Michael and I are finally in Switzerland, after an unnerving couple of unplanned days. You all know what happened, and I don't feel like talking about it. But I must acknthing to acknowledge my continued happiness with the devotion and support of my family, my boyfriend, and my boyfriend's family. If I am not blessed, I don't know who is.
The important thing is, we are in one of the most beautiful places I have ever been to, especially this summer (and especially compared to Spain's big cities!). I have been to Switzerland once before, but it was down on the French border nestled in the Alps, in the town of Champex. Now we are in Interlaken, a town that sits (get this) in between two lakes, and looks up at so many breathtaking mountains. It is fairly touristy, but the clientele is much more...comfortable. For me. They are all very rich. This means that food, activities etc are WAY more expensive than they need to be (Happy Meal at McDonald's is 6.50 Swiss Francs, so about 6.50 USD), but I also feel extremely safe and well, at home.
In any case, Michael and I have been having a great time here. Today we went shopping, which for us means looking at watches, jewelry, and sunglasses and saying "When I'm rich, I'm gonna buy that." We had a tasty cheese fondue for lunch, then went to the grocery store to buy dinner for the next two nights (pasta and tomato sauce). After the market we sat along the edge of a big field by our hostel where all the paragliders land. Their grace and lack of fear upon landing has prompted us to consider the idea of going paragliding as our adventure sport while in this adventure sport-savvy town. It is either that or canyoning. They are both very expensive, so we would do it as a birthday present to me, but even that doesn't quite justify it.
The hostel we are in is superb. It is more expensive than past hostels, but cheap for Switzerland. They have free breakfast every morning, free wifi and computers, a tv room where you can watch DVDs: we watched Ben-Hur last night with a girl from Sydney and a graduate of UC Berkeley who studies the same exact material as Michael. They also have a shelf of books right next to where I'm sitting that I will pick through soon, as the book that I was halfway through got stolen with my other stuff. It was really good, too.
Tomorrow we will hike around the lake and continue to marvel at the natural beauty that surrounds us. We are spending a total of 5 nights here to recover from recent events, as well as to wait for the new Eurail passes that Michael's parents have so graciously sent to us. On Thursday we will head to Munich, then Berlin, Amsterdam, Bruges, and we will terminate with 5 days in London, where we will meet up with my Grandma. Michael and I are especially looking forward to this part of the trip, for a number of reasons. 1) We get to see my grandma, who is amazing and awesome and who I miss very much. 2) Michael is in love with London. It may have been a mistake for him to go to school there, because I imagine that if he ever gets an excuse to live there, no one will ever see him again. Finally 3) These 5 days encompass both my birthday and my grandma's, so it will no doubt be a very celebratory time!
So all is well, Michael and I are extremely happy and enjoying Switzerland's Interlaken to its fullest, and we are looking forward to every other part of our journey! This computer is unbearably slow and won't let me post pictures on here or Facebook, so we will just have to have a slideshow of everything when I get back! Suffice it to say that since they are of Switzerland, they are beautiful.
Sunday, August 30, 2009
Wednesday, August 26, 2009
La Tomatina
It began as a street fight during a town parade in 1945, where people picked tomatoes off of street stands to aid their battle. It happened again the next year, in a less violent way, and ignoring brief interludes, has continued to this day, representing one of the only Spanish traditions that does not have a religious connotation.
We began at 5:30 am, eager but stressed to get to the first metro train at 6:20 so we could take the first regional train from Valencia to Buñol at 7 am. Needless to say, with an expected attendance of 20,000 people, most of whom were staying in Valencia, the trains were pretty crowded. Luckily, Michael and I were able to find seats for the 45 minute train trip, so we got to prepare mentally and physically for the event ahead.
We arrived in Buñol at around 8 am and proceeded through the ancient-looking Spanish village down to the site of the event around which I have planned my summer: La Tomatina. Most people were already drunk by this time, which I will remind you, was 8 in the morning. Michael and I proceeded to the Designated Drivers Rockin' Fun Zone, which was an area the size of the sidewalk where Michael and I stood. Basically, we were some of the only sober people there. But when you're in Europe surrounded by Australians and under-21 Americans, you can only expect a certain degree of drunkenness.
With anticipation and a lingering scent of beer and sangria hanging in the air, the first event began: The Greased Up Ham Pole. Spaniards and tourists (mostly tourists) literally fight each other up a wooden pole covered in lard to release a ham that has been tied to the top. Obviously the attempts during the first hour and a half are unsuccessful, because everyone is pulling and kicking each other down, trying to earn the drunken respect of the audience. When I say kicking, I mean literally, men would kick girls in the face, even using said faces as stepladders. Also the pole is absolutely slathered in lard, and it has to be removed before further attempts can be made. When guys (inevitably guys) reach the lard, they toss it into the crowd. I got some on my shoulder! Awesome!
Not my Tomatina (I didn't have a camera), but you get the idea.
As the sun rose over Buñol, Michael and I decided to seek out some of the water vendors we saw on the way there. Leaving the crowd was harder than it should have been, as Australians wouldn't let non-Aussies through, so we had to forge terrible accents in order to get out. With the water purchased and the tomato time drawing near, we headed back to the street, although not for the same position as before. We had been standing in perhaps the best spot, which meant it was crowded, hot, smelly, and possibly dangerous for a person of my stature. With that in mind, we chose a location just off the street with excellent tomato access, but also with more room.
And then the cannon burst, signaling the initiation of La Tomatina. The crowd descended into a kind of controlled soccer riot, and my vision was gradually obscured by a fine, red mist and small, ovular missiles. Everything was an amazing chaos. Dump trucks came down the street and forced people to the sidewalks. The trucks were full of 20 young Spaniards hurling about 130 tons of red tomatoes at bystanders. And the "bystanders" would pick them up and hurl them right back. Everyone gradually turned into what looked like pizza sauce, but drunker. The trucks drove through again and again, and that meant more and more fun. I hit a guy in the mouth. Michael hit a girl square in the eye. I got hit in the face 4 times, and I loved it.
And I think the locals enjoyed it, too. When the second cannon was fired, signalling the end of the tomato fight, people came out of their houses with hoses, spraying down the tourists. Throughout the entire event locals dumped buckets of water on the crowds, attempting to keep them cool. At one point I was targeted by a bunch of Australian boys with access to buckets and fountains, and I ended up getting soaked through, but it was perfect.
La Tomatina was the most crazy, amazing, exciting thing I have ever done. If every day of my trip was awful, it would have been worth it to come to Europe because of La Tomatina. I am so pleased that I was able to fit it back into my schedule, because I have never experienced anything quite like it. Seeing so many happy young people completely covered in tomato pulp, from hair to shoes, was elating. And seriously, it's a giant, free food fight in the streets of a beautiful Spanish city, attended by creative twenty-somethings in fun costumes. How could I not have loved it?
PS. Did I mention that I too, became covered in tomato pulp? Even though I took about 5 hose showers, I was not Tomato-Free enough to board the train back to Valencia. I had to take another shower outside the train station. And I took another shower when I got back to the hotel. And I still smell like a caprese salad, minus all the non-tomato ingredients. When I touch my skin and hair, it feels like a tomato. In fact, with all the Spanish sun I've been getting, I may even LOOK like a tomato. Please don't eat me :(
We began at 5:30 am, eager but stressed to get to the first metro train at 6:20 so we could take the first regional train from Valencia to Buñol at 7 am. Needless to say, with an expected attendance of 20,000 people, most of whom were staying in Valencia, the trains were pretty crowded. Luckily, Michael and I were able to find seats for the 45 minute train trip, so we got to prepare mentally and physically for the event ahead.
We arrived in Buñol at around 8 am and proceeded through the ancient-looking Spanish village down to the site of the event around which I have planned my summer: La Tomatina. Most people were already drunk by this time, which I will remind you, was 8 in the morning. Michael and I proceeded to the Designated Drivers Rockin' Fun Zone, which was an area the size of the sidewalk where Michael and I stood. Basically, we were some of the only sober people there. But when you're in Europe surrounded by Australians and under-21 Americans, you can only expect a certain degree of drunkenness.
With anticipation and a lingering scent of beer and sangria hanging in the air, the first event began: The Greased Up Ham Pole. Spaniards and tourists (mostly tourists) literally fight each other up a wooden pole covered in lard to release a ham that has been tied to the top. Obviously the attempts during the first hour and a half are unsuccessful, because everyone is pulling and kicking each other down, trying to earn the drunken respect of the audience. When I say kicking, I mean literally, men would kick girls in the face, even using said faces as stepladders. Also the pole is absolutely slathered in lard, and it has to be removed before further attempts can be made. When guys (inevitably guys) reach the lard, they toss it into the crowd. I got some on my shoulder! Awesome!
Not my Tomatina (I didn't have a camera), but you get the idea. As the sun rose over Buñol, Michael and I decided to seek out some of the water vendors we saw on the way there. Leaving the crowd was harder than it should have been, as Australians wouldn't let non-Aussies through, so we had to forge terrible accents in order to get out. With the water purchased and the tomato time drawing near, we headed back to the street, although not for the same position as before. We had been standing in perhaps the best spot, which meant it was crowded, hot, smelly, and possibly dangerous for a person of my stature. With that in mind, we chose a location just off the street with excellent tomato access, but also with more room.
And then the cannon burst, signaling the initiation of La Tomatina. The crowd descended into a kind of controlled soccer riot, and my vision was gradually obscured by a fine, red mist and small, ovular missiles. Everything was an amazing chaos. Dump trucks came down the street and forced people to the sidewalks. The trucks were full of 20 young Spaniards hurling about 130 tons of red tomatoes at bystanders. And the "bystanders" would pick them up and hurl them right back. Everyone gradually turned into what looked like pizza sauce, but drunker. The trucks drove through again and again, and that meant more and more fun. I hit a guy in the mouth. Michael hit a girl square in the eye. I got hit in the face 4 times, and I loved it.
And I think the locals enjoyed it, too. When the second cannon was fired, signalling the end of the tomato fight, people came out of their houses with hoses, spraying down the tourists. Throughout the entire event locals dumped buckets of water on the crowds, attempting to keep them cool. At one point I was targeted by a bunch of Australian boys with access to buckets and fountains, and I ended up getting soaked through, but it was perfect.
La Tomatina was the most crazy, amazing, exciting thing I have ever done. If every day of my trip was awful, it would have been worth it to come to Europe because of La Tomatina. I am so pleased that I was able to fit it back into my schedule, because I have never experienced anything quite like it. Seeing so many happy young people completely covered in tomato pulp, from hair to shoes, was elating. And seriously, it's a giant, free food fight in the streets of a beautiful Spanish city, attended by creative twenty-somethings in fun costumes. How could I not have loved it?
PS. Did I mention that I too, became covered in tomato pulp? Even though I took about 5 hose showers, I was not Tomato-Free enough to board the train back to Valencia. I had to take another shower outside the train station. And I took another shower when I got back to the hotel. And I still smell like a caprese salad, minus all the non-tomato ingredients. When I touch my skin and hair, it feels like a tomato. In fact, with all the Spanish sun I've been getting, I may even LOOK like a tomato. Please don't eat me :(
Sunday, August 23, 2009
Not Plain Spain
I had an entire blog written out about my experience in Granada, and right when I hit "publish post" the internet died. So it goes. I will still give you the abbreviated version, but with more cats included.
Granada was the best place to go to after my negative experience in Madrid. It was clean, organized, smallish, with many touristy things to do. The hostel was also great; it was run and populated by young, active people, and set in a central location to the all the attractions and nearby local supermarkets. The hostel offered everything we could have wanted: tasty, traditional Spanish dinners for 4 euro, an exclusive hot springs tour, a communal kitchen, free internet, and they do your laundry for you for a low price. We met a ton of people there, all Canadian and Australian, and I may see one of the Australian girls when she comes to San Francisco next year. Meeting people is certainly one of my favorite parts of traveling.
As for Granada itself, it is a truly Spanish city. People take their siestas and Sundays very seriously - the only things open during these times were the touristy souvenir shops, and even some of them were closed. It also has a history of Moorish influence, making it the first place I've been to with an Arabic style. We never made it to the Alhambra (no lectures please), but we did do the local hot springs tour, and it was worth every cent! Someone from the hostel drove us out about 12 km to a little pool in a dark field. At first we assumed we were going to be murdered a la Hostel, but we just ended up relaxing in a perfectly temperatured little pool. A lot of locals with their with their children and dogs, and for the first time in weeks, I saw the sky full of stars. It was awesome. On the ride over I was asking our driver (in Spanish!) if certain animals lived in the area, but he said it was only rabbits. And scorpions. But I think he was kidding about the scorpions.
We had a feline-filled experience in Granada, which of coursed served to enhance it. When Michael and I took our own little walking tour (we didn't wake up in time for the organized one) we saw the most adorable pile of kittens sitting between a small creek and an ancient wall. It was quite picturesque. At night there was a very stereotypical prowl of cats meowing at every door on the street, possibly begging for food or just being ridiculous cats. They seemed fat enough, so maybe I should assume they were just out causing trouble because they can.
After 12 hours of train travel, Michael and I have arrived in Valencia, Spain, the epicenter of our summer. In 2 days we will go to Bunyol for the famous Tomatina Festival. It is amazing how many people I've met this summer who are in this city right now. It's like some sort of pilgrimage for college-student-aged individuals. We are staying in a 3 star hotel, the nicest thing I have encountered all summer. The upside is the severe spike in quality, however at hostels you get to meet people and do stuff with them. Luckily, since Valencia is full of people just like us, we have already met a nice New Zealander named Patrick who is traveling alone and will come with us to the Tomatina to hurl tomatoes with us.
We will take the next day to rest. Our hotel has English channels. Right now we are watching Tom and Jerry, which is awesome because there are no words so it works everywhere. After Valencia we will head to Barcelona for 5 hours, then take a night train to Geneva, from which we will immediately leave to Interlaken for 3 days of extreme sportage. We are considering the option of canyoneering, or climbing and rappelling down waterfalls! It is either this or hangliding/parajumping/skydiving/bungee jumping. We will also hike a lot. Huzzah for traveling!
Granada was the best place to go to after my negative experience in Madrid. It was clean, organized, smallish, with many touristy things to do. The hostel was also great; it was run and populated by young, active people, and set in a central location to the all the attractions and nearby local supermarkets. The hostel offered everything we could have wanted: tasty, traditional Spanish dinners for 4 euro, an exclusive hot springs tour, a communal kitchen, free internet, and they do your laundry for you for a low price. We met a ton of people there, all Canadian and Australian, and I may see one of the Australian girls when she comes to San Francisco next year. Meeting people is certainly one of my favorite parts of traveling.
As for Granada itself, it is a truly Spanish city. People take their siestas and Sundays very seriously - the only things open during these times were the touristy souvenir shops, and even some of them were closed. It also has a history of Moorish influence, making it the first place I've been to with an Arabic style. We never made it to the Alhambra (no lectures please), but we did do the local hot springs tour, and it was worth every cent! Someone from the hostel drove us out about 12 km to a little pool in a dark field. At first we assumed we were going to be murdered a la Hostel, but we just ended up relaxing in a perfectly temperatured little pool. A lot of locals with their with their children and dogs, and for the first time in weeks, I saw the sky full of stars. It was awesome. On the ride over I was asking our driver (in Spanish!) if certain animals lived in the area, but he said it was only rabbits. And scorpions. But I think he was kidding about the scorpions.
We had a feline-filled experience in Granada, which of coursed served to enhance it. When Michael and I took our own little walking tour (we didn't wake up in time for the organized one) we saw the most adorable pile of kittens sitting between a small creek and an ancient wall. It was quite picturesque. At night there was a very stereotypical prowl of cats meowing at every door on the street, possibly begging for food or just being ridiculous cats. They seemed fat enough, so maybe I should assume they were just out causing trouble because they can.
After 12 hours of train travel, Michael and I have arrived in Valencia, Spain, the epicenter of our summer. In 2 days we will go to Bunyol for the famous Tomatina Festival. It is amazing how many people I've met this summer who are in this city right now. It's like some sort of pilgrimage for college-student-aged individuals. We are staying in a 3 star hotel, the nicest thing I have encountered all summer. The upside is the severe spike in quality, however at hostels you get to meet people and do stuff with them. Luckily, since Valencia is full of people just like us, we have already met a nice New Zealander named Patrick who is traveling alone and will come with us to the Tomatina to hurl tomatoes with us.
We will take the next day to rest. Our hotel has English channels. Right now we are watching Tom and Jerry, which is awesome because there are no words so it works everywhere. After Valencia we will head to Barcelona for 5 hours, then take a night train to Geneva, from which we will immediately leave to Interlaken for 3 days of extreme sportage. We are considering the option of canyoneering, or climbing and rappelling down waterfalls! It is either this or hangliding/parajumping/skydiving/bungee jumping. We will also hike a lot. Huzzah for traveling!
Friday, August 21, 2009
MADrid y GRANDada
I did not like Madrid. At first I was excited about how unreserved everyone seemed to be, but that gradually turned into me being disgusted by the not-so-subtle looks I was getting from dirty men. The city itself looks like it peaked in the late sixties or early seventies, and seems to have a problem cleaning up everything, from graffiti to trash. If you could find a bench not occupied by a sleeping homeless person, you would be forced to leave by the overwhelming scent of urine. The whole time I was there I fretted over washing my hands, and even stepped in dog poop. I have not been in a dirtier city in my entire life.
I am happy that I went there, to say I´ve been, but I can´t say I would ever return. Ignoring that I constantly felt like a bucket of grease, there wasn´t a whole lot to do. We did some of the suggested activities, like walking the not so Gran Via, eating tapas, and visiting the Don Quixote statue in Plaza de España. I was told Madrid was a big party place, but we decided not to go to clubs because even during the day we were constantly worried over our (well my) purses and back pockets.
We were going to go to Barcelona, but I decided that, because we are in Spain, we should visit the namesake of the street I lived on for 13 years, so now we are in the clean, beautiful, and friendly Granada, about 5 hours south of Madrid in the Andalucia region of Spain. There are tons of outdoor cafes, and the pleasant atmosphere makes the 100 degree heat much more tolerable, unlike Madrid´s dirty edifices. There is also plenty to do here. Today we walked down the shopping streets, visited a big Cathedral, and ate bocadillas at a cafe. Tomorrow we will go on a free walking tour in the Albaycin area of the city, a Moorish neighborhood that promises to be unique and intriguing. Tomorrow night we will go to a midnight hot spring soak under the stars. Our third and final day in Granada will be an early morning trip to the Alhambra, a huge fortress surrounded by abundant gardens. They only have 1000 tickets per day (smart people book online ahead of time) so we will rush up there so we can experience the jewel of Granada.
At first I disliked Spain, having only been in the dirty, hot, and sprawling Madrid, but now that I am in the moderately sized and well organized Granada, my mind is changing. Who knows how Valencia will make me feel!
I am happy that I went there, to say I´ve been, but I can´t say I would ever return. Ignoring that I constantly felt like a bucket of grease, there wasn´t a whole lot to do. We did some of the suggested activities, like walking the not so Gran Via, eating tapas, and visiting the Don Quixote statue in Plaza de España. I was told Madrid was a big party place, but we decided not to go to clubs because even during the day we were constantly worried over our (well my) purses and back pockets.
We were going to go to Barcelona, but I decided that, because we are in Spain, we should visit the namesake of the street I lived on for 13 years, so now we are in the clean, beautiful, and friendly Granada, about 5 hours south of Madrid in the Andalucia region of Spain. There are tons of outdoor cafes, and the pleasant atmosphere makes the 100 degree heat much more tolerable, unlike Madrid´s dirty edifices. There is also plenty to do here. Today we walked down the shopping streets, visited a big Cathedral, and ate bocadillas at a cafe. Tomorrow we will go on a free walking tour in the Albaycin area of the city, a Moorish neighborhood that promises to be unique and intriguing. Tomorrow night we will go to a midnight hot spring soak under the stars. Our third and final day in Granada will be an early morning trip to the Alhambra, a huge fortress surrounded by abundant gardens. They only have 1000 tickets per day (smart people book online ahead of time) so we will rush up there so we can experience the jewel of Granada.
At first I disliked Spain, having only been in the dirty, hot, and sprawling Madrid, but now that I am in the moderately sized and well organized Granada, my mind is changing. Who knows how Valencia will make me feel!
Tuesday, August 18, 2009
Observations of Denmark
Even though I am frequently busy doing traveling stuff, I am going to make more of an effort to blog. I originally blamed my sudden lack of writing on the fact that I am out doing the aforementioned traveling stuff, but you, my audience, are largely made up of my friends and family who have been extremely generous in your emotional, mental, and financial support. Every so often I see a little more money in my bank account and I know a gracious family member is thinking of me. When Michael arrived in Europe he gave my sister and I wonderful letters from home that were also bearing gifts. I am extremely lucky to be part of such a generous and thoughtful family.
Now onto Denmark matters. As we all know, I set some very high expectation for this country, doing tremendous amounts of research on Danish people, businesses, and food. After spending roughly 5 weeks there (having taken that two week "vacation" around Europe), I feel like it would be interesting to list some of the things I learned from actually being there, rather than what I read off the internet.
Danish people are some of the nicest I've ever met, and the stereotype about them being difficult to crack open is only partially true. About half of the Danes I met initiated conversation, and the other half wouldn't even look at me if I spoke to them.
Danish food is very good, but it must be authentic. The homemade Danish dishes (as well as the non-Danish dishes) made by my host family were some of the best meals I have ever consumed. But finding restaurant food in the city is not as easy as say, in Paris, largely because Danish families almost always eat in, so there is not a huge market for take away food. Also I am used to giant American servings, but Danes eat a very healthy amount, so I was frequently surprised.
Copenhagen felt extremely safe to me, something I cannot say about Madrid. It was as dirty as any other city, something which I did not expect, however they have a wonderful train accessory: All of the seat groupings (usually 2-4 seats) have small bags hanging from the side where you can deposit your trash, so the trains stay very clean. I have not seen this in any other city or local train.
I am happy that my abroad experience was in Denmark, but unless the weather is always like it was this summer, I can´t say that I would move there. Plus they don´t have New York OR Chicago style pizza there, and I don´t think I could live without that. And my family. Them too.
Now onto Denmark matters. As we all know, I set some very high expectation for this country, doing tremendous amounts of research on Danish people, businesses, and food. After spending roughly 5 weeks there (having taken that two week "vacation" around Europe), I feel like it would be interesting to list some of the things I learned from actually being there, rather than what I read off the internet.
Danish people are some of the nicest I've ever met, and the stereotype about them being difficult to crack open is only partially true. About half of the Danes I met initiated conversation, and the other half wouldn't even look at me if I spoke to them.
Danish food is very good, but it must be authentic. The homemade Danish dishes (as well as the non-Danish dishes) made by my host family were some of the best meals I have ever consumed. But finding restaurant food in the city is not as easy as say, in Paris, largely because Danish families almost always eat in, so there is not a huge market for take away food. Also I am used to giant American servings, but Danes eat a very healthy amount, so I was frequently surprised.
Copenhagen felt extremely safe to me, something I cannot say about Madrid. It was as dirty as any other city, something which I did not expect, however they have a wonderful train accessory: All of the seat groupings (usually 2-4 seats) have small bags hanging from the side where you can deposit your trash, so the trains stay very clean. I have not seen this in any other city or local train.
I am happy that my abroad experience was in Denmark, but unless the weather is always like it was this summer, I can´t say that I would move there. Plus they don´t have New York OR Chicago style pizza there, and I don´t think I could live without that. And my family. Them too.
Monday, August 17, 2009
Churros y chocolate
I feel like so many of my blogs begin with my apologizing for not blogging, so let's just assume from this point on that if I don't make posts for an inappropriately large amount of time, I am so sorry.
Now that that is taken care of, I will let you know what has occurred over the past few blogless days:
1) Michael finished LSE, and came to visit me in Denmark
2) Had a tearful goodbye with my host family this morning (8/17)
3) Flew to Madrid with Michael, settled into the Panizo Hostel right in the center of the city
It is very hot here in Madrid, but Michael and I have a lovely hostel room on the third floor (technically fourth, but the first floor is called the ground floor and the second is called the first, and so on) and it has a fan, a TV, a balcony, and no roommates! This is my first hostel experience where I don't spend the night with strangers. Michael is very impressed by the quality of this establishment, and I am excited to see how he considers multiple-bed dorm setups that we will inevitably inhabit in the near future.
Being in Madrid is also great because it has given me the opportunity to try out my 6 years of now rusty Spanish, and I have noticed that the more I speak, the more I remember. The last Spanish class I took was in the fall of my freshman year, so two years ago, and the loss of Spanish words from my vocabulary has been a genuine concern for me since the class ended. I sort of purposely chose a hostel where I knew the proprietor spoke no English, and because of this, I get to speak my second language. And I am much better at it than I remember. Woohoo!
Soon I will regale you all with my experience in Denmark, since it has concluded, but right now Michael is making his "yo quiero paella" face and I must agree. Dinnertime!
Now that that is taken care of, I will let you know what has occurred over the past few blogless days:
1) Michael finished LSE, and came to visit me in Denmark
2) Had a tearful goodbye with my host family this morning (8/17)
3) Flew to Madrid with Michael, settled into the Panizo Hostel right in the center of the city
It is very hot here in Madrid, but Michael and I have a lovely hostel room on the third floor (technically fourth, but the first floor is called the ground floor and the second is called the first, and so on) and it has a fan, a TV, a balcony, and no roommates! This is my first hostel experience where I don't spend the night with strangers. Michael is very impressed by the quality of this establishment, and I am excited to see how he considers multiple-bed dorm setups that we will inevitably inhabit in the near future.
Being in Madrid is also great because it has given me the opportunity to try out my 6 years of now rusty Spanish, and I have noticed that the more I speak, the more I remember. The last Spanish class I took was in the fall of my freshman year, so two years ago, and the loss of Spanish words from my vocabulary has been a genuine concern for me since the class ended. I sort of purposely chose a hostel where I knew the proprietor spoke no English, and because of this, I get to speak my second language. And I am much better at it than I remember. Woohoo!
Soon I will regale you all with my experience in Denmark, since it has concluded, but right now Michael is making his "yo quiero paella" face and I must agree. Dinnertime!
Tuesday, August 11, 2009
My Constant
I'm no poet so I won't subject you to a true ode, however I feel my backpack deserves a certain amount of praise, so it will be done in a medium in which I am more comfortable, namely, writing.
I (my family) bought this Lowe Alpine backpack in 2003, when I was a mere 13 years old. I was signed up for a backcountry backpacking trip through Canada with a teen outdoors group called Adventures Cross Country. My only mountainous experience was that of hiking the glorified hill that lived behind my house, so needless to say, I was scared of this trip. But I had my backpack, all 60 pounds of it when it was filled. When the trip came to its conclusion, I went back home with my only friend stuffed down in the cargo hold of that 747. Even though I was a pain and kind of mean to everybody and therefore unable to make friends, my backpack always looked the other way and forgave me, despite my bad attitude.
When I was able to reflect on my trip to Canada I was also able to get over myself, and go on a trip to Southern Europe the following summer, carrying with me the same red and black acquaintaince that had kept me company in Canada. Sometimes I had a love/hate relationship with the thing; when the straps became frayed or it pulled me back towards the shark's teeth rocks at the bottom of a gulley while I clutched the side of a slick cliff I wanted to toss the sack of cloth, but when I realized it could help me carry around a month's worth of supplies with minimal effort, I truly loved it.
My backpack still smells of the trail mix and pine needles of that first summer in Canada, even as I use it for the fourth time while going through Europe, and I find it comforting. Even though some straps are broken and there is a lock on the shoulder whose combination I can't seem to recall and crown-like day bag has mysteriously disappeared, I still consider it like a friend to me. Now that I am using the backpack while I travel alone, our relationship has really been taken to the next level. On my previous trips I was able to rely on other teenagers for companionship, but now I find myself snuggling into my backpack as it's many straps give me a hug, desperate for some kind of physical contact. When I pull it down from the overhead storage of a train car and clasp the arms underneath my throat and around my hips, I feel at home in a constantly shifting environment.
I know this dynamic could easily change once I am joined by my boyfriend this Saturday, and I no longer need to look to an inanimate object for friendship, however I can still see myself silently rejoicing in the hug of my Lowe Alpine, the backpack that has accompanied me across the world without complaint, and has always been my constant.
I (my family) bought this Lowe Alpine backpack in 2003, when I was a mere 13 years old. I was signed up for a backcountry backpacking trip through Canada with a teen outdoors group called Adventures Cross Country. My only mountainous experience was that of hiking the glorified hill that lived behind my house, so needless to say, I was scared of this trip. But I had my backpack, all 60 pounds of it when it was filled. When the trip came to its conclusion, I went back home with my only friend stuffed down in the cargo hold of that 747. Even though I was a pain and kind of mean to everybody and therefore unable to make friends, my backpack always looked the other way and forgave me, despite my bad attitude.
When I was able to reflect on my trip to Canada I was also able to get over myself, and go on a trip to Southern Europe the following summer, carrying with me the same red and black acquaintaince that had kept me company in Canada. Sometimes I had a love/hate relationship with the thing; when the straps became frayed or it pulled me back towards the shark's teeth rocks at the bottom of a gulley while I clutched the side of a slick cliff I wanted to toss the sack of cloth, but when I realized it could help me carry around a month's worth of supplies with minimal effort, I truly loved it.
My backpack still smells of the trail mix and pine needles of that first summer in Canada, even as I use it for the fourth time while going through Europe, and I find it comforting. Even though some straps are broken and there is a lock on the shoulder whose combination I can't seem to recall and crown-like day bag has mysteriously disappeared, I still consider it like a friend to me. Now that I am using the backpack while I travel alone, our relationship has really been taken to the next level. On my previous trips I was able to rely on other teenagers for companionship, but now I find myself snuggling into my backpack as it's many straps give me a hug, desperate for some kind of physical contact. When I pull it down from the overhead storage of a train car and clasp the arms underneath my throat and around my hips, I feel at home in a constantly shifting environment.
I know this dynamic could easily change once I am joined by my boyfriend this Saturday, and I no longer need to look to an inanimate object for friendship, however I can still see myself silently rejoicing in the hug of my Lowe Alpine, the backpack that has accompanied me across the world without complaint, and has always been my constant.
Friday, August 7, 2009
Spotted Dick
Hello from London! Again.
I have nothing much to report about my travels, so I will delve into the linguistic world, which will be an interesting journey considering I am toying with the idea of making this subject into my new major.
Anywho, comparing British (proper?) English to American English has been one of the highlights of my trip. It amazes me how the two are truly individual dialects, rather than differently accented versions of the same language. Both groups use unique phrases and words, grammatical structures and inflections, even picking dissimilar ways to express an idea based on contextual social situations. I stupidly have not written down all the instances of these theories being proven which I have come across in the past 7 weeks of my travels, so I will try to do better from now on.
My favorite: Refering to an attractive female as "a nice bit of crumpet." The Brits can make even the most derrogatory of phrases into a sophisticated statement.
When I was in Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Italy, and France, I craved the English language. Even though most Europeans speak it, I constantly found myself simplifying or minimalizing my speech in order to accomodate my listener. After I made the impulsive decision to come to London, I was excited to be able to speak fluently and openly without having to strain my attention in an attempt to understand people. Unfortunately, dumbing down my communication has made England an exceptional challenge for me: I can't understand what people say , and I am slow to respond, which is exaggerated by the famous British Quick Wit.
Maybe I just need more time for my first language to feel like my own. My reflex responses have been a mixture of Danish, Spanish, and Italian, so I ask for my french fries to be "stor" in Italy, and beg "permiso" when walking through the Louvre. I have also developed the habit of copying peoples' accents in an effort to increase understanding, but it always comes out as a muddled mess of my native word swirled in with the English or Australian equivalent, turning Melbourne into Mehlbehrn.
For now all I can do is look forward to the remaining 6 weeks of my trip and try to speak as slowly and clearly as possible, and hopefully I will get my pommes frites grandes.
I have nothing much to report about my travels, so I will delve into the linguistic world, which will be an interesting journey considering I am toying with the idea of making this subject into my new major.
Anywho, comparing British (proper?) English to American English has been one of the highlights of my trip. It amazes me how the two are truly individual dialects, rather than differently accented versions of the same language. Both groups use unique phrases and words, grammatical structures and inflections, even picking dissimilar ways to express an idea based on contextual social situations. I stupidly have not written down all the instances of these theories being proven which I have come across in the past 7 weeks of my travels, so I will try to do better from now on.
My favorite: Refering to an attractive female as "a nice bit of crumpet." The Brits can make even the most derrogatory of phrases into a sophisticated statement.
When I was in Holland, Denmark, Sweden, Italy, and France, I craved the English language. Even though most Europeans speak it, I constantly found myself simplifying or minimalizing my speech in order to accomodate my listener. After I made the impulsive decision to come to London, I was excited to be able to speak fluently and openly without having to strain my attention in an attempt to understand people. Unfortunately, dumbing down my communication has made England an exceptional challenge for me: I can't understand what people say , and I am slow to respond, which is exaggerated by the famous British Quick Wit.
Maybe I just need more time for my first language to feel like my own. My reflex responses have been a mixture of Danish, Spanish, and Italian, so I ask for my french fries to be "stor" in Italy, and beg "permiso" when walking through the Louvre. I have also developed the habit of copying peoples' accents in an effort to increase understanding, but it always comes out as a muddled mess of my native word swirled in with the English or Australian equivalent, turning Melbourne into Mehlbehrn.
For now all I can do is look forward to the remaining 6 weeks of my trip and try to speak as slowly and clearly as possible, and hopefully I will get my pommes frites grandes.
Wednesday, August 5, 2009
Berets and Baguettes
Hello from Paris! I need to apologize (again) for my lack of updates, however this is the first time since I left Florence that I have had a computer, and I am not writing blogs on my iPhone. Sorry.
Anyway, I met some amazing people in Florence, and they invited me to come to Rome with them. They were surprisingly, not Australian. Everyone in Europe is Australian. In Italy I met zero Italians, but about half the population of that island nation. They were from Melbourne, Sydney, Canberra, Brisbane, Perth, etc etc etc etc. I swear, if I went to Australia in July, it would be empty save for a horde of kangaroos taking advantage of the empty beds. Actually, my experience with Australians this summer has prompted me to consider studying abroad there this year, because they are a pretty cool people. And they insist my perception of their spider problem is greatly exaggerated. I hope this is true.
So I checked out of my Florence hostel 2 nights early, hopped on a train to Rome, and stayed in a camping ground hostel with my two new Canadian friends. I did not realize it until I got to Rome, but when I checked out of my Florence hostel, they failed to give me back the driver's license I had given them as collateral, and so now I cannot drive. I just got my license in May, so this is pretty sad. I emailed them, they blamed the mistake on me and asked for 20 euro to send it to me, but I will not do that. That's just ridiculous, the card weighs exactly the same as a piece of paper with writing on it.
Moving on. Rome was alright. I had a great time with my friends, but the hostel was a total bust. It was on the outskirts of Rome so it took a lot of sweaty public transportation to see anything awesome. Also, the hostel website boasted a party every night, which is a great way to meet people, but our first night was a Peanut Party, which is exactly what it sounds like. We went into the "club," and sitting on the bar was a big sack of peanuts. Not exactly the wild, crazy night in Rome I imagined.
After 2 nights in Rome and a tearful goodbye, I took the night train to Paris to meet my friend from school. He is significantly less lazy than I am, so on the day of our arrival we walked about 12 miles and saw the Arc d'Triumph, walked and shopped the Champs Elysees, had baguette hotdogs while dangling our legs over the river Seine, shuffled through the Notre Dame cathedral, and had baguette sandwiches and croissants in the shadow of the Eiffel Tower. We got a lot done. Today we got crepes, and then spent an unusually large amount of time searching for baguette. We were surprised at the difficulty of it, given the fact that we were searching for it in the Baguette Capitol. Once we found a boulangerie, we bought some brie cheese, salame, and clementine juice and once again, ate lunch while sitting along the Seine. The rest of the day we sat in parks and relaxed in general, then spent four hours at night wandering through the Louvre looking at objects d'art. That was fun.
Tomorrow I leave for London to see my man, which I am greatly looking forward to. He has enticed me with a promise of burritos. I hope I can manage this purchase, because at the moment I have a whopping $1.97 in my bank account. Thank God for credit cards.
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