"Nunca llueve en Málaga." Translated, this means, "It never rains in Málaga."
The next person to tell me that gets a swift kick in the rear.
It's a favorite saying of the malagueños, who are proud of the beautiful weather they enjoy here on the alleged "sun coast" of Spain. Málaga is the place where all the Northern Europeans come to sit on the beach and turn their pasty skin a nice shade of "lobster," the place where the only religion still strictly adhered to is that of the "afternoon siesta" (to avoid the hottest part of the day).
This year, it also happens to be the place where it started raining in December and didn't stop until mid-March. About the middle of February I started to suspect it wasn't rain at all--it was God spitting on us and laughing.
Here's hoping he's got Dry Mouth. It seems to be the case at the moment; it got warm and sunny just in time for the madness of Holy Week. There are massive, red velvet-covered risers set up in the plaza near my apartment, and a few days ago little metal lanes marked "enter" and "exit" started popping up at street entrances around the center. I couldn't for the life of my figure out what the lanes were for until I decided to walk to the beach this morning and realized that every street out of my house was blocked by Virgin Mary statues, marching bands and hordes of spectators. Turns out those little lanes, each one guarded by two harassed-looking employees in neon yellow vests, are the only way to keep pedestrian traffic going through the crowds. They're kind of like that tiny space in your bathtub drain where water can still trickle through when the rest of it is clogged with hair.
Anyway, more to come about Holy Week. Tomorrow I'm meeting up with a couple from my church who are going to give me the backstage VIP tour. On Wednesday I'll be escaping the crowds altogether to go to Extremadura with some Spanish friends.
Other March happenings:
I went to Barcelona a couple of weeks ago to visit Lindsey Trio, a friend from St. Thomas who's spending the semester abroad. We spent most of our time looking over our shoulders to make sure nobody was watching while we took stupid pictures. Her youngest host brother is so cute I almost took him back to Málaga with me. My felony kidnapping plans were foiled when I remembered I only had a carry-on. He's only six, so he might have fit in my suitcase, but there was no way he was squeezing into my school backpack unless I left my hairdryer behind. And there are some things you just don't do.
One of the bilingual professors at my school decided to teach the 11- and 12-year-olds a song about the earthquake in Haiti. The other day we went to the outdoor market in Campillos and the kids sang the song to raise money for quake victims in Haiti and Chile. They were accompanied by electric keyboard, drums, and a boy playing the guitar with a terrifed look on his face. In hindsight we probably shouldn't have threatened to send him to Haiti if he missed a chord. The class also sold watercolor paintings they made in art class--mostly to the parents who had shown up to watch their kids.
My friend, Erin, and I have been taking salsa lessons. We have two instructors, Irena and Jesús. Irena is sweet, but Jesús is slightly terrifying; he looks like he should be barking orders at a troop of Marines. We've been informed several times that we're the "slow class." Still, I like them both and classes are fun.
That's it for now. I hope you all have an amazing Easter! Eat a chocolate bunny for me.
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Sunday, March 7, 2010
Introducing Stan, and other tales from February
Well folks, let's see if we can sum up February, shall we?
I went to Carnaval in Cádiz on a bus from the University of Málaga. We left for Cádiz at 3 pm on a Saturday and got back to Málaga at 11 am on Sunday. It was great--like a giant, outdoor Halloween party. The Spanish really go all out. I saw one group dressed as bull fighters. They even had a bull made out of a shopping cart that they were pitting against a fake horse brought by some guys dressed as Trojan soldiers.
A class of 14-year-old students came to visit from England; they've been doing a sort of exchange program with the 11-year-old bilingual class. We did field trips to a couple of towns near the school, which consisted of going to a couple of monuments and then giving the kids "free time" while the teachers went to get coffee. Mostly I just enjoyed watching the kids try to communicate with each other using a mixture of English, Spanish and French. Of course, when Spanglish and wild gesturing didn't work they went to plan B: Ask a teacher.
"Anna, how do you say 'hermano' in English?"
"Anna, how do you say 'qué has comprado' in English?"
"Anna, how do you say 'mi tio vive en un pueblo cerca de aquí, y tiene una piscina y vamos allí todos los veranos para nadar con mis amiga, María, y sus hermanos, Diego y Manuel. También tienen un perrillo pero no puede nadar en la piscina porque una vez hace 2 años hizo caca en la piscina'?"
We were pretty tired by the end of the week.
My mom and sister escaped the Minnesota weather last week to come visit me. I was a ruthless taskmaster. I stuck them in a hotel filled with bizarre abstract paintings that looked eerily like pages from an anatomy textbook, took them on forced marches the Alcazaba and the castle and made them try weird Spanish foods like croquetas and shrimp with the heads and feet still attached. (In my defense, Laura liked the shrimp and who in their right mind doesn't like croquetas?)
My mom and sister got to see my apartment. My mom got lost. Not on the way to the apartment, mind--in the apartment, which consists of bedrooms, a hallway, a bathroom and a kitchen. I don't know what to do with that.
I also had the pleasure of introducing them to Stan, the puddle of urine that's usually hanging around the entrance of my building. Stan first appeared a few months ago when someone didn't shut the front door properly and a drunk guy thought the floor of our entryway looked a little parched. Since that time Stan has been a fixture in our building. He disappears every once in a while, but he always returns to grace us once again with his presence. After the first month I realized he was going to be a permanent part of my life in Spain so I gave him a name. I now greet him when I enter the building and say "hasta luego, Stan" when I leave. Yep. I'm the crazy lady who talks to puddles of urine.
We said goodbye to Stan and spent a few days in Marrakech, Morocco. We stayed at a gorgeous Riad in the middle of the market. Every morning they served us freshly baked breads with tea and coffee in a little patio filled with trees and birds. We felt like movie stars. We spent a fair amount of time in the markets (carefully avoiding the paprazzi, of course) and managed not to get lost. (Posthumus girls: 1, Morocco: 0) We traded my sister for a camel and then traded the camel for a nice throw rug. It was a good trade; they're hand-made, you know.
We did get hoodwinked once into taking pictures with some monkeys and snakes. Normally we would have told them to get lost, but I guess we had our guard down in that moment. We ended up having to give them some money for the photos. (Posthumus girls: 1, Morocco: 1)
Aside from that, we ate delicious food, played "chicken" with the Moroccan cars and motorcycles (this actually made me a little nostalgic for Ecuador), stared creepily at the people going to temple from our hotel room window, made up stories about our chain-smoking hotel worker, Mehmed, saw some mosques, danced in a palace, and spent our evenings listening to Laura read aloud The Manny Files. (Posthumus girls: 100,000,000, Morocco: 1)
After Morocco we spent one day in Granada, where we saw the Alhambra. If you ever get the chance to see the Alhambra, do. It's like nothing I've ever seen.
Mom and Laura went back to the states after only 8 days. I was sad to see them go.
I got accepted to the University of Minnesota to start an inital licensure/Masters in Education program this summer. It's a 15-month intensive program that begins about 10 days after I get home. I want to get a double K-12 licensure in ESL and Spanish. When I'm done with that I think I'll start work on my plans for world conquest.
If anybody wants in on the world conquest bit, let me know. With these types of things, you really have to get in on the ground floor.
As always, thanks for reading and keep in touch!
I went to Carnaval in Cádiz on a bus from the University of Málaga. We left for Cádiz at 3 pm on a Saturday and got back to Málaga at 11 am on Sunday. It was great--like a giant, outdoor Halloween party. The Spanish really go all out. I saw one group dressed as bull fighters. They even had a bull made out of a shopping cart that they were pitting against a fake horse brought by some guys dressed as Trojan soldiers.
A class of 14-year-old students came to visit from England; they've been doing a sort of exchange program with the 11-year-old bilingual class. We did field trips to a couple of towns near the school, which consisted of going to a couple of monuments and then giving the kids "free time" while the teachers went to get coffee. Mostly I just enjoyed watching the kids try to communicate with each other using a mixture of English, Spanish and French. Of course, when Spanglish and wild gesturing didn't work they went to plan B: Ask a teacher.
"Anna, how do you say 'hermano' in English?"
"Anna, how do you say 'qué has comprado' in English?"
"Anna, how do you say 'mi tio vive en un pueblo cerca de aquí, y tiene una piscina y vamos allí todos los veranos para nadar con mis amiga, María, y sus hermanos, Diego y Manuel. También tienen un perrillo pero no puede nadar en la piscina porque una vez hace 2 años hizo caca en la piscina'?"
We were pretty tired by the end of the week.
My mom and sister escaped the Minnesota weather last week to come visit me. I was a ruthless taskmaster. I stuck them in a hotel filled with bizarre abstract paintings that looked eerily like pages from an anatomy textbook, took them on forced marches the Alcazaba and the castle and made them try weird Spanish foods like croquetas and shrimp with the heads and feet still attached. (In my defense, Laura liked the shrimp and who in their right mind doesn't like croquetas?)
My mom and sister got to see my apartment. My mom got lost. Not on the way to the apartment, mind--in the apartment, which consists of bedrooms, a hallway, a bathroom and a kitchen. I don't know what to do with that.
I also had the pleasure of introducing them to Stan, the puddle of urine that's usually hanging around the entrance of my building. Stan first appeared a few months ago when someone didn't shut the front door properly and a drunk guy thought the floor of our entryway looked a little parched. Since that time Stan has been a fixture in our building. He disappears every once in a while, but he always returns to grace us once again with his presence. After the first month I realized he was going to be a permanent part of my life in Spain so I gave him a name. I now greet him when I enter the building and say "hasta luego, Stan" when I leave. Yep. I'm the crazy lady who talks to puddles of urine.
We said goodbye to Stan and spent a few days in Marrakech, Morocco. We stayed at a gorgeous Riad in the middle of the market. Every morning they served us freshly baked breads with tea and coffee in a little patio filled with trees and birds. We felt like movie stars. We spent a fair amount of time in the markets (carefully avoiding the paprazzi, of course) and managed not to get lost. (Posthumus girls: 1, Morocco: 0) We traded my sister for a camel and then traded the camel for a nice throw rug. It was a good trade; they're hand-made, you know.
We did get hoodwinked once into taking pictures with some monkeys and snakes. Normally we would have told them to get lost, but I guess we had our guard down in that moment. We ended up having to give them some money for the photos. (Posthumus girls: 1, Morocco: 1)
Aside from that, we ate delicious food, played "chicken" with the Moroccan cars and motorcycles (this actually made me a little nostalgic for Ecuador), stared creepily at the people going to temple from our hotel room window, made up stories about our chain-smoking hotel worker, Mehmed, saw some mosques, danced in a palace, and spent our evenings listening to Laura read aloud The Manny Files. (Posthumus girls: 100,000,000, Morocco: 1)
After Morocco we spent one day in Granada, where we saw the Alhambra. If you ever get the chance to see the Alhambra, do. It's like nothing I've ever seen.
Mom and Laura went back to the states after only 8 days. I was sad to see them go.
I got accepted to the University of Minnesota to start an inital licensure/Masters in Education program this summer. It's a 15-month intensive program that begins about 10 days after I get home. I want to get a double K-12 licensure in ESL and Spanish. When I'm done with that I think I'll start work on my plans for world conquest.
If anybody wants in on the world conquest bit, let me know. With these types of things, you really have to get in on the ground floor.
As always, thanks for reading and keep in touch!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Part III: Good King Wenceslaus--Don't Believe the Hype
Yes, Part III of the Epic Christmas Saga is coming about a month late, but here goes nothing...
Did you know that Brad Pitt almost got run over by a train in Prague? Or that Paris Hilton hates the city and has vowed never to return? According to our tour guide, she was running from the paparazzi, tripped and fell flat on her face.
If those stories didn't warm you up to Prague, I don't know what will.
Erin and I got to Prague on Christmas Eve. We spent Christmas eating goulash, drinking mulled wine and watching It's a Wonderful Life with some people we met at the hostel.
After Christmas we still had another five days to see Prague. We did a lot of walking around the city, often with a woman from North Dakota named Michelle whom we met our second day while on a free tour of the city. Our tour guide recommended an ala carte-style Czech restaurant. The restaurant's selection featured a wide array of indistinguishable soups and "glops" and the women working there had all the charm of disgruntled school cafeteria ladies, but the glops were tasty and the price was right. We ate there every day.
The main sights of Prague in brief
:
The Museum of Medieval Torture Devices: I could only look at the first floor. After that I just waited by the door for Erin to finish like a kid waiting for his mom to finish clothes shopping.
Museum of Communism: Fascinating and conveniently located between McDonald's and a casino.
Chocolate Museum: The frist time I ever seriously considered committing robbery in a foreign country. Decided I didn't want to spend New Years in a Czech prison. Also the first time I had my picture taken with a giant cocoa bean.
Prague Castle: The exterior is more impressive than the interior, but I got to shoot a crossbow. I resisted shooting the snooty guy who was runnng the exhibit.
Jewish Quarter: Lots of synagogues.
Don Giovanni performed by marionettes: A-MAZ-ING.
Wenceslaus Square: Yes Good King Wenceslaus is from Prague, but don't believe the hype. Apparently he wasn't called "Good" King Wenceslaus until centureis after his death when some guy started inventing stories about him as part of a PR scheme. "Good" King Wenceslaus's family eventually died out due to their nasty habit of killing each other in power grabs.
Now we will magically skip ahead in time, through sleeping on the floor in Frankfurt airport, through the New Year's Eve concert in Málaga with the singer who only knew half of "I Will Survive" and switched to singing "la la la" for the last couple of verses, and past lazy days spent trying to keep warm in the glorified cardboard box known as my apartment. (It doesn't get too cold in southern Spain, but 40 degrees and raining feels a lot colder when none of the apartments have heat or insulation.) This magical journey thorugh time brings us to January 5th, the day before Three Kings Day.
Santa Clause isn't really a big deal in Spain. He's around, but everyone is much more interested in the Three Kings. After all, why have an obese senior citizen stuff presents in your socks when you can have three kings lay gifts at your feet?
I went to a Three Kings parade in Málaga. Everyone from the Nativity story shows up to party: Gaspar, Belthasar, Melchoir, Snow White, Ursula the Sea Witch, the Knights Templar, the Mad Hatter, a pharaoh and a couple of marching bands. Now, my bible knowledge must be a little hazy because I don't remember there being marching bands in Bethlehem, but the rest seems to check out. At any rate, it's hard to care about biblical accuracy when everyone is throwing candy.
Now, whenever I've been to parades in the U.S., the kids pick up candy while the adults stand back and secretly wish they could dive for the Tootsie Roll that just landed on the street. Spanish parades, on the other hand, are a free-for-all bloodbath. Adults and kids alike jump up and down, waving their hands in the air and screaming at the people on the floats. Otherwise friendly neighbors transform into candy-grubbing fiends. Life-long friends break into fist fights over 2-cent hard candies. Little old ladies in their Sunday best throw down in the middle of the sidewalk, bashing each other with their canes and leaving the loser lying in a pool of their own blood and fake teeth. (I swear the one standing next to me used to be in the WWE.) Luckily I had my brass knuckles with me, so I walked away unscathed with my pockets full of candy.
By the way--Belthasar, the black king, was played by a white guy in black face. With all the money they spend on the parade, they couldn't find one real black guy to play Belthasar? Really?
The rest of January was relatively uneventful. Last Friday I went to see a free movie at the University of Málaga with a couple of professors from my school. We thought we were going to see a Paul Newman comedy but found ourselves watching a film about a young boy from Iran who has to work as a "horse" for a rich kid with no legs. Nothing like spending a Friday evening watching a boy get horseshoes nailed to his feet. Lucky I had a party to go to afterward becase that movie made me want to stick my head in an oven.
Saturday I went to a national park called El Chorro with other professors from my institute. There was nature, a canyon, water--the works. Sunday I went to a park called El Torcal with friends I met through conversations exchanges. El Torcal is made up of giant rock formations that were created when the whole area was underwater. I felt like I was on the moon.
My French roommate went back to France, and my other roomamte and I decided to "amicably part ways," (I'm just too mean) so a Greek girl, Sophia, and a Bosnian/German guy (I'm not sure how to spell his name yet) moved into my apartment on Monday. It's Sophia's first time living abroad, so her mom was here to help her move in. To make a long story short, a friendly Grecian woman deep-cleaned and sterilized my apartment on Monday. It's comforting to know I could perform open-heart surgery on my bathroom floor in a pinch.
That's all for now. As always, thanks for reading and keep in touch!
Did you know that Brad Pitt almost got run over by a train in Prague? Or that Paris Hilton hates the city and has vowed never to return? According to our tour guide, she was running from the paparazzi, tripped and fell flat on her face.
If those stories didn't warm you up to Prague, I don't know what will.
Erin and I got to Prague on Christmas Eve. We spent Christmas eating goulash, drinking mulled wine and watching It's a Wonderful Life with some people we met at the hostel.
After Christmas we still had another five days to see Prague. We did a lot of walking around the city, often with a woman from North Dakota named Michelle whom we met our second day while on a free tour of the city. Our tour guide recommended an ala carte-style Czech restaurant. The restaurant's selection featured a wide array of indistinguishable soups and "glops" and the women working there had all the charm of disgruntled school cafeteria ladies, but the glops were tasty and the price was right. We ate there every day.
The main sights of Prague in brief
:
The Museum of Medieval Torture Devices: I could only look at the first floor. After that I just waited by the door for Erin to finish like a kid waiting for his mom to finish clothes shopping.
Museum of Communism: Fascinating and conveniently located between McDonald's and a casino.
Chocolate Museum: The frist time I ever seriously considered committing robbery in a foreign country. Decided I didn't want to spend New Years in a Czech prison. Also the first time I had my picture taken with a giant cocoa bean.
Prague Castle: The exterior is more impressive than the interior, but I got to shoot a crossbow. I resisted shooting the snooty guy who was runnng the exhibit.
Jewish Quarter: Lots of synagogues.
Don Giovanni performed by marionettes: A-MAZ-ING.
Wenceslaus Square: Yes Good King Wenceslaus is from Prague, but don't believe the hype. Apparently he wasn't called "Good" King Wenceslaus until centureis after his death when some guy started inventing stories about him as part of a PR scheme. "Good" King Wenceslaus's family eventually died out due to their nasty habit of killing each other in power grabs.
Now we will magically skip ahead in time, through sleeping on the floor in Frankfurt airport, through the New Year's Eve concert in Málaga with the singer who only knew half of "I Will Survive" and switched to singing "la la la" for the last couple of verses, and past lazy days spent trying to keep warm in the glorified cardboard box known as my apartment. (It doesn't get too cold in southern Spain, but 40 degrees and raining feels a lot colder when none of the apartments have heat or insulation.) This magical journey thorugh time brings us to January 5th, the day before Three Kings Day.
Santa Clause isn't really a big deal in Spain. He's around, but everyone is much more interested in the Three Kings. After all, why have an obese senior citizen stuff presents in your socks when you can have three kings lay gifts at your feet?
I went to a Three Kings parade in Málaga. Everyone from the Nativity story shows up to party: Gaspar, Belthasar, Melchoir, Snow White, Ursula the Sea Witch, the Knights Templar, the Mad Hatter, a pharaoh and a couple of marching bands. Now, my bible knowledge must be a little hazy because I don't remember there being marching bands in Bethlehem, but the rest seems to check out. At any rate, it's hard to care about biblical accuracy when everyone is throwing candy.
Now, whenever I've been to parades in the U.S., the kids pick up candy while the adults stand back and secretly wish they could dive for the Tootsie Roll that just landed on the street. Spanish parades, on the other hand, are a free-for-all bloodbath. Adults and kids alike jump up and down, waving their hands in the air and screaming at the people on the floats. Otherwise friendly neighbors transform into candy-grubbing fiends. Life-long friends break into fist fights over 2-cent hard candies. Little old ladies in their Sunday best throw down in the middle of the sidewalk, bashing each other with their canes and leaving the loser lying in a pool of their own blood and fake teeth. (I swear the one standing next to me used to be in the WWE.) Luckily I had my brass knuckles with me, so I walked away unscathed with my pockets full of candy.
By the way--Belthasar, the black king, was played by a white guy in black face. With all the money they spend on the parade, they couldn't find one real black guy to play Belthasar? Really?
The rest of January was relatively uneventful. Last Friday I went to see a free movie at the University of Málaga with a couple of professors from my school. We thought we were going to see a Paul Newman comedy but found ourselves watching a film about a young boy from Iran who has to work as a "horse" for a rich kid with no legs. Nothing like spending a Friday evening watching a boy get horseshoes nailed to his feet. Lucky I had a party to go to afterward becase that movie made me want to stick my head in an oven.
Saturday I went to a national park called El Chorro with other professors from my institute. There was nature, a canyon, water--the works. Sunday I went to a park called El Torcal with friends I met through conversations exchanges. El Torcal is made up of giant rock formations that were created when the whole area was underwater. I felt like I was on the moon.
My French roommate went back to France, and my other roomamte and I decided to "amicably part ways," (I'm just too mean) so a Greek girl, Sophia, and a Bosnian/German guy (I'm not sure how to spell his name yet) moved into my apartment on Monday. It's Sophia's first time living abroad, so her mom was here to help her move in. To make a long story short, a friendly Grecian woman deep-cleaned and sterilized my apartment on Monday. It's comforting to know I could perform open-heart surgery on my bathroom floor in a pinch.
That's all for now. As always, thanks for reading and keep in touch!
Wednesday, January 13, 2010
Part II: Snowstorm on Christmakuh
Venice:
Erin and I didn't stay in a hostel on the island of Venice because it was too expensive. Instead, we opted for a hotel in a nearby suburb--an easy 20 minute bus ride from the island.
Of course, our second day there we woke up to a freak Venetian snowstorm. We waited patiently at the bus stop for bus 53 to arrive--or for frostbite to set in on our feet, whichever came first--but a half hour passed without a bus. We started talking to an Israeli woman and her daughter who were staying at our hotel. It turned out that the daughter goes to college in Erin's hometown in Illinois. Unfortunately, it also turned out that they had been waiting for bus 53 for the past hour. We had to face facts: the bus wasn't coming. Our bus driver was probably sitting in a warm bar somewhere, starting in on this 3rd glass of wine. The only thing to do was to walk back to the hotel and get out of the storm before our Christmas trip turned into the Donner Party.
We invited them to our hotel room for tea and cookies, went out for lunch and made a trip to the supermarket. That night the four of us had a Christmakuh party (Christmas/Hanukah) at a neighborhood bar Erin and I had found the night before. We brought a cake we'd bought at the supermarket, enjoyed the only decently-priced wine within 100 miles of Venice (they take a pound of flesh for every glass you buy on the island) and chilled with the old men playing cards.
I'd call it a good day.
The next day the buses were running and we finally made it to the island, where we met up with our friend, Andrew, from Rome. Venice was flooded from the snow. The entire Piazza de San Marco was under water--even the entrance of the basilica was flooded. The Venetians handled it like pros, setting up raised wooden walkways across the Piazza and inside the basilica. Imagine hundreds of tourists shuffling along narrow walkways, one misstep away from falling into a foot of near-freezing water. It took all my willpower not to push one to see if it would create a domino effect. Call it scientific curiosity.
Venice was unlike any other city I've seen, and they weren't lying about that whole "sinking" thing. The tops of hundreds of front doors just manage to peek up above the water where the ground floors are almost completely submerged. There is so little space to build or add onto houses that they just stack additions onto the tops and sides of existing buildings, making parts of the city look like a giant Jenga game that's about to fall over.
Vienna
The night train from Venice to Vienna went off without a hitch. When we got there we met up with Mark Thomas: friend from choir and tour guide extraordinaire. He'd spent the semester studying music in Vienna, so he gave us a free walking tour and took us to the opera that night.
The opera was Macbeth. In short: Good singing; weird staging. The show started out with three women covered from head-to-toe in multicolored paint lying on a huge piece of paper while other women painted them. From there, the show started to get really bizarre. All I can say is that it was worth the €3 I paid to get in. My favorite part was the guy in the audience who kept boo-ing the singers at the end of each aria, prompting all these little old men to start shouting at him in German. At one point I thought they were going to beat him to a bloody pulp with their canes.
The city itself was beautiful, and the Viennese really know how to do Christmas. They have gorgeous decorations, Christmas markets, hot "punsch," and pretzels the size of your head.
One of my favorite attractions was a giant natural history museum, featuring everything from cavemen to real squid tentacles to halls full of rocks and minerals.
In case you're interested, "Gold Clump" in German is "Gold Klumpen."
Other notes from Vienna:
Blood sausage and potatoes = Delicious
Rum-soaked cake bits glued together with pink frosting = Why didn't I think of that?
Big barrels of pickels = Something I wish I had in my house (Don't go all "Freud" on me now...)
Viennese microbrewery = A welcome relief from Cruzcampo. Spain, I love you but you can't make beer.
Piano in hostel = YAY!
...stay tuned for the third and final part of the Epic Christmas Saga!
Erin and I didn't stay in a hostel on the island of Venice because it was too expensive. Instead, we opted for a hotel in a nearby suburb--an easy 20 minute bus ride from the island.
Of course, our second day there we woke up to a freak Venetian snowstorm. We waited patiently at the bus stop for bus 53 to arrive--or for frostbite to set in on our feet, whichever came first--but a half hour passed without a bus. We started talking to an Israeli woman and her daughter who were staying at our hotel. It turned out that the daughter goes to college in Erin's hometown in Illinois. Unfortunately, it also turned out that they had been waiting for bus 53 for the past hour. We had to face facts: the bus wasn't coming. Our bus driver was probably sitting in a warm bar somewhere, starting in on this 3rd glass of wine. The only thing to do was to walk back to the hotel and get out of the storm before our Christmas trip turned into the Donner Party.
We invited them to our hotel room for tea and cookies, went out for lunch and made a trip to the supermarket. That night the four of us had a Christmakuh party (Christmas/Hanukah) at a neighborhood bar Erin and I had found the night before. We brought a cake we'd bought at the supermarket, enjoyed the only decently-priced wine within 100 miles of Venice (they take a pound of flesh for every glass you buy on the island) and chilled with the old men playing cards.
I'd call it a good day.
The next day the buses were running and we finally made it to the island, where we met up with our friend, Andrew, from Rome. Venice was flooded from the snow. The entire Piazza de San Marco was under water--even the entrance of the basilica was flooded. The Venetians handled it like pros, setting up raised wooden walkways across the Piazza and inside the basilica. Imagine hundreds of tourists shuffling along narrow walkways, one misstep away from falling into a foot of near-freezing water. It took all my willpower not to push one to see if it would create a domino effect. Call it scientific curiosity.
Venice was unlike any other city I've seen, and they weren't lying about that whole "sinking" thing. The tops of hundreds of front doors just manage to peek up above the water where the ground floors are almost completely submerged. There is so little space to build or add onto houses that they just stack additions onto the tops and sides of existing buildings, making parts of the city look like a giant Jenga game that's about to fall over.
Vienna
The night train from Venice to Vienna went off without a hitch. When we got there we met up with Mark Thomas: friend from choir and tour guide extraordinaire. He'd spent the semester studying music in Vienna, so he gave us a free walking tour and took us to the opera that night.
The opera was Macbeth. In short: Good singing; weird staging. The show started out with three women covered from head-to-toe in multicolored paint lying on a huge piece of paper while other women painted them. From there, the show started to get really bizarre. All I can say is that it was worth the €3 I paid to get in. My favorite part was the guy in the audience who kept boo-ing the singers at the end of each aria, prompting all these little old men to start shouting at him in German. At one point I thought they were going to beat him to a bloody pulp with their canes.
The city itself was beautiful, and the Viennese really know how to do Christmas. They have gorgeous decorations, Christmas markets, hot "punsch," and pretzels the size of your head.
One of my favorite attractions was a giant natural history museum, featuring everything from cavemen to real squid tentacles to halls full of rocks and minerals.
In case you're interested, "Gold Clump" in German is "Gold Klumpen."
Other notes from Vienna:
Blood sausage and potatoes = Delicious
Rum-soaked cake bits glued together with pink frosting = Why didn't I think of that?
Big barrels of pickels = Something I wish I had in my house (Don't go all "Freud" on me now...)
Viennese microbrewery = A welcome relief from Cruzcampo. Spain, I love you but you can't make beer.
Piano in hostel = YAY!
...stay tuned for the third and final part of the Epic Christmas Saga!
Friday, January 1, 2010
Epic Christmas Saga: Part I
My friend, Erin, and I went on a trip over Christmas break. We flew from Málaga to Rome on the 14th. From there we traveled by train to Florence, Venice, Vienna and Prague. We flew home from Prague on the 30th and arrived in Málaga on the 31st, just in time to spend New Year's Eve in Spain.
Rome:
Within an hour of arriving I managed to set off a door alarm in a train station. Apparently the Italians really, really don't want you to use that bathroom.
The ancient ruins and buildings were amazing. You just walk down the street, turn a corner, and there's Trevi Fountain or the Colleseum. My favorite was Trajan's Column.
We spent most of our time in Rome with a girl from New Zealand, who was on a short vacation, and a guy from London who has been traveling around for a year and a half and vaguely resembles the dad from the cartoon, "The Wild Thornberrys" (sorry, Andrew).
Italian drivers are as crazy as everyone says. Apparently they have an expression in Italian for when the stoplight is "just a little red."
Our hostel in Rome was one of my favorites, though, to be fair, they gave us free breakfast and dinner, and my loyalty is easily bought with food. Our first night a group of us went out with a guy who works there. He used to be a tour guide, so we got a free walking tour of the city and the most incredible hot chocolate ever conceived by man. We walked into one restaurant to get a glass of wine, but we scurried out with our tails between our legs after looking at the prices. (Our first clue that we weren't going to be able to afford the drinks was when they brought us a wine list the size of the Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary.)
We spent one day at Vatican. We tried to get free tickets to see the Pope but, naturally, the Italian metro drivers decided to go on strike that morning. Apparently they do this a couple of times a month. By the time we made it to the Vatican all the tickets were gone. Oh well. Such is southern Europe.
St. Peter's Basilica is everything you would expect. A friend told me the Statue of Liberty could stand in the main dome without touching the ceiling or surrounding walls. I don't know if this is true, but it sounds impressive so we'll go with it. The Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel were amazing. My neck ached by the end because they had so many beautiful paintings on the ceilings.
Florence in a nutshell:
We spent the least amount of time in Florence. A few of the highlights were Michelangelo's "David," the Duomo, and Ponte Vecchio, a bridge that's so crammed with shops it's a wonder the whole thing doesn't collapse into the river. It was built in the 1300s, so when you walk along it you feel like you've been thrown back into the middle ages.
To be continued...
Rome:
Within an hour of arriving I managed to set off a door alarm in a train station. Apparently the Italians really, really don't want you to use that bathroom.
The ancient ruins and buildings were amazing. You just walk down the street, turn a corner, and there's Trevi Fountain or the Colleseum. My favorite was Trajan's Column.
We spent most of our time in Rome with a girl from New Zealand, who was on a short vacation, and a guy from London who has been traveling around for a year and a half and vaguely resembles the dad from the cartoon, "The Wild Thornberrys" (sorry, Andrew).
Italian drivers are as crazy as everyone says. Apparently they have an expression in Italian for when the stoplight is "just a little red."
Our hostel in Rome was one of my favorites, though, to be fair, they gave us free breakfast and dinner, and my loyalty is easily bought with food. Our first night a group of us went out with a guy who works there. He used to be a tour guide, so we got a free walking tour of the city and the most incredible hot chocolate ever conceived by man. We walked into one restaurant to get a glass of wine, but we scurried out with our tails between our legs after looking at the prices. (Our first clue that we weren't going to be able to afford the drinks was when they brought us a wine list the size of the Unabridged Oxford English Dictionary.)
We spent one day at Vatican. We tried to get free tickets to see the Pope but, naturally, the Italian metro drivers decided to go on strike that morning. Apparently they do this a couple of times a month. By the time we made it to the Vatican all the tickets were gone. Oh well. Such is southern Europe.
St. Peter's Basilica is everything you would expect. A friend told me the Statue of Liberty could stand in the main dome without touching the ceiling or surrounding walls. I don't know if this is true, but it sounds impressive so we'll go with it. The Vatican Museum and the Sistine Chapel were amazing. My neck ached by the end because they had so many beautiful paintings on the ceilings.
Florence in a nutshell:
We spent the least amount of time in Florence. A few of the highlights were Michelangelo's "David," the Duomo, and Ponte Vecchio, a bridge that's so crammed with shops it's a wonder the whole thing doesn't collapse into the river. It was built in the 1300s, so when you walk along it you feel like you've been thrown back into the middle ages.
To be continued...
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