Viajes Fresantes

El fin

2010-11-28T23:27:00.001+01:00

check out at noon. stored luggage. postcards not mailed.
Casa Rosada. guard felt up Mackenzie's ass. free tour of upstairs. "que linda sonrisa". sang evita the whole time.
cafe tortoni. pretended to be borges. coffee + submarinos + churros
metro'd to Palermo for our old barrio haunts. pizzeria mi matute. 12 empanadas. took pictures with the staff except Hector the cook.
facturas. stuffed pastries.
walked to calle ortiz for shopping.
metro to Florida. McDonalds. Mac's mom is crazy.
restaurant at Filo at 10:15pm until 1:45am. p, cheese, profiteroles.
went back to hotel. shadily changed in the bathroom. 2 creepy middle eastern men asked melissa & me to drinks.
cabbed to airport.

Day of Fail

2010-11-26T23:40:00.001+01:00

Today, we failed at almost everything we tried to do:

The Teatro Colon is closed from tours in 2010; we still couldn't weasel or charm our way in with the best sad faces you've ever seen
The Casa Rosada, where the government was held (and more importantly, where Evita sang from the balcony), is only open for tours on the weekend, not at 4pm like Lonely Planet said
Spent way too much time trying to find something interesting in Puerto Madero--there isn't anything there
Hunted for the gorgeous central post office (Secretariat de Communicacion) for two hours--it was under construction, and had moved to some random fuggo building that we couldn't find
San Telmo crafts fair was janky/tourist trap/a bust
Our attempt to walk to La Boca, a sketchy but supposedly cool neighborhood, also failed because of the heat and lack of interest

So we just ended up having lunch at Bar Federal in San Telmo, which was an amazingly charming/quaint saloon-like place. The best part was that Mackenzie discovered grapefruit Fanta in a bottle, and the rest of us were able to have fresh juice without worrying about getting Delhi Belly! Then we finished off with ice cream at a place called "Dylan" (why, we don't know), where the servers were finally nice and polite! No idea why the other ice cream servers had been so surly--how can you be so cranky around so much ice cream?!

And lastly, we went to Elite Chocolates to buy presents for the kids back home. The woman was extremely accommodating, but how can you not be when 4 fatty Americans are cleaning out your entire store? In order to save the chocolate from the heat (and not because we were lazy or sweaty), we cabbed back to the Sheraton. Mackenzie and I "got lost" in the Tower entrance, where the hella cute doorman totally checked us out. Not gonna lie--piropos are sure annoying, but the gentlemen are welcome to admire ;)

The girls and I cleaned up nice, and decided to kill some time shopping on Avenida de Florida. Nirali managed to get her soccer jerseys, and I convinced a tie shop full of young porteño men to re-open for us. Unfortunately, as the girls noticed while I was bent over to look at a display, they had only allowed us in after closing to check us out. So. Gross. Blergh.

Melissa navigated the sweaty/creeperful Subte (metro) system to get us to Cervantes II, a legit parilla--truth, because it was filled with Buenos Aires natives everywhere. The servers were all business and rushy, but we got our fill of chorizo and lomo in time for an early night at 11:30PM. The day didn't turn out to be all fail after all!

An Argentine Thanksgiving

2010-11-25T23:59:00.000+01:00

With renewed energy and enthusiasm for the city, the girls and I checked out of the janky-ass hostel at 11am and cabbed to Recoleta Cemetery. It truly is a city for the dead, as you need a map to navigate the avenues and alleys barely separating mausoleums and tombs from each other. I really hate cemeteries, so I was very careful to walk exactly in the middle of the lanes; whenever we saw open tombs that had been broken into, I had to look away quickly lest we saw bones poking out of coffins.

During the search for Evita's tomb, I heard my name being called. Eerie feeling to experience in a cemetery. It turns out it was only Jorge, the Colombian who talked my ear off on the plane from Lima, and his friends! This made me feel extremely popular in a foreign city =P Together, our combined group found Eva Peron's final resting place (I say "final" because of the crazy stories about her body after her death), which was not very well marked or decorated, other than some bouquets that tourists and admirers had left recently.

To lift our spirits after walking amongst the elite dead of Argentina, we walked through the ritzy neighborhood of Recoleta in search of some ice cream. While enjoying a fancy helado, we noticed that Recoleta boasted more attractive people than we had seen in the prior days in Buenos Aires... but still not enough to warrant the super hot reputation Argentina gets.

We failed at trying to find French style mansions for Melissa to propose to me in front of, so we just taxied to the Sheraton. Mackenzie and I pulled some shenanigans to get Nirali and Melissa the room keys, and we managed to fit all 4 of us in a 2-bed room! You should've heard the squealing that came from Melissa and me when we saw the luxury that was everything Tango Backpackers hadn't been. We showered off the feeling of cockroaches and dead people, and then commenced our evening walking tour.

Highlights:

Avenida de Florida is a massive tourist trap. Think Pier 39 in San Francisco.
Obelisk--we couldn't figure out why it was famous
Visited the Jewish synagogue just to take pictures and make fun of Julia
A stray dog followed us throughout the entire length of the park on San Martin... we wanted to adopt him like he had adopted us!
Cafe Tortoni, where Borges used to hang out, had a ridiculous line

All in all, do not buy a Lonely Planet guidebook. The walking tour was straight up craptastic. If I hadn't gotten my copy for free from a crate outside of Top Dog in Berkeley, I definitely would've gone with Frommers.

Either way, we avoided a riot put on by the local area's soccer fans, and ate dinner at some shady restaurant where no one else was eating. Then we walked to El Viejo Almacen, on the border of the San Telmo neighborhood, where tango was born. Since we were super early, the usher ushered us into the restaurant across the way where the server gave us free flan and sugary house cake. It was glorious.

The tango show was nothing to scoff at either. The dancers were unbelievable! The blonde had the tiniest waist ever, and she was so flexible. They all had skinny, fast legs--rendering our cameras useless. Their high kicks and leg movements were just so mind-blowing; it seemed humanly impossible to pull them off. All the guys were greasy, full of attitude, and expressed their cockiness with raised eyebrows. The musicians included a scary-looking old lady singer, an old man crooner, a pianist, 2 violinists, and 2 accordion players... except that we're still not sure if they were accordions because they looked like weird boxes instead. I was super in love with the baby-faced, pierced lipped younger accordion/box player.

Needless to say, it's going to be a sweet night at the Sheraton =)

And on the 7th day...

2010-11-25T02:56:00.003+01:00

6 straight days of getting up before sunrise... Day 7 = laziest morning to be recorded in the history of travels. The ladies and I took our sweet ass time getting out of the hostel by 1pm. Though we did have a productive morning--booked our last two nights at the Sheraton, reserved table seats for the premiere tango show in Buenos Aires, and ran out for facturas for breakfast.

To make up for not doing anything touristy yet, we walked 20 blocks through Palermo to Murillo St. where the Argentinian leather shops congregate. On the way, we dropped in a cafe for a late lunch. Nirali and I ordered a medium pizza and an appetizer dish of the provoleta (baked provolone over potatoes). Mackenzie ordered a "Bife Milanesa" and Melissa had the first salad of the trip (huzzah potable water). The generous portions that came out should have been a sign that we were in for some rough gastronomic times. Nirali's and my dishes could've fed a family of 4, and Mackenzie's battered beef patty was 2x as large as the bread it came on.

Thank goodness we spent the next 4 hours exploring every single leather shop on Murillo... and we weren't even hungry after that. All the other girls found good deals on stuff to bring home but I was just along for the ride--no one I know is bad ass enough to pull off leather gloves, and the boys in my life already own stylish leather wallets.

On the way back to the hostel, the streets livened up a bit, as people were getting off work. We noticed because of all the piropos (catcalls) we attracted. The best one, out of like 30, happened during a major traffic jam at an intersection where an ambulance was trying to get through. We were worried that the crazy drivers would not avoid pedestrians while maneuvering through, so we stopped at the corner to let the ambulance through. Lights and sirens wailing, the medic down to check us out as he drove past us. That, along with a catcall from a policeman from his patrol car, really made us nervous about Argentinian law enforcement.

We met up with Melissa's Seville study abroad friend, Darren from New Jersey for dinner. He chose La Cabrera, a high-end place specializing in well-plated steak. They made us wait 2 hours to be seated, and then another hour before the food came out... at MIDNIGHT. Darren's roommate, Roman, told us that Argentinian food sucked but we ignored him because he's from Paris.

Either way, Mackenzie and I shared a huge plate of steak. One piece would have been a normal portion for a non-obese American... and they gave us 4 pieces. Along with a salad and 4 more sides. I have no idea how 1. Melissa finished a dish on her own, 2. Argentines are not disgustingly obese with the portions that they eat. For all the people who make fun of American portions, they should visit any establishment in Buenos Aires.

Mi Matute

2010-11-23T20:51:00.003+01:00

After 13 hours of travel, nuestra grupita arrived in Buenos Aires proper at 6:30pm. We checked into our hostel, Tango Backpackers, in Palermo--an up-and-coming neighborhood that kind of reminds me of a grimier Russian Hill.

The hostel desk guy gave us a quick tour of the place on the way to our separate rooms, and that is when we realized that Hostelworld.com reviews can't always be trusted. Highlights:

+ built by connecting two or three old houses together = character
- that means that doors don't shut properly and everything leaks
- showers had no curtains, so you would've had to shower next to a rando
- bathtub (stained, blood on the wall) also had no curtains, which led to a huge moldy puddle
- peeling paint, grimy everything
- stained towels and linens
- no soap in the kitchen dispenser "because it leaks, so we just don't re-fill it"
- cockroaches

So after we carefully lock up our stuff (as best as we can), the girls and I headed out to find some empanadas for dinner. We hit up a fancy one on the main drag which had cold empanadas and facturas (sweet pastries, sometimes filled with goodness), but then we found a hole-in-the-wall on Thames called Pizzeria Mi Matute. With crappy lighting and one single dingy table, we knew we had hit the empanada jackpot.

There were 12 kinds of empanadas, all with different folds and nubbins to differentiate between the flavors. After we ordered one each, the greasy cook picked up pre-folded pies and tossed them carelessly into the oven. They came out piping hot, but we all went for the first bite at the same time... and the counter guy died laughing when moans of joy/yelps of burned tongues filled the tiny front room. And then we went back and ordered a second round.

Back at the nasty nast hostel, we spent two hours looking for another place to stay. We visited another hostel in Palermo which proved that there were better places in the area. With every hostel booked, the girls and I decided to give up for the night.

I made the mistake of trying to take a shower in the least disgusting bathroom--the one with a tub, no curtain, and moldy puddle. It took forever and a half because I had to try not to touch anything, and I had to take off one item of clothing and carefully replace it in a plastic bag that I hung precariously between two cabinet doors. That's when I noticed the splotch of blood underneath a rusty/falling toiletries rack... and ran the hell out of the bathroom for good.

Cursed Incan Midget Feet!

2010-11-22T22:55:00.009+01:00

3:30am. Nirali and Mackenzie started the line at the bus station, which happened to be a couple meters from our hostel. After checking our luggage into a cafe and making sure the bus ticket collector didn't hassle us anymore, we were the first group to board the bus up to Machu Picchu! I have to give crazy props to our bus driver who maneuvered a huge charter bus around hairpin curves on a one-lane road.

6:00am. It began to pour. Nirali and I had to buy ponchos from the coat check guy, but we were already soaked. At first dreary sight, Machu Picchu seemed just as expected, but as we walked across the ruins, it became larger and larger--it just engulfs people behind huge stone structures. We didn't have time to explore anything, as it took nearly an hour to get to the line for the Huayana Picchu hike (which only 400 people get to do each day).

7:30am. We all tried to figure out which mountain Huayana Picchu was, but it was too foggy to see anything. After signing the ledger and passing through the gate, it became incredibly apparent that HP was highest peak behind Machu Picchu: the tiny neon jackets of other climbers peeped through the thick trees... and they were moving almost vertically up the side of the mountain. I nearly lost it. The girls had to talk me down from the entrance, and we agreed to hike it slowly.

(Someone's great post explaining HP better than I could)

8:30am. This is when I learned that the Incans were just batshit crazy and had tiny feet. They put freaking temples at the top of this spiky peak, after building and climbing tiny steps vertically up a mountain (so steep that they had to install steel cables to help people get up). While the girls explored the ruins, I perched my tired ass on a tiny rock and contemplated how ridiculous the past hour had been. With the prior day's altitude sickness still wearing on my lungs, I wheezed a good part of the way up the trail.

I cannot even begin to explain how high up we were. Out of the surrounding peaks, Huayana Picchu was the highest. We were basically standing inside the clouds that rolled over Machu Picchu, which looked like a tiny ant farm. I had never been so soaked, cold, tired, high up, nor invigorated in my life. As amazing as it was to be so high above everything, surrounded only by the quiet fall of rain (and occasionally Japanese tourist chatter), I'm not sure that this mix of feelings is something that I would pursue ever again.

10:00am. Finally, back on solid ground. Somehow our grupito wound up at the very bottom of Machu Picchu. We realized that we had to climb all the way back up the ruins to explore the temples properly. Exhausted, dragged our feet up another thousand steps and walked amongst the stone walls, marveling at ancient Incan irrigation systems (through stone!!!). It was truly mind-blowing to think about how the Incas achieved all of this--every time I nearly fell off a step because my size 8.5 foot couldn't fit on it, I imagined the Incas to be of very small stature, lugging rocks up mountains to set them in precisely the right place... over nearly 4 acres of land, completely invisible and undiscovered until 1911.

12:30pm. Back in MP Pueblo, the girls agree that this ridiculous day deserved to be finished off with a top-of-the-line meal especially after not eating for the 8 hours we were running around on a mountain. We settled on Indio Feliz, an establishment run by a French and Peruvian couple. Such a f-ing good choice. The butter and warm rolls were the most delicious I've ever had (sorry, France). Rounding out our dishes of beef, mango chicken, and spicy tomato/pesto pasta were perfectly crisp garlic chips--fresh out of the pan. I don't think I have ever been happier in my life. Mackenzie and I added our business card to the walls to make our mark along with the thousands of other travelers who found their little slice of heaven here.

4:00pm. We took the Vistadome, 2nd class this time, back to Cuzco. Since it only cost $11 more than the 3rd class train, we didn't expect much other than skylights and more leg room. Instead, we ended up with a bento box snack with a scroll for a menu and flowered centerpieces, a surprise Peruvian traditional dance (during which the clown scared us shitless), and an alpaca wool fashion show put on my our train attendants. I would definitely recommend paying the additional $11 to get the full "magical" experience.

8:30pm. And it was back to the Pariwana hostel for us, where we ate leftover rolls, garlic potato chips, and granola bars before crashing after a n 18-hour day... for our 7am flight to Buenos Aires the next morning.

Aguas Calientes doesn't actually mean "hot springs"

2010-11-21T21:52:00.003+01:00

The 7:00 Expedition (third class) train dropped us off at Machu Picchu Pueblo at 11am. During the train ride, I was excited about heading to a lower altitude and about the good-looking German guy in the back corner of our carriage. We walked 100 meters to our motel, where we each got single beds and a real bathroom! The view from our window overlooked the river, bus station (I'm foreshadowing here), and the incredible Andes mountains.

There is only one main street in Machu Picchu Pueblo, and it goes uphill. I almost passed out from the walk up to this restaurant where we sat at the American table by accident. Thankfully, the girls decided to do their shopping downhill.

The best part was when Mackenzie and I were browsing for postcards at this woman's shop. When she turned away, her 6-year-old daughter tried to regulate--
Girl: Put those down!
Mac: But we're trying to buy these postcards. Your mother told us it was okay.
*Little girl knocks a postcard from the stand*
Girl: Put that back! You're putting in the wrong place!
We are just shocked at her sass, so we continue perusing.
*She knocks over a pile of beanies*
Girl: Look what you did! Pick them up immediately!!
Me and Mac: Wowwwww....
Finally, the girl's mom came back and told her to quiet down. We paid and left, in awe of how we got bitched out by a six-year-old.

We decided to destress by doing the only thing there is to do in Aguas Calientes--visit the hot springs. It's another 15 minute hike up the slippery stones in our flip flops just to the entrance. Upon arrival, we noticed that everything smelled kind of funny. That should've been the first hint that those happy bubbly people in photos of hot springs up in snowy mountains are all lies. It turns out that it's more like a public pool, except the water is green and filled with people with open wounds, pregnant women, and kids with runny/bloody noses. We looked around and were like, "OK, we hiked all the way up here. We have to do it, for a little bit." We didn't last 10 minutes--it was so, so disgusting. Nirali, who didn't go in, laughed at us so hard.

(Travelpod)

As soon as we got back to our rooms, we all stripped out of our clothing, took good scrub-ful showers, and washed out any clothing that had touched spring water. Unfortunately, the pants I had worn were the same that I planned to do Machu Picchu in. Luckily, our rooms were equipped with space heaters, so I came up with the brilliant plan of hot boxing the bathroom to dry our clothes quickly. That failed pretty hard once we realized that the space heaters automatically shut off after 5 minutes.

So for the rest of the evening (after we watched Rihanna perform on Peruvian TV), I had to get out of bed to turn on the space heater every couple minutes. Tough to get any sleep when we had to wake up at 3:30am to get in line for the 5:30 bus up to Machu Picchu.

Everyone Lies

2010-11-20T21:16:00.003+01:00

Our second day in Cuzco was most memorable because of the people we met:

Tourist Agency Lady
We asked to go on a half day white water rafting trip (my idea, shockingly enough). She said we'd leave at 7am and be back by 1pm so that we could make it out to the ruins of Sacsayhuaman (sounds like "sexy woman").

Hostel Employee
Knocked on our door with a "massage" for us, which I declined until I realized that she meant "message". They changed our rafting time from 9am to 3pm. We worried that we wouldn't make it to Sacsayhuaman by closing at 6pm.

Brazilians
Joined our rafting team in the morning. One was cute and one wasn't. Sad.

Osvaldo "Ozzy", the rafting guide
Took us down the Urubamba river, about 1.5 hours outside of Cuzco. He organized our boat by weakest in the back: a random Peruvian girl from Puno, Nirali, me, Mackenzie, Melissa, and the two Brazilians. I'm pretty sure he got off on the rapids because every time we went down one (levels 1 to 3), he kept yelling "Yes! Yes!" with more and more urgency and ecstasy. Then at the end, he threw the Peruvian girl out of the boat for saying, "Lake Titicaca is so much colder than this!"

Orlando, the rescue guy
Rowed down the river backwards on his own. So. freaking. impressive. Until he started blowing me kisses. At least he laughed when I caught them and threw them in the water. Then he told Melissa, "te amo" and asked Mackenzie to get in the water with him. When he sat next to me on the bus ride back, Ozzy asked me, "Do you know what his name is?" "Um, Orlando?" "No. It's Casanova. Watch out."
He talked to me for the entire hour and a half--taught me Quechua (which I forgot immediately), asked me if he could take a picture of me, asked me to dinner after, and then told me he'd see me at mass upon hearing that I was going to church instead of meeting him for a meal. Unfortunately for everyone involved, La Catedral was closed to the public because we got back so late (6:30pm) that I convinced the girls to pretend to be good Catholics so that we could check out the second best church next door.

Victor Victoria
I'm sure this was a real person at one time, but the restaurant that we treated ourselves to post-rafting was amazing. Super delicious and super cheap. Nirali's tequeños (cheese wrapped in fried goodness) and Mackenzie's quinoa risotto with slabs of beef filets on the side = to die for.

Crashing in preparation for our 6:20am trip to the train station. Machu Picchu here we come!

Baby Alpacas

2010-11-19T21:49:00.003+01:00

Pay Purix
The girls and I decided to stay in Lima for a night before our 5am flight to Cuzco. So upon landing at 8pm, we cab over to Pay Purix hostel and attempt to get a good night's sleep after 15 hours of travel. Unfortunately for our health (but fortunate for my ears), I discovered that Peruvians in Lima have an incredibly slow and soothing accent. Our hostel host talked our ears off before we could get freezing showers (hot water was broken) and shove some of Melissa's focaccia into our mouths before bed.

Pariwana
At 4am, we hustled back to the airport. After "another on-time landing by Taca Airlines," we arrived at the Pariwana Hostel on Plaza San Francisco (convenient, no?) in Cuzco. It's a colonial house with tons of rooms overlooking a beautiful courtyard. Our host, Milton, explained that back in the day, three generations would live in a single house like this.

Inca Kola for Breakfast
Mackenzie swore that her roommate used to have breakfast over Plaza de Armas, so we were determined to do the same. We found the only cafe with a balcony looking out onto the fountain. Mackenzie and I almost managed to find a mixto con huevo, while Nirali and Melissa finally had their Inca Kola with breakfast.

Qoricancha
Just a few blocks outside of the plaza is the Qoricancha, the Temple of the Sun. It looks like a church now, thank you, colonization. The artwork was nice, but the walk around the place was far more interesting. Kids played soccer on the grass. Words carved into the mountainside. People working really hard on the streets despite the heat bearing down. With my white collar job, I will never get used to seeing anyone work so hard with so few resources... and I feel like I constantly need these reminders to appreciate my life for what it is.

Alpaca Rugs
We found a huge artesan crafts market further down the street. In addition to touristy trinkets, you can also get a ton of wool beanies. And... for the past few months, I've been dying to get a huge furry white rug for my house. IKEA sells huge sheep skins for $179, but they smell and feel too real for me. Peru is the perfect place for furry everything--there are alpaca-made items everywhere. I ran my fingers through at least 15 rugs before finally growing a pair to inquire a saleswoman about them.

Me: This rug feels like heaven... is it made of real alpaca?
Lady: Of course! This incredibly soft one is made of baby alpaca, and that one over there is the mama.
Me: Baby alpacas?! That's awful--I can't buy this.
*walk away* Moments later...
Lady: Miss, miss! I am trying to tell you--we don't kill baby alpacas. They die of a natural death up in the mountains where it's cold. We just find them.
Me: Sorry, lady. Can't pull the wool over my eyes this time!

Har har. See what I did there? J/K. Totally didn't say that; doesn't translate in Spanish.

(psperu.com)

Inka Grill
Our host was named Roosevelt. Which I could not figure out how to pronounce in Spanish, as he was really Peruvian. I'm not really sure what went down at this place, since I almost passed out in my bowl of French onion soup. The altitude sickness (despite being on meds) + fatigue hit me so hard. Apparently, it feels like you're hungover (which I have never experienced). So you guys tell me if being hungover = a hammer to your head, dizziness, shortness of breath, and/or lead legs. I passed out at the hostel as soon as we got back.

Hostel highlight
Nirali didn't know which symbol represented the male/female bathrooms... so some other girl yelled to her repeatedly, "Don't go in the one with the arrow! Not the arrow! Not the arrow!!"

The Final Countdown

2010-04-04T12:32:00.002+02:00

In one store that we went to, they were playing some ridic 80s music, including this post's title song. How appropriate for the last three hours of my time in India.

Things I'm Going to Miss

bomb ass food: panipuri, dhaipuri, sabjee, parathas, mango ice cream
a few key Hindi phrases ("Shukria, Bhaisaab") getting me everywhere
dirty street chai
dusty wind in my face while riding in an autorickshaw
people with whom to practice my fob Indian accent
gettying away with wearing outrageous colors and bangles
the accommodating head wiggle
spending $6 for a 3-person meal
being the exotic one next to blanquita Julia
somehow falling asleep before 4am every night
coffee and pastries with Sudev
visiting with the slum girls at Nirali's NIIT center
"Grows on You" mustache campaign

Things I'm Looking Forward To

feeling clean again
no food, dirt, or dead bugs under my nails
giving food to the homeless without being taken advantage of
ants that aren't 3/4 of an inch long
watching Bend It Like Beckham, The Fall, and The Darjeeling Limited again
leather made from cows, not camels/horses/buffalo
Taco Bell
not being asked when I'm getting married/having kids
crosswords
using my fob Indian accent as much as possible
exerting less energy through fix-priced shopping
drinking water
practicing my Hindi at House of Curries (if they aren't from Pakistan...)
driving in lanes, without the fear of going to jail because a cow ran into my leg while in an open autorickshaw
attractive men (sorry, India =/)
wearing skirts and flip flops without thinking about contracting tetanus, stepping into poo piles, or getting raped
the Rajasthani ads with an old Indian man and two unhappy white/Indian children that must have something to do with pedophilia... or maybe just "Visit Rajasthan", can't tell which

Off to pack. See you in like 30 hours, sluts.

Good Friday

2010-04-03T23:54:00.002+02:00

Being a good Catholic, I went to visit St. Thomas Cathedral on Good Friday while Julia and Kristi went to Elefanta Caves (but really I couldn't go to the island because the boats were rocking too hard). Nirali got a quick lesson on Catholicism (I'm an expert, obv) and I impressed a guard by crossing myself.

Nirali and I also covered all of Fashion St., Fabindia (where I should have bought the damn pillowcases), Victoria Terminus (the architectural marvel that is the crazy main train station), and Moshe's cafe.

The best part was when all of us got together and went to Leopold's Cafe, which was the central meeting place in Shantaram. Having read it, both Julia and I were freaking out and throwing around Vik/Karla/Didier references the whole time. Knowing all the shady deals that went down in that cafe made our lunch feel really spooky--especially since they had a guard with a huge rifle checking people in at the door because Leopold's was one of the targets of the Mumbai bombings in 2008.

The other target, the Taj Hotel, was our next stop... where I kind of wanted to get in and out real fast because of creepiness factor. But the ladies and I sat down for tea in one of the lounge/restaurants, where Nirali flipped a shit on the hostess/manager for not seating us by the bay view window. I don't know why she was so surprised that management wasn't going to give away the best seats of the house to 4 tourists in jeans who weren't going to drop a bunch of cash... but she still whipped out the bitchface and gave it to them. I can never go there again =(

Our lovely driver, Ude, took us to Marine Dr. to watch the sunset over the skyline. We finished off with a bomb ass dinner at Nirali's aunt's house--panipuri, the Indian version of making your own tacos... except in little puffy ball shells. So baller. Ha. Baller. Get it?

Don't worry. Ude laughs at me every time we get in the car because of my terrible Hindi and lame-ass attempts at jokes. After a particularly long pout today, he told Nirali to tell me that he is laughing because he enjoys how hard I try, not because he's making fun of me.

I'm really going to miss talking to our helpers/drivers here--they have the craziest stories to share. Ude hasn't seen his two-year-old son and his wife in over a year because he is afraid to fly and they live 29 hours away by train. Auntie has offered to bring them to Mumbai, but his parents are too old and don't want to live alone in the village. And Shanti, the maid, is trying to keep staying with Auntie even though her brother-in-law flipped out and tried to sell her to another family (a movie star). There was some crazy yelling going on when Auntie and Shanti told him to get lost yesterday afternoon.

This is seriously the most ridiculous place I have ever visited, and I'm sorry I haven't been able to upload photos lately... but I swear they are worth the wait, especially for Shantaram freaks.

Holy F-ing Shit.

2010-04-01T23:42:00.004+02:00

I'm in Bombay.

For everyone who knows about my obsession with Shantaram, you know how incredibly surreal this is to me. Even after just a few hours, Bombay/Mumbai has been ridic.

1. Nirali and Kristi's flight from Delhi was delayed 3 hours for a mysterious VIP, leaving Julia and me at the Bombay airport wondering wtf was keeping them. Nirali's uncle told us that he saw Shah Rukh Khan and his two body guards leave the airport, so we assume he was the VIP returning to Bombay from Delhi. Can you believe we were within 100 meters of the most famous man in Bollywood? That's like, famous to 1B+ people. No big deal.
2. We watched the sun set over Juhu Beach, where Nirali's grandma's brother (Dada) lives... right on the water. It's completely mind-blowing to think about how few people in the world get to see a Mumbai sunset over palm trees--considering there are 1.2 billion Indian people and how 99.9% of them will never be as privileged as we were.
3. Dada built his construction business from the ground up, so their family has been living in this building for 4 generations. It's insane how amazing the penthouse is. We are staying on the 6th floor of the building next to Dada's, which is also gorgeous. I picture one of the bosses in Shantaram living in similar grandeur.
4. I feel uneasy being served all the time. I know it's normal, not just a rich person thing, to have household help, but I still feel awkward and guilty. After dinner, I saw the staff eating on the kitchen floor, and it just broke my heart. I know they are actually treated very well, but I can't justify the obvious class system to myself.

How do I reconcile my awe of this city with how uncomfortable it makes me feel?

Bitter Aftertaste

2010-03-31T23:00:00.002+02:00

Being thrown into Jaipur without our native guides has been such a trip. Every time we walk through the city (outer and within Old City walls), it is incredibly obvious that there are no other tourists on foot. The few tourists here take rickshaws everywhere, which is no wonder--visitors are constantly bombarded by rickshaw drivers, vendors, and beggars. It's easier to hire out a rickshaw for the day and avoid all the craziness.

Old City Jaipur has been amazing. The whole city inside the old walls is painted pink, both to mimic the red sandstone of Agra and also because it was "welcoming" to some English monarch a while ago.

Highlights:

Seeing the locations of where The Fall (the movie that made me want to go to India) was filmed: four doors intricately painted to represent the four seasons. They are so beautiful that they are often used in Bollywood films as well. The observatory, Jantar Mantar (saying it out loud is so fun), is where some staircase scenes were filmed. The cinematography is so amazing, and it felt surreal to see the staircase to the heavens in real life.
At the City Palace, this Greek guy approached me and asked me where I was from (pretty typical here). To get away from his drooly desperate face, I told him we were leaving soon to Bombay. And then he was like, "Perfect! I'm going to Bombay tomorrow. I would very much like you to call me there." I'm like, "Um... okay... write down your number for me then." El Greco immediately whips out a piece of paper and goes, "I already did! *googly smile*" What. the. fuck. I get home and read the paper and it has his number + "Call me!!!" on it. Nasty nast.
Amber Fort: ridiculously huge castle where the old king used to hang out with his ladies. It's pretty extravagant for its time. And the desert sand is gorgeous.
Hanging out with our British next-door neighbors at the hotel at night. They were like 19 and went to Eton. Pretty nuts to see them downing Kingfisher beers and chain smoking. Makes me glad our legal ages are 18 and 21.

While our two days in Jaipur were hectic and interesting, our day trip to Ajmer and Pushkar did not go as planned. Ajmer, 2.5 hours away, is the site of a Sufi (Muslim) shrine. It was such a raw village, where sewage was in the streets and the poverty was very apparent. At the shrine, a nice Muslim brother showed Julia and me around without asking for anything. As soon as we left, a little girl carrying her baby sister followed us for 10 minutes begging for money. It was sad to see, but I couldn't help feeling disgusted that she was holding her baby sister's arm out to beg--it's like they teach babies to start out life begging. What a philosophy to live by.

In Pushkar, the site of the only Brahman temple in the world, we were accosted by a guide and a "priest" in jeans who showed us a prayer ritual and then forced us to donate money. They said Americans usually donated $20 per family member that they prayed for. I was like, uh, I'm not carrying any dollars, and then he wanted me to give 4000 rupees! Are you kidding? I only had 600 rupees on me, and he tried to take them all. I had to stop him just so I had lunch money left. It was really awful to have been taken advantage of, and it really left me feeling like shit. We were absolutely disgusted by the shenanigans going on by so-called holy people, and I would not recommend anyone visit what would've been a great learning experience just to avoid that crap.

The only good thing that came from this trip was meeting our driver, Mohan, who had the craziest ear hair going on. He was awesome, teaching us some Hindi and laughing at my accent. Though he barely spoke English, Julia and I had to insist on taking him to lunch, which is supposed to be a huge deal because it's bridging the gap between customer and server. He had a good time at lunch, but he still refused to eat more than a tiny portion because "it's impolite."

Running off to make our flight to Bombay.

Delhicious.

2010-03-29T14:43:00.001+02:00

"Just do it! We'll never see them again." Every time someone ues this as an excuse to do something ridiculous, it totally backfires.

Example: At Fabindia, a higher-end department-ish store, I was the only one with the balls to find someone to try on a shirt for Nirali's dad.

Me: "Excuse me, Bhaisaab, could you please--"
Man: "--try on this shirt because your boyfriend is my size?"
Me, embarrassedly: "Yes, Bhaisaab. Thank you."
Man: "I knew you weren't scoping me out for my looks."

It turns out that the gentleman who modeled the kurti for us works at the US embassy in the Economics Affairs department. Julia and I almost jizzed our pants in excitement when his wife asked Nirali to come over to the embassy for tea. But we'll never get to go with her =(

Later, we saw the couple at a cafe that blasted American hip-hop, which I crazy miss. As Julia said, "Who needs to go clubbing when you have Bread & More?"

We saw them again at Full Circle/ Cafe Turtle, a cute bookstore with a cuter coffee shop that Sudev recommended. Auntie really liked Nirali, so I hope they become BFF if I ever want to work at the embassy.

Anyway, we went to the Lodhi Gardens to just hang out where Julia gave a beggar boy a granola bar. As soon as he sat down to enjoy it, his family came up to us to beg some more. It's like, you can't even be nice to people because everyone else will see it and take advantage. It makes me feel less bad about it when that happens =/

Our whole group (minus Kristi who was throwing up) went to Big Chill at Khan Market for dinner. Sudev and Julia went back to Salim's to get the mutton, and I had to sit on a stoop and watch them eat it without me. I think that was the crankiest I have ever been on this trip, when I wasn't able to eat for 4 days straight and when I had to watch them eat in front of me.

For someone who lives to eat (and only travels to eat, not to see monuments), having a stomach bug for 4 days out of the 7 I had been in Delhi was the worst feeling ever. It wouldn't have been so bad if it weren't our last day in Delhi--I realized that I won't get Salim's mutton for at least two years, since I can't think of how I'm going to come back to Delhi before then.

This only strengthens my resolve to go back ASAP.

I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want

2010-03-27T21:44:00.003+01:00

After being in Delhi for nearly a week, Julia and I have learned that there are certain times when you can/cannot get what you want. Here are some quick lessons for your perusal:

When You Can't Have It Your Way:

When shopping at Dilli Haat, a government regulated market, and salesmen refuse to go lower because they have to be approved to rent the space there.
When you want a bunch of silk scarves and the vendor sells you some cotton mix, excusing his behavior with, "I'm just acting like a salesman, madame."
When you call ahead to the Red Fort in Old Delhi to make sure the light show is going to happen, only to make the 45 minute trip and learn that it has been canceled for 3 days.

When You Can Get What You Want:

When your angry Hindi-speaking friend scolds the guards and tourism manager for 20 minutes, for lying to him on the phone, and to get him out of their hair, they send your group in for a quick peek with a guard to make sure you guys don't cross more than one gate.
When they sneak the lying manager out the back door so he doesn't have to face your angry Indian friend.
When you say "let's go!" to the guard in Hindi ("Cholo, cholo!"), and he is so pleasantly surprised to see an Asian speaking his language that he allows your group to pass through another gate.
When your group is aching for comfort food, and you go to Defence Colony (a neighborhood center) for hookah... only to find french fries, gravy, pasta, and tapas at Mocha restaurant.

Some good pictures to come, once I can plug in my camera at this hotel.

But You Look Nepali!

2010-03-27T21:15:00.010+01:00

While I know that I look quite different from many travelers here, I never imagined that people would go out of their way to take photos with me. I felt like a spectacle at Qutub Minar, the minaret/mosque ruins in Delhi.

Upon our entry into the ruins, a group of Indian tourists from Andhra Pradesh stopped me to ask for a photo. I was so surprised, seeing as Japanese tourists are a well-known and well-observed aspect of travel, even in India. Not 30 minutes later, another group of Indians tried to not-so-secretly take a photo of me so I just asked outright if they wanted one of us. Highlight: one girl straight up squeezed Julia (AKA Not Exotic White Girl) out of the picture. I managed to get a photo just for demonstration purposes; enjoy the colors of India:

Two taxi fiascos later, Julia and I managed to get ourselves to PVR Center. While waiting for Nirali, the amazing sounds of Lady Gaga's "Just Dance" reached my ears. Two teenage boys were playing music from their phones, and I traded them a sneak listen of "Bad Romance" for a phone call to Nirali. They told me they also like Akon and laughed when I called them bhaiya (brother).

Nirali found us, and we headed off to the tattoo parlor to get her lotus flower done. Julia and I alternated holding Nirali's hand while we got henna done. Nirali's tattoo looks hella cool--will post photos when it heals. She limped to an autorickshaw and we crossed the road to one of her NGO's education centers for slum kids. By "kids", the students actually ranged from 13 to 24. The small group of girls we spent the afternoon talking to were 19 to 21, attend "college" (aka small at-will classes) during the day, and come to the center from 2 to 5 pm every day to take computer courses and practice English.

Julia and I sat with them and helped them practice. We learned that they play "alley cricket", kind of like Americans play street hockey, and they wanted to know about my Indian ex-boyfriend from Uttar Pradesh. We asked what they were studying and what they wanted to be. It really surprised me that the girls wanted to be politicians, lawyers, and teachers--my cynism wonders if they will ever make it out of the house if they are married. When we walk around, there are only men on the streets; I assume the wives are stuck at home all day. I want them to do well so badly; the girls were so small and sweet for 20-year-olds who live in slums. Their aspirations were incredibly moving, and it makes me wonder how they aren't jaded.

I think visiting the center has been one of my favorite things we've done, and I wouldn't mind finding a way to go back and do it like Nirali is. Julia has photos of girls and our Hindi lesson, so I'll get them up ASAP.

Dressing the Part

2010-03-26T15:20:00.011+01:00

Sudev and I got to transplant our European coffee + pastries to Delhi the morning after our long trip to Agra. I stayed over at his place near his university (JNU) and we slept in until noon =D Riding his motorcycle through the crowds of rickshaws, taxis, private cars, bikes, carts, cows, and people continues to terrify me even after having done it several times now.

We went to Chokola, a nice cafe in a shopping district, so that he could show off his exotic Asian girl to the shopkeepers that he normally frequents. We had crepes and American pancakes and lattes, such an amazing start to another long day. [picture stolen from Delhi Foodies]I met up with Julia and Nirali to visit Humayan's tomb, who was Akbar's father. It's so crazy to see how all of the history in this region connects together. Humayan must've been a really chill guy because he had the whole thing constructed to have resting places for his wife and barber--either that, or she was really good at cutting Mughal hair.
Later that night, our grupito went to this Muslim slum (Nizamuddin) to listen to Qawali music. Sudev knows some of the musicians and other arts patrons there, so we were able to sit right up front. After visiting a shrine--heads covered, no women allowed--we sat barefoot, cross-legged, pressed up against other bodies, with everyone moving along to the rising and falling voices.

I don't know if I enjoyed the music as much as the cultural experience. The wailing voices were not attractive to my ears; but despite being crammed into this tiny marble square with so many other sweaty people, it was really moving to cover our heads and sway along with the rest of the crowd. Funnily enough, we ended up sitting near some Spaniards: two absolutely beautiful twins and a professional photographer. The girls had an uncle at the Spanish embassy in Delhi who introduced them to the photographer. He was so Spanish--no shame in shoving his camera into everyone's faces. It made me feel really awkward, but at least he asked before taking Nirali's and my photos. If he sends them to me, I'll post them =)

The community leaders coordinated the chaos so well--directing people to seats, collecting donations with ritual hand/head gestures, having two men walk around with huge cloths on sticks to fan the audience.

Coordinated chaos seems to be the underlying theme here in India, and everything that I read in Shantaram is making so much more sense right now--there has to be some kind of secret law that governs the insanity here. Perhaps after I stop vomiting up the two crackers I can stomach every day, I will figure it out and let you know.

Matchy Matchy

2010-03-25T14:44:00.002+01:00

My first assignment as Production Coord in ImagiCal last year was for Hoang to create binder covers for our team. He PhotoShopped all of us into ridiculous scenes, including himself sleeping amongst lions and me chilling at the Taj Mahal. It's so surreal to look back at those binders every day, never believing that I would actually see the Taj Mahal in person. And yet, on Wednesday, after a 4 hour car ride, there we were.
While the monument itself is surprisingly smaller than I imagined, the marble inlay and detailed carvings are just mind-blowing. It truly is a labor of love for the Shah Jahan (and laborers) to have built this for his wife who died in childbirth. It's crazy how these architects managed to complete this in the 1630s without modern equipment, carving all that marble and gluing each stone into place by hand.
The drive between Agra and Fatehpur Sikri was hard to stomach, as we passed villages along the tiny roads that were really just dilapidated low buildings where really skinny people pumped their own water and ran run-down shops for themselves. Julia said it really did look like Mexico, which is probably why it hasn't hit me that we are so far away from home. I do feel like they are operating just at subsistence, and that may be enough for them.

Fatehpur Sikri is a ghost town, consisting of only the ruins of the Mughal emperor Akbar's palace. The buildings are spread out over a huge plot of land, with courtyards and living quarters for the emperor, wives, and courtiers. He had an elevated bed that was larger than a California King, which worries me because that's a lot of ass that must've fallen off of it =/ In the picture below, the view is from an upper sitting deck on the men's side. Apparently, the emperor used to use slave girls as game pawns where he would direct them from this deck... kind of like the chess scene in Harry Potter 1 in real life!

Sudev wanted to sit on the deck and direct us girls around the courtyard... but Nirali and I are pants-wearers, Kristi is a princess, and Julia is a cripple so it didn't go down that way.
After the palace, the drive home took around 5 hours--totalling a 20 hour day. Sleeping only 3 hours + jumping in and out of the 100 degree heat into an air conditioned car = I got sick the day after. I'm still operating on just crackers and Vitamin C, which is putting a damper on our activities while making Julia roll her eyes every five seconds at my illness. This makes me feel less bad that she is crippled.

I vould like to buy some paynt.

2010-03-23T06:28:00.015+01:00

Namaste! After 28 hours of travel, I can brush my hands off and say that these past two days in Delhi have been completely worth sitting next to Julia for so long.

Lessons from the first two days in India:

1. South Delhi looks like the sprawled out, dusty streets of Mexico (at least, in my imagination/movies since I've never actually been there). The "Sea of Humanity" that everyone talks about doesn't exist in South Delhi where Nirali's place is.

2. Chatni (chutney) is the Indian version of Cancun Taqueria salsas--you can get five or six sauces with every dish. Julia won't eat any of them, but I keep forgetting that they are made with tap water... so my tongue is perpetually black from all the preemptive Pepto I'm taking.
3. Dirty street chai is everything I dreamed it would be and more. Made on the spot at a sidewalk stand, vendors use dented old pots and janky metal grates to serve 5 rupee (11 US cents) cups.

4. Community is everything--the breakfast vendor that Nirali goes to won't serve eggs this week because of the Ram Navmi holiday... not because he necessarily follows, but because his customers won't patronize his stand if they do adhere to the beliefs.

5. Indians are like speed skaters: incredibly spatially aware. The "Sea of Humanity" is in full swing in Old Delhi, where the Red Fort and the Ghandi memorial is. Hundreds of people with massive bundles on their heads, rickshaws, motorbikes, vendors, kids, tourists take up every square inch of a tiny broken street under a canopy of tangled electrical cables. It's like in speed skating, when you need to put your hand on the person in front as a buffer... except times a thousand. We've had so many close-calls in rickshaws but the drivers always know exactly how much room they have to pass--usually 2 centimeters.
6. Visitors get the "Foreigner Special Treatment" at tourist hotspots. At Jama Masjid, the largest mosque in India, all foreigners are singled out and made to wear these ridiculous robes to cover our whole bodies. Justification : our sleeves were too short, except that Indian women were wearing shorter sleeves and had uncovered heads. Some tourists also fell for the entrance fee that guides were charging, although there actually isn't one. Pictures of Julia and me in the foreigner-branded robes to come.

7. An Indian accent gets better deals at the bazaars. While looking for kurtis at the market near CP (only one open on a Monday), I improved my Russell Peters imitation by 200%. One vendor told me 1850 rupees for a shirt worth 150; once Kristi came into haggle, he became buddy-buddy with her, "I tell your friend 1800 because she is foreigner. You're Indian, I give it to you for 850." Her fob accent gets the shirt for 250 because he knows I'm paying.

8. Weep over the excess supply of labor and resolve to do better. I feel horribly guilty every time I take a rickshaw or accept a cup of chai from the pantry boys at my office. It's incredible how hard people work here, and how many jobs are created from helping others do things we do ourselves in the States... like finding me a band-aid for the blister on my foot. Sudev has to hug me often because the burden of wealth is so, so heavy.

Yesterday, our rickshaw driver lost his sandal while taking us through Old Delhi before I even noticed that he pedals an old bike every day with only a pair of flip flops that look 10 years old. And we only paid him 30 rupees (65 cents). I want so badly to tip everyone substantially, but you can't even do that because it messes up their economy, encourages more "foreigner special treatment", and is physically dangerous to you if word spreads.

The pantry boys at work are so kind, offering to retrieve photocopies and take my lunch orders, nodding and backing away with "Yes ma'am" and "Please, ma'am" gesturing along the halls to guide me to my next meeting. It breaks my heart when I thank them profusely and they slink away, smiling with weary eyes.

I have to constantly remind myself that any job makes it possible for them to earn a living; there simply aren't enough white-collar jobs for everyone. Gregory David Roberts handles it well in Shantaram, when he discovers that his hot showers are the result of men hauling individual buckets of water up several flights of stairs to fill the tank: at first, he swears never to shower again... but upon learning how they would be unemployed otherwise, and noticing how they are proud to work, he swears to take three showers a day.

I have a long way to go until I reach that state of acceptance, but for now I will settle with admiration for Indian workers.

Frankfurt

2009-07-12T10:24:00.001+02:00

Flammkuchen. Green sauce. Schnitzel. Long interview process at Cisco. Deutche Bank. Keyur's party. Isa and gelato. Harley Davidson girl. Boom Boom Pow.

Bye, Europe.

Berlin

2009-07-10T10:21:00.004+02:00

Holocaust memorial. Pouring rain. "Germany isn't known for its food." "You can't say that." Hypocrisy. Berlin Gate. Hitler's bunker = parking lot of an apartment complex. Fallen apart.

Prague

2009-07-08T10:19:00.002+02:00

Beautiful city center. Janky outside of center. Small/weird/homey hostel. Fried cheese in a bun. Vietnamese convenience store owner: "Why do you speak Vietnamese with such a funny accent?" Hookah in a wine cellar.

Vienna

2009-07-06T10:16:00.002+02:00

Train from Budapest to Wien. Huge change in scenery. Building upkeep. Instead of janky musicians on the street--> violinists in ties. Cafe Centrale. Spanish Riding School. Green grass. Austrian = German

Buda|Pest

2009-07-04T10:03:00.000+02:00

Tiger Tim's. Goulash. Some kind of bigger couscous. Red orange sauces on everything. Deepest metros in Europe. Party island at night. Bruno condoms. Koszonom.

Florence

2009-07-02T16:24:00.006+02:00

Firenze = gelato.

Finito.

Edit:

beggars: "they should go on youtube and learn to paint something and sell it"
gay bars near the duomo, practiced my italian
coffee and pastries with Sudev
Sudev's birthday at 13 Gobbi (last seen in 2008), candles in the cake at the end
long talk on the bench at hostel
25 mosquito bites because of broken AC

Cinque Terre

2009-07-02T15:54:00.005+02:00

I had to be dragged away from the Italian Riviera by the rest of the group when it was time to leave, though I don't think any one person wanted to go. Being in Vernazza was a vacation from the vacation, which was fantastic.

There are no real sights to see in Cinque Terre, so it was pure relaxation. Minus the laundry fiasco and the lack of a market, that is. I downed 4 loaves of foccacia from the tiny bakery, and everyone else found a quick favorite eatery on the main drag that is maybe 3 blocks long.

We spent a lot of time in the water, which was a gorgeous and deep blue-green, swimming amongst schools of fish and trying to avoid a huge passenger boat (because that is how they get between the 5 towns) that didn't care much for swimmers.

The whole town is maybe 5 minutes long, so it was a quick walk to the beach or anywhere else. I can't even begin to explain the tiny streets and gorgeous buildings. There is something about Vernazza that makes it so authentically Italian--no one tries hard to be charming... they just are.

The place can only be explained in photos, which I will post ASAP.

Un bacio di Roma

2009-06-27T17:48:00.003+02:00

Ciao, i miei amori! I don't even know if that is right. As seen in the past two days in Rome, my Italian from two years ago is extra rusty this time around.

Yesterday, after two days of touring (piazzas, Colosseo, Vatican, etc.), our group decided to get dressed up and go out. We wound up at this gay bar where we tried to bring on Brian's game.

Attempt #1:
Cute guy from Naples talks to Brian forever but ends up kissing me on the cheek when I tell him that I'm confused about my orientation. He goes, "Aww, don'ta worry. You will learn it soon," pity kiss on the head, much to Brian's dismay. Then he wants us to Facebook him and disappears.

Attempt #2:
I ask some guys how to get to a place where we can dance. One of them, with much condescension (is that a word?), tells us there is nowhere to go and the rest of his group basically ignores us. Sudev has to extract us from this train wreck.

Attempt #3:
Brian, drunk and irritated, forces me to ask in my shitty Italian how the gay culture works and why it is so hard to meet guys. These three guys explain to me in Italian + broken English that the place we were at is for friends to meet up, not to pick up people, which is done mainly in clubs. Nice. Two hours wasted.

Highlight of the night: pissing off the snobby French woman in the room across the hall by showering at 3am. Our hostel lady told us that she has been complaining up the ass every day she had been here. And she insulted California wine to Brian's face, which was definitely a no-no.

Today, we went to the Pantheon and got bomb pizza and hit up the famous gelateria, Giolitti's. Nirali orders this flavor, Bacio, which means "kiss" in Italian. The server asks her who she wants a kiss from, him or another server. We laugh and kind of joke around with them. After he scoops my ice cream, the server walks around the counter and plants a fat kiss on my cheek to go along with my cone. Freaking Italians. That shit would never fly in the US, but I guess it is all part of the charm.

Tonight we are going to hit up Campo di Fiori and Trastevere before calling it an early night, as we are catching a morning train to Cinque Terre tomorrow!

Sevilla

2009-06-23T16:28:00.006+02:00

This is easily the most romantic city in Spain, with the flamenco, tiny cobblestone streets, and some kind of love in the air. Today, the rest of my grupito are on a day trip to Cordoba and Granada, so I am on my own just hanging out and enjoying the Andalucian life.

I feel like doing a Spain trip the second time around is so different because I live so much slower than I did the last time. Having seen everything, my focus is good food and good people. I've met some great kids at this hostel and offered up my non-existant apartment in California to all of them. It's hard to be cranky when you're relaxing during the siesta, whereas it is quite easy to be pissy outside where it is a bajillion degrees.

Yesterday we did a tour of the bullfighting ring which I missed last time and could barely stomach this time. It is a very interesting part of Spanish culture, and there are a lot of nuances that I can appreciate about it; however, the vegeterians want to go see a bullfight and the meateater will take a pass. Funny how that works out.

The only things left for me to do are flamenco and lounging by the river with a calimocho or tinto de verano. And feel wistful as Nirali and Sudev walk around the old neighborhood together while Brian rejects my advances. Miss you, Kab.

Bilbao / San Sebastian

2009-06-20T16:10:00.003+02:00

After pulling an all-nighter to catch our early flight to Bilbao (helped that I met a super cute Canadian guy who kept me entertained from 1am to 4am), our group headed over to the Guggenheim Bilbao in the rain.

I wish I had been more coherent in order to better understand and internalize the exhibitions. I really liked Richard Serra's exhibit on time and space, even though I found it quite abstract until he explain how he makes visitors encounter different personal bubbles and such through the forms of his sculptures. Cai Guo-Qiang's exhibit made me think the most, because while the gunpowder art was just straight up cool, he was also the one that designed the Opening Ceremony for the 2008 Olympics in Beijing. He also did a replica of some exhibit showcasing the people working during communism. It's a lot of food for thought when you stop to ponder how the pieces reflect his sentiments toward the system. I'm not sure how much I agree with it all, but it definitely resonated the most with me.

After the museo, a Basque lunch downtown put me back in a good mood, and we happily trekked to San Sebastian. Julia and Renske went to their hostel while we were welcomed by a big jolly Irishman at ours. We met up again for "pintxos" aka Basque tapas at this totally legit bar (Bar Munto?) that was easily the best food we've had yet.

I passed out when we got back, and after my drunkard friends came back later, we slept in until 1pm today. Julia made poor Renske run around the city with her while Brian, Nirali, Sudev, and I climbed Mont Urgell to check out the small castle at the top. We had a super lazy day, and I am super excited to just lounge around here.

San Sebastian is one of my favorite places, if not for the big sights but more for the lifestyle (just like how the rest of Spain won me over) and the food. I can't get enough of the water and the lazy days.

La vida española

2009-06-18T20:21:00.004+02:00

The Spanish lifestyle is incredibly relaxing, which is perfect because traveling can be so stressful. It has been especially hard because Julia and I are trying to show the rest of the group a good time, which involves eating and drinking the española way aka beer with every meal and meat... except that the rest of the kids are pretty much vegetarians. Luckily, after a long and stressful search for food the other night, we found a pretty "Berkeley" place somewhere past Plaza Merce, where they had organic and veggie food that was actually rather delicious. Alissa would've loved it there.

We've also spent a whole afternoon at the beach and a whole day doing Gaudi things. It's getting to the point where the other kids depend on Julia and I to hold their hands while crossing the streets, so we have to remind them that they are too capable of opening a map themselves. I think everyone enjoyed Gaudi, but it was such a long day that today we went to FIVE cafes/bars and ate at every single one of them, finishing off the city with a light show at the Magic Fountains.

I forgot how much I like Barcelona, but I remembered how much I preferred living in Madrid. It still seems so surreal that Julia and I were back there, retracing all of our steps. Now we just need Brendan and Taylor to appear out of nowhere to make it Spring 2008 again, haha.

Madrid, tienes mi corazon

2009-06-14T14:18:00.005+02:00

Hola de Madrid!

I just can't stop smiling. I had a huge grin the entire plane ride from London, and it hasn't left my face. I feel like an idiot, but I am so incredibly happy to be back in Madrid, where I left quite a bit of my heart last year. It feels so surreal to come back here and see everything, knowing that I used to live here and take the same buses and the same metros every day. I can't wrap my mind around it, especially since we've transplanted Berkeley into Spain with Brian, Nirali, Sudev, Julia, and Renske.

Julia and I have been playing tour guide for the past couple days, showing off the reasons why Madrid is so much better than anything else:

Dinner on a terazza while the whole city is doing the nightly paseo (stroll) with live music
The gorgeous facade of Plaza Mayor
The 3rd best palace in Europe, Palacio Real
Naked protest against driving at el Jardin de Sabatini
Tapas at El Tigre, where the three hot bartenders were so gracious (mi favorito was still there)
Botelloning on a side street of Calle Mayor
Dancing until 5am at Kapital the seven story discoteca
Churros con chocolate until 6am at San Gines

And today, we are relaxing at the royal park Retiro, where I am staying with my old host family. It's a trip, and I am loving every second of it (minus the hella sketch European guys, but I will put up with that for the amazing eye candy).

Thievery, Tube Strike, and Towers

2009-06-11T19:24:00.007+02:00

While sitting at Trafalgar Square with an ice cream cone looking over Nelson, it struck me that I was hanging out in London. I never thought I'd make it out here in my life, and yet, there's Big Ben on the skyline. It's the few moments of illumination that make traveling so incredible. Since I've been on the go to such a great extent recently (screw you, Tube strike), reflective moments have been rare.

After hanging out and meeting kids at the hostel on the first day, I met up with Maggie, a girl across the hall, to tour the British Museum on the second day. She has the same tastes in museums as I do, sculptures, architecture, and skimming. It was insane to see the Egyptian and Greek artifacts (in addition to the African and Assyrian and the freaking Rosetta Stone) right in front of us, especially the pieces of the Parthenon. Unfortunately, everything was tainted by the fact that all the displays are STOLEN. Imagine going to Athens and standing amongst the columns of the Parthenon, looking up at the incredible metopes... just kidding. They're hanging out in England, where people consider themselves heroes for saving the pieces from certain destruction. Whether or not that is true, I did appreciate the opportunity to see these artifacts up close.

Maggie and I got super hungry and went for a small lunch at a touristy cafe nearby. Then we walked all the way to St. Paul's Cathedral, across the Millennium Bridge, back across the London Bridge, and to the Tower of London. Didn't realize how far we had walked until we tried to take a bus back to the hostel during rush hour. Because of the Tube strike, the streets were overloaded with cars and extra buses; moving at 5 miles an hour made us ill so we stepped off and gladly walked the rest of the way to the Jubilee line.

After a quick break, we picked up Federico, a cute Argentinian, at the hostel for dinner with my friend Igg at Russell Square where we watched the England vs. Andorra World Cup qualifier match. It was a rather boring match, so we left after Goal 4. Either way, it was so much fun to meet up with Igg and spend a significant amount of time talking to someone with a really attractive accent (I don't get that very often).

The next day, I did the Royal walking tour to see Buckingham and the changing of the guard, as well as Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, etc. And then I hung out at the hostel with some Australians (they are freakin everywhere) until it was time to get my shit together to fly out at the ass crack of dawn.

Photos soon!

Londres!

2009-06-09T14:41:00.004+02:00

I had forgotten how much I hated flying until spending far too much time in planes this week... but as I'm sitting here surrounded by gorgeous people with accents, I think the 12 hours behind a jackass who scooted his chair back to 6 inches from my face is worth it.

DC was incredible. Fabulous way to end my ImagiCal career. Seeing Claire not in Berkeley was also tons of fun, as was the beautiful stroll through the mall with our team. It was all kind of a blur though; I'm exhausted as hell but I'm maybe going to watch a folk concert by a cute girl I just met at the hostel in London tonight, so gotta man up until 10pm.

Miss you kids lots. Will write soon.

PS. Met a gorgeous Brit at the airport in Philadelphia when we were running across the airport to catch our flight to Heathrow. He found me after the flight but we were separated at customs. Tragic because he was so beautiful. That doesn't count as my one guy per city, btw.

PPS. Holy shit, one year since I last wrote in this thing. So stoked to go back to Madrid on Friday and continue the adventure with Brian and Nirali and Sudev.

Washington, DC

2009-06-06T20:51:00.000+02:00

Thunderstorms. Humidity. Smithsonian. The Mall. Capitol. Lincoln Memorial. Unanswered calls. NSAC. Missed closing ceremony. Claire and Nicole and Prachi.

1st place
2nd place = -0.1 points
3rd place = -0.2 points

Stalling

2008-05-28T00:43:00.004+02:00

I just took the longest shower of my life, hoping that the longer I stood in the foggy bathroom, the slower time would pass. It obviously didn't work, and I have to leave for the airport in 8 hours. Even though I'm so excited for tacos and curry, I am heartbroken.

The Home Stretch

2008-05-23T13:40:00.003+02:00

Finals. From Sunday night to Tuesday night, I slept maybe a total of 8 hours. The whole time I've been here, the "Oh my God, I'm in Spain" bit never hit me hard. Admittedly, when I stepped out of the metro underground, it sometimes felt like I was entering a different world over and over--Madrid at night is gorgeous. The old architecture is always lit up with these amazing lights; it's like the Ayuntamiento knows exactly how to make its city shine. Even then, it wasn't overwhelming. It was enthralling. And up until this week, I never wanted to go home. But then finals kicked in and schoolwork overwhelmed my Madrid-ness... and I felt really, really ready to get out of there. However, as soon as my last final was in sight, I realized how I wasn't ready to leave at all.
There are still so many things that I haven't done! But then I spent time with Barbra, who is such a positive person and has taught me so many things about humanity (but that's a whole different story). Also, I went out clubbing last night with some new friends and it hit me--I've been living in Madrid for four months, with a Madrileño family! I get the best food, I watch Spanish tv with my señora, I celebrate the city's holidays with the rest of Madrid, and I join the throngs of people (all ages) out on the streets at night.
There were four different groups of us at the discoteca last night, and we had a blast since it was international night--aka they played American and Indian music. They had an Indian dance show up on stage and then invited the audience up there. Andrew picked me up and carried me up on stage! We all danced the night away, and it was so fabulous... except the ritual groping and grabbing by Spanish boys. Thank goodness Brian F. and Manny were there; they cockblocked for me almost all night, except when we got separated and some Spanish boys sandwiched me! It was traumatizing. Ergh. They are so sleazy. But I had so much fun with the girls and with Andrew, Brian, and Manny. People here can actually dance, which is so great, haha. We ended up going to San Gines for churros y chocolate, and we took the first morning metro/bus home. Sadly, that's the first time I've done that all semester because I usually cop out at 5 AM. But now I can check one more thing off my Madrid list. And it feels amazing.
This week, Nines is going to teach me to cook a few super Madrid things, and I'm going to just lounge around and enjoy the city for 3 more days. THREE. Can you believe it? Then packing on Tuesday, and flying home on Wednesday. Insanity.

Morocco!

2008-05-16T23:23:00.004+02:00

This past weekend was one of those few times where I had to stop and say to myself, "Um, you're in a whole new place. And it's ridiculous." It was seeing the donkeys dragging carts full of craziness and the monkeys and snakes performing on the square. And everything else. Morocco was insane. And I loved every bit of it. Granted, we only stayed in Marrakesh, but it was still so fabulous.
Marrakesh is in the middle of the country, where they speak French and not Spanish like they do in the north and in the south. That was kind of off-putting at first, but it turns out that Marruequis are the nicest people on earth (and smiled when I tried to speak French/Arabic). Julia was telling me that there is something about hospitality in Islam that adds to their kindness, but I really think that some of them are just the sweetest people ever. I've never felt so welcome in a foreign country before. Everyone at our Riad (hostel place) was so gracious and went out of their way to make us comfortable. And all the people at restaurants and food stands (sketchy or not) did very unexpected things to make sure we were well-served.
Our hostel was so fabulous. It used to be a house for a large, rich family... but it had three patios and tons of rooms and it was very, very Moroccan--dark woods, luscious rugs and pillows, beautifully hand-carved arches and tiles.... I'm going to have a Moroccan room in my future house is all I'm saying. It was located in the middle of the souks (the crazy cramped marketplaces, straight out of the movies), so we had to navigate kinda sketchy alleyways to get there.
The main square, Djemma el-Fna, was 5 minutes away and all I did was shop and eat. On the first day, since I arrived a day ahead of everyone, I hung out with some kids I met at the hostel who showed me the souks and exposed me to some of the things the vendors pull to get you to buy things. The next day, I was totally ready and had a blast bargaining with them all weekend. I think the other girls were sick of bargaining, but I felt like I could do it forever. They are so aggressive that it's hilarious. My favorite line is: "I give you good price, democratic price, student price!" It's like a game, and I'm pretty sure the vendors have fun doing it too. I bought a ton of gifts and a real leather bag to replace the pleather H&M one that was stolen. Pretty sweet.
Every morning, our hostel served us (like, we sat down and they brought it to us) this amazing breakfast of these Moroccan donuts--hollow bread poofs with spices--and fresh-squeezed orange juice and this amazing mint tea. I've never had anything like it. And on the square, at night, all of these crazy food stands pop up and light up the whole place with their solicitations and delicious smells. I don't know how sketchy it is to eat at one of them, so I limited myself to french fries and bread and the mint tea.
When I get back, we're going to have some mint tea and Moroccan curry to enjoy! Besos!

Feliz Puente!

2008-05-06T02:38:00.002+02:00

This five-day weekend has been awesome! Spaniards call a long weekend a "puente" (or "bridge"), and they celebrate hard.
Thursday was Labor Day, so everything except the transportation system and ice cream shops were closed. Perfect, since I utilized both to my heart's content with Virginia and Janice. We walked from Goya all the way to Plaza de Toros where the bullfights are held. The stands outside the bullring sell little capes and hoods to kids who want to dress up like matadors and decorative spear things just in case you want to display the colorful killers in your house. None of us could really stomach the idea, so we left pretty quickly.
El 2 de mayo, the 200th anniversary of day the Spanish kicked Napoleon and the French out of the country was fan-freaking-tastic. It is the first time it has been celebrated (I guess no one cares about the 199th), and the Madrileños went all out. There were festivities in all the important plazas, and after enjoying a bocadillo de calamares at Plaza Mayor while watching a symphony and fireworks, I met up with Sandy, Harlan, and Rachel at Plaza de Cibeles to watch the performance. Turns out it was a ridiculous almost Cirque du Soleil re-enactment of la Guerra de la Independencia complete with actors portraying Goya and Napoleon + his horse hoisted up into the air by cranes, Napoleon and his brother doing a French/Spanish rap, sufferers of massacres being "shot" in the air, crazy acrobats rolling a huge wheel/townspeople with torches yelling "Fuera las franceses!" running through the crowd, a huge copper marionette given birth to a full-grown man to represent the new kingdom, and cascades of fireworks down the most gorgeous building in Madrid. It was phenomenal. I love how the Spanish just go all out for everything; they don't take things seriously enough or they go big. Very black and white, just my kind of lifestyle =P
Anyway, Saturday was the pre-Mother's Day celebration at my apartment. Two of my señora's daughters (Monica y Marta who just gave birth) were there along with all the grandkids: Maria's Monica la nieta and Julia, Monica la hija's Patricia, and Marta's Victor, Alberto, and Victor (two of the dads). Everyone has the same name so it's pretty confusing, but they are the greatest bunch of people ever. We went down to Plaza del Niño Jesus (where I live) to tomar una copa, before lunch. I had a great conversation with Marta/Victor, and again with Alberto over lunch. They are just so sincere and funny, and I finally feel like I'm really fitting in (with just under a month left).
Sunday was the real Mother's Day partay at Victor's parents' house. His dad made two huge paellas for the 16 of us, and we all had a great time. I met Victor's 5 siblings who all look alike, so it was nearly impossible to distinguish between them all, and their significant others. There were three babies and a toddler in the house--it was crazy. I had so much fun talking to them and they all wanted to know about California and if they could visit. Sergio's Brazilian girlfriend is a fashion stylist for magazines and she offered to take me shopping next Tuesday! All of the girlfriends want to take me out to show me the "real madrileña vida".
On Monday, I finally went to the Reina Sofia museum where Picasso's Guernica is. I had a good time looking at some parts of Picasso's temp exhibit, but honestly, I think the Picasso Museu in Barcelona is a little bit better. I had a pretty crappy time walking through the rest of the permanent exhibits; I liked Salvador Dali because he is just so crazy... but Joan Miro can go ... I don't know... bury his art in a hole. Someone was explaining to me that you need to think in a certain mindset when you look at his art... but all I could think was, I can drag a paintbrush across the painting and drop three dots on it too and call it art. I don't know. I don't think I'm going to do any more museums.

Finally, the Real Madrid

2008-04-28T21:53:00.002+02:00

Highlights of the past week, where I feel like I got the most out of life at last:

Dia Internacional del Libro, which Madrid enthusiastically celebrates by having all these municipal places (like the train station) give out reading material and such. My Hispanic Lit professor gave us a book which I'm really excited to start reading. And my Spanish Lit prof told us about this 48-hour reading of Don Quixote, from cover to cover. So Julia and I went to Circulo de Bellas Artes to hear/see it. Basically people form a line and each individual gets a minute or two to read aloud from the original version of the novel. It was really cool, and we found out that you can read it in different languages, and they have professional theater/dance people acting out some of the scenes. I really wanted to read, but I was too chicken. =(
Mexican food at last on Thursday, with Lauren in La Latina (figures). She found this place with amazing enchiladas and legit tacos (with pineapple!)... but they didn't have burritos. Which sucks! I cannot wait for some burritos and carnitas. However, on the way to Puerta del Sol from La Latina, we stumbled through a film set! Another reason I love Madrid and its big cityness. People stop the mad traffic to film things that you actually see on the screen, and everyone is a part of it.
Saturday, Brianna and I went to Toledo, the ancient capital of Spain. It's a really pretty city surrounded by huge walls and a river to protect the fortress. It has the best altar in a cathedral in Europe and two of the three remaining synagogues in Spain.
Baby Victor came home on Saturday morning, but I didn't get to see him until I got back from Toledo. My señora's youngest daughter, Marta, gave birth on Monday to Victor (the Third, after his father and grandfather), and because he was like 9 pounds they had to C-section her. They are finally moved in and he is the cutest thing ever! His face is all scrunchy and his eyes are still blue. And he loves me =) He's pretty tranquilo, but when he does cry it reminds me of why I don't want to have babies.
On Sunday, I woke up at the crack of dawn (8:30 AM) to get to the Santiago Bernabeu stadium by 10 AM. I didn't make it on time because of the marathon blocking my main route, but I met up with Julia and Amy who did. And we waited for 4 hours in the most ridiculous line to get tickets... but at 2:30ish, we got 3 sweet tickets for the Real Madrid partido! We met up before the game started to frolic amongst the other fans and get some good gear. The game was awesome, and from our seats, you didn't even need the big screen to see anything. It was so surreal to be at a Real Madrid match, and we scored 3 goals! Pretty fucking cool!
Today, I wore my Real Madrid shirt to class, and my Spanish Lit teacher was like, "Uh, you support Real Madrid?" to which I responded, "Now I do. Before, I was for the Atleti, but I am still mad at them for letting Fernando Torres go." And he starts laughing. And I'm thinking great, he's an Atleti supporter and I've just earned myself a shitty grade. Until he goes, "Fernando Torres was a student of mine, and I knew his girlfriend too." I just about flipped out and was completely shocked for the rest of class. How fucking crazy is that?!!

Pictures to come later, as usual.

Knife Attack!

2008-04-28T15:34:00.002+02:00

So if you haven't already heard, I was mugged on Friday night while walking home from the metro station at Conde de Casal.

Two guys (or one guy and a girl) on a moto stopped around a corner, and when I walked by them, a guy still in his helmet pushed me up against a car and tried to take my purse from me. In my mind, I kept thinking about how ridiculous he was being, since I didn't even have any money on me after blowing it all on dinner with Julia and her friends. So I tried to explain that he could take my wallet but that I didn't have anything. He wouldn't have any of it and pulled a knife on me, but I suppose I wasn't thinking rationally and still continued to hold onto my bag while telling him that I needed to show him that I didn't have anything. Of course, he cut me with the knife and now I have several large bruises and am nursing a battle wound. It's tiny, and I'm fine.

I did all of the usual, calling the police and filling out a report, canceling my cards, etc. Today I talked to Rocio, our program coordinator, to get an emergency loan since I didn't have very much cash left over. She was really upset, both for me and at me. She did most of the talking after I told her what happened, and it made me feel very stupid. Rocio had told us at the beginning of the program the usual "Don't let your bag out of sight" things and then the scarier "Girls have gotten mugged at their door so make sure you have the taxi driver watch you enter" things... and yet we all take the night buses home and then walk. Rocio couldn't believe how irresponsible we have been, and she basically told me that I am not 16 years old so I shouldn't have let the girls I normally go out with discourage me from taking a taxi.

It's just frustrating because
1. I always want to take a taxi home but the other girls on my program have been too cheap to do so and so I get pressured into taking the night bus home, which drops me off 10-15 minutes from my apartment.
2. I didn't have any money on me!
3. I never walk down that street, ever, and the one time I decide to do so, I get jumped.

I've been pretty calm about it; Rocio told me that no one has been as calm as I have, and there is an incident every semester because of how stupid/irresponsible we are. But inside, I am both really frustrated and paranoid. I am angry at the girl who swore this way home was faster than the way I normally take (up a bigger street). I am angry at my friends for not letting me take a taxi home when we go out (this has happened every single time we go out) and for ridiculing me/calling me lazy when I don't want to walk the 15 minutes from the bus station. I am angry at myself for being so stupid to think that nothing would ever happen to me.

Murphy's law just blows, is what it comes down to. I am never incapacitated and I never let go of my belongings, even through over one month of backpacking/traveling alone. I never carry a purse when I go out, except this one night since it was "just dinner" and not clubbing. I was the only one that wanted to taxi, and I am the one that gets mugged. Sometimes life is ridiculous like that, and I don't know how to take it.

AmsterDAYUM!

2008-04-25T20:27:00.000+02:00

I got to spend the weekend with none other than Ms. Isha Vij, one of my favorite people ever! It was so good to see her--pretty much saved my sanity.
I spent Thursday night at the airport, since I had to be there at 4:30 AM and the Metro doesn't start running until 6 AM. Got my Spanish Lit reading done, so it wasn't a complete bust.
Landed in Eindhoven, the Netherlands, at 9 AM and was greeted by Isha & company! 2 hours later, we were in Amsterdam. We popped into a leathery-smelling western-themed diner near the Centraal Station and had brunch. Isha and I headed to our hostel, and after a too-short siesta, we all met up again for an early dinner (of hutsput and Dutch apple pie) before taking the Red-Light District tour.
Our tour guide, a tall and scrawny Portuguese-American named Basilio, was fantastic and could answer questions about hundreds of years of slutty history. Turns out that the old sailors/merchants of the port town Amsterdam would have fun with the town ladies, and it slowly evolved into a lucrative deal between prostitutes and hotels--the prostitutes would get the clients to drink more and spend more, and the hotels would give them luxurious rooms to stay in. Now 8 companies own the windows that the prostitutes rent out for 8 hour shifts, and it is only legal because they work for themselves and not pimps. 15 minutes will cost about €50 (unless you go into the "elite streets" where they are hotter) not including the up-sale of boob play and getting into the action. They also take women as clients. And they're very friendly. Perhaps because they have to be, or perhaps because they are just bored. Most of them were text messaging in their windows instead of looking for clients when we walked by. It was so crazy to see this and even more so to believe that this exists, and I am still so very intrigued about how this way of life is possible. I want to go back and stop at the Prostitution Information Center (PIC, which means "penis" in Dutch) to talk to former prostitutes and learn more about them. Some day.
After a lovely evening, we went to Adrienne's friend's apartment. He is really Dutch and so we spent a lot of time debating over whether Holland and the Netherlands are the same thing, since Adrienne and I were sure that they weren't and the Dutch guys said they were exactly the same (for the record, they are not, so THERE!). We couldn't go out with them because we were so tired, and after returning to our hostels, we passed out.
The next morning, we went on the city tour with Basilio which was also quite good. He took us to this huge 3-story gourmet cafeteria where I would eat every day if I lived in Amsterdam. Isha's marketing professor, Hans, met us at the cafeteria and was super cute. I was hoping to get to hang out with him after hearing all the ridiculous stories, but he and his girlfriend left for the play. We cut our tour short and bade a sad farewell to Basilio, and headed off on our own.
First stop was the tourism office to buy tickets to the Van Gogh museum, but the highlight of that was running into Brandon and Eric from Barcelona! I hadn't seen them since Carnevale, and so it was nice to see them again. After forever and a half, we went to Baba, a coffee shop recommended by my señora's son-in-law Victor, and hung out there for a short hour before going to the Van Gogh museum. The museum was kind of a bummer because I expected it to be more substantial. That and they rushed us out after 30 minutes. Jerks.
We hit up the huge I Amsterdam letters nearby and wandered around killing time until our appointment with Anne Frank. I have been interested in learning about the Holocaust since I read Anne Frank's diary as a 9-year-old, and I still keep all of the non-fiction works/biographies in my downsized book collection. It was surreal to be in the annex where Anne Frank and her family hid for two years, especially after seeing the swinging bookcase and the flight of stairs behind it. It was really emotional, because I have always held onto that story and The Upstairs Room very close to me. They did a good job of having Anne Frank's diary pages and other pieces (documentation, letters, etc.) displayed, but I do wish that the rooms had had period pieces arranged instead of being completely sterile, as it would have added more to the effect. It was nice to wind down at some random pub near our hostel after that, and we had planned to go out but we were (once again) all too exhausted.
Sunday morning, I went to the bus station at 11:30 to take the 2-hour bus ride back to Eindhoven to catch my plane at 3:50. Of course, the bus station employee that sold me my ticket neglected to mention that the bus doesn't run on Sundays after 11:15. So I waited 1.5 hours for a bus that never came, had to rush to the train station and take the train to Eindhoven and then taxi to the airport... and I missed check-in by 5 minutes. I begged and pleaded, but the RyanAir hos wouldn't let me get on the plane. So I had to buy a new ticket and spend the night in the city since the airport closes at night.
Of all days to be stuck in Eindhoven though, I picked a damn good day to be there. The Eindhoven football team won the Dutch championship, so the whole city was on the streets celebrating, and I got some great drunk food (even though I didn't drink at all). Dutch food is amazing. And the owner of the hotel packed me a lunch for the next day. Pretty sweet! After exploring the town and getting caught in several beer/huge inflated soccer ball tussles, I spent the rest of the evening watching Dutch television, which is hilarious. My favorite show was Spuiten en Slikken, which was featuring a segment on the grossest sex things ever. I don't even know. It was riveting, and I definitely slept soundly after the show ended.
Monday morning, at 7 AM, I left the hotel for the airport otra vez. That's when I found out that Eindhoven was the typical sleepy Dutch town in the middle of gorgeous fields. It was so peaceful when I left that having to spend that extra time there turned out pretty nice. Plus I got to miss my first class and made the professor hate me for sure.

Prime Examples of Spanish Racism

2008-04-23T20:29:00.005+02:00

On a popular television sitcom
Background: "mono" means "cute" in Spain. Literally, it means "monkey".
Scene: Man with baby in a stroller, lady stops by.

Lady, about the baby: Oh, que mono es!
Man: No, no. Es que es negro!

Translation:
Lady, about the baby: Oh, look how cute the baby is!
Man, interpreting "mono" as "monkey": No, no. It's just that he's black.

Discussing a Spanish rumor with my señora's adult daughter
Me: He oido ese rumor! Es verdad o no?
Daughter: No, no. Es un cuento chino.

Translation:

Me: I've heard that rumor! Is it true or not?
Daughter: No, no. It's just a Chinaman's tale.

Virginia getting a text message at the grassy lunch area
Virg's phone beeps.
Spanish boy 1: Ohhh, mensaje! Ohh, chinita, que dice, que dice?
Spanish boy 2: Leelo! Dice "Ni-how"?!

Translation:

Spanish boy 1: Ohhh, text message! Ohh, little Asian girl, what does it say?
Spanish boy 2: Read it out loud! Does it say "Ni-how"?!

Helping my señora pick up broken glass
Señora: Ay, aunque tienes ojos muy chinitos, puedes ver bien, no?

Translation:

Señora: Even though you have really Chinese eyes, you can see well, right?

Cappuccetto Rosso

2008-04-17T20:42:00.008+02:00

These past two weeks have been insanity at school; I'm so glad I chose not to travel to England for the Liverpool match last weekend--that would've killed me for sure.
Last Thursday, I went on a date with this guy I met at an Erasmus (the European study abroad term) event. He is Italian and studying art/cine/something at my university. We went to Sesamo, the sangria bar that tons of famous people have frequented (Ernest Hemingway included), and I had una copita and was ready for the rest of the night. That is maybe the third time I have ever felt sauced in my life, and it was pretty hilarious. Marco had to finish the pitcher of sangria (typical), and then we met up with Julia and Jessica Smith to head to Malasaña. We popped into La Via Lactea (The Milky Way), a really cool bar with retro posters plastered floor to ceiling. Julia and Jessica walked around scoping out the bar (guys), while Marco and I hung out at the bar. I asked him to tell me a story in Italian, and he launched into Little Red Riding Hood, putting on all the voices and everything. I didn't care what he said as long as it was in Italian, and I ate it right up. Those Italian boys are so lucky--they don't have to do anything but speak and we're all over it. Damn, haha. After he found me a taxi (at the early time of 2 AM), we agreed to do the Caixa Forum together when he gets back from Italy so that he can enlighten my uncultured art-less mind. Let's see if that happens.
On Friday, Julia and her visiting friend Lisa and I went to El Tigre, a legit tapas bar where you order a drink and get free tapas. The portions were huge, and the bartender was cute. It was a good time, especially since I got a "Hasta luego, guapa" when we left. This is why I don't want to leave--everyone calls you guapa/cariño, and whether or not it means anything, it is just so cute.
Saturday, Julia's other friend Hayley flew in, and we all (+ Jessica) went to Joy, the other big tourist club, for a night of dancing. We wanted to go to Palacio because they have a hip-hop room, and because it looks like a palace on the inside, but a recruiter for Joy swooped in and got us into Joy for free. I talked up the DJ and got him to play Britney/Justin for us at 3:30, so that was awesome. Also perfect timing because I cannot dance to house music, and when Britney came on, a ridiculously good-looking Spanish boy and I made eye contact. He was kinda sleazy (they all are), but maybe we'll go out next week... somewhere public. We left at 4 AM (still early for Madrileños).
On Sunday, Jessica and I finally fulfilled our Retiro date. We rented a row boat and took it for a spin on the lake. Turns out Jessica used to be a girl scout and knew how to properly use the oars to get us out of the docks and to steer the thing. After hitting a lot of other people (both our fault and theirs) and having a near run-in with a water fountain and a guy who tried to push us into it, Jessica finished up strong by parking our boat right along the dock. And then a 15-year-old boy proceeded to hit on us. I love Spain.
So with a fun-filled weekend under my belt, I had to pull an all-nighter to get my Econ paper done for Tuesday. I also had three exams this week, and am now trying to desperately catch up on sleep--it's pretty awesome that I have to leave at 1 AM to get to the airport to catch my 6:30 flight tomorrow morning since the Metro doesn't start running until 6 AM.
Oh yeah. I'm flying to Amsterdam to meet Isha for the weekend! Toodles.

Scottie in Madrid // it's over, finally

2008-04-06T14:17:00.010+02:00

Scott just left =( I am sad. Hanging out with him this weekend really made me miss Megan and Geoff and the rest of the high school crew(s) and all of the ridiculousness. I could definitely imagine taking on Europe with them--it'd be pretty nuts.
and tanned/napped at Retiro where all these foreign girls were flashing their boobs along the lake. Scott enjoyed that. After checking into his hostel, I took him to Plaza de Cibeles and we did the Paseo del Prado stroll stopping at all the fountains and ice cream stands. Scott got here on Friday morning, and we hung out at my pisods. We walked through Calle de las Huertas on the way to Puerta del Sol, but of course I got lost and we wound up at Plaza Mayor instead. Luckily, while having a pretty crappy tortilla española on the touristy plaza, we ran into Brianna who pointed me out in the right direction. Scott made the mistake of suggesting we get a carafe of sangria, and since I can't drink, he basically finished the whole thing off by himself. So it's 5 or 6 PM and we are sauced and walking around Puerta del Sol and I'm trying to explain the history of Spain to him while unable to say the words correctly.
It had been a long day of touring, so we took a siesta at my apartment (and while Scott was sleeping I got a summer internship!) and then went out to do the Plaza de Santa Ana thing. Basically Scott admitted that Madrid's nightlife is amazing and 50 time bigger/better than Paris's. HA.
The next day, Scott was supposed to go out with his friend from Pacific, Mendy (who happens to be in my Hispanic Lit class), so I hung out with my Señora at her lunch party. The whole family was over and we ate sooo much food. I had an empanada with octopus in it!! It was pretty good, surprisingly. Oh, best part: Nines's daughter Monica told me she would make me BURRITOS!!! I am SO excited, you have no idea.
After lunch, I made some Español Profesional flashcards for the exam tomorrow, and apparently Scott wandered around for 2 hours to find me. Luckily, he ran into Claire and Jessica on the street in their Cal gear (really, how lucky is that) and they helped him find me. So I opened the door of my apartment and he was standing outside. Craaazy.
We met up with Julia and Gabe at Tribunal and were ready to walk around Malasaña, the district in Manu Chao's "Me Gustas Tu". And there was Keren. With Toby.
-----
It had been a year and a half since I saw Toby, and just over a year since we last spoke by e-mail... which had not ended on a good note (for him). So seeing him in person was surreal. I gave him a hug and a smiling "Hey, how are you" and that was it. And I felt really good. The whole situation is still so unbelievable that thinking about it makes me shake my head in disbelief. But I'm done.
-----
Gabe and Julia botelloned on the street, and after crappy tapas, we walked down Fuencarral and hit up a couple bars (and an ice cream place!) in La Latina. It's a really cool district that is very different from Chueca (gay) and Malasaña (hippy-ish). It's pretty Spanish, with ceramic tiles decorating everything, and crowds of people on the little streets. Very Lisbon-esque, which I loved. Then we took Scottie to San Gines for churros con chocolate! It was amazing, as usual.
This morning, Scott and I met up at Tirso de Molina for the Rastro, which was a let down, also as usual. I don't know why I am so fascinated by this flea market, since it's so redundant and all the things I want are actually expensive. Either way, we went back to the Retiro too late to row a boat around the lake =(
It's cool, because Scott held me while we sat on a park bench and ate ice cream, which was almost as good as a romantic (with Scott it would've been more splashing and rambunctiousness) boat ride. That just means Ms. Jessica Smith must step in next week.
And now he is gone! And I am still sad. But Nines is calling me for lunch so I'm off. Toodles!

Visitors!

2008-04-03T20:15:00.003+02:00

PS. I am SUPER excited about this weekend (despite my three exams and two papers due in the next week) because Mr. Scott Baird is dropping by on a weekend away from Paris! He'll be the fourth familiar face I've seen this semester, not including the Barcelona kids.
In February, Maggie left Berkeley early and did a run through Europe, stopping in Madrid before heading back to Buenos Aires. She brought along Susie who was studying here too, and it felt so nice to see some kids I knew in a foreign country.
Then in March, I picked Jessica Knowles (pronounced Cannolis in my head after hearing Devon say it so many times) up from the Barajas airport and dropped her off at the Atocha train station while she was on her way to Seville. I'm bummed that we didn't get more time together, but having boys in Seville is important, so I understand =P
Anyway. Off to do a tiny bit of homework before going out with Julia y quizas Lauren tonight! Besos!

Let's (not) Get Lost Tonight

2008-04-03T19:30:00.009+02:00

I've realized that certain cities have a very romantic/swept-up-in-the-moment effect on me, where I just want to grab the guy closest to me (or girl if necessary, as Tess found out while backpacking with me) and have a whirlwind romance.
While in Seville, all I wanted was to hold someone's hand while walking across the beautiful bridges and between the squished together buildings. It's so easy to feel like you have a whole cobblestone street to yourself between the iron balconies overflowing with flowers. And everyone wants to stop mid-walk and be able to kiss a tall European man, day or night.
It was especially easy in Rome, on my first day, wandering through the old streets lined with modern shops... and then all of a sudden, the path I was taking would turn into Piazza Navona or the Trevi Fountain. I think these cities have an advantage because I get lost so quickly that I don't know when the most romantic traps sneak up on me:

Rome
Lisbon
Seville
San Francisco

(Un)fortunately, I don't find that Madrid has this effect on me. It's a lot of hustle and bustle, which I love and couldn't live without, but I don't think I've found the right neighborhoods to walk through. Kissing under the clock tower at Puerta del Sol seems a little contrived (I'm laughing as I write that). Perhaps that is best, since being back here is a reality check after weekends of traveling.
When I come back to Madrid, the whirlwind romance idea dies pretty quickly. I'm reminded of all the schoolwork I have and how little time I have left. Also, I'm left to think about how the possible candidates for a whirlwind romance are kind of sketchy. Perhaps they are not sketchy people, but the courting culture is just so different here.
You do meet people in bars and clubs, but you don't know who they are. You can't smile at anyone because that is an invitation to come over; that explains why people don't smile here, ever. You can't dance with anyone because that means that you want to have sex with them; girls and guys dance next to each other here, not with each other. Guys are very forward and it is overwhelming.
When I'm constantly approached by guys who have an Asian fetish/suffer from Yellow Fever/are of the Asian Persuasion, I don't know if the ones who don't state it outright feel the same way as the ones that do. So I have to worry if they are interested because of my squinty eyes or because my pathetic Spanish accent is endearing during our riveting conversations (where every other line has to be repeated because the music is so effing loud).
Plus I don't understand what they're saying to me. I always ask my señora if what a boy said to me is meant to be taken in a certain way. It usually is the opposite of what I thought it meant (not helpful when meeting other foreigners who don't speak good Spanish either). There are little nuances to the language that Julia's language packet can't figure out either, so I have to be careful not to misunderstand what someone says and end up in a bad situation. Perhaps I'm just being a huge coward and not letting go like a lot of other girls have. I am just sketched out too easily. I should go back to one of the romantic cities where I forget about all these things.

Sevilla

2008-04-01T03:48:00.011+02:00

Um, fucking fantastic pretty much sums up my weekend. I haven't felt the need to recover from a weekend like that in a while (just kidding, I feel like that every weekend).
Seville embraces everything stereotypical of Spain: siestas, bullfights, tiny streets with gorgeous balconies, outrageous flamenco + dresses, beautiful ceramics, sunny and warm, romantic....
I've realized that certain cities have a very romantic/swept-up-in-the-moment effect on me. All I wanted was to hold someone's hand while walking across the beautiful bridges and between the squished together buildings. Only downside of traveling alone. But still flipping amazing.

Thursday:
- skipped econ to fly to Seville
- after checking into my hostel in Triana (across the river from the center-center), took a sweet siesta
- had a poor student's dinner (sandwich of cheese and grody meat) with a guy from New Zealand
- met up with Eric and Dan (estadounidenses that I met in Lisbon)
- while the boys + New Zealander botelloned (the Spanish pre-game) along the river bank, chatted with Devon on the mobile!
- went to Big Ben, a bar on Calle Betis, right along the river which is absolutely gorgeous
- made the boys walk me home before they headed back out to clubFriday:
- met two British boys at the hostel, Matt (OC cute + British Chess Champion?!) and Andy (6'5" and almost chess champion)
- went with them to the Cathedral (largest Gothic cathedral in the world)
- made them climb the 34 ramp tower; they whined but didn't regret it at the top
- went to the Alcazar, the royal gardens, and vegged at a fountain after pretending to be in the Tri-Wizard Cup while running through the hedge maze
- ran into Brendan and Taylor, WTF?!
- found out the Brits were my little brother's age (18 and 19); they did look like little babies. Super cute.
- Brits went to a bullfight, I was about to siesta but then Eric called me and made me go out
- went to the Primavera Fiesta, a huge botellon that every single Sevillian under 23 went to, along the river, looked like something from the Fast and the Furious with all the popped trunks blasting music and slutty girls dancing around
- dinnered at hostel, met a British girl who offered up her sweet house in London to me should I ever find money to go there
- met up with Eric and some of his lady friends at an Irish pub
- Eric wanted to go clubbing, girls wanted churros and chocolate... of course I opted for the latter
- copped out at 2:30 AM because I am weaksauce =(

Saturday:
- meandered over to Plaza de España, which kicks Madrid's Plaza de España's ass
- met up with Brendan and Taylor to head over to the Real Betis vs. Barcelona futbol match
- they decided to get in sketchily while I cowardly went back to the hostel and ate dinner
- Real Betis won (haha, suckers, poor Barca)
- met up with B&T otra vez and had Italian food for the first time since Italy
- went to bars, hung out on the river and random plazas, killing time until they had to leave at 4 AM
- awkwardness began over dinner when Taylor wanted to know about what happened between me and Brendan sophomore year... pretty awesome conversation (not)
- went back to the hostel to chill on the couch, but an Asian couple was making out on it so we couldn't
- good thing, since apparently daylight savings time had started and the guys almost missed their flight
- fell asleep without washing my hair two nights in a row =(

Sunday:
- Barrio de Santa Cruz and the plaza to plaza stroll recommended by Rick Steves: AMAZING, gorgeous, romantic, really Spanish, found the Don Juan statue (figures)
- met Eric on the river for a little sunbathing + reading of Pedro Paramo (hardest novel to read ever)
- met his native Sevillian friends, Luis y Nacho, who loved my racist jokes and thought I was the most ridiculous person ever; Justin from Chicago sympathized with my chinita battles
- drove to the airport with all the boys and me crammed into the little car
- offered up my non-existent house in SF for the boys to visit... we'll see how that goes

And now it's 4:10 AM and I have to wake up in under 4 hours for clase... another day of trying to recover... might have to break out the Berkeley sweatshirt for the second day in a row. Bad news, kids.

Perfeccionamiento

2008-03-27T01:27:00.009+01:00

Everyone on our program is required to take a core language class in order to ensure that we are actually learning Spanish while here. There are five levels according to skill upon arrival. For some reason, I tested into the Bilingual level, and clearly I am not. Well, I ended up in Bilingue B: Perfeccionamiento, which means "Ouch, you didn't make the cut for Bilingue A", the real bilingual kids' class.
I absolutely hate my lengua class because it's full of people who are not bilingual, but the professor expects us to know how to function outside of the classroom with zero instruction in such things. I still have no idea how to order food, how to pay the bill, or how to converse with other Spaniards.
The kids in the Superior level (one below me) get this cool packet of useful phrases and things you can/cannot say. I brought it up with my professor and she said that what they were learning was too juvenile for us. And then last week, we had to draw little doodles and interpret each other's drawings. So really I have learned nothing, and I dread going to this class and sitting there wasting my time when I don't have to take the class (if you test into Bilingue you are not required to take it).
I really wish I knew how to do the simple things like using actual Spanish phrases to converse with people, since my literature analysis skills are not helping me write text messages to the Spanish kids I meet. I always have to ask Julia what to write in text messages, and I'm never really sure of what she tells me to say--am I ending the wrong signals?
Either way, I don't ever really know if people talk to me when I go out because they are genuinely interested or if they are just intrigued/amused by my Asianness. Kind of a dilemma, since I am already confused about how forward the guys are here--are they just like that because they aren't conditioned to waiting for girls to throw themselves at them, or are they actually sleazy? I can't tell, and it's a little disconcerting. Ayuda, por favor?Also, today in Lengua, a girl (with a really awful accent who sounds like she doesn't even care that she isn't speaking Spanish half the time) did a presentation on Spanish food, and there was a segment on how it's different from Mexican food. I have never wanted a burrito more in my life.
At one point we had to make a list of spices in Mexican food and spices in Spanish food. The Mexican list was really long and made me drool a little, and the Spanish side had "salt". Aggghhh. Please, someone send me some carnitas or something!!

Mi vida como madrileña (sort of)

2008-03-24T00:12:00.006+01:00

I haven't really written about my actual life in Madrid, which makes sense seeing as I am hardly ever here. I've been spending way too much time traveling and not enough time exploring the city that I live in.
It's difficult because during the school week (Monday to Thursday), I get out of class at 6 and with the 1-hour commute to/from Getafe, I don't get home until at least 7 PM. My señora puts dinner on at 8, which is early for Spain, but she is old and likes to eat then--which means no time to go out and explore the city before dark. Then I lounge and do homework and go to bed at 4 (basically my Berkeley schedule) and repeat school the next day. I hate that Carlos III is located out in the boonies in Getafe, because the commute ruins any chance of exploring between classes, and ditching is not an option since Spaniards are sticklers for that sort of thing.
On the weekends though, when I'm not traveling, I have been trying harder to do more cultural things. Last weekend, I went to the Retiro (the huge park next to my house; I live in kind of a sweet area) and sat in the sun. I've also done churros con chocolate and the huge flea market. I'm super excited for when Scott Baird visits next weekend because then I can take him on a tour and pretend like I'm a real Madrileña.
I love living with a Spanish señora, since she cooks me Spanish food (both good and bad) and I get to practice my Spanish. And she calls me guapa when I help her around the house. And she introduces me to everyone as, "Oye, mira, mira! Esta es mi chiquita americana. Mira como guapa es!" Even though that's how all Spaniards talk (guapa, bonita, princesa, reina, preciosa), it still is cute to hear an old lady say it. We have dinner together every night, and we talk about a lot of stuff--usually where I'm going next and her recommendations, but also she gives me good boy advice, since she was a total hottie when she was younger and had to beat the guys off with sticks.
The food is in general pretty great. There is a lot of meat (+), potatoes (+), and fried stuff (+). However, they really fry things, in several inches of olive oil so everything comes out on the plate in pools of grease (-). Also, they serve bread with everything, including a sandwich with a side of bread (-). At least I've gotten really skilled at surreptitiously using the bread to mop up the olive oil on the leaves of the iceberg lettuce in salads (+?). Rich desserts are also abound, and I stop at every single pasteleria to buy pastries and chocolates (+). Unfortunately, not much has any flavor other than salty (-), so I'm dying for some Indian or Thai food. Hopefully I'll be able to hunt some down this week, as Julia and I have decided to make more of an effort to go out.
Anyway, it is late (sort of, 1:30 AM?) and I need to shower. Tomorrow is our last day of spring break, and I'm going to spend it writing postcards and not doing my homework! Toodles!
Thanks for the title, Julia... even though we are not really Madrileñas yet.

Easter

2008-03-23T23:06:00.004+01:00

I love holidays. No class, no work, and great food. I was so bummed that I had to miss my mom's Easter dinner this year because it is always fantastic. Two years ago, we had some kind of honey mustard chicken that was juicy and amazing, and last year I believe it was honey-baked ham. So needless to say, I was pleasantly surprised when Nines, my señora, broke out the carved steak fillets in a carrot/onion/mushroom chunky puree sauce, homemade french fries, and calamari fritto. Flipping amazing. I ate a lot and shared a few good jokes (ha! I'm making jokes in Spanish now!) with her youngest daughter Marta and her son-in-law Victor. Nines told them about my boy issues and we all had several good laughs over how ridiculous European boys are. We also talked about Fernando Torres and how I cried for three hours when he was transferred to Liverpool. Then Nines's granddaughters, Monica and Julia, came over and Victor put on his monster voice/claws and we chased each other around the house. It was so much fun, and it made me remember how much I liked having my little cousins around. Except when they started whining/crying because then I wanted to shut them outside. Either way, they are all buena gente and I had so much fun with them.
Julia (my friend, not the granddaughter) and I went to Plaza de España in the evening and found el Templo de Debod (?) the legit Greek temple that they picked up and moved over here. And then we went to this Argentinian cafe where I had three empanadas and none of them made it home like I meant for them to.
And I just put one of the girls to bed. So adorable. All in all, pretty sweet Easter.

Salamanca

2008-03-23T15:52:00.007+01:00

After a seven hour train ride from Lisbon, on which I had a car to myself (save the kind of awkward Spanish guy who joined an hour in), I arrived in Salamanca, a university town 2.5 hours west of Madrid dating from the Renaissance. It is famous for having the oldest university, where Christopher Columbus lectured and Hernan Cortes took classes before conquering the Aztecs.
I spent the first night in a decent hotel, and then met up with a CouchSurfer, Alfonso, the next morning. He let me set my stuff in his apartment (one of the few students/men under 30 who have their own place) and I set out to explore the northern historic circle by myself... only after buying bonbones from a chocolate shop along the way.
Later that evening, Alfonso went out with his friends and I hung out at his apartment waiting for Julia to arrive. She came in at 4 in the morning, which isn't late to Spaniards, and we passed out.
The next morning, we bought some more chocolate for the road and headed down to the southern historic circle. The main sights in Salamanca are Plaza Mayor, the Cathedrals, and the University. We had a coffee on Plaza Mayor, and walked down Rua Mayor, with tons of pastelerias and confiterias. The best part of the walk, other than the empanada and the gofre that I picked up, was coming upon the university with all the tourists looking for the frog.
The legend is that students who find the tiny frog on the elaborate facade would get good grades during that term--their version of 4.0 hill. Julia and I couldn't find it, so we scoped out Spanish tourists who pointed it out to us. See if you can find it!That night, we went to the recommended Bambu for raciones and did the student stroll through Plaza Mayor and the adjacent streets. It was so gorgeous and full of life that I want to go back during a week where the students are there (not during Semana Santa), as it made me miss Berkeley and everyone running around.

St. Patrick's Day

2008-03-18T15:13:00.005+01:00

Even though the Pope changed the official St. Patrick's Day to last week as not to interfere with Holy Week, we decided to celebrate it last night anyway. Turns out the kids that I had dinner with were all Catholic Americans and so they already had several Irish pubs picked out.
The first one we went to was legit--amazing Guinness (4 sips and I was done) and a live band playing jig-worthy music. There were tons of actually Irish people there, plus several others with huge green top hats and red beards... and one guy who really did have a ridiculously red beard. We had a ton of fun pretending to know how to jig! And no idea there were so many Irish people in Portugal.
The next place we went to was a bust, as the live band played zero Irish music and decided to butcher Eric Clapton and Hotel California instead... and finished up their set with Gym Class Hereos. Oh, man. At least the bartender threw free St. Patrick's Day pull-string bags to the "crowd" and now I have a traveling laundry bag?
The bar closed at 2 AM, so we headed back to the hostel and once again, I showered and promptly passed out. I've gotten so much sleep while at this hostel, regardless of snoring roommates, and it feels so good to get twice as much shuteye as I normally do. Pretty awesome.
Must run to catch my 7 hour train to Salamanca!

Lisbon

2008-03-17T22:38:00.010+01:00

So it's Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Spain, so all the kids get the week off to celebrate. Basically Spaniards find any excuse to celebrate, and the Rising of Christ should be one of the best.
I'm in Lisbon for the first bit of spring break, and it's fantastic! The old center, where my hostel is, is all tiny cobblestone streets and little historic cafes/statues everywhere. I got here on Friday, with Julia, Ashley, Pam, and Thais (who taught me Portuguese on the plane). We found Jessica and Sandy at the hostel, and they went out to explore while Julia and I had our first meals of the day at 2 PM.
We got directions for a mini walking tour from the hostel guy, and headed out. We found a historic cafe and sat down next to the statue of the seated man, and I got to use my two Portuguese frases, [Eu goshtaria doish cafe com lech] and [Obrigada], phonetically spelled. After strolling the most charming streets, we found the Santa Justa elevator and went up in it for the view. At the top, there is a little cafe and live music. You could see the whole city and the water and it was just so amazing. Afterward, we made our way down to Praça do Comercio, on the water, and watched the sunset behind the huge archway. It was gorgeous.
The next day, our huge group (plus Rudolfo, an Argentinian we picked up along the way) went to the flea market in the Afambra (oldest neighborhood in Lisbon) which was cute but did not rival Madrid's Rastro in any way. We walked up to the Miradoura, another fine vista, and the castle. Which was cool at the time.
Then we all did a side trip to Belem, where the monastery and Torre is PLUS a famous bakery that makes delicious custard cakes. Everyone at our hostel thought they were amazing, but I thought they were just okay. Guess I have to eat more pastries to make up for it. Tragic, really.
After dinner and a disco nap, we went out with some more kids from the hostel, and I found out that Lisbon is even more awesome than I thought. The party is on the street. There are tons of cute bars, and people just get a drink and then waltz outside to chat in the street. There were tons of people, and it was so much fun walking amongst them, giving the eyes to the cute guys. It was not fun getting groped by a rando, and thank God Julia isn't chickenshit and pulled me out of the crowd.
Eight whole hours of sleep later, the big EAP group left, and Julia and I got to go to Sintra, 40 minutes by train, by ourselves. We saw the Palacio Nacional da Sintra and had their two desserts--can't remember the names. Then we headed up to the Moorish Castle on top of this ridiculous hill. Julia told me that it would only take 30 minutes to hike up there, so I reluctantly agreed to do it. 10 minutes into the walk, we realized how far away we were, and I demanded that we catch a ride. So we hitchhiked up to the Moorish Castle in Portugal! That was the first time I had ever done that, and I'm so glad we wound up flagging down a car of two nerdy Spaniards who I could've beaten down if they tried anything. The Moorish Castle kicked the Afambra castle's ass. It reminded me of Eze Village a little bit, except less elegant and people were fatter as the passageways were wider. The view of the city and water from the castle were fantastic! We decided not to go to this beach town with the guys, and instead took a bus ourselves.
Cascais, the beach town, is the western-most point of Europe... which is about all it has got going for it. It's a typical beach town, except more charming. Unfortunately, we ran into the guys we got a ride from, and had to have the awkward "Ohh... I guess we just decided to come here too..." conversation with them. At least Julia got to use her Lengua packet with the, "Hombre, tu, por aqui?" line. Buen trabajo.
Today Julia left, and I just chilled in the city, loitering at cafes and writing postcards. I tried to read a book for my Spanish Lit class and fell asleep. And after dinner with some kids studying in Seville, I am ready to go to bed. Even though it's 10 PM, haha. They want to go out, but I don't know how they can keep going out until super late every night. I have a long way to go until I catch up. Toodles.

Weekend in Barcelona

2008-03-16T04:14:00.007+01:00

Last weekend, Julia, Tess, Ashley, and I went to Barcelona (otra vez) to do actual cultural things, unlike the last time Tess and I were there in February.
After checking into our hostel, where we had the craziest roommate, we did the Ramblas stroll down to the monument to Christopher Columbus (story says that's where the king and queen met him when he came back from the Americas). For dinner, we met up with Brendan and Taylor (the SAE kids) and their friends at Tapa Tapa. They took us to gelato on Las Ramblas, and then we went to La Oveja Negra, a bar where we sat around a fireplace and had beers (I had maybe two sips, haha).
The next day, we did everything Gaudi, who I am in love with. Casa Mila, lampposts (that spotlight these crazy benches underneath them), the Block of Discord, and La Sagrada Familia. At la Sagrada Familia, Julia and I caught several guys across the pathway waving at us (pretty Euro and pretty cute), and I gave one of them a nod, and we got blown kisses. It got creepy when he started taking pictures of us though. Yeah. We finished off Gaudi with Parc Guell, and then headed over to Barri Goti (Gothic Neighborhood) and re-found the pastry shop from Tess's and my last Barcelona trip. Those chocolate canyas were amaaaazing. The best part of Barri Goti was finding the dancing old people. It was so cute. There was live music, and all these old people would form circles and do a cute little dance. If someone else wanted to join in, they'd duck under the arms and put their stuff into the middle, and people would separate to let them join. So adorable.
After dinner at Les Quinze Nits (the place Meaghan took Tess and me last time), Ashley, Julia and I met up with Jason, a friend of Julia's from high school. He took us to Boske (sp?), a bar that imitates a forest, complete with trees in the middle of tables, several waterfalls, and nymphs. Totally kitschy and I ate it right up. We went to Chupitos afterward, where they have a million and a half different types of shots. The rest of them took the Harry Potter shot (blow torched with cinnamon thrown on top to make it sparkle) and the Finding Nemo shot (M&Ms at the bottom). It was a lot of fun until a bunch of fratty frat guys, all dressed in striped collared shirts rolled up at the sleeves, bought one of their friends a drink. It was a black penis strapped on top of a beer. The bartender, after essentially dick-slapping her, made her lick whipped cream all the way up the shaft, and then shoved her head onto the.. well, head. Then he shook the bottle and squirted her in the face. It was disgusting, and we were horrified. The frat guys laughed and the girl exclaimed, "That was fucking amazing!" afterward. I couldn't believe it. That was the most degrading thing I've ever seen, and I am still shocked as I'm thinking about it. Ergh.
Moving along, Jason dropped us off at a Metro station, and we went to Up&Down, a club really far away from the center. We passed the Villareal bus parked at the Hilton while trying to find it, and Julia and I paused to consider the possibility of finding the footballers in the hallways, but it was 3 AM before a match day. Either way, Janice spent 20 minutes getting us into the club, and finally we got in for free. Pretty sweet! Apparently, the club is two floors (Up and Down, har har), except that you can't move between floors so really it's UpORDown, but whatever. We left at 5 AM, and got home at 6 AM. We all passed out as soon as we got back, and thank goodness our roommates had all left, so we got the room to ourselves.
The next morning, we saw Arc de Triumf, since it was at the train station, and then we flew back to Madrid. And I took a 4 hour siesta. Fantastic.

Take that, suckers

2008-02-28T03:29:00.002+01:00

Walking to the exit from the train home from Getafe (where I go to school), a bunch of salesmen approached me with their "Perdon, perdon!"s.
I put best what-the-hell-are-you-saying-to-me face. And one walked away disappointed, saying to his partner, "Ah, no entiende."
And I walked away snickering. BAM. Train station jerks always want their Chinitas, and they got one.

Cordoba/Granada

2008-02-26T20:53:00.010+01:00

This past weekend, I went on my first excursion out of Madrid--to Cordoba and Granada, in the south of Spain. They were the last non-Spanish people's communities before Ferdinand and Isabella kicked everyone out, so despite the star of David and all the Moorish architecture, there were no Jews/Moors and I was pretty sad about it.
In Cordoba, we stayed at a four-star hotel right next to the Mezquita (the Moorish/Christian/everyone who conquered built something there) religious building thing. It was pretty awesome to learn about how this great ol' Moorish king bought this plot of land and built an earthquake safe temple... but the 50-person group tour thing was not for me. After having backpacked through Europe alone and having the luxury of doing an audio tour at my own pace, being with so many Americans and going on three hour tours is not really my thing.
The great thing about organized tours is that you get to go to a legit flamenco show at group rates though! You guys would have loved it. There were several sets of different dances/costumes, and each of them had a different story (except I don't know what the stories were). It was exactly as I hoped it would be. Intense facial expressions, crazy footwork, castanets, and curvy women. There was so much booty I almost couldn't handle it. It made me really want to be Hispanic because they have curves and they can work it. Damn.
The next morning, we headed to Granada, the last Moorish stronghold. The first day, we went to the Cathedral, where Ferdinand and Isabella (crazies, but we owe them for giving them Columbus his startup money, I guess) are laid. Kind of insane to see their tombs and realize that they were the real deal in 1492.
The next day, we did La Alhambra, which was incredible. It's this huge and decadent fortress on top of a hill where the sultan and his harem used to live. The architecture is amazing; there is just so much detail in everything. Oh, and also, they had a complicated system of fountains to keep the rooms temperate. Oh, and the sultan liked to kill 36 courtiers because one of them wouldn't fess up to sleeping with one of his many women. Selfish, much? Despite the craziness, the Alhambra was full of gorgeous gardens and views.
It would've been a perfect weekend if I hadn't gotten so carsick on the way home and thrown up twice. And then I caught a fever the same night and have missed the last two days of school. That is the reason why I never take long bus rides anywhere. Will definitely be flying for spring break plans. That is all.

Settling In

2008-02-16T13:03:00.005+01:00

So it has been a week since I moved in with my Señora, and sometimes I still feel like no time has passed. Everything is almost completely new to me, and I am constantly lost in Madrid, which I am only realizing now is huge. I love the big city feel, but it gets a tiny bit overwhelming sometimes, especially when people are just staring (or when the guy ahead of me on the escalator did the fake cough with the word "China"). It's like, I get it, I'm a foreigner, now please make someone else uncomfortable.
Little things get under my skin here, but I suppose I'm a lot better off than some other kids. A couple of the kids I've been talking to said that they cried for several days and were completely overwhelmed when they first got here. I feel like I haven't really suffered the full brunt of culture shock, perhaps because I have never really felt homesick while being away from home or because I have had that itching-to-leave foot for so long now.
I'll admit--there are times when I am just dying for french fries, bacon and eggs for breakfast, a nice California salad, the ability to wear a sweatshirt and comfortable shoes, or the wheel-chair accessibility of BART. In Barcelona, Meaghan told me that a lot of kids go to McDonald's or Burger King just to get a taste of home... except that the quality of the food is better here. Figures that Americans get the shittiest burgers.
Last night though, Tess, Keren, Sydney, Sam, and I went to Le Dragon, a nice Chinese fusion restaurant, the first time I've had Asian food since California. And it felt so damn good. Which is weird, since you all know how much I dislike Chinese food. We blew a lot of money and ate so much food; it was amazing. I'm really excited to do a nice meal out every week with the kids.
I've been hanging out with only Americans this week, since we've just been doing orientation and not really meeting anyone on campus. But school starts on Monday, and even though my classes are all with Americans, at least we'll be walking around and eating in the cafeteria with Spanish kids. And the higher quality Spanish kids too, since they're in school and not at clubs hitting on every girl possible.
We went to Kapital, the 7-story club on Thursday night (free before 1:30, because things don't get going until 2 AM), and it was just full of well-dressed men. There was a lot of Eurotrash and/or greasy guys. My three run-ins were:
* a guy walking up to me at the bar and saying, "Hey, this is my friend. He likes Asians. Are you in?"
* a guy, who was wearing just a shirt half unbuttoned, who was getting all touchy feely with his other guy friend and then wanted to dance with me
* a girl and a guy dancing over to me and then sandwiching me, and when Keren tried to rescue me, they sandwiched the both of us and wouldn't let go
Awesome.
That isn't to say that there aren't un-creepy Spaniards. While searching Calle de las Huertas for lunch, an old man came up to us and told us where we could get authentic food. So we went to this little place several tiny streets and corners over, where there were zero tourists and all good things. He made sure we got a table, and while we were waiting awkwardly among natives, bought us a tapa of una tortilla española and glasses of white wine. It was so cute, and we had such a great meal. Definitely going back on Thursday at 2 PM to find Miguel again.
Anyway, we are supposed to go shopping again today. I was a moron and packed "light", which meant leaving all the clothes I needed at home and having to buy it all again over here where things are so much more expensive. Oh well. I have resigned to spending a ton of money here. When am I going to get to do this again?

Barcelona Birthday

2008-02-08T19:56:00.002+01:00

Since 21 doesn't count for crap in Europe, I managed to round up some American kids for my little birthday celebration at the Americanest bar in Barcelona, the Dow Jones. It has Wall St. signs everywhere, and the drinks' prices are listed like stock prices. At random times, the stock market crashes and you can buy a beer for really cheap. It's really cute, and I had a grand time. I finished maybe 1/4 of my mojito and couldn't say "regret" properly, which may or may not be a good sign. All in all, dinner at La Rita (faux-fancy restaurant) with Meaghan, Leah, and Tess / drinks with them + Kristin, Brendan, and Taylor was lovely, and I'm really glad that I had some familiar faces around for my birthday.
Barcelona was great, even though we mostly slept and ate instead of seeing any of the million things to see. I feel kind of lame that we didn't do more sight-seeing, but Tess and I figure that culture is more important. I think Picasso + Gaudi (we saw La Sagrada Familia, which was incredible and will need photos to show it) is pretty good for two days, no?
Anyway, I'm in Madrid (finally!!) and we just finished one day of orientation. Tonight we are going to Asian food for the first time since we left and a house party at our new friend Sam's friend's apartment. I'm glad that we don't have to go to the bars in huge groups of Americans, but also I'm rather nervous about not having any nice clothes for a Spanish party. They dress up for everything; a party is going to be nuts. But that's fine--I finally bought a pair of skinnies since it's rebaja season... and I'm about to blow more money on jeans and bags and boots this week while sales are still going.
All right. Must run! Tomorrow we meet our families, so I have to not look like an idiot in the morning!

Mardi Gras

2008-02-06T15:24:00.001+01:00

Today is the second to last day of my backpacking trip! You have no idea how excited I am to be settled in in Madrid, especially these past few days.

At the France/Spain border, in Perpignan, Tess and I arrived at 11:30 PM and there were no more trains to Barcelona. So we found the waiting room and decided to camp there for the night. Except that the only other person in the room was a creeper who kept looking at us funny, so we were prepared to run if necessary. Fortunately, the last security guard came into the room and told the creepy man that the train station closes at 12:30 AM and that he had to leave. Then he turned to Tess and me and told us, in his super cute broken English (he apologized several times for only knowing school English), "You are ladies, and I do not like to see ladies on the street at night, so you can stay here tonight, but it is usually not allowed for guests to stay at the train station." And he was rather dashing, too.

Either way, Tess slept on the ground on my towel because we had to hide ourselves, and I slept on this metal bench that had bars in it, so my back is totally thrown out. By "slept" I mean we moved into awkward positions to make ourselves as comfortable as possible, but by 4 AM I had to sit up and just stay up until our 9 AM train. It was a fucking nightmare, but I've never slept better when we got to Meaghan's (Tess's friend) apartment in Barcelona.

Yesterday, after not setting an alarm and finally leaving the house at 2 PM, Tess and I set out for the Picasso Museum. We had to run down the steps to catch the metro, and barely squeezed through the closing doors. Then I saw a guy standing along the car doors looking at me in shock, and I'm thinking, what is this guy's problem?--then I looked closer, and it's Brendan. Tess turned around when she heard my "Oh my God" and her eyes bugged out too. That was not an awkward situation at all, haha.

We made it the museum in one piece (stopped for sandwiches, pastries, and candy first) and had a grand time being cultured. In one section that held Picasso's personal collection, the surrealism room really stuck out. I can't describe it because I know nothing about art, but there were several pieces that made you take several minutes to look at them and just blew your mind if you thought about them. Plus it also held the erotic pieces and those were a trip. I can't imagine artists putting their hand to a medium and cranking these things out. It was nuts.

Post museum, we started putting on our make up and masks for Mardi Gras! Everyone goes to this beach town outside of Barcelona for the festivities, and it's fucking insane. Tess and I wore our huge masks that we bought in Venice, and not gonna lie--we rocked them. Our group--Meaghan, roommate Leah, friends Saied, Brandon, Eric, Tess, and me--was completely underdressed. People went crazy with the costumes; even the Ghostbusters, Tetris blocks, flight attendants complete with airplane, and the nearly naked 300 guys with a cape could not beat out the ridiculous parade people. It was pretty cool though because people would stop Tess and me on the street and ask to take our pictures because of our Venetian masks. Outrageous costumes and floats and music and confetti everywhere. It was nuts, and I had a blast. Except that by 2 AM Tess and I were ready to go home, being the inexperienced Spanish partiers that we were. Taxis were 120 euro, so we nixed that and sat along a curb eating some random pastries and sandwiches until the first train left at 3:30 AM. We got into Barcelona at 4:30 (the train rides to and from were fucking crazy because everyone was packed in and rowdy and if you dropped something, it wouldn't fall because there wasn't any free space) and took the first metro home at 5 AM.

I am just happy we survived the first big party night, and dear Lord, I don't know how the Spanish do it every night.

PS. Random bit of the night: a skanky American girl dressed up as a Playboy bunny or something got pushed out of the train and face planted on her nose. She was bleeding all over the place, and her drunk friends started cussing her out (Shut the FUCK up! I can't believe you want to go home! What the FUCK!) for wanting to go home. They were really ragging on her that I felt really bad for her, but we couldn't help laughing because they were so ridiculously drunk and belligerent... and dressed in slutty bunny costumes. Oh, man.

Jack Bauer Fans--

2008-02-05T20:26:00.000+01:00

Written on 3 February 2008, 19:37, Avignon train station

I just spent the night (actually, 2 nights) with the son of the guy Kiefer Sutherland is named after.

Back story:

While at our hostel in Nice, one of our roommates was a US Marine from Argentina. We all hit it off, and he invited us to stay with him in Aix-en-Provence, a small city between Avignon and Marseille.

This afternoon, after eclairs with the Australians, Tess and I left Nice and met Andrew (the Marine) in Aix. We had a legit Provencian dinner (get the duck) (I had half a glass of red wine!!) and went to bed early. Today, we had brunch at the town center and visited a super cute produce/fish/meat marke, and the Riviera won me over with its little streets and flower bucket window sills.

+ 10 for France.

Then we encountered the surliest waiter ever, even though Andrew speaks really good French. My bad for being the obvious American.

- 100 for France.

Andrew helped us find a train to Perignan, at the France/Spain border, as the bitches behind the desk told us we couldn't get a train to Barcelona.

Boarding the train was the end of our time with the son of Warren Kiefer, after whom Donald Sutherland named his son.

Side note: Andrew looks like Brian Littrell from the Backstreet Boys. Brian was my favorite. ;)

Anyway, I am rather tired of France now, even though I'm sad about leaving some of the great kids we met.

Tess had a lovely time chatting with her hot personal trainer, Ben. And I met a chef! Nick cooks in a 5-star restaurant on a private vineyard in Melbourne. He is one of three chefs that prepare elaborate meals for only ten rich people at a time. He said that if I ever make it to Melbourne, I'd have a place to stay (at the super nice hotel on the vineyard, complete with full-size pools in the rooms and a helicopter pad) and a meal prepared by him personally. Oh, by the way, each meal costs $600 AUS, which is only $550ish USD, no big deal. Australia, anyone?

Nice.

2008-02-02T11:22:00.000+01:00

The only time it had rained was while Tess and I were on the train from Venice to Nice. As soon as we hopped off, it got sunny again. Which was perfect, as we did side trips from Nice these past couple days.
The first day, we went to Antibes (where Isha is studying, except that she is in Ireland right now) and Cannes. Even though the film festival isn't for a few more months, Cannes is glamorous all the time. We climbed this hill up to the museum (closed) but managed some incredible views of the city and the beach. I really want to go back for the film festival. And do it a la Entourage.
Then yesterday, we did a day trip to Monaco, stopping at Eze Village as recommended by our hostel guys on the way. Eze Village is a preserved medieval castle/fortress/town at the top of the mountain, so everything is stone and the door/archways are super short because people weren't very tall back then apparently. We meant to have a coffee at the Golden Goat, but couldn't figure it out (typical of us, really) and wound up at Chateau Eza or something. The view is supposed to be amazing at the Golden Goat, but I think what we found at Eza wasn't too shabby either. Dining along the cliffs with a view of the Nice cove and surrounding land from the top of the mountain? Not too bad, right? And then on top of our lattes, we had foie gras and three mini desserts (creme brulee, some apple cake, and sorbet) all intricately placed and presented.
Highlight of the meal: dropping my fork on the ground because I'm a klutz and having our waiter come pick it up only to trip over steps and faceplant. Ouch. We felt so bad that we left a huge tip on top of the rather large bill and the no-tipping thing in France. But other than that, it was pretty fucking amazing. You need to see photos.
Oh. And then we went to Monaco for coffee with a British/American/Argentinian Marine that we met the other night. The rest of Monaco was not so memorable, mainly because we got too lazy to walk around the port. And while trying to get tickets to go back on the train, we encountered too many snobby French people who refused to help us or make change for the machine. Minus 500 for France.
We're about to head out to Old Town Nice and find a train to a place where we don't know if we have beds tonight. But right now Tess is flirting with one of the hot Australian guys we met here (there are several), so I'm just going to let her hang out for a bit.

Lessons from Venice

2008-01-30T22:56:00.000+01:00

Tess and I have experienced some life lessons while in Venice, and I'd like to impart some of my newly acquired wisdom with you, my dearest friends. They are in ascending order of awesomeness (and theme because I am a little bit OCD).

0. Hold onto your belongings! If some well-dressed Italians approach you (even though you are obviously Asian/a tourist), and they ask you to point out things on a map for them or shake their hands, they are just trying to separate you and your bag. Do not give in. Say sorry and walk away.
1. Carnevale festivities do not start until the Thursday before Mardi Gras. Don't just guess when to arrive/leave, or you will end up watching a drag queen show as the organized activity on St. Mark's Square. Now that you know, book a place to stay by October or early November.
2. Only buy masks from shops where the crafter's station and tools are clearly visible. Avoid the cheapo stands along the main drag and pretty girls in capes vending mass-produced masks, as they "obviously didn't make shit!" (eloquently put by Tess).
3. Don't wear your mask during the day, especially if you are sporting your touristy walking shoes and knapsacks. Also refrain from wearing them while eating at a sit-down restaurant. You will look ridiculous.
4. Venetian food sucks. There is a reason Venice is known for Carnevale and glass, not for its culinary arts. Avoid places with menus in four languages. Ignore recommendations. Just go to some place that looks crowded with natives who are enjoying themselves.
5. Do not, in an effort to save money, buy salami that ends up tasting slimy and raw. Also, do not bake the salami to try to cook it. You will inevitably run into a broken oven and have to fry the salami, which will taste nasty still, and you will have to then throw it out.
6. Trip in front of a produce store, as the cutests boys are the ones selling fruit. Movies greatly misrepresent the population of cute Italian boys, and your best bet will be to make a fool of yourself (not on purpose, of course) at a small fruit store so that the cute vendor will come over to help you bag and weigh your produce properly.
7. When approached by creepy guys, pretending not to speak English, Italian, Spanish, or French only works if they don't hear you speaking the aforementioned languages later.
A. When trying to get rid of a Spanish speaker, do not feign German skills by asking him in Spanish, "Aleman?"
B. When in St. Mark's Square waiting for a friend by yourself and a creepy man approaches you, ask him in broken English (or language of choice) how old he is. Upon learning that he is 32 years old, respond with: "Ah! You are, eh, twice as old! I, eh, have 16 years!" When he still wants you to have a drink with him, tell him you are waiting for a friend (point to a place across the square).
C. Leave the creep(s) quickly. Or they will follow you and your friend later and, after catching you speaking in English (or faked language of choice), they will shout after you in Italian, "Ey, China! You do speak English! China! China!" If you are lucky, an obnoxious group of skanky American girls will turn around and pout, "I'm not China!", thus saving you from being called out for lying further.

I hope my invaluable experiences will help you get out of some dire situations that you may encounter during your own adventures.

PS. Some photos:

First Italian Romance

2008-01-27T16:50:00.000+01:00

The view from Piazzale Michelangelo was incredible. Rick Steves said you had to hike 30 minutes, but it only took 15 to get to the top of the hill (where there is a sketchy gelato stand). With my panna cotta and tiramisu gelato in one hand, I could take photos of Florence on one side of the hill and the countryside on the other side. It was amazing, and it would have been better if I wasn't the only person looking over Florence by myself.
On the way back to the city, I crossed Ponte Vecchio, the famous bridge lined with silver and gold shops, and picked up another gelato. While I was eating it at Piazza della Repubblica, an old man going through tiny black and white photos sat next to me. I asked him what they were, and he explained that he carries these photos (from the 1920s) everywhere. He told me about living outside of the city and how gelato is so expensive nowadays, and he gave me tips on finding a cheaper and less touristy place to get gelato. I love cute old men! They are so grandfatherly.
At the carousel, I ran into the three girls I had met last night, and we went on a search for La Synagoga. Unfortunately, after walking around for ages, we realized that it was Shabbat--the synagogue was closed. Arielle, our resident Jewish girl, was very disappointed, and of course, so was I.
After taking a siesta at the hostel, we went to dinner at 13 Gobbi (13 Hunchbacks), adamantly recommended by Leo our desk guy. We showed up at 7:30 and were the second party there. We all ordered penne with stracotto, overcooked beef, and it was so. fucking. good. For dessert, I had the chocolate cake with pears baked inside, and it was so incredibly amazing. Megan got a little too tipsy on the Chianti and spilled a whole glass of wine all over the table. The cute older waiter was less than happy, but we apologized profusely and he was very gracious about it.
On our way out, he said, "The saddest thing is that you are leaving us!" in a very sweet, heart-felt Italian voice--I fell in love with him instantly. I think we all did. Those Italians sure know how to work it.
Now I am finally in Venice, and the crowds are ridiculous! It isn't even the peak Carnevale time (that's next week) and the streets are hard to walk through. I haven't had my obligatory gelato for the day yet, so I'm going to go find a place and then take the 45 minute "cruise" down the Grand Canal.
Can't wait to post photos! Miss you kids still.

Firenze!

2008-01-25T21:58:00.000+01:00

The ridiculous conversations deserved their own post, but now here is the rest of my Florentine experience.

Day 1:
Met my Brazilian roommate, who happened to be a 4th generation Japanese girl. We tried to go to a bar but it was full of loud and obnoxious Americans, so we left and got really expensive (3.50 euro) gelato instead.

Day 2:
Had my hot date with David at the Accademia Gallery. I don't understand art at all, but this piece really made me feel something. I just had to sit down for 45 minutes and stare. The sculpture is huge, much bigger than I thought it would be. Michelangelo's talent was very apparent, as the detail is incredible: curly locks of hair, veins coming out of the right arm, defined fingers and toes. And the expression on David's face, along with his stance... it just made me feel like I could sympathize with him, and it made me feel stronger, yet more vulnerable at the same time. I can't explain.
I also did the Uffizi Gallery today, which has La Primavera and the Birth of Venus in it. That's about it. I didn't understand anything else. The audioguide guy went on and on about the feelings that each painting's subject must have felt, but honestly, they all had the same bland expressions on their faces, so I don't know how people figure that they exhibit anguish or pride or whatever. I'd like to apologize to art aficionados for my inability to read these great works of art, as I know they are. Perhaps one of you can help me.
Anyway. Met three girls from Seattle at the hostel, and we went to Za-Za's for dinner. The fettucine con pesto redeemed Italy from all the bad pasta I've had so far. It was amazing, and the restaurant was very cozy and charming. I loved it. The girls were very cute and funny, and I think we're doing dinner tomorrow as well.
Go read the conversations! They are great.

David did WHAT?!

2008-01-25T21:27:00.000+01:00

Memorable conversations from my second day in Florence:

Checking into the hostel
Me: I have an appointment to see David early tomorrow, so it's fine to switch rooms in the morning.
Leo the desk manager: Ohhh, hot date with David! You know, he's a pretty good-looking, tall guy.
Me: Ah, just my type then.
Leo: Oh, but he's a little too pale for a Californian. Maybe if he took some vitamins, he'll be okay. I hope you have a good time *winking*

At the Accademia, eyes on David (as in, the David)
Blonde: So, like, what is David holding in his hand?
Bubble gum brunette: They're nunchucks, right? Like, that's what he slayed the giant with, right?
Blonde: Oh, yeah, totally. Nunchucks. *writes it down in her required-for-class art journal*

Walking past Il Duomo
Salt and pepper haired 45 year old Italian man: Ciao, bella! Are you from the United States?
Me: Uh, yes. *holding purse tighter*
Italian: Ah, I just called Boston last weekend!
Me: Uh-huh, good. (As if that means something to me?)
Italian: So, are you Japanese?
Me: No, sorry, I can't read Japanese for you. *starting to walk away*
Italian: Ah, I love the Japanese! How long are you staying in Firenze?
Me: I'm leaving right now for Venice. Ciao!
Italian: Can I come to Venice with you?
Me: No. I'm meeting a friend. Really now, good bye! *running away*

Lunch on Piazza del Mercato Centrale, chatting with Peruvian lady next to me (in Spanish)
Lady: Tell me something. We're friends, right? I need you to help me with some English.
Me: Ah, yes, we're friends. *holding purse tighter*
Lady: Tell me how to say these words in English, "ugly", "ugly on the inside and out", "liar", "ignorant". I want to say them to a lady in my house.
Me: I'll tell you, but maybe it's best not to provoke her if she isn't very nice to you.
Later...
Lady: You know, I'm a professional chef. I only cook for famous and important people.
Me: Ah, really? Who have you cooked for?
Lady: You know Leonardo di Caprio, from Titanic? I cooked for him on an island in the Caribbean. You should come to my house for dinner.
Me: No, thank you. I am meeting some friends for dinner. *running away*

Basically Florence is full of/attracts crazies, because I didn't run into any of these people in Rome or Siena. At least the Peruvian lady was super nice and pointed out the people in the restaurant who are known to steal from tourists, so she told me to hold my bag extra tightly around them. Good times.

Siena Parte 2

2008-01-23T20:52:00.000+01:00

Hola, otra vez.
Finished up Siena in about 2 hours. E una citta piccola! Miki and I went to:

Il Campo, which my guide book said was the best piazza in all of Italy, but it was pretty dead all day, so I don't know wtf Rick Steves thinks he's talking about

Il Duomo, which was really cool. Didn't know churches had black and white striped columns.

Il Torre del Mangia, which involved climbing 300+ claustrophobic steps, but had a great view of Siena and the countryside, until I scraped my hand against a rock on the way down and am now trying to type while my right fingers are wrapped in blue tape--pretty fantastic.

Now I'm back at my expensive B&B, and it is rather lonely. It's funny how sometimes I love walking around by myself, and then at other times I am very aware of how alone I am.
It is very apparent when I'm walking around and I smile at people I pass on the street, only to have them kind of look a little angry/afraid back at me. Some people are great, and talk to me in slow Italian/broken English, and I am so thankful when I run into people like that. It's usually the old ladies or 28-year-old women who wear so much make-up that they look 40 that give me the awkward half glares. Do not like!
Anyway, I have to check out of this place at 10:30 tomorrow, do my laundry, and find a way to get to Florence. Ciao, amores!
P.S. I had pesto made out of "rocket" or rucola (?) tonight, and it sucked. That is 0 for 2 pasta dishes. WTF, Italians?! You can do better that this!

Siena!

2008-01-23T11:28:00.000+01:00

On my last day in Rome, I went to the Vatican and did the whole Vatican museum + Sistine Chapel + St. Peter's Basilica. I don't know what else to say about it. It's the frikken Sistine Chapel and Basilica.
I was really sad to leave my little B&B because it was super cute and Giancarlo and his Japanese wife were really sweet. Plus no one else showed up so I had the triple room to myself.
And last night, I trained to Sienna and checked into the only hostel there--Youth Hostel Guidericcio... the craptastickiest place I've stayed so far. Far away from everything, un-fun, full of snotty loud British kids, gross... it goes on. But a Japanese girl traveling alone wound up in my room and with her broken English and my broken Italian, we figured out a place to get ciaccino, a closed-face pizza, but with foccacia on both sides and the stuff in the middle. It was delicious.
The hostel kicks you out at 9:30 in the flipping morning, so Miki (my Japanese roommate) and I are going to my next B&B to drop off our luggage before exploring the center. We're sitting at this internet lab that costs €2 for 30 minutes. Fucking ridiculous.
Anyway. I only have 3 minutes left, so I'm out. I hope everyone is having a lovely time starting school again! Not gonna lie, I kind of wish I was starting a new semester right now. Familiarity brings me huge comfort, which I've only realized recently.

A Roma

2008-01-20T21:48:00.000+01:00

I'm at a cute little bed and breakfast in Rome. It is super small and charming, the perfect place to wind down after a long day of exploring and sight-seeing. As I'm writing, I'm snacking on a cannolo, my second one of this trip. I want to eat as much cannoli as I can before I'm unable to get them elsewhere. I feel like I need to do/see as much as possible since I won't be in Rome again soon.
This morning, when Valerio dropped me off at the train station in Lanuvio so I could get to central Rome, he said, "This is the last time I will see you!" and it made me so sad because I realized that the things I am doing these couple weeks will never happen again. So I need to make the most of everything.
That being said, I am having a blast in Rome. Today, Valerio woke me up at 11, and we had breakfast on the terrace. His house is beautiful. It's exactly what you would expect from a hill town home: warm colors, wide arches, overlooking the southern towns of Rome. While munching on toast and marmalade, we looked out to the water and the city, and it was incredibly gorgeous. His parents were so cute and super Italian. I wanted to ask them to either adopt me or let me marry into the family. Then I could live here forever!
On the way to the train station, Valerio stopped at this stone bridge that was built in 200 BC or something like that. Sheep used to cross it for a "great commercial affair", as he described it. Except that it sounded like "ships" when he said it, so I was very confused until he started baa-ing, and then we were both baa-ing on the bridge and it was quite the ridiculous moment. Anyway.
After checking in at the hostel, I headed out to the Colosseum on foot. It wasn't nearly as spectacular as I thought it would be, mainly because those gorgeous photos in books are all lies and trick lighting. When I imagined what it looked like hundreds of years ago (gladiators and lions and senators included), it got a lot better. Overall, it is still one of the places you have to see while in Rome. The Roman Forum was closed, but I was able to see it from above on the street. It's incredible to see these ancient places amidst modern day things; it really gives you a strange perspective on things and an appreciation for both.
From the Colosseum, I walked to Piazza Venezia and then to the Trevi Fountain, which I saw yesterday but not at night. It was dusk when I got there, so I found a by-the-slice pizza place and sat outside people watching until it got dark. While ordering two pieces (one with potatoes!) in my improving Italian, a guy in an Azzurri shirt asked me in awful Italian, "Parli inglese?" and proceeded to try to chat me up. Turns out he was from some obscure school in Michigan, and eventually he left when I got boring. An actual Italian (think short greasy hair, 35ish years old, says "Coolll" with an emphasized 'l') tried to get me to "sit" with him after he cornered me at the Trevi. Other than creepy men targeting women traveling alone, the Trevi was fantastic. It was crowded, but I still managed to throw a coin into the fountain, thus ensuring my return to Rome. =P (sorry for the sloppy photo; my flash doesn't work farther than 5 feet at night)
Even though I traveled by myself today, it felt 100 times better than being alone in Lyon. I think the attitude is much different here, where people are friendlier (except the lady who refused to answer in Italian to anything I said) and the ambience is just brighter. We shall see how it goes tomorrow.

Le Kebaberie

2008-01-20T20:11:00.000+01:00

19 January 2008

After last night, I would like to grudgingly retract what I said about France (the country and the places, not the people--they still suck).
After visiting downtown Lyon, Mario and I decided to meet up with his girlfriend, Lize. We went to the Hotel de Ville plaza to one of the many "kebaberie" (I swear that's what I heard them call it), a place where you can get a kebab if you don't want to do the three-hour meal thing. The highlight of my shawarma was the french fries and bacon. Who puts those in shawarma?! It was awesome. We discussed race, culture, and Obama, and then headed to Sirius, a bar on the river--literally. It was a boat tied to the river bank. The bar was alive and full of French late teens to twenties. It was hilarious because the DJ's music choice made me like France out of pity--Surfin' USA and Zoot Suit Riot were just some of the golden American classics played.
A little after 11, Mario took me home because I had to wake up at 5 AM to catch my flight to Rome. It was too early to leave, but I was pretty excited to get out of France, despite the quick uplift in my attitude toward the country. I've realized that spending the time with other people makes all the difference--being with others assuages my anxiety and allows me to enjoy exploring more.
Rome without Valerio could've easily been a nightmare, but because Mario got his best friend from home to host me in Lanuvio (a town a little bit south of central Rome), it has been awesome. Valerio took me to Piazza Repubblica, where we picked up arancini (fried bread balls stuffed with tomato sauce, peas, cheese, and prosciutto) and cannoli at Dagnini. Aaahh! It was amazing. We took them through several plazas, and they were delicious. Then we went to this gelato/bakery place (Giolitti, I think) that the natives claim is the best gelateria ever. And it was. Valerio picked out this citrusy combo for me, and it was sooo good. He also taught me how to eat it--I didn't know that there was a proper way to eat gelato! After he took a picture of me happily holding my gelato, I asked, "Is it funny seeing how touristy I am?" His response in a very Italian accent: "Not as funny as the way you eat gelato!" Aaahh, cute Italian physicists make jokes ;)
Rome is incredible. While the monuments and fountains and piazzas are amazing (we stopped by Piazza di Spagna, Piazza Navona, Belvedere, and all the obelisks), I found the small streets and old baroque architecture to be the most breathtaking, especially at dusk. The last rays peek through openings between three story tall apartments, coming through the iron balconies and flower baskets. It is exactly like it looks/feels like in the movies--warm, comfortable, and romantic. I couldn't stop gasping and oohing at everything, and even Valero (who is one of the sweetest guy I've ever met) told me I wasn't allowed to say "Oh my God this is so cute I love it!" anymore.
Speaking of which, Valerio has taken such good care of me. He waited patiently while I took 50 million photos, walked me through the city in spite of a recent soccer injury (hot!), and didn't make fun of my Italian. He also took me to a dinner party at his friend's house, where I met 13 Italians. Dinner was just as I had imagined--loud, full of gestures and laughter. They were so friendly and even though I couldn't say much, they talked to me in broken English and "Ahh, come se dice 'rapidstreamofitalian'?"s and asked me a ton of questions about California (The O.C., 90210, Baywatch, Incubus, cable cars, Mel Gibson, Paris Hilton, Schwarzenegger, etc.). We played Trivial Pursuit, which was so hard and obscure, but the best part was hearing them translate the question for me. It was a fiasco (not the Italian kind, which I found out means "utter failure").
Oh, and also, there is no such thing as fettuccine alfredo here. No Italian has ever heard of it, and their mouths all dropped in horror as Valerio described it to them. I can never eat it again =(

Je voudrais partir!

2008-01-18T16:52:00.000+01:00

The funny thing about this backpacking thing is that it makes my emotions extremely volatile. The first day in Madrid was insane and stressful. Then the next two days were great. Even though I struggled with Spanish, I found that if you have to survive, it just comes out when you need it to. So I figured the first day in a new city would be incredibly stressful and scary, and then the next few would turn out all right as I explored and gained my bearings.
Unfortunately, France has not followed the same path.
After getting up at 3 AM in Madrid to make it to the airport by 5:25, I passed out when I got to Mario's apartment in Lyon. He is studying for finals, and I feel awful about imposing, so I try to make myself as scarce as possible. This means getting quick suggestions from Mario and then heading out to the city where I can't read any signs and can't ask for help.
It was all right yesterday, when the lady running the desk at the Institut du Lumiere (film museum) gave me the English audio tour tape. The museum was really cool; it is in the huge and ornate home of the inventors of film, the Lumiere family. I took a lot of pictures, and will post them as soon as I get my laptop out of storage.
Today, I went up to the Fourviere, where there is the Notre Dame de Fourviere and the panoramic view of the city. Lyon is gorgeous from up there--it was the first time I felt comfortable and unafraid here. I opted to walk down the hill instead of taking the rickety mini-metro back, and I am so glad I did. I walked past this tiny little street, Rue du Boeuf (Beef Street?) that was the most French thing I had ever seen. It is cobblestone and full of cute little shops and a cow sign. Being at Vieux-Lyon made me almost like France.
When I went downtown to find a place to eat, I remembered why I dislike the French: they dislike me. While everyone I talked to at ENS Lyon (where Mario goes to school) was so sweet and cute, the city people were just as disdainful as I had hoped they wouldn't be. I feel as though I tried my best to speak French in a non-dirty American accent and to be as polite as possible, but all they did was look at me as though I were a very lowly creature.

Reasons France has to make it up to me:
1. The keyboards here are worse than the ones in Madrid. Apparently they never use the letters "a" or "m" or numbers or periods because you have to shift to get to them.
2. You can't get to the metro going in the other direction from the metro station; you have to leave the station, go up to the street, cross it, and go back down.
3. Restaurants close after lunch and people sit and laugh while you try to open the door.
4. No one smiles.

Needless to say, while I am rather stressed out about figuring out another city, I am pretty excited to get out of here and go to Italy. My Italian is awful, but I am getting good at holding onto my purse very tightly, which I will need to do in Rome, where I am headed tomorrow! Ciao, amores!

P.S. I really wish I understood French for the next two minutes because some man is yelling and waving his arms and having a really big fit outside the computer room.

Remind me why the siesta is disappearing?

2008-01-16T18:02:00.000+01:00

I just read in my Madrid guide book that the siesta is on its way out. Fewer people are taking 3 hour afternoon breaks, and many more are adding the extra time to their work hours. Damn it all. The siesta is one of the reasons I came here, and it doesn´t look like I´ll get to enjoy it very often. Today would´ve been perfect for one, too!
Last night one of the girls sharing the hostel room with me, Barbara from Germany, told me about this exhibit at the Biblioteca Nacional of really old books (¨zzzz¨at first, but I came around). And I wanted to go see the exhibit at the Museo Municipal with old Madrid sculptures/photos, so we decided to go together to both of them. Which meant getting up at the crack of dawn (8 AM when the two Argentinian girls woke us up on their way out) to get breakfast at the hostel dining room and figuring our way around.
The Museo Municipal was under construction, which was unfortunate because the facade of the building is famous (the only decent photo I could find has watermarks over it: http://www.andaluciaimagen.com/Museo-Municipal-Madrid_7798.jpg) .
This bit is especially for the Span 164/Chic 143 kids: At the Biblioteca Nacional, I found first edition copies of El Cantar de mio Cid and Martin Fierro, and Bartolome de las Casas´s writings with Christopher Columbus and Hernan Cortes´s writings of the Aztec conquest. How ridiculous is that?! Imagine these men (no Sor Juana, sorry, kids) writing about their adventures during the 1400 - 1500s, and the ancient pages right in front of you. It was incredible. I couldn´t take photos, or I definitely would have. Gah. Anyway.
Barbara wanted to go to the Hard Rock Cafe for almuerzo, so we did. And found Elvis´s bright yellow velvet coat. I don´t know if it´s a Spanish thing or if we just got stuck with the laziest damn server in the world, but we ended up sitting there for 2.5 hours, and only eating for maybe 45 minutes max. She took 45 minutes to get us our bill. It was fucking ridiculous. If other Spaniards are this slow moving, I am going to want to leave soon. All Barbara and I wanted to do was go home for a siesta, but our 2:30 lunch ended at 5 PM, way past the unspoken siestas-end-at-4PM rule. The lengthy wait also left us vulnerable to stares and chuckles of other patrons who have never seen an Asian before (I caught a guy making faces and then hiding behind his arms + repeat 4 more times, just in case I didn´t catch him the first few times) and a Spanish/Mexican/Swiss German/lived in Hoboken, NJ waiter who tried to hit on me even though I look about 12 years younger than all the women here. Super awkward, and it makes me want to stay in my hostel forever.
Except that I am leaving at 5 AM tomorrow, to fly to Lyon! French speakers, HELP! I can only say ¨baguette¨and ¨fromage¨and I somehow have to get from the airport to Mario´s apartment on the university campus. Anyone?
Miss you kids.

Chau, de Madrid

2008-01-15T14:20:00.000+01:00

I´m sitting at Cafe Comercial, in the center of Plaza Bilbao (I don´t actually know what it´s called). This is totally cliche, but I can´t believe I am here.
It is Day 2 of my adventures, and I am trying to take it all in.
I´m sitting by the window in the upstairs smoking section--my lungs are screaming and my eyes sting a little, but it is exactly what I thought it would be. The cafe is gorgeous (in a very old-fashioned, broken-in kind of way). Dark woods, red seats against deep vanilla walls, lit by what I think are baroque-style lamps. It is warm and comfortable, a welcome change from the last 48 hours of my life.
On Saturday in California, I started packing in the afternoon, and soon realized how behind I was. I had to pack and repack until 5 AM (woke up 3 hours later to leave for the airport)--my life is now in a monster of a suitcase and a backpacking pack that Devon helped me pick out, with my lack of nature/hiking knowledge. Since I´ll be backpacking for 25 days on 2 pairs of jeans, 2 sweaters, 1 long sleeve, and a couple shirts/pairs of underwear, does anyone have any tips for surviving on so little clothing?
Either way, after 15 hours of travel/shitastic airplane food, Tess and I arrived in Madrid and experienced our first obstacle: getting a cell phone. It took an hour to figure it out, and it´s flipping outrageous how expensive things are. I think it costs 56 cents to call another phone in Spain; who knows how much it´ll be to call the US. So, kids, you should all just add me on Skype (kaluong).
The taxi from the airport screwed us out of €10 on top of the €30 bill, but because of that, we learned how to use the Metro! I didn´t realize at the time, but we were in the Atocha station, the one that suffered a terrorist attack in 2004. Had I thought about it, I would´ve felt very differently about the circumstances, instead of scared and embarrassed (due to fear of thieves and the stares, respectively).
Everyone I´ve talked to here has warned me about muggings, especially since I look like the biggest tourist ever. Since I don´t take one of my 3 maps or my camera out on the street, you´d think I´d fare pretty well, but no matter how confidently I walk or how hard my "I belong here" face looks, I´ll never blend in. Thank you, Asianness.
Yesterday, I was waiting for it--and as Tess and I were walking back to the hotel from the locutoria (place where I add minutes to my phone), a few greasy teenage Spaniard guys laughed and shouted "Ni-how!" as we walked past them. Haha. So far that is the only blantant "OMG an Asian" I´ve encountered, but there are a lot of stares and whispers everywhere I go. It´s these times where my excitement wavers back to "How the hell am I supposed to live here for 5 months?" It doesn´t help that I feel like a complete idiot trying to get anything done--having to ask simple questions but lacking the vocabulary to do so and nodding like I understand what people are saying to me.
The anxiety was much stronger yesterday when I realized how alone I would be after Tess left (which she did at 7 this morning), but I am beginning to feel like it´s going to be okay. I just have to plan things out so that I don´t fall prey to thieves or rapists or whoever, and hide in cafes (like I´m doing now) until I figure things out. I just don´t know what I´m going to do when I go to other cities where I don´t speak/understand anything. Madrid with 8 years of Spanish under my belt is hard enough... France and Italy are going to be a nightmare. Wish me luck!
P.S. Add Skype and my username, please. I´m super lonely and would be so grateful to have someone to talk to while I´m hiding from the French and greasy Italians.
P.P.S. I miss you guys like crazy.