Category: Europe

Sooo Cordoba was kind of a mess. When we left Madrid in the morning, we received a message from our Airbnb host saying, ‘8:30 is very early for checking in. And I will be at work then. I will be in the apartment from 12 to 1.’ Okay, then. All of our other hosts (before and after this one) allowed us to at least drop off our things in the morning. But if he had work, there’s nothing to be done about that. We locked our things up at the train station with plans to head back around noon, and then we set off for breakfast.

Okay. So breakfast was pretty stellar. We wandered for all of five minutes before coming to a rather unassuming outdoor cafe. The tables and chairs were made of red and white plastic. Nothing flashy. Nothing hip. But every table was full. Couples, old friends, families. The whole town seemed to be at this one tiny cafe.

We shrugged together. Can’t hurt to give it a try, right? We waited until a single man left his table, then sat down with his dirty dishes before anyone else could. We noticed almost every table had a plate of doughy, fried, plate-sized rings in the middle of all the coffee, and Kristina informed me these were churros. Nothing like any churros I had seen before! I’d only ever encountered the long, straight, star-shaped-cross-section-covered-in-cinnamon-sugar variety, and this looked nothing of the sort. A waitress grabbed the dirty dishes and asked for our orders. We replied by asking for menus.

“No,’ she said with a shake of her head and a small sigh. Uhhh… Okay. Luckily Kristina was there to save the day. ‘Dos churros?’ she said. ‘And café con leche?’ I added.

‘Chocolate? Dos chocolate?’ asked the waitress. We were confused, but then I realized it was probably just to dip the churros in. We agreed and the waitress left. not really sure how my ‘coffee with milk’ was mistaken for ‘chocolate,’ but we never did get our coffee. Oh, well. We probably wouldn’t have been able to finish it anyway!

A few minutes later, a waiter arrived with two of the thickest cups of chocolate (somewhere between hot chocolate made with pure cream and classic drinking chocolate) before placing a mountain-sized pile of churro in between us. Our eyes bugged out. Our stomachs complained. Our mouths watered.

It was sooooo gooooood. And I know I’ve said that about a lot of food and drink on this trip, but seriously. Go to Cordoba. Eat the churro. You will regret it for the rest of the day, but you will be happy for the rest of your life. I promise.

The dough was not sugar-coated or cinnamon-soaked. Just pure, greasy, deep-fried doughy rings. The churro and the chocolate were both too hot to consume right away. Fresh.

Needless to say, I burnt both my fingers and my lips.

Somewhere between the first and second ring on the pile of five, Kristina and I began discussing whether we would be able to actually finish this daunting pile of cholesterol. ‘Oh, we can do it,’ she said with determination. I wasn’t so sure.

Did I mention the chocolate was delicious, too? Because it was.

Every few bites, I reiterated my hesitation at attacking the rest of the pile. ‘We should have asked for only one,’ I said. We saw several other platefuls brought out to two-person tables, and none were quite so high as our own. Were we being hit on by the cooks? Had we been given the wrong plate?

It was honestly hard to complain. Long after we had reached complete satisfaction, we continued to eat. It was one of those timeless struggles. The stomach protests but the tastebuds win over the hand that feeds it.

I’m sad, though unsurprised, to say that we could not finish our churro. Kristina didn’t even finish her chocolate! We did manage to put down four out of the five rings, which in reality is probably enough food to have kept us going through the end of the week.

Then our waitress threw us another curve ball. When we asked for the check, she shook her head again and held up four fingers, saying, ‘quatro.’ I thought this meant that we needed to wait four minutes for her to bring us the check, which was a little odd but not entirely uncalled for, seeing as she was the only person waiting on about twenty-five churro-hungry customers. Kristina asked, ‘Quatro?’ to clarify, and the waitress again said, ‘quatro,’ before switching her fingers into a peace sign and pointing at us each in turn: ‘Dos, e dos.’ Then she showed four fingers again and retreated back to the dark depths of the churro factory.

I looked at Kristina, puzzled. ‘Was she saying that all of this was only four euros?’ That just can’t be.

And yet it was.

We really did feel like we were thieving as we lay a five euro note under the napkin dispenser and slowly rose from our plastic chairs. It just didn’t feel right. To pay so little for so much oil and so much happiness. It just…

I was speechless. We didn’t have any other options though, seeing as how we’d had about six different groups eyeing us in the last half hour in the hopes we would give up our feeble attempts at churro eating so they could really get down to business with our table. We sauntered/ crawled away, down the sidewalk, using each other as physical and mental support, in a sort of daze after the confusing and wonderful meal that had just transpired.

We spent the next hour or so lazily wandering grocery stores and pharmacies in the search for some blister repair perephernalia. The best location was this gigantic pharmacy, where young and old Spanish pharacists alike kept trying to help us with their limited English, continually bringing Kristina dry-foot repair and fungus ointments whenever she tried to explain the blisters on her feet. Bahahahaha. It was pretty entertaining.

And then we got lost. Cordoba was not built on the grid system. It was built more like a churro that has been attacked by small children for many minutes. Every interseciton seemed to have between five and seven streets leading away from it, all in diferent direcitons and bending after several meters. We ended up in downtown, which was pretty darn cute, but I wasn’t able to fully enjoy it seeing as how I was stressed about getting our things from the train station and getting to our apartment by one.

Still pretty cute, though.

Unfortunately, we ended up so lost that we were having a hard time getting un-lost, and one o’clock came and went before we had even found the train station. Plus, my phone was dead.

Cue the long and painful process of finding some shade in a park so Kristina could turn on her data, log into my Airbnb account, and try to re-coordinate with our host, who would not be back home until after three. Grrrr.

By this time, we are too hot and tired to return to downtown for more exploration. We are too hot and tired, in fact, to do much of anything. So, we lay belly-down under a tree, set an alarm, and passed out, sleeping off our churro-coma.

When we awoke and stepped out from under the shade, it became glaringly apparent that in the hour we’d been sleeping, the temperature had raised from Very-Hot to Oh-My-God-Do-Not-Go-Outside-You-Will-Regret-It-I-Promise. Unfortunately, we could not exactly stay hidden in our shady spot all day. We had keys to get. We began the slow and painfull walk to the train station before taking a lovely and air-conditioned bus ride to the apartment. On any normal day, I would have poo-pood the idea of bussing when the walk was just over twenty minutes, but, again, I just didn’t want to go like this.

We met our host on the walk from the bus stop to the apartment. ‘Are you Elizabeth?’ he asked. Who’s asking?! was my first reaction, as I had for some reason been expecting our host to be a small Spanish woman. Really not sure where I got that from. The person we were looking at was essentially the exact opposite. Large and unmistakably male, cigarette in hand and topless woman on his large black t-shirt, our host was anything but subtle. We walked to the apartment together as he babbled in a mix of English and Spanish and I pretended to understand what he was saying except when he asked direct questions.

The apartment was nice enough, if only marginably cooler than the great outdoors. There was another tenant, by the name of Joaquin, and I chatted with him while Kristina babied her blisters. He was actually pretty cool! He was in town for work as a musician, playing the tuba, and he was originally form some part of northern Spain. We talked about the weather, and he said, ‘Yes, yes. This is siesta time right now. Do not go outside. You will die.’ Again with the subtelty, though I certainly believed him.

This room had two small twin beds, which was nice because Kristina seemed to be taking advantage of not having me near her by throwing her limbs as far from her body as possible, likely in an attempt to expose a maximal amount of surface area to the warm air being circulated by our lazy fan. I lay in bed and blogged for a while, Kristina dozing away. Around 5:30 or 6, I noticed it was technically the end of siesta. However, I was certainly rather comfortable indoors, and Kristina hadn’t shown any signs of life in the past two hours, so I turned the fan a little closer to me and fell promptly asleep.

We woke up at nine.

Whoops!

Nothing to be done about that. I shuffled to the kitchen for some water, and Joaquin met me there with an amused, ‘Good morning.’

‘Yeah, yeah, I know, I know,’ I said sheepishly. ‘It’s just too hot!’ We chatted a bit about good places to eat, but our final suggestion came from our host, who told us there was a little restaurant around the corner with the word Vihno in its name. Can’t go wrong there, as far as I’m concerned.

We sat down as the sun sank below the horizon. The menu was completely in Spanish, and though everything sounded good, we kind of wanted to make sure what we were eating. The adorable waitor said he didn’t know much English, but then a couple minutes later, an actual Englishman sat down and said he was going to help us translate the menu.

He was so cute! Reminded me of an older English writer who lives in the countryside and travels for weeks at a time for inspiration. Kristina asked if he came here often, and he responded, ‘Well, I was here this morning. And I was here yesterday afternoon. And the evening before….’ Hahaha. The place must be good, then. Like the cafe in the morning, this place was nothing flashy, but every plastic table was surrounded by full chairs. Women fanned themselves and men drank many drinks. The Englishman went through nearly every item on the menu, giving suggestions along the way. We thanked him, and he said, ‘It was my pleasure,’ before returning to his own table. Why are people so cute sometimes?

I ordered the house salad, feeling a strong need for some veggies in my life after a day of dough and chocolate, and Kristina ordered some sort of scrambled egg dish.

They were both so good! My salad had walnuts, spinach, tomato, Greek yogurt, and probably many other things I can’t recall at the moment. Kristina’s eggs were made of mostly green beans, which is strange, but she said it was positively delicious. We also downed four glass-bottled Cokes throughout dinner, craving the cool bubbles and hoping they would offer some relief from the still-hundred-degree night. Just as we were leaving, smiles on our face and sweat puddles on our chairs (gross but true), Kristina knocked over a glass that shattered on the concrete.

Dang. We tried picking it up, but the adorable waitor rushed over and did one of those hand signs that umpires do when someone is safe, saying, ‘No.’ Hand motion. ‘No.’ He pointed to his broom and dustbin, letting us know he would take care of it. Actually the sweetest. I just wanted to take him home and put him in my pocket.

Sleep that night was hot but heavy. It’s pretty easy to sleep through the night when your body knows that waking will only cause discomfort.

We awoke in a hazy state of slumber, gathered our things, and made our way to the train station yet again. To Seville…

 

Venlig hilsen/ hasta luego,

Lizzy-wa

We arrived mid-evening in Madrid, so we really didn’t plan on doing much aside from grabbing dinner and some shut-eye. On our way to the Airbnb, and several other times throughout our stay here, we saw these hilarious buildings under construction:

If you look closely, you’ll see that the facade of the building is no facade at all, but a canvas covering that looks nearly identical to the original underneath! So clever! Wouldn’t want to burden those Spaniards with the unsightliness of tarps and scaffolds. Tehehe.

Our apartment was in quite a hoppin’ area, with several extremely busy outdoor restaurants right outside our door. Our host, Rodrigo, met us and led us through a rather sketchy alleyway, complete with an abandoned mattress, but when we entered the apartment, we were pleasantly surprised! The space was small but cozy and newly-renovated. Rodrigo was quite the entertainer, running around and joking with us, bringing us to the balcony in our room to give us directions to all the best sights in Madrid. He also wrote up a list of his favorite food-and-drink spots, noting exactly what to order and how much it would cost, too! At the very beginning of the conversation, he started with, ‘Okay. So the rules of the house: there are no rules!’ Bahaha. He also called himself ‘the superhost’ at one point. So humble. So humble.

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, an adorable little blonde boy with giant glasses, probably seven or eight years old, came running into the room to offer us a bottle of water. Rodrigo introduced him as his son, Pablo, and I honestly just wanted to pick him up and squeeze him! He was so cute! I think he had downs syndrome, and he just had the sweetest little face, and he kept trying to babble to us in Spanish. Every time Rodrigo told him that we didn’t speak Spanish, he would pause for a second before resuming his one-sided conversation. Never have I wished to know Spanish more! I wish I could have known what he was saying, because he sounded so excited about it!

He kept running back and forth between our room and his room, showing us his video games and trying to beckon us to follow him so he could show us the Minecraft game he was playing. We interjected his ramblings with, ‘Ooooh!’, ‘Wooow!’, and ‘Oh, no! Really?’ I can’t handle how cute he was. Actually so cute.

After our intros and a bit of a rest, we set off for dinner. The dinner isn’t pictured, but we had spaghetti bolognese, and it was yuuuumm-y. The wine wasn’t bad, either. (:

And then! Eep! Eep! Eep! We went dancing!

I really, really, really wanted to try salsa or bachata while in Spain, but we hadn’t had the energy in Barcelona, and when we tried looking in Madrid, it seemed that all the dances started so late! I’m talking like one in the morning! To START the dancing! Hard to believe, but we did not exactly have the energy for that. Luckily, Sunday is a big swing dancing night in a lot of cities, so we managed to find an open venue a fifteen minute walk from our apartment.

So glad we went! I was nervous at first, but when I finally decided to get up from our little table on the sidelines, someone asked for a dance the second my feet touched the dance floor. ‘Bolero?’ he asked. And he was great! He was probably one of the best dancers in the whole room. And he was Spanish, of course. I swoon.

I danced a bunch, with a lot of great people. It wasn’t a huge crowd, but it was just perfect for what we needed. I danced with a tall Irish guy at one point, and I guess he decided that we should be best friends just because we both spoke English. He asked if my friend danced, and I said, ‘Oh, yeah, she dances! You just have to ask her!’ He promptly made eye contact and beckoned her over like they were old friends. So cute.

His name was Tom? John? And he kept chatting with us the rest of the night. He said we needed to come dancing more for the rest of the week because he was trying to prepare for some sort of lindy exchange or festival, but we told him we’d only be there for one more day. He was bummed, so he asked us to join him and some of his friends for drinks after dancing. We thought about it, but…. meh. Bed seemed nicer.

Walking back to the apartment around midnight was a pretty crazy experience. Turns out Madridian like the night. Can’t blame them with the heat. The night air was the perfect temperature for walking and eating. The squares and restaurants were busier now than they had been around dinner time, bustling with friends and families snacking and drinking (but mostly drinking). We couldn’t get over how hopping the place was! And so late! When Rodrigo had checked us in and pushed the ‘no rules’ thing, he had said, ‘You come in at five? No problem.’ And I guess he wasn’t joking, because that’s probably a pretty normal thing to do in Madrid! That’s when the dancing ends! That’s when the heat subsides! So strange.

Kristina and I weren’t about that night life, as one in the morning seemed plenty late to us. We showered lots and tucked in for the night.

We had a late start the next day, sleeping in until eleven or so! Woohoo! Go sleep! When we began our search for some food around 12:30, though, it turned out most things hadn’t opened yet! The first restaurant we tried said their kitchen didn’t open until one! But…. it’s lunch time! we thought. I guess that’s just what happens when the whole city stays up so late – they sleep in, too.

We did manage to find some fuel, but Kristina was wildly disappointed in her salad. My paella was good, luckily. (:

The rest of the day was mostly spent wandering through plazas, around castles, and through royal gardens.

In the garden, we hung out a bit by a fountain, where a man with seemingly all of his personal belongings spread around him sat peacefully reading the paper with his legs calf-deep in the murky green water. He seemed pretty content with the state of things.

Then some more pretty buildings…

There was also this strange bear-and-tree figurine we kept finding in souvenir shops. We couldn’t figure out what it was, but turns out it’s just this random statue in the middle of one of the main squares? Not really sure haha. That’s supposed to be a strawberry tree, but I’m pretty certain strawberries do not, in fact, grow on trees.

And then, city park time! What! What!

This one was so big, it had a man-made lake smack in the middle of it! With row-boats for rent! We hopped on that train real quick.

Kristina said she wanted to row first, but we got in the boat and uh… didn’t really manage to move much farther than that. Hahaha. She started getting pretty freaked out because other boats were loading up around us, so she made me take the oars. Man. I was really looking forward to relaxing, but she desperately wanted me to be the Prince Eric to her Ariel. We paddled around the lake, singing Kiss the Girl. Was pretty romantic, not gonna lie.

Eventually, I gave Kristina a quick rowing lesson and gave her the reins again. And she did great!

I only took over at the very end, when we had to pull back into the dock and park again. I’m quite the boat-maneuverer when I’m not trying to drown my cousins in knee-high rapids. But that’s another story.

We finished off our park excursion with some delicious pizza, chicken wings, and smoothies. Yum! And then we wandered a bit in the twilight.

I found another possible location to say the I-do’s:

It was so dreamy and magical, this Crystal Palace. It was like a giant version of the little glass gazebo that Liesel and Ralph ran around in in The Sound of Music, singing “Sixteen Going on Seventeen.” Again, so romantic! I would have made Kristina be my Ralph, seeing as I had been her Eric just hours before, but the Crystal Palace was closed for the night. Boo.

We joked about going dancing, but that just wasn’t happening. We had to leave the apartment at five the next morning, so we would have had to go straight to the train station from the party! Haha. No thanks.

We left in the morning in near-blackness, the streets deserted but for a select few post-dancing-wanderers and some trusty street cleaners.

Madrid was pretty nice, and we loved the night life. Only downside was that it was a bit too hot for our tastes this time of year. Little did we know, we were in for much worse in the days ahead. Stay tuned.

 

Venlig hilsen/ hasta luego,

Lizzy-wa

After the lovely missed-train fiasco in Barcelona, the arrival in Zaragoza was a bit tense. Kristina and I were both pooped, and I hadn’t known it at the time, but Kristina had apparently accumulated quite the collection of blisters in Barcelona. The walk to the apartment was bright and slow-going, but we made it there easy enough.

Luckily, our hosts were positively adorable,and adorable people generally put me in a good mood. They were an older husband and wife, and they both did the double-cheek-kiss thing, which I love. The last time somebody tried to do that with me was in Dublin, and it was with a gorgeous Italian boy. I hadn’t realized what he was trying to get from me, though, as I had just met him, so I swooped in for a way-too-awkward hug and left him extremely confused. Not this time, though! I knew what was going on.

Our little room was cute and had a nice little balcony. We plopped down for a whie, but Kristina wasn’t sure she coud make it out for dinner. It was this time that she decided to show me her blistered feet, and MAN, were they a sight to never want to see again! Bahahaha. Sorry, Kristina. Seriously, though! She had like a dozen little bubbles on each foot! I’ve never seen anything like it!

She talked of popping them (no, please no!), and I talked of casually finding dinner and never discussing the matter again. After some contemplation, we asked our host for suggestions on close dinner, and he said there was a restaurant right on the corner. Well, that walk can’t be all that bad then, I reasoned. I managed to get Kristina to put on shoes and walk to the top of the stairs before she gave up and turned around. ‘I don’t know what I’m gonna do about food, but I just feel like this is more important,’ she said defeatedly.

….More important than food??

….Spanish food??

….In Spain??

….Why don’t you just rip my heart out of my chest while you’re at it, Kristina?

Bahaha. Sorry for the drama. But those were my actual-real-live feelings tbh. I was so hungry. And as quick as I am to get a bite to eat in the fanciest, quietest, or busiest of restaurants by myself, at home or abroad, I kind of wasn’t planning on needing to for a while, and I wasn’t in the right mindset.

She went back to ‘take care of the blisters,’ –yuck–, but I didn’t feel like going it alone, so I indulged myself in a quick nap-slash-pouting session.

When she got back from the shower, she said she still wasn’t feeling it, so I all but stormed out and down to the little restaurant, frustrated but too starving to do anything about it.

And low and behold! This restaurant was super cute. I had my book. The menu looked good and the prices were cheap. And the waitress was adorable. She talked me through almost the entire menu before I ordered some sort of special seafood salad, which at the time sounded like an interesting, authentic Spanish dish, but it turned out to be poke with rice. (A raw fish dish – Japanese, maybe?) Hahaha. It was delicious, though, so no complaints.

I also noticed that there was a chalkboard advertising sangria for six euros and fifty cents for a pitcher, which is CHEAP. I ordered some, and the adorable waitress explained there were two flavors. I asked which was her favorite, and she said, ‘I say the red one, and this is because this is my recipe.’ Well, can’t say no to that!

‘Just a glass, though, yes? Because this one,’ she pointed to the chalkboard, ‘is a very large?’

Hm…. I assumed the glass would be at least a couple euros. And I had really been wanting to try a pitcher at some point. But, she was right. I would likely die if I tried to down one of those on my own.

‘Uhm… Just a minute. I think my friend might be coming, so I will let you know what size in a little bit.’

‘Oh! You have a friend! Okay, I will be back.’ Honestly, she acted a little too surprised/ excited that I had friends. Bahaha.

I quickly messaged Kristina. ‘They have cheap food here! And really cheap sangria! I want to order us a pitcher! It’s literally like thirty steps from the apartment, and you can take the elevator down!!!’

It worked. (:

Kristina got a deee-licious egg, potato, and chorizo sausage scramble. The sausage was soooo good! And the sangria was wonnnderful. I actually managed to drink almost half of it! At one point, I remember telling Kristina that things were moving, and I believe that was after my first glass. Bahahaha. No regrets. So delicious. We really wanted to try the other flavor, but again, I just didn’t think it would be the best way to leave this world.

At the end of our meal, we asked Adorable Waitress for suggestions on things to do for our one-day-but-really-more-like-a-half-day stay in Zaragoza, and she went back to one of her co-workers so that they could make a giant list for us! Including directions for transit! Literally the cutest!

In the morning, we had breakfast with our hosts. The wife, Maria, made two different kinds of muffins (so good!) plus fresh orange juice (my fave!) She didn’t speak much English, so her husband had to keep translating for both of us. It was pretty adorable. They showed us pictures of their grandkids (two of the boys had actually been over for dinner the night before, but we hadn’t met them), and talked about their kids. They told us about their own travels back in the day, but they said they were too old and tired to do much traveling now, so they travel by hosting people from around the world! Have I mentioned how positively adorable they were?

At one point, Kristina asked about all the trophies lining the kitchen. Apparently, the husband is quite the chess player! Maria kept shaking her head and smiling while rolling her eyes., as if saying, ‘Don’t encourage him.’ The cutest.

We thanked our hosts for breakfast and set out for the day. We were going to see a castle and then try to make our way downtown to see some squares and cathedrals if time permitted.

The castle was g-o-r-g-e-o-u-s. Kristina and I have both decided we will likely get married here, so start saving up for plane tickets if you plan on attending either of our weddings!

Kristina was really digging the archaeological museum side of the castle (ha! get it?), but I was content to just wander the small halls and admire the courtyard.

Her blisters were still doing a number on her feet, so I eventually bid her ado and made my way downtown while she stayed to admire some more castle-bits.

The walk was mostly through this park along the water.

Very pretty. But no match for the big square and cathedral themselves!

I love giant cathedrals. I think they are positivey jaw-dropping and awe-making and just everything you can want in a beautiful historical building. Some of them took hundreds of years to build, and I wouldn’t be surprised if this was one of them! So huge, with multiple rooms and wings and turns and ah. So great. Unfortunately, pictures were not allowed inside the cathedral, but that was pretty, too!

I was sad to see my time dwindling, so I tried fast-wandering a bit (which, unfortunately, is never quite the same as normal-paced wandering) and ran into the tourist streets. Lots of shops, cafes, and people. And ruins!

Not sure what these ruins were from, but the square was called Piazza de Roma, or something of the sort, so maybe the Romans had something to do with this little bit of Spain? I hadn’t known they made it over that far. Will have to fact check later.

Meeting up with Kristina was a bit of a fiasco again because it turned out that the busses back to the castle were kind of non existent, but we managed eventually and had left plenty of time this go around to make sure we didn’t miss another train. We said goodbye to our hosts, took the trek again, grabbed some food to go, and enjoyed the loveeeely views on the train to Madrid.

One of the prettiest train rides I’ve ever been on! We zoomed through giant cliff faces of red rock, like driving through a canyon. We went through tunnels. We flew over barren nothingness. We passed by towns. And every once in a while, we would come across an ancient cathedral or castle or tower that just made me want to stop the train to pop out for a quick second! I was never fast enough with my camera to record these pretty sights, but it was well worth the slow train.

To Madrid!

 

Venlig hilsen/ hasta luego,

Lizzy-wa

So Barcelona was basically great from the get-go. Even the flight over was great. Kristina and I had paid for window seats in front of each other, but we barely made it to the airport in time – literally ran through the gate as they made a last-call announcement, so by the time we got on the plane, there were people in the middle and aisle seats on both of our rows. Howeverrr, we boarded from the back, and row 30 was empty, so we just sat down! Since this was the third time I snagged a seat in an empty row 30, I’m thinking the budget airlines must leave row 30 empty for some reason, but since I always board so late, I get to sneak in! And the view was beautiful! I think it was the Pyrenees mountains. Sooo pretty.

Our flight was super stinking early, but that meant we got to Barcelona at 8:20, which meant we had the entire day to explore. Our Airbnb host let us drop off our things early, and he was so sweet and helpful. He even told us he would do our laundry for us. Hahaha. Kristina was worried about him handling our undies butttt whatcha gonna do?

We had passed a cute-looking tapas (small plates) restaurant/ café on our way to the apartment from the bus, so we went back there for lunch. However, we forgot it was still nine in the morning, so it was actually still breakfast time. We got some little sandwiches, and Kristina got an Americano and I got a fresh orange juice. Guys. I have been actually obsessed with fresh orange juice. I think I’ve had a dozen on this trip, and I’ve had at least one a day since we got to Spain. They are just everywhere, and they are so cheap compared to what I would pay at a Jamba Juice or something. I can’t say no! It’s so fresh! It’s like I’m actually just eating a liquefied orange. Gaahhh. If you like orange juice but have never had it fresh-squeezed, you’re doing life wrong.

And then we wandered! There were a lot of shady residential streets with tall apartments lining either side of a narrow, cobblestoned alleyway, and we zigged and zagged our way through. Kristina stopped to get a pollo (chicken) empanada at this little shop at one point, and it was soooo good. I didn’t try a bite until it was almost gone, and then it was too late to go back! But it was one of the juiciest, most flavorful foods I have ever tasted. I am still craving it now because we never managed to find the store again! That’s what happens sometimes when you wander aimlessly. Kind of like how my dad makes jambalaya – he never used a recipe, so sometimes it turns out perfect: spicy, sweet, meaty, juicy; but other times it ends up… meh. And he can never make it exactly the same way twice! I’ve joked that I will start video taping him or writing down exactly what he puts in it while cooking, just in case it turns out to be a perfect batch. Maybe I should start leaving breadcrumbs while wandering, too.

Wandering has its perks, though, like stellar empanada finds and surprise stumbles upon large attractions. I imagine it would have been difficult to miss, even if we’d tried, but we stumbled straight onto the main avenue of Barcelona. The street had a one-lane road for cars on either side of the street, and in the middle was a wide, sunny, bustling pedestrian throughway.

My first stop was for some mango gelato, but then I found this other fruit flavor I had never heard of. I can’t remember the name of it now, but it was very long and started with an ‘m,’ and it had the same sweet, refreshing qualities of mango that I was looking for. Hit the spot!

This street was so fun to wander down, and it seemed to go on and on forever. What was funny was that the shopping stalls were set up in sections: first were souvenir stands, then plants/ seeds and flowers, then art, and lastly, a bunch of those people who dress up and paint themselves and pretend to be statues. So strange! My favorite area was the plants because they had a lot of quirky little things like tiny mugs with cacti growing out of them. I had to stop myself from buying seven.

After this, we continued our wanderings through the city, making our way to the water.

We sat on a little dock for a while to give our feat a rest, and we saw two jellyfish! It was crazy! I dont’t think I’ve ever seen a jellyfish out and about in the wild. The first one was pretty big, and the second was just a baby. Didn’t get a picture, though.

It was pretty sad because there was a lot of trash around us in the water. I think the tide was bringing everything to us, because the water farther out seemed cleaner. There was just so much paper and plastic floating around. I definitely understand how sea animals can confuse plastic for jellyfish and end up eating it; I kept searching for more jellyfish and mistaking plastic bags or wrappers for them. :/

After a good long sit (and the beginnings of a sunburn), we walked along the water until we found the cutest market! There were so many things! I found some adorable hand-made jewelry that was mixed metal and crochet, but I couldn’t decide on just one, so we said we’d come back another day. Then Kristina bought the cutest little purse, kind of like my mini purse-wallet that I use, but slightly bigger and with three zipper pockets instead of two. The biggest one is just perfect for fitting a passport, so she’s been using that as a perfect little travel purse! She also found these adorable flowy shorts:

Spoiler: she ended up wearing them basically every day for the next week, so you’ll see them in many pictures from now on, I’m sure.

The day was really heating up by this point, so we bought a cup of fruit and found some shade near the market to hang out for a bit. We were pretty close to a walking street along the water, and the sides of the path were lined with African men selling anything from sunglasses to bags, shoes, and FC jerseys. I’ve seen groups of guys like this in almost every major city, but what I’ve never whitnessed was the hilarious scene which happened next.

Apparently, these guys weren’t allowed to be selling their stuff here, for whatever reason. A police car came around the corner, and every one of the men grabbed some ropes I hadn’t before notice at the corners of the tarps all their merchandise lay on. They picked up the ropes, and the tarps collapsed in on themselves like rucksacks, which they then threw over their shoulders so they could make a quick escape from the cops.

The police car rolled slowly through the streets as the men dispursed, then turned out of sight.

HOWEVER. Before the car had even rounded the corner, the men came back and began laying out their things again! To no one’s surprise, the police car quickly turned around and drove back to the street, dispursing the men yet again.

This serioulsy happened about a dozen times in the half hour we were sitting there. It was so strange to watch. You would think the salesmen would at least wait a couple minutes to ensure the police were a safe distance away, but I suppose a couple minutes off the streets means a couple dollars of lost business! So strange. So strange.

We then wandered to the cutest little cafe, where Kristina got this gigantic pizza/ flatbread thing for only four euros, and I got a delicious ham and cheese croissant. The drinks around us looked so good, though, that once we fiinished eating, I ordered a coffee and another fresh orange juice. No regrets.

Wow. My head looks strangely large in that photo. Haha.

Next, we bought some art! We found a small art shop with gorgeous originals and prints. However, the originals were a bit out of our price range, and the prints were very high-quality, so we both got a bunch. Hahaha. Oops.

Then, to Barcelona’s mini duomo! So pretty! Unfortunately, we were too-scantily-clad to be allowed access to the cathedral (shoulders and knees must be covered), so we had to view the beauty from the outside alone. There were a bunch of little Spanish women outside the entrance wrapping scarves around girls and women also in shorts or tank tops, and I thought they were just doing this out of the kindness of their hearts and out of respect for the church. But no! We went up and spread our arms to be wrapped up, and the woman said, ‘Five euro.’

Uhhh… Haha. Cute little Spanish lady with a profitable business model. Oh, well. We decided we would come back the next day with our own scarves, instead.

Shortly after this, my phone died, and I didn’t have a charger. I’m pretty sure we just wandered around a bit more, with plans to see a flemenco show later in the evening. When we made our way back to the flemenco restaurant around 7:45pm,  though, we had to pass by the duomo again. And low and behold! A band was all set up and ready to play right on the church’s front steps. We were cutting it close for the flemenco show, but Kristina insisted we stay and at least here one song. So glad we did!

The second the band started playing, about a hundred elderly Spanish men and women popped up out of nowhere and began some sort of hand-holding circle dance to the music! Not a flash mob, or anything. It was some sort of organized dance that must happen all the time. But it was so cute! More and more people kept running under hands to drop their bags in the center of the circle before joining in the ring to finish out the song. I was actually dying. I could not handle it. The music. The dancing. The adorable old peole. It was too much!

Kristina kept trying to get me to join, but I was too nervous, especially because everybody dancing clearly knew the dance already, and also because all the dancers were about forty years my senior.

We sat on the steps with the band, watching the dancing and occasionally sneaking over to the antiques market on the other side of the square, and I kept trying to get up the courage to join. The funniest part was that among all the giant circles of old people, there was one tiny circle made up of three young men. Their style was a bit different, but you could tell it was the same dance. They moved at about double speed, and they jumped around a lot more and kicked their feet much higher. They were also completely focused. It was so entertaining!

We tried going up to them between songs to ask what the dance was all about, and to find out if we could join. However, none of them spoke English, and they seemed pretty freaked out by us. Hahaha. At least we tried.

By this point, we had been watching for almost an hour, and I was REALLY REALLY wanting to dance. I just couldn’t muster the courage! We went and sat near a smaller circle that had a couple of younger people in it, hoping that would help my motivation. Then! A new girl joined the group! A tourist! And she did not know the dance in the slightest! She held hands with the other young woman in the circle (the one I was using for my inspiration), and the Spanish girl tried leading her along.

This was it. This was my moment. If this girl could join without knowing the steps, I certainly could, as I had been studying the dancers’ feet and movements for the past hour! The song ended, and it seemed the whole thing was over!

NOOOOO. I had missed my chance! Oh, woe is me! Why had I been so nervous?!?!?! It was all my fault!!!

But… wait! They were doing an encore!

The young Spanish lady tried beckoning over the blonde tourist girl, but she said no. The Spanish lady insisted, ‘It’s just a little one! A short one!’

Well, that was enough convincing for me. Before the blonde girl could change her mind, I threw my purse to Kristina and hopped up to grab the hand of the Spanish girl.

I was so. Happy.

The Spanish girl kept pulling my hand this way and that to try and give me directions, and she stared intently at my feet the whole time, but all in all, I think I did pretty good! And it was so much fun! Eep! I should have joined earlier!

At the very last second, Kristina popped underneat my arm to throw her stuff in and try joining, but the song ended almost immediately after. Hahaha. We suck.

But yes. It was amazing. And wonderul. And oh-so-happy-making. (:

It was definitely a great way to end a great first day in Barcelona. We popped into a cafe for some late-night dinner, as most things were closed up by this time. We got sandwiches, and I had one of the best coffee drinks I have ever tasted: espresso, chocolate, and condensed milk. Yummmm!!

Day two started off less-than-strong! Kristina woke up at a reasonable hour because her jetlag was still making her wake up pretty early. My exhaustion, however, was doing just the opposite. Every time she nudged me and told me the time, I would grunt, ‘mhmm,’ and then promptly fall back asleep. By the time we left the apartment, it was after noon. First, we headed to our favorite cafe for another round of breakfast and fresh orange juice. We were going to start exploring from there, but… I was tired again. And she felt the tiredness coming on, too. What’s dangerous about our little cafe is that it was so close to our apartment that it was hard to not pop back in. And besides, a one hour nap wouldn’t hurt anything, right?

While this is probably true, we didn’t exactly test it out, seeing as I did’t wake up again until four-ish. Oops, again.

We planned to see all the bits of the city we had missed on Day One, and we were going to start by meeting with Kristina’s friend Prescott. We quickly arranged a meeting place so we would be forced to leave the apartment, and then we set off. The meeting place was this adorable park:

We never did find Prescott, though. Hm. Not sure what happened there. We were pretty bummed, but we couldn’t waste the day anymore than we already had! We headed south to the Olympic park, leftovers from when Barcelona hosted the Olympics in 1992.

On our way there, we passed a fire station. Funny – firefighters are called bombers in Spain. A little counterproductive, if you ask me. As we passed the station, we peaked in through a wire fence and saw about fifteen Spanish firemen playing basketball.

About half of them had their shirts off.

I may have drooled a bit.

Honest to goodness, I was about to take my phone out to take a picture to send to my mom, but one of them noticed us and waved, beaming smile on his face.

We’d been caught!

I waved back quite stupidly before running away and pulling Kristina with me. Gah. I really wanted that picture, too. Tehehe.

The Olympic park took us by surprise when we found it because it was situated on a massive hill. We had to take four or five escalators to get to the top, but the view was gorgeous!

We wandered for an hour or two, checking out the soccer stadium, a botanical garden, and some more great views of the city!

We got lost a bit, but eventually we found our way back to the water to get me my crochet necklace.

We asked if the jewelry was hand-made, just to make sure, and the saleswoman said, ‘Yes, my grandma make all of them.’ Now this was quite surprising because the saleswoman was at least in her fifties, but sitting behind her and to her right was a woman in her nineties, crocheting away! It must be granny! So cute!

I was extremely happy with my purchase at that point, and Kristina was pretty happy with her developing Spanish skills. She was so nervous at first, and on Day One in Barcelona, she kept going up to waitors/ salespeople/ information desk workers, and the first thing she would say was, ‘Do you speak English?’ I told her not to do this, and she said, ‘Well, how else am I supposed to know?’

I explained my philosophy while travelling in non-English-dominated countries: if you can get through the interaction without bringing up English, don’t do it. It can seem difficult or scary, but nine times out of ten, the whole conversation can consist of hello, yes, no, thank you, good-bye! Ordering food can be done by pointing. Paying can be done with a card or with enough cash that it will definitely be enough, even if you can’t understand the numbers they rattle off to you at lightning speed. It might be silly, but I always feel bad when I make somebody switch to English. I feel like people are always stooping down to my level, and if I force them to do so, I will never be making the effort to reach up to them.

When I go to a new country, the phrases I like to know are: yes, no, please, thank you, hello, goodbye, and whatever you would say to someone if you accidentally bumped into them at the grocery store (sorry/ excuse me). I’ve found that with these safely tucked under my belt, I can go entire days without ever speaking to someone in English, and it is positively liberating. It makes me feel like I belong. Like I’m a real Dane, or a real Italian, or a real Portugese girl, even if only in my mind! I feel like I’m tricking everyone into believing I live here and I understand what’s going on around me. (Both total lies. Tehe.)

Kristina was pretty unsure of this, and she continued asking for English for a while, but every time she did, I’d say, ‘Kristina! You could have done that in Spanish!’ And she’d think about it for a second before say, ‘Yeah… I guess I could have.’

I think the first time she really tried out her Spanish was at that waterfront market. She began listening to the Spanish around her and being reminded of words and phrases she had forgotten she’d known. ‘OH!’ she’d say. ‘When you want to ask how much something is, you say, cuanto!’ She remembered little things her mom says to her around the house. (Her mom’s Chilean! A native Spanish speaker!) She tried more and more Spanish, and it seemed to make her giddy, almost. I could see the same excited light in her eyes that I feel in myself when I successfully order a pastry in French. About every five seconds walking through that market, she would look at something and say, ‘Oooh! Bonita!’ and then fall into a fit of smiles and giggles. She’s so cute! She couldn’t stop talking about how much she was loving it and how she was already thinking about coming back to Barcelona. Travel bug: bite achieved.

To finish off the night, we finally made it to the flemenco show we had missed before. Three courses plus wine for me and sangria for Kristina. The fish was delicious, and the show was great! We were a little confused, because the flyers had depicted a young, fiesty-looking dancer, but when the music started, a woman in her sixties popped up to take the stage. She was definitely rocking it, though. The band behind her was made up of an older man on guitar who was positively in love with the music, a younger man on one of those box-drum things that you sit on (can’t remember what they’re called), and an older gentleman who sang with a loud, soulfull vibrato. Overall experience 10/10, and my Catalan creme dessert wasn’t half-bad, either!

On Day Three, our train left late afternoon, so we had plenty of time to do some more exploring. First was some bagel breakfast:

Excuse my face. I was sleepy.

And then we found this famous building, though I’m not sure exactly what it is used for. It seemed like housing? A hotel, maybe?

Some more exploring…

It actually rained our last day here, at least in the morning. It was pretty funny to see the locals, as it was clear that rain is an oddity. Everytime the thunder cracked and it began to drizzle, everyone on the street pretty much sprinted to the nearest restaurant or sunken doorway. The drizzle would pick up into a true downpour for about five minutes, and then the rain would vanish as quickly as it had come. This happened probably half a dozen times as we made our way through the city.

And then, the big one: the Sagrada Familia:

It was gorgeous! So huge! A massive cathedral with so much going on! Such a unique architectural style!

The only thing was…. tickets were sold out. For the entire day.

…. ):

So that was kind of sad… Apparently we should have booked tickets ahead of time online, but we didn’t know and we hadn’t done the proper research. ‘That’s okay!’ Kristina said. ‘We’ll just have to come back!’ Always the optimist. Haha.

My mood was brightened exponentially by the street art we found. I may have accidentally purchased three paintings before talking myself out of buying a fourth. I just love originals! Especially when I get to buy them directly from the artist! And they were so cheap! My bedroom wall is gonna look so hip. And my next apartment? Just you wait.

We wandered a bit more and saw some more castles…

And then we found the most beautiful fountain in yet another gorgeous city park:

Seriously, though! I have nothing against the Trevi Fountain, but why have I never heard of this one?! It was sooooo beautiful! I couldn’t handle it! The water! The green! The massive sculpture of it all! Gahhhhh. I can’t.

And then, the Arc de Triomphe! (sp? haha)

So. Everything was dandy. We still had over an hour to get our stuff from the apartment and get to the train station for our ride to Zaragoza. What could possibly go wrong?

Turns out we were farther from the apartment than I thought.

Much farther.

I’ll save you the gory details, but there was essentially a lot of fast walking, a lot of sweating, a smattering of bickering and whining from both parties, and in the end, we missed our train by about two minutes because we couldn’t find the platform in time.

Our original tickets cost about fifteen dollars, but they were nonrefundable and nontransferrable, so we had to buy new ones for about sixty bucks.

Yeah. I was not a happy camper.

But I got over it eventually, and our train ended up being super nice and over twice as fast as a cheap bus ticket would have been, so…. *shrug*.

To be continued in Zaragoza…

 

Venlig hilsen/ hasta luego,

Lizzy-wa