This trip is truly one of planes, trains, and automobiles. I started out Wednesday afternoon (the 12th) in a flurry. I came home from a relaxing day of work and had about 3 hours before I had to leave for Paris. I tried to take it easy and finish everything before leaving (cleaning the kitchen, checking in for my flight, double (and triple) checking the weight of my suitcases, etc).
Checking in didn't go so smoothly -- at first the computer refused to recognize that I had, indeed, filled in all the mandatory fields and kept saying there was an error. D'accord... try all over again and hop! it worked. Save PDF for printing. Oh no... it says I'm checked in for one leg of my trip, but not the other. Call support. « Oh no, madame » (there's that word again...) « it will be fine. You will get both your boarding passes at Charles de Gaulle when you drop off your checked luggage ». Okay, cool. I have already verified with the hostel that I can print there sans problème (with no problem). One less thing to do at home.
Make a quick dinner, clean out the fridge. Trash ready to be taken out. Make two sandwiches for the train ride. Add them to my « miam-miam, glu-glu » (Literally: "Yum-yum, glug-glug"; a bag for snacks). Clean dishes -- check. Email one last thing. Close computer. Add to carry on. Doesn't fit. Zut! Punaise!
Check time. 5:05. Bus leaves in 11 minutes. Double zut. Hurriedly unpack & repack bag. Throw on coat and scarf. Backpack on shoulders. Purse overtop. Grab keys, trash, suitcase. Turn of lights. Pray stove is off. (I hope I turned my stove off...) Out the door. Check time. 5:12. Punaise.
No time to check the mail. All but sprint to the bus. Just in time.
(Zut. Tiny bus. Lots of passengers. Giant suitcase. Feel horrible.)
Make it to the train station. Train is late. Eat apples from Miam-miam, glu-glu. Train arrives. Plenty of space for my suitcase & backpack. Ouais!
Try and fail to sleep. Settle for staring alternately between blackness outside and other passengers. 4.5 hours pass.
Get taxi. Get to hostel. Check in. No elevator. Zut. They let me leave my giant suitcase downstairs. Awesome. Rearrange backpack in the dark while roommate sleeps. Feel bad. Try to sleep. Stare at ceiling for 2 hours.
Somehow wake up to alarm at 5am. (When did I fall asleep?) Put pants on, gather belongings, head downstairs.
« You must print this document before your arrival at the airport. »
Hostel: « We're out of paper. Can't print. » Punaise. Load PDF on phone. Attempt to not freak out.
Leave for Notre Dame. Early morning coffee and catch up with friend.
Whoops. Talked too long. Head to RER. Panic and get on wrong train. Headed to CDG but on the « Takes LongeRER ». Problem with the train. Get off. Stand in rain. Get on next train. (Check time. Check time. Check time.)
Train crawls. (Problem with tracks?) Arrive at CDG. 9:20. Check in deadline at 9:45. Putain.
Attempt to escape RER platform. Ticket not working? « Non lisible » Putain putain putain. No one to help.
Trick machine. Check terminal. 2E. On the other side of the world. Sprint down hallway. Check in machine. ( « No problem. Now go wait in line ») Nice people let me go ahead. (Thank you nice people!!!) Foot tapping. Finger drumming.
Can't print Montréal boarding pass. Have to repeat process in Canada. (Customs. Check in. Security.)
Run to customs. Don't even check my visa. « Bonjour! » « Au revoir! » Have to take train to boarding gate. Train about to leave. Run like ugly duckling. (Trying not to fall on slippery floor.) Quack quack. Hop on train. Toe tapping. Finger drumming.
Explode from door at L stop. Security. Stuck behind unprepared people. (Foot tapping. Check time. 9:50. Boarding in 10 minutes.) Forget to take off shoes. Go through again. Grab coat. Bag falls. (Thud. Poor computer...) Bag accidentally presses button. Belt stops. ( « Did I do that?? » Apologize profusely.) Grab stuff. Triple check gate. Fast walk.
There's the gate. Need water. Just enough time to go to Relay. (American man: « Is this free? » Uses credit card for 3€ purchase.) Hurry hurry stand in line. Board plane. Take off.
Watch movies for 7.5 hours. Food is good. Plane lands.
Collect luggage. Canadian customs. ( « What are you doing in Canada? » «Um... connecting flight...? » ) Need to check in. Air France counter. Go to machine. Enter passport. Flights found: Detroit - Paris; Montreal - Calgary. Neither right. Enter flight number. No go. Enter ticket number. Nothing. Cannot find. Go to the ticket counter.
Standing in line. No one working ticket counter. World's longest team meeting. Finally make it to counter. Canada - US is not an international flight. (News to me.) Special counter. Lead to the right station. Ticket machine. Stick in passport. No flights found. Not possible. Enter ticket number. Flight found. Good.
Check luggage. Go through US customs. ( « Why are you coming to the US? » « I'm visiting family. » « Do you work in Canada or something?? » « No... France. » « Oh, okay... »)
Security again. (Don't hit the big red button this time.) Head to gate. Need food. Pay for overpriced chicken wrap. Eat.
Flight delayed. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. Plane pulls in. Finally boarding. 2.5 hours pass. Land in Detroit.
Gate on other side of the world from baggage claim. Hurry hurry hurry. Practically run. Door slides open into lobby. There's my mom.
Relief. Happiness. Ugly duckling run. Big hugs. Wait for luggage. Finally home.
Now I know why I prefer the train.
Monday, February 24, 2014
Thoughts from Notre Dame
It's been a long time since I've been to Paris for more than a travel connection; it's been a long time since I've left the metro/airport/train station. Wednesday night from the taxi, I saw the Eiffel Tower for the first time since 2012. A welcome sight.
When my friend, Melissa, suggested that we meet in front of Notre Dame for coffee, I didn't really think anything of it. Convenient meeting point.
I left the hostel early, unsure of how long it would take to get there (especially lugging around my suitcase). I ended up being a half an hour early for our meeting and stood in the light rain, marveling at « Our Lady ».
The sight of Notre Dame when I surfaced from the metro was like staring into the face of an old friend.
For me, Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame -- historically fairly accurate since once the entire country of France was housed upon that little island in the middle of the Seine. I also pinpoint my time in Notre Dame as the moment I fell irrevocably in love with France.
/Cue flashback
Nearly 10 years ago, I was a (rather surly) teenager picking out classes for my freshman year of high school. Language mandatory. Spanish is for the popular kids. German? Yuck. Friends taking French? French it is! Just like that. One happy little accident.
It's fairly obvious that I fell in love with the language (a mild statement really). What most people don't know is why. Usually I go with some generic variant of « It's the culture! » or « Have you tried the food?? » Both of those are true. But neither really gets to the heart of it.
Nearly 10 years ago now, I sat down in my very first French class. When the teacher asked me « Ça va? » I stared blankly. No French experience outside of a two week intro course 3 years earlier. (Not much stuck, it seems.) The teacher translated and I noted down « Sava = How are you? » (This was later corrected to « Ça va »
A little while later, a young blonde girl walked in. I think I recognized her from middle school but we hadn't really talked -- only seen each other around.
Later that year, we sat next to each other. She became my best friend and remains one of my oldest and closest friends. (Later this year we'll take Paris by storm together.) The next year, my teacher announced that she'd be taking a group of students to France in February. I'll admit: I begged. I used lines like "This might be the only chance I'll ever get to go to France!"
I think it's safe to say that that trip changed my life. I shared it with my mom, which was an experience that I'll treasure forever. For her, going to the top of the Eiffel Tower was the realization of a lifelong dream to travel to Paris. I will always look back fondly at the moments we spent at the top of the Eiffel tower, looking out at Paris all lit up at night. But that isn't when I fell in love.
The « coup de foudre » occurred at some point while I wandered inside Notre Dame, marveling at the age and the architecture.
I spent the trip using my broken, second-year Franch to get « Nous cherchons pour un jersey de Zidaine ». I was so proud of my grammatically incorrect sentences with my horrible American accent. But they understood me all the same and even responded (slowly) in French. Consider the passion inflamed.
I came back and could only think about studying abroad. I even found a program to study in France for a few weeks during my senior year. My parents objected (given that I would still be under 18). I sulked. They said I could study abroad in college. And so I waited 6 long years. (Nearly 7.) Too long. Too long.
Finally I arrived back in France. We went to Paris. Climbed the towers of Notre Dame. And the magic returned. A second «Coup de foudre ». My city. My home away from home. My love.
And it starts and ends at Notre Dame. « Our Lady » indeed. My Lady. My one and only true love. There is something profoundly comforting about standing in her shadow. (A comfort, I believe, that has nothing to do with a deity.) Notre Dame de Paris -- the church, the building, the men and women who lived and died building her, Vitor Huge (the author who saved her), her bell tower, her gargoyles, her statues, her age, her beauty. These are my religion.
For most, the Eiffel Tower is the symbol of Paris. For me, the Eiffel Tower is the friend who picks you up at the airport screaming « I missed you!! How are you?! » while hugging you and jumping up and down with excitement. And that's beautiful. That friend is a great friend. (And there is definitely a time when excited screaming and jumping is warranted.) I love that friend. But Notre Dame is the friend standing quietly beside the Eiffel Tower. She doesn't yell; she just smiles. You don't need to say anything to each other. Everything can be said with a look. She's there, silently taking your backpack because she just knows your back hurts, offering to drive because she knows you're exhausted.
Even in the midst of Parisian bustle, Notre Dame is calming. Thursday morning, when the sun was yet to rise, my only company the Lady herself, a few runners and the rats that live in her gardens (a new discovery), I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. This place, this building, this city, this language has shaped my life, given me purpose. The beginnings of it all came back. All the things that French has given me: starting with a best friend and ending with a life purpose. I am forever in the debt of my Lady. The building that started it all. My home away from home; my calm in the storm.
I needed her that morning. After Wednesday's craziness, mishaps with printing, and all the rushing to come, I needed my calm. I needed the reminder of why I'm here, of why I'm going through the stress of grad school applications, why I'll dedicate the next chunk of my life to the careful study of French literature, why I'll spend the rest of my life a slave to students and the American university system while weathering the Pressure to Publish.
Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame; she is my true love. No one will ever hold me like she does. And I'm glad she reminded me. I've spent the last week and a half re-centering myself -- starting with Notre Dame, my family, my friends. Who knows what will be next.
I leave for Paris tonight, and my only regret is that I won't have time to go visit Her until April. Until next time, my Lady.
When my friend, Melissa, suggested that we meet in front of Notre Dame for coffee, I didn't really think anything of it. Convenient meeting point.
I left the hostel early, unsure of how long it would take to get there (especially lugging around my suitcase). I ended up being a half an hour early for our meeting and stood in the light rain, marveling at « Our Lady ».
The sight of Notre Dame when I surfaced from the metro was like staring into the face of an old friend.
For me, Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame -- historically fairly accurate since once the entire country of France was housed upon that little island in the middle of the Seine. I also pinpoint my time in Notre Dame as the moment I fell irrevocably in love with France.
/Cue flashback
Nearly 10 years ago, I was a (rather surly) teenager picking out classes for my freshman year of high school. Language mandatory. Spanish is for the popular kids. German? Yuck. Friends taking French? French it is! Just like that. One happy little accident.
It's fairly obvious that I fell in love with the language (a mild statement really). What most people don't know is why. Usually I go with some generic variant of « It's the culture! » or « Have you tried the food?? » Both of those are true. But neither really gets to the heart of it.
Nearly 10 years ago now, I sat down in my very first French class. When the teacher asked me « Ça va? » I stared blankly. No French experience outside of a two week intro course 3 years earlier. (Not much stuck, it seems.) The teacher translated and I noted down « Sava = How are you? » (This was later corrected to « Ça va »
A little while later, a young blonde girl walked in. I think I recognized her from middle school but we hadn't really talked -- only seen each other around.
Later that year, we sat next to each other. She became my best friend and remains one of my oldest and closest friends. (Later this year we'll take Paris by storm together.) The next year, my teacher announced that she'd be taking a group of students to France in February. I'll admit: I begged. I used lines like "This might be the only chance I'll ever get to go to France!"
I think it's safe to say that that trip changed my life. I shared it with my mom, which was an experience that I'll treasure forever. For her, going to the top of the Eiffel Tower was the realization of a lifelong dream to travel to Paris. I will always look back fondly at the moments we spent at the top of the Eiffel tower, looking out at Paris all lit up at night. But that isn't when I fell in love.
The « coup de foudre » occurred at some point while I wandered inside Notre Dame, marveling at the age and the architecture.
I spent the trip using my broken, second-year Franch to get « Nous cherchons pour un jersey de Zidaine ». I was so proud of my grammatically incorrect sentences with my horrible American accent. But they understood me all the same and even responded (slowly) in French. Consider the passion inflamed.
I came back and could only think about studying abroad. I even found a program to study in France for a few weeks during my senior year. My parents objected (given that I would still be under 18). I sulked. They said I could study abroad in college. And so I waited 6 long years. (Nearly 7.) Too long. Too long.
Finally I arrived back in France. We went to Paris. Climbed the towers of Notre Dame. And the magic returned. A second «Coup de foudre ». My city. My home away from home. My love.
And it starts and ends at Notre Dame. « Our Lady » indeed. My Lady. My one and only true love. There is something profoundly comforting about standing in her shadow. (A comfort, I believe, that has nothing to do with a deity.) Notre Dame de Paris -- the church, the building, the men and women who lived and died building her, Vitor Huge (the author who saved her), her bell tower, her gargoyles, her statues, her age, her beauty. These are my religion.
For most, the Eiffel Tower is the symbol of Paris. For me, the Eiffel Tower is the friend who picks you up at the airport screaming « I missed you!! How are you?! » while hugging you and jumping up and down with excitement. And that's beautiful. That friend is a great friend. (And there is definitely a time when excited screaming and jumping is warranted.) I love that friend. But Notre Dame is the friend standing quietly beside the Eiffel Tower. She doesn't yell; she just smiles. You don't need to say anything to each other. Everything can be said with a look. She's there, silently taking your backpack because she just knows your back hurts, offering to drive because she knows you're exhausted.
Even in the midst of Parisian bustle, Notre Dame is calming. Thursday morning, when the sun was yet to rise, my only company the Lady herself, a few runners and the rats that live in her gardens (a new discovery), I was hit with a wave of nostalgia. This place, this building, this city, this language has shaped my life, given me purpose. The beginnings of it all came back. All the things that French has given me: starting with a best friend and ending with a life purpose. I am forever in the debt of my Lady. The building that started it all. My home away from home; my calm in the storm.
I needed her that morning. After Wednesday's craziness, mishaps with printing, and all the rushing to come, I needed my calm. I needed the reminder of why I'm here, of why I'm going through the stress of grad school applications, why I'll dedicate the next chunk of my life to the careful study of French literature, why I'll spend the rest of my life a slave to students and the American university system while weathering the Pressure to Publish.
Paris begins and ends at Notre Dame; she is my true love. No one will ever hold me like she does. And I'm glad she reminded me. I've spent the last week and a half re-centering myself -- starting with Notre Dame, my family, my friends. Who knows what will be next.
I leave for Paris tonight, and my only regret is that I won't have time to go visit Her until April. Until next time, my Lady.
Monday, February 10, 2014
Barcelona might just be my happy place...
So last weekend (and by last weekend, I mean like 3 weekends ago... I've been uploading pictures) I jetted off to Barcelona (well, I went by train; so I suppose I "trained" off). The train route took me past Carcassonne (I got a glimpse of the medieval city from the train!) and into a city called Narbonne. I had about an hour before my train to Barcelona, so I explored there a bit before heading back to the train station.
The train got into Barcelona pretty late, so I headed straight to my hostel (an adorable place called Tailor's Hostel just outside the center of town). Friday morning, I headed into the center of town for a free walking tour (organized, as always, by Sandeman's New Europe Tours -- I cannot recommend them enough). Since I walk fast, I stayed near the front of the group where I chatted quite a bit with our tour guide, Leon. He was really funny, and is actually an actor and composer (he worked on Wolfboy and Monte Cristo: The Musical). I really liked him, and he was running a modernisme tour that afternoon, so I decided to do that one as well.
After like 6 straight hours of walking, I headed back to the hostel to give my feet a rest before going out to dinner at a restaurant Leon had recommended earlier in the day. The food was DELICIOUS, and affordable (a plus), and it was right across from the Palace of Catalonian Music, which is an absolutely GORGEOUS building.
Saturday morning, I had tickets to go into La Perdrera, a home designed entirely by Gaudi (THE big moderniste architecht) which is also said to have inspired a lot of the aesthetics in Star Wars. Honestly, the best part of it was the roof. Other than that, you only get into the top two floors (the attic, and a floor that has been transformed into a sort of museum, showing what the house/furnishings might have been like). Honestly, the inside was a bit disappointing compared to the outside of the building and the roof -- relatively normal and ordinary. (At least it was normal to the untrained eye. I'm sure someone well versed in architecture and/or modernisme might see it differently.)
After La Perdrera, I headed up to La Sagrada Familia to try to go in. But the line was ridiculously long, so I decided to wait and buy my tickets online to avoid having to wait on the sidewalk for hours. So I headed back into town, where I was met by some sort of horse parade?? I have no idea what was going on, but there were a bunch of people on horses and they were throwing candy at the crowd.
I ended up stopping for a hot chocolate at a cafe recommended by Leon; it was a little hole-in-the-wall place that you probably would never find unless you knew it was there (or were REALLY looking for it) as it's tucked away in a back alley by the wax museum. It's called "Garden of the Fairies" or "Forest Fairies" depending on the translation (El Bosc de les Fades). It's a bit like the Rainforest Café with the trees and foliage overhead, but it's less gimmicky somehow (no recorded animal noises or animatronic animals around). The trees have got faces, and there's lanterns hanging from the branches. And there's a little nook behind the bar with a little pond and waterfall. It's just gorgeous and serene with celtic music playing in the background. Absolutely lovely place to take a little break.
Then I headed over to the Barcelona Cathedral (I think that's its name...) where they had 13 geese to honor Saint Eulalia (who was 13 years old when she was killed, and underwent 13 trials). Overall, it's a gorgeous cathedral. Her body/remains are supposedly in a sarcophagus in the crypt; they're supposed to be "perfectly preserved" but also, because she was so holy, no mortal may look upon her body. Apparently the last man who tried (a priest, or some such) was immediately struck blind as soon as he attempted to open the sarcophagus. So I'm not sure how they think the body is perfectly preserved if no one has seen it in hundreds of years.... but that's the legend.
After the church, I headed over to Parc Guell (buildings and park designed, once again, by Gaudi). I had a bit of a language mix up trying to figure out where to buy tickets (the sign said "pick up your online tickets here" but since I hadn't bought tickets online, I tried to find out where I had to go to just buy tickets; the man spoke absolutely no English, but it turned out it was all the same place, the sign just confused me.) The parc itself is quite beautiful. The homes in the parc are pretty too -- they look almost like Gingerbread houses!
Saturday night, I went on a "tapas tour" which is essentially like a pub crawl, but with more focus on food. We went to three different restaurants, and then a bar afterward, and the food was extremely delicious. At the second place, we learned about the traditional Catalan wine pitcher, called a porron, which is essentially a communal wine pitcher that everyone drinks out of. It's quite tricky to get the hang of it (especially with red wine!) but quite a bit of fun, and does save on dishes since you don't need glasses.
On the tapas tour, I met a girl from California who is currently working as an au pair in Spain. She was really nice, and we spent most of the evening talking. We also started talking to a Spanish guy on the tour who took us out salsa dancing until the early hours of the morning. That was quite a bit of fun, though I had absolutely zero salsa experience (other than Zumba, which I'm sure doesn't actually count). It was interesting just watching the other couples dancing, and getting to dance a bit myself.
Sunday, I took things easy and headed down to the beach, where I layed around for a good hour or so. The weather was absolutely beautiful. If I'd have had the foresight to wear my bathing suit, I really would have gone for a dip in the Mediterranean, even though it was January.
After the beach, I headed over to La Sagrada Familia (having purchased tickets Saturday afternoon when I nipped back to the hostel before the tapas tour). To be honest, it's not my style of church. I mean, I know the architect is Gaudi (pronounced, as far as I can tell -- "Gow - dee"), but it's just really gaudy. The outside especially is overly intricate. I mean, there's a point of "attention to detail" but that can easily be taken too far. And I think this takes it too far. There's just too much going on. The inside at least looks simpler. It doesn't hurt my eyes looking around, anyway. The pillars are all made to look like trees, and the coolest thing is the way the light plays through the stained glass windows and actually throws colors all over the room. That bit is quite beautiful. But the rest is just really too much.
After that, I pretty much headed back to my hostel to pack and get some rest before my early train on Monday morning. When I got back to Dax on Monday, it was basically like re-entering a disaster area. I went from sunny and warm Barcelona to rainy, cold Dax. But apparently it had been raining non-stop for a while, causing some pretty bad flooding in the entirety of the region.
Tuesday morning, when I went out to wait for the bus (so I could get the train to go to school) the bus never came (causing me to miss work). When I went out to do some grocery shopping later in the day, two more buses never showed up. Wednesday morning, I walked all the way to the center of town (where I have to go to catch the bus that early). Eventually, a man from the transportation department comes around and tells us "No buses today. At all." I called a cab and JUST made it to the train station (where the tunnels between platforms have started flooding) in time for the train to school.
On the way home from school Wednesday afternoon, I saw more flooding up near the train station (the tracks were partially covered). And so on and so forth. It's been raining pretty consistently all week. The river water level got so high that the city decided to divert some of the water down a couple main roads -- residents of those roads have been offered rooms at a local hotel, and the streets are obviously closed to traffic. The buses are now out of commission indefinitely, though they've restored the free shuttle service around town. As for the weather forecast, it's supposed to keep raining for at least another week or more, though we might get a bit of a reprieve on Tuesday.
I thought about maybe going on a day trip this weekend or next weekend, but seeing as how I can't get to the train station (without paying an arm and a leg) I decided to stay in. Maybe if things are better, I'll go somewhere next weekend. (I didn't go anywhere this weekend -- I've been packing/cleaning/etc.)
It's almost time for our third break, which means I'll be heading back to MI for a visit. My suitcase is already packed with all sorts of extraneous items that I'm moving home sooner rather than later to alleviate what is sure to be a difficult move home in May.
(I'm working at uploading pictures -- I've been uploading them backwards, so I'll add more as I can, but I figure I should probably publish this since I wrote it about 2 weeks ago...)
The train got into Barcelona pretty late, so I headed straight to my hostel (an adorable place called Tailor's Hostel just outside the center of town). Friday morning, I headed into the center of town for a free walking tour (organized, as always, by Sandeman's New Europe Tours -- I cannot recommend them enough). Since I walk fast, I stayed near the front of the group where I chatted quite a bit with our tour guide, Leon. He was really funny, and is actually an actor and composer (he worked on Wolfboy and Monte Cristo: The Musical). I really liked him, and he was running a modernisme tour that afternoon, so I decided to do that one as well.
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| Actual steps walked up by Christopher Columbus |
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| The Barcelona Cathedral -- an example of Catalan Gothic Architecture |
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| Narrow winding street |
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| I just love these balconies... |
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| Another cathedral (and another example of Catalan Gothic) |
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| The damage at the bottom of the wall of this building is actually from WWII bombings |
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| I have no idea what this actually is; I just thought it was really beautiful |
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| I think this is the castle... |
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| Snack between walking tours -- Meringue |
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| The choral tower of the Catalonian Music Palace |
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| Probably the ugliest building in all of Barcelona -- no idea what they were thinking with the fish eyes... |
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| Leon! |
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| I'd love windows like this in my apartment one day |
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| Better yet... like this! Definitely would make the room with this window my library |
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| The guy who owned this house tried to fake his wealth -- pretending the pink columns were a really precious marble |
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| A facade done by Gaudi |
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| Full length shot of the facade |
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| Box office (... I think??) of the Palace of Catalonian Music |
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| The facade |
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| Detail at night |
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| More detail |
Saturday morning, I had tickets to go into La Perdrera, a home designed entirely by Gaudi (THE big moderniste architecht) which is also said to have inspired a lot of the aesthetics in Star Wars. Honestly, the best part of it was the roof. Other than that, you only get into the top two floors (the attic, and a floor that has been transformed into a sort of museum, showing what the house/furnishings might have been like). Honestly, the inside was a bit disappointing compared to the outside of the building and the roof -- relatively normal and ordinary. (At least it was normal to the untrained eye. I'm sure someone well versed in architecture and/or modernisme might see it differently.)
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| On the rooftop of La Perdrera |
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| A model of La Perdrera |
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| The apartment inside -- rather lackluster compared to the rooftop/facade |
After La Perdrera, I headed up to La Sagrada Familia to try to go in. But the line was ridiculously long, so I decided to wait and buy my tickets online to avoid having to wait on the sidewalk for hours. So I headed back into town, where I was met by some sort of horse parade?? I have no idea what was going on, but there were a bunch of people on horses and they were throwing candy at the crowd.
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| Horse parade?? I don't know what was going on... |
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| Silly hats |
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| Best. Café. Ever. (And the hot chocolate was delicious) |
Then I headed over to the Barcelona Cathedral (I think that's its name...) where they had 13 geese to honor Saint Eulalia (who was 13 years old when she was killed, and underwent 13 trials). Overall, it's a gorgeous cathedral. Her body/remains are supposedly in a sarcophagus in the crypt; they're supposed to be "perfectly preserved" but also, because she was so holy, no mortal may look upon her body. Apparently the last man who tried (a priest, or some such) was immediately struck blind as soon as he attempted to open the sarcophagus. So I'm not sure how they think the body is perfectly preserved if no one has seen it in hundreds of years.... but that's the legend.
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| The courtyard |
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| Geese! |
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| Inside the cathedral |
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| The tomb of Saint Eulalia |
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| On the roof of the cathedral |
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| Biggest. Seagulls. Ever. |
After the church, I headed over to Parc Guell (buildings and park designed, once again, by Gaudi). I had a bit of a language mix up trying to figure out where to buy tickets (the sign said "pick up your online tickets here" but since I hadn't bought tickets online, I tried to find out where I had to go to just buy tickets; the man spoke absolutely no English, but it turned out it was all the same place, the sign just confused me.) The parc itself is quite beautiful. The homes in the parc are pretty too -- they look almost like Gingerbread houses!
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| Gingerbread houses! |
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| Apparently Gaudi was famous for this Gecko |
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| Majestic staircase up to the rest of the parc |
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| The front of the house from across the street |
Saturday night, I went on a "tapas tour" which is essentially like a pub crawl, but with more focus on food. We went to three different restaurants, and then a bar afterward, and the food was extremely delicious. At the second place, we learned about the traditional Catalan wine pitcher, called a porron, which is essentially a communal wine pitcher that everyone drinks out of. It's quite tricky to get the hang of it (especially with red wine!) but quite a bit of fun, and does save on dishes since you don't need glasses.
On the tapas tour, I met a girl from California who is currently working as an au pair in Spain. She was really nice, and we spent most of the evening talking. We also started talking to a Spanish guy on the tour who took us out salsa dancing until the early hours of the morning. That was quite a bit of fun, though I had absolutely zero salsa experience (other than Zumba, which I'm sure doesn't actually count). It was interesting just watching the other couples dancing, and getting to dance a bit myself.
Sunday, I took things easy and headed down to the beach, where I layed around for a good hour or so. The weather was absolutely beautiful. If I'd have had the foresight to wear my bathing suit, I really would have gone for a dip in the Mediterranean, even though it was January.
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| Barcelonetta |
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| I went swimming accidentally again. I think this is a theme... |
After the beach, I headed over to La Sagrada Familia (having purchased tickets Saturday afternoon when I nipped back to the hostel before the tapas tour). To be honest, it's not my style of church. I mean, I know the architect is Gaudi (pronounced, as far as I can tell -- "Gow - dee"), but it's just really gaudy. The outside especially is overly intricate. I mean, there's a point of "attention to detail" but that can easily be taken too far. And I think this takes it too far. There's just too much going on. The inside at least looks simpler. It doesn't hurt my eyes looking around, anyway. The pillars are all made to look like trees, and the coolest thing is the way the light plays through the stained glass windows and actually throws colors all over the room. That bit is quite beautiful. But the rest is just really too much.
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| Detail on the facade |
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| Facade created by modern architects (not Gaudi) that depicts the Passion |
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| More of the Passion facade |
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| Gaudi was inspired by nature, and I'm 99% sure that chandelier was inspired by a jellyfish... |
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| "Trees" |
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| Light coming in through stained-glass windows |
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| Windows |
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| The lights playing off the pipe organ |
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| Attempted panorama shot of the inside |
After that, I pretty much headed back to my hostel to pack and get some rest before my early train on Monday morning. When I got back to Dax on Monday, it was basically like re-entering a disaster area. I went from sunny and warm Barcelona to rainy, cold Dax. But apparently it had been raining non-stop for a while, causing some pretty bad flooding in the entirety of the region.
Tuesday morning, when I went out to wait for the bus (so I could get the train to go to school) the bus never came (causing me to miss work). When I went out to do some grocery shopping later in the day, two more buses never showed up. Wednesday morning, I walked all the way to the center of town (where I have to go to catch the bus that early). Eventually, a man from the transportation department comes around and tells us "No buses today. At all." I called a cab and JUST made it to the train station (where the tunnels between platforms have started flooding) in time for the train to school.
On the way home from school Wednesday afternoon, I saw more flooding up near the train station (the tracks were partially covered). And so on and so forth. It's been raining pretty consistently all week. The river water level got so high that the city decided to divert some of the water down a couple main roads -- residents of those roads have been offered rooms at a local hotel, and the streets are obviously closed to traffic. The buses are now out of commission indefinitely, though they've restored the free shuttle service around town. As for the weather forecast, it's supposed to keep raining for at least another week or more, though we might get a bit of a reprieve on Tuesday.
I thought about maybe going on a day trip this weekend or next weekend, but seeing as how I can't get to the train station (without paying an arm and a leg) I decided to stay in. Maybe if things are better, I'll go somewhere next weekend. (I didn't go anywhere this weekend -- I've been packing/cleaning/etc.)
It's almost time for our third break, which means I'll be heading back to MI for a visit. My suitcase is already packed with all sorts of extraneous items that I'm moving home sooner rather than later to alleviate what is sure to be a difficult move home in May.
(I'm working at uploading pictures -- I've been uploading them backwards, so I'll add more as I can, but I figure I should probably publish this since I wrote it about 2 weeks ago...)
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