Spring Break Stop Seven: Madrid

Our last stop was Madrid. I think we got the most we possibly could out of Madrid, but keep in mind, it’s the most we could after two weeks of non-stop motion. We were tired; gone were the seven hour walking days of Venice. We did another walking tour the first day, and it nearly killed me. We went back to take a quick nap and ended up sleeping for three hours—it was unfortunate, but I think unavoidable.

We took the night bus from Sevilla and to our hostel around 6 in the morning—our room wasn’t ready but we slept in the common room until breakfast time. We went on the walking tour, which, while we liked the tour guide less, was again something I enjoyed. You discover things you couldn’t on your own, like the fact that the Cathedral is much prettier from behind because the front faces the Palace and wasn’t allowed to compete; you would only see the back if you crossed a certain bridge. Or the fact that when they were constructing the Gran Via in the modern part of town, they wanted it to be very new and modern and so started basing the architecture off Paris, and then, as the ‘city of the future’ changed, changed it to the art-deco style of New York. Or the fact that the building Hemmingway lived in when in Madrid is now the local AA. I needed to be told these things.

We also got to see the art museums, which I’m always a fan of. In the Prado, we got to see works by Velazquez (including his famous Las Meninas), El Greco (who I’ve loved since Spanish class) and Goya. In la Reina Sofia, we saw works by more modern painters like Picasso and Dali. This museum was up and down for me—some things were really interesting, but like with all modern art, there’s only so much I can handle. If it’s something that looks like what I did in kindergarten, I’m not impressed. Picasso’s Guernica was there; I never realized how big it is. It’s literally gigantic, double my apartment wall, though that’s not saying much. Also, Dali is completely crazy. We just stared at some of his stuff and wondered what was going on in his mind. I think to be in one of his paintings would be to be in a nightmare. There were some paintings of his that blew me even more out of the water, because they were so “normal”. In a room labeled classicism meets surrealism were some works done by him in the same period of time that were so completely not-Dali it was hard to believe they were done by the same guy!

After our second day in Madrid we had our final night as airport hobos. Although this time, we were surrounded by other hobos too. We spent all day Thursday traveling, flying Madrid to Brussels and Brussels to Madrid with a three hour layover. Ryanair, since they’re so cheap, turns out to be really sadistic and makes you jump through about a million hoops just because they can. We got to sit in the front row Brussels to Thess though, and even though we were uncomfortably close to the stewardesses we were comfortably able to stretch our legs. We also ran into another ACT student in the Brussels airport who was on our same flight.

And that’s spring break. We got home around 6:00, earlier than expected, and I resisted the urge to go into a coma and instead unpacked and started getting settled back into life.

Whew! Finally done with the spring break posts! Sorry if they got a little tedious, I was getting tired writing them too! We had tons of adventures and laughs and inside jokes the whole trip, I can’t even begin to describe them to you so sadly these little summaries will have to make do. I know it makes it sound much more boring, but this is what I’ve been up to. It was a great trip, and although exhausting, I’m glad I took full advantage of being in Europe by traveling to see as much as I could.

My sense of language is all mixed up now. In Italy I kept speaking Greek or Spanish. In Spain I kept using Greek or the one Italian word I knew, gratzi, even though I understood everything people were saying to me! I was talking to a bus driver and he was giving me a detailed explanation that I understood perfectly and at the end asked me, “Do you understand?” and I responded, “Nei!”—yes in Greek, but sounds an awful lot like no in Spanish, so he started telling me again. Now that I’m back in Greece, I keep saying “Si!'” to people or responding in Spanish, even though I did a crap job at it while actually in Spain. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Hopefully it will wear off and I’ll be back to my native tongue in a day or two…

Final spring break photos, de Madrid: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets/72157626640393816/

Spring Break Stop Six: Sevilla

Number one stop: Sevilla. I absolutely loved it here. It was beautiful, and the weather was (mostly) nice, and we were there a sufficient number of days. We also got in the day before Easter and left the day after, so we got to see the famous Processions and Easter/Lent celebrations of Semana Santa, and we went to the famous Catedral de Sevilla for Easter service. Plus, perfect timing, the bullfighting season had just begun, so we got to experience that as well.

We had the best food when in Sevilla too, hands down. The most amazing tapas for the best prices. Ridiculously good paella. Once place, called Bodega Santa Cruz, was packed and you had to stand crowded around tiny tall tables, but it was so worth it—there was this spinach-cheese tapa that I could have ate a pint of. If you want the best food in Spain, go to Sevilla!

We got to see a Procession, which was really interesting. All throughout Holy Week, different Christian brotherhoods carry pasos, images of usually the Virgin Mary or Christ, from their home churches to the Catedral and back—those farther away can walk up to 15 hours! Plus, they carry the pasos, about 25-40 men for what can weigh as much as a metric ton. In one of the pictures I got a peek at their feet underneath this mammoth paso of the Virgin Mary. Those in the procession wear long robes and pointed hoods, with the color corresponding to their brotherhood. The ones we saw were white—and no, they are in no way related to the Klan. It was just really fun and interesting to view and be a part of a festival I’ve learned about in school—what are the odds I would be in the city just at the right time?

Easter morning we wore our nicest clothes (which still weren’t quite Easter-nice) and went to service at the Catedral. It was funny, though, because we were actually among some of the better-dressed people. Everyone in there was a tourist, for the most part. It makes sense, because anyone who lives in Sevilla would have their own local church or brotherhood with services to attend. We weren’t allowed to take pictures, but it was just a lot of music and incense-waving and walking slowly and ceremoniously around. I understood all the scriptures, though, and the main address, which made me feel pretty good. We were there for almost three hours—we got there a half hour early and got really good seats about 5 hard wooden benches back and a little to the side, and the service lasted over 2 hours. I was just glad to be in a church for Easter, even if it was Catholic and in a different language, and it was, again, just another really cool experience to now have had.

Easter afternoon we went on a free walking tour provided by our hostel, and it was great. It was three hours exploring most of the major landmarks, buildings, and monuments of the city, and our guide was really knowledgeable. It was everything I’d been missing in all the other cities—the history! Learning! I absolutely hate visiting amazing, important sites and just looking at it, thinking, “Huh, that’s nice.” I need to know why it’s important, what happened here? I learned not only about the history of the main parts of Sevilla, but little things too, like why one street was named Calle de Muertos (round up of the Jews during the Inquisition) or why there was a tile with a skull painted on it (references a crazy story about a girl who chose her lover over her family, regretted it, became a nun and had the archbishop’s babies before killing herself and asking that her skull be displayed as a warning) that I wouldn’t even have noticed otherwise. It was great, and made me fall even more in love with Sevilla!

It had been sunny and warm all day, but right as the walking tour ended there was a sudden flash thunderstorm. We thought we were closer to our hostel than we thought, and tried to make it back. We were completely soaked, running through the downpour, but for some reason we couldn’t stop laughing! We must have looked just ridiculous. Of course, it ended two minutes after we reached the hostel—we should have just waited it out under an awning!

We stayed two feet from the Plaza de Toros so I asked the people running our hostel about bullfighting. Apparently, the opening day of the fighting season was Easter, so we timed our trip perfectly to see one. We asked about tickets. They laughed and said for Easter we could maybe find some if we wanted to spend 100 euro. We asked about the day after, and everyone we talked to said, “Pshh, don’t go, it’s bad bullfighting”. Bad bullfighting? I just want to see it, I’m not enough of an aficionado to know good from bad! (Actually, you can tell, we discovered; it often took them more than one try to kill the bull with the sword at the end (called estocada), or their banderillas, barbed sticks, wouldn’t be placed as nicely into the bulls back). Still, it was fascinating to be there. The Plaza de Toros is a big oval with rows of cement benches, and they cram you in there with all the other spectators, knees in each other’s backs and elbows all over the place—it’s very tight. Since it was “bad bullfighting”, it was either the season ticket-holder types or tourists like us; we heard every language possible around us. Of course, we had the ditzy American girls behind us that wouldn’t shut up with the “Awww, poor bull! Let’s leave, we should leave, we should protest!” Why did you pay 35 euro to get in, then? Or there was the guy who obviously had never seen a bullfight in his life but by virtue of being there knew everything there is to know about the subject and constantly critiqued everything. There were a few little old Spanish men near us who actually knew what they were talking about, and I got to use my Spanish on a couple occasions to get a better picture of what was going on.

There are many different stages, each signaled by trumpet sound. First a group of toreros wave the cape around at the bull to test it. Then a man on horseback comes in to stab the bull with a lance, I guess to weaken it. The bull charges the horse, who is covered on all sides by armor and is completely blindfolded. Then the various toreros try to stick the two banderillas into the bull’s back, further weakening the bull. Finally, the main matador reenters the ring with his red cape and sword, and makes the typical passes with the bull before stabbing it through the shoulder-blades and down into the heart. There are three main matadors, and each gets two bulls to kill. Once the bull is dead, they cut off the ear as a prize if the torero did a good job, tie the bull’s corpse to a team of horses, and trot it around and out the stadium.

It was spell-binding to watch, gruesome as it may sound. And the crowd reactions, such an important part of the fight, were just as interesting—I never knew what to do! There was generally a hush over the stadium, and you were shushed for talking. But every once in a while—and I never could pick up on the signal or event to start it—the crowd would “Ole!” together, or collectively made a “OOOSHH!” exhale of air, or even burst into cheers. Once or twice there was a clap clap clap, clap clap clap, that, when I asked the old man, meant that the crowd thought it was a bad bull and wanted it to be sent back and another to be brought out.

The expressions and movements of the toreros was fun to watch too. We had pretty decent seats, about five rows back from the front, although most of the action happened off to the side of us in front of the main gate. One bull did wander over and was killed right in front of us—it was amazing. I still don’t know quite what I think of the whole thing, but it was just such an experience! I’m so glad that I went, I know I’m not really describing it very well. I took a couple shaky videos for you to see, they should be with the photos on Flickr.

Sorry this one was so long, but it was my favorite and I had a lot to say about it! Anyone who is traveling to Spain, I highly recommend a stop in Sevilla; it’s beautiful and interesting and I had a wonderful time there!

Flickr photos for Sevilla:http://www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets/72157626489947105/

Life In Thess

While trying so hard to whip out these spring break posts, I’ve neglected what’s been going on the past couple days. Mostly I’ve just been trying to get back in the groove of everyday life. I unpacked, I added all my new postcards and posters to The Wall, have spent countless hours going through tons of photos, started working on some papers that are due this week and next. Friday, Saturday, and Sunday I hardly left the apartment. I slept a lot. Watched Casablanca. Exercised. Everyone has been slowly trickling back and I realize how much I’ve missed them all—and just after two weeks! I can’t believe I only have a month left with all these crazies. All the guys have come back with weird facial hair. Everyone keeps telling me how tan I am, which makes me feel great. Other than that, not much is really new in real life. Everyone’s pretty excited about Osama being dead; I got an e-mail from the government warning me to be extra careful abroad as there is an increased risk of terrorist activities in retaliation.

I take the AP Exams May 5th and 10th. It’s a huge pain in the butt to take them here in Greece, and expensive, but not as expensive as a course at Vanderbilt, I guess. I have to travel two hours to Larisa, and since they’re early in the morning I have to go the day before and stay in a hotel. And, because the days are so spread apart, I have to do it twice. It’s just annoying when I have such limited time left in Thess, and so much work to catch up on!

Spring Break Stop Five: Mallorca

Mallorca, out of everywhere we went, was my least favorite stop. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t Spain—it was a cheap resort for British people, or at least the area where we stayed. It was a nice enough place, but it was touristy and beachy just like a million other places anywhere in the world. If I’m going to be in Spain, I’d rather be somewhere where I can experience a culture and food and atmosphere that is decidedly Spanish. I didn’t speak Spanish in Mallorca because they all spoke with English accents. We were foreigners not because we weren’t from Spain, but because we weren’t from the UK. All the restaurants offered fish and chips and shepherd’s pie with mushy peas. Kelli got her second piercing done, and the lady who did it had a really thick English accent. When we asked her how long she had lived in Mallorca, she said she was born here, and had lived in Mallorca all her life! We literally found ourselves in Little Britain. I know there are super beautiful, expensive places on Mallorca where lots of celebrities have houses, but where we stayed it was just a strip of cheap restaurants, bars, and souvenir shops along a decent beach. Kelli really liked having another beach stop though, and I have to admit it was nice to have a little downtime from our hectic schedule before jumping into the last leg of the trip. Plus, we got to do laundry—everything in our bags was beginning to smell, and it was nice to have clean clothes halfway through.

The way the part of the island where we were staying was set up was in the shape of a tiny little peninsula, only we didn’t realize it. Our second day Kelli and I walked along the water, assuming we were heading in pretty much a straight line down the coast when in reality we were following the coast back to where we started. After walking for half an hour, we found the coolest part of Mallorca. There was bar after bar packed in, each with a cheaper drink deal than the last, and a much nicer beach full of people our own age (whereas the beach by us was mostly families and old people). We thought it was the best thing ever and really wanted to return that night, if only we weren’t so far away….While walking, we saw a sign for Prince William’s Pub, 200 meters. We thought that was so funny, since they had one right by our hotel, and decided to see if it was owned by the same people. We started walking down the street indicated, and noticed another restaurant that was also by our hotel, and another…and then we saw our hotel! It was the most mind-boggling, disorienting, semi-frightening thing to ever happen; we thought we had walked really far away, when in reality we just made a huge loop. It took a while to really believe it, but finally we accepted that, like idiots, the super awesome part of town was a two minute walk behind us. We felt like we were in some bizarre episode of the twilight zone, where two girls think they’re on a simple vacation when in reality they’re on an island that shifts and changes and grows smaller until they’re slowly driven insane…The funny thing is that it happened again later, but on a smaller scale—we thought we were headed in one direction when in reality we just wound up by our hotel again.

We spent almost three whole days in Mallorca, and I was ready to go by the end and get back to the real Spain. It’s a little disappointing that we spent so much time there and so little in Rome or Barcelona, but it was a nice vacation from our vacation. The staff at the hotel was amazing and we really had the best possible time, even if we didn’t get as much sun as we had hoped. But not to worry, we left Mallorca for Sevilla, my absolute favorite place of all that I visited—more on that next post!

A couple pictures of Mallorca (or Majorca, if you spell it Catalun): http://www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets/72157626613077138/

Spring Break Stop Four: Barcelona

Barcelona was definitely the busiest stop in that we went non-stop. I almost wish I hadn’t gone to Barcelona, because we saw the least there and now I have less of a reason to go for real, since I’ve already “seen” it. Whereas some cities were really easy to walk around and everything touristy was very close, Barcelona was much more spread out and we walked far to see very few things. I really wanted to see Gaudi’s Mosaic Garden but it was too far away and we just didn’t have time. We really just saw La Sagrada Familia and Las Ramblas, and walked by the water and through the park with the zoo a little. We still walked far, and got a good look at typical architecture, typical streets. Since we had no place to stay, we had to carry our backpacks around with us all day, which was extra tiring.

On the plane from Italy to Barcelona, I couldn’t help being a little excited that I would finally be going someplace where I would understand what was being said beyond “gratzi”. I didn’t know how much Spanish I would remember but I was excited to try! Unfortunately, I had no idea what was going on in Barcelona, but not because I didn’t remember any Spanish—they speak Catalan in Barcelona, the most well-known dialect in Spain. All the signs were in Catalan too, occasionally with Spanish underneath it. It’s also reflected in how people from other areas of Spain (like the South) talk about Barcelona; when we told our hostel owner in Sevilla we’d been to Barcelona, he told use “Barcelona is not the real Spain”. And when someone answered a question our Italian tour guide asked us with “Barcelona”, he shrugged it off with “eh, that’s Catalun”. I had to wait until Sevilla to really use my Spanish skills.

First off, Gaudi is all over that city. It’s his. He owns it. Everywhere you turn there’s some bizarre, wavy building and you think, “Yep, that’s Gaudi”. It’s really interesting to see all these normal but pretty buildings and then BAM! something crazy. La Sagrada Familia was insane, and it’s not even done yet! When Gaudi died in 1926 is was only about 20% done, and they’ve been working on it ever since. It was so cool to see because I’ve never seen anything else like it; everywhere you go in Europe you see some old, stately, beautiful church that’s a work of art, but it’s nothing like this work of art. We were short on time and the line was long, plus Kelli didn’t want to pay the 12 euro to get in, so we just looked at the outside. I so wish I could have seen what he had planned for the inside!

The weirdest thing happened when we were across the street from La Sagrada Familia taking pictures—this guy came up and said he was taking photos for this exhibition he was working on in which they are constructing a body out of thousands of images of people from all over the place, and he was working on feet. He asked if he could photograph our feet for the project, it would only take  a few seconds, and we foolishly said yes. It took way longer than a minute or so, and it got more creepy and uncomfortable as time went on; we really think that it was just some random creeper with a foot fetish. He wouldn’t tell us the name of the project (“Umm, it’s untitled") and was shaking a little as he took the pictures, and the camera wasn’t that heavy. The whole thing was just weird, and we eventually just told him we didn’t have the time and had to go. He tried to get us to stay so he could take more but it was just too creepy. I don’t know it he was legit or not but I’m fairly certain we had a strange encounter with a foot fetish man.

That night we had a dish of paella (first of many in Spain) on Las Ramblas, and stretched it out for another two hours over glasses of sangria. Then, when the time was right, we went into the bathroom, changed into dresses, did our make-up, and walked to the club. I don’t know how we ever got in, considering we got ready in a restaurant bathroom and were toting the very stylish mondo-backpack, but we got in no problem and checked our backpacks at coat check. We got there around 12:30 and there was no one there; we started to get a little nervous. Around 1:30 it really got going and we just danced until four, where we reclaimed our bags, walked to the bus stop, and took the first morning bus to the airport. It was way better than any of our hobo nights, but I was exhausted. We’d been up since 7:30, flew from Rome, walked around all day carrying our heavy backpacks, then danced for four hours. I don’t remember take-off or landing, I woke up when people were taking their bags down. I got such a story out of it though!

Barcelona pictures for you to enjoy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets/72157626613287226/

Spring Break Stop Three: Roma

After a sleepless night in the Palermo airport, we flew on to Rome. Exhausted as I was, my spirits were immediately revived on the walk to the hotel from the bus station. I love Rome; I think it’s one of the most beautiful cities in the whole world, and it was the first time we had really nice weather the whole trip. It really wasn’t enough to be there for a day and a half. The last time I was there with my family, we just ran from site to site exhausted before our cruise, and I didn’t get to slow down this time around either. Like most of the rest of our vacation, Kelli and I ran around the city, “seeing” everything without really getting to appreciate it or take our time and learn, which is really all I ever want to do.

We followed the directions to our hotel, which we were surprised to find was on the third floor of an apartment building. All we wanted to do was shower after our long night in the airport, but our room wasn’t ready. Luckily we could drop off our packs, and we walked down towards the Colosseum/ruins and checked those out before we could finally go shower. The it was back out into the city, constantly walking. Trevi fountain again, one of my favorites. Gelato on the Spanish Steps (Audrey Hepburn, anyone?). Pantheon. We just wandered the city, trying to hit all the places marked on the tourist map.

We even walked over to the Vatican, which is far if you’re walking. They were already getting ready for Easter, with tons of chairs set up to hold the masses already pouring into the city (we met someone in Sevilla who was there for Easter and took a picture of the Pope three feet away in his Popemobile). Kelli didn’t want to go inside since she thought we had to pay for it, but I told her if she was in Rome and didn’t see the Sistine Chapel, she would regret it for the rest of her life. It turned out to be free, but because she was in shorts and we didn’t have anything to cover it, they wouldn’t let us in. Of course, then Kelli was really upset that she had to miss it. I was bummed too, but at least I’ve seen it before.

When I mapped out how far we walked that day with a little dotted line on our map, it was crazy. I couldn’t believe two little girls could go so far in a day! We definitely squeezed the most we could out of our stay in Rome, but it just wasn’t good enough for me. I tossed the penny in Trevi again, so hopefully I’ll be back!

I’ve actually gone through all the pictures except Madrid and uploaded them onto Flickr, so *spoiler alert* you can check out the pictures already even though the posts aren’t up at www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets I’ve maxed out the number of photos I can upload to Flickr in a month (whoops!) so the Madrid photos will be inserted into the post as usual. To see the photos from Rome, click http://www.flickr.com/photos/rachelgoesgreek/sets/72157626613005618/

Spring Break: Hostels, Hotels, and Hobos

Our accommodations over spring break were wide and varied. We stayed in hostels, hotels, guesthouses, and airports. It’s really amazing the different experiences we were able to have, good and bad. In Venice we stayed in a legit hotel, with a nice free breakfast that we took advantage of every morning. In Rome we stayed in a Maison, which we didn’t realize was pretty much just an apartment refurbished to serve guests; it was on the third floor of a residential building and had three private rooms that shared two bathrooms, and a kitchen/office area. Our best stay for the value was in Mallorca, where we stayed in a super cheap hotel (50 euro total for the two of us for two nights) that was minimalistic but clean with a private bathroom and a great location—we even had a tiny balcony from which you could see the sea!

The rest of the time we stayed in hostels, of varying degrees of livability. The Palermo hostel was the worst. It didn’t have any hot water, was kind of dirty, and I was terrified the whole night that the two wooden slats holding my mattress up would break and I’d fall on Kelli and kill her in the middle of the night…others were actually really nice, even if we did have to share a room with strangers. Ours in Sevilla had great water pressure, unlimited hot water, was super clean, and incredibly well-located, a few minutes walk from the Cathedral, the Plaza de Toros, etc. They even gave us free sandwiches as long as we were guests. Madrid hostel was nice too—hot water, breakfast with real nutella, a nice lounge and multiple computers with free internet. It’s funny that all the hostels offered free internet access while the hotels wanted to charge you…We also quickly learned that the best and most important sign of a good hostel is an abundance of hot water—without it, you will never be able to be clean, and therefore the hostel probably won’t be clean, since it’s filled with dirty backpackers.

The people you meet in hostels just astound me. It’s really amazing to talk with them, because they all have been traveling and seen amazing things too, and they can share their stories with you. The most common introductory format was, “Hi, I’m ____, I’m from _____ but I study/live/work in _____”. I’m from Pittsburgh studying in Florence but I’m in Sicily meeting my long-lost relatives. I go to Tulane but am studying in Prague. I’m from China but I’ve been working in Finland for the past four months. I’m from Brazil, studying in Portugal. I’m from Costa Rica, studying in France. I’m from Australia, on 60 day holiday from med school. There are so many more, and it’s crazy. And of course, you meet people who have been where you’ve been or studied where you studied, or who knows someone in Greece or has a friend in Athens….instant friends. It’s such an eclectic group of people that all come together because of a shared interest in travel and a shared lack of money.

Our final type of place to stay was no where—five out of our fifteen days, in order to save money, we didn’t book a hotel. Three nights we slept in the airport, one night we stayed out all night, and one night we spent on a bus from Sevilla to Madrid. We had many jokes about our hobo lifestyle and our lack of a home, carrying everything we owned for two weeks on our back. Sleeping in airports was terrible—it was always freezing, and only once did we get an actual bench, which we took for granted at the time. Our flights were early enough in the morning, though, that it didn’t make sense to have a hotel. There were usually one or two other people doing the same thing, but in Madrid it was ridiculous—we got there at 12:30 and the floor was littered with people; we couldn’t find open benches or even wall space! And these people were pros—there were backpackers who had rolled out their sleeping bags, people who had pushed together trolleys to make a bed…we felt like we were in some kind of hobo village.

My bed in Palermo—comfy! Also, in that backpack is everything I had for two weeks of travel, weighing in at 7.62 kilos when I left (and 9.75 when I got back…)

Photos from the hobo village around 12:45—by 2:00AM it was so crowded and noisy you would have thought it was midday, and they didn’t even start to open the check-in counters until 4:30!