'splainin some things

Howdy folks,

Sorry about the delay on that Lisbon post. I literally sat around my hostel's lounge for an hour a day over the weekend trying to hook up to the WiFi network, but my computer just refused to do so. Hopefully you enjoy the post.

Second, it may take me a little bit before I can post about Barcelona...I got REALLY sick there for a while and, while I'm fine, I'm just too lazy to recount what was an otherwise awesome weekend. So bear with me...I'm sure you'll all be fine going a few days without hearing of my adventures.

Ta luego,

Griff

Lisboa

So yeah, it’s Friday morning, 3 A.M. local time, and I’m sitting here in the terminal at Madrid’s Barajas International Airport describing to you, my beloved and loyal readers, the comings and goings of last weekend, which I spent in lovely Lisbon, Portugal.

Now at about this point in the post I would beg forgiveness from all of you for making you wait this long for the post I’m sure you’ve been craving since Tuesday, but this week’s different; I had three papers due between Monday and Wednesday and spent one of those nights avoiding work so I could plan what’s lookin like a fun Holy Week with TJ. And yes, I could’ve spent Wednesday night in writing, but after all that writing I needed a beer. Sorry guys, I’m human.

Right, now that that’s outta the way, we can begin. Last weekend’s trip to Lisbon started, funnily enough, right where I am now. Yup, that’s right; this is my SECOND week in a row spending a night in Barajas. It’s not too bad, but let’s just say I’m looking forward to my 10:40 flight to Dublin next weekend.

Our fantastic journey to Barajas, though, is worth recounting, so I’m gonna backtrack a little. Michael, Kirsten, Caroline, and I met at the Toledo bus station to catch the 10:30 bus to Madrid (the last one they offer). While we waited for our bus, Kirsten realized that she wouldn’t be able to bring her bottle of Bióre face wash on the plane and was literally about to throw it away when Michael was inspired. The two of them disappeared for a minute behind a pillar, but not before – and I kid you not – Kirsten kissed her Bióre bottle. Just…awesome. When they returned empty handed, Michael was wearing an oddly triumphant grin and said he’d found a great hiding spot. I should note at this moment that Caroline and I, after commenting on how long it took them to run their little errand, decided that “hiding the Bióre” should be the newest euphemism for “what the kids are calling it these days.” Yes, we are indeed hilarious. The bus ride to Madrid passed without much incident – it was mainly Michael restating his optimism that we would, indeed, find the Bióre upon our return Sunday night – and we arrived at Barajas about an hour later.

After six hours in the airport (sleeping in some of the weirdest contortionist positions I’ve ever seen) we hopped our Vueling Airlines flight to Portugal. I, having only slept about an hour in the airport, might’ve passed out before my butt hit the seat, and woke up as we hit the ground in my first European country outside of Spain. Despite having to use my passport (and much to the dismay of a few of our group) we didn’t get our passports stamped. Despite that pitfall, we walked outside and realized that, at 9 a.m., it was probably about 60°F. God, I love Portugal.

We hopped a bus from the airport (I again passed out soon into the 45-minute ride) and finally arrived in the heart of Lisbon. It may’ve been the sleep deprivation, but what we saw when we got off the bus was a pretty damn beautiful scene. Part of it was the comedy of seeing 30-foot high representations of the Beatles in their Sgt. Pepper’s garb, but I was really happy about taking this trip. After a few minutes of walking we found our hostel and I found one more reason to love Lisbon. This place had a really sweet sitting room, a happy hour special of a pint of beer for 2 Euro, four spankin’ new iMacs with web access, a do-it-yourself kitchen, and ridiculously spacious rooms. Oh yeah, it was also 14 Euro a night. If you’re ever in Lisbon…find the Yes!Lisbon Hostel. The only complaint we had was the guy who literally never left the place that we could tell. I soon affectionately nicknamed Creeper McRapey. Sounds a bit harsh, but trust me, he was that kinda guy.

Since we couldn’t check in yet (and thus couldn’t nap yet) we dropped our bags and headed out to find the one thing on everyone’s mind: coffee. Thankfully, not a block away, was a pastry shop with coffee for one Euro. Have I mentioned how much I love the fact that Europe seems built for travel by college students? As we left, we had a rather odd experience that would be repeated about a dozen times throughout the weekend. While walking, maybe fifty feet ahead of us we saw a rather creepy old man (had to be at least 60) suddenly glance our way and move toward us. When we passed him, we heard what we thought was Portuguese, but ended up just being “Marijuana? Hashish?” Yeah…the 60-year-old dude offered us weed. And the eleven other people who offered me were all over 55. Guess that’s what you do when you retire in Lisbon.

Reenergized by the rush of caffeine and thoroughly creeped out by the drug offer, we walked around the bay for a while and snapped a few pictures. It was odd (and I say this with two corroborating Californians) but the combination of the bay and the hills made this place look creepily like San Francisco. They even had an imitation Golden Gate Bridge. Sadly, the bay wasn’t much to look at, so after a few minutes we were on the move again.

We ran into some BC kids (the first of another odd trend…running into students from our rival schools) and they told us about a lift they’d just ridden that offered a great lookout point to see all over the city. It was free…if you had kept your bus ticket from the airport. I, unfortunately, hadn’t, so stayed behind with my friends Michael and Rob while the rest of the group went up. While at first we felt a bit lame, we soon realized just how much cooler things were on the ground. About a block away from this lift we found a bakery offering probably the equivalent of a loaf and a half of bread for 75 Eurocents. And this wasn’t just your everyday loaf of Wonderbread…the stuff was unbelievably good. We split two loaves among the three of us and were thoroughly satisfied.

Once the rest of the group rejoined us, we went back to check into our hostel, then headed to a part of the city called Belén where there were some monuments, parks and, you guessed it, churches! While Belén was cool, the journey to get there was pretty amazing in its own rite. It involved hopping an old-world tramcar (again, San Francisco, anyone?), stopping at a park to snap some more pictures, asking a local for directions, getting lost again, asking someone ELSE for directions, wandering, finding, of all people, a Swedish couple who got us going the in right direction, having half the group go back to the hostel to sleep, and finally getting on the right bus (with the help of a Portuguese woman who spoke Spanish). Yeah, quite a trip.

I sat down on the bus and immediately fell asleep (sensing a pattern?). When I woke up, my group told me that we were, indeed, in Belén. We passed through the obligatory huge church, snapped pictures, went through the adjoining cloister, snapped pictures, went to a park with some cool fountains, snapped pictures, and were about to leave when someone brought up some kind of pastry that Belén was famous for. Not only that, we stumbled randomly upon THE place to get this pastry. I can’t really describe what it was, sort of like a sweet quiche but with a fluffier filling, but it was definitely worth the 90 Eurocents. Our stomachs full-ish, we hopped our bus back to the hostel and took a nap.

Finally back on my sleep schedule and once again hungry, I left with a few people to find a supermarket to grab food before everything closed. After skimming a little, Michael and I found some 2-Euro semi-frozen pizza and chips, both of which turned out to be fantastic. We finished our dinner just in time for happy hour and, of course, each had a pint. After some great conversation downstairs on a host of topics I can’t even begin to talk about among the present company of readers ([cough]…family…[cough]) the guys decided (minus Michael, who was still tired) decided to go out to find a bar. We walked around for a bit and eventually found what had to be the only Irish pub in Lisbon. And were talking fairly Irish here…I’m pretty sure everyone in the place was Irish and they had some great Irish folk music going on (for those who have been there, think Mullaney’s Harp and Fiddle…but in Lisbon). Two beers and several excellent Irish folk songs later, we decided we were all sufficiently tired and headed back to the hostel.

Another great thing about this place I forgot to mention before was that for 3 Euro they’ll make you a 12-inch pizza at literally any time of day or night. Being fairly well off and thus very hungry, the four of us split two and were in hog heaven…until I decided to get butterfingers and drop a slice on my fairly nice pink button down. Instinct took over (though I’m not sure how good it was) and I immediately ran the stain under cold water and through the shirt in the washing machine. Sadly, it didn’t come out, and the shirt is ruined. On the plus side, I got a chance to hop on Skype and talk to a few people from home, as well as to see my mom’s comment on my last post…glorious. Though I was a it disappointed about the shirt, I was generally content and hit the hay.

In the morning, as has become the custom among the group, the dedicated tourists woke up early and found a flea market that was supposed to be pretty fun. I, of course, was more excited about pondering the backs of my eyelids, and thus can neither confirm nor deny the rumors of this flea market being any fun. Sorry, still human.

When we’d all finally stirred and the shoppers returned (to their credit, empty-handed) we headed to the train station to take a half-hour ride to the little town of Sintra. As with everything, the proposition of getting nine of us on the train got way more complicated than it should’ve. I’m not really sure what went down…something involving a ticket with seven rides on it that could only be used once…but what I DO know is that we finally got on a train and passed the time doing what all Notre Dame students do during long trips on public transportation; we had a healthy academic debate on a wide range of topics, from the goal of education to the merits of GPA. Yeah…we’re dorks.

We finally arrived in Sintra and decided we were hungry. A few people went to the Chinese restaurant across the street from the station to grab massive spring rolls, but even those weren’t enough, so we began our search for authentic Portuguese food. We found a pretty cool restaurant a few blocks away that offered what we were looking for (and at a reasonable price, of course) so we sat down and enjoyed a fantastic meal. I’m not sure what I had, but I know it was good. I also know that they put bread in front of us that somehow cost some money, but, having learned in this past month of my love affair with European bread, I really didn’t care. Our bellies once again full, we left the restaurant and caught a bus up to the top of a small mountain at the edge of town, looking to see some kind of tourist-trap castle.

After the bus ride (no, I didn’t sleep this time) Michael had one of those funny small-world moments when he ran into a friend he’s known since kindergarten and is apparently studying in Madrid through the University of Michigan (rival school number two). Photos were taken, hugs were given, merriment was shared by all. Sadly, that merriment was soon washed away when we found out that, after the four-Euro bus ride it would cost 8 more Euro to enter the castle. Naturally, a debate about the meanings and merits of sunk-cost ensued and, though Michael made some points, all of us except Rob decided to screw it and go in. Thankfully, the place was definitely worth it.

It’s hard to describe this castle, but if I had to I’d say it kind of reminded me of a kid’s dream tree-house/fort/castle thing, but built out of multi-tonal Lego blocks. Yeah…it was somethin’ else. We walked around the outside, snapped some pictures, including this one which was taken by some girls I met from USC (number three, for those keeping track at home) and then walked around the inside, where, unfortunately, we couldn’t snap pictures. Yeah, I was upset too. All told, we had a great time, and decided it was definitely worth the 8 Euro we’d spent.

Eventually, though, our time in the awesome fort castle thing came to an end and we headed back down the mountain and trained back to Lisbon just in time to grab more 2-Euro pizzas from the market. Soooooo good.

Over dinner we discussed our options for the night. We could go to a Fado (think I have that right) bar which is kind of the Portuguese version of flamenco, but that would cost us 15 Euro. Gotta love the economics of college kids traveling in Europe…price > culture. Instead, we decided to go to Barrio Alto, apparently the happenin spot for young people in Lisbon. We did, of course, take advantage of happy hour once more before heading out.

Once we got the Barrio Alto, we basically found it to be one huge party in the streets with drinks provided by the bars that stretched for about a mile. I’m not quite sure how, but Michael managed to find the place with pints for 2 Euro. God, I love that guy. We sipped slowly, taking in the cultural insanity that was this mass of people. Unfortunately, or Portuguese wasn’t exactly up to snuff with our Spanish, so we had to resort to people watching rather than interacting with the locals. Still, a fun time was had by all, and we headed back to the hostel to sleep.

In the morning, we finally rolled out of bed just in time to catch 11 o’clock mass in Portuguese. Yeah…I got like two words of it. I do distinctly remember, though, hearing something involving the word “difficult.” I was rather proud of myself. I’m easily amused.

After mass, we did our last touristy thing of the trip and visited another castle/park thing. It was cool…nothing too special, but it was free, so we were obviously in. We got some good pictures, had fun with the cannons that lined the courtyard, and stopped into a souvenir store where I started my international shot glass collection. Unoriginal, I know, but damn it, I’m in college. Let me have my fun.

Back in the heart of Lisbon on what was a rather dreary day, we caved to our American instincts and tracked down a place that ended up having a pretty decent burger for just under 3 Euro. In Lisbon of all places…go figure. We bummed around the hostel for a while after that (finally got a picture of Creeper McRapey…the shot of the trip if I may say) and got on the bus back to the airport.

When we finally boarded our 6:45 flight at 7:15, we all simultaneously commented on the fact that it was oddly comforting to hear Spanish again, but we were also a bit agitated at being so late. Our pilot told us that someone on the previous flight had refused to deplane for some reason and that, while the pilot clearly had some pretty nasty things he could’ve said about the guy, he politely refrained and in a few minutes we were off.

We finally got back to the bus station at 11 p.m. Madrid time and caught the last indirect bus to Toledo. The anticipation built as we reached the station…Michael was optimistic that he would find Kirsten’s beloved Bióre and save the day. Kirsten remained unconvinced, but happily discovered that the hiding spot had, indeed, done the trick. With that happy ending to an admittedly long weekend, we split off to go to our separate homes. As I passed O’Brien’s, our favorite bar, I thought for a split second of going in and catching some of the Super Bowl, but decided the four-page paper I had due in my 20^th Century Lit. class was more important. Good thing too…I worked through the night (with a two hour nap in the middle) and finally finished the damn thing at 10 a.m. It was odd…it felt like home.

This week was one of very little sleep for me, and yet, here I am, now at 4:15 a.m. finishing this thing I’ll post as soon as I find Internet in Barcelona. This weekend will apparently be amazing…it’s the Spanish celebration of Carnaval (their equivalent of Mardi Gras, except it lasts a week and involves insane costumes). While we won’t be in the capital of Spanish Carnival – a small city near the southern coast called Cádiz – I’ve heard good things about Barcelona, so we’ll see.

Right, I think that’s everything. Hopefully you enjoyed yourselves. I think I’m going to try to grab a few Z’s before our flight in three hours. Wish me luck!

Ta Luego,

Griff

Sevilla Part 2

Hey again, y'all. Slept til noon, putzed around 'til 4 local time, and here I am. Still haven't started the paper I have due Monday (I'm thinking at this point it might be hardwired in me to be unable to write before midnight the morning the paper is due), so naturally I figured I'd blog. I mean, you all are on the edge of your seats after last night's grand adventure, right?

Right?

Guys?

C'mon, guys, wake up, it wasn't THAT bad.

Well, I mean, at least the pictures were kinda cool, right? Guys?

But I digress.

We woke up around noon on Saturday despite having not gotten too crazy the night before. What can I say? A college kid in a hostel in Sevilla, Spain is still a college kid. After showering, we rolled out and headed toward the Alcazar, a huge castle/fortress with amazing gardens inside. We had heard about it from our guide and that it wasn't to be missed. Unfortunately it cost 7.50 Euro for non-students and as I didn't have any sort of proof I wasn't a student (or so I thought) I decided to pass and go off exploring on my own. After all, my camera battery had been out for the entirety of Friday, so I had a lot of pictures to catch up on.

I spent the majority of the afternoon trying to remember where we'd gone on the tour, and ended up finding some pretty cool spots, including this backroad very close to the skull plaque commemorating Susona (see yesterday's post). Yeah, I like to creep on locals. What about it?

I'll be honest, I'm not usually one to go off exploring on my own (mainly because I'm too lazy to come up with things to keep myself busy) but I felt strangely comfortable just walking around Sevilla by myself. I went back to the Plaza de Espana again, took tons and tons of pictures, walked through the university we found again, took pictures, went through the gardens, took pictures...you get the idea. More than anything, it was very odd for me to feel like after only a few hours I was pretty comfortable with how to get around the city (this area of it anyway). Mom, just wait, I've got quite a tour for you when we go back.

While wandering on my own was calming and really fun, it also made me REALLY hungry, so I went back to the same cafe I hit up Friday, grabbed a bocadillo. Ham and cheese, double toasted, and a Coke. Almost felt like home.

After lunch, I met up again with a few people and we headed to a local museum that had a free exhibit on piracy in the Americas during the 16th and 17th centuries. While very static (it was a lot of reading and a few pictures/documents) I actually learned quite a bit about piracy. Now if only I could find away to apply it...

We took a short break and, after dodging a few gypsies, decided we were finally ready to go to the famed Catedral (no, it's not misspelled...it's in Spanish). Just to give you an idea of this place...it used to be a humongous mosque when the Moors ruled Spain. When the Spanish finally reconquered Sevilla and decided they wanted to build a church, they loved the Moorish architecture so much they kept most of it (you can see a lot of the influence in the lower two-

thirds of the tower). When they finally finished building the thing - 150 years after starting - they had what would become the third largest Christian church in the world, behind only St. Peter's Basilica in Rome and St. Pauls' Cathedral in London. So yeah...place is pretty damn big.

As we walked in to pay admission, I again realized I had no form of student ID and resigned myself to paying the full price. Luckily, the nice lady asked to see my passport, then, with a smile, pointed to my STUDENT visa. Yeah, I'm an idiot. Gotta love the Spanish for being willing instructing us stupid Americans.

Like the Plaza, this place is incredibly hard to describe, even with pictures. I mean, just trying to comprehend the fact that it took 150 years to build was beyond me. The detail, the intricacy of everything still amazes me nearly a week later. I took some pictures, naturally, and then we decided to climb the tower to get a great view of the city. And what a view it was. I dunno how far away you could see, but I gotta guess at least a couple dozen miles.

Unfortunately, it didn't look like we were gonna be able to capture any of these vistas with our smiling faces in front of them. Something about the cameras focused on the light behind us and shadowed our faces out. Fear not, dear readers...I came to the rescue. After fooling around a bit...SUCCESS!!

New profile pic? Thinking about it.

We stuck around the tower a bit longer before finally taking the long journey back down to the ground floor. Interesting side note, the climb is made way easier by the fact that you use not stairs, but ramps. According to our guide from Friday's tour, this was originally because the Moors had to go up to the top of the tower several times a day for the Muslim Call to Prayer, and rather than get tired decided they wanted to be able to ride their horses up to the top. Talk about laziness fostering ingenuity, eh?

My friends and I spent a few minutes more admiring the beauty of the inside of this incredible Cathedral before leaving. I should add that I, with the help of my good friend and fellow Glee Clubber Michael, powered through a hushed version of Biebl's Ave Maria. It wasn't fantastic, but damn it, we were inspired.

Outside the Catedral, I once again separated myself from the group because I wanted to abuse the sunset setting on my camera at the Plaza and they wanted ice cream. Damn Americans, lemme tell ya.

Turns out this visit to the Plaza was just as amazing as before (go figure, right?). Took some pictures, breathed it all in, then decided (it being 8 PM) it would be a good idea to head home. Keep in mind, now, that this is me...the one who knows diddly about getting around anywhere. I'm proud to tell you that using only my internal compass I stumbled upon our hostel not twenty minutes after leaving the Plaza. I believe a brief booya is in order. BOOYA.

I got back to find half the group resting up for a night out. We debated a bit, considered going to a flamenco club, but finally decided we would take advantage of the hostel's pub crawl. Ten Euro for four shots, two bars, and two clubs? Yes, I think so. Turned out we met up with Amy, Amanda, and Brittany (the girls we met on the tour on Friday) as their hostel was participating in the Crawl too. Fun stuff.

Not a lot of interesting stuff happened that night, so I'll summarize. Drinks at these bars/clubs were obscenely expensive, so while I enjoyed the free shots of caramel vodka, I wasn't anywhere near plastered (something I'm fine with). We danced, we drank, we walked, we met Australians and Brits. Fun times were had by all. But it got to be 4:30 and I was just beat, so we rolled out. The next morning we got to the bus station and hopped aboard our 1 PM bus back to Madrid. And I'll be damned if the thing wasn't just as comfortable as it was when I was dog tired at 1 AM. Yay for Socibus.

This concludes my Sevilla adventure. Sorry for wrapping it up so quickly...I'm just realizing I'm incredibly long winded sometimes. Hopefully that doesn't bug you guys too much. Now, for the random updates of the week.

This week has been kind of eye-opening in that I have actually begun to work. I have three papers of four pages apiece due in the front half of next week and I haven't even begun to think about them yet. Did I mention I leave for Lisbon in the morning? Did I also mention that Sunday at midnight we'll likely be at a pub watching the Super Bowl? God, I hate my procrastinating nature. Damn you, TJ.

Speaking of TJ, some of you may have heard...he and I are gonna travel buddies for Holy Week. I'll be flying into London that Tuesday, hanging for a few days, then we're taking a whirlwind tour of Germany (Berlin to Munich to Frankfurt in four days). The best part of the whole thing: we'll only be paying for ONE night in a hostel. Gotta love overnight trains and guys who don't care about sleeping, am I right?

I think that's all to report for now. Hopefully I'll have lots more to tell about Lisbon!

Adios for now,

Griff

Sevilla Part 1

I really don't update this often enough, do I? I'd say sorry but, well, you get the idea.

So here I am, hat-in-hand, ready to tell you about my amazing weekend in Sevilla. This place is truly one of the more beautiful cities I have ever visited. It's at the same time delectably quaint and replete (yay for online thesauri!) with overpowering beauty. Perhaps the best part of the whole trip was the solace I took in the fact that I'll be coming back in April when my mom visits me. But enough gushing...I've got stories to show and pictures to tell.

Strike that.

Reverse it.

Thank you.

This whole weekend excursion started with quite the fun experience...my first time riding an overnight bus. We left Madrid at 1 a.m. for the six hour journey to Sevilla. The bus we had...well...to put it in terms many of you should be able to understand, as soon as I sat down, I (all 6'5" of me) knew I would be 100% comfortable for the duration of the trip. Yeah...Glee Club tours will never be the same after a round trip on this bad boy. Yet despite the almost obnoxious amount of leg room, I could still only manage my usual pattern of twenty minute naps. Go figure.

When we finally did arrive, we were all tired and, surprisingly, rather cold. I mean, you all know I'm not one to complain *cough* but we were told it was going to be in the 70s down here and here we all were freezing our butts off walking from the bus station to our hostel, which was God-knows-where. Granted, it was 7 a.m. and the sun still hadn't risen, but whatever.

After standing there shivering while the boldest among us asked locals for directions, we were finally on our way to the hostel. At one of the multiple stops at which the boldest among us against asked locals for directions, a moment of comedy came to pass that was (albiet admittedly enhanced by the fact that I'd just been attempting to sleep in fits and starts on a bus for six hours) pretty damn funny. We were all standing on a street corner when John, one of the guys in our group, suddenly exclaims, "LOOK! FREE ORANGES!" Tired, hungry, and confused, we all looked wildly around to find the sign he was seeing. After frantically searching and finding nothing, we all understood what he'd been talking about as we saw him reach up and grab an orange hanging from one of the many trees close by.

I'm not sure how the thing tasted (I'll be the first to admit I'm a fairly picky eater) but amid the tears, spitting, and groans of the six people who DID try it, I think the best description I heard was that it tasted "kinda like a cold Sour Patch kid." Yeah...this was gonna be a good trip.

We finally arrived at our hostel around 9, only to be told that we wouldn't be able to check in 'til after breakfast. Luckily, breakfast had just been served and, perhaps even luckilier (yeah, I did it) we were allowed to partake. Naturally, we ate almost all of the food, leaving a few precious crumbs for the actual guests. Yay America.

After dropping our crap in our rooms, the really good world travelers went off to see some sights. I, being lame and still very tired, took a refreshing two hour nap and then went off with the lesser-trained tourists of the group. We're a proud bunch, if nothing else.

We walked along the main drag for a while, found a good cafe for some sandwiches, then started slowly stumbling upon some of the most beautiful landmarks I've seen in Spain. First, we found a set of gardens that were breathtaking even with half of the foliage dead and bare. The name escapes me (there were a lot of gardens, trust me) but I promise by April I'll know what they're called.

After walking through the heretofore anonymous gardens and oohing and ahhing at the sun-drenched glory of it all, we stumbled upon one of the several universities in Sevilla. I'm not sure if this is the one that our dear friends from Saint Mary's attend, but if it is, all I can say is that I'm incredibly jealous. It was built into what looked like a combination of a church and a castle (we found out later it had originally been commissioned by one king or another to house all of Sevilla's tobacco processing) and had a fantastic open-air stone courtyard in the middle that I'd kill to walk through on my way to class. Oh, to be a girl...

Aaaaanyway, we finally left the crazy cool church/castle/university thingy and set a course for one of Sevilla's most famous tourist spots, the Plaza de Espana. It was at this moment that I truly fell in love with this city. It's an incredible combination of Islamic ceramic work, traditional Spanish influence, and, of course, a little sprinkling of our friends the Romans. I honestly can't describe how amazing this place was. As you can see, I've posted some pictures, but even they don't totally do it justice. I'll put it this way...I ended up going there five separate times during our two-plus days in Sevilla, and I still can't wait to go back.

To explain the photos a bit, each one of the little ceramic pictures you see running around the arc of the Plaza is dedicated to one of fifty cities in Spain. Unfortunately, the one for Toledo was undergoing some retouching, so pictures were a no-go this time, but we still got some good shots by Cadiz and Barcelona. The best part about these displays, though, is that they're separated by benches that are perfect for naps in the sun. While I would've been happy to oblige, we had to move if we wanted to get back to the hostel in time for our free walking tour at 4.

The tour, while a bit tiring, was surprisingly informative and fun (I say surprisingly because, well, it was free). We spent two plus hours being guided around Sevilla by a guide who was originally from Austria but spoke German, English, and Spanish. Sadly, for the part of me who wanted to practice my Spanish, the tour was in English. Ah well, perhaps next time.

We ended up revisiting a few of the places we had already been to that day (the Plaza, the University, the gardens) but we also got to see the outside of the Cathedral (more on that later) and we also found some fun little gems among the city streets. One such tidbit was the story of a young woman named Susona, a young Jewish girl living in Sevilla at some point a long time ago (clearly I wasn't paying THAT much attention on the tour). The legend goes that Susona was in love with a soldier in the king's army, which was a bit of a problem as her father and brother were helping to head up a revolt against the king in the Jewish neighborhoods of Sevilla. Panicked, Susona told her beau, who told his superior officer. Long story short, the king was upset, and about 2,000 Spanish Jews, including Susona's father and brother, were killed.

Shortly thereafter, Susona converted to Christianity so she could lock herself away in a convent. After she died, her will ordered that her head be hung from the window of her old house as a reminder to everyone else of the importance of loyalty to one's family. It remained there for a time (until it was no longer acceptable to have a skull hanging in the open air, I'd imagine) until whoever was in charge later on had it removed. It was replaced by this tile which marks its spot and this brief explanation which commemorates Susona and the tragedy of the neighborhood.

Cool stuff, huh?

Our tri-lingual guide (whose name escapes me, if you can't already tell) also told us about the city symbol of Sevilla (say that five times fast), pictured here. I won't go into the story behind this one (Wikipedia, people, c'mon) but basically, a king's son rebelled against him and the whole country rejected him, except for Sevilla. The 8-ish figure in the middle represents a special kind of knot called a madeja in Andaluz, the native language of Andalucia, the region in southern Spain where Sevilla is today. So, when you combine madeja with the NO and DO it becomes nomadejado, which sounds a lot like "no me ha dejado" Spanish for "you haven't left me." Thus, the rejected king made this symbol his tribute to Sevilla for their loyalty to him. You see it literally everywhere, even, as you can see, on manhole covers.

On the tour, I also made some friends with a few fellow Americans, Amanda, Amy, and Brittany (hope I spelled that one right). They're also studying in Spain and were staying in one of the other hostels participating in the tour. As with the Cathedral, more from these characters later.

After the tour, we did what all hungry but poor college kid tourists do...we went to the supermarket to buy cheap supplies to make our own dinner. I dunno what it is, but there's just something so much more delicious about ham and cheese sandwiches with great chips and a Coke (which may or may not have included some rum) when it costs 5 Euro.

After dinner, we all started the ever adventurous process of getting ready to go out. Two hours later, it was midnight and we were finally ready to roll. Unfortunately, we didn't know where, exactly, we were rolling to, and thus spent an hour walking around trying to find a fun place to spend our evening (much to the chagrin of the ladies in high heels). After all that fun time walking around, one of the girls in the group felt tired and I, being the gentleman that I am (being dead tired helped, too) offered to walk her back to the hostel. It was fun trying to find our way, but we eventually did get back and crashed.

As with Madrid, I feel I've given you hungry masses enough for the moment (read: I'm tired and it's 3 a.m. here) so I'll hold off on the rest of this weekend 'til tomorrow. I promise I'll post it before I leave for this weekend's destination...Lisbon! Well, no, I don't promise as a matter of policy. I'll try real REAL hard though, okay? Good, glad we agree.

Ciao,

Griff

Madrid, Part 2...and other stuff

Aaaaaaand we're back for part two of the Madrid weekend.

When we last left our hero (if it's not too bold to call him that) he and his drunken compatriots had just fallen asleep. Unfortunately for the motley crew, they had to be completely checked out of the hostel by 11 a.m. the next morning, so they would not be able to fully sleep off their drunken stupors. Let's see what happens next...

Yeah, that was fun. Did you guys enjoy it? I sure did. Anyway, those of us who hadn't gotten "borrached" out of our minds the night before stirred around 9:00 and, after showering and packing, finally got out the door around 9:45. Caroline, Michael, Kirsten, John, and I then set out to find El Rastro, the largest open-air flea market in Spain, according to a friend we met in Madrid. He also warned us that it was the largest concentration of pickpockets in Spain, so walking around with all of my possessions on my person and a huge backpack full of clothes and toiletries was just fantastic, lemme tell ya.

Despite the inconvenience, we had a fun time. No one bought anything, but I've a feeling now that we have a feel for the place we'll go back and try to find some deals. I will say that the constant snippets of bargaining I'd catch as I passed each booth reminded me of my two week trip to China after freshman year. Those who were there know I'm certainly not the best barterer in the family, so I hope when my mom shows up she can show me a thing or two (with me translating of course.

I did make one enemy when an old man asked me if I wanted to try on a knock-off Spanish national soccer team jersey I was eyeing. I said I'd like to see if it fit, so he let me take it out of the bag and unfold it. Unfortunately, I realized then that I had no money, so I handed it back to him, mumbled my apologies, and ran out of there as quickly as I could. I swear I could feel his eyes burning a hole through my backpack two blocks away.

After the whirlwind that was the Rastro, we decided to be good little Notre Dame students and go to one of Madrid's many churches for a quick mass. What fine Catholic youngsters," you must be thinking, "to take time away from their international travels to enjoy a mass together." I'll admit that it was a beautiful church (most here are) and that it was nice to catch mass, but I'll also admit that I only understood about a quarter of what was said. Ah well, learning's a process I guess.

After mass, we decided it was time to do some more sightseeing before the highly anticipated Real Madrid game at Santiago Bernabeu stadium. First, though, we agreed that we should go to the bus station to find out if we would be able to leave our bags in lockers for the game and then grab them before the bus for Toledo left at midnight. One problem with that; the bus station was on the complete opposite side of the city from where we were. We would end up spending the next several hours underground at various metro stations, first finding out that no, the bus station didn't have lockers, then, after a series of calls, finding out that the Real Madrid stadium would let us in provided we threw away anything resembling something throw-able. A fun three hours, I must say.

After a relaxing lunch, we set out to see the sites a bit more (read: the girls went shopping and the guys sat in the main plaza and people-watched). Finally, it was time for the game. I think only one among our group could match me in excitement for this game, but Real is Caroline's favorite team, so I s'pose I'll have to settle for second. When we finally got through security (I had to throw out my travel bottles of shampoo, face wash, and body wash...boohoo) it was a looooooong climb to the top. Nosebleed seats for 25 Euro...gotta love that exchange rate, eh? Price aside, I was QUITE excited.

Still, once we got up to the tippy top we realized the seats weren't nearly as bad as we thought for two reasons. First, European soccer stadiums are way more vertical than are US stadiums, so even our seats weren't too horizontally far from the field. Second, and perhaps more importantly, we had heat lamps aimed at us. Having been this high up on a mid-30s night before, I can tell you how much I appreciated them. Clearly Michael did too.

The game was just as amazing as I'd hoped it would be. Cristiano Ronaldo, Real's pretty boy forward, scored two quick goals right before halftime, then proceeded to get ejected (via red card, for those who know soccer) in the 70th minute. We had to leave a few minutes early to catch the metro back to the bus station and make the trip to Toledo, but we know Real won 2-0 over Malaga, a great game and an excellent cap to a fantastic weekend.

Now that we've updated you on Madrid, we can talk a little about this week. I returned Monday to find that I STILL hadn't received my ATM card in the mail (I finally got it this morning) and would thus continue having to bum cash off of people. Not much has happened this weekend in the way of life-changing things...except that I'm 90% locked in on a trip to Morocco in the middle of March, thanks in large part to my dear friend Mary who showed me a fantastic deal on a trip. Thanks, Mar...definitely owe ya a drink when I get back to ND.

Other than that, life's good. I just turned in my first essay (two pages on the rise of theatre in Spain during the beginning of the Renaissance) and I'm about to celebrate with a pint...or three. Tomorrow night, I take my second trip of the semester to the beautiful southern city of Sevilla (again, with a little help from Mary). I'll likely leave my computer behind, so if anyone NEEDS to contact me...wait. Or fly to Sevilla, it's small enough that you should be able to find me.

Right, that's it for me. The bar calls!

Ciao,

Griff

Madrid, Part 1

As is becoming customary, I'm sorry for having taken so long to post again. This time, though, it's for a partially legitimate reason; we were in Madrid from Friday morning through 2 AM Monday morning, and as much as I wanted to trust the lockers in my hostel room, I couldn't allow myself to bring my laptop. Whatever, I'm here now, and I've got a good bit to tell all of you. If I may begin at the beginning...

After the debacle of planning trips that was last Tuesday, I decided I'd lay low for a while, try not to spend too much. Also contributing to this decision was the fact that might ATM/Debit card still hadn't arrived through international mail, making my cash flow only as big as the generosity of my fellow Domers. Thankfully, they've been more than willing to lend me some Euro in exchange for a simple "Put it on my tab." But more on that later.

Friday morning we were set to leave on a day trip to Madrid through the Fund. As most students tend to, a group of ten of us decided that rather than returning to Toledo that night, we would stay the weekend and explore the capital. Our day started with a tour of the Palacio Real (right) which used to be a royal residence but has since been converted into a museum. As I walked through the huge rooms, each dedicated to a specific daily task (dining, dressing, napping, etc.) I couldn't help but wonder how someone could handle being this rich. Then I realized that anyone who had THAT many self portraits lining the walls probably didn't have much of a problem.

After the walking tour, we hopped back on the bus and got a quick driving tour of the major parts of the city, most of which we would end up revisiting on our own. Naturally I fell asleep for much of this and was awoken only in time to get off the bus and head to lunch at the Museo del Jamon (literally the Museum of Ham). And what, dear readers, would you guess we got to eat at the Museum of Ham? Exactly, fried chicken and french fries. Guess you can't fault 'em for wanting us to feel at home, eh?

After lunch, we said goodbye to the Fund staff who'd accompanied us and set out to discover Madrid for ourselves. First, we headed to the hostel, where I learned that you need your ACTUAL passport to check in, not just a copy. Yay me. Thankfully, the guy behind the desk let me slide. We dropped our bags off and walked fairly aimlessly around our part of the city, the goal being to eventually end up at the Parque Recito (right), a Central Park-ish dealio in southern Madrid. We got there, walked around, took some sweet pictures, and generally did the tourist thing. Fun stuff, lemme tell ya.

Around 7 we all simultaneously felt very hungry and went to grab some bocadillos (sandwiches) at a local cafe. You'll be proud to know we walked right by the local McDonald's, BK, and Starbucks on our way there. Sadly, though, the guys behind the counter still glared at us from the moment we sat down until the door closed behind us. I don't speak a ton of Spanish, and they didn't say much, but I'd be willing to bet some equivalent of "stupid Americans" was thrown in there somewhere.

Our stomachs filled, we split into two groups. The first (the responsible ones) went off to find the bus station that we would have to run to to catch the midnight bus to Toledo on Sunday night. The second group (mine) decided it would be better to do what all college kids truly love after a good snack on their first night in a foreign city...nap.

Fast forward to about 9:30 when we had slept enough to regain our appetites and once again set out searching for food. Luckily we found, of all things, a pizza place. Gotta love that pioneer spirit, eh? While enjoying our authentic Spanish fare, we got a call from Ricky, one of our group who was spending the weekend with a friend living in Madrid, telling us about a bar we should meet him at around midnight. It being 10:00 at that point, we quickly finished dinner and headed back to get ready.

Now this is a slightly dangerous part of the story, so I'll tread lightly. All I'll say is that the gentlemen and two of the ladies in the group were fully dressed and ready at 11:30, while the other two ladies (who, in fairness, had warned us of this) were ready around 12:15. Thankfully, we had a great night ahead of us, so no one was too upset.

We spent a few hours at a small bar that had shots for a Euro apiece (if you've been reading my other posts, you're beginning to see a pattern) and after several (read: too many) shots of tequila we decided to round up the troops and head to a club. I would describe this club for you, but I'm sure you can imagine most of it. Strobe lights, lasers, thumping bass, extortionist drink prices, ad nauseum. The fun part of the night, though, was the walk home.

I'll be the first to admit I take directionally challenged to a new level. And that's when I'm sober. So drunk me was completely fine with being a sheep on this night. Luckily I and a couple others found our shepherd in a somewhat surprising yet altogether understandable place. One of our group had been walking around in heels all night and, as her feet burned to the point that she couldn't stand still, she immediately took the lead and walked as fast as her legs would carry her in the direction of our hostel. While she'd take our arms when offered, she refused to be carried as that would "make me look like I'm too drunk to walk." Gotta love dedication. And what dedication it turned out to be, as we ended up having to walk about twenty minutes to the hostel.

Needless to say sleep wasn't too hard to come by, though the night did have one last interesting twist when Kirsten, the tour guide (read: mother) of the group choked on her own spit, which had my buddy Mike fully ready in the Heimlich position. Thankfully, she lived, and (perhaps more thankfully) we slept.

The original plan in the morning was to be up around 10 to get the free breakfast downstairs then head out to the Reina Sofia, a modern art museum. While I applaud the rest of the group, save for me and Rob, for getting up, I'm quite happy to say I stayed in bed til four and, after a shower, felt damn near human again. At this point, Rob and I set out to meet the group and did so just in time to get in line for the two-hour window in which the Prado, a famous art museum, was free. While I'm not usually into art, I'm definitely into free, and I actually ended up enjoying some of the more famous works from Goya, El Greco, and others. After the Prado we headed back for...you guessed it...another nap.

When we woke up (those of us who slept) we split once again into two. Apparently Ricky's pal had gotten four spots on the list to El Capital, a seven-story discoteca in the heart of Madrid. While getting in free would've been cool, clubs aren't quite my thing (plus I wanted to continue my recovery from the previous night) so I passed. Those four lucky winners got ready and, of course, pre-gamed to save money. When they finally left the room in an...ahem...extremely good place, the remaining four of us - Kirsten, Mike, Caroline, and me - shot the breeze for an hour or so, when all of a sudden we hear a knock at the door. I was mildly concerned, thinking it was the manager telling us to keep it down, but I opened the door to find Connor (now in a VERY good place) who, after mumbling something about "estamos en la lista" and a girl named Beatriz, passed out on his bed.

Confused, the four conscious among us talked for a bit longer then hit the hay. We turned out the lights just in time for the raucous club crew to come back with a pretty funny story. Apparently they were either too drunk to get in or, as the bouncer told them several times, the list they were supposedly on didn't actually exist. Either way, they were more than well enough off already, but decided the only solution was to head to a bar. Hilarity ensued, lots of things I can't talk about as you, Mom, are reading this.

There's a whole other day of this Madrid adventure to tell (and probably the best one if you ask me) but it's now past 2 a.m. and I have class in a few hours, so I'll finish this story tomorrow. That said, hope you've enjoyed yourselves. I know I liked my tired attempt at a cliffhanger.

Ciao,

Griff

Crazy Day

The title pretty much says it all, but I know you're all just pining for another one of my beautiful narratives, so though it is not usually my custom to bend to the will of the masses, I'll oblige.

(And yes, for those of you wondering, I had a FANTASTIC time writing that first paragraph).

Today was our second full day of classes and, unlike yesterday's "adventure" which consisted of two periods of the same professor explaining the syllabuses* for the two classes I have with him, we actually did some learning today. First, in a class about Spanish Golden Age Theatre, we spent ten minutes introducing each other to the class, then after spending five minutes on the syllabus, the professor jumped right into an intense lecture about the Renaissance and Reformation and their effects on Spain. Thank God I'd studied that period a couple times in high school so I kinda knew what was going on (Side note: P-scott, H-Rock, if you're listening, a thousand thanks).

After a break, I had my first Hispanic-American Lit class, which was much more manageable...except for the fact that I had to go BACK to that class a few hours later (they do it weird here). There we learned about literature from the Aztec, Mayan, and Incan cultures before the Spanish arrived. Fun stuff, I assure you.

The most entertaining part of the day, though, happened after class, with a bunch of us gathered in a room frantically trying to book flights. First of all, I had a trip all set up to get to Dublin for the weekend of Feb. 18-21 when something...happened. After I bought my ticket to Dublin through AerLingus (Irish airline, for those of you unfamiliar), my receipt told me I'd be leaving Friday night at 8, rather than 10 AM Friday MORNING as I'd expected. After ten minutes of frantic/furious backtracking I realized I'd been fooled by what's admittedly a pretty shady interface. I debated some, and decided that I'll eat the US$100 and take the cheaper flight for more time there (Sorry, mom. Just remember that I'm paying all of this back and if I resist, well, you know where I sleep). A few frantic searches later and I'd also booked a round trip to Lisbon. All in all a pretty exciting, stressful, and expensive day, but it'll all be worth it. Provided AerLingus or RyanAir don't screw me at check-in, that is...

Now, my heart rate having been raised to unhealthy levels today, I think I'm gonna step out and grab a beer. On a Tuesday. God, I love Europe.

'Til next time, stay frosty everyone.

Adios,

Griff

*Note: yes, for those of you who were gonna call me on it, that IS an acceptable plural form of syllabus. Also, yes, I wrote it that way just to get a reaction from you fellow grammar Nazis out there. So sue me.