Madrid, Spain

This morning, the girls and I got up bright and early, ate a spot of breakfast (bread and OJ) and headed to El Rastro, a street market only open on Sunday mornings. There were a ton of vendors and tents, and even more people all milling about. I bought some souvenir t-shirts, and Danielle and Kristin got some jewelry and belly chains/scarves. Another classmate (who went seperately, not with one of the girls) was almost pickpocketed, but then again, he was in a crowded flea market, with his wallet shoved in the sideways-opening pocket of a pair of baggy basketball shorts. (Don’t try this.)

Danielle, Kristin and I grabbed a snack at a pandería – some fresh bread, shaped like a turtle. (Ack! I ate a turtle!)

We walked around some more, soaking up the sights. There were Candidate City signs everywhere – Madrid is very proud to be considered for this distinction.

We went back to the dorm for lunch, but decided to go out to dinner. Unfortunately, our U.S. mindset of suppertime was about 3 hours off from the Spanish culture’s. So, we ended up walking maybe 5 miles in 2 hours, all the way downtown from the campus, before any restaurants started opening. (FYI – 9pm is an “early” dinner, if you can find a restaurant that’s open.) We ended up grabbing paninis at the Cafe & Té, which turned out to be awesome and affordable.

Incidentally, this is also when I ordered an iced coffee in Spain for the first time. They brought me an espresso (hot!) and I discovered to my surprise that I was expeced to cool it off myself with the accompanying sidecar of ice.

Then we wandered into the Retiro Park, which is Madrid’s answer to Central Park, and of all the bizarre things to see, one of the “people” by the fountain was someone in a Piglet outfit. Yes, capital P, as in Winnie the Pooh. (???) Madrid also has, as far as they know, the only statue of the devil in the entire world. It is a monument depicting Lucifer the angel as he falls into hell. (A cheery little thing. You know, for kids.)

The park was amazing. We barely saw a fraction of it, and we saw the amphitheatre (which had a free concert in progress) and a huge rectangular lake filled with little paddleboats for rent.

There was tons of Quixote stuff up for the anniversary, and I even saw a sign with the most common Spain slang word – “vale”, which means OK. (Not “Ballet”, which is what one classmate initially thought they were saying.)

Tags: food, music & concerts, shopping, travel tips

Tangier, Morocco, Africa

This morning, we all woke up extra early, because today is the day we go to Africa!

I was really excited about this, as you might imagine, since the closest I’d been before was “Morocco” in Epcot – and here I was going to the real thing!

Because we only had one day (and had to cross the ocean by ferry) we were going to the port city of Tangier, rather than the inner, landlocked cities of Marrakesh or Casablanca (although I would love to return and see them.)

We took a tour bus to the southernmost tip of Spain, then boarded the fast ferry to Morocco, Africa. I ran into Eliana on board and it was lucky I did, because she happened to be carrying the Argentinean version of Dramamine in her purse. The fast ferry rode like a tricked-out wave runner. It was so bouncy that people who tried to walk – or even stand – kept falling down, and the brave souls who managed to get to the bar to order a drink ended up spilling/wearing more than consuming.

My first glimpses of Morocco were of a sprawling, white-dotted city along a backdrop of mountains.

It didn’t start getting crazy until we set foot on African soil. First, we had a bus tour and then we were dropped off near the casbah for a walking tour. We were immediately surrounded by robed men towing roped camels, offering camel rides for 1E. I rode the first camel on purpose, then was basically forced to ride the second because the camelmaster (is that a word?) decided I was the wife of one of my schoolmates and insisted that I ride with my husband. (???)

Next, the guide walked us through the casbah and basically debunked nearly everything I’d ever heard about the Moroccan/Arab/Muslim culture. First of all, there has been women’s sufferage for years. There are women leaders in every aspect of government, which is more than we can say about the US. (For women, minorities *or* religions. Basically, you have to be a white male Christian if you want to get anywhere in our government.)

The long robes she was wearing are traditional garb, but not obligatory – we saw a few locals in jeans and t-shirts, and all of the kids had on tank tops and shorts. Similarly, there are no buildings or places where women are not allowed to go, just places that they typically choose not to enter, due to tradition and culture. (If you think this explanation sounds like propaganda, consider the different demographics between, say, front-row spectators at a wrestling match and participants at a tupperware party. it’s not a matter of which gender is or isn’t *allowed* to go, so much as chooses not to based on our culture.) And believe me, Moroccan culture is way different from ours.

We rounded the next corner and were immediately approached by a snake charmer, whose partners played music while he pulled a long, writhing snake out of a basket and wrapped it around my neck. Yes, my neck. (I’m lucky it didn’t bite me – that would have been three continents in less than two months.) He let the snake wind itself around other people, too, and we all tossed some coins into his basket (not the same one that housed the snake, that would have been mean.)

The architecture in Morocco is really neat. I love the unique arches, the stone roads, the painted tiles. We ate lunch in a picturesque Arabian restaurant, complete with a salon of musicians, playing for change. The appetizer was a shishkebob of unknown meat origin (not for Alison and I, who got salads instead). Main course was couscous and veggies (my favorite) followed by green tea, which is boiled in a giant pot and servered to everyone at once, at the end of the meal. Unfortunately, we were all embarrassed when one of my classmates started demanding hers as soon as she sat down. “But I’ll pay for it! I want it now!” I felt like kicking her under the table. (Settle down, Veruca.) In case you’re wondering, despite her repeated demands, they did not bring it to her until it was ready, and everybody got a cup at the same time.

Next we had a tour of a Moroccan carpet factory, in which the sales people there did a hard hustle to get us to buy carpets. Several peple in the group caved. One classmate haggled them down about 50 bucks in price, but another forgot that Morocco is a bargain culture and bought hers for the 100E without any haggling.

Following the carpet factory, we were swept into a spice store, where our Moroccan “spice presentation and demonstration” was another thinly veiled sales pitch, this time for cooking spices, herbal remedies, makeup (ie, kohl eyeliner, etc). I got the kohl because I thought it was neat, and some eucalyptus leaves for when I get the inevitable cold. Some people had bags crammed full of goodies, which wouldn’t have been hard to do. The jars of spices filled the shelves that lined all the walls of the store from floor to ceiling.

Finally, we were let loose in the marketplace, which would have been panic-inducing had I been the claustrophobic (or crowd-ophobic) sort. The streets are high and narrow, and packed with all manner of Moroccans – mostly men – practicing an in-your-face style of high pressure salesmanship. The would walk backwards to be nose-to-nose with you, giving a constant sales patter. “10 Euro! 10 Euro! You want it! 10 Euro! 8 Pounds! 12 Dollars!” If you made eye contact or, worse, went so far as to respond in any way (if only to say no thanks), they stuck to you like glue until they could convince you that your life’s dream was an African drum set (Paula), various jewelry (Leila), an African cap (Bryan), or a possibly stolan Moroccan rug (Darius, who waited him out from 100E all the way down to 30E before he caved and bought it.)

So what did I buy from the street hustlers oops I mean vendors? A t-shirt for my brother Rob, who requested a souvenir from an unusual place. Believe me – this was definitely an unusual place! Their currency (dirham) is not even international – it’s no good anywhere except in Morocco itself, which is why they’re so eager to take any other kind of currency you might have on you.

Tags: animals, food, lost in translation, music & concerts, shopping

Málaga, Spain

This morning, we had class from 9-1:30 instead of 8:30-1, having talked the professor into giving us an extra half hour of sleep, since the hotel’s patio entertainment lasts from 8 or 9 until midnight every night, and the noise reverberates around each room, making it completely impossible to a) study or b) sleep. (Also, for the first time in my life, I heard Spanish yodeling. It is indescribable, and the hotel dj/singer does that number at least once every evening.)

After class, Ula left before me to catch the train, while I packed a backpack with the essentials (bottle of water, Purell, camera, fistful of batteries) and headed out. Yesterday, while I was messing around with the doctor and my swollen hands, the rest of the group went to check out the Picasso museum and had a great time, so I couldn’t wait to go see it.

When I got to the train station, Ula wasn’t there, so I assumed she’d made the previous train. (Local trains come every half hour.)

In Málaga, I stopped at an information booth and picked up a map and made my way towards the Picasso museum. It took me nearly two hours to get there because I passed so many interesting side streets, buildings, churches, statues, fountains and parks along the way, and of course I had to explore (and take photographs!) of everything.

I ended up hungry and on Calle Larios, which is amazing and massive and completely puts Rodeo Drive to shame. In between all the shops were various cafes, bars and bakeries, all with outdoor seating at little round tables with umprellas for the sun. I saw a menu on an empty table at one cafe and wandered up to have a look. I was just reaching out for the menu when the person at the next table suddenly reached out and grabbed my arm. I about jumped out of my skin until I realized – it was Ula! We laughed about the coincidence of running into each other in as big a city as Málaga, and I decided to go ahead and eat there, since she was sitting there anyway.

I ordered a cafe con leche and a veggie sandwich. The coffee was great, but imagine my surprise when the veggie sandwich showed up with a big slab of ham on it! The waiter was surprised that I was surprised (don’t all veggie sandwiches come with ham?) but amiably agreed to make me a new one. After lunch, Ula left to walk around, and I finally made it to the Picasso museum.

The ticket was 50% off with a student ID (4 euros) and cameras had to be checked. The buidling itself was very cool looking, square in shape with a center courtyard featuring a pretty garden. There were tons of his works, ranging from when Picasso was a teenager to near his time of death. There were drawings and paintings and sketches and mixed media and lithographs… I have seen lots of pictures in books of his cubist works and it was surprising to see what a photorealistic portrait he was capable of making. It was also very interesting to see his studies (sketches) that he used to practice and experiment with before making his more famous works, like Guernica (which was not there, but is in Madrid, so I intend to see it then.)

I bought a little something at the gift shop and then left to wander around Málaga some more. Unlike Costa Rica, all the streets in Málaga are named. As a matter of fact, even 3 foot wide alleys have names, and all of these “streets” appear on the maps just like highways, making me more thankful than ever that I’m on foot and not trying to drive. (I’ll just turn left here at the… hallway?)

I saw a vendor selling post cards and decided to have a look, when I caught sight of someone standing on the other side of the post card rack looking at souvenirs. It was Ula! “You again!” I exclaimed and she jumped, then we both laughed, but in a way, we were kind of weirded out, since we were now nowhere near the cafe or the Picasso museum and managed to run into each other yet again.

I bought a few postcards and then headed off again. I found the tourist bureau and picked up a few brochures. I walked by the Alcazaba, an amazing, sprawling spread of an ancient fortress and castle, complete with towers and high, narrow windows. it looked like it came straight out of Arabian Nights. I couldn’t wait to explore it, but it was nearing dinner time, so I figured I better take the train back to La Colina since dinner is only served from 7:30-9:30 and here it was 8 already and I had a 30 minute train ride ahead of me, followed by a 20 minute hike back to the hotel. I headed to the Renfe and through the turnstile, and who should I run into amidst the crush of people waiting for the train? You guessed it – Ula! What are the freaking chances??

That night after dinner, I hopped onto the hotel’s worthless Internet kiosk. It charges one euro per 10 minutes, which may or may not sound like much, but it gets real expensive real fast (especially considering the exchange rate.) Not only this, but there is no place to plug in a USB device, it has no CD burner, and it erases all new files every time you log off anyway.

I did find another Internet cafe nearby that charges 7 euros for 5 hours to use their PCs, which do have USB ports and on which I can save files and install programs. The problem is, to use my laptop would cost an additional 10 euros and they are closed for siesta from 1 til 4:30, and are open in the evenings only from 4:30-8:30, weekdays only. But, this at least gives me an option.

Tags: castles & palaces, cathedrals, food, museums, music & concerts, shopping, technology

Mata de Caña, Costa Rica

Our third day greeted us with bright sunshine, chirping birds, and Lidieth, the friendly cook/housekeeper. She was a bit disappointed to find out I was vegetarian (since she brought ham and chicken) but quickly whipped up a delicious breakfast of omelettes, toast, juice, fresh sliced fruit, and a pot of Costa Rican coffee.

For Bri and I, the first order of business was to find a bank and get some colones (CR currency). Oh and Gatorade (what can I say?). Lidieth gave us directions to the bank in town, where her daughter works. We headed on over, planning to ask for Veronica once we got there.

An armed police officer on the inside of the bank unlocked the entrance with a key, let us in, and immediately relocked the door. The queue was made up of chairs, which was kind of nice (no standing in line) and kind of awkward (everytime someone got helped, we all scooted over one chair.)

As it turns out, there was no reason to specifically ask for Veronica – there was only one teller station, and she was it. I forked over two twenties and asked for a variety of bills, not realizing that this would cause issues later on. She cheerfully complied, and for the first time in my life, I held a 10,000 note in my hand. (Along with a 5,000 and a 2,000 and a 1,000 etc)

Next, we went to the SuperCompro and bought some sports drinks, some insect repellant, and some milk boxes. Let me tell you a bit about milk boxes. They are *awesome*. If you are familiar with juice boxes, you have the basic concept. Now imagine them filled with flavored milk instead – ranging from vanilla to strawberry to chocolate to caramel. They are made by a local company called Dos Pinos and they taste like milkshakes. I am so totally addicted to caramel milk boxes now, that I have no idea how I will survive without them once I get back to the states.

We returned to the rental house, and headed over to the barn. Alex was going to take us to Hacienda Rio Frio and give us a tour of the macadamia farm. On horses.

You probably realize that I haven’t been on a horse since I was ten and went to my mom’s friends’ house in central Indiana. And I’m not even sure if that counts, since the horse I was “riding” was actually being led in a circle by my mom’s friend. Brian had a similar, single, solitary, childhood horse experience, so I wasn’t sure which one of us was going to make the biggest mistakes.

Bri managed to mount Bonita with a minimum of incident, and I got astride Casper with the aid of a step stool. I could have probably done without the stool (and have since dismounted easily without it) but at the time, I had my three pound video camera looped around my neck, which wasn’t the best for balance.

No sooner had Alex mounted Brownie, when Brian’s horse took off at a run, turning around backwards and dashing up a mound of grass. Hilarious. The rest of the trip was speckled with similar misadventures of Bri and Bonita, typically with her running off with him at top speed wherever she chose.

My horse, on the other hand, was a sweetie and very intuitive, although he tended to bounce when he galloped and managed to completely bruise my rear end.

The macadamia farm was vast and very pretty. There were a few workers about, but not many. Although it’s summer for us, it’s winter here now, which apparently makes it off-season. We found out later that the shells of the macadamia nuts (and believe me, there are *tons*) are sometimes used to fill the potholes in the roads. I thought this was a particularly inspired idea.

We saw lots of hawks in the sky and butterflies nearer the ground. I took a lot of video footage with the camera, but who knows how it will turn out, horseback being somewhat unlike a tripod, and all.

We came back two very contented people, having had such a fun filled day, and happy to relax and watch the sun set across the lake and its backdrops of mountains and volcano.

Tags: animals, food, shopping