Madrid, Spain

So, last night Erin and Charlotte dropped me off at the Frankfurt airport and I flew into sunny Madrid. Blessed, blessed, sunny Madrid. How fabulous to be warm again! Which brings me to an inescapable fact–it’s impossible to pack for multi-country journeys. Last year, I packed my Florida gear, knowing that Madrid’s weather would be reasonably comparable to Tampa’s, and I froze to death in Copenhagen and Amsterdam. This year, I pack “autumn” style, which means I’m cold in Germany and hot in Spain. *sigh*

Today, I spend most of the day working (seriously–I spent a good 10 hours glued to my laptop) although I did escape long enough to make two trips.

One was to Plaza Mayor, which was a little disappointing. Now that there’s a big focus on safety and law-abiding, there’s police patrolling everywhere, which means the “vendors” I had counted on encountering were nowhere to be found. Last year, as soon as the sun set, the stone streets leading to the plaza were crowded with vendors hawking their wares on small (1 meter x 1 meter) squares of cloth, around which looped a length of yarn. When the police would show up (once every hour or two), they’d yank on the yarn, which would close the square of fabric into a little bundle, trapping their merchandise inside. The vendors would then scamper off, a knapsack on their back (or whatever). The plaza was the best place to get things on the cheap, from knock-off designer goods to souvenirs for a euro. Now, however, the whole place was empty, which took away from the carnival-esque vibe I’d remembered, complete with street performers such as clowns on stilts and mimes.

In any case, I hadn’t come to the Plaza to buy postcards and painted fans. (Which is a good thing, since I would’ve had to buy them in one of the zillion actual *stores*, at retail price!) Nope, I was in the market for shoes.

That’s right–shoes.

Last year, while in Spain, I couldn’t help but notice that all the women wore the same general style of shoe. I thought they were cute–they reminded me of ballet shoes with straps, and came in a variety of styles, colors, and materials. I meant to buy some and never did (thanks to my anti-shopping mentality) so this time I plan to rectify that error. Also, Erin was interested in knowing what kind of shoe I was talking about (since that description really doesn’t do it justice) so I promised to email her some digital photos and ship her a pair if she saw something she liked. For your viewing enjoyment, I’m attaching a few of the shoe photos here… although I can’t bring back shoes for everyone! (And men in the crowd: I’m afraid these only come in ladies’ sizes. Sorry!)

The other stop was for food, when I went to Pans & Co (pan=bread, not pan like a skillet) where I got the Greek bocadillo, which is a sandwich made of tomatoes, slabs of thick, fresh cheese, and bread that reminds me in shape and consistency of French bread, except that it’s only about a foot long and not quite as big around. The whole thing cost about two fifty–a bargain!

Keeping with that theme, I want your food stories. If it was cheap, delicious, bizarre, surprising, whatever–I want to hear it. (Reminds me of the Simpson’s episode, when Gramps comes home looking like he took a swim through through a toxic waste dump. Marge says, “What happened to him??” and Homer shrugs and answers, “He fell down at the Big Boy.”)

Tags: food, shopping

From Spain to Germany

This morning I woke up, scarfed down a croissant (OK, two croissants), snapped a photo of the lovely construction view from my balcony, and headed for the Madrid airport. The airport is massive. I was in Terminal 4, which has sections A through K (maybe more, I was in J so that’s as far as I went) and each letter has a slew of… I don’t know the word. Every time I come to Europe, I forget English. A slew of… places where you board a plane. (Gates?)

Anyway, I bought my ticket online from home. I unfold my printout from the web site confirmation and the printout of the emailed e-ticket, and suddenly I happen to notice that both items, in big, bold, capital letters, say: “Credit Card used in this purchase MUST BE PRESENTED in order to receive boarding pass and board flight.”

Oops. I totally didn’t bring that card. It charges me massive international fees for every overseas transaction (I found this out the hard way last year, once I came home and saw my account statements) so I left it at home. Naturally, I need to board this airline 4 different times… <>

So, I go to the ticketing counter, full of trepidation, but the guy serving me is so blessedly clueless, he doesn’t even ask about it. He did ask whether I preferred window or aisle, I said window, he said window, and printed me a ticket for aisle. I can only hope to have similar help the next 3 times!

The plane ride was uneventful, for the most part. Air Iberia gives out free newspapers, which was cool, but you have to pay for your own food and drink if you want water and peanuts. (They do have other offerings… It’s a whole food cart that comes down the aisle at least twice.) Being both poor and cheap, I just sat there, reading my paper, and chewed a piece of gum.

In this paper (which, bizarrely, used *other* newspaper articles as its primary sources) there was an article about how 1 out of every 10 British 20-somethings and 1 out of every 20 older British adults are eager to have credit card chips implanted under their skin so they don’t have to mess with a purse/wallet and the potential for identity theft and pickpocketing. According to El Universal (the paper), already testing has been underway for some time, using dogs and cats and horses. (Who, I’m sure, are big shoppers and appreciate the experiment.)

Once I arrived in Frankfurt, I zipped through to baggage claim (intra-EU flights don’t have to go through customs, although–also bizarrely–this was set up as honor system, with one line for people going through customs and the other for people not wanting to go through customs) and met up with Erin. Yay!

We drove the ~1 hour south to Kaiserslautern (known by the locals as K-town) near the Rammstein Air Force Base. I dropped off my luggage in Erin’s spare room, and we wandered around K-town for a couple hours, sightseeing and just generally hanging out. We rounded out the night in a restaurant called Himalaya (nothing says Germany quite like Indian food!) where I got saag paneer (my favorite) and Erin got what the menu described as “typical Nepali chicken”. We have no idea what that means, but she said it was delicious. So there you go.

Tags: airplanes, airports, food, random facts & history, shopping

Gooooood Morning, Madrid!

OK, so technically I didn’t sleep. It’s a good morning anyway!

I went to El Corte Ingles about a hundred times, mostly because it just has everything. And at the Metro stop where I am (Sol) there’s 3, count ‘em, 3 Cortes Ingleses. One has a main floor, 7 upper floors, and 2 basements. That’s the one that has the post office (I mailed a post card) the supermercado (I bought some cheese and melocoton juice) and the travel agency (I got an adaptor for my laptop ’cause I have no clue what happened to the last one.) Not the converter thing–my laptop has its own. Just the do-hickey that changes the plug from flat-prong to round-prong. And I had a devil of a time describing it, because I totally don’t know the word for “prong”. So I picked up a European plug, pointed to the round metal prongs, and said (en espanol, of course) What do you call these here thingamabobbers? And the cashier blinked, squinted, shrugged, and said, “I don’t know.” So I said, “I don’t know either, but mine are flat and I need an adapter to make them round.” And he said ohhhhhh and gave me the right thing. So I’m fine now.

At the other Corte I bought a AA battery charger, because the last two times I brought a US one, I fried them on accident. Figured I might as well suck it up and get a European one so I don’t have to worry about it. The 3rd Corte is a massive bookstore, which I’m pretty sure I’m not allowed to go inside, since the last time I did, Bri and I ended up paying exorbitant “your suitcase is too heavy–what the hell do you have in there?” fees at the Charles de Gaulle (Paris) Airport.

None of these trips happened at the same time, of course, so the sales force got to see me return again and again and again. That’s all right. They’ll probably see me tomorrow too.

Today I hiked down the road that my hotel is on until the road ended (2.5 mi) and back. That was fun, but I realized belatedly that my hiking shoes are all ripped up on the inside (how does that happen?) and now the backs of my heels are threatening to get blisters. No matter! Blisters or no blisters, a-hiking I will go. El Corte Ingles has a parafarmacia stocked with bandaids, so I’ll be just fine. (Toldja they’d see me tomorrow.)

I also wasted some time going to Atocha at about 7pm. This was stupid of me and I should’ve known better. I was thinking, “Oh, I’ll reserve my train tickets in advance like a good girl” when I should’ve been thinking, “Everyone’s out of work by now, bet the train station is *crazy town*.” You have no idea how packed that place gets. Especially since I’ve stood in that monstrous line before. Well, I got there and took a number from the paper number distributor dealy, and I got A410. I waited for 15 excruciating minutes while they helped A198, A199, A200 and A201. I was still 209 numbers away. At 3 minutes per person (which is *fast*), that would be something like 10 hours to wait. So I left. I’ll try tomorrow. I’m a little disappointed, because my initial plan was to get to El Museo Del Prado first thing in the a.m. and now it looks like I’ll be trucking over to Atocha instead. Oh well. As long as they can beat a 10 hour wait, who am I to complain. =)

Plaza Mayor is the same as I remembered–pretty, and somehow both busy and relaxed at the same time. However, the place where I got my SIM card last time was no longer there. (I wandered around every side street for an hour or two before I finally conceded its disappearance.) I was forced to go to the FNAC and switch my plan from Avena to Movistar. (pronounced “movie star”.) But at least now I can call the US even if I don’t have an Internet connection, so that’s a good thing. (And with an internet connection, Skype is a good thing!)

Now I’m sleepy, but I’m trying to stay up until at least 10 so I can keep a decent schedule, and maybe wake up without my alarm clock.

Tags: hiking, lost in translation, shopping, technology, trains

Washington, D.C.

Today we woke up around 7:55 and rolled out the door about 10 (as usual). We headed to CVS to get Andy some aloe for his sunburns, and narrowly escaped high drugstore drama in the process. (The cashier screamed murderous threats at a guy on his bike who left a ziploc bag of wonderbread slices in the flip-flop aisle. Don’t ask.)

We ate breakfast at the Sunrise Cafe for the second day in a row (this time much wiser: we knew to get our own food and bring it to the table ourselves) and caught the Metro to Arlington Cemetary.

We wandered the vast winding roads throughout the tombstone-lined hillsides. We visited memorials to various wars, armed forces, and the Columbia space shuttle. We also went to the Kennedy graves as well as the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, where we witnessed the changing of the guard.

Afterward, we checked out the indoor exhibits: Women in the Military and Faces of the Military. (The attached brochure image “To Pee or Not To Pee” is about the difficulties women face in being ill-equipped physically and clothing/equipment-wise to relieve themselves during missions, etc)

The Smithsonian was our next stop. The whole mall area was rockin’ with some sort of festival the whole time we were in D.C., but we headed straight to the Air & Space museum once Andy determined that the Arts & Industry museum was under renovation. Shockingly (to me), the museum was *free*. Who knew? =)

The funniest section was the debunking of old myths and propaganda, my favorite of which is the story of life on the moon (also attached – a Must Read).

To round out the night with some high culture, we headed to the National Theatre for the award-winning Broadway musical “Spamalot”. (If you didn’t already know, it’s inspired by Monty Python’s Quest for the Holy Grail. If you don’t know what that is, get thee to a Hollywood Video, stat.) The costumes were great, the set was amazing, the casting perfect, and as for the jokes – hilarious. We belly-laughed through the whole thing and quoted from it the entire next day. If you get a chance (and if you appreciate abject silliness) you *must* check it out!

Tags: museums, shopping, theatre & shows

Brussels, Belgium

To market, to market, to buy a fat pig… (Or, yanno, a $2 soccer jersey!)

Tags: shopping

Barcelona, Spain

This morning, we went to the Barcelona Zoo, where we had the most amazing zoo experience of our lives. (Despite the fact that the white gorilla featured prominently in all the signs had deceased some years past.)

We saw emus running amuk with zebras, flamingoes hanging out with peacocks, a gazillion antelopey things, a few meerkaty things, some other things that I’m not really sure what they were, (what can I say? The signage was in Catalan, not Spanish), a variety of bison, elephants, giraffes, leopards, lions, monkeys, iguanas, aligators and crocodiles, turtles, rhinocerous(es), etc.

I also saw a vulture bite the head off of a live baby chick and carry the decapitated head around in his beak, dripping blood. Yeah, you heard me. And yes, although cool in a Discovery Channel sort of way, it was every bit as gross as it sounds.

As crazy as it sounds, we also saw a bear drink from a plastic bottle of Coke, and two hippopotami (hippopotamouses?) start a round of mud wrestling, followed by some heaving making out. Yes, that’s right, we saw hippos FIGHTING and KISSING. I told you this was a crazy day.

We rounded out the evening at Las Ramblas, a long strip of food, shopping, and unapologetic people-watching. We walked down to the water, where we saw the Mirador de Colon (Columbus Monument) and bought a Barcelona Dragons fútbol (soccer) jersey.

Tags: animals, shopping

Amsterdam, Holland, The Netherlands to Vienna, Austria

I get up and head out. Venkat and I walk to the tram, take the tram to the Metro, and the Metro to the train station. All of this took maybe 10 minutes, so we possibly could have walked, but what’s the fun in that?

Venkat heads to work, and I head to the train station. For some reason, I decided that I’d buy my Amsterdam ticket to save a Eurail slot (I only get 15). So we go to the ticket counter, and the guy asks “26 or under?” “Um, sure,” I respond craftily. He sells me the ticket for $20. I had already purchased a reservation for $10 when I had planned to use the Eurail, but this was still less than the 50 Euro price. Of course, once I got on the train, they checked my passport, and busted me for being over 26, so I had to pay the difference, which was 35 Euros. So I screwed myself out of 10 Euros. And then later that night, as I was leaving Amsterdam, I realized I had to use today as one of my days anyway on my Eurail ticket, so I should have just kept my original Eurail reservation to start out with. So I actually screwed myself out of 50 Euros. All of which leads to the moral of the story: Don’t try to cheat the system. The system is Master. I did not win.

So anyway, I’m on the train to Amsterdam, and I forget what I said to the woman next to me, but I must’ve startled her by speaking, because she jumped about a mile. In doing so, I noticed she was clutching a long strand of dark brown, wooden beads. I wonder if they were religious and I caught her mid-prayer?

Today I’m wearing my “Toro Beso” shirt, featuring a (cartoon) bull kissing a cow. Naturally, I start to overanalyze it. The toro is black (as one might expect) and the cow is black and white spotted (also as one might expect.) However. Kristin, who lives on a milk farm and therefore ought to know about such things, told me that the color represents the type of cow, meaning that there are all-black cows and bulls that are black-and-white spotted, and that generally like sticks with like. In other words, my cow and toro are doin’ the mixed-race thang, which is funny (for me) on many levels.

Sooner or later, the train arrives and I discontinue contemplating the jungle fever of spanish cows. I detrain (or whatever the rail word for “deplane” is) and immediately head off in search of the Monday Morning Market, which I learned about from the lady next to me on the train. (And with whom I did *not* share my cow musings, else she might have strangled me with the prayer beads.)

First, let me give you some background info. Relevant, I swear. If you know nothing about the topography of Amsterdam (much like myself before I showed up on the train) then what you ought to realize is this.

Amsterdam is mostly water.

It is a city lined along the banks of several horseshoe-shaped canals, each nestled inside the other, so that the outermost canal is very long indeed. The train station is in the middle of this Chinese box. The market is on the outermost canal. Luckily, it is possible to weave your way across the canals through a series of (unconnected) bridges.

Amsterdam is also singular because for every person you see, you see at least twenty bikes. There were multi-level parking garages, all of which were packed with bikes. 10-speed type bikes, not motorcycles.

Each traffic light has a car light, a pedestrial light, and a bike light. The bridges are lined with bikes. The lamps and signposts are tethered with bikes. The streets are strewn with bikes. And you’re likely to get taken down when crossing the street if you don’t keep your eye on the bike lane. It’s absolutely crazy, but in a very cool way.

So anyway, where was I? Ah yes, the market. I was directed to the right location by a very nice gentleman sporting dreadlocks and the traditional Amsterdam Scent. He said he was on his way there himself and I would be welcome to follow him. He made it about three blocks before stopping by the canal for a smoke break (yes, a “smoke break”) but by that point, I could see the next bridge and the market across the water, so I went on ahead.

The market was very cool. The first part was ultra flea-market-esque. My mom would’ve really liked it because most of the tents were true flea market material. (In her words, “I want to see other people’s junk, not tables of beanie babies.”)

Toward the other side were tents with food. I don’t know what it was that I ate, but it was a hot, fresh, bread-ish thing, and very tasty. (I didn’t recognize anything in any tent, but as long as it was vegetarian, I was game to try it. Although, with the pastry, they asked me if I preferred hot sauce only, or sweet and sour sauce (???) and they stared at me like I didn’t know good eats when I said, “Um… neither?”

Next, I went to the Anne Frank house. There was a sign posting “No Bags Allowed”, so I couldn’t go in since I was backpacking. I probably wouldn’t have made it in anyway, since the line wrapped down the block, turned the corner, and kept on going. (I’m told this is the usual way of it.)

Next I went by the Westerkirk Church. I am assuming “kirk” means “church”, since I think “kirsche” means chirch in German. But who knows.

Besides lots of signs for Heineken, Amstel, and various herbal cafes (including the “Energy” cafe, which at first seemed to be a bit of an oxymoron, until I learned that in addition to the usual marijuana options, they also served their own brand of energy drink, and for this reason posted a large sign with a can of Red Bull in an red circle with a line through it.)

Anyway, in addition to all this, I noticed that Amsterdam was very gay and lesbian friendly. Many European cities are gay and lesbian friendly, which is nice, but Amsterdam *especially*. There were souvenir kiosks that catered to this demographic, and lots of streets with buildings titled things like “Hotel Rainbow Palace”.

Speaking of palaces, I did see the Palais in Amsterdam as well as the Nieuwe Kirk, and the National Monument, Waag, and Mme Tussauds. I also saw a cop cruise by on a bike. Not a motorcycle, as I mentioned, but your ordinary, pedal-pumping bike. I actually never saw any cops *not* on bikes… none on foot and none in cars.

A public restroom was very difficult to locate, and I ended up banking on KFC on the supposition that all American fast food chains have bathrooms. I was not disappointed. (Where else can teenagers express their angst in magic marker graffiti?) This bathroom cost 50 cents and I had to check my bag before I could go in. Shockingly (although pleasingly) this just might be the nicest and cleanest bathroom of my European experience thus far.

After this little side trip, I wandered around some more, and came across a tall, old church. Only in Amsterdam would the other side of the street contain a coffee shop and a sex shop, side by side, facing the church. (I guess that makes it more convenient. Head into the sex shop, and when you wake up the next morning, stumble next door for some coffee, then across the street to repent your wicked ways.)

Back to the bathrooms. (I apologize for all the toilet talk in this particular post.) Near this church is also where I came across a guy urinating in the street. I couldn’t exactly see him (although I could unfortunately smell him) because he was inside some kind of spiral shaped metal wall. The wall extended from about knee level to shoulder level–covering the necessities, I suppose–and the opening overlapped enough that you wouldn’t accidently glimpse the genitalia of the person inside. From the nonchalant way other people were standing around (and from the smell of the street) I can only assume he really was supposed to be peeing on the sidewalk, and that that is what the metal circle was for.

Another thing I noticed about Amsterdam (I swear this has nothing to do with bodily functions) is that in general, prices are not posted. When cruising past a souvenir stand, if I see a postcard I like, I have to go in and specifically ask. Likewise with the Internet cafe and anything else.

I ducked into a soup kitchen and ordered some soup. They asked if I preferred white or brown bread (brown) and if I wanted butter or pesto (um…pesto?) and then they served up a steamy cup of spinach soup, but not before putting a healthy scoopful of tomato soup in the middle of it. It turned out to be really good, although halfway through the soup I felt my cheeks and forehead heating up (sigh… add pesto to my ever-growing list of food sensitivities.)

So I headed on down the street and decided what I really needed was some coffee. I go into a coffee shop and order a caramel mocha. The guy behind the counter says, “Where are you from?” “Florida,” I answer. He then says, “You don’t look like you’re from the States. Your eyes are like chocolate and your skin is like caramel. I can’t look at you too much or I’ll want to eat you.” I bared my teeth in a smile, said, “We’re all colors there,” and asked, “How much is the coffee?” Two other women came in shortly after, and as soon as his attention was diverted, I escaped.

Amsterdam, I might add, is not as fashion forward as France, for example. I saw many bizarre outfits such as jean miniskirts with moon boots. (Guess they didn’t go out with the 80s here) or knee-high fur boots complete with furball tassels (???) and lots of clunky cowboy boots with otherwise trendy dresses. (Also not having died with the 80s here is the colored mascara. I saw many a woman with bright blue eyelashes. And like in France and Spain, Manic Panic is making a mint–women of all ages sport hair in unnatural shades, especially cherry, magenta, rust, and grape.) I later met someone from Holland who said you can always tell an American because he’s wearing tennis shoes, rather than some flavor of boot.

I know what you’re thinking. You’re asking yourself, “So what do they speak in Holland? Hollandaise?” No, my friend! What they speak is Dutch. And I don’t understand a word of it. The same guy who informed me about the boots also said, “In Amsterdam, we don’t say ‘Cheers’. We say, ‘Cheese’.” Or something like that. I told you I can’t understand Dutch.

I sat on the waist-high stone bank of a sidewalk flower bed for about an hour, trying to will my cell phone to work (no luck, then or ever) and pretending I could feel the sun on my (idiotically) bare legs. Naturally, Florida girl only packed one pair of khakis and loaded the rest of her suitcase with shorts. It’s August! How can people live in a country that’s cold in August???

All that sitting around (and failed mind-control) worked up an appetite. I have no idea what they eat in Amsterdam, so I slipped into an Indian restaurant. (No, I don’t think Amsterdam is in India. I just like the food.)

The waiter came up to me with a huge grin, and I was immediately wary. “Let me guess,” he says, and closes his eyes. “You are from… Florida. And your name… starts with… an E.”

Humph. As if I didn’t know that i’m lugging around a bright blue bag with a name tag the size of Texas. Single women, beware. Amsterdam men live to flirt. And they’re not very clever at it.

Once again, I flash a tolerant smile (which kills him–he’s dying for me to ask how he knows, and I’m not even going to mention it) and I order the vegi biryani.

Every time I bit into a white raisin, it surprised me. It was kind of funny. Mine also had maybe cashews or almonds in it. I’m not sure because I’m not very nutty (no comments please) so I admit I ate around those bits. I know, I know, vegetable biryani clearly indicates that I fell off my “I’ll only eat European food in Europe” high horse. What can I say. It was next door to Tio Pepe’s Mexican Restaurant, but I wasn’t too sure about Mexican food in Holland. This place at least had employees that could conceivably be from India. Plus the meal came with free aloo mater. What more could you ask for?

So that night I take the train to Vienna. The train station bathroom costs 50 cents (here I go again with my bathroom diatribes) and there was a man in it, which confused me. Come to find out, he was manning the station, which at the time I found to be odd. (But, as my travels continued, I realized this was the norm.) This is also where I got yelled at for my shoddy German. “Sprechen sie Englisch?” I asked, wanting to find out what he was doing in the ladies room. “No, I don’t speak English!” he screams at me in rapid-fire German. “If you want to speak English, go to England!” He glares, then adds, “Or America!” as if it’s some horrible insult beyond all imagining. “You are here, and here we speak German! So speak German!” At this point, he stops to catch his breath, red-faced, hands on hips.

“Um, okay,” I answer brilliantly. “Uh… danke.”

Tags: cathedrals, fashion, food, random facts & history, shopping, trains, travel tips

Paris, France

We began the day with a Paris city tour. Paris was founded by a Celtic tribe, and nowadays has a population of two million within the city limits, 11 million when counting the outskirts. Paris alone is 1/5 of France’s entire population.

Paris has 20 districts. The streets are generally wide avenues lined with trees. There are no big parks in the city, but there are two large parks just outside the city. Like Spain, menu prices are less expensive when seated at the bar than at tables.

At stops for loading/unloading passengers, tour buses kill the engine (and therefore the A/C). This isn’t to torture tourists–this is because there are strict anti-pollution laws, and if they don’t turn off the bus, they will get a ticket.

First I saw a Russian cathedral, then Montmartre which is called the Mount of Martyrs because of the legend of a Paris bishop who was beheaded here by Romans.

Next, I got to see Sacre Coeur, and although I didn’t go inside (I plan to do so later) it is beautiful on the outside.

Nearby, there is a square packed with vendors of all types (and, I’m warned, pickpockets) and their in-you-face hustle reminded me of Morocco. (Luckily, this was the only place in Paris that struck me this way.)

Paris is seperated by the river Seine and the people on each side are distinct, with their own different customs. We went down Rue de la Paix, an expensive strip, and Rue Saint Honore, and saw a statue of Napoleon. We also saw the Latin Quarter, and the Roman baths, which have pools of different temperatures (really hot, warm, and ice cold. M. Saint Michel, if you’re interested.)

I learned that the Louvre was a fortress in the 12th century, and that Notre Dame is the center of the city. This is also where Napoleon crowned himself emporer in 1804. I also learned that Notre Dame used to be colorful, with bright blues and reds. It would have been neat to see it in its original condition.

Place de la Concorde is the square where in 1793, Marie Antoinette was beheaded. At the time, it was known as Revolution Square.

We went by a 3000 year old Egyptian tower, then Invalides, then went to the Arc de Triomphe (me, for the second time). This is the biggest arc in the world. This area is also known as Star Square, because the streets intersect like an asterisk, with the Arc de Triomphe on a roundabout in the center. One of the friezes is of Napoleon dressed in Roman gear. In the middle of the arc lies the tomb of the unknown soldier from WWI, with its eternal flame.

Next we got to see the Eiffel tower. It was built out of iron in 1889 and at the time was the biggest monument in the world. People who lived nearby began moving away because they were afraid it would topple over.

The girls and I sat on a bench with a view of the tower and noshed on some crepes. It was the first surreal moment I’ve had since I left the U.S. Just standing in the sunlight, warm chocolate crepe in my hand, Eiffel tower towering in front of me. Sunlight for a moment, anyway–then the sky opened up and the rain came. Apparently, it’s not unusual for Paris to rain every afternoon.

That night, we dressed up and went back on the town for a night tour, to be followed by an evening performance of the Moulin Rouge cabaret.

We saw the statue of Napoleon as Caesar, and the square with the Ritz, next to the Ministry of Justice. We went by Cartier (a place to window shop for jewels) and the Paris Opera House, built in 1860. We went by the Louvre, whose modern art glass pyramid structure is comprised of 85 tons of steel. An interesting fact: the surface area of the Louvre is greater than that of the Vatican.

We went by Le Port Neuf (The New Bridge) which, in fact, is actually the old bridge–the oldest one in Paris. It used to be said that the bridge was so crowded, that on any given crossing, you were bound to run into a monk, a white horse, and a loose woman.

We went by the contemporary arts building, city hall, the Institut de France, the Latin Quarter, and of course Notre Dame. (No, not the one in South Bend, IN. The one from the 12th century, with the rose windows and bell tower.)

Next we hit the Place de la Concorde, which is one of the largest squares in the world. Its fountains were inspired by those in St. Peter’s square in Rome.

Then we rolled down Champs Elysees, which was the product of Louis XIV’s designer, who also created the gardens at Versailles. Here you’ll find the Grande Palais and the Petite Palais, as well as the oldest Metro station. The Paris Metro was begun on October 4, 1898 (two days after my birthday… if I were 107 years old. Which I’m not.) The Paris Metro runs three times the circumference of the Earth, every single day.

Champs Elysees is also the street with Fouquets, the oldest restaurant in Paris, where movie stars are often seen (and the menu prices prove it). We passed the Arc de Triomphe again, and I was amused to find out it exists out of luck–Napoleon had originally wanted to build a giant elephant instead. (And if Parisians could talk Napoleon Bonaparte out of an elephant, why oh why could no one talk George Lucas out of Jar Jar Binks???) The Arc de Triomphe was inaugerated on July 29, 1836–30 years after construction began. Napoleon was buried nearby in Les Invalides, also near the Church of Glory. (Magdalene/Madeleine)

The Eiffel Tower was created much like a giant puzzle, and the last piece clicked into place on February 24, 1889, and not to rave reviews. Besides the fact that everyone was sure it would collapse on their houses at the slightest provocation, it was also higher than Notre Dame, which made it unclerical as well.

Moulin Rouge. How can I describe it? The best I can do is this: The Moulin Rouge is Broadway meets Cirque du Soleil. But topless.

An overabundance of champagne was served at every table, the costumes were amazing, acts included strong-man type acrobatics and awoman diving into a tank with a boa constrictor, and dancing–of course!–included the famous French can-can.

Tags: cathedrals, food, museums, random facts & history, shopping, theatre & shows, travel tips

Madrid, Spain

This morning was class in the regular room, followed by a delightful afternoon of working until dinnertime. This evening we went out for sangría, followed by the Hard Rock Cafe again. I don’t remember how we ended up there – I think Ashley missed it the first time around and so we all went back for a reprise. This time there was no fake valley girl waiter – or if he was there, he was in his regular man-gear and I didn’t recognize him. I did get the tasty Fresh Spinach Alfredo and steamed broccoli. Mmm.

Afterwards we went to Plaza Mayor for some sidewalk shopping. Ten minutes into it, the cops busted the vendors and actually caught someone this time – we saw him get arrested. The vendors are usually too quick – they spread their wares on a cloth the size of a square baby blanket. Around the edges of this cloth is a drawstring, typically looped around a wrist or finger for easy access. Whenever someone calls out “Cop!”, they grab their blankets by the string, which instantly turns it into a bag containing all their stuff. Then they take off running. It’s very entertaining to watch because the cops show up several times a night and they have to do it all over again.

Tags: food, shopping

Madrid, Spain

This morning, I headed out with my art class to the Royal Palace, which is on Orient Square. It was begun by Felipe V, the first Bourbon king, and took 30 years to build. It’s made of granite and white stone from the mountains. And here’s the kicker: it has more than 2800 rooms.

The first room I saw was the Salon de Alabarderos, who formed the royal guard. The fresco on the ceiling was done by Giovanni Battista Tiepolo.

The second room was the Salon de Columnas, or hall of columns. This was done in a rococo style and was used for royal ceremonies and banquets until 1899. The fresco was done by Corrado Giaquinto. Interesting fact: On October 30,1991, this room was the site of the Middle East Peace Conference.

The third room I visited was the throne room. The thornes in this room are symbolic – the king and queen don’t really use them. The fresco was done by Giovanni Battista Natale (OK I’ll stop telling you – can you tell I’m in love with frescos? Don’t be surprised if the next time you come over, I’ve painted my ceilings). The chandeliers in this room were made in Italy, with silver and rock crystal. The canopy is gold on velvet. (Why oh why did we do away with frescoes and gold on velvet and decide that paisley and splatter paint were better choices?)

One of the rooms I visited was the Porcelain Room. In the 18th century, Spanish porcelain was considered the best in the world, and was known as “white gold”. Another room boasts the only Stradivarious Quartet – still played twice a year at private concerts! That’s right, not one, not two, not even three – *four* stradivarious originals.

For those with a morbid bent, you may be interested to know that in the royal chapel, there’s a glass case with the mummy of Saint Felix. I learned on this trip that it is very Catholic to keep bodies – or parts of bodies – of saints. These are typically housed in glass cases for viewing and called relics.

After the Royal Palace, I bopped next door the the Catedral de la Almudena, which had a free art exhibition themed around the immaculate conception.

Today I also went to El Corte Ingles to pick up some toothpaste and I ran into a cousin of somone you P&Gers might be familiar with… Don Limpio! =)

Tags: castles & palaces, museums, random facts & history, shopping