Me and my mom are worriers. She won’t even object that it’s written on the internet. For Christmas, I got her Guatemalan worry dolls so that we could each put one under our pillow- the idea is to whisper your worries to the doll so that it can work on them for you during the night. In any case, I liked the idea of having one in Spain while my mom had one at home. Our dog Sadie apparently had other plans and consumed the first worry dolls whole, so my mom and I had to get replacements. While I traveled on two continents, I had not a permanent bed nor pillow, so I tucked the worry doll within my money belt. However, this did not keep me from worrying about my money and passport almost constantly. I faithfully wore the belt in the crowded Madrid city center and through the markets of Morocco. As I hiked to the waterfall and rode the camel, I wore my belt and could check often to make sure it hadn’t fallen off (see Mexico money belt experience). I either kept the money belt with me at night in the hostels, or safely locked it away. I faced very light hearted teasing from Kristin, but was determined to keep my belongings safe.
On Sunday, we travelled from Sevilla to Madrid on the fast, comfortable, and expensive AVE train. It was the last leg of our journey together, and all went smoothly although we were both tired after a night of flamenco clubbing and discoteca-ing in Sevilla with friends from our hostel. Kristin slept while I watched Mama Mia en español, which is quite possibly the only thing cheesier than Mama Mia en ingles. But I digress. After arriving in Madrid, we relaxed in the train station for a while, called Jorge to arrange to get my suitcases, and resolved to head back to our same hostel (We hadn’t made sleeping plans because Kristin’s flight required her to head to the airport around 3 am). I was excited to hop back on the Madrid metro (subway), which I love navigating, although I was less excited to do so with our luggage from Morocco. It was a simple, three stop journey on one line from the train station to the city center. I was surprised that this Sunday afternoon was our busiest metro experience to date. I was more surprised after getting off the subway, when a lady came up to me and said in English (insert British accent here) “can I tell you something? I saw two gypsy women in your bag, but I was too far away to say anything. You might want to check that you have everything. You really have to be careful about these things.” Her “helpful” advice came just as I was searching frantically in my bag for my money belt, which had been within my purse which was in my bag which was across my shoulder and closed. And was no longer there. The only time I didn’t wear the belt on the entire trip. I wouldn’t have believed that they had taken it had somebody not seen it. These pickpocketers are truly professionals. Increíble.
What followed was a trip to the Spanish police station to file a report, a trip to the American consulate to report the loss of my passport, a search for a hostel near the consulate so that I could return in the morning, and a cena at Pizza Hut (lame, but after which I felt better). After a nearly sleepless night in the creepiest hostel ever, wishing Kristin farewell at 3:15, and a long morning at the consulate, I was able to meet up with my group in the airport and travel by bus to Salamanca. (Actually the consulate people were incredibly nice and sped up the process so that I wouldn’t have to travel to Salamanca on my own). I know that had I not travelled beforehand, meeting my group in the Madrid airport would have been something of a big deal. After my trip and my experience the previous 24 hours, it seemed like a breeze! When we arrived in Salamanca, our host families waited outside the bus for us. They stared at us like animals behind the glass, and we stared back, hoping to see signals of kind heartedness and good cooking. When I stepped off the bus and met my mom with the customary double kiss, she told me immediately that the consulate had called the house because my original passport had been turned in. Apparently, these thieves were not part of the sophisticated mafias that study and reproduce American passports. What joy!
To complete this somewhat sad, meandering story, tonight I came home for cena and my host mom told me that the package from Madrid had come. I eagerly opened it, excited to see my beautiful passport in its original condition. Instead I found the entire money belt, complete with my passport, TU student ID and international student ID card, and 2 debit cards. In the corner I found my small worry doll. Although I’m out 150 euros of cash, I must say that it’s a satisfactory end to the story. Included in the package as well is the email of the person who recovered it, who I plan on thanking profusely. It all goes to show that no matter how much you worry, shit happens. But we’re capable of dealing with it, and instead of sweating the small stuff, we should focus on all of the good. Think Said and Jorge (huge help from the police station on) and Moroccon mint tea and camels and Spanish soccer and people taking the time to return your things. A lot of good indeed.
lunes, 19 de enero de 2009
The adventures of Frank, Fatima, and Aisha
Our adventures on our first night in Morocco left sort of a bad taste in our mouths, and Kristin and I were determined not to repeat such an experience on Tuesday. We hung out in the big square until around 9:30, then decided to take a taxi home. We had been warned about how to barter with the drivers, and knowing we had pretty much been screwed on the drive from the airport strengthened our (read Kristin’s) resolve. We were looking for the place where all the taxis line up when a driver walking down the street asked if we needed one. We showed him the address to our riad and he told us a price that was too high… 70 dihram “because it’s nighttime.” Kristin told him we had taken the same ride for 40 the night before (lie! this is how it works in Morocco). For my part, I nodded with whatever the driver said and prompted her just to get in. Demonstration of why I can’t move to Morocco. Finally, the two agreed on a price and off we went. Thus began a beautiful friendship. Said (pronounced Sigh-eed) spoke very good English in an accent that is somewhat similar to Borat’s. He told us that he takes people on excursions to the Atlas Mountains and the Sahara, encouraged us by describing fair prices, and even pulled out his phone to show us videos of previous trips. He told the kids bombarding the taxi to get lost for us (which was nice) and gave us his card. When Kristin tipped him 10 dihram, he smiled brightly, and we entered our riad, safe and sound and with one new friend in Morocco (bringing our native Moroccan total to one).
Kristin and I fell in love with Marrakech, and we were reluctant to add in the travel time and energy it would take to get to Fez. We decided to stay an extra night in our riad and take an overnight train to the port town of Tanger. This enabled us to call Said for a trip to the Atlas Mountains, which proved to be one of the best days of my life! He patiently led us through the sights on the way to the waterfall, directing us when tipping was necessary and when it was not. We toured a market and a women’s co-op where they made honey, a typical Berber house where we were served green tea, a Berber bridge, and a restaurant at the base of the waterfall hike. As opposed to others’ experiences with guides in Morocco, Said never pressured us to buy anything (although we’re sure commission was involved for him), and he told us the fair price for the guide for the waterfall hike when we arrived. Furthermore, he provided endless entertainment by humming Brittany Spears and telling us hilarious jokes (about 75% of which we understood). On our way out of the city, I noticed that no key was in the ignition, although we were humming along the highway. I saw Said pick the key up off the floor and put it in. After watching this several times and whispering to Kristin about it, we finally all talked about it together. He informed us that these are his “magic keys” and that sometimes it freaks tourists out but not to worry because he is very careful. From then on, whenever he picked the keys up to put them in the ignition, he would glance in the rearview mirror and we would all laugh. He coined us “Fatima” and “Aisha” and told everyone along the way that those were our names, and most people graciously played along. Of course, we gave him an American name as well, Frank.
More than just providing humor, Said talked about his world view and gave us advice. We talked about how there’s good and bad people everywhere, we talked about his religion and world religion, we talked about Morocco’s history and culture, we talked about family, and we learned about two words of Arabic. Had we not had to leave that night, we would have surely spent more time together. At the end of the day, he took us to the train station and we said a heartfelt goodbye. Don’t worry- Kristin and I have plans to return to Morocco to be guides in Said’s taxi business. :)
PS: Not sure if our day with Said makes a good blog entry. Not sure if people can understand! But rest assured that it was amazing. Amazing. Amazing. I love traveling and making connections with people quite different from ourselves!
Kristin and I fell in love with Marrakech, and we were reluctant to add in the travel time and energy it would take to get to Fez. We decided to stay an extra night in our riad and take an overnight train to the port town of Tanger. This enabled us to call Said for a trip to the Atlas Mountains, which proved to be one of the best days of my life! He patiently led us through the sights on the way to the waterfall, directing us when tipping was necessary and when it was not. We toured a market and a women’s co-op where they made honey, a typical Berber house where we were served green tea, a Berber bridge, and a restaurant at the base of the waterfall hike. As opposed to others’ experiences with guides in Morocco, Said never pressured us to buy anything (although we’re sure commission was involved for him), and he told us the fair price for the guide for the waterfall hike when we arrived. Furthermore, he provided endless entertainment by humming Brittany Spears and telling us hilarious jokes (about 75% of which we understood). On our way out of the city, I noticed that no key was in the ignition, although we were humming along the highway. I saw Said pick the key up off the floor and put it in. After watching this several times and whispering to Kristin about it, we finally all talked about it together. He informed us that these are his “magic keys” and that sometimes it freaks tourists out but not to worry because he is very careful. From then on, whenever he picked the keys up to put them in the ignition, he would glance in the rearview mirror and we would all laugh. He coined us “Fatima” and “Aisha” and told everyone along the way that those were our names, and most people graciously played along. Of course, we gave him an American name as well, Frank.
More than just providing humor, Said talked about his world view and gave us advice. We talked about how there’s good and bad people everywhere, we talked about his religion and world religion, we talked about Morocco’s history and culture, we talked about family, and we learned about two words of Arabic. Had we not had to leave that night, we would have surely spent more time together. At the end of the day, he took us to the train station and we said a heartfelt goodbye. Don’t worry- Kristin and I have plans to return to Morocco to be guides in Said’s taxi business. :)
PS: Not sure if our day with Said makes a good blog entry. Not sure if people can understand! But rest assured that it was amazing. Amazing. Amazing. I love traveling and making connections with people quite different from ourselves!
“They’re going to try to buy you for camels”
Morocco. Maroc. Exotic. Exciting. Terrifying. Before heading across seas, I omitted Morocco when telling most people of my plans to travel. I didn’t want to hear peoples’ concerns about me boldly wandering into Africa, with Kristin (also blonde) minus a guide and minus a plan. The idea itself freaked me out. Below is a brief review of peoples’ thoughts on Morocco pre-our travels there.
Kristin: We’re going! It’s someplace I’ve always wanted to go. My professor says that it’s really safe- even for two blonde girls our age. My mom’s friend loved it. It’s going to be amazing.
Me: I just don’t know. I’m worried about getting hassled, I’m worried about people bothering us on the street. I’m worried about not knowing the language. I’m worried about traveling in Africa.
My dad: If you go, you should definitely get a guide.
My mom: Don’t go. I can’t control it, but I don’t think you should go. The guidebook doesn’t say good things about it. Maybe your friends in Madrid (Spaniards) can give you advice.
Friends in Madrid (Spaniards):
Why are you going to Morocco? It’s a dirty, dirty place.
You two? With your hair? They are going to try to buy you for camels. They offered my friend’s father 30 camels for her hand in marriage.
Be careful. Don’t drink in Morocco, and don’t trust any of the men.
I worked in Morocco for a while. You have to be careful of the guides, because they get a big commission and just want you to buy stuff everywhere you go.
Be careful. You’ll be fine.
Guidebook: Morocco is a place full of cultural and natural beauty. It’s also full of headaches for travelers.
Naturally, we took into account everyone’s opinion and booked a flight from Madrid to Marrakech. J Kristin made me read the guidebooks in the hostel and on the plane with the hopes that I would feel less concerned- and it did help! The books described how personal security is not a problem- one does have to worry about faux guides and people giving you the wrong directions, and the occasional catcall. Such incidences are apparently similar to dealing with 13 year olds- with a big mouth but unlikely to back it up! The flight to Marrakech was beautiful and calm with several attractive, international male flight attendants. When we arrived at the airport and climbed down the stairs to the runway, I felt a great sense of calm as well. It was warm, the airport was beautiful and almost empty. I got the sense that the oasis of calm would not persist, and I was right! We got a taxi to take us to our riad (hotel), passed beautiful orange trees and an old city wall, nearly hit three separate motobikes, and turned onto a narrow, bustling street. Bustling is not the word, but words fail to describe the amount of activity and sensory stimulation that we encountered on our trip to our riad. Two young boys directed the taxi to turn around, and the driver somehow managed to do a u-turn on the narrow street without running into the open construction pit, carts and donkeys, various motobikes, and many pedestrians. When we arrived at the drop off point, the boys grabbed our luggage and took us to our riad. Helpful, because we never ever would have found it without them. The taxi driver “didn’t have change” for the 150 dirham (approx 20 dollar) trip, and I let Kristin deal with negotiations. When the boys dropped us off at a beautiful and imposing blue door, they requested 100 dirham for their service, which Kristin gave them. They then clarified- 100 a piece! 100 a piece! Although they lingered for a long time begging and pleading for more, they never turned hostile when the answer remained “no.” They stuck their heads in the door on the way out: “Merci! Merci!”
Left on our own, Kristin and I faced Riad Ghallia, for which I will now do a short publicity stint. It was a haven of calm. Kristin and I shared the blue room, with a thick royal blue velvety curtain separating the giant bed from the rest of the room. The bed was equipped with many blankets (no heat in Morocco!), our favorite of which was a reversible tiger-lion print felt deal. We had an amazing shower and our own space and quite a different atmosphere than the hostels in Madrid! The amazing owners, Thierry and Thierry (both gay and French and wonderful- think crepe-providing travel guides with precious accents) were great, as were the other members of their staff. Our favorite was the live-in butler/servant man, who let us in each night when we felt like we were breaking some type of curfew (although we entered around 10 pm- also a different atmosphere than Madrid!). Although we shared no language in common with him, we maintained a special bond- even when Kristin and I lost the riad’s laptop in our room temporarily and almost ended up in jail (I’m sure). In summary, tell me if you ever travel to Marrakech and I will personally draw you a map to the hostel. It was wonderful!!
This is how I found Morocco: a site of contradictions. In the airport, and within our hostel, behind thick doors with immense deadbolts and on the rooftop terrace, I have never felt more serene or secure. We slept better than ever in our lives, and when we didn’t want to get up, we slept a little more. The complete lack of light and sound in our room at night was marvelous. As soon as we exited the doors of the riad, we found ourselves in the fray: many children playing drums, small fires on the street, people selling leather purses and plates on blankets just outside of the pharmacy, one man who sat with a small table and the leg of a cow (maybe cow?), hoof still attached, everyday, (hoping to sell it I think). Some women covered all except their eyes, and some women looked as though they had stepped out of an Express catalogue. Women acted as though they didn’t see us. Most men were indifferent, but some offered help or a friendly (?) cry of “Fish and Chips!” (the connotation of which we are still trying to figure out). J As we navigated the streets we were confronted with lots of helpful children, offering directions and advice in the hopes of a “gift” in exchange. But we were never in serious danger, no matter how many times we walked one way, then turned around and retraced our steps through windy, unmarked alleyways. We took our hand-drawn map from the riad and looked for landmarks along the way: taxi stop, mosque, aluminum covered passageway, man selling cow leg. When we successfully made our way to “the big square” for the first time, we couldn’t believe how beautiful or bustling it was. We felt proud and relieved and unsure of how to get home (our hand drawn map showed a different way for night!)
One negative about Morocco is that you can’t ever pause to look at your map. Being immobile and every so slightly less than 100% confident will make you an easy target for young boys, who assure you that they know the way, not to worry, etc. You will inevitably get distracted by them, be unable to locate yourself on any sort of map, follow them a bit on unmarked streets, and be more lost than every in your life. And so our first night, we found ourselves in Marrakech after dark, completely reliant on complete strangers. At this point one can’t help but stop and wonder what would happen if the boys decided that they didn’t like you or that they didn’t particularly care if you returned to your riad. Fortunately, we never found out. We arrived home our first night in Morocco tired, a bit upset, and out a few more dirhams. But we arrived. Such was our trip in Morocco. Whenever a tricky situation appeared and my heart started to pound, somebody helpful would show us the way and compassionately look after us. Older people often shooed the boys away and took the time to make sure we were on the right track. People informed us of the old custom of trading camels for daughters, but never once were we presented with a serious offer. And once we returned to our beautiful and tranquil riad, we could rest and rejuvenate, watch French TV, play boggle, chat with the chatty English couple, and sleep. To our heart’s content.
Kristin and I took advantage of Morocco to eat delicious and cheap food, do lots of shopping in the souks and at the big square, ride camels, and take a rigorous hike to a waterfall. We took in sights, sounds, and smells completely foreign to us, and we loved almost every minute of it. Post-Morocco reactions of the individuals listed above will be documented later! :)
Kristin: We’re going! It’s someplace I’ve always wanted to go. My professor says that it’s really safe- even for two blonde girls our age. My mom’s friend loved it. It’s going to be amazing.
Me: I just don’t know. I’m worried about getting hassled, I’m worried about people bothering us on the street. I’m worried about not knowing the language. I’m worried about traveling in Africa.
My dad: If you go, you should definitely get a guide.
My mom: Don’t go. I can’t control it, but I don’t think you should go. The guidebook doesn’t say good things about it. Maybe your friends in Madrid (Spaniards) can give you advice.
Friends in Madrid (Spaniards):
Why are you going to Morocco? It’s a dirty, dirty place.
You two? With your hair? They are going to try to buy you for camels. They offered my friend’s father 30 camels for her hand in marriage.
Be careful. Don’t drink in Morocco, and don’t trust any of the men.
I worked in Morocco for a while. You have to be careful of the guides, because they get a big commission and just want you to buy stuff everywhere you go.
Be careful. You’ll be fine.
Guidebook: Morocco is a place full of cultural and natural beauty. It’s also full of headaches for travelers.
Naturally, we took into account everyone’s opinion and booked a flight from Madrid to Marrakech. J Kristin made me read the guidebooks in the hostel and on the plane with the hopes that I would feel less concerned- and it did help! The books described how personal security is not a problem- one does have to worry about faux guides and people giving you the wrong directions, and the occasional catcall. Such incidences are apparently similar to dealing with 13 year olds- with a big mouth but unlikely to back it up! The flight to Marrakech was beautiful and calm with several attractive, international male flight attendants. When we arrived at the airport and climbed down the stairs to the runway, I felt a great sense of calm as well. It was warm, the airport was beautiful and almost empty. I got the sense that the oasis of calm would not persist, and I was right! We got a taxi to take us to our riad (hotel), passed beautiful orange trees and an old city wall, nearly hit three separate motobikes, and turned onto a narrow, bustling street. Bustling is not the word, but words fail to describe the amount of activity and sensory stimulation that we encountered on our trip to our riad. Two young boys directed the taxi to turn around, and the driver somehow managed to do a u-turn on the narrow street without running into the open construction pit, carts and donkeys, various motobikes, and many pedestrians. When we arrived at the drop off point, the boys grabbed our luggage and took us to our riad. Helpful, because we never ever would have found it without them. The taxi driver “didn’t have change” for the 150 dirham (approx 20 dollar) trip, and I let Kristin deal with negotiations. When the boys dropped us off at a beautiful and imposing blue door, they requested 100 dirham for their service, which Kristin gave them. They then clarified- 100 a piece! 100 a piece! Although they lingered for a long time begging and pleading for more, they never turned hostile when the answer remained “no.” They stuck their heads in the door on the way out: “Merci! Merci!”
Left on our own, Kristin and I faced Riad Ghallia, for which I will now do a short publicity stint. It was a haven of calm. Kristin and I shared the blue room, with a thick royal blue velvety curtain separating the giant bed from the rest of the room. The bed was equipped with many blankets (no heat in Morocco!), our favorite of which was a reversible tiger-lion print felt deal. We had an amazing shower and our own space and quite a different atmosphere than the hostels in Madrid! The amazing owners, Thierry and Thierry (both gay and French and wonderful- think crepe-providing travel guides with precious accents) were great, as were the other members of their staff. Our favorite was the live-in butler/servant man, who let us in each night when we felt like we were breaking some type of curfew (although we entered around 10 pm- also a different atmosphere than Madrid!). Although we shared no language in common with him, we maintained a special bond- even when Kristin and I lost the riad’s laptop in our room temporarily and almost ended up in jail (I’m sure). In summary, tell me if you ever travel to Marrakech and I will personally draw you a map to the hostel. It was wonderful!!
This is how I found Morocco: a site of contradictions. In the airport, and within our hostel, behind thick doors with immense deadbolts and on the rooftop terrace, I have never felt more serene or secure. We slept better than ever in our lives, and when we didn’t want to get up, we slept a little more. The complete lack of light and sound in our room at night was marvelous. As soon as we exited the doors of the riad, we found ourselves in the fray: many children playing drums, small fires on the street, people selling leather purses and plates on blankets just outside of the pharmacy, one man who sat with a small table and the leg of a cow (maybe cow?), hoof still attached, everyday, (hoping to sell it I think). Some women covered all except their eyes, and some women looked as though they had stepped out of an Express catalogue. Women acted as though they didn’t see us. Most men were indifferent, but some offered help or a friendly (?) cry of “Fish and Chips!” (the connotation of which we are still trying to figure out). J As we navigated the streets we were confronted with lots of helpful children, offering directions and advice in the hopes of a “gift” in exchange. But we were never in serious danger, no matter how many times we walked one way, then turned around and retraced our steps through windy, unmarked alleyways. We took our hand-drawn map from the riad and looked for landmarks along the way: taxi stop, mosque, aluminum covered passageway, man selling cow leg. When we successfully made our way to “the big square” for the first time, we couldn’t believe how beautiful or bustling it was. We felt proud and relieved and unsure of how to get home (our hand drawn map showed a different way for night!)
One negative about Morocco is that you can’t ever pause to look at your map. Being immobile and every so slightly less than 100% confident will make you an easy target for young boys, who assure you that they know the way, not to worry, etc. You will inevitably get distracted by them, be unable to locate yourself on any sort of map, follow them a bit on unmarked streets, and be more lost than every in your life. And so our first night, we found ourselves in Marrakech after dark, completely reliant on complete strangers. At this point one can’t help but stop and wonder what would happen if the boys decided that they didn’t like you or that they didn’t particularly care if you returned to your riad. Fortunately, we never found out. We arrived home our first night in Morocco tired, a bit upset, and out a few more dirhams. But we arrived. Such was our trip in Morocco. Whenever a tricky situation appeared and my heart started to pound, somebody helpful would show us the way and compassionately look after us. Older people often shooed the boys away and took the time to make sure we were on the right track. People informed us of the old custom of trading camels for daughters, but never once were we presented with a serious offer. And once we returned to our beautiful and tranquil riad, we could rest and rejuvenate, watch French TV, play boggle, chat with the chatty English couple, and sleep. To our heart’s content.
Kristin and I took advantage of Morocco to eat delicious and cheap food, do lots of shopping in the souks and at the big square, ride camels, and take a rigorous hike to a waterfall. We took in sights, sounds, and smells completely foreign to us, and we loved almost every minute of it. Post-Morocco reactions of the individuals listed above will be documented later! :)
Feliz Año Nueve! Happy Nine Year in Madrid!
Madrid was amazing. Kristin and I arrived on Wednesday the 31st after flawless flights. In fact, the overseas flight included tvs in the back of every chair with an array of movies to choose from as well as trivia you could play against other passengers. Something to lighten up the 7 hour flight, especially when you can’t sleep. When we arrived in the airport, we weren’t sure how to go about contacting Jorge (who took care of my big suitcase while I traveled), but there was a big sign that said, SALIDA. WAY OUT. We were going to find a pay phone, but ta da. There he was. Good omen for things to come!
I guess I’ll just do highlights from Madrid in list form. The blog is already on its way to becoming a book, and nobody has the time or energy for that….
1. Midnight in La Puerta del Sol (Madrid city center) was pretty awesome. Lots of singing, lots of foreign languages, lots of foreigners, and little personal space. Kristin and I ate the 12 grapes at midnight, which is tradition here in Spain, and we watched the fireworks and were inspired to be excited by all the singing and chanting. Later, partied into the wee hours of the morning because midnight is the start of partying here and not the end. We spent lots of Thursday recovering from jet lag and new year’s! Madrid provided us lots of opportunities to party like Spaniards, which is no easy thing to do. Haven’t yet figured out when they sleep… good research project for the semester…
2. Tour of Real Madrid Stadium/ Real Madrid Game. So basically, we got to see all the trophies of the winningest (most winning?) football club in history, got to take cheesy pictures (when we couldn’t resist), got to take pictures in the press room (which I have since seen many many times on the news here in Spain), got to sit on the players’ bench where David Beckham and the like have sat (although I’m sure he didn’t do much sitting), and got to see the locker room where David Beckham and the like have gotten ready for and ‘cleaned up’ after matches!!! (the part where it was most exciting to use your imagination… okay I’ll keep this PG). Kristin and I loved the stadium tour! So much that we decided to tour it all again on the outside, which was really just us circling the stadium more than once looking for the metro station. Ha. We returned the next day to find the stadium full of 85,000 fans (who looked like they were going to a fashion show but were really going to a game- no corn heads or golden hurricane men here. Just like Sunday best clothes, and maybe a Real Madrid scarf. They were very enthusiastic nonetheless. Just classy). We managed to get seats together and Real Madrid won and it was marvelous.
3. Royal Palace. Our Rick Steve’s guided tour through the palace was fun, and it was pretty amazing to think about all the history that has taken place here. Kristin and I played 20 questions on the hour long wait to enter, took lots of pictures on the outside, and planned Kristin’s palace wedding when we finished inside. Very nice.
4. Hostels! Although more than one person may have been concerned about us sharing co-ed dorms with 6 beds, it couldn’t have worked out better. Except for some cranky Italians. We met really wonderful people from a variety of countries and took on the hostel lifestyle of lounging around using the internet on computers provided, taking advantage of the provided fridge and kitchen, and trying to be really quiet when you’re the last in bed or the first up in the morning. I’ll try to attach pictures of our hostel door in Madrid, because we are no longer staying there and so only now might my mom think it’s funny. But despite appearances, it was very nice and fun!
I guess I’ll just do highlights from Madrid in list form. The blog is already on its way to becoming a book, and nobody has the time or energy for that….
1. Midnight in La Puerta del Sol (Madrid city center) was pretty awesome. Lots of singing, lots of foreign languages, lots of foreigners, and little personal space. Kristin and I ate the 12 grapes at midnight, which is tradition here in Spain, and we watched the fireworks and were inspired to be excited by all the singing and chanting. Later, partied into the wee hours of the morning because midnight is the start of partying here and not the end. We spent lots of Thursday recovering from jet lag and new year’s! Madrid provided us lots of opportunities to party like Spaniards, which is no easy thing to do. Haven’t yet figured out when they sleep… good research project for the semester…
2. Tour of Real Madrid Stadium/ Real Madrid Game. So basically, we got to see all the trophies of the winningest (most winning?) football club in history, got to take cheesy pictures (when we couldn’t resist), got to take pictures in the press room (which I have since seen many many times on the news here in Spain), got to sit on the players’ bench where David Beckham and the like have sat (although I’m sure he didn’t do much sitting), and got to see the locker room where David Beckham and the like have gotten ready for and ‘cleaned up’ after matches!!! (the part where it was most exciting to use your imagination… okay I’ll keep this PG). Kristin and I loved the stadium tour! So much that we decided to tour it all again on the outside, which was really just us circling the stadium more than once looking for the metro station. Ha. We returned the next day to find the stadium full of 85,000 fans (who looked like they were going to a fashion show but were really going to a game- no corn heads or golden hurricane men here. Just like Sunday best clothes, and maybe a Real Madrid scarf. They were very enthusiastic nonetheless. Just classy). We managed to get seats together and Real Madrid won and it was marvelous.
3. Royal Palace. Our Rick Steve’s guided tour through the palace was fun, and it was pretty amazing to think about all the history that has taken place here. Kristin and I played 20 questions on the hour long wait to enter, took lots of pictures on the outside, and planned Kristin’s palace wedding when we finished inside. Very nice.
4. Hostels! Although more than one person may have been concerned about us sharing co-ed dorms with 6 beds, it couldn’t have worked out better. Except for some cranky Italians. We met really wonderful people from a variety of countries and took on the hostel lifestyle of lounging around using the internet on computers provided, taking advantage of the provided fridge and kitchen, and trying to be really quiet when you’re the last in bed or the first up in the morning. I’ll try to attach pictures of our hostel door in Madrid, because we are no longer staying there and so only now might my mom think it’s funny. But despite appearances, it was very nice and fun!
Bienvenidos!
Before leaving the states, I was asked by many if I had plans to blog. I didn’t think that I wanted to because I wasn’t sure if I would have interesting stories or any interested readers. I realize now that I better do some sort of journaling to document where I’ve been and how I’m changing (or else forget everything), and I’ve decided to share it with you. I’m giving it a shot! I hope you enjoy!
I have to be retrospective with my blog as I am now here in Salamanca after approximately two weeks of awe-inspiring and eye-opening travel. I am here in the “piso” (apartment) of Pilar Sanchez Pedraza, who prepares wonderful meals for me three times a day. I have my own small room with a very very comfortable bed with lime green felt dolphin sheets. It’s quite a change from my accommodations over the last couple of weeks, and it’s nice to settle in somewhere. But on to the good stuff… what I’ve been up to!
Note: please ignore any spelling or grammatical errors. While I can’t really tell if my Spanish is improving, I am 100% positive that my English is getting worse. I promise to re-learn how to spell like an American when I return home!
I have to be retrospective with my blog as I am now here in Salamanca after approximately two weeks of awe-inspiring and eye-opening travel. I am here in the “piso” (apartment) of Pilar Sanchez Pedraza, who prepares wonderful meals for me three times a day. I have my own small room with a very very comfortable bed with lime green felt dolphin sheets. It’s quite a change from my accommodations over the last couple of weeks, and it’s nice to settle in somewhere. But on to the good stuff… what I’ve been up to!
Note: please ignore any spelling or grammatical errors. While I can’t really tell if my Spanish is improving, I am 100% positive that my English is getting worse. I promise to re-learn how to spell like an American when I return home!
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