry from lack of water, and my eyes burned in the dry sun. I hated wearing long pants and a long shirt in the heat- it was ridiculous! But at the same time, I was in no place to complain. I felt a deeper understanding for Moroccan women, as well as a deeper sense of gratitude for my own life circumstances. The word freedom is so ambiguous- what does it even mean to be free? In the US, we get to say what we want, have barbecues in our backyard, and shoot off fireworks in celebration. But the celebration of freedom is found in other, simpler ways too: in the feeling of bare legs and shoulders stretched out under the sun at the beach, in the healthy, "organic" food we can eat everyday, in women's rights and soapy, warm bathtubs prepared for little kids and nursing homes for the elderly. In air-conditioned shopping malls, street cleaners, regular trips to the dentist and after school activities. We often equate freedom with fairness, with our "rights". But our freedoms are more than that-- they are tremendous gifts some people would give anything for. Coming across the border, the patrol man looked at Tim's passport and mine, then handed them back and said, jokingly: "America, taking over the world!" I forced a laugh, but a part of me cringed at those words... I don't want to just be a taker, but also a giver.
Friday, September 4, 2009
The REAL Madrid
August 23rd
I absolutely loved Madrid. Today we stayed in the coolest hostel in a really nice part of downtown that was very close to a metro stop. We downtown around 10 PM for dinner at this delicious vegetarian falafel pita place, then checked out the Plaza Mayor. The plaza was filled with cafes and street performers. One of the performers was a man with a table over him and his head sticking out, with two fake heads sticking out on either side. His face was painted like a clown, and it was really creepy in the dim light! As I was walking by, he hissed at me!! It kinda creeped me out! There was also a couple performing a flamenco dance, which was so fun to see. We set out to look for a flamenco show at a place I had read about before the trip, but we got a little lost getting there. When we finally found it, we realized it was a little out of our price range. So instead, we went to a fun bar and had Spanish sangria- this amazing mixture of fruit juice and wine. The bartender, a young guy from Morocco, was hilarious and came over to chat with us, which was a lot of fun.
August 24th
We rented boats at Retiro Park, and rowed around the little man-made lake there this morning. It was so pretty! As we walked around Madrid, I kept thinking about my dad, who studied in Madrid for a semester when he was my age. Every place we went, I wondered if he had seen the same things, and had thought similar things about the places and the people and the culture. Since the Prado museum was closed, we went to the modern art museum, Reina Sofia, which I absolutely loved. There, we saw a ton of Picasso's work, as well of tons of other big, bright paintings and exhibits- it is now my favorite art museum (check out my pictures on Facebook from it!). That evening, we went to an old authentic restaurant on the other side of town called Casa Mingo that makes their own cider. We ordered a whole chicken to share, tuna empenadas, and a botle of cider that tasted like Martinelli's only 10 times better. It was a bittersweet night, because it was our last night together as a group. In the morning, Tim and I were leaving for North Africa, Laura was heading down to school, and Tess was going to meet up with her mom in Madrid to do a little more sightseeing before heading back home.
That night, I began to reflect on our trip- it had gone by so fast! Before the trip, I hadn't expected so many things to go wrong. I had no idea we would have so many train troubles, or little disagreements within our group, or so many cranky mornings and tense moments. I knew that the trip wasn't going to be perfect, but I think I had built it up so much in my mind that I was slightly disappointed that the trip was very much reality, and didn't really resemble a fantasy European vacation at all. Traveling- especially backpacking cheaply- is hard work! It's exhausting and stressful, which doesn't always bring out the best in people. It was also hard traveling with three other people, because we tended to pair up. It was just easier that way; it's hard to walk down the street four people in a row and maintain a group conversation! We also had a lot of little fights here and there- mostly when we wanted to do different things or eat different things at times when we were grumpy or tired or homesick. But I wouldn't trade the trip for anything, because I learned so much about myself and about the world as a result. I think, sadly, one of the things I learned is that life is always going to be difficult, wherever you are. It's never going to be a fantasy world. Being in beautiful places, meeting cool people, and seeing amazing things is so worth it! But it is not fulfilling in and of itself. I think what makes traveling so great is more about what you learn as a result. Sure, resort vacations are great and relaxing, but if you really want to grow, try backpacking through Europe.
You might be wondering what exactly I learned about myself from this portion of the trip. Yes, I definitely learned so much about other cultures and lifestyles, history, fashion, art, food, you name it. But on a deeper level,I'm still trying to sort things out. I CAN say that I learned more about my character flaws than anything else, as hard as that is to admit. Like everyone else, I'm an inherently selfish person, sometimes more stubborn and feisty than others. This trip really humbled me. It's hard to compromise, to let someone else "win", to be okay when plans change and situations are difficult and uncomfortable. That's what life experience is all about. Life is not all about me, which is sometimes hard to accept (yes, i will be the first one to admit it). I was grumpy a lot, and it's something I'm not proud of. At the same time, this trip brought me a lot closer to God, in the sense that I was so far away from Him when it started (and for most of the trip). I honestly didn't have the capacity to be loving and selfless when things were hard on the trip, because I didn't have peace in my heart. The most amazing thing, though, is that I needed to glimpse myself and my own darkness to recognize that I needed God reach in and fill me with HIS peace and HIS light and HIS love. I'm so thankful for that realization, for God's transforming grace.
I absolutely loved Madrid. Today we stayed in the coolest hostel in a really nice part of downtown that was very close to a metro stop. We downtown around 10 PM for dinner at this delicious vegetarian falafel pita place, then checked out the Plaza Mayor. The plaza was filled with cafes and street performers. One of the performers was a man with a table over him and his head sticking out, with two fake heads sticking out on either side. His face was painted like a clown, and it was really creepy in the dim light! As I was walking by, he hissed at me!! It kinda creeped me out! There was also a couple performing a flamenco dance, which was so fun to see. We set out to look for a flamenco show at a place I had read about before the trip, but we got a little lost getting there. When we finally found it, we realized it was a little out of our price range. So instead, we went to a fun bar and had Spanish sangria- this amazing mixture of fruit juice and wine. The bartender, a young guy from Morocco, was hilarious and came over to chat with us, which was a lot of fun.
August 24th
We rented boats at Retiro Park, and rowed around the little man-made lake there this morning. It was so pretty! As we walked around Madrid, I kept thinking about my dad, who studied in Madrid for a semester when he was my age. Every place we went, I wondered if he had seen the same things, and had thought similar things about the places and the people and the culture. Since the Prado museum was closed, we went to the modern art museum, Reina Sofia, which I absolutely loved. There, we saw a ton of Picasso's work, as well of tons of other big, bright paintings and exhibits- it is now my favorite art museum (check out my pictures on Facebook from it!). That evening, we went to an old authentic restaurant on the other side of town called Casa Mingo that makes their own cider. We ordered a whole chicken to share, tuna empenadas, and a botle of cider that tasted like Martinelli's only 10 times better. It was a bittersweet night, because it was our last night together as a group. In the morning, Tim and I were leaving for North Africa, Laura was heading down to school, and Tess was going to meet up with her mom in Madrid to do a little more sightseeing before heading back home.
That night, I began to reflect on our trip- it had gone by so fast! Before the trip, I hadn't expected so many things to go wrong. I had no idea we would have so many train troubles, or little disagreements within our group, or so many cranky mornings and tense moments. I knew that the trip wasn't going to be perfect, but I think I had built it up so much in my mind that I was slightly disappointed that the trip was very much reality, and didn't really resemble a fantasy European vacation at all. Traveling- especially backpacking cheaply- is hard work! It's exhausting and stressful, which doesn't always bring out the best in people. It was also hard traveling with three other people, because we tended to pair up. It was just easier that way; it's hard to walk down the street four people in a row and maintain a group conversation! We also had a lot of little fights here and there- mostly when we wanted to do different things or eat different things at times when we were grumpy or tired or homesick. But I wouldn't trade the trip for anything, because I learned so much about myself and about the world as a result. I think, sadly, one of the things I learned is that life is always going to be difficult, wherever you are. It's never going to be a fantasy world. Being in beautiful places, meeting cool people, and seeing amazing things is so worth it! But it is not fulfilling in and of itself. I think what makes traveling so great is more about what you learn as a result. Sure, resort vacations are great and relaxing, but if you really want to grow, try backpacking through Europe.
You might be wondering what exactly I learned about myself from this portion of the trip. Yes, I definitely learned so much about other cultures and lifestyles, history, fashion, art, food, you name it. But on a deeper level,I'm still trying to sort things out. I CAN say that I learned more about my character flaws than anything else, as hard as that is to admit. Like everyone else, I'm an inherently selfish person, sometimes more stubborn and feisty than others. This trip really humbled me. It's hard to compromise, to let someone else "win", to be okay when plans change and situations are difficult and uncomfortable. That's what life experience is all about. Life is not all about me, which is sometimes hard to accept (yes, i will be the first one to admit it). I was grumpy a lot, and it's something I'm not proud of. At the same time, this trip brought me a lot closer to God, in the sense that I was so far away from Him when it started (and for most of the trip). I honestly didn't have the capacity to be loving and selfless when things were hard on the trip, because I didn't have peace in my heart. The most amazing thing, though, is that I needed to glimpse myself and my own darkness to recognize that I needed God reach in and fill me with HIS peace and HIS light and HIS love. I'm so thankful for that realization, for God's transforming grace.
Bar-tha-lona
August 20th-August 21st
Getting to Barcelona was a headache. And I am not exaggerating. We first went to Nice, but had to stop in a city along the way for two hours because there was a fire on the tracks! When we finally got to Nice to buy our ticket to Barcelona and spend the night, all tickets had been sold out. So Laura and Tess begged and pleaded with the woman at the reservation desk, who miraculously found us an overnight train the next night at 9:30 PM to a border city outside of Spain, then a connecting train to Barcelona the next morning. Nice, a resort city on the coast of Southern France, turned out to be a fun place to hang out for a day. After leaving our backpacks in lockers at the train station the next morning (and changing into our swimsuits in the locker room (quite the experience!) we hung out at the beach for the day. A guy even gave us his hot pink blow-up raft! It was so hot, but we laid out on the rocks after swimming and all fell asleep. Bad idea: we all got so burned!! We walked around Nice until our train, which was so tiny and cramped and smelly. But I seriously can fall asleep anywhere, it's one of my best talents. So I strapped on my eye mask and put in my earplugs and slept the whole 8 hours sitting up (that was a first for me). We ended up missing one of our trains, so we had to train hop the whole morning until we finally got the one we needed to Barcelona.
August 22nd
Originally, we were planning to spend two days in Barcelona, but we ended up with only an evening and half a day. Our hostel in Barcelona was great- there was a kitchen where we made pasta for dinner, and it was very cute and clean with bright colors and really friendly travelers. That night, we went out for tapas. The first place we went, our bartender was so mean! He basically ignored us the whole time we were there, and I think he was mad because we didn't order very much. The next place we went was a little off the beaten track, and was filled with locals. We ordered tons of tapas: french fries with hot sauce, squid, bread, chorizo, Spanish cheese.... it was delicious! Some of the locals didn't look too happy we were there, though. I think Spaniards in Barcelona must get tired of the constant stream of tourists- I know I would! We didn't realize until later that we were staying in the gay district of the city. That night, we stopped at a local cafe down the street from our hostel so Tim could get some tortilla espanol. Just about every guy in the cafe turned their heads to stare at Tim (who had his shirt buttoned halfway down because of the heat) when he walked in- especially the waiter! When he brought out Tim's food to-go, he had given him a HUGE portion of tortilla espanol, and had filled the box to the brim with bread and other snacks. It was pretty funny, if not a little awkward for Tim (and me!)
August 23rd
The next day we headed to the Parque Guell up on a hill, which is where the artist and architect who designed the park (as well as many other famous buildings in Barcelona) lived. We toured his house filled with funky furniture, and walked around the huge park, which was really cool. Sadly, we had to catch our train that afternoon to Madrid, but I'm glad we got to see at least a little part of the city.
Getting to Barcelona was a headache. And I am not exaggerating. We first went to Nice, but had to stop in a city along the way for two hours because there was a fire on the tracks! When we finally got to Nice to buy our ticket to Barcelona and spend the night, all tickets had been sold out. So Laura and Tess begged and pleaded with the woman at the reservation desk, who miraculously found us an overnight train the next night at 9:30 PM to a border city outside of Spain, then a connecting train to Barcelona the next morning. Nice, a resort city on the coast of Southern France, turned out to be a fun place to hang out for a day. After leaving our backpacks in lockers at the train station the next morning (and changing into our swimsuits in the locker room (quite the experience!) we hung out at the beach for the day. A guy even gave us his hot pink blow-up raft! It was so hot, but we laid out on the rocks after swimming and all fell asleep. Bad idea: we all got so burned!! We walked around Nice until our train, which was so tiny and cramped and smelly. But I seriously can fall asleep anywhere, it's one of my best talents. So I strapped on my eye mask and put in my earplugs and slept the whole 8 hours sitting up (that was a first for me). We ended up missing one of our trains, so we had to train hop the whole morning until we finally got the one we needed to Barcelona.
August 22nd
Originally, we were planning to spend two days in Barcelona, but we ended up with only an evening and half a day. Our hostel in Barcelona was great- there was a kitchen where we made pasta for dinner, and it was very cute and clean with bright colors and really friendly travelers. That night, we went out for tapas. The first place we went, our bartender was so mean! He basically ignored us the whole time we were there, and I think he was mad because we didn't order very much. The next place we went was a little off the beaten track, and was filled with locals. We ordered tons of tapas: french fries with hot sauce, squid, bread, chorizo, Spanish cheese.... it was delicious! Some of the locals didn't look too happy we were there, though. I think Spaniards in Barcelona must get tired of the constant stream of tourists- I know I would! We didn't realize until later that we were staying in the gay district of the city. That night, we stopped at a local cafe down the street from our hostel so Tim could get some tortilla espanol. Just about every guy in the cafe turned their heads to stare at Tim (who had his shirt buttoned halfway down because of the heat) when he walked in- especially the waiter! When he brought out Tim's food to-go, he had given him a HUGE portion of tortilla espanol, and had filled the box to the brim with bread and other snacks. It was pretty funny, if not a little awkward for Tim (and me!)
August 23rd
The next day we headed to the Parque Guell up on a hill, which is where the artist and architect who designed the park (as well as many other famous buildings in Barcelona) lived. We toured his house filled with funky furniture, and walked around the huge park, which was really cool. Sadly, we had to catch our train that afternoon to Madrid, but I'm glad we got to see at least a little part of the city.
The Cinque Terre
August 18th
This afternoon we arrived in the Cinque Terre after a series of train rides. Our last train we took wove through a long stretch of tunnels next to the coast. It was so fun, because every once in a while we were spit out of the shadows of the tunnel and into the sunlight for a few seconds before more tunnels. It was like a glimpse of paradise: the water was a pristine, deep blue and the cliffs jutted out over the Mediterranean. It was very surreal. We got to the town we were staying in, Corniglia, and had to walk up a gigantic hill with our backpacks, since it's up on a cliff. It was so hot and sticky all I wanted to do was jump into the ocean and swim! After checking into our hostel, we went down to the beach, which had huge, flat rocks you could sit on instead of sand. There were so many people down there (mostly Italians) on their summer vacation. The water was warm, the sun was toasty, and it was so, so beautiful I can't even describe it. Tim jumped off a 20 foot cliff into the water with some local Italian bows, and we swam around, soaking in our surroundings. Later, we took a local train to the neighboring town of Manarola for dinner where we found a little Italian joint called Il Porticiolo that Rick Steves actually recommended in his book! I had pesto ravioli that was delicious- I could eat Italian food my whole life and always be happy. Right near the restaurant was a small marina where we witnessed another exquisite sunset. The Cinque Terre is such a peaceful place, I love it.
August 19th
After breakfast, we hiked to the neighboring villages of Vernazza and Monterrosso. It was hot, but gorgeous. The hike was a lot of uphills and downhills, with steep stairs and winding, narrow trails- there were so many people out! Towards the end of the hike, we often had to pull off to the side of the trail to let people going the other way get by. But the views on the hike were stunning, since it was directly above th coast. It was so much better in person than I could have imagined- I would recommend going to the Cinque Terre if ever in Italy. With about a mile and a half to Monterrosso (the hike took 2 hours), Tim and I ran, even though we got some odd stares. But I wasn't about to pass up the chance to run on one of the most beautiful trails in the world :) When we got to the end of the trail, we sat down on the stairs to wait for Laura and Tess. Fifteen minutes went by, then a half hour, than 45 minutes and they still hadn't shown up. We asked a park ranger on the trail if she had seen them pass, but she hadn't. So we stopped at a little foccaciaria for lunch, then hiked all the way back to Corniglia. By the end, we were exhausted and disty. It was torturous to hike all the way back staring at the refreshing blue water below! Tim and I went down to the beach to swim, which was just what we needed. Later, we took the traint o Monterrosso for dinner, where we met up with Laura and Tess for gelato. Back at the hostel that night, we met two guys our age from the East Coast who went to school at Duke and were going to study for a semester in Barcelona. We sat outside of the hostel with them, and then four Australians joined us (two couples around 25 who live in London and work as high school PE teachers). It was so much fun talking with them, joking, and listening to their aussie accents and abbreviations for everything (for example, they call all swimsuits "swimmers"!). I would love to visit Australia someday. We all talked late into the night, which is something I will always remember because we were all from such different places but we had so much fun together. I love the feeling of meeting new people- the excitement of sharing stories and thoughts about life and travel and culture. It was one of the best nights of the whole trip.
This afternoon we arrived in the Cinque Terre after a series of train rides. Our last train we took wove through a long stretch of tunnels next to the coast. It was so fun, because every once in a while we were spit out of the shadows of the tunnel and into the sunlight for a few seconds before more tunnels. It was like a glimpse of paradise: the water was a pristine, deep blue and the cliffs jutted out over the Mediterranean. It was very surreal. We got to the town we were staying in, Corniglia, and had to walk up a gigantic hill with our backpacks, since it's up on a cliff. It was so hot and sticky all I wanted to do was jump into the ocean and swim! After checking into our hostel, we went down to the beach, which had huge, flat rocks you could sit on instead of sand. There were so many people down there (mostly Italians) on their summer vacation. The water was warm, the sun was toasty, and it was so, so beautiful I can't even describe it. Tim jumped off a 20 foot cliff into the water with some local Italian bows, and we swam around, soaking in our surroundings. Later, we took a local train to the neighboring town of Manarola for dinner where we found a little Italian joint called Il Porticiolo that Rick Steves actually recommended in his book! I had pesto ravioli that was delicious- I could eat Italian food my whole life and always be happy. Right near the restaurant was a small marina where we witnessed another exquisite sunset. The Cinque Terre is such a peaceful place, I love it.
August 19th
After breakfast, we hiked to the neighboring villages of Vernazza and Monterrosso. It was hot, but gorgeous. The hike was a lot of uphills and downhills, with steep stairs and winding, narrow trails- there were so many people out! Towards the end of the hike, we often had to pull off to the side of the trail to let people going the other way get by. But the views on the hike were stunning, since it was directly above th coast. It was so much better in person than I could have imagined- I would recommend going to the Cinque Terre if ever in Italy. With about a mile and a half to Monterrosso (the hike took 2 hours), Tim and I ran, even though we got some odd stares. But I wasn't about to pass up the chance to run on one of the most beautiful trails in the world :) When we got to the end of the trail, we sat down on the stairs to wait for Laura and Tess. Fifteen minutes went by, then a half hour, than 45 minutes and they still hadn't shown up. We asked a park ranger on the trail if she had seen them pass, but she hadn't. So we stopped at a little foccaciaria for lunch, then hiked all the way back to Corniglia. By the end, we were exhausted and disty. It was torturous to hike all the way back staring at the refreshing blue water below! Tim and I went down to the beach to swim, which was just what we needed. Later, we took the traint o Monterrosso for dinner, where we met up with Laura and Tess for gelato. Back at the hostel that night, we met two guys our age from the East Coast who went to school at Duke and were going to study for a semester in Barcelona. We sat outside of the hostel with them, and then four Australians joined us (two couples around 25 who live in London and work as high school PE teachers). It was so much fun talking with them, joking, and listening to their aussie accents and abbreviations for everything (for example, they call all swimsuits "swimmers"!). I would love to visit Australia someday. We all talked late into the night, which is something I will always remember because we were all from such different places but we had so much fun together. I love the feeling of meeting new people- the excitement of sharing stories and thoughts about life and travel and culture. It was one of the best nights of the whole trip.
Florence Knows How to Make Pizza
August 17th
Early this afternoon we arrived in Florence- a charming little city chock full of gelaterias, pizzarias, ridiculously expensive clothing stores, and old, picturesque bridges stretching between the two halves of the city. As we walked from the train station to our hostel, I began my daily people-watching session that is so much more fun in Europe than in the States (obviously). Tim and All of a sudden we heard someone yell "Tim!", and when we turned around, a dark-haired guy about our age came running at Tim, greeting him with a big bear hug. It really is a small world- it was Tim's friend, Brandon, from Azusa Pacific, who was visiting Florence with his cousins! Oddly enough, I wasn't all that surprised. Tim is the kind of person that runs into people he knows pretty much wherever he goes, which I love about him. Anyways, we got to our hostel on a narrow, alley-like street near the river where the owner, Leonardo, showed us our (very pink) room. It had blue shutters and an amazing view of... well, a cement wall. It wasn't the most glamorous of places, but it was affordable in a city where tourists are up the ying-yang. Leonardo told us about this pizza place, so we went there for some authentic, hot, glorious Italian pizza- it was perfect! We checked out the Duomo, an elaborate dome cathedral- and I had the privilege of wearing a disposable poncho because I had a tank top on- that go a few laughs! Of course, we also had gelato ( I had coconut and hazelnut- my favorites), which is much cheaper (and better) in Italy than in the States. The only thing I didn't like about Florence was the fact that most of the people there were tourists. I know, I know, I'm also one of "them", but to me touristy cities don't feel like the real deal with the endless streets of expensive stores and gift shops clogged with photo-snapping, fanny-pack-wearing tourists. Nevertheless, Florence was very pretty, especially the place where we ate our calzones next to the river on a park bench. After dinner, Tim and I took a walk along the river and saw the most beautiful sunset over the water. That night, though, I got eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitoes that buzzed through our window... they must have tasted all the sugar in my blood from all that tasty gelato :)
Early this afternoon we arrived in Florence- a charming little city chock full of gelaterias, pizzarias, ridiculously expensive clothing stores, and old, picturesque bridges stretching between the two halves of the city. As we walked from the train station to our hostel, I began my daily people-watching session that is so much more fun in Europe than in the States (obviously). Tim and All of a sudden we heard someone yell "Tim!", and when we turned around, a dark-haired guy about our age came running at Tim, greeting him with a big bear hug. It really is a small world- it was Tim's friend, Brandon, from Azusa Pacific, who was visiting Florence with his cousins! Oddly enough, I wasn't all that surprised. Tim is the kind of person that runs into people he knows pretty much wherever he goes, which I love about him. Anyways, we got to our hostel on a narrow, alley-like street near the river where the owner, Leonardo, showed us our (very pink) room. It had blue shutters and an amazing view of... well, a cement wall. It wasn't the most glamorous of places, but it was affordable in a city where tourists are up the ying-yang. Leonardo told us about this pizza place, so we went there for some authentic, hot, glorious Italian pizza- it was perfect! We checked out the Duomo, an elaborate dome cathedral- and I had the privilege of wearing a disposable poncho because I had a tank top on- that go a few laughs! Of course, we also had gelato ( I had coconut and hazelnut- my favorites), which is much cheaper (and better) in Italy than in the States. The only thing I didn't like about Florence was the fact that most of the people there were tourists. I know, I know, I'm also one of "them", but to me touristy cities don't feel like the real deal with the endless streets of expensive stores and gift shops clogged with photo-snapping, fanny-pack-wearing tourists. Nevertheless, Florence was very pretty, especially the place where we ate our calzones next to the river on a park bench. After dinner, Tim and I took a walk along the river and saw the most beautiful sunset over the water. That night, though, I got eaten alive by a swarm of mosquitoes that buzzed through our window... they must have tasted all the sugar in my blood from all that tasty gelato :)
Off to Milan!
August 16th
This morning all hell broke loose. We were cleaning the apartment in preparation to leave for Milan in the early afternoon, and were about ready to leave when I realized that I couldn't find my Eurail pass. I usually kept it in my money belt, but it had, to my horror, disappeared. We were already running late, but I frantically threw everything out of my backpack to search for my pass. I threw rumpled (and slightly smelly) clothes over my shoulder, scoured my backpack, and began to panic when I still couldn't find it after a thorough search of all my stuff. Tim even looked through his stuff with the slight hope that somehow he had picked up my pass by accident. But it was nowhere to be found. My heart started racing: the pass was around $400, and I needed it for two more weeks of travel on who knows how many more trains. But we already had reservations for our train to Milan, so we set out for the train station via the metro. At the metro stop, Jessi came running up behind me: I had left a bag of electronic cords at her house! I was so relieved that she caught us in time. On the metro, hot tears began to form in the corners of my eyes- I didn't even know if they would let me on the train without my pass, but I didn't have time to buy a whole ticket before boarding. We rushed to the station, boarded the train, and sat down. And then I decided to look just one more time-just to be safe. But I still couldn't find it. Then Tim tapped me on the shoulder. He pulled out his wallet, reached inside, and retrieved my beautiful, wonderful, perfect Eurail pass. I didn't know if I felt like laughing or crying- whatever I felt, it was a very, very good place to be :)
On the train, Tess had a broken seat so the conductor moved us to this plush first -class private box at the very front of the train- it was so nice! After 7 hours we arrived in Milan around 9:30 PM, and had to wait in line to reserve our train the next morning to Florence. The air was sticky, but Italy already felt less stuffy than Paris in terms of the culture: everyone in Italy seemed a whole lot more friendly and relaxed, and it made sense! Italian sounded so beautiful, and even the little girls in line who were running around screaming their heads off sounded like mini enlightened poets- the rhythmic words slid off their tongues like smooth jazz, and I was in awe. Even the bus drivers in Italy were friendly. We timidly asked a bus driver perched outside his bus eating a slice of pizza dripping with hot cheese where bus #60 was, and he quickly whipped his head inside his bus and yelled in Italian: "Does anyone speak English?!" Everyone on the bus turned their eyes toward us, and shook their heads "no." Strangely enough, none of the passengers appeared annoyed by our disruption of their bumpy commute home. They all looked so darn happy to be sitting on a bus at 10:30 at night in Milan- don't ask me why :) Laura, who is regularly blessed with strokes of genius, said "sesenta" (60 in Spanish), and the driver let out a loud "Ahh!" and pointed us to the other side of the street. Our bus was just about to leave when we boarded- luck seemed to be on our side that night.
The only damper to the evening came when I attempted to pull my 35 pound backpack off my back and onto the seat just as the bus was pulling out. Apparantly, driving in Italy doesn't quite match the laid-back lifestyle of this pasta-eating, rhythmically speaking country. I slammed against the window, and my backpack slid down my arm, leaving a gnarly looking bruise. Defeated, I sat down to nurse my battle wound until we got to our hotel- or so we thought. We walked up a long flight of stairs to a front desk where a young Italian guy sat glued to the computer screen, watching a YouTube hip-hop video titled "Come Turn Me On" or something grotesquely and distinctly American like that. He quickly exited out of the page and turned his attention to us, but couldn't find our reservation! Before we could say "Ay, Mio!" he whisked out his phone, called someone, and then told us we had a reservation at the hotel next door. At the other place, we had a cute little room with four rock-hard beds lined up in a row, and a hideous flower painting mounted on the opposite wall. Since we had been on the rain for 7 hours, none of us were all that tired. So we all laid in our beds, staring at the cieling in the unforgiving humidity. Maybe it was the insanity of traveling, or the fact that we were in a strange, random place just for the night. But something struck, and we all began laughing hysterically for no good reason. It was glorious.
This morning all hell broke loose. We were cleaning the apartment in preparation to leave for Milan in the early afternoon, and were about ready to leave when I realized that I couldn't find my Eurail pass. I usually kept it in my money belt, but it had, to my horror, disappeared. We were already running late, but I frantically threw everything out of my backpack to search for my pass. I threw rumpled (and slightly smelly) clothes over my shoulder, scoured my backpack, and began to panic when I still couldn't find it after a thorough search of all my stuff. Tim even looked through his stuff with the slight hope that somehow he had picked up my pass by accident. But it was nowhere to be found. My heart started racing: the pass was around $400, and I needed it for two more weeks of travel on who knows how many more trains. But we already had reservations for our train to Milan, so we set out for the train station via the metro. At the metro stop, Jessi came running up behind me: I had left a bag of electronic cords at her house! I was so relieved that she caught us in time. On the metro, hot tears began to form in the corners of my eyes- I didn't even know if they would let me on the train without my pass, but I didn't have time to buy a whole ticket before boarding. We rushed to the station, boarded the train, and sat down. And then I decided to look just one more time-just to be safe. But I still couldn't find it. Then Tim tapped me on the shoulder. He pulled out his wallet, reached inside, and retrieved my beautiful, wonderful, perfect Eurail pass. I didn't know if I felt like laughing or crying- whatever I felt, it was a very, very good place to be :)
On the train, Tess had a broken seat so the conductor moved us to this plush first -class private box at the very front of the train- it was so nice! After 7 hours we arrived in Milan around 9:30 PM, and had to wait in line to reserve our train the next morning to Florence. The air was sticky, but Italy already felt less stuffy than Paris in terms of the culture: everyone in Italy seemed a whole lot more friendly and relaxed, and it made sense! Italian sounded so beautiful, and even the little girls in line who were running around screaming their heads off sounded like mini enlightened poets- the rhythmic words slid off their tongues like smooth jazz, and I was in awe. Even the bus drivers in Italy were friendly. We timidly asked a bus driver perched outside his bus eating a slice of pizza dripping with hot cheese where bus #60 was, and he quickly whipped his head inside his bus and yelled in Italian: "Does anyone speak English?!" Everyone on the bus turned their eyes toward us, and shook their heads "no." Strangely enough, none of the passengers appeared annoyed by our disruption of their bumpy commute home. They all looked so darn happy to be sitting on a bus at 10:30 at night in Milan- don't ask me why :) Laura, who is regularly blessed with strokes of genius, said "sesenta" (60 in Spanish), and the driver let out a loud "Ahh!" and pointed us to the other side of the street. Our bus was just about to leave when we boarded- luck seemed to be on our side that night.
The only damper to the evening came when I attempted to pull my 35 pound backpack off my back and onto the seat just as the bus was pulling out. Apparantly, driving in Italy doesn't quite match the laid-back lifestyle of this pasta-eating, rhythmically speaking country. I slammed against the window, and my backpack slid down my arm, leaving a gnarly looking bruise. Defeated, I sat down to nurse my battle wound until we got to our hotel- or so we thought. We walked up a long flight of stairs to a front desk where a young Italian guy sat glued to the computer screen, watching a YouTube hip-hop video titled "Come Turn Me On" or something grotesquely and distinctly American like that. He quickly exited out of the page and turned his attention to us, but couldn't find our reservation! Before we could say "Ay, Mio!" he whisked out his phone, called someone, and then told us we had a reservation at the hotel next door. At the other place, we had a cute little room with four rock-hard beds lined up in a row, and a hideous flower painting mounted on the opposite wall. Since we had been on the rain for 7 hours, none of us were all that tired. So we all laid in our beds, staring at the cieling in the unforgiving humidity. Maybe it was the insanity of traveling, or the fact that we were in a strange, random place just for the night. But something struck, and we all began laughing hysterically for no good reason. It was glorious.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
Nutella, Notre Dame, and Nightlife
August 12th
We all woke up late and ran across the street to pick up breakfast at a cute hole-in-the-wall patisserie right across the street for some croissants. I have to say, patisseries in Paris are unbelievable. I think I could probably eat about 10 croissants in one sitting, especially with nutella. They are so light and crispy and buttery, so so good! Then we walked downtown, which took us about half an hour of weaving through crowded streets full of cafes, shoe stores, and clusters of laid-back loiterers standing in the middle of the sidewalk. On our way there, we stopped in a little cafe to order coffee "au zinc" or "at the bar" which is about half the price of sitting at a table to drink it. Who knew? For lunch, I got a crepe with nutella... i know, i need to stop with the nutella, but i just can't!! Anyways, we then headed to the Eiffel Tower, which we climbed at dusk and looked out over the city of Paris. It was absolutely gorgeous. You could see for miles, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We also sat on a lawn with an amazing front-and-center view of the Tower, where tons of chic young Parisians were sitting, drinking wine and eating baguettes and brie. I could get used to the Parisian way of life- just not the chain smoking, which must be the reason why most Parisians are so thin!
August 13th
We walked along the Siene River until we found Notre Dame Cathedral- it was hard to miss because there were hundreds of people waiting in line outside. But it was worth the walk and the wait. Inside, there are the most beautiful stained glass windows, high cielings, and incredible acoustics. There was a section blocked off for prayer, where a small group of worshippers were singing some sort of aria in French led by an older black woman with a clear, strong voice that gave me chills. It was almost surreal as I stood there listening in the midst of tourists rushing by in the dimly-lit cathedral. There was such tranquility in her voice, which was filled with passion and faith- I felt very lucky to have witnessed it.
At night, the city of Paris comes alive. Everyone is out at little cafes along the canal, or bars tucked away in humble but colorful neighborhoods. We went out to a little place called Cafe Cherie that Jessi suggested- a five minute walk from her place. It was a cozy little place on a corner, with outdoor seating and old school desks for tables. It was fun to sit there with friends, and listen to everyone around us laughing and talking in French even though I couldn't understand a word. I'm happy we went out that night, just to experience the culture. Even though it was a week night, everyone was out with friends and family. It was, in my opinion, a glimpse into a much warmer side of Paris.
August 14th
Tim and I went to visit the Pere Lachaise cemetary, where many famous people like Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried. I have to say, it was kinda creepy. First of all, when we got there we saw this middle-aged man lurking in the on the shady pathway. We walked in between the mouseleum graves (they looked like little outhouses) that you can actually go inside of. The man slipped into one and slammed the door behind him. Tim and I looked at each other, and then a few minutes later the guy emerged. Who knows what he was doing in there... I'm hoping the was just praying in there or something :) But we had fun looking at all the old graves and statues, and there was a beautiful park area with a view of the city below. It was a serene escape from the loud busy city that was much needed. Later, we went to visit the Louvre, and saw the Mona Lisa (smaller than I imagined) as well as the Code of Hammurabai (Tim's favorite) and Venus de Milo (my favorite). But the Louvre is so incredibly huge, and we were so incredibly tired and hungry, that we didn't stay very long. It was also extremely crowded, and it was hard to stand and look at pictures when hundreds of people were filing past you, off to see the Mona Lisa or whatever it was they were looking for. I will say, though, that my heart skipped a beat as we walked up to the Mona Lisa in a sea of people, and I saw it in the distance. I guess I just felt so alive to see such a famous piece of history right in front of me, even though it sounds cheesy. It was just one of those moments that you have to pinch yourself and say "Am I really here right now, seeing this?" It was a very cool feeling.
August 15th
In the late morning, we all boarded a bus to go see the Catacombs, an underground cemetary filled with bones stacked to the cieling and goes on for about 300 kilometers under the city. It was built by the Romans thousands of years ago as quarries, and later when the city of Paris started to grow and above-ground cemetaries started filling up, people started getting sick from the dead, rotting bodies. So, Paris put the old quarries to good use and starting putting the bones of the dead below ground, which is now known as the Catacombs. Pretty crazy, huh? I was uneasy about going, but Tim really wanted to see it. Sadly, when we got there they were closed, so we walked back home. On our way, we found the Palace of Louxembourg, which is surrounded by beautiful gardens open to the public. That night, we walked down to the canal near our place, where tons of young Parisians go to sit and hang out with friends. It was a warm night, and the perfect time for people watching. There was a group of glamorous young Parisan women sitting next to us celebrating a friends' birthday with champagne and gifts. It was truly a place where the locals went to hang out, and to me that was much more fun than many of the touristy hang-outs we could have seen. It was the perfect way to end our time in Paris, and something I will never forget.
We all woke up late and ran across the street to pick up breakfast at a cute hole-in-the-wall patisserie right across the street for some croissants. I have to say, patisseries in Paris are unbelievable. I think I could probably eat about 10 croissants in one sitting, especially with nutella. They are so light and crispy and buttery, so so good! Then we walked downtown, which took us about half an hour of weaving through crowded streets full of cafes, shoe stores, and clusters of laid-back loiterers standing in the middle of the sidewalk. On our way there, we stopped in a little cafe to order coffee "au zinc" or "at the bar" which is about half the price of sitting at a table to drink it. Who knew? For lunch, I got a crepe with nutella... i know, i need to stop with the nutella, but i just can't!! Anyways, we then headed to the Eiffel Tower, which we climbed at dusk and looked out over the city of Paris. It was absolutely gorgeous. You could see for miles, and there wasn't a cloud in the sky. We also sat on a lawn with an amazing front-and-center view of the Tower, where tons of chic young Parisians were sitting, drinking wine and eating baguettes and brie. I could get used to the Parisian way of life- just not the chain smoking, which must be the reason why most Parisians are so thin!
August 13th
We walked along the Siene River until we found Notre Dame Cathedral- it was hard to miss because there were hundreds of people waiting in line outside. But it was worth the walk and the wait. Inside, there are the most beautiful stained glass windows, high cielings, and incredible acoustics. There was a section blocked off for prayer, where a small group of worshippers were singing some sort of aria in French led by an older black woman with a clear, strong voice that gave me chills. It was almost surreal as I stood there listening in the midst of tourists rushing by in the dimly-lit cathedral. There was such tranquility in her voice, which was filled with passion and faith- I felt very lucky to have witnessed it.
At night, the city of Paris comes alive. Everyone is out at little cafes along the canal, or bars tucked away in humble but colorful neighborhoods. We went out to a little place called Cafe Cherie that Jessi suggested- a five minute walk from her place. It was a cozy little place on a corner, with outdoor seating and old school desks for tables. It was fun to sit there with friends, and listen to everyone around us laughing and talking in French even though I couldn't understand a word. I'm happy we went out that night, just to experience the culture. Even though it was a week night, everyone was out with friends and family. It was, in my opinion, a glimpse into a much warmer side of Paris.
August 14th
Tim and I went to visit the Pere Lachaise cemetary, where many famous people like Jim Morrison and Oscar Wilde are buried. I have to say, it was kinda creepy. First of all, when we got there we saw this middle-aged man lurking in the on the shady pathway. We walked in between the mouseleum graves (they looked like little outhouses) that you can actually go inside of. The man slipped into one and slammed the door behind him. Tim and I looked at each other, and then a few minutes later the guy emerged. Who knows what he was doing in there... I'm hoping the was just praying in there or something :) But we had fun looking at all the old graves and statues, and there was a beautiful park area with a view of the city below. It was a serene escape from the loud busy city that was much needed. Later, we went to visit the Louvre, and saw the Mona Lisa (smaller than I imagined) as well as the Code of Hammurabai (Tim's favorite) and Venus de Milo (my favorite). But the Louvre is so incredibly huge, and we were so incredibly tired and hungry, that we didn't stay very long. It was also extremely crowded, and it was hard to stand and look at pictures when hundreds of people were filing past you, off to see the Mona Lisa or whatever it was they were looking for. I will say, though, that my heart skipped a beat as we walked up to the Mona Lisa in a sea of people, and I saw it in the distance. I guess I just felt so alive to see such a famous piece of history right in front of me, even though it sounds cheesy. It was just one of those moments that you have to pinch yourself and say "Am I really here right now, seeing this?" It was a very cool feeling.
August 15th
In the late morning, we all boarded a bus to go see the Catacombs, an underground cemetary filled with bones stacked to the cieling and goes on for about 300 kilometers under the city. It was built by the Romans thousands of years ago as quarries, and later when the city of Paris started to grow and above-ground cemetaries started filling up, people started getting sick from the dead, rotting bodies. So, Paris put the old quarries to good use and starting putting the bones of the dead below ground, which is now known as the Catacombs. Pretty crazy, huh? I was uneasy about going, but Tim really wanted to see it. Sadly, when we got there they were closed, so we walked back home. On our way, we found the Palace of Louxembourg, which is surrounded by beautiful gardens open to the public. That night, we walked down to the canal near our place, where tons of young Parisians go to sit and hang out with friends. It was a warm night, and the perfect time for people watching. There was a group of glamorous young Parisan women sitting next to us celebrating a friends' birthday with champagne and gifts. It was truly a place where the locals went to hang out, and to me that was much more fun than many of the touristy hang-outs we could have seen. It was the perfect way to end our time in Paris, and something I will never forget.
Paris
August 11th
I'm sitting on a train to Pris form Germany, and some little kids are siting in front of us, speaking Arabic, and having a monster tantrum, running up and down the aisles screaming. It's close to 100 degrees on the train, and we still have 3 hours left! I guess now I've seen some of the less glamorous sides of travel :) We had quite a morning- Tess, Laura and I got up at 5:30 AM to catch a train to Frankfurt and meet Tim, but we accidentally got on the wrong train and had to hop from traint o train for about 3 hrs. until we finally made it. We missed our train that we had reserved, so we had to wait an extra five hours for the next one. Oh well. Poor Tim was waiting at the train station for us for several hours before we arrived, and for some reason my cell phone wasn't working. We finally made it to Paris around 5 PM, and then made our way to Jessi's house (the older sister of one of Tess's friends) who has lived and worked in Paris for the past two years. To get there, we had to walk through a little park that was a little sketchy. I really had to use the bathroom, so I walked over to an outhouse in the park, only to realize that I had about 100 eyeballs of Moroccan men staring at me. A fight was about to break out between the men, and it was obvious they did not want us on their turf- we ran out of there as fast as we could! We still had two hours until Jessi's friend would meet us at the apartment to give us keys, so we searched for a restarurant in the neighborhood, but nothing was that early. I peered into a Moroccan restaurant where an unshaven man in sweatpants was sitting at a table eating couscous and lamb kebabs. He motioned us inside to eat, so we plopped down at a booth and proceeded to eat a feast of french fries, chicken, and soup. The place was barren except for a couple Moroccan men eating in the corner. Our waiter was hilarious, and even had the nerve to (jokingly) inquire whether Tess and Laura were lesbians on a double date with Tim and I! "She is very beautiful, eh?", he said to Tess, pointing at Laura. It was pretty funny. He brought us a glass of Moroccan mint tea, which we almost refused since we thought it was liquor in a shotglass- we really are such stereotypical tourists! But we walked out of there full and satisfied, and just as we left, they turned on the music. That's when we realized that the place was just opening! he had invited us in and the restaurant hadn't even been open! :)
I'm sitting on a train to Pris form Germany, and some little kids are siting in front of us, speaking Arabic, and having a monster tantrum, running up and down the aisles screaming. It's close to 100 degrees on the train, and we still have 3 hours left! I guess now I've seen some of the less glamorous sides of travel :) We had quite a morning- Tess, Laura and I got up at 5:30 AM to catch a train to Frankfurt and meet Tim, but we accidentally got on the wrong train and had to hop from traint o train for about 3 hrs. until we finally made it. We missed our train that we had reserved, so we had to wait an extra five hours for the next one. Oh well. Poor Tim was waiting at the train station for us for several hours before we arrived, and for some reason my cell phone wasn't working. We finally made it to Paris around 5 PM, and then made our way to Jessi's house (the older sister of one of Tess's friends) who has lived and worked in Paris for the past two years. To get there, we had to walk through a little park that was a little sketchy. I really had to use the bathroom, so I walked over to an outhouse in the park, only to realize that I had about 100 eyeballs of Moroccan men staring at me. A fight was about to break out between the men, and it was obvious they did not want us on their turf- we ran out of there as fast as we could! We still had two hours until Jessi's friend would meet us at the apartment to give us keys, so we searched for a restarurant in the neighborhood, but nothing was that early. I peered into a Moroccan restaurant where an unshaven man in sweatpants was sitting at a table eating couscous and lamb kebabs. He motioned us inside to eat, so we plopped down at a booth and proceeded to eat a feast of french fries, chicken, and soup. The place was barren except for a couple Moroccan men eating in the corner. Our waiter was hilarious, and even had the nerve to (jokingly) inquire whether Tess and Laura were lesbians on a double date with Tim and I! "She is very beautiful, eh?", he said to Tess, pointing at Laura. It was pretty funny. He brought us a glass of Moroccan mint tea, which we almost refused since we thought it was liquor in a shotglass- we really are such stereotypical tourists! But we walked out of there full and satisfied, and just as we left, they turned on the music. That's when we realized that the place was just opening! he had invited us in and the restaurant hadn't even been open! :)
A Run along the Rhine (and more)
The next morning I woke up early to go for a run along the Rhine River. To get there, I had to run past some bums sitting under a bridge who yelled something at me in German. That was the first time I felt happy to not know German! It was good running weather: cloudy and cool. Along the river trail, I passed tons of bikers ommuting to work, and the occasional runner clad in spandex shorts and always wearing a short sleeve shirt and never a tank top. I, of course being the American that I am, wore a tank top and shorts. Maybe I was just imagining it, but I think I got some wierd looks! I hadn't gotten the memo of proper German running attire :) I got back to the house sweaty and thirsty, and after a shower we all had a huge breakfast together of the most amazing croissants with nutella, furit, yogurt, and coffee. Then, Tess, Laura and I set out to find a tattoo parlor where Tess could get a flower tattoo on her hip (she wanted to do it in Germany for the significance of being in her (other) home country). But it took us hours to find the place! When we finally climbed up the narrow staircase to the parlor, the woman behind the counter said that there was a waiting list until MARCH! She said that, in the past year, everyone in Bonn had been coming in asking for a tattoo. What's funny is that when I was walking around Germany, I noticed a ton of people with tattoos! Sadly, Tess will have to wait until next time she goes to Germany- and make an appointment way in advance!
In the evening, we went out for spagetti ice with Chip and Claudia at a place along the sidewalk where there was a play structure for Luisa. As Claudia played with Luisa, we talked to Chip about what it's like to live in Germany. He said it's amazing how seemingly small choices or decisons we make in our lives can often turn out to play a huge role in determining our futures. Laura asked him if he was happy he moved to Germany, and he shrugged his shoulders in a way that meant the question was irrelevent, unanswerable. For Chip, moving to Germany at 25 led him to meet Claudia and fall in love, so staying was the obvious choice. I. "I do sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I had stayed in the States, " said Chip. But it's obvious he is very happy with his life. It got me thinking about my own life, about the defining moments and decisions that have already made me who I am, as well as those to come. There are so many "what-ifs" in life- a billion opportunities that we must daily choose from. At the same time, I don't believe that anything I've experienced in my life has been the result of happenstance. I know tehre is a purpose and plan for my life that is still unfolding. So even the seemingly small things like a little comment spoken to a friend, or what I write at this moment, or even my daily thoughts and dreams which appear to be only miniscule threads in my life are very much a part of who I am and who I will become. Just as Chip's life is rooted in Germany and full of love and joy with his family, my life is a constant Journey of thinking, feeling, loving, singing, praying, running, laughing, and exploring. Although I coul imagine my life being different- or better-or worse- it is what it is. And it is REAL. To me, that is far better than any what-ifs and daydreams for that reason.
In the evening, we went out for spagetti ice with Chip and Claudia at a place along the sidewalk where there was a play structure for Luisa. As Claudia played with Luisa, we talked to Chip about what it's like to live in Germany. He said it's amazing how seemingly small choices or decisons we make in our lives can often turn out to play a huge role in determining our futures. Laura asked him if he was happy he moved to Germany, and he shrugged his shoulders in a way that meant the question was irrelevent, unanswerable. For Chip, moving to Germany at 25 led him to meet Claudia and fall in love, so staying was the obvious choice. I. "I do sometimes wonder what my life would be like if I had stayed in the States, " said Chip. But it's obvious he is very happy with his life. It got me thinking about my own life, about the defining moments and decisions that have already made me who I am, as well as those to come. There are so many "what-ifs" in life- a billion opportunities that we must daily choose from. At the same time, I don't believe that anything I've experienced in my life has been the result of happenstance. I know tehre is a purpose and plan for my life that is still unfolding. So even the seemingly small things like a little comment spoken to a friend, or what I write at this moment, or even my daily thoughts and dreams which appear to be only miniscule threads in my life are very much a part of who I am and who I will become. Just as Chip's life is rooted in Germany and full of love and joy with his family, my life is a constant Journey of thinking, feeling, loving, singing, praying, running, laughing, and exploring. Although I coul imagine my life being different- or better-or worse- it is what it is. And it is REAL. To me, that is far better than any what-ifs and daydreams for that reason.
Bonn-Bonns?
The afternoon we arrived in Bonn, we literally walked about two blocks to Chip and Claudia' shouse right in the heart of the historic city of about 300,000 that sits next to the Rhine River. Tess was a little girl when she met Chip, a college friend of her parents. When Tess and her parents moved to Germany when she was 7, Chip and her parents were fresh out of college, so Chip came along and worked at a software company with Tess's dad. After 2 years, Tess and her parents moved back to the states, but Chip stayed in Germany after meeting his future wife, Claudia. He's now lived in Germany for 15 years, and he and Claudia have the cutest little 2 year-old, Luisa. There house has been imprinted with a two-year-old's presence: the white, big-windowed living room is filled with colorful pillows, a kids table, puppets, and stuffed animals. It was interesting to see American and German styles combined. A framed picture of Zion National Park in Utah, where Chip is from, hangs on the same wall as a cardboard moose head and a standing CD collection of American artists. But on the coffee table, German movies and newspapers are loosely piled. There was something so reassuring about staying with an American. It's a cute house, too. The kitchen has bright red counters and a view of the backyard they share with thier flatmates. In Germany, apartments do not come with ANYTHING- no appliances, no washing machines, not even kitchen counters! You have to buy everything yourself. They gave us the grand tour, and said that when they first moved in they were worried the place would be too dark since all the bedrooms are in the basement- but they've adjusted. After spending a couple hours with them, it's obvious that Luisa brings enough light into their home simply by how darn cute she is. She was constantly laughing, chatting in German and English, and when we went on walks, Luisa ran around as Chip followed close behind her, crouching down to her level. It was very cute to watch! We all walked down to the Rhine River and had a little snack at the biergarten (outdoor bar) under a giant oak tree. The sun was out, and there were tons fo lovesick couples holding hands from across the wooden tables, along with friends gathered together to enjoy drinks next to the river. We then walked downtown, where there are ancient plazas built in the 1300's, and every building is tall and stately with fancy architecture. The buildings are literally right next to eachother, so it looks like one building except they are often different colors. We walked by Beetoven's house and countless clothing stores with odd names in English like "Mode Rat", "Chewing Gum", and "Christ"! We had lasagna for dinner in their backyard.
Biking through Germany
We rode bikes around the countryside today, which was so much fun! The shop where we rented bikes was next to this huge cornfield, and I picked out a teal blue one that I instantly fell in love with. We hopped on our bikes and wove our way through the streets, following a red brick road. Even though it was slightly cloudy, it was absolutely beautiful! There were so many cornfields and little forests and meadows, horses and sheep. We rode to a little German town that borders the Netherlands, and stopped at a square with the most awkward fountain I've ever seen that bordered on tacky: a bull with a pipe you-know-what where the water came out, "peeing" into a bowl on top of two other bulls. Ya. it was odd. But the rest of the town was cool... there were so many little red brick stores and afes, laced with flower boxes and adorable little rounded doors. We met Rinatta and Eric at a little ice cream shop, where we sat outside and ate Spagetti ice, which is basically spagetti ice cream smothered in sauce and whipped cream- it's sooo good! The only downside was when the bees came out- it was war. They would not leave, and pretty soon there were a dozen bees trampling all over our dear spagetti ice, zipping past our faces, and scaring me back 3 whole chair scoots. I felt like such a baby, but hey, I guess the bees enjoyed the spagetti ice more than I did :)
We walked to a local market in the evening, and found some RitterSport hazelnut chocolate that was heavenly. We also had brie and bread- i felt so European :) I fell asleep at 9:30 and was knocked out cold until 10 AM...13 hours of uninterrupted sleep-i guess jet lag will do that to you! At 11 AM we walked with one of Eric and Rinatta's friends, Julia, to a nearby restaurant for lunch/breakfast. Julia is 24, and is from Northern Spain. She doesn't know much English, so I talked to her in Spanish which was a lot of fun. At the restaurant, it was hilarious to try and figure out the menu, all in German. I finally figured out that "orange" fish was salmon, and that "cow butt" (according to Tess's translation) was rumpsteak. hahah! Later, we biked through the city and took pictures in front of an old catherdral. Outside the huge red doors, Tess and I modeled forthe camera, while we loudly pranced around. About five minutes later, three older Germans walked out, and we head organ music. We assumed they had just been practicing, and continued to be loud and goofy. A couple mintues later we rode away, and saw that on the other side of the church, hundreds of people were flooding out the doors. In a country where manners take a front seat, we had just embarrassed ourselves- but it was also pretty funny! Needless to say, we biked our way out of there as fast as we could! We biked along a a river, through the country, and it was so fun feeling the wind whip past my face. Then nature called... as a rule, I don't like relieving myself in fields next to higways, but I had no idea where we were. So, I peed in a cornfield- a first for me :) That night, in the cozy dining room, we sat with Eric and shared some Spanish wine. Eric and Rinatta were the first importers of Spanish wine into their region of Germany. It was so peaceful sitting there with friends, as the smell of wine blended with the musty smell of the house- a place where history, art, and comfort collide.
We walked to a local market in the evening, and found some RitterSport hazelnut chocolate that was heavenly. We also had brie and bread- i felt so European :) I fell asleep at 9:30 and was knocked out cold until 10 AM...13 hours of uninterrupted sleep-i guess jet lag will do that to you! At 11 AM we walked with one of Eric and Rinatta's friends, Julia, to a nearby restaurant for lunch/breakfast. Julia is 24, and is from Northern Spain. She doesn't know much English, so I talked to her in Spanish which was a lot of fun. At the restaurant, it was hilarious to try and figure out the menu, all in German. I finally figured out that "orange" fish was salmon, and that "cow butt" (according to Tess's translation) was rumpsteak. hahah! Later, we biked through the city and took pictures in front of an old catherdral. Outside the huge red doors, Tess and I modeled forthe camera, while we loudly pranced around. About five minutes later, three older Germans walked out, and we head organ music. We assumed they had just been practicing, and continued to be loud and goofy. A couple mintues later we rode away, and saw that on the other side of the church, hundreds of people were flooding out the doors. In a country where manners take a front seat, we had just embarrassed ourselves- but it was also pretty funny! Needless to say, we biked our way out of there as fast as we could! We biked along a a river, through the country, and it was so fun feeling the wind whip past my face. Then nature called... as a rule, I don't like relieving myself in fields next to higways, but I had no idea where we were. So, I peed in a cornfield- a first for me :) That night, in the cozy dining room, we sat with Eric and shared some Spanish wine. Eric and Rinatta were the first importers of Spanish wine into their region of Germany. It was so peaceful sitting there with friends, as the smell of wine blended with the musty smell of the house- a place where history, art, and comfort collide.
want some chocolate? yes. and yes. and yes!!
August 8th
I love chocolate. I could eat chocolate on a boat. On a plane. On a train. I could eat chocolate wearing a coat. In a moat. Carrying a tote. Ok, ok I'll stop trying to Dr. Seuss my way through this one, but you get the idea. Well, I'll just say that Germany is the most perfect place to eat chocolate. Besides the fact that the chocolate is dangerously creamy and delicious here because it melts in your mouth like butter on hot toast, I have to say that the setting real adds to the experience- no, the art- of eating chocolate. Constantly hearing native Germans chatter away in their fun language filled with throaty sounds and dignified words like danke (thank you) and biergarten (i will explain later if you don't already know what this is), really puts me in the European mood, if I dare say so. What i mean is, I think of German chocolate like Hanuta Haselnuss-Schnitte and other tasty, exotic sounding brands as the perfect narcotic. It's like drinking coffee in a cafe in Paris. It just fits with the atmosphere, and tastes even better because of this. Anyways, I am thankful I don't live here, because between this tasty commodity and Nutella (don't even get me started on Nutella), I would soon resemble the German by in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and- as Tess puts it- I would need a bulldozer to transport me around town.
But enough about chocolate. Tess, Laura and I got to Kleve Germany, a small town in the North where her grandparents live, and were greeted by her step-grandpa,Eric. Eric is tall, with white hair and glasses. And he wears the uniform of all German older men- leather slip-on sandals with socks, tight jeans, a polo shirt, and a tan vest. I swear, every older man in Germany wears a tan vest and a polo shirt!! It's so funny. We even started counting all the "twins" we saw in Germany, but there were so many I don't even remember anymore. Anyways, Eric drove us to their flat, which is located near the city center. We climbed a stairway with a wall covered with paintings and children's artwork to the main floor, where we met Tess's Oma (Grandma) named Rinatta. Rinatta recently had a stroke, so she has a difficult time walking and talking, but still has a sharp wit and a deep love for her German-American granddaughter Tess. I was immediately struck with the beauty and uniqueness of Rinatta and Eric's home: it was covered in artwork (Rinatta was once an artist herself), faded oriental rugs, sculptures, and photos taped loosely to the wall. There was no order, no rhyme or reason to the placement of a pair of espadrilles with pink laces tied above the doorway, Spanish wine bottles standing on tables, and bright windows splashed with sunlight. But every piece of the house as a whole made something beautiful and artistic. We ascended another staircase to where our bedroom was. In me and Tess's room, there were two beds with matching plaid bedspreads and huge square pillows that looked like something staight out of an IKEA catalog. Laura's room across the hall held a bed up in a loft, held above a small office area lined with white bookshelves all the way to the ceiling, filled with colorful binders and files. A large desk with a computer sat in the corner next to a small nook with a huge window overlooking a brick-lined garden and a back alley with more flats behind it. We had lunch out on a small deck: potato soup with sausage followed by this amazing dessert of fresh, local strawberries in a thick cream cheese/yogurt sauce. Mmm!
I love chocolate. I could eat chocolate on a boat. On a plane. On a train. I could eat chocolate wearing a coat. In a moat. Carrying a tote. Ok, ok I'll stop trying to Dr. Seuss my way through this one, but you get the idea. Well, I'll just say that Germany is the most perfect place to eat chocolate. Besides the fact that the chocolate is dangerously creamy and delicious here because it melts in your mouth like butter on hot toast, I have to say that the setting real adds to the experience- no, the art- of eating chocolate. Constantly hearing native Germans chatter away in their fun language filled with throaty sounds and dignified words like danke (thank you) and biergarten (i will explain later if you don't already know what this is), really puts me in the European mood, if I dare say so. What i mean is, I think of German chocolate like Hanuta Haselnuss-Schnitte and other tasty, exotic sounding brands as the perfect narcotic. It's like drinking coffee in a cafe in Paris. It just fits with the atmosphere, and tastes even better because of this. Anyways, I am thankful I don't live here, because between this tasty commodity and Nutella (don't even get me started on Nutella), I would soon resemble the German by in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory and- as Tess puts it- I would need a bulldozer to transport me around town.
But enough about chocolate. Tess, Laura and I got to Kleve Germany, a small town in the North where her grandparents live, and were greeted by her step-grandpa,Eric. Eric is tall, with white hair and glasses. And he wears the uniform of all German older men- leather slip-on sandals with socks, tight jeans, a polo shirt, and a tan vest. I swear, every older man in Germany wears a tan vest and a polo shirt!! It's so funny. We even started counting all the "twins" we saw in Germany, but there were so many I don't even remember anymore. Anyways, Eric drove us to their flat, which is located near the city center. We climbed a stairway with a wall covered with paintings and children's artwork to the main floor, where we met Tess's Oma (Grandma) named Rinatta. Rinatta recently had a stroke, so she has a difficult time walking and talking, but still has a sharp wit and a deep love for her German-American granddaughter Tess. I was immediately struck with the beauty and uniqueness of Rinatta and Eric's home: it was covered in artwork (Rinatta was once an artist herself), faded oriental rugs, sculptures, and photos taped loosely to the wall. There was no order, no rhyme or reason to the placement of a pair of espadrilles with pink laces tied above the doorway, Spanish wine bottles standing on tables, and bright windows splashed with sunlight. But every piece of the house as a whole made something beautiful and artistic. We ascended another staircase to where our bedroom was. In me and Tess's room, there were two beds with matching plaid bedspreads and huge square pillows that looked like something staight out of an IKEA catalog. Laura's room across the hall held a bed up in a loft, held above a small office area lined with white bookshelves all the way to the ceiling, filled with colorful binders and files. A large desk with a computer sat in the corner next to a small nook with a huge window overlooking a brick-lined garden and a back alley with more flats behind it. We had lunch out on a small deck: potato soup with sausage followed by this amazing dessert of fresh, local strawberries in a thick cream cheese/yogurt sauce. Mmm!
Germany
August 9th, 2009
I'm on the train to Kleve, Germany. It's a beautiful sunny day, and we are going past the countryside, passing villages, forests with thin, unusual trees and dark tunnels. When we first got off the plane, it was a challenge to find the right train we needed to take. Instantaneously, as we were standing there confused in the trains station, a German woman with dark cropped hair and a black tattoo that curled around her right bicep walked up to us. She was wearing a white sundress, and I was so excited to be in Europe after I realized that there are some very helpful, warm people here. The lady led us up to the right part of the station, pointed us in the right direction, and warned us about the perils of dirty surfaces in German train stations that can lead to swine flu! It was pretty funny. We nodded our heads as she told us-in English- to have a great trip. Then she was gone.
My impressions of Germany:
-The German customs officers looked so stereotypically, well... German. The didn't smile once, they were quick and too that point. It wasn't neccessarily a bad thing- they simply send you on your way and get down to business. I think most Germans are hard workers, at least they come off that way.
-All the sandwiches, bread, pastries, pretzels in the train station looked soooo good! They make all the sandwiches with tomato, cheese, meat, on fresh baguettes ahead of time and place them temptingly in the windows. How can you NOT walk by and salivate?! They must bank on selling lots of sandwiches throughout the day- that's faith right there.
-Germany is a very clean place- you don't see much trash on the ground, and people look very clean-cut. Usually simply dressed but slightly dressed up, like most people do in Europe.
-It's so quiet here! On the train, we were supposed to whisper or else we would get wierd stares. It was so peaceful in contrast to the screaming, crying babies on the neverending plane ride to Frankfurt from Dallas. I just basked in the silence, it was music to my ears :)
-On the train ride, Tess pulled out a photo from her childhood. In the picture, she looked about 7 years old, and it was taken in Germany when she lived there for a couple years with her parents (her dad is from Germany). In the photo, Tess was standing next to a window, where below the street was covered in snow and flakes were floating down. She had bangs and a short cropped haircut, and here eyes were big and bright. Tess tucked the photo back into her book, but as she did I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of her eyes- they are the same as in the picture: big, open, peaceful. I think it has something to do with the fact that we are in Germany. "This feels like home to me, even more than Portland", said Tess as she looked out the window. It got me thinking about belonging, about identity. Tess has two places that she calls home. Two cultures that she holds inside of her, that are very different and sometimes possibly conflicting. As for me, I can really only call Portland home. I love the dark shadows and drizzling rainstorms that grace my city every winter and Spring. And I love the green lawns and bright gold and red leaves that color my city. I love the smell of fresh mud and of my mom making waffles when it sifts through the vent from the kitchen into my bedroom. I love the creaks of my old house, and every little crease of the faces I know and love back home. It feels so warm and comfortable to belong somewhere, but the feeling of discovery and understanding and new cultures is also a good feeling. It may not be as comfortable, but it is just as identity shaping- how can anyone ever crow in the middle of constant familiarity... what is there to learn?
I'm on the train to Kleve, Germany. It's a beautiful sunny day, and we are going past the countryside, passing villages, forests with thin, unusual trees and dark tunnels. When we first got off the plane, it was a challenge to find the right train we needed to take. Instantaneously, as we were standing there confused in the trains station, a German woman with dark cropped hair and a black tattoo that curled around her right bicep walked up to us. She was wearing a white sundress, and I was so excited to be in Europe after I realized that there are some very helpful, warm people here. The lady led us up to the right part of the station, pointed us in the right direction, and warned us about the perils of dirty surfaces in German train stations that can lead to swine flu! It was pretty funny. We nodded our heads as she told us-in English- to have a great trip. Then she was gone.
My impressions of Germany:
-The German customs officers looked so stereotypically, well... German. The didn't smile once, they were quick and too that point. It wasn't neccessarily a bad thing- they simply send you on your way and get down to business. I think most Germans are hard workers, at least they come off that way.
-All the sandwiches, bread, pastries, pretzels in the train station looked soooo good! They make all the sandwiches with tomato, cheese, meat, on fresh baguettes ahead of time and place them temptingly in the windows. How can you NOT walk by and salivate?! They must bank on selling lots of sandwiches throughout the day- that's faith right there.
-Germany is a very clean place- you don't see much trash on the ground, and people look very clean-cut. Usually simply dressed but slightly dressed up, like most people do in Europe.
-It's so quiet here! On the train, we were supposed to whisper or else we would get wierd stares. It was so peaceful in contrast to the screaming, crying babies on the neverending plane ride to Frankfurt from Dallas. I just basked in the silence, it was music to my ears :)
-On the train ride, Tess pulled out a photo from her childhood. In the picture, she looked about 7 years old, and it was taken in Germany when she lived there for a couple years with her parents (her dad is from Germany). In the photo, Tess was standing next to a window, where below the street was covered in snow and flakes were floating down. She had bangs and a short cropped haircut, and here eyes were big and bright. Tess tucked the photo back into her book, but as she did I couldn't help but catch a glimpse of her eyes- they are the same as in the picture: big, open, peaceful. I think it has something to do with the fact that we are in Germany. "This feels like home to me, even more than Portland", said Tess as she looked out the window. It got me thinking about belonging, about identity. Tess has two places that she calls home. Two cultures that she holds inside of her, that are very different and sometimes possibly conflicting. As for me, I can really only call Portland home. I love the dark shadows and drizzling rainstorms that grace my city every winter and Spring. And I love the green lawns and bright gold and red leaves that color my city. I love the smell of fresh mud and of my mom making waffles when it sifts through the vent from the kitchen into my bedroom. I love the creaks of my old house, and every little crease of the faces I know and love back home. It feels so warm and comfortable to belong somewhere, but the feeling of discovery and understanding and new cultures is also a good feeling. It may not be as comfortable, but it is just as identity shaping- how can anyone ever crow in the middle of constant familiarity... what is there to learn?
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