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Italica – Not Quite Rome, but Close

It did not take long after the semester’s beginning for me to start itching again to travel around and see things. Unfortunately, money is short this semester, so I decided to take the available Saturday of February 28th to organize an excursion, available to the other students in my program at the university, to join me on the short trip out to Italica. Italica is the name of the ruins of a once great Roman city that sit just outside of Sevilla’s city limits in the pueblo of Santiponce. Originally founded in 206 B.C. as living quarters for Roman soldiers in the war against Hannibal, Italica grew to be one of the largest and most important Roman cities. Three Roman emperors, Trajan, Vispasian, and Hadrian, were born in Italica, and it was home to the third largest amphitheater in Europe. The excavations of Italica began in the 1780s, and it is estimated that the city is so large, it will never be completely excavated, especially since much of it is now beneath Santiponce! Despite the fact that silly Spaniards used the stones from the ruins to construct buildings in Sevilla for several decades, Italica remains one of the best preserved ruin sites in Europe. 

 

It took only a hop on to a local bus to get out to Italica. Five other students showed up to hear me blab, which turned out to be a great-sized travel group. We headed out to Italica, just a 30 minute ride, and were happy to see that the foreboding clouds above seemed to be holding off for the morning. It only cost 1.50 to get in, and we spent a beautiful afternoon touring around the ruins. Upon first entering, the coliseum is the first, looming feature that catches the eye. A large amphitheater that once seated as many as 25,000 people, the great stones that rise in an elongated oval above the sandy floor are impressive enough to appreciate the viewpoints of the gladiators and soldiers that once stood in the centre of such an arena. Many are broken and crumbled, but the magnitude of the place is eternally impressive. I always marvel at such things that have stood the test of more than 2000 years, the wear of centuries of visitors, the natural elements, and yet, their craftsmanship was so that they still remain, testaments to the true greatness of the civilization that constructed them.

We also wandered through a number of other ruins, all spaced out over the grassy preserve, including a planetarium with tile mosaic floors of all the gods of the planets, the royal bath-houses, public apartments, and a number of headless or armless statues. Smooth white columns stood erect against the white-grey sky, as if still supporting the roofs of the Roman city. Crumbling brick and marble and carven stones scattered the ground within what remained of the walls of ancient homes. Much of the originally paved Roman road remained in places, with the wide, flat stones, smoothed and polished over the centuries, leading off into a forgotten distance. La Casa de los Pajaros was my favorite. The low brick walls of what were once noble’s houses and lush courtyards surrounded some of the most beautiful and well-preserved mosaic tile floors depicting, of course, pajaros (birds). It is amazing to me how much care and colour the Romans had placed into their living and their lives. The tiles were fantastic.

I had walked my small group through most of the city that was visitable within the preserve with the dark clouds above growing more and more purple, seeming to lower themselves towards the ground, making the air still and ominous. The early afternoon sun seemed ready to give way to their promise of rain, so we headed out the gates of Italica and into a wonderful, Spanish restaurant just across the street in Santiponce. The pueblo is famous for it’s carne, and we were eager to try a hearty Spanish lunch. We sat around the white-clothed table and ate rich meat of lamb, pork, and steak off of wooden slabs, talking and enjoying having escaped the rain. Dessert was fresh-cut strawberries in mousse. So tasty.

The rain let up long enough for us to catch a late afternoon bus back into the city. It had been a satisfactory excursion, and I had thoroughly relished immersing myself in the beautiful history of Italica.

The cool kids who journeyed to Italica

the extensive ruins of the city of Italica

The amazing ampitheater at Italica

Poor Emperor Trajan…without head or…that other thing men think from

The beautiful tile mozaics of the ruins

a beautiful public Roman courtyard

Thursdays Down on the Guadalquivir

Thursday was a beautifully sunny day, with just enough clouds and a strong breeze to keep the air cool. I had a couple of hours in between classes and, bored with sitting for so long, decided to take a walk. I had no particular destination as I donned tennis shoes and plugged in my iPod, but I felt that the riverside would make a nice place to wander. I was not disappointed.

The good weather had brought out large numbers of people, tourist and local alike. I started out from the university in the town centre and walked towards Torre de Oro, a round, ancient stone tower that sits on the river, where ships coming in from the Americas used to stash the gold they had taken from the other sideof the world before moving it on to various banks and such. The path along the river is wide there, with large, old flagstones and willow-like trees who’s long green branches fluttered like streamers in the cooling wind. I walked briskly, enjoying a rise in heart rate and the  joy that was filling me; from the warmth of the sun reflecting off the surface of the Guadalquivir, to the cheesy music blasting from the river cruise ships awaiting tourists on the paved banks, to the variety of people passing on bicycle or on foot, sharing the pleasurable afternoon. Kayakers and scullers paddled or rowed by in the muddy water of the Sevillian river, and ducks and cormorants bobbed up and down on the surface. I walked quite a ways over the flagstones, under an arched stone bridge where gypsies were rock-climbing up the curves of the arcs. A woman in a long, flowing green skirt with dreadlocks tied up in a  bandanna and large beads glinting from her neck kept an eye on two young men, brown with sun and in their soft, rock-climbing shoes, dangling from the large stones of the arc, while a shaggy little white dog in its own bandanna ran around beneath. After the bridge, the large stones of the path gave way to a smaller, cement walkway, shared by bikes and walkers and joggers, and the steep, paved banks to sloping grassy knolls. Here, the youth of Sevilla had gathered to soak up the sun and the company the afternoon had brought. They sat in groups on blankets, playing music, talking, laughing, drinking liter bottles of Cruzcampo and eating snacks, snapping photos, and otherwise viviendo la vida. Or they sat alone, stretched out on the grass or with knees pulled up to their chests, staring out into the glinting water and contemplating great things or thinking nothing at all. A group of boys kicked a small, yellow plastic ball around in a dirt space, and couples cuddled beneath trees, oblivious to the world around them. A particularly large group, draped in every manner over a wooden bench, sang along with a centrally-placed guitarist. There was music and chatter and notes of laughter everywhere. I found myself turning off my iPod just to listen to the life around me. Birds twittered at each other in the trees and the cars rumbled by on the large street behind me. I passed what appeared to be a community garden, where bees crawled into the open mouths of fat, orange flowers I had never seen before, and tomato vines clung to cylindrical cages and up towards the light above. In a brightly-graffitied skate park, younger boys pushed themselves around on skateboards or roller skates, often falling but always getting back up. A river-side was packed with people sipping summer drinks like mojitos and Fanta Limon. Everywhere there were just people, remembering how to enjoy the day.

I find I respect that about Spaniards. It’s something I feel that much of American culture is severely lacking. We have forgotten or bypassed how to simply live. How to take in a sunny afternoon for all it is. Austin is largely an exception, as can be seen on the banks of Barton Springs pool or at ZilkerPark Hillside Theater or at the Auditorium Shores free concerts. For this, I count myself lucky. But the United States youth, in general it seems to me, cannot remember how to enjoy an afternoon, for example, for what it is. How many waste days that turn into years in front of a television or computer screen? How many have forgotten what a good time was before alcohol? How many get bored with simple activities, like sitting in the grass and staring, in a matter of minutes? How many have forgotten how to have real conversations with friends, rather than blurbs on a Facebook profile wall? What happened to the Carpe Diem that my elementary school music teacher had printed up on the chalkboard? Maybe I am just ranting.

I have been so blessed to taste a rich flavor of life here in Spain that reaches down to the very seconds of each day.

the Torre de Oro on the Guadalquivir river banks

CARNIVAL DE CADIZ 09 – Qué Loco

So, think Mardi Gras, then multiply it by two weeks.

This, is Carnaval de España, celebrated the week before and the week of Fat Tuesday and Ash Wednesday. It is hosted in many cities around Spain, with each province having its designated “party city”, each to which thousands of people flock to see the festivities. It is a grand affair, with everything from activities for kids, to carousel rides, parades with religious figures, concerts from big Spanish artists, dancing, comedic plays, lots of eating and drinking, streamers, banners, lights, and much good humour.

The part of the carnaval where the people of my age come in is at night, after the warm sun has set and all the little kids have been taken home, exhausted. Then emerges the hoards of youth, every one of them dressed up in strange, funny, and elaborate costumes. They party from the fall of evening to the light of the next day, and it is a crazy experience.

Although I had wanted to get down to Cadiz, the beach town not too far south from Sevilla, earlier in the day to see the parades and concerts and plays, I was unable to convince any of my acquaintances to join me any earlier than night fall. By then, the scene had changed. My friends and I donned our costumes and got ready. I used the butterfly wings I had left from Halloween (not to spend money on another costume) and joined up with several friends and several hundredyouth in disguise outside of the Santa Justatrain station to head down to Cadiz. The train ride alone was worth the 20 euro round-trip ticket. I think I actually had more fun in the train coach then at the carnival itself! The train was packed, absolutely full beyond capacity. People sat in the isles, on the arm-rests of the seats, and stood in the middle areas normally designated for luggage and such. But nobody had any problems with the tight space, because the whole train was a party! Everyone was dressed up, singing, talking excitedly, and drinking. The car had been temporarily converted into a bar. People had brought the whole fiesta with them in plastic bags: sodas, beers, glasses, even ice. They poured out drinks into cups and passed them around to everybody. A large group of Spaniards, all dressed like Chinese except for one in a 70s disco outfit, jumped into the car where my friend Preston and I were squashed, laughing and singing. They poured us sodas and talked excitedly about how much we would love the carnaval. Then the songs happened, and everyone sang loudly and off-key and jumped up and down excitedly. They were goofy songs that made little or no sense, just as long as they were fun to yell loudly. Our car even did the wave. Yes, the wave. Everyone ducked down and, starting from one end of the coach to the other, jumped up with a loud “whoooAAAoooo” and successfully pulled off a human wave in a train. It was an hilariously amazing two hour trip.

When we arrived in Cadiz, we were swept up in the massive hoard of moving people that flowed like water from the exit of the busy train station and out into the city centre. The carnaval festivities were taking place in any of the five main plazas, where bright festive lights were hung, stands sold burgers, churros, and beer, and absolutely thousands of people pushed through thousands of other people. In the centres of each plaza, movement was impossible. We shoved, completely shoulder to shoulder, often stepping on people’s feet or coming to a complete stop due to the throngs of people, through groups of people boteoning(a Spanglish word the Spaniards and foreigners use that means social drinking in the public streets) to try and find other friends we intended to meet up with.  It was really not any fun! There were just so many people!! I didn’t enjoy the pushing and shoving, and I ended up losing my butterfly antennae and all my American friends in all the brushing up against people. I did not begin to enjoy myself until I finally found a group of Spanish friends from Sevilla I had hoped to meet up with. I had been separated from the other ISA folks I had arrived with, but a couple of text messages told me they were fine and had staked out a place of their own.

I ended up passing the night hanging out with my Spanish friends, as they seemed to know how to navigate the insanity and where to have a good time. We talked and laughed and wandered through the plazas seeing the crazy sites, drinking Cruzcampo (the beer of Andalucia) and eating bocadillos (baguette sandwiches) and taking goofy pictures. They had a place on a grassy knoll where we were able to stand comfortably, without any more pushing and shoving, and we spent several hours enjoying the atmosphere of the carnaval there.

The night was long. Spaniards are notorious for being able to party not just to the wee hours of the morning, but indeed until the sun is well up! We didn’t leave Cadiz until 8am. I was completely exhausted; I can’t live like the Spanish youth, really. Everyone else was too, and the tired, drunk, and somewhat battered hoards that pushed and crowded onto the returning trains were terrible. People were shoving so hard from the back, while security guards who were taking tickets at the gate pushed back from the front. I got separated from my friends again, and found myself literally lifted off the ground I was pressed so tightly between the shoulders of those around me. I ended up in the middle of a large group of tall guys, and was just starting to fear falling under the feet of the mad hoards when a security guard spotted me and  pulled me out and into the clear on the other side of the gate. He didn’t even ask me for a ticket, just wanted to get me out of there. I was quite grateful, and hurried to find a space on the already full train.

The train ride back was a completely different scene. A few people with drinks still in their systems were still singing cheerfully, but most people were sleeping however they could, slumped over each other and crammed into every corner. One girl even fainted on top of me, because she was still wearing her garbage bag costume and had probably overheated on the crowded train. Everyone was very helpful, gave her water and helped to get her out of her garbage bag and sweatshirt. I gave her the seat I had been lucky enough to secure, and spent the rest of the trip standing, holding my wings in one hand and the overhead bar in the other, watching the sun come up through the dirty train windows.

I fell into bed around 10 and slept most of the day. It had been an interesting, sometimes fun, sometimes ridiculous experience. I probably would never do it again, but now I can say I’ve experienced Carnaval.

all dressed up for Carnaval with some Spanish friends!

Super crowded plaza in Cadiz centre

ESPANA VRS. INGLATERRA!!!!

Wednesday, Feburary 11th, I was lucky enough to have tickets to the “friendly” futbol match between Spain and England, right here in Sevilla (for the first time in 13 years), in the stadium just three blocks from my house! It was an incredible experience, as anyone could guess. I had been to two futbol games before (Barcelona vrs. Vallodolid and Sevilla vrs. Castelleon) and had just loved the crazy atmosphere, staduim food, and skill of the players. This game, as one between national teams, multiplied all those experiences times 10.

Walking home from my late class, I found myself wading through throngs of people all up and down Eduardo Dato, the street on which lives the Sevilla F.C. Ramon Sanchez stadium. Every table at every cafe was occupied by excited British and Spanish fans, drinking and singing and yelling chants at each other. England fans, mostly shorter, round, bald men wearing the white and red jerseys of their favorite players, traveled around in tight groups, glaring at Spanish fans and throwing out loud bursts of songs about England. Spain fans crowded around booths selling bright yellow and red scarves, flags, jerseys, and t-shirts, eating candies and drinking beer, talking feverishly about the coming partido, and blowing air horns (something that would normally be obnoxious, but under said circumstances, was just exciting). The air seemed to vibrate with everyone’s anticipation, and I couldn’t help but catch on to the thrumming excitement. I walked ridiculously fast through the thick crowds around the stadium, eager to get home and drop off my books and return to the atmosphere of the coming game.

I ate a quick dinner and made sure the batteries in my camera were ready to rock. I called up several friends who I had bought tickets with, and we agreed to meet up by the stadium. I arrived first, living so close, and so purchased myself a Espana jersey: red, with yellow stripes and the national seal on the chest. I pulled it on over my sweater and was ready to go. People were hurrying everywhere, begging for spare tickets, drinking as much as possible before the game (as alcohol is, wisely, not sold inside the stadium), yelling into cell phones as they tried to find friends, selling trinkets and memorablia and cold drinks.  It was insanity trying to meet up with others. My poor roommate was standing there, reading her ticket so as to know what gate to go in, when some bastard ran up, grabbed the ticket out of her hand, and took off with it. I felt so bad; she didn’t end up getting to go with us. I also saw a few desperate fans jump the barriers and run into the stands before the hassled and over-busy security could catch them. People in Europe are crazy when it comes to futbol!

It was already 9:30 by the time everyone got together, so we hurried inside. The doors were completely stuffed with people, and we were more like herded along to where stadium employees in bright yellow vests checked our tickets before letting us in. The place was absolutely packed. Every ticket had been sold out long ago, and with the additional desperate individuals who had snuck in or had a friend who worked there get them in, even the isles were full of people, willing to stand to watch the whole 80 minutes of the game. We had to climb and push to get to our seats, which were quite fantastic, actually. Kevin, Kelly, and I were on the second of four levels, right behind the north goal, at a hight just above the top of the net. It was excellent. We were close enough to see the players faces. I couldn’t believe I was actually watching David Beckham, Fernando Torres, Villa, Peter Crouch…. it was so much fun. We bounced up and down along with the cheerful songs which would start in one corner of the stadium and spread along the throbbing crowd like dominos falling: “Yo soy Espanol, Espanol, Espanol!!…” These songs usually burst out when the England section, a chunk of seats just to the left of the south goal, attempted to get a round of “God Save The Queen” going, only to be drowned out by the notes, yells, horns, and eccentric joy of the Spanish. A human wave, the most massive I have ever seen, picked up in one section of seats to our left and passed completely around the large circle of the stadium, bypassing only the firmly seated England fans and the suit-and-tie business VIP section, to include more than 1,000 excited red and yellow fans, making  it completely all the way around three times. People were almost busier watching the success of the wave than the game. We ate overly salty sunflower seeds, waved cheap plastic flags, and took lots of pictures. And when Spain scored their first goal, right at our feet, we jumped up and screamed and danced and burst into more songs with everyone else, hugging each other as Team Spain on the field hugged with equal passion and thrill.

Spain scored two goals, one in the first half and another in the second, to end the fantastic game at Spain: 2, England: 0.

The atmosphere and excitement of the game were so much that we didn’t want them to end, and, indeed, the happy crowd continued singing and chatting loudly about the partido’s results as we mashed our way out the gates of the cement stadium and into the night. As large groups of people dispersed to nearby bars and clubs to celebrate the Spanish victory, Kevin and I found that 1: we had lost Kelly at some point and 2: we were ridiculously hungry. I suppose from all the bouncing. Knowing that Kelly was safely with another group of friends we had seen sitting below us, we waded, literally, through piles of trash and junk, empty cups, broken glass, discarded plastic flags, paper flyers, chip bags, crumbled burger wrapers, more smashed glass, a shoe, toilet paper streamers, and abandoned face paints from the frenzied crowd before, to a nearby food stand. We ordered the only thing they had left: beef burgers with everything on them, and dug in. It was my first hamburger since coming to Spain, since they’re not a common dish here and I have been avoiding fast food establishments. It was so incredibly good, hahaha. Kevin and I scarfed our hot burgers and walked back around to the stadium’s main exit. He went on from there to celebrate with some of our Spanish friends, but I hung out at the exit with a small crowd to watch the players come out from the locker rooms and board the bus. It was exciting to see Beckham and Torres at such a close range, but I soon got bored with all the screaming 14-year-olds and the night had turned cold, so I, still completely happy on the inside, headed back home, humming a little bit. It had been a great night.

Spain meets England headon

the excited Spanish crowd

With Kevin and my new Spain jersey after the game

We didn’t actually know these people

Feliz Cumpleanos a Mi

So, as many of you know (even if you cheated and just checked on Facebook), Thursday the 5th was my 21st birthday. It wasn’t overly eventful, and I sure wish I could have shared it with friends and family back home, but I had a good time. I went out with some friends from the ISA program to a lovely dinner downtown (which was bought for me!) with wine and cake. Yum. My host mum got me a pair of house shoes as a present (haha, I think she thinks I’ll get sick walking around in just socks on the cold, tile floors here) and I really enjoyed the cards from home, the Reeses from Auntie Laura, and all the happy wishes written on Facebook.
What I’m really looking forward to is the BBQ my host family is going to throw me with several Spanish friends on the roof of the new house next weekend (we are waiting for the weather to stop being uncharacteristically nasty). Should be a good time.

Febrero Empieza con Tormenta

February 4th-
Today I ate my first bagel and got caught in my first thunderstorm since coming to Spain. Funny, the things you miss.
Suzanna, my roommate, arrived back from the States on the 2nd, andshe brought with her bags of variety bagels. I had no idea that Spain wasn’t into this wonderful, carb-loaded bread product when I arrived back in September, and was overly excited to eat my first one in almost 6 months. It was a raisin and cinnamon bagel.
That night, we went out into el centro to do some shopping. Everything is on super sale right now, and I wanted a new shirt to wear out to dinner for my birthday tomorrow night. We had enjoyed our time wandering the quaint streets together, catching up from the break and trying things on in different Spanish-brand shops. We hadn’t noticed that the clouds had grown dark and ominous above our heads, and, as we started to head out from Calle Sierpes where all the clothing shops live, it began to rain. It started as just a normal rain, cold anddamp. We squished underneath my cheap umbrella and headed for the bus stop to seek a dry route home. But the normal rain, which has been plaguing Andalucia for the past couple of weeks, soon andsuddenly turned to torment. The wind and pounding torrent were so violent the poor little umbrella surrendered, leaving our shoes, pants, hair, and shoulders soaking before we were able to reach the bus stop. We were running then, through already saturated streets, unused to such an onslaught of water over such a period of time, wading through puddles already over my ankles, since our feet couldn’t get any wetter anyway. It was when we had finally boarded the bus, hair steaming and frizzing from the damp, that I heard my first thunder and saw the bright flash of lightning, so common to Texas but unheard of here in Sevilla. It was pretty awesome, having deboarded the bus, to dash through two more blocks, completely under an inch or so of water, back into the apartment, giggling and soaked, to kick off wet clothes in exchange for sweat pants and pajama tops, to make hot tea and just listen to the rain.

2009 – Resolutions are Worthless, but New Beginnings are Not

So, here’s what I reckon, to any of you out there who still, for whatever reason, hold some small shred of hope that I will ever complete another post and keep up with this blog.

I don’t think that, at this rate, I will ever be able to catch up my entries with my experiences. So much has been seen and done over the past three months, and I spend way too much time on the computer as is. Classes will start again soon, as will a newly-acquired job, which means I will be even less likely to recover the where-I’ve-beens and what-I’ve-dones from my 2008 semester in Espana.

So here’s my proposition. Photos on Facebook and accounts in person once I return will have to suffice for what occurred in November, December, and January. I simply did too much (as my bank account can testify). I had a fantastic Christmas (though I dearly missed my family!) in Douglas with friends Christy and Dave, where we went hiking and bike riding. I was lucky enough to see London, the Isle of Man, Liverpool, Gibraltar, Paris, and Berlin (respectively) during my vacations. I enjoyed a wonderful New Years Eve with my extended host family and many friends.  i had an old friend from SFA visit me, and an even older and very dear Clare visit me as well on her way to South Africa. Muchisimas cosas. It would take ages to write them all. But, as it is a new year (sort of), I will begin again, with renewed vigor, my attempts to keep this blog current with my goings-on. I will start with February.

Hope you enjoy.

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Fado and Fairy-Tale Castles in Lisboa, Portugal

One of the greatest excursions that the ISA programme took us students on was a  visit to Lisboa (Lisbon), Portugal over the weekend of November 14th. We took a long bus ride to the sunny border of the neighboring pais early on the Friday morning and I had a fantastic time.

Shortly after arriving and settling everyone into their fancy rooms at the four-star hotel where we were staying (so that’s where all that programme fee went…), we were taken on a short walking tour of the city centre. Liboa is a beautiful city, very quaint and clean, with many of the same Moorish influences as Spain but with a unique air and a somewhat quieter attitude, if I could describe it that way. The terrain is very hilly, so an electric tram runs through the city, reminding many people of the steets of San Francisco. There were many beautiful buildings, old cobblestone streets, and a sparkling sea view to take the breath away. We walked up and down the decently steep hills of the city, following Quique, one of our megaguay programme directors. We went through Plaza Mayor (which I can’t remember how to spell in Portugese) with two beautiful, large fountains where bronze fauns were depicted pouring out the glistening water into the clear air and men in reflective vests were putting up large Christmas decorations. We walked up past a beautiful old cathedral that was once occupied by Napoleonic troops, and to a lovely terrace where gypsies played various string and percussion instruments and sold bright scarves and glass earrings. The terrace provided a stunning view of the city, the stark white of the terra cotta buildings with their burnt-red tile roofs against the startling navy blue of the sparkling Pacific ocean. It was picture book perfect, and the directors had a hard time pulling us students and our cameras away from the stone walls where we were leaned over, soaking in the vista. We then walked to a great castle, nestled on a hilltop overlooking the bay where a large bridge, also reminiscent of California, stretched across the water. The castle was magnificent. I already love castles and history, and this one was quite a large complex, almost completely unchanged within the great outer walls. The interior buildings, which would have been constructed mostly of wood, were long since gone, but what remained of the castle were the ramparts and guard towers and stables. A man sat playing beautiful music under juniper trees just within the great arched doorway setting an enchanting atmosphere as we walked over the dusty ground within the sandy stone walls. We were able to climb up the steep staircases and onto the ramparts themselves, where castle guards once would have kept watch over the beautiful terrain around the hill. The sun had begun to set, tinging the limestone to pink and orange and champagne. One could look out over the city from one side of the castle, to see the white buildings stretching out beneath the growing purple of night, and on the other side, the great sea, which was now turning all manner of warm colours as the sun fell into its depths along the horizon. I climbed up into one watch tower where a crested flag blew in the evening breeze and watched the colours of the painting in front of me bleed together on the sky’s canvas, as must have been done from this very castle for centuries before. As the first brave stars began to appear in the navy blue to the east, we were rounded up by Quique to move on. We went on from there through Baixa, an old Arabic neighborhood notorious for its tiny, twisting, impossible cobblestone streets where tall apartments stretched narrowly up on either side and colourful laundry on wrought-iron balconies danced in the breeze that was funneled through the thin spaces of the streets.

After the walking tour of the city, intended just as much to orient us visitors as to show us the city, we were turned out on our own to enjoy the Portugese night. I had read up about Portugal on the airplane magazine returning from Barcelona, and informed those nearest to me that I was off to seek some Fado, a form of song typical to Portugese culture. Fado is usually a song of lamentation, accompanied by one or multiple guitarists, and is traditionally found in the many bars and resturaunts of Portugal. Eventually, I had a small group following me as I headed back into the maze of Baixa in search of a good place to get some dinner and hear some Fado. We passed a few places, comparing prices, before we came to a place with outdoor tables under umbrellas with soft lighting and fado offered. A man came practically running out to us, and in a mix of Portugese, bad Spanish, and worse English, we were able to work out a dinner reservation for our large party of 12 with Fado accompanying the meal. We had a little while before the dinner, so several people went off to sit in a nearby bar and sample the vino verde, a sweet wine typical to Portugal. But Melissa and I decided we wanted coffee instead, so we wandered on a bit until we found a tiny little cafe in the back narrow streets of Barrio Alto. We ordered cafe, and were given two teeney little cups of strong espresso. We sat in plastic chairs at an outdoor table and drank our coffee and ate the sugar right out of the packet (since the cup seemed to small to bother pouring it in). We talked about all kinds of things, but serious topics quickly turned to goofy ones as the caffine kicked in, and soon we were headed back through the streets, giggling so much people were staring. On the way, we found a cardboard cut-out of a Frenchman, and we stuck our heads in the face hole for a picture, making funny faces and laughing even more. By the time we got back to the restaraunt and met up with the others for dinner, we were just silly, but it made for good atmosphere. We sipped wine from clay jars and snacked on cheese while waiting for our ordres. We grew quiet once the Fado began though. There were three different performers, a large man, an older woman with stark white hair, and another older lady, bent with time and dressed in black. Their songs were brilliant, quavering with emotion and lilting across the open patio where people sat at their tables, listening and chewing slowly. I decided that I liked traditional Fado. Our plates were very late in coming out, but it was still a really great way to spend the evening.

After supper, we began heading back towards the hotel. We didn’t mind the decently long walk because the night was cool and we were excited to be there. We looked around Plaza Mayor for a bit as we passed through, watching the Christmas lights flash on the outside of the theater building and the moon hanging low so that it appeared to rest atop the fountains with the fauns. We also stopped at a little hole-in-the-wall bar to sample Ginginha (pronounced like zing-zing-ya), a Portugese liquor. We bought ten little shots or so, and passed them around for everyone to try. It was ridiculously strong and sweet stuff, like, alcoholic syrup. bleh. But hey, try anything once. Eventually, we made it back to the hotel and turned in for the night.

Saturday morning began fairly early, as we had much to see and do. We took a bus tour in the morning out to the suburb of Belem to visit a number of historical interests. We passed first the great white Monument of Discoveries, dedicated to the exploration accomplishments of the Portugese empire, situated on the wide prominade overlooking the narrow bay. We pulled up to stop next at the Torre de Belen, a beautiful little fortress tower that was used to defend the entry to the Lisbon estuary, where ships would bring goods from the New World into Portugal. The sun was blindingly bright and the sky a brilliant blue as we walked up and into the tower. Climbing a very narrow stone staircase took one to different levels where the light reflecting off the water of the bay through tall windows lit the rooms within. The staircase continued all the way to the top of the tower, where an open rampart provided a stunning view of the surrounding area and down out into the great Pacific. It was fun being up top, but even with the blaring sunshine, the wind was frigid that high up, so after some photos, I squeezed my way back down the spiral stair. We soon moved on to the Monestario de los Jeronimos, a ginormous and beautiful building that served as a monestary and cathedral. We were given entry, and had some time to explore the lovely interior. The architecture was, as often, wonderfully intricate and ornate, from the stone columns in the large courtyard to the painted ceilings of the high cathedral. There were even large carved marble elephants around the walls inside the church, holding up the sarcophaguses of various Portugese kings, queens, and princes, a symbol of Portugal’s presence in India. The whole complex, worked on by multiple architects over the centuries, is a mix of Manueline, Renaissance, and Plateresco styles, which makes for a stunning combination.

After the monestary, we walked just up the road to a famous bakery, opened in 1837 and reknowned for its pastel de belem, a typical pastery to the Portugese culture. We, of course, had to sample them. They are quite tasty and very sweet, kind of like, warm cheese tarts topped with cinnamon and powder sugar. We squashed all of our big, loud group into the quaint bakery and sat around small circular tables, getting powder sugar on our noses and smelling the wonderful aromas of baking pastries.

After the pastries, the bus tour drew to a close and left the group back at the hotel. But there was still a lot of day left, so few people stayed put. A large bunch of people went to the gigantic Lisbon aquarium, but a small group of my friends and I caught the next train to Sintra, a small town just outside of Lisboa, situated in the pine trees of the rolling hills above. It was a most beautiful little town, where quaint shops and large trees lined streets coated in a mat of fallen cyprus leaves. Fall had turned them various shades of crimson, brown, and gold, and I had the most fun just kicking up great clouds of the huge leaves and watching them fall back down on to the pavement. But the main attraction in Sintra is the pastel-coloured Palacio Nacional de Pena, a fairy-tale castle built as a summer home by the second-to-last Portugese king, right before he was murdered and his wife and son banished to England. Nice. The castle was one of my most favorite visits here in Europe. We walked up the wooded path and through the grand gates of the palace, and were greated with a view that looked like it had been snatched out of a Disney movie. The stone walls of the palace were painted in baby pink, yellow, and light blue, with golden onion domes topping the corners of the ramparts and large, elegant patios. Situated with a gorgeous view of the surrounding wooded countryside and the sea, the palace was just enchanting. The interior had been kept just the way the last king and queen had furnished it, with plush red velvet beds, thick and fancy china, chandeliers, golden-plated hand mirrors on mahogany dressing tables, long and intricate tapestries, bubbling tile fountains, and all the riches and glamour of royal life. I felt like a little girl in a princess movie as we spent several hours touring the giant palace. We walked all the way around the outer walls, taking in the view, and sat on a plaza that has been converted into a cafe to watch a most fantastic sunset.

The night brought with it a penetrating cold, but we were all too ridiculously happy with our adventures to mind too much as we headed back into Sintra. A vendor closing down his trolly gave me handfulls of free kettle corn as I walked by, which brightened me up even more. We split up for dinner, as some people weren’t hungry. I enjoyed a tasty meal in a local restaraunt and watched a futbol game on the TV and talked as we ate. Afterwards, we went back to the station and caught a train back into Lisbon, making a mad dash and having to pry open the doors as the last of us squeezed on to the departing train. hahaha

That night, back in Lisbon, a small group of us went up into Barrio Alto, an appropriately-named neighborhood as it rests atop a very very steep hill; so steep, in fact, that there is a large steel elevator that takes visitors to the top. We climbed though, panting and shedding coats as we went, but smiling. We were seeking the Pavilhão Chinês, one of the oldest bars in Lisbon. It was a crazy place. Rather large for a bar, the Pavilhão consisted of three or four rooms, each decorated in all kinds of strange ways. Each room had low, wooden tables surrounded by plush stools or cushy armchairs, where people were crowded in sipping coffee or beer. Every lamp and bulb cover on the ceiling was different, and random articles hung from the walls and above. The main room was lined with what must have been hundreds of shelves with thousands of creepy little ceramic dolls and figures, all manner of dolls in all types of dress of all colours pulling any number of poses. Another, smaller room off to the back had dozens of model airplanes hanging from the ceiling, and tin soldier figurines sat behind glass cases around the walls. In the room where we were seated, large, ugly paintings with gaudy gold frames hung precariously above the doorway and from the ceilings, while an array of different military uniform hats occupied cases on the walls. It was such an interesting place! We all ordered various drinks from the massive, magazine-like menu, some people brave enough to just pick something with an interesting name, others sticking to tea and coffee. It was cozy and quiet, a little too quiet – I would have preferred a chatty bar. But we enjoyed the experience.

The next morning was our last, as it was Sunday. Those that desired joined up with the directors around 9 to walk over to a large park situated just across the street behind the hotel. The park was a series of beautifully-cultivated greenhouses – massive greenhouses within which grew all manner of things. There was a desert greenhouse with all plants spikey and scary. The dry greenhouse was the largest, with lush greenery and cool air where white statues stood elegantly amongst the leaves and fronds. A large pond encircled with vibrant green bamboo supported a large family of white and brown ducks, quacking in the sunshine. Melissa and my favorite was the wet greenhouse with a tropical vibe, where bright and colourful flowers drooped over a bubbling stream. We followed dirt paths under bogamvilla vines and through artificial caves, which inspired us to get silly (as we often do when together) and film a three-part series of Indiana Jones spoofs, which you can check out on Facebook, since I had trouble uploading them here. Most of my pictures, are on Facebook too. It was a lovely way to spend the morning, and Melissa and I were the last to leave the greenhouses.

We reluctantly gathered up our bags at the hotel and loaded onto the bus which would return us to Sevilla. A group of us sat in the back and played Mafia most of the way, sleeping the rest. It was a great weekend in Portugal!

On the white beaches in front of Torre de Belen

The lovely white Monestario

A vista over the bay of Lisbon

Up on the ramparts of the Castle

Defend the keep!!!

View of another great sunset from the castle walls

Teeney tiny cups of espresso

hahahahaha

Watching the Fado from our dinner table

One of the Fado performers

The fairy-tale colours of the Palacio in Sintra

A well-guarded tower in the Palace!

The fantastic view of the brilliantly-coloured sunset from the Palace

The strangest bar ever!

¡¡BARRRRÇÇÇÇAAAA!! Fantastic Weekend In Barcelona

The first weekend of November (the 7th) I was lucky enough to get to travel to Barcelona en Cataluña to visit some family friends that we had never met. We hosted the Aguillo’s son Bernat as an exchange student when I was in the 6th grade, and he and his parents had been so incredibly kind enough as to invite me to stay with them for a weekend in their lovely city. So I caught a flight rather early on Friday morning from Sevilla to Barcelona to see que hay para ver.

It was nice traveling alone. I have loved all of my adventures with companions from the university, but it was refreshing to be in my own head for a bit as the early plane coasted over the rolling peaks and olive groves of España. A friend of mine from class, Devin, was actually on my flight as well, since she happened to be visiting the same weekend, but, though it was nice to talk to her on the ride, after catching the bus into the city, we parted ways. I walked a short distance from the bus stop to the Aguillo’s apartment, where a friendly porter let me in. Soon after, I met Anna, Bernat’s mum, a fantastic and friendly lady with short-cropped hair and beautiful honey-coloured eyes. She was instantly welcoming and helpful, and pulled out a series of maps of the city to help me plan my weekend, since I had really come to Barcelona with no plan at all. It was so great.

I decided to spend my first afternoon exploring the Mount Juic area of Barça. I bought a metro pass for the weekend, and caught the tube to Plaça Espanya (the Catalan signs weren’t too difficult to dechipher) at the foot of  Mount Juic, which is actually more like a wide, rolling green hill. After passing the old Plaza de Toros, which (due to a moral uprising) is now being converted into a shopping mall, and a giant fountain, I found myself at the foot of a great, stone stair which led upwards to the Museo de Bellas Artes – a palace-like building with fantastic stone towers and wings and beautiful vines of ivy crawling up the walls and banisters, turned brilliant colours in the fall season. I didn’t pay to go inside, but enjoyed the outside of the building well enough. I wandered past el Museo and through some gorgeous gardens until I found what had really interested me when I looked on the maps Anna had pulled out: a cable car! I happily jumped in line and caught the little fanicular up to the top of Mount Juic. I love riding in cable cars, and the view it provided of Barcelona was great. I shared my car with a friendly couple from Madrid. Once at the top, the fanicular let us off in front of Castillo, now converted into a military museum. Again, uninterested in going inside, but the exterior of the old castle was great enough for me. There were some men practicing archery in one of the gardens, and I followed a most beautiful little robin along an old wall until it led me to a great view of the sun setting over the Mediterranian sea.

I caught the cable car back down Mount Juic, sharing agian with the same nice couple, and stepped out with no plans whatsoever. It was great. I was in Barcelona!! Just me. Just wandering. I headed in the direction of the Olympic Stadium, built for the 1992 Olympics, and was happy to find it was open. It was kind of neat getting to go inside the stadium, where so many people had once represented the world, making and breaking records and dreams. I mosied on, enchanted by the fall colours on the trees and the ridiculous number of cats this city seemed to have. I passed a rugby pitch and an odd little old lady, feeding one of the cat herds. As my first day in Barcelona grew dark, I decided it best to head back towards the flat, so I caught the metro, which spit me back out in front of the Barça F.C. fútbol stadium, only a few blocks from the house. At least 3x bigger than the Sevilla stadium back by my Spanish home, I was intrigued enough to wander around it. I got lucky. I ended up strolling past a ticket window, and discovered that there was to be a partido the following night. Eh, I bought tickets. Of course.

That night back at the Aguillo house, I was able to meet Bernat´s father and brother over dinner, and they were equally as wonderful as Anna. We had a lovely meal with roast potatoes and fish, a bottle of wine, and good conversation in which they happily corrected my Spanish. Some time later after dinner,  nearly falling asleep in my room from the long but wonderful day, my friend Sierra arrived from Vienna, as she was traveling and would be joining me for the rest of the weekend. I soon after collapsed.

The following day, Sierra and I headed via metro into the centre of the city, heading first to the Passeig de Gracia, on of the famous artists Gaudi’s buildings. It was really quite a cool place, but the line was not worth trying to go inside. We headed down a main street, through Plaza Catalunya and past another of Gaudi’s apartment buildings, this one more eccentric than the last.  We kept heading straight south until we emerged into Barrio Gotico, the oldest part of the city where a number of fantastic cathedrals, the old post office, solumn statues, and government buildings loom in the stature of their old age over the narrow streets. The particular square into which we walked was buzzing with some sort of livey children’s carnival, and a forest of colourful balloons bobbed out in front of us; hundreds of the globes clutched in the small hands of shiney-faced kids who chased pigeons or laughed at performers doing acrobatics. A goofy concert was sounding out from one side of the square, and Sierra and I had to wade through the crowds of hovering balloons, which couldn’t help but put us in good spirits. We explored an old church then, and an ancient government building with a lovely fountain in the centre. We came out on the other side of the old gothic buildings into another plaza full of surprises. Here, a full brass band in outfits of black and white played from a small stage under the trees of the square, while circles of older people held hands and bobbed up and down to the rythem of the music in some sort of strange dance. It was the cutest thing, and Sierra and I stood for quite some time to watch the movement of these bouncing people, completely caught up in their unusual circle dance. We moved on from there, ever heading south towards the harbor, until we emerged out on to the sea front. There were ships rocking back and forth in the bright sunshine, and the fronds of palm trees quavered in a light breeze that came up off the Mediterranian. I very much enjoyed a walk down the seafront walkway, which took us to the towering statue of Christopher Colombus. The dark statue, pointing endlessly out to sea, stands upon a ridiculously tall column, the base of which is guarded by angels, priests, Native American chiefs, and four bronze lions, whos bodies are worn down in an ugly sort of way by the hands, feet, and bottoms of thousands of tourists which climb up on them for a photo. I felt for the lions.

Our walk led us on, past the strangest trees I have ever seen, with bulbous, spikey trunks of green and lilly-like pink and yellow flowers, and up towards Mount Juic, where I had spent yesterday afternoon. We found a sort of path through the plantlife, which started out official-looking, but sort of became more dirt as we continued to climb up it. But the odd path led us to the front gardens of a very fancy hotel, situated with a prime view on the side of Mount Juic. There was a cafe there, situated to jut out from the hillside, with glass railings that provided patrons with the same great vista over the city, so Sierra and I chose a table and took a nice break from all our walking with a glass of red wine. It was the perfect afternoon stop.

After our respite, we headed back down the side of Mount Juic, enjoying the fall colours and the glint of the sun of the sea as we walked. We moved on to La Rambla, a wide street with lovely big trees on either side where a permanent market bustles. Street performers flock here, so walking along the Rambla means dodging fairies and demons and cowboys and costumes of all strange sorts. People sell everything from chickens to boquets of flowers to cheesey souvineers, and the range of faces is fantastic. All kinds of people walk up and down through this market, and though I wasn’t particularly interested in the wares (though Sierra and I did consider buying a baby chick for just 2 euro), it was just so great to people watch. About half-way down La Rambla, you can turn off to the side and find a covered mercado, within which food goods are sold. Walking under the high aluminium roof brings you into narrow aisles between booths that vend fruits of all colours, sweets of every imagination, fish, meats, vegitables, jars of preserves, and even the occasional bar. The life in this mercado is fantastic too, and a short, plump lady in an apron working a stand that sold gormet sweets convinced me to buy some amazing Catalan chocolates. Sierra and I also bought fruits to snack on as we walked, and fresh-squeezed juice. We ate them on a playground nearby, and then as it began to grow dark, we headed towards la catedral Santa Maria del Mar, famous because it was constructed by and for the people of Barcelona and not the greater Catholic clergy. It was a beautiful church, with a much more homely feel than many of the high-stone ceiling Catholic cathedrals I have visited in Spain, and the warm smell of candle wax lingered in the air. It was lovely.

We returned home for dinner afterwards, and enjoyed a meal with the Agullo family. Afterwards, it was time to head to the partido de futbol!! We walked excitedly over to the stadium, caught up in the growing throng of people in maroon and blue and gold, flowing towards the buzzing estadio. The Barcelona stadium is massive, and was quite full of people. The low din of the crowd rose to a roar as the team entered the field, and Sierra and I stood with the rest of them as they heartily sang a couple of patriotic songs in adoration of their equipo. The crowd continued to be lively and loud the whole game, sending the wave around the entirety of the stadium twice! The most complete wave I’ve ever been in, haha. Their energy was contagious. The game that followed was fantastic too. The skill of the Barcelona team, number 1 in Spain currently, was obvious even to a novice such as myself. Their feet have more coordination than I’ve ever had, and it was exciting to watch them demolish Vallodolid. Sierra and I cheered and jumped up and down at every goal, laughing sillily at the waving flags and bursts of song and shouts around us. It was brilliant.

Afterwards we caught a quick drink at a nearby bar and then headed back to the house to collapse.

The next morning, Sierra headed off to explore some new areas, since this was her 3rd visit to Barcelona, and I was still a newbie. I joined Anna and Jo, so kind and generous, in their car and we drove up to the top of a small mountain on the fringes of the city, where we visited first a 100 year-old observatory (where a friend of theirs gave us a private tour). The view from the observatory was wonderful. We then went on to Tibidabo, a small and colourful theme park situated at the top of this mountain. It was very cool. I didn’t pay for any rides, but the park was open to walk around in, and I got to enjoy the happy faces around me and the panoramic view of Cataluna that the hilltop provided. It was very lovely, and the day was perfectly sunny.

We drove back down the mountain and, after a few wrong turns and some laughs, made it to Parque Gaudi, the hill where Gaudi began a small community of buildings that, in the end, was never filled with people as he intended, but is now a very popular tourist attraction. It was indeed a beautiful park, and Pelu (Bernat’s brother) met us there. Gaudi’s work, though I am not usually into modernist art, is really amazing. Beautiful and functional, it consists of bright chips of tiles, odd shapes, stripes, suns, diamonds, lopsided columns, and features that one might picture in a child fantasty land…. like in Spy Kids. haha. There were a number of big, lovely houses, as well as a school, what was meant to be a market place, a parking garage, church, and a bank. One of the buildings was made to resemble the gingerbread house from Hansel and Gretel’s fairytale. It’s strange to say, but his works just make you happy. It was a very nice afternoon.

That evening, I took myself via metro down to the famous Sagrada Familia. A giant, quintuple-spired cathedral, the Sagrada Familia is possibly the most famous of Gaudi’s works, but he died before it’s completion. However, the church was not left unfinished, and the city is currently completing the artist’s work. It is a long process, and projected finish date is not until 2020. The cathedral was, unfortunately, closing as I walked up, but I got a real good look at the outside, haha. It was really quite pretty when it grew dark and the spotlights came on beneath it, lighting the towers against the night sky. I also walked a little ways up the wide avenue to visit a historic hospital with a giant old clock tower and beautiful painted ceilings. I didn’t really go in though, as this hospital is still used today.

That night, I retired early after dinner, as I had to catch a 3am bus out to Reus airport for a 6am flight back to Sevilla. But it had been completely worth it. My long weekend in Barcelona was so wonderful. Thank you Agullo family!