My passport is my travel buddy. It accompanies me on all my travels. It has to. Thus, you can understand why I was disappointed in the Italian system when I arrived in Rome on Thursday, April 17, to an absent immigrations department and, thus, no one to give the clickclick stamp in the passport, thus signifying that I made it safe and sound one step further in the superviaje. Does this mean people think I am still in Spain? Do I not exist in Italy? Will I get stopped at a border because those italiani decided that a cappuccino break was in order? Makes me wonder, where the hell am I?
I like Rome. Rome is, after all, the Eternal City (whatever). But I like Rome because I like Rome, and not because tourbooks say you should. I like Rome because you could be walking down the street and you'll see the Colosseum and then you'll keep walking and you'll see a gelateria. And then if you continue even further, there's a grocery store, that may or may not be there two years from now. There is the old mixed with the new -- the old is really old; it only gets older and doesn't go anywhere, and the new is ever-changing; things get torn down and rebuilt all the time. And all of these places coexist in a peaceful harmony such that the guy dressed in a costume straight out of ''Gladiator'' at the Trevi Fountain could give you directions to the Zara down the street.
I spent some of my time retracing old steps and visiting touristic sites I like: the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Spanish Steps, Piazza di Spagna, Piazza Venezia, Campo dei Fiori, Piazza Navona, etc. When I spent two months in Rome three years ago, I got to know these sites pretty well and have some favorites. Thus, this time around, I decided to go to the places I like the best and that require no entrance fees!
I also tried to make the most of my time with my Italian friends. One night, I went to the university area (called San Lorenzo) with my friend Alessio and a few of his friends. Before we headed home, they introduced me to the zozzone (''the big dirty'' ... get your minds out of the gutter!). Apparently, this tradition involves food trucks placed at random places around the city (some ''better'' than others) and they serve *huge* sandwiches that could be hamburgers, hot dogs, etc. with any number of toppings (think Starbucks for meat lovers). Another night, I went out with my friend Manu and a bunch of her friends, as one of her friend's families owns a pizzeria (the pizzas cascade deliciously over the already huge plates!). The pizzeria is actually attached to the family's house ... imagine! The beauty of going out with a whole bunch of Italian speakers is that, even though sometimes they want to practice English with me, they take me to these local joints that I never would have found on my own, where everyone is rattling off Italian in these wonderful accents from all over the country. And when I was walking home after visiting my friend at work (at a café) the other night, I passed Campo dei Fiori, Piazza Navona, and the Pantheon. They might be tourist sites, but I didn't stop to do the tourist thing. Hell, I was just on my way home. One of the weird things about the old being fully integrated with the new. You pass this stuff on the way home, and it's just normal. Oh yeah, that's the Pantheon -- eh, whatever. It might as well be bread crumbs to serve as personal landmarks to show you the way.
One of my Rome days, I even took a trip a little further than I imagined. And this was a trip that my passport buddy did not make with me. I crossed into Kenyan territory. Without a passport. No border control, no customs, no nothing. One of my friends from home, his mom is the Kenyan embassador to Italy, and they have an apartment in Rome. So, technically, once you set foot in the apartment, you are on Kenyan turf. That means that from the time I left my apartment to the time I arrived in this apartment overlooking an Italian piazza, I walked to Kenya! And from the terrace of this apartment in Kenya, we sat people-watching, looking at Italians and other foreigners below. I gotta say, the trip to Kenya? Not so tough!
So, having spent a solid several days in Rome, I decided to head south to Sicily for a bit -- see what there is to offer, see if everyone is really named Tony, etc.
More from below the boot (errr, yeah...),
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
Thursday, April 24, 2008
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Barcelona, Spain: Pero, tú, ¿quién eres?
Whether I´ve been to a particular place before or not, in taking one trip, I always learn how to better the next one. In this particular segment, I had been to Barcelona before, so when I arrived on Saturday, April 12, it wasn´t with the tourist plan in mind. Rather, I came to visit friends, retrace old stomping grounds, and just hang out for a few days in a city I enjoy.
The place I called home during my stay in Barcelona this time around was the apartment of my friend Jaime, one of my friends from my program in Salvador. He lives in an apartment by the beach, a beach I frequented when I lived in Barcelona two and a half years ago. Since I already knew the tourist sites in Barcelona, I got to know his neighborhood (Barceloneta) through the eyes of a local. We also hit the beach one day, and though it wasn´t quite the weather of Bahia (or the beach of Bahia, for that matter...so far, I haven´t found a beach that is), it was still the beach. Unfortunately, Jaime skipped town and went on vacation with his friend on Monday. Fortunately, he didn´t kick me out of the apartment, and I got to stay there for the remainder of my time in Barcelona! A beachfront apartment in Barcelona? Sometimes, things work out just fine.
When I lived in Barcelona, one aspect of Catalonian culture that surprised me was how closed it was, compared with, say, Andalusian culture. Example A: You smile at the random person on the metro, and nothing. It´s like you´re staring at one of those cardboard cutouts of people with the eyes cut out that you see at a fairground. Anyway, in the interest of learning from previous travel experiences, I decided to take a different course of action this time around: I turned my former metro experiences into a game. I decided, every time I take the train, I´m going to see if I can get those darn Catalonians to smile. The results? Not so hot. The problem is that they look every which way except at people. It´s hard to land eye contact, and it became funnier when they didn´t smile, which then became inspiration for me to try harder. There was the rare ``smiler,´´ but it made me wonder if the person came from Catalonia or from another part of Spain altogether (Barcelona is an infusion of cultures, both from within Spain and outside Spain). And once, I got a girl to smile but then she looked around really quickly and stopped. An interesting cultural exercise, to say the least (especially compared with the bus in Salvador, Brazil, where people take part in your conversations, when you didn´t even know they were listening).
Tuesday, I went back to my old job to say hello and see how everything was going. When I lived in Barcelona, I taught Spanish to immigrants at Ekumene, a center that offers free classes in Spanish conversation/reading/writing, general culture, Catalan, etc. I worked as a substitute teacher, so though I was there often, I didn´t always have the same group of students, and I didn´t always teach the same subject. And sometimes, I just happened to be there and a teacher would be absent, so I would step in and teach a class, a good test to make sure the adrenaline was still working (but not the same feeling as, ``you stop running and we crash´´). Anyway, I dropped by, and the director buzzed me in, and she made me take a seat while she helped a few students. Since it seemed like she didn´t recognize me, when it was my turn, I identified myself, and she said that she thought it was me, but just in case it wasn´t, she didn´t want to greet me and then be really wrong. I ended up talking to her for awhile, and in the course of our conversation, two of the Catalan students (adults) came to the office and said that their teacher didn´t show up. I didn´t know what class they were from, so I asked Ana María (the director). She said, hold on a minute, and left the office for a few minutes. When she came back, she said, ``okay, the castellano (Spanish) teacher is going to teach the Catalan class, and you are going to teach the castellano class.´´ I said, wait, wait -- what´s going on? She explained that the Catalan teacher wasn´t there, and since I don´t speak Catalan (maybe I shouldn´t have dropped my Catalan class), well, I was going to teach the other class. I said okay (I didn´t have a choice in the matter anyway) and that I guess that made sense -- when I started teaching there, it basically happened this way, and then she said, and this is how it continues! So, I went there to say hello, thinking I´d be there for a half hour or so, and I ended up teaching for about 45 minutes. After class, I went back to the office, to resume our conversation, and she started telling me about the students in one of my old classes. Only one of them is still in contact with her, and it happened to be a good student who was fun in class. She told me where she worked, and I ended up going to visit her.
The girl knew someone was going to visit her (Ana María had called her to see what her hours were), but she didn´t know who. It was a fun surprise and good to catch up with her. (It was strange seeing my former student speak perfect Spanish and even use the F-word in everyday conversation. It just makes me so proud! (I didn´t teach it to her.)) She works at a shoe store in the mall, because she doesn´t have the necessary citizenship papers to be able to work as a nurse (she has her degree). Unfortunately for her and her two colleagues, it was a beautiful day outside, so there weren´t many people in the mall. They hadn´t sold a single thing all day, so any time someone came into the shoe store, they were trying to make a sale. I ended up staying at the store for three hours, catching up with Sanaa, and there were even two customers who required the use of an English translator (i.e., me). It turns out that I´m not cut out to sell shoes -- all that effort and nothing. I asked Sanaa if she still talks to anyone from our class and she said the only one she still sees from time to time is this woman named Helena. (The ages in that class ranged from 16 to maybe mid 40s. Sanaa is 20; Helena I think was late 30s, early 40s.) Sanaa said, though, that it is always Helena who recognizes Sanaa. See, even though both of them are from Morocco, Sanaa is very liberal in her style of dress. You wouldn´t necessarily be able to guess by looking at her that she´s Moroccan. Helena, on the other hand, used to wear a hijab. Since I left, however, Helena changed her wardrobe style and now goes all out and wears a burqa. (And it isn´t a question of being recently married, because she was married when she was my student.) So, whenever they run into each other on the street, Sanaa never recognizes Helena, and it is always Helena who says to Sanaa, ``Sanaa!´´ to which Sanaa responds, ``pero, tú, ¿quién eres?´´ since Helena´s eyes are the only part of her visible to the outside world. Here are two people from the same country, albeit different generations (but that hardly matters), and Sanaa is asking Helena, ``but who are *you*?´´ Sanaa was relating the story to me like any old story, and I didn´t even start thinking about it until later, but it just goes to show that cultural diversity exists even within the same culture.
Even though I didn´t *have* to do any touristy things, I still did a few of them at a leisurely pace. I walked along La Rambla, a 1.2km-long pedestrian street that has various shops, stalls, sidewalk shows, etc. I also took a walk around La Boqueria, a market that sells fruits, meat, fish, and other things you would expect to find in that kind of market. It was just a ``no pressure´´ kind of pace, no guidebook in hand. Another day, I revisited Passeig de Gràcia, a shopping avenue with lots of Gaudí architecture, and Park Güell, one of my favorite parks ever. I also spent time catching up with some of my friends who still live in Barcelona. For instance, I went out with one of my old roommates, Paulo, who hails from Portugal, and his Portuguese girlfriend. Paulo has also studied English, so since I wanted to practice Portuguese, and he wanted to practice English, we ended up going back and forth between languages: Spanish, Portuguese, English, lather, rinse, repeat. He even said my Portuguese accent was Bahian. Hooray! (Come to think of it, I hope that was a good thing...)
So, now that I´ve checked up on my Portuguese, and after a month and a half in Spanish-speaking territory, my Spanish is doing fine, it´s time to go eat some pizza and pasta (and maybe eat some words?) and see if that can bring my Italian back.
hasta la pasta,
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
The place I called home during my stay in Barcelona this time around was the apartment of my friend Jaime, one of my friends from my program in Salvador. He lives in an apartment by the beach, a beach I frequented when I lived in Barcelona two and a half years ago. Since I already knew the tourist sites in Barcelona, I got to know his neighborhood (Barceloneta) through the eyes of a local. We also hit the beach one day, and though it wasn´t quite the weather of Bahia (or the beach of Bahia, for that matter...so far, I haven´t found a beach that is), it was still the beach. Unfortunately, Jaime skipped town and went on vacation with his friend on Monday. Fortunately, he didn´t kick me out of the apartment, and I got to stay there for the remainder of my time in Barcelona! A beachfront apartment in Barcelona? Sometimes, things work out just fine.
When I lived in Barcelona, one aspect of Catalonian culture that surprised me was how closed it was, compared with, say, Andalusian culture. Example A: You smile at the random person on the metro, and nothing. It´s like you´re staring at one of those cardboard cutouts of people with the eyes cut out that you see at a fairground. Anyway, in the interest of learning from previous travel experiences, I decided to take a different course of action this time around: I turned my former metro experiences into a game. I decided, every time I take the train, I´m going to see if I can get those darn Catalonians to smile. The results? Not so hot. The problem is that they look every which way except at people. It´s hard to land eye contact, and it became funnier when they didn´t smile, which then became inspiration for me to try harder. There was the rare ``smiler,´´ but it made me wonder if the person came from Catalonia or from another part of Spain altogether (Barcelona is an infusion of cultures, both from within Spain and outside Spain). And once, I got a girl to smile but then she looked around really quickly and stopped. An interesting cultural exercise, to say the least (especially compared with the bus in Salvador, Brazil, where people take part in your conversations, when you didn´t even know they were listening).
Tuesday, I went back to my old job to say hello and see how everything was going. When I lived in Barcelona, I taught Spanish to immigrants at Ekumene, a center that offers free classes in Spanish conversation/reading/writing, general culture, Catalan, etc. I worked as a substitute teacher, so though I was there often, I didn´t always have the same group of students, and I didn´t always teach the same subject. And sometimes, I just happened to be there and a teacher would be absent, so I would step in and teach a class, a good test to make sure the adrenaline was still working (but not the same feeling as, ``you stop running and we crash´´). Anyway, I dropped by, and the director buzzed me in, and she made me take a seat while she helped a few students. Since it seemed like she didn´t recognize me, when it was my turn, I identified myself, and she said that she thought it was me, but just in case it wasn´t, she didn´t want to greet me and then be really wrong. I ended up talking to her for awhile, and in the course of our conversation, two of the Catalan students (adults) came to the office and said that their teacher didn´t show up. I didn´t know what class they were from, so I asked Ana María (the director). She said, hold on a minute, and left the office for a few minutes. When she came back, she said, ``okay, the castellano (Spanish) teacher is going to teach the Catalan class, and you are going to teach the castellano class.´´ I said, wait, wait -- what´s going on? She explained that the Catalan teacher wasn´t there, and since I don´t speak Catalan (maybe I shouldn´t have dropped my Catalan class), well, I was going to teach the other class. I said okay (I didn´t have a choice in the matter anyway) and that I guess that made sense -- when I started teaching there, it basically happened this way, and then she said, and this is how it continues! So, I went there to say hello, thinking I´d be there for a half hour or so, and I ended up teaching for about 45 minutes. After class, I went back to the office, to resume our conversation, and she started telling me about the students in one of my old classes. Only one of them is still in contact with her, and it happened to be a good student who was fun in class. She told me where she worked, and I ended up going to visit her.
The girl knew someone was going to visit her (Ana María had called her to see what her hours were), but she didn´t know who. It was a fun surprise and good to catch up with her. (It was strange seeing my former student speak perfect Spanish and even use the F-word in everyday conversation. It just makes me so proud! (I didn´t teach it to her.)) She works at a shoe store in the mall, because she doesn´t have the necessary citizenship papers to be able to work as a nurse (she has her degree). Unfortunately for her and her two colleagues, it was a beautiful day outside, so there weren´t many people in the mall. They hadn´t sold a single thing all day, so any time someone came into the shoe store, they were trying to make a sale. I ended up staying at the store for three hours, catching up with Sanaa, and there were even two customers who required the use of an English translator (i.e., me). It turns out that I´m not cut out to sell shoes -- all that effort and nothing. I asked Sanaa if she still talks to anyone from our class and she said the only one she still sees from time to time is this woman named Helena. (The ages in that class ranged from 16 to maybe mid 40s. Sanaa is 20; Helena I think was late 30s, early 40s.) Sanaa said, though, that it is always Helena who recognizes Sanaa. See, even though both of them are from Morocco, Sanaa is very liberal in her style of dress. You wouldn´t necessarily be able to guess by looking at her that she´s Moroccan. Helena, on the other hand, used to wear a hijab. Since I left, however, Helena changed her wardrobe style and now goes all out and wears a burqa. (And it isn´t a question of being recently married, because she was married when she was my student.) So, whenever they run into each other on the street, Sanaa never recognizes Helena, and it is always Helena who says to Sanaa, ``Sanaa!´´ to which Sanaa responds, ``pero, tú, ¿quién eres?´´ since Helena´s eyes are the only part of her visible to the outside world. Here are two people from the same country, albeit different generations (but that hardly matters), and Sanaa is asking Helena, ``but who are *you*?´´ Sanaa was relating the story to me like any old story, and I didn´t even start thinking about it until later, but it just goes to show that cultural diversity exists even within the same culture.
Even though I didn´t *have* to do any touristy things, I still did a few of them at a leisurely pace. I walked along La Rambla, a 1.2km-long pedestrian street that has various shops, stalls, sidewalk shows, etc. I also took a walk around La Boqueria, a market that sells fruits, meat, fish, and other things you would expect to find in that kind of market. It was just a ``no pressure´´ kind of pace, no guidebook in hand. Another day, I revisited Passeig de Gràcia, a shopping avenue with lots of Gaudí architecture, and Park Güell, one of my favorite parks ever. I also spent time catching up with some of my friends who still live in Barcelona. For instance, I went out with one of my old roommates, Paulo, who hails from Portugal, and his Portuguese girlfriend. Paulo has also studied English, so since I wanted to practice Portuguese, and he wanted to practice English, we ended up going back and forth between languages: Spanish, Portuguese, English, lather, rinse, repeat. He even said my Portuguese accent was Bahian. Hooray! (Come to think of it, I hope that was a good thing...)
So, now that I´ve checked up on my Portuguese, and after a month and a half in Spanish-speaking territory, my Spanish is doing fine, it´s time to go eat some pizza and pasta (and maybe eat some words?) and see if that can bring my Italian back.
hasta la pasta,
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
Monday, April 14, 2008
Seville, Spain: The Show Must Go On...That is, if the show doesn´t wash (or wash me) away first
I left dreary Málaga on Tuesday, April 6 for rainy and windy Sevilla. I had already bought my ticket before I saw the news reports broadcasting the 80-90 km/hr winds and the equally heavy (however equal it would need to be to equal that) rains coming down on Sevilla. Normally, this would just suck. But when you have planned a trip to a city for a particular couple of days specifically because of a festival, namely the Feria de Abril (also known as the Feria de Sevilla) and it turns out to be precipitating all kinds of things, ``ferious´´ it is not. It sucks and blows, all at the same time. (You may now take a moment to ponder the logistics.)
Tuesday? Rain. Wednesday? More of the same, but fortunately it let up enough at nighttime for me to take advantage of Feria with Ángela, one of my friends from my old soccer team. (For those who are unaware, I spent five months living in Seville during my junior year in college, during which time I found and joined a soccer team. I´ve since kept in touch with a few of the girls.) I met up with Ángela and some of her friends, and she successfully introduced me to Feria (olé!). In part, Feria consists of lots of tents (called casetas), some public, but most private. In these casetas, there is music, a bar, dancing, hanging out, etc. It´s free to get in everywhere, but in order to get into the private ones, you have to know someone. Otherwise, you are relegated to the public ones. Fortunately, Ángela had friends who belonged to a private one, so after hanging out outside for awhile, we all went there and stayed there for a good portion of the night/morning. By the time we called Feria a ``morning,´´ the rain had picked up again, and, I realized how perfect it would have been to have my big Amazon boots with me for that small timeslot (go figure).
The good part about going back to cities that you have already gotten to know ``touristically´´ is that you can just do whatever you want and there´s no pressure to see anything. I walked along the pedestrian streets I liked (Sierpes, Tetuan, etc.), and walked around town in general, noting several changes. For one, lots of roads are now blocked off to traffic in favor of the recent tram system. Status of change? Goood. Another change? Lots of Starbucks. Status of change? ``Vómito.´´ (I hate Starbucks in foreign countries.) But since the weather was generally bad, I didn´t have to make do with subpar pictures of the impressive Cathedral, for instance, since I already have pictures of the Cathedral with a not-a-cloud-in-the-sky background.
Feria is a time of year when lots of sevillanos either all leave town because they don´t like the festival, or they all come back to celebrate it. It was both fortunate and unfortunate for me, because of the people I know who still live in Sevilla or its outskirts, it was about half and half. I thus tried to make the most of it and see all the people who were around. I got to see the family I lived with when I studied abroad, for example, who now live full-time in their country house. Luckily, they had come into town for Feria, so I was able to spend an afternoon with them and see some flamenco dresses up close, since my former host sisters get dressed up for Feria. I also got some free meals (ah, the life of a backpacker) at the café I used to frequent, as a few of my old friends still work there. Even when I tried to leave a tip, they wouldn´t accept it. That made my pineapple ice cream (which was served in a pineapple) even better!
Friday I hit Feria again, this time with Estrella, another soccer friend, and some people she knew. And in true Feria fashion, we didn´t go home until the morning hours. Maybe it sounds like Carnaval from the way I´m describing it, but the rhythm is different, the concentration of people is different, and really, it´s not that similar at all other than it´s one big fiesta. We met at Feria during the day, so we saw lots of families, horse-drawn carriages, and games and stuff that start to disappear by the time nighttime rolls around. Luckily, one of Estrella´s friends had gotten an invite to a caseta, so we all got to check it out. They had actually just gotten the invite earlier that day, so it was perfect timing.There were a few people I didn´t get to see this trip to Sevilla, which is too bad, but everyone is rarely in the same place at the same time, so having done the best I could in the few days I had, it was time to move on.
Saturday, April 12, I left Sevilla for Barcelona (and, of course, it was a beautiful day outside). When I got to the airport, naturally, I got to the security checkpoint, and a security guard said, ``Can you come with me?´´ Frantically, I thought, ``Uh-oh, do I have fruit? Being a newfound meat eater, did I smuggle asado? What am I in trouble for?´´ The guy took me behind a cubicle and said, ``Are you familiar with the liquid regulations?´´ I said, ``No...´´ And he proceeded to ask me where I was from. I said America, and he said, ``Oh, then this is going to be a lot easier. You know you can´t take liquids of more than 3 oz. past security.´´ And I said, ``oh, ok.´´ And then he opened my bag and pulled out this 1.5 liter bottle of Aquarius (a Gatorade-like drink that I love so dearly) that I had stowed away for safe-keeping. (Note: In South America, no one cared about bringing liquids on airplanes, so I didn´t think twice that I had bottles of liquids with me. In fact, one time in Brazil, they asked me if I had anything in my pockets, and I said, just my cell phone and a bottle of water, and they said, no, that´s fine, no big deal.) Anyway, he said, what do you want to do? (I had maybe drank three sips of the bottle already.) I said, ``Well, I´m not going to waste it...´´ And then he said, ``We see everything on the monitor here. Do you have any other liquids with you over 3 oz.?´´ And knowing full well what my inventory was, I said, ``Yes...´´ and I pulled out a 500ml bottle of water. At this point, I opened the top of my Aquarius, took a deep breath, and just started chugging. During this whole spectacle (and it was, indeed, a spectacle -- keep in mind, it was a big bottle), he asked me, ``So, where in America are you from?´´ I paused, looked at him (think, ``Are you for real?´´), and said, ``Washington,´´ and picked up where I left off. He then said that his niece or daughter or someone (I forget) lived in Virginia and that he wants to go visit but that it´s so expensive, etc. etc. At this point, I finished the Aquarius, slammed the bottle down on the table, and said, ``Just out of curiosity, do people usually do this
Thank the heavens the forecast for Barcelona has nothing to do with water!
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
Tuesday, April 8, 2008
Málaga, Spain: Little House and the Mary
Sundays are always a good day to travel. Things are closed and there´s never anything to do anyway, so why not spend the day on the train(s)? I spent Sunday, April 6 en route from Salamanca to Málaga, with a bit of a stopover in Madrid. Apparently, the guy who issued me my ticket thought that Tuesday, May 6 would be a good day to travel from Madrid to Málaga as, in the haste of purchasing my ticket (his haste, not mine), he pushed the button for May 6 instead of April 6. Strange, considering two minutes earlier, he had issued me a ticket for April 6 from Salamanca to Madrid. The error in ticketing was only discovered when I was aboard the train en route to Málaga, and funnily enough, I was the only one who noticed it. See, in Spain, they assign you to certain seats, and so when someone came to tell me that I was sitting in her seat, I showed her my ticket (not knowing that it wasn´t for the right day) and we both saw that we had tickets for the same seat. Her boyfriend had a ticket for the seat next to her and immediately went to someone who worked on the train to ask for help (when there´s a discrepancy, go ask an adult, I guess), and in the meantime, I thought, ``hmm, this can´t be right..let´s check the date,´´ at which point, I noticed, ``holy mierda, it´s my ticket that´s wrong! They better not kick me off the train.´´ By the time the train woman came back with the boyfriend, I covered up the date and she took my ticket and said to the two confused English-speakers that it looked like they double-booked the seats again, but since it probably wasn´t going to be a full train (I asked), that we´d have to wait for the supervisor (gosh, why did that guy have to ask? Why couldn´t we just wait for it to become an issue?). In the meantime, the train departed (hooray! What were they going to do, kick me off a moving train? Well, never assume anything, I suppose...), and when the supervisor came around, he, too, said that they double-booked the seats. Then he added not to worry, that we could all stay where we were because no one was booked for those seats for the duration of the trip. Faaantastic -- crisis resolved! The weird thing about that is that before I realized the error in ticketing, my ticket passed through the hands of several ``official´´ agents -- the guy who issued me my ticket, the security agent, the woman who ripped my ticket to grant me entry onto the train platform, the train woman, and the supervisor. All these people, and no one noticed that it said 06MAY on the ticket. Had it been March, I could see that it would be easy to miss, but, uh, well, it was APR. Oh well, lucky for me.
When I arrived in Málaga, I walked the red carpet just as I left the platforms in the train station. Seriously. Apparently, it is the week of the 11th Annual Festival de Málaga -- a film festival for Spanish films that are going to come out within the next year -- and there was a red carpet laid out with movie billboards lining the walkways and whatnot. Welcome to the birthplace of Anthony Flags...I mean, Antonio Banderas. Right, we´re in Málaga, where everything sounds better in Spanish.
I soon found my way to the place I would call home for the next couple of days, and it actually did feel like home...maybe because it was my friend´s house. Remember Manolo, one of the malagueños I met in Ushuaia? He kindly offered up his one-bedroom house to me and volunteered to go live with his girlfriend for the two days I was in town. After I got settled in, Manolo, Bea (his girlfriend) and I drove to the center of town, where they showed me around a bit. We saw the Plaza de Toros (the bullring) from the outside, walked along the Paseo del Parque (one of Málaga´s only green spots), saw the Cathedral (again, from the outside), and walked along some pedestrian streets that during the day are busy with shoppers, but during the film festival were lined with camerapeople interviewing actors, regular people enjoying the good weather, etc. (The one or two actors we saw, I unfortunately didn´t recognize. So much for all those college classes of Spanish film.) We also met up with Joaquin (the famous Bingo winner from Ushuaia) and the four of us went to a café for a 7pm snack.
Monday, since my friends had to work, I took it upon myself to explore Málaga. I hopped the bus to the center of town and got out near where I had walked with Manolo and Bea on Sunday. Then, where I saw a big hill with windy walkways, I climbed it (clearly). After all, what better way to start a Monday morning than a steep climb (no stairs) in flip-flops? When I got to the top, it turned out that I made it to the Castillo de Gibralfaro, an Arab lighthouse that was built in a Phoenician castle. Walking around the grounds, I had a great view of the city made even clearer by the zoom on my camera (who said that?). Even a hang-glider wouldn´t have given me any better views than that. (And fortunately, the student discount came through for me here, too.) After I left this castle, I made my way toward the center of town, where there were some ruins of a Roman theater. One of Málaga´s most notable landmarks, the Alcazaba (which allows for closer views of the Roman theaters (but not too much closer since I stuck my camera through the fence)), was, of course, closed because it was Monday (some things are closed on Sundays; others, on Mondays. This one happened to be the only thing in Málaga that was closed on Monday.) I thus went back to the Cathedral and this time ventured inside (it was too late by the time we got there on Sunday). Not bad, but I´m not down with an entrance fee to see Mary. And then I was back meandering along the streets -- something much more to my liking. After lunch and walking the pedestrian streets a bit, the middle of the afternoon brought some heavy rains, so I hopped the bus and went back home.
At night, I hung out with Manolo and Bea again, and then Tuesday morning, it was back to the train station, with a ticket in hand for Sevilla (with the correct date -- I checked). I didn´t get to the beach in Málaga (not enough time and the weather didn´t really allow for it, anyway), but that´s ok -- I´ll get to the beach soon. In the meantime, heavy rains and winds of up to 80/90 km/hr await in Sevilla.
I hope my umbrella is strong enough!
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
When I arrived in Málaga, I walked the red carpet just as I left the platforms in the train station. Seriously. Apparently, it is the week of the 11th Annual Festival de Málaga -- a film festival for Spanish films that are going to come out within the next year -- and there was a red carpet laid out with movie billboards lining the walkways and whatnot. Welcome to the birthplace of Anthony Flags...I mean, Antonio Banderas. Right, we´re in Málaga, where everything sounds better in Spanish.
I soon found my way to the place I would call home for the next couple of days, and it actually did feel like home...maybe because it was my friend´s house. Remember Manolo, one of the malagueños I met in Ushuaia? He kindly offered up his one-bedroom house to me and volunteered to go live with his girlfriend for the two days I was in town. After I got settled in, Manolo, Bea (his girlfriend) and I drove to the center of town, where they showed me around a bit. We saw the Plaza de Toros (the bullring) from the outside, walked along the Paseo del Parque (one of Málaga´s only green spots), saw the Cathedral (again, from the outside), and walked along some pedestrian streets that during the day are busy with shoppers, but during the film festival were lined with camerapeople interviewing actors, regular people enjoying the good weather, etc. (The one or two actors we saw, I unfortunately didn´t recognize. So much for all those college classes of Spanish film.) We also met up with Joaquin (the famous Bingo winner from Ushuaia) and the four of us went to a café for a 7pm snack.
Monday, since my friends had to work, I took it upon myself to explore Málaga. I hopped the bus to the center of town and got out near where I had walked with Manolo and Bea on Sunday. Then, where I saw a big hill with windy walkways, I climbed it (clearly). After all, what better way to start a Monday morning than a steep climb (no stairs) in flip-flops? When I got to the top, it turned out that I made it to the Castillo de Gibralfaro, an Arab lighthouse that was built in a Phoenician castle. Walking around the grounds, I had a great view of the city made even clearer by the zoom on my camera (who said that?). Even a hang-glider wouldn´t have given me any better views than that. (And fortunately, the student discount came through for me here, too.) After I left this castle, I made my way toward the center of town, where there were some ruins of a Roman theater. One of Málaga´s most notable landmarks, the Alcazaba (which allows for closer views of the Roman theaters (but not too much closer since I stuck my camera through the fence)), was, of course, closed because it was Monday (some things are closed on Sundays; others, on Mondays. This one happened to be the only thing in Málaga that was closed on Monday.) I thus went back to the Cathedral and this time ventured inside (it was too late by the time we got there on Sunday). Not bad, but I´m not down with an entrance fee to see Mary. And then I was back meandering along the streets -- something much more to my liking. After lunch and walking the pedestrian streets a bit, the middle of the afternoon brought some heavy rains, so I hopped the bus and went back home.
At night, I hung out with Manolo and Bea again, and then Tuesday morning, it was back to the train station, with a ticket in hand for Sevilla (with the correct date -- I checked). I didn´t get to the beach in Málaga (not enough time and the weather didn´t really allow for it, anyway), but that´s ok -- I´ll get to the beach soon. In the meantime, heavy rains and winds of up to 80/90 km/hr await in Sevilla.
I hope my umbrella is strong enough!
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Salamanca, Spain: It´s all a study of people, now let me in for free!
When I arrived in Salamanca on April 4, I was greeted by a taxi driver who not only gave me a good map of town, but also dropped me off at my hotel by driving down a pedestrian street. (``There aren´t *that* many people,´´ he said.) Salamanca was looking good.
My first stop after settling into the hotel was lunch in Plaza Mayor , considered one of the most beautiful plazas in Spain. It´s pretty picturesque, I´ll give it that. Not only that, but the people-watching is prime there. After I finished lunch (about 4pm), I decided to set out and start my tour of the city. My meandering first took me to Plazuela de las Úrsulas, a little plaza with a statue of Miguel de Unamuno, a Spanish literary guy who worked in a whole bunch of genres. The streets in this area are small and windy, so I wandered a bit before I hit the next ``major´´ destination (these little spots hardly seem to qualify as major since they are so quaint, but whatever): Casa de las Conchas (House of Shells). Although the building now serves as a public library, like everything else in Spain there is, indeed, much more history entrenched in it. Way back when, somewhere in the 15th century, the owner of the house created the house either to honor the famous pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela (pilgrims traditionally wore shells along their journey) or to honor his wife, whose family shield was decorated with scallops. (There are many sandstone shells attached to the front of the building.) The inside of the building wasn´t so interesting, as it´s just a library now.
Across from the Casa de las Conchas is La Clerecía, also called La Universidad Pontificia. This building (founded in 1611) is unaffiliated with the real University of Salamanca (established in 1218), and since you couldn´t explore it on your own, I decided to forego the tour and be content with my imagination, stemming from the pictures I got from the outside.
Next up? The Catedral Nueva . I figured, since it took 220 years to build the darn thing (1513-1733), I might as well take a few minutes to check it out. It was pretty impressive (both from the outside and the inside), and in the Capilla del Santisimo Sacramento inside the cathedral, there was a martyr´s chopped off hand/arm in glass casing. Kind of neat, in a weird way. Not the kind of thing *I* would put in a glass casing, but once I realized what it was, I will admit, I did think, ``ew....neat.´´
I didn´t think it was necessary to pay an entrance fee to see the Catedral Vieja after that (the newer cathedral was free), so I left the cathedral area and continued on my way, eventually ending up at the Puente Romano, a 2000-year-old Roman bridge that was used frequently during the Roman occupation of Spain. One side of the bridge is marked by a headless granite bull called the Toro Ibérico (not very photogenic), who apparently became famous in the 16th century picaresque novel Lazarillo de Tormes.
After walking across the bridge and back, I went in search of the Universidad de Salamanca. My taxi driver told me that the city would be dead if it weren´t for the university students, as that is who makes up the population of Salamanca. Now that I have personal experience in the city, it seems to me that the city is made up of, as he said, the students, and another group of people: those who were around when the university was established (1218). And maybe a few age groups in between. When I did my personal tour of the university, I found that many of the rooms are named after scholars -- Fray Luis de León, Miguel de Unamuno, etc. I also went into the library, but you can´t go in too far because the doorway is encased in glass or something. Still, you could see the layout of one of Europe´s oldest libraries, and I found out (from a woman who was giving a private tour to this other girl) that there is this big door in the library (she pointed out which one) behind which there is a big vault with rare copies of books, and that door is only opened when famous people or ``somebodies´´ want to see what´s behind the door. I bet it´s the Spanish copies of Harry Potter.
When I left the university, I ended up going to a museum by accident because I thought that´s where this one fresco was that I wanted to see. It was the Museum of Salamanca. As the conversations usually go, I went in and said, ``Student.´´ They said, ``Are you studying in Salamanca?´´ I said, ``Yes, now I am.´´ (The parenthetical comment in my head was, ``Well, I am studying the people, the food, the rhythm, etc.´´) So he asked for my student ID, which I promptly handed over and free entry, there I go! Too bad for me, though, the fresco wasn´t there. S´ok, though, because I just whooshed through the museum and I was out just like that...and no guilt in not staying longer because, hey -- it was free! I then turned the corner and found the Museo de la Universidad, the real museum where the Cielo de Salamanca (said fresco) is housed (and that was free entry anyway). The (reconstructed) Cielo de Salamanca was a 15th century fresco painted on the ceiling by Fernando Gallego. I walked around some more of the sidestreets around Plaza Mayor before calling it a day on the touring front.
Saturday, I decided to take a different approach to checking out Salamanca. I thought that since I already did what I wanted to do in terms of ``touring´´ the city, I was going to pick a sidestreet leading out of Plaza Mayor (there are many) that I hadn´t gone on yet and just see where I ended up. So, after not much thought, I selected my sidestreet and followed it until the walk-sign said walk, so I walked. Then there was a light, so I turned...etc. etc. etc., and what do you know? I ended up at a pedestrian street (read: shopping street)! This was horrible news because I am in the land of the €euro€ but great news because I successfully navigated my way to pedestrian streets (which I so dearly love) without a map or asking anyone when I had no set destination in mind. And besides, since I had no agenda, it was a good surprise to arrive somewhere where there were lots of things to do, even if it was just looking (and most of it was). I followed that street to the end, where, strangely enough, I ended up at Plaza Mayor, on a different street from the one I started on. I guess, when in Salamanca, all roads lead to Plaza Mayor.
Since it was another one of those days (but not one of ``those´´ days) where there was not a cloud in the sky, I picked up lunch and sat outside in Plaza Mayor, people-watching, as there was no better activity to do at that hour. Where else could you see a group of guys walk by where one was dressed in a bull costume and they all staged a bullfight? Or perhaps you were in the mood to see a group of guys walk by, one clad in a small red dress, high heels and clutching a red handbag. Nope, this is prime-time entertainment. Price? Nothing. Exchange rate? Doesn´t matter.
After walking around town a little bit more, I ended up deciding that Plaza Mayor was just the place to be, so I found my way back there (not a difficult task) and stayed there the better part of the afternoon/evening, accomplishing many things: people-watching, siesta-ing (it´s true -- and it was incredibly comfortable), eating, sitting, etc. Sometimes the best way to get to know a place is to not go anywhere at all.
Tomorrow, I leave Castilla y León, the province within which lies Salamanca, and head for Andalucía, specifically for the city of Málaga. It´s been a long time since I´ve been near the beach, so I figured it was time to change that!
Slowly but surely (yeahyeah, ``don´t call me Shirley´´), beach-weather is coming back. Brazil? Brazil weather, are you here?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
My first stop after settling into the hotel was lunch in Plaza Mayor , considered one of the most beautiful plazas in Spain. It´s pretty picturesque, I´ll give it that. Not only that, but the people-watching is prime there. After I finished lunch (about 4pm), I decided to set out and start my tour of the city. My meandering first took me to Plazuela de las Úrsulas, a little plaza with a statue of Miguel de Unamuno, a Spanish literary guy who worked in a whole bunch of genres. The streets in this area are small and windy, so I wandered a bit before I hit the next ``major´´ destination (these little spots hardly seem to qualify as major since they are so quaint, but whatever): Casa de las Conchas (House of Shells). Although the building now serves as a public library, like everything else in Spain there is, indeed, much more history entrenched in it. Way back when, somewhere in the 15th century, the owner of the house created the house either to honor the famous pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela (pilgrims traditionally wore shells along their journey) or to honor his wife, whose family shield was decorated with scallops. (There are many sandstone shells attached to the front of the building.) The inside of the building wasn´t so interesting, as it´s just a library now.
Across from the Casa de las Conchas is La Clerecía, also called La Universidad Pontificia. This building (founded in 1611) is unaffiliated with the real University of Salamanca (established in 1218), and since you couldn´t explore it on your own, I decided to forego the tour and be content with my imagination, stemming from the pictures I got from the outside.
Next up? The Catedral Nueva . I figured, since it took 220 years to build the darn thing (1513-1733), I might as well take a few minutes to check it out. It was pretty impressive (both from the outside and the inside), and in the Capilla del Santisimo Sacramento inside the cathedral, there was a martyr´s chopped off hand/arm in glass casing. Kind of neat, in a weird way. Not the kind of thing *I* would put in a glass casing, but once I realized what it was, I will admit, I did think, ``ew....neat.´´
I didn´t think it was necessary to pay an entrance fee to see the Catedral Vieja after that (the newer cathedral was free), so I left the cathedral area and continued on my way, eventually ending up at the Puente Romano, a 2000-year-old Roman bridge that was used frequently during the Roman occupation of Spain. One side of the bridge is marked by a headless granite bull called the Toro Ibérico (not very photogenic), who apparently became famous in the 16th century picaresque novel Lazarillo de Tormes.
After walking across the bridge and back, I went in search of the Universidad de Salamanca. My taxi driver told me that the city would be dead if it weren´t for the university students, as that is who makes up the population of Salamanca. Now that I have personal experience in the city, it seems to me that the city is made up of, as he said, the students, and another group of people: those who were around when the university was established (1218). And maybe a few age groups in between. When I did my personal tour of the university, I found that many of the rooms are named after scholars -- Fray Luis de León, Miguel de Unamuno, etc. I also went into the library, but you can´t go in too far because the doorway is encased in glass or something. Still, you could see the layout of one of Europe´s oldest libraries, and I found out (from a woman who was giving a private tour to this other girl) that there is this big door in the library (she pointed out which one) behind which there is a big vault with rare copies of books, and that door is only opened when famous people or ``somebodies´´ want to see what´s behind the door. I bet it´s the Spanish copies of Harry Potter.
When I left the university, I ended up going to a museum by accident because I thought that´s where this one fresco was that I wanted to see. It was the Museum of Salamanca. As the conversations usually go, I went in and said, ``Student.´´ They said, ``Are you studying in Salamanca?´´ I said, ``Yes, now I am.´´ (The parenthetical comment in my head was, ``Well, I am studying the people, the food, the rhythm, etc.´´) So he asked for my student ID, which I promptly handed over
Saturday, I decided to take a different approach to checking out Salamanca. I thought that since I already did what I wanted to do in terms of ``touring´´ the city, I was going to pick a sidestreet leading out of Plaza Mayor (there are many) that I hadn´t gone on yet and just see where I ended up. So, after not much thought, I selected my sidestreet and followed it until the walk-sign said walk, so I walked. Then there was a light, so I turned...etc. etc. etc., and what do you know? I ended up at a pedestrian street (read: shopping street)! This was horrible news because I am in the land of the €euro€ but great news because I successfully navigated my way to pedestrian streets (which I so dearly love) without a map or asking anyone when I had no set destination in mind. And besides, since I had no agenda, it was a good surprise to arrive somewhere where there were lots of things to do, even if it was just looking (and most of it was). I followed that street to the end, where, strangely enough, I ended up at Plaza Mayor, on a different street from the one I started on. I guess, when in Salamanca, all roads lead to Plaza Mayor.
Since it was another one of those days (but not one of ``those´´ days) where there was not a cloud in the sky, I picked up lunch and sat outside in Plaza Mayor, people-watching, as there was no better activity to do at that hour. Where else could you see a group of guys walk by where one was dressed in a bull costume and they all staged a bullfight? Or perhaps you were in the mood to see a group of guys walk by, one clad in a small red dress, high heels and clutching a red handbag. Nope, this is prime-time entertainment. Price? Nothing. Exchange rate? Doesn´t matter.
After walking around town a little bit more, I ended up deciding that Plaza Mayor was just the place to be, so I found my way back there (not a difficult task) and stayed there the better part of the afternoon/evening, accomplishing many things: people-watching, siesta-ing (it´s true -- and it was incredibly comfortable), eating, sitting, etc. Sometimes the best way to get to know a place is to not go anywhere at all.
Tomorrow, I leave Castilla y León, the province within which lies Salamanca, and head for Andalucía, specifically for the city of Málaga. It´s been a long time since I´ve been near the beach, so I figured it was time to change that!
Slowly but surely (yeahyeah, ``don´t call me Shirley´´), beach-weather is coming back. Brazil? Brazil weather, are you here?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
Thursday, April 3, 2008
Madrid, Spain: ole?
The flight from Argentina was supposed to leave 28 hours after its scheduled departure. Nearly 30 hours later it finally took off. Fortunately, I had a bulkhead seat with no one next to me, and I was able to sleep for 7+ hours of the 11+ hours of the flight (this after my half hour nap in the airport). All these time changes and season changes make me unable to tell time anymore. I finally arrived in Madrid one and a half days late, still on April 1. It felt like my luggage was going to arrive on April 2, because, well, someone's luggage has to be near the end of the baggage claim belt, but fortunately, everything worked out. No more Aerolineas! (That is, unless I earned enough frequent flier kilometers to get a free flight somewhere...)
Since I have been to Madrid before, I didn't feel the need to play tourist and do any excursions, leaving really early in the day and getting back around dinnertime or later. So, I was able to take advantage of the little(r) time I had to see the friends I have in Madrid and take it easy. I stayed with my friend Rachel, whom I met several years ago in Sevilla when we both studied abroad there, and though she had to work during the day, we are good at catching up in short time spans, as that is what we have been doing for years. I also hung out with Maria, another of my friends I know from Sevilla who now lives in Madrid (she is from a town called Zafra, in a province called Extremadura). Last time I came to Madrid, she wasn't in town, so it was the first time I'd seen her in four and a half years. Also hung out with some of Rach's friends, including Carlos (a Spanish friend of hers whom I have met on a few occasions), Estrella (her Spanish roommate) and a couple of her friends, and Gerard (an American friend of hers who has spent time living in Paris and who recently met his Spanish half-sister for the first time). (We actually stopped by to pick something up from the half-sister, a flamenco teacher who danced with Al Pacino in The Devil's Advocate ; she was giving a class when we stopped by, so we watched for a few minutes and then walked away feeling a little less confident in our flamenco know-how.)
All in all, a pretty low-key couple of days in Madrid. I'm glad to be back in the swing of civilization and away from Aerolineas, but I do miss the Bahian pace of life.
Tomorrow, I'm going to check out Salamanca, which is a new place for me. We'll see how it works out.
ole?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com/
Since I have been to Madrid before, I didn't feel the need to play tourist and do any excursions, leaving really early in the day and getting back around dinnertime or later. So, I was able to take advantage of the little(r) time I had to see the friends I have in Madrid and take it easy. I stayed with my friend Rachel, whom I met several years ago in Sevilla when we both studied abroad there, and though she had to work during the day, we are good at catching up in short time spans, as that is what we have been doing for years. I also hung out with Maria, another of my friends I know from Sevilla who now lives in Madrid (she is from a town called Zafra, in a province called Extremadura). Last time I came to Madrid, she wasn't in town, so it was the first time I'd seen her in four and a half years. Also hung out with some of Rach's friends, including Carlos (a Spanish friend of hers whom I have met on a few occasions), Estrella (her Spanish roommate) and a couple of her friends, and Gerard (an American friend of hers who has spent time living in Paris and who recently met his Spanish half-sister for the first time). (We actually stopped by to pick something up from the half-sister, a flamenco teacher who danced with Al Pacino in The Devil's Advocate ; she was giving a class when we stopped by, so we watched for a few minutes and then walked away feeling a little less confident in our flamenco know-how.)
All in all, a pretty low-key couple of days in Madrid. I'm glad to be back in the swing of civilization and away from Aerolineas, but I do miss the Bahian pace of life.
Tomorrow, I'm going to check out Salamanca, which is a new place for me. We'll see how it works out.
ole?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com/
Monday, March 31, 2008
Benefit of the Doubt + Broken Falangie = Bad Luck in Buenos Aires
Every Argentine I have met throughout the course of the trip has warned me about flying with Aerolineas Argentinas. But, since I had already planned my flights and hadn´t yet experienced any problems with the airline, I took the advice given to me and stored it in a little pocket in the corner of my cabeza, hoping that ´´it just wouldn´t happen to me.´´ Ready to take my seventh and final Aerolineas Argentinas flight of the trip, I´m afraid I, too, have become a victim of the inefficiency and stupidity that plagues the airline.
I left Mendoza for Buenos Aires (we´re talking Sunday, March 30), en route to Madrid, and after I arrived at the domestic airport and went cross-town to the international airport (no short trip) and went through the whole check-in line and everything (as would, clearly, be the case in a frustrating story like this one), I found out just when I got to the front of the line that no, my flight would not be taking off at 9:50pm on March 30. Rather, it was rescheduled for 28 hours later -- to be leaving on April 1. April Fool´s, I fool you not! When I approached the ticket counter and I inquired as to the reason why my plane would not be taking me where I was supposed to be going, ticket woman simply told me, ´´rompió el avión y no había otro para substituirlo´´. What?? The airplane broke and there wasn´t another one to replace it? Clearly this was a case of a broken falangie. But the woman wasn´t kidding, so she proceeded to give me the details of what the airline could do for me (haven´t they done enough?). Meals, hotel, transfers, blahblahblah. How to spend what would be my 11th day in Buenos Aires?
After a buffet breakfast (where I stealthily pilfered my lunch, too -- who wants to come alllll the way back to the hotel to sit in the hotel´s restaurant and wait, wait, and wait for the vouchered lunch when I can just take it with me from breakfast?), I made my way down to the lobby and asked the concierge people how long it would take to get to a specific park (walking). They said, oh 40+ minutes or so. I said, oh, that´s not so bad. And they said, no we said 40....maybe more. And I said, right. Ok...it´s that way, right? And they said, yeah. I said, Ok, thanks, hasta luego! Maybe it was an hour and fifteen minutes away or so, but hey, where else did I have to be? On my way there, I ended up passing by the Buenos Aires Botanical Garden and walking around there for a bit. Not finding anything else there but some plants and sculptures (as is the nature of a botanical garden) -- oh, my mistake, and there were some cats -- I left the grounds and headed out. Next, I decided to go check out the King Fahd Centro Cultural Islámico, Latin America´s largest mosque. As luck would have it, they only give guided tours on Tuesdays and Thursdays at noon, and being that it was Monday at about 1pm, I wasn´t allowed past the front gate. After I left, I thought about going back and asking if I could just go to pray and not do the guided visit (the only way to tour the grounds), but I thought it would only be convincing if I were to ask in Arabic, and my Arabic isn´t exactly up to par right now. Oh well. Shoukran anyway. Then I moved on to Parque 3 de Febrero, a place where one can find such everyday activities as tai chi classes, families drinking mate, and transvestite volleyball games. Unfortunately, it must have been an off day (despite the beautiful weather), because I saw none of these activities taking place. It´s a very peaceful park, though, with a boating lake in the middle (but no one was out boating, maybe because it´s fall?), so it was a great day to eat my picnic lunch lakeside, especially knowing that it cost me zero pesos (just my time..and, of course, we all know that time is priceless). After lunch and hanging around in the park for awhile, I went back across town and meandered along some of the pedestrian streets for awhile before heading back in the direction of my hotel to start getting ready for what we will call: Flight to Madrid, Take 2.
hasta madrid?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
I left Mendoza for Buenos Aires (we´re talking Sunday, March 30), en route to Madrid, and after I arrived at the domestic airport and went cross-town to the international airport (no short trip) and went through the whole check-in line and everything (as would, clearly, be the case in a frustrating story like this one), I found out just when I got to the front of the line that no, my flight would not be taking off at 9:50pm on March 30. Rather, it was rescheduled for 28 hours later -- to be leaving on April 1. April Fool´s, I fool you not! When I approached the ticket counter and I inquired as to the reason why my plane would not be taking me where I was supposed to be going, ticket woman simply told me, ´´rompió el avión y no había otro para substituirlo´´. What?? The airplane broke and there wasn´t another one to replace it? Clearly this was a case of a broken falangie. But the woman wasn´t kidding, so she proceeded to give me the details of what the airline could do for me (haven´t they done enough?). Meals, hotel, transfers, blahblahblah. How to spend what would be my 11th day in Buenos Aires?
After a buffet breakfast (where I stealthily pilfered my lunch, too -- who wants to come alllll the way back to the hotel to sit in the hotel´s restaurant and wait, wait, and wait for the vouchered lunch when I can just take it with me from breakfast?), I made my way down to the lobby and asked the concierge people how long it would take to get to a specific park (walking). They said, oh 40+ minutes or so. I said, oh, that´s not so bad. And they said, no we said 40....maybe more. And I said, right. Ok...it´s that way, right? And they said, yeah. I said, Ok, thanks, hasta luego! Maybe it was an hour and fifteen minutes away or so, but hey, where else did I have to be? On my way there, I ended up passing by the Buenos Aires Botanical Garden and walking around there for a bit. Not finding anything else there but some plants and sculptures (as is the nature of a botanical garden) -- oh, my mistake, and there were some cats -- I left the grounds and headed out. Next, I decided to go check out the King Fahd Centro Cultural Islámico, Latin America´s largest mosque. As luck would have it, they only give guided tours on Tuesdays and Thursdays at noon, and being that it was Monday at about 1pm, I wasn´t allowed past the front gate. After I left, I thought about going back and asking if I could just go to pray and not do the guided visit (the only way to tour the grounds), but I thought it would only be convincing if I were to ask in Arabic, and my Arabic isn´t exactly up to par right now. Oh well. Shoukran anyway. Then I moved on to Parque 3 de Febrero, a place where one can find such everyday activities as tai chi classes, families drinking mate, and transvestite volleyball games. Unfortunately, it must have been an off day (despite the beautiful weather), because I saw none of these activities taking place. It´s a very peaceful park, though, with a boating lake in the middle (but no one was out boating, maybe because it´s fall?), so it was a great day to eat my picnic lunch lakeside, especially knowing that it cost me zero pesos (just my time..and, of course, we all know that time is priceless). After lunch and hanging around in the park for awhile, I went back across town and meandered along some of the pedestrian streets for awhile before heading back in the direction of my hotel to start getting ready for what we will call: Flight to Madrid, Take 2.
hasta madrid?
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
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