Deciphering Lisbon

This weekend, after an overnight bus and sunrise taxi ride, I found myself in Lisbon. Arriving at 6 a.m. I was quite the space cadet, however the hostel where I was meeting my friend Abby was accommodating and sympathetic to the fact that I was delirious. 


A bit about Abby: we have been friends for almost seven years. We met the summer before freshman year of high school at a particularly tumultuous part of my life, yet after finding mutual friends and a few jewish youth events, we've been best friends ever since. 

Sometimes I think about how we have other friends besides each other?

She is studying in Salamanca, northwest of Madrid in Castilla y León. A lot of people lose touch with friends they had in high school and it seems to not affect them much, but I think I would be a little crazy if Abby and I hadn't maintained a strong friendship throughout college. 


Simply put, we are best friends for a lot of reasons. Abby understands it, she's sharp and witty and can call me out when I'm wrong, and vice versa. We can sit in complete silence and be entirely comfortable, and be together, doing nothing, and be content. We both listen to each other. I never feel lonely when I'm with Abby, and talking to her and spending time with her assures me that even though people truly suck, there are good people in the world. Nonetheless you should all be jealous of us. 


Abby is a keeper because she is up for exploring new places and being open to new ideas, which was more than essential in Lisbon. She arrived at the hostel mid-morning, and after making ourselves a bit more presentable to be in public, we set off. 


Lisbon is a cluster of plazas (or Pracas, one of four words I learned in Portuguese). Lisbon is also quite strange. It didn't exactly feel like a European city; I could venture to say it felt a little South American. Friday we got to know the city and made it all the way to the top of Alfama (mind you Sevilla is a flat city) to see the Castelo de Sao Jorge. What a view:

Other highlights of our trip include: 

Food: Lisbon, situated on a river leading out to the Atlantic, is known for its seafood. We splurged on octopus, cod (I'm starting to believe every single coastal European city is known for cod) and Portuguese sangria on Saturday night. The city, however, is pretty cheap; we watched the sunset by the river with galletas de María, beer and iced tea for 1,50 euro. Our hostel nourished us well in the morning with freshly made crepes and eggs, as well a festive dinner at night. Eating with other guests was interesting - especially since we sat with two German girls who spoke impeccable English. 

Soup, flava beans, spinach, salad, bread and fruit. 

Belem: A 4.5 mile walk from Baixa, Belem has a bunch of monuments and museums dedicated to the naval history of Portugal. We saw the Discovery Monument, the Tower of Belem and San Jeronimo's Monastery. Walking to and from Belem probably made our view of Lisbon even more distorted - it seems like this part never recovered from the city's earthquake in the 18th century. It was extremely run-down and decrepit. Despite its eeriness and sketchy nature, the walk to and from Belem was an interesting dichotomy from Alfama, the oldest (and most beautiful, in my opinion) part of the city. 

Abby pensive in the monk recreation yard (probably thinking about what monks do to recreate).  

The nasty weather made Belem and the view of the ocean look pretty...nautical? 

Fado: Fado is folklore. A musical style, it translates to "destiny" and has origins in Africa, Brazil and the Iberian peninsula. We had the chance to watch fado after our seafoody dinner, hearing one woman sing with two male guitarists. Please enjoy this video, it was a headache to upload. Joel can attest. 

In all, Lisbon is a city searching for an identity. Not that I didn't enjoy the city, because the beautiful parts were truly the highlight of our trip. And romping around with Abby, of course. 

Peacocks/peahens at the castle?

Alfama

Feria Pregame

As the semester progresses, I find more and more reasons to appreciate the rich and comprehensive Spanish education I had in high school. I've arguably learned more in high school (Spanish-wise) than college, and I owe it all to the wonderful teacher I had my junior and senior years. She's retired now, but she's Nina, she's a big deal (High school friends? Do you exist? Can you attest?). Growing up in El Salvador, I'm not sure how she learned so much about Andalucía. I also don't know how she ended up being fluent in four languages, ended up in Spain's cultural olympics in the 70s and went on a date with Harrison Ford. I need to email this woman. 


Anyway, as Feria de Abril approaches in a month, my señora and her neighbors and all of her friends thought it would be fruitful, and a smashing good time, to have a party that is similar to what goes on at Sevilla's famous Feria. It's basically a bunch of what Spaniards do best: eat, drink, dance, sing, drink and then a bunch of times over again. My señora dances all the time and of course sings, so she lent me one of her dresses for our little fiesta:

Flamenco dresses are heavy and flowy, making dancing a very colorful affair. Between the shawl and red ruffles on the bottom, there was just yellow and red flying everywhere. Everyone dances Sevillanas, a four part flamenco dance. See, this is why Nina is cool: the last weeks of my senior year of high school were spent learning this dance. Good thing for me three years later it came to fruition. Thus, I got some brownie points and knocked everyone's socks off with my stellar duende and flamenco skillz (not so much). 

Everyone sang and danced and ate and drank and played guitar and castanets and woah. My host sister plays the guitar, so after flamenco music, she was strumming to a few Sean Paul songs. And then reggaeton played instead of cante jondo for an hour or so.  

Between food, drinks and music, a majority of the people who came (who didn't already live in building) left around 7:30. I jumped at the occasion to change my clothes, yet when I came back I found everyone trying new wines and telling jokes. All the jokes were in pretty poor taste, or at least the ones I understood were. Yep, Spaniards, just like us. 

I learned some great vocab, if anything. We ended up leaving around 9:30, only to return at 11 to eat dinner. My señora was roaring with laughter the whole time because her dress especially accented her butt, also she claims she's flat as a board. I had such a wonderful video of her and Antonio, her husband, dancing, but Nikon is disappointing me again. Worst decision ever. 

It was a day of realizing that my host family has truly been the best part of Sevilla. They make the effort to be sure that I really am a part of their family; it's a good feeling. 

Going bananas in the Straits

Saturday brought me to the Straits of Gibraltar. It's a particularly weird place, starting with passport control, or lack thereof. Rushing through and having a guard simply glance at my photo reminded me of security in the Czech Republic a few years back, as at that airport I had to run through a metal detector with a duffel bag without even stopping for them to search my, you know, really dangerous bag.


The airport in Gibraltar is one of the most dangerous in the world, considering planes have a tiny landing strip and face having to circle Gibraltar's famous 200 million year old rock (see below) and wind blowing in two different directions. The runway is also part of a major thoroughfare, thus car traffic is frequent when planes are landing. It's quite silly actually. 


Gibraltar's streets were constructed for buggies and horses, so we had the pleasure of going up the rock in a "mini-bus," or a stick shift Mercedes safari-like bus for 20 people. Our guide was very knowledgeable. Quite vulgar too. But more of that later. 


There are 33,000 Gibraltarians. There are more students at UW than Gibraltarians. British, Moroccans, Indians and Spanish people inhabit this tiny bit of land, which is linked to Spain by a narrow isthmus. The real estate there is crazy expensive - some of the ritziest apartments cost up to 2 million euro, and some other extravagant amount in GBP (eff the GBP). 


Our guide (who never told us his real name, but rather just to call him Ivan the Terrible), explained that Spain tried to regain the Rock from the British in the 18th century, but grossly failed, making the Rock of Gibraltar an impressive beacon of British pride. 


Technically speaking, the Rock is an ancient sea bed. As it is slab of limestone composed of deceased shelled animals, some people consider the Rock to be an island, but it's really a peninsula. I hate typing rock over and over again. Here's the Rock:

Just kidding. I'm hilarious, yeah?

For a little ooing and ahhing, Ivan the Terrible let us off first at Europa Point, where you can see all the Straits, including Algericas (or Al-Jazeera if you're feeling lazy), Gibraltar and mountains of Morocco. The photos speak for themselves.

Adi gawking.

Heading up the Rock with Ivan, we went to St. Michael's Cave, a Cathedral Cave believed to be bottomless. Walking through I felt just like Don Quijote did in his caves (not quite). Today it's actually a theater. Fun fact: people used to believe that Gibraltar was linked to the African continent by a subterranean passage over 25 kilmeters long under the Straits. Hence, bottomless cave. Anyhoo, the cave can keep 10,000 soliders alive for a year. Well, not the cave itself, but it has the capacity to house 10,000 soliders and their necessities for a year. Apparently if the water falls from the rocks onto your head or body, it's good luck. Just like when bird droppings land on you?

Poor Yorick.

My sophomore year I took an advanced psychology class about animal behavior, focusing on primates (between Naomi taking horticulture and me in monkey class, we had quite the slew of random information constantly filling apartment conversations). Knowing all of this before I came, I was reminded that the Barbary Macaques were brought to Gibraltar by the Moorish royalty as pets. They lack tails, hence they are apes. There are about 300 of them living in Gibraltar, being the only free-living monkeys in Europe today. They are controlled and fed by the local government, even sporting tattoos in their groin with an ID number. Ivan kindly offered to show us his tattoo. Foul. Here are da monos:

Thumbs and nails.

Ivan, have you ever run over an ape? "Rubbish." 

Playing with baby macaques is just like babysitting, apparently.

Other than that, Gibraltar isn't much. Most of the people that live there work for banks and live lavishly on the coast. But, because Gibraltar is a territory of the UK, I found dark chocolate Toblerone (because Spain really only raves over milk and white) and Cadbury Crunchies. Successful, silly day.

el Día de Andalucía

Sevilla is a city that loves to celebrate itself. For instance, today everything was shut down because every February 28, the city boasts its pride. Nonetheless, it was 75 degrees and I spent the day in the sun. 


About a week ago, this same pride surfaced in the Sevilla Flower Festival. Along la Puente de Isabel II, which I cross every single day to get to class, there were a bunch of gardeners making floral arrangements in umbrellas to hang over the river. See below:

Please respect me, I have feelings.

Additionally, the flower fever spread to a patio in my university: 

Pretty, yes? Little things like this pop up in Sevilla all the time - it really emulates the simple nature of the city and its tendency to just want to show beauty in life. 

Other little things, like the message I got from my friend Ben the other day, brighten my day and also crack me up. He proceeded to ask me if I filter information on my blog to make it seem different. Well, no. I promise I don't tell lies. 

Also no one has called me 'cats' in a long time. That was refreshing.  

Stroopwafel Addicts Anonymous

Not a joke: The ASA. Where Katie and I belong.

This weekend brought me to the Netherlands: land of blonde hair, spacecakes, Anne Frank and yes, the most delicious caramel and cookie combination in the world. 

A compulsive list maker, I have composed a list for you of how to find beauty in Amsterdam. 

Embrace your inner nerd. A while back on Flavorpill I found a list of the most breathtaking bookstores in the world. What's cool about this semester is that I'm going to have the chance to visit most of them in Europe. Case in point, the American Book Center in Amsterdam. Centered around a tree trunk, this store is just as charming as Amsterdam itself. Nooks and crannies make it a gem. The New Yorker was 13 euro and Glamour about 9 euro. Whatever, gawking at bookstores should be everyone's guilty pleasure. 

Books upon books upon books.

Navigate via your fixed-gear. Well I didn't actually do this, but if I had been in Amsterdam during the spring, I would have most definitely rented a bike and tooled around the city. Amsterdam is so easy to navigate; it was a relief to look at a map that had actual street names, whereas in Spain you make a few turns and hopefully end up in the right place. Bikes arguably have more rights than pedestrians or cars in this city, so listen for bells so you're not clipped or yelled at in Dutch. 

Puts Madison's snooty hipsters to shame.

Eat your heart out. I love traveling with Katie, because she has just as much of a sweet tooth (if not bigger) as I do. Thus, frequent stops at candy stores and searching for the most delectable treats has been the standard on our trips. This did not stop with the Pancake Bakery. A bit touristy, but who gives when you have the chance to eat this?

Hot chocolate, tea and pancakes adorned with cinnamon ice cream, nutella and bananas.

Learn something. Amsterdam has expensive museums, but rightfully so. And really, museums cater to anyone. You have to find something you like between sex, weed, art and history.

Illegal picture in the Van Gogh Museum. Whoopsies. 

Do as the Dutch do. Think about what you do after work and/or class. Go to the grocery store, shop, take a nap. Now add picking up a few grams of weed, because that's what you can do in Amsterdam. Blunt (ohhh I'm so punny), yes. What is so normal to the culture here is such a brain fart for me. I can't even imagine what would happen in the United States if buying weed from a reputable shop were legal. Sure, it'd be cool. But Americans probably couldn't deal with that type of freedom, we're a bit too uptight and anal-retentive.

You'll overhear great things in coffeeshops. Best memory was the guy rattling off about how he just moved from Switzerland and is NEVER moving back to FUCKING AMERICA.

Also, nom on some stroopwafels. No explanation needed. 

Fresh from Albert Cuyp Market.

I recommend Amsterdam to anyone who needs a relaxed weekend. Be a voyuer, space out a bit, stumble upon a few hookers, you're sure to have a great time.

Goons at the Tulip Museum. (Just 2 euro! Do it!)

For British Eyes Only

Destination: Foggy Londontown. 


I am lucky in that I have many friends abroad this semester. Thus, I have many places to visit and wonderful people to see. February 13 was my friend Lizzie's 21st birthday, so I took the weekend to go see her and Katie, who studies in Dublin. 


Upon arriving in England, what perplexed me the most was that everyone spoke English. Weird after usually hearing obscenities in Spanish all the time. At first glance, London is like any other European city. Everywhere you see PDA, luxury baby strollers, defensive drivers, well-dressed children, eye candy, and of course you hear that irresistible accent. London is so much like New York, except for that juggernaut that I call the pound. Fifteen pound cover for a Friday night at a bar? Oy. 


London was a good break from Spain. Not only did I eat blueberries for the first time in weeks, but I got to see two of my best friends. Walking through Baker Street Station and seeing them on the street waiting for me was one of the best feelings - I also couldn't believe that we all got our act together and were finally making things happen (I hope you're reading this, Elliott). 

The bustle and fast pace of London felt so right. Brits didn't seem rude either; Lizzie told us that they always know who Americans are on the Tube because they smile and laugh. Brits don't smile much, it doesn't mean they aren't happy, though. I could only think that Brits are cordial though because they were speaking English. Moving on. 


The biggest difference between Lizzie and my living situation is that she is treated exactly as every other international student. At the University of Westminster, she lives in a flat with a few other American students and a crazy German kid. But that's another story. 


Aside from seeing the sights in London, Katie and I were lucky to have Lizzie to show us human sides of London. Rather, she showed us the way she lived. Situated in Marylebone, Lizzie lives in a lively and happening area and has easy access to everything she could need, not excluding an endless amount of places to buy Nutella. 

(Beautiful) Big Ben. Love at first sight. Too bad Peter Pan wasn't flying by.

Our trip just screamed Winning London, especially with our visit to Camden. It's essentially a more hipster part of London, but by hipster I mean punk. Aside from myriad booths of discounted clothes, jewelry, hammocks and other random kitsch, Camden offers delicious street-style food for just 4 pounds. Bargain of the century. 

Alas! Our friend Joel, studying in Florence, also made an appearance during the weekend. I can't imagine another person who I'd like to gawk at Harrod's with. Only twice did he consider buying Harrod's dog bowls. 

Lizzie has a full kitchen (saving us some $$$), but eating out Saturday seemed right. At the Golden Hind, a small restaurant on Marylebone Lane off of Marylebone High Street, we ate some classic fish and chips. The restaurant is owned by a Greek family and they were warm and welcoming - sitting by the door was irksome because of the cold, but it was good to see people coming and going out of this small yet gem of a place. 

Among our eating escapade were trips to local museums, bookstores, Tesco (meal deal FTW), Oxford Street, Abbey Road, an alternative art fair and a farmers' market. Dane County Farmers' Market always holds the fondest place in my heart, though. 

My almost-four day trip was an inexplicable high. I was so happy to know that Lizzie, Katie and Joel are alive and well, seizing every moment they have in their respective cities. In a way London was a reminder of what is so rich in life: caring friends, a bustling and cultural city, oh, and CRUNCHY PEANUT BUTTER. "Spreadables" are not allowed on airplanes. Joel and I learned this the heartbreaking way. 

Perfect.

 London is just begging for me to come back (there are over four kinds of Ben's cookies I still need to try). And I can't wait.

I just wanted all of this packaged and sent to my apartment in Spain.

Pippy Longstocking's comeback

Via Zara's new collection?


"Leave everything to chance?"


Why the question mark?