Pictures to go with this post:
Scotland
And part two of vacation…
So one day later, we got up at a more reasonable time and headed to the airport from the little city of Beauvais and made it through the whole process again, though this time with more energy after a day of forced recuperation. Our plane to Glasgow went off without a hitch and we met some friends of mine at the airport after only a short wait and they drove us to Edinburgh, which was the most amazing gift to have.
These were two English gentlemen (father and son) that I had met in Castuera because they had come to see their father/grandfather. Sad, but fascinating story: I had been called to the old folks home here in town to help get the news to this father/grandfather’s family about him. He had been sick for a while, but had recently gotten worse and they wanted to contact the family to let them know and to figure out what should be done with his stuff and with the body, should the man pass. I went with my headmaster, who speaks fine English, but delivering that kind of news isn’t even easy in one’s native language, so he was worried about sounding calloused and asked if I would come along. So I did.
We had tried to call Alasdair (the father of the father and son combo), but the number listed wasn’t getting us through for some reason, so I went home to try and send an email to the email provided on the contact list. After a couple days I hadn’t heard a thing.
Then the old folks home called because Alasdair had tried to call to say that he was coming for the weekend. The first time he called, he quickly realized he needed his son to try and help him say it, since his son (Doug) knew a little bit of Spanish. They got the point across to the home before we got there, and so I figured that they had gotten the email and had made plans immediately.
It turns out (as they explained when they got to Castuera) that the contact sheet had Alasdair’s email wrong and he had never gotten the email, so when they came, they found Myles in a much worse state than they had expected. Certainly worse than when they visited two years prior. So I was called on again to help with translating while they were there, though I didn’t do much. But apparently they thought I did, because I have been thanked enormously since.
They had made a temporary plan (if he got worse over the weekend his son would leave and Alasdair would try to stay as long as possible while if he didn’t get worse or got better they would leave and be on high alert to fly down to be with him should he get worse later) but it was still iffy. They flew in on Thursday, got to spend Friday with him, and on Saturday morning I got a call at 7am saying that Myles had passed in the night. I hope this doesn’t sound morbid, but it was great timing. They hadn’t seen Myles in a year or two and they randomly (remember, they never got my email, they just chose that particular weekend to visit without knowing) chose the weekend he died to come down to say hello, got a whole day with him, and make him feel loved before he left, and then even had enough time to arrange what to do with his stuff and his remains. I don’t know, I think it was maybe some kind of intervention.
SO! That’s the story on Doug and Alasdair! Business was taken care of, they spread the ashes on Sunday before leaving, and they made their plane out of Seville back to Scotland without a hitch.
And Scotland is where they come back into the story again. We had originally planned to stay with a friend of David’s outside of Edinburgh while there, but she lived with her boyfriend’s parents and there was no room for us. So, I started harassing the only two Scottish contacts I had, one of whom said no, she couldn’t, and the other of whom was Doug. Though he was outrageously hard to get a hold of and our accommodations didn’t even cement until two days before we left for Scotland, he came through for us. A friend of his was gone for the vacation and his flat was empty. We were given keys and full reign.
So back to the story. Doug and Alasdair drove us from Glasgow to Edinburgh, to the apartment of this friend. It was a disaster. We tried not to look appalled, but it really was gross. There was something in the fridge (a rump roast, I think) that was oozing and smelling up the entire fridge. There were bits of food lying on the carpet getting ground in with every step we took, beer bottles with stale and molding beer inside, and dishes with molding food everywhere. Not to mention the stove top, which looked like an explosion. We spent the first evening cleaning, because neither David nor I do well with that kind of filth. Messy, sure. But rotting food, pieces of garbage, and dirty laundry everywhere? No.
But it wasn’t a bad trade. We had been looking, as a BARE MINIMUM, at $700 just in housing alone while in Scotland. They have this New Years party, you see, that is one of the best in Europe, if not THE best. And so everyone was there and bunks in 14-person rooms were going for $100 per night. Dorm beds for $100 per night! So a little bit of cleaning and the 20 pound note we left the guy to help with electricity and water was a GREAT trade for saving all that money. Especially considering I would have never been able to pay my share had we gone with the hostel route.
So they came through for us with that and invited us to their home in Stirling for Haggis on the day after New Years. Haggis is like all the extra pieces of the lamb that no one wants, ground up and stuffed into the stomach of the lamb and then boiled with spices. Surprisingly, not bad.
We partied on New Years with a cool couple from California that had been on the same cancelled flight as ours in Beauvais and then met up with some other foreigners (a Moroccan, a French and a Spaniard, maybe?), with whom we went dancing. It was DELIGHTFUL.
We did another free city tour (if ever in Europe, look for the free tours offered, especially if by Sandeman’s “NewEurope”—the guides are fun and work for tips alone), went to Harry Potter in English with French subtitles (“wand” is “baguette” in French!), took a train to Stirling for a meal with our friends, spent a day with David’s friend Helen and her boyfriend, and met a hilarious and cute couple from Germany on our last night. It was so much more of a laid back atmosphere than Paris. I loved it. David loved it. We loved Scotland.
Spanish coast to come.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Wednesday, January 26, 2011
Part one of a great adventure!
Photos:
Part 1!
On to the rest of the story. The day my mom left, I got on the train back to Castuera after doing just a little bit of shopping. I came home and had a nap and then got ready to go out with the girls. I wore a sweater that was only supposed to be a sweater with leggings and my new leather (okay, fake leather) boots. I looked HOT.
The foreigners came over with alcohol and we played King’s Cup, which was way fun when people don’t always understand all of the English you’re putting out. Well, life is just more fun when people lightly misunderstand you. Not like big misunderstandings, but small ones anyway. I got a little carried away with the alcohol and spent five or ten minutes over the toilet (don’t worry, I was just queasy, nothing came up!) before heading out with Milena to the bar. We stayed there and danced and caught the eyes of boys until about 3am and then we headed over to the dance club for more than four hours where we were glad to have our German friend, Philipp, to watch over us as the boys moved in closer and closer all the time. Outrageous.
I went home at 7:30am and slept well into the afternoon. That’s a night out in Spain and sheesh, I can’t do that often. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it (other than the man trying to become my boyfriend the whole night), but it would kill me if I did it more than one night in a row.
Two days later, on Tuesday, after not being sure if he would make his planes or not, I went to the train station to pick up David H. He got off the train all in one piece! It was amazing! This was after a lot of work for him, getting everything ready at home and getting a flight canceled and begging the United Airlines workers to help him out and barely making flights with minutes to spare and figuring out trains all by himself. It was a relief that he was in one piece.
Annnnd then two days after that we got back on a train and went to Madrid to spend the night in Cat’s Hostel (we only slept like three hours) and we got on a plane to Paris. It was complicated because there weren’t any buses or metros running that early in the morning, so we had to get to the airport by taxi, which was probably more expensive than either our hostel for the night and then our flights to Paris. Ridiculous. But it was done.
And we didn’t know that “Paris Beauvais” actually meant just Beauvais… it’s a city almost an hour outside of Paris that all the bargain airlines fly into. A bus ticket from that airport to the center of Paris was 15 euros each. Then we had to catch the metro. And this is all fairly blind, mind you. We had no maps, didn’t speak French, and mostly had no idea what we were doing. But we made it to our hotel, which was not ready for us, and we went out to find something to eat. And of course we were slapped in the face with food prices right off the bat. I mean, I was expecting it to be expensive, but it was still a slap in the face. 9 euros for a lousy bowl of onion soup? Okay, it was great soup though. But still.
And right off the bat we got another slap in the face with the cold. It’s not that it was COLD like it gets in the Pacific Northwest (like well below 0), it’s just that it was a new kind of cold that we couldn’t get away from. It was wet cold that sinks into your bones and doesn’t come out. But on top of that, we had to be out in it all day if we wanted to see the city at all.
We got checked into our room, which was an awkward process because the lady said it was ready but we went up there and it was only mostly finished. We lacked towels and cups. Once we actually got into the room and the maids finished, we explored the room a little—its tiny but deep bathtub, the radiator we could control that was literally a wall of heat, and the porn channel that streams without apology for anyone who wants to watch. Welcome to France.
So we learned how to use the subway of Paris and it was one of our favorite places. We would escape into its recesses in order to get somewhere, but really we were glad that we could get out of the cold. Some lines were not so nice, like the 6, I believe, because it was above ground and therefore outside. Then again, it had a great view of the city, which you couldn’t get on any of the other lines.
All of our pictures kind of look the same because we were wearing the same coats all the time and it was so cold that we didn’t want to take them off—not even for a moment for pictures.
We went on a free walking tour, which was a great way to look at the city a little more. I had a guide book with me, but it was for all of Europe, so it would have been hard for the authors to include all the little things about the city that our tour guide was able to tell us.
One day I stayed in bed due to a fever that had me waking up in cold sweats. Who knows how to ask for medications in French? Not me. Nor David. We walked into pharmacies and right back out. We even had trouble getting things like acetaminophen, which, of course, is called something completely different in French. So we slept until it was dark again one day, hoping I would get better, trying to keep the chill from settling in me permanently. And I felt better. Even now a gunky cough remains, but the fever passed and I felt a little better.
We saw the Eiffel tower, the Arc d’ Triomph (sp?), the Louvre (what a confusing place!), Musée de Orsay (waited in line for 4 hours for it!), Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame, and all the classic Paris sights that you just must see. We saw them, boys.
Getting out of Paris was a little more difficult than getting in. Ryanair asks that you get to the airport and check in at least 2 hours before your flight. Why so early? Because they generally only have one person checking people in and the lines are outrageously long and frustrating. So on the morning of December 29th we got through the line behind this adorable family (mom was from Scotland and dad was from Australia, I think), got checked in, went through security (important to mention that security is always so stressful because of the whole thing with stupidly long lines and the fact that the bags we were carrying were not only too big, but also too heavy to be permitted on the flights, had security checked closely), and found our gate. But as we sat at the gate and the departure time on the screen kept getting pushed out and no plane was showing up to shuttle us to Edinburgh, Scotland, we realized that we were probably dreaming. The fog was so thick we probably wouldn’t have been able to see the plane on the tarmac anyway. Then, quite a while after our original boarding time had definitely ended, the flight was cancelled. Our plane had landed in Belgium and therefore was not going to be there to take us to Edinburgh.
Luckily we had been somewhat pushy and stood as close to the front desk as possible (because we had those big bags and needed to get on the plane early in order to find a place to stash them), meaning that we were at the front of the line to head back into the airport to talk to the Ryanair desk for change of airplanes. We had the choice to fly to Glasgow the next day, or Edinburgh on the 31st. We chose Glasgow, to try and give us more time should we need to rearrange our flights again if we were cancelled again. And, surprisingly, Ryanair will supposedly pay for the hotel we stayed in that night, though we have yet to find out because we still need to submit the paperwork.
Beauvais was actually a surprisingly cute town to stay in, since we were stuck there. We had a great hotel, saw some friends we had made on the same cancelled flight, and saw a fantastic cathedral that seemed more impressive than Notre Dame, though certainly less famous. I tried mulled wine, which was awesome, and took a nice bath. I was companionless after 8pm because David had passed out, but I enjoyed myself in the bar nonetheless.
And that’s the first part of the vacation post. Be back in a day or so with the rest. Meanwhile, check out my pictures at the link above!
Sending light and love.
Part 1!
On to the rest of the story. The day my mom left, I got on the train back to Castuera after doing just a little bit of shopping. I came home and had a nap and then got ready to go out with the girls. I wore a sweater that was only supposed to be a sweater with leggings and my new leather (okay, fake leather) boots. I looked HOT.
The foreigners came over with alcohol and we played King’s Cup, which was way fun when people don’t always understand all of the English you’re putting out. Well, life is just more fun when people lightly misunderstand you. Not like big misunderstandings, but small ones anyway. I got a little carried away with the alcohol and spent five or ten minutes over the toilet (don’t worry, I was just queasy, nothing came up!) before heading out with Milena to the bar. We stayed there and danced and caught the eyes of boys until about 3am and then we headed over to the dance club for more than four hours where we were glad to have our German friend, Philipp, to watch over us as the boys moved in closer and closer all the time. Outrageous.
I went home at 7:30am and slept well into the afternoon. That’s a night out in Spain and sheesh, I can’t do that often. Don’t get me wrong, I loved it (other than the man trying to become my boyfriend the whole night), but it would kill me if I did it more than one night in a row.
Two days later, on Tuesday, after not being sure if he would make his planes or not, I went to the train station to pick up David H. He got off the train all in one piece! It was amazing! This was after a lot of work for him, getting everything ready at home and getting a flight canceled and begging the United Airlines workers to help him out and barely making flights with minutes to spare and figuring out trains all by himself. It was a relief that he was in one piece.
Annnnd then two days after that we got back on a train and went to Madrid to spend the night in Cat’s Hostel (we only slept like three hours) and we got on a plane to Paris. It was complicated because there weren’t any buses or metros running that early in the morning, so we had to get to the airport by taxi, which was probably more expensive than either our hostel for the night and then our flights to Paris. Ridiculous. But it was done.
And we didn’t know that “Paris Beauvais” actually meant just Beauvais… it’s a city almost an hour outside of Paris that all the bargain airlines fly into. A bus ticket from that airport to the center of Paris was 15 euros each. Then we had to catch the metro. And this is all fairly blind, mind you. We had no maps, didn’t speak French, and mostly had no idea what we were doing. But we made it to our hotel, which was not ready for us, and we went out to find something to eat. And of course we were slapped in the face with food prices right off the bat. I mean, I was expecting it to be expensive, but it was still a slap in the face. 9 euros for a lousy bowl of onion soup? Okay, it was great soup though. But still.
And right off the bat we got another slap in the face with the cold. It’s not that it was COLD like it gets in the Pacific Northwest (like well below 0), it’s just that it was a new kind of cold that we couldn’t get away from. It was wet cold that sinks into your bones and doesn’t come out. But on top of that, we had to be out in it all day if we wanted to see the city at all.
We got checked into our room, which was an awkward process because the lady said it was ready but we went up there and it was only mostly finished. We lacked towels and cups. Once we actually got into the room and the maids finished, we explored the room a little—its tiny but deep bathtub, the radiator we could control that was literally a wall of heat, and the porn channel that streams without apology for anyone who wants to watch. Welcome to France.
So we learned how to use the subway of Paris and it was one of our favorite places. We would escape into its recesses in order to get somewhere, but really we were glad that we could get out of the cold. Some lines were not so nice, like the 6, I believe, because it was above ground and therefore outside. Then again, it had a great view of the city, which you couldn’t get on any of the other lines.
All of our pictures kind of look the same because we were wearing the same coats all the time and it was so cold that we didn’t want to take them off—not even for a moment for pictures.
We went on a free walking tour, which was a great way to look at the city a little more. I had a guide book with me, but it was for all of Europe, so it would have been hard for the authors to include all the little things about the city that our tour guide was able to tell us.
One day I stayed in bed due to a fever that had me waking up in cold sweats. Who knows how to ask for medications in French? Not me. Nor David. We walked into pharmacies and right back out. We even had trouble getting things like acetaminophen, which, of course, is called something completely different in French. So we slept until it was dark again one day, hoping I would get better, trying to keep the chill from settling in me permanently. And I felt better. Even now a gunky cough remains, but the fever passed and I felt a little better.
We saw the Eiffel tower, the Arc d’ Triomph (sp?), the Louvre (what a confusing place!), Musée de Orsay (waited in line for 4 hours for it!), Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame, and all the classic Paris sights that you just must see. We saw them, boys.
Getting out of Paris was a little more difficult than getting in. Ryanair asks that you get to the airport and check in at least 2 hours before your flight. Why so early? Because they generally only have one person checking people in and the lines are outrageously long and frustrating. So on the morning of December 29th we got through the line behind this adorable family (mom was from Scotland and dad was from Australia, I think), got checked in, went through security (important to mention that security is always so stressful because of the whole thing with stupidly long lines and the fact that the bags we were carrying were not only too big, but also too heavy to be permitted on the flights, had security checked closely), and found our gate. But as we sat at the gate and the departure time on the screen kept getting pushed out and no plane was showing up to shuttle us to Edinburgh, Scotland, we realized that we were probably dreaming. The fog was so thick we probably wouldn’t have been able to see the plane on the tarmac anyway. Then, quite a while after our original boarding time had definitely ended, the flight was cancelled. Our plane had landed in Belgium and therefore was not going to be there to take us to Edinburgh.
Luckily we had been somewhat pushy and stood as close to the front desk as possible (because we had those big bags and needed to get on the plane early in order to find a place to stash them), meaning that we were at the front of the line to head back into the airport to talk to the Ryanair desk for change of airplanes. We had the choice to fly to Glasgow the next day, or Edinburgh on the 31st. We chose Glasgow, to try and give us more time should we need to rearrange our flights again if we were cancelled again. And, surprisingly, Ryanair will supposedly pay for the hotel we stayed in that night, though we have yet to find out because we still need to submit the paperwork.
Beauvais was actually a surprisingly cute town to stay in, since we were stuck there. We had a great hotel, saw some friends we had made on the same cancelled flight, and saw a fantastic cathedral that seemed more impressive than Notre Dame, though certainly less famous. I tried mulled wine, which was awesome, and took a nice bath. I was companionless after 8pm because David had passed out, but I enjoyed myself in the bar nonetheless.
And that’s the first part of the vacation post. Be back in a day or so with the rest. Meanwhile, check out my pictures at the link above!
Sending light and love.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
I know, finally...
First, new address. If you've already sent me something to the old address, do not despair, it should still make it to me. But if you intend to send me something from this point forward please use the following address, written as closely to what I have here as possible:
Emily Ruth Kuhl
C/ Turroneros, N° 5 - 1°B
06420 Castuera (Badajoz)
España
I have heard, however, that you may need to write "Spain" instead of "España" because the US postal service is a little slow on the pick-up. :)
Next, photos to go along with this post:
Mom
Today I write again on paper. A houseguest has come to stay for a month and must use my computer to complete coursework. I feel so ancient with a pen and paper. :)
I have not forgotten my blog, you see, merely I have been busy and unable to have long enough to sit down and write. Genereally the only tie I have to myself on the computer I use to take care of business; blogging is low on the priority list. Since last writing I have done much that is worth telling. Chronologically first, I went to Granada. It’s a city in the south in the province of Andalucía. The city is half designed by Spaniards and half designed by Muslims, creating a gorgeous Arab-flamenco style to the architecture (no, that is not an official textbook way to describe the architecture, I just invented it). Beautiful.
I went to meet my delightful friend, Jes. We waited too long to make hostel arrangements and found it was way too expensive to stay all the nights of the 5-day weekend, so we just booked 2 nights. My journey was a three-part one, but I screwed it up halfway through… I stayed on a train too long and ended up in Seville rather than in Córdoba, which meant I had to pay for and catch a train back to Córdoba, where I stayed the night in the bus/train station because I had missed the last train or bus to Puertollano, and wouldn’t make a connection there to Granada. Arg. Luckily I didn’t get caught coming off of the train in Seville, otherwise I would’ve either been arrested for traveling for more than my ticket was worth or at least had to pay the difference in ticket prices. I would’ve had to pay in order to make a mistake. Ugly.
So I was frustrated. Spending the night in the bus/train station was not pretty either. There were several of us, but I was definitely the only woman. And not everyone seemed sober. So we got kicked out of the bus station at 1am. It was beginning to drizzle. Some of the young men out in the rain with me were asking me where I was going to stay the night. I would answer simply that I didn’t know and walk away because the conversation was definitely over there. Not a good situation. And then it got worse… it started pouring. I had walked across the street to the train station to see if they were open but they were not.
Sooo… I was under a pavilion with parked cars hidden as well as I could hide behind the bushes watching the rain come down so heavily that the bus station was beginning to disappear. The water was running past my just barely dry feet in rivers. I moved closer to the building in front of the glass doors so that if one of the “happy” young men decided to try something, the security guard would be just on the other side of the doors. But then the security guard came around the corner (handsome guy too) and asked if I wanted to come inside the station because it was safer than being out in the rain with all the men. It was like the first life ring that anyone had thrown me since coming to Spain. Not quite, but certainly the first stranger who’d offered help without knowing me. He took me just inside the door to a staircase that was kind of dark and told me to sit and stay. And I didn’t move for like 4 or 5 hours. I wanted him to know how thankful I was that he had helped me out by showing I could follow his directions. I was faithful.
And I survived thanks to the stolen Delta pillow and fleece blanket. Happy I stole them. That and the end of a ted in of bread and some liver spread I had brought with me. Saved my life, though my breath didn’t smell great.
I was, needless to say, tired and frustrated when I made it to Granada early-ish in the morning on Tuesday. I had booked my room for the 2 nights, meaning I had to pay the full 2 nights even though one of those nights I spent in Córdoba, freezing my ass sitting upright on concrete for hours. But I got to see Jes and meet her friend, the lovely Scottish Rachel. We walked around, shopped, ate, had a beer, and I got caught up on my emails at the hostel. Successful trip, though frustratingly expensive and just generally frustrating travel.
On the way home, the train from Puertollano to Córdoba was full all except for first class, which meant that I had to spend double on one of the legs of my journey just to get home for the 2 hours of work that I had to do that week. Pretty lame, but I like to show up when possible. I didn’t want to miss it since I was part-way home already and I would have had to get a hostel or something for the night anyway, so I did it, though I ground my teeth at the price. Other than that part, though, it was delightful. If I have to do it, I sure like first class. Someday, I’ll be on first class on an airplane. Someday.
The next day (Thursday), I raced to move out of my old apartment, into my new apartment, go to classes, and catch the train to Madrid… all before 2:30pm! I made it, but barely. I was definitely running to the train station.
I spent Thursday night in the Madrid airport on a cold marble floor. Yeah, I know, bad week for sleep. I didn’t take my Delta pillow and blanket this time, unfortunately, so I was rather chilly. It was a long night.
I welcomed my mom to Spain the next morning and we set out to find a place to stay. We ended up in a little mom-and-pop hotel really near the center. Mom and I learned the metro, explored the city, rented a car, and were regular badasses.
Then we headed to Castuera! I was ever so grateful for all the help my mom gave me in setting up my apartment. Monetarily she was a huge help, but even more than that, she helped teach me what setting up a household involves.
While she was here, we took day trips to Portugal and a bird park. Elvas, the city we visited in Portugal, was phenomenal! It was like 900 years old and the whole city was contained in a fortress, basically, built atop a hill to make for easier defense. And the Portuguese know how to do Christmas lights, so that was fun! My semester of Portuguese in Ecuador did me NO good. I recognized words, like obrigada, but other than that, it did me nothing. But we didn’t have too much trouble with the language, anyway, since most everyone spoke Spanish too. Oddly, the town of Elvas only had tourist maps in French.
And the bird park was great, though we didn’t actually get to do much birding. We hadn’t communicated effectively and we got out of the house too late and were just getting to the park at sunset. It was a bummer, but we found something left of a guard tower, climbed it, and had an AMAZING view. With the sunset over the lake.
Annnnd I got a parking ticket in Castuera, which was hard to deal with because no one knew what I should do to pay it. Beautiful. I paid it, finally, but I think it was lucky that I was able to because there were some serious complications.
Then we went back to Madrid, which was NUTS. My mom will forever have my respect for her ability to handle that much pressure in the car—going around huge, confusing, un-marked and untidy roundabouts like a champ. I would have died.
We decided we wanted to stay in a nice place for the last night, but even when we decide to go crazy and splurge, mom and I are outrageously reasonable women. Frugal, even. Instead of 40 euros per night at the mom-and-pop establishment, we spent a whopping 60 euros for our last night in Madrid. I know, wild.
We ate AMAZING lasagna and shared a bottle of wine at a great Italian restaurant. Really good.
It was sad to see her go. I open the invitation to anyone who wants to see Europe—come visit me! I’d love to have something to look forward to. Thanks, mom, for all your help.
And that’s installment #1 since last writing. Christmas break and travels with David still to come.
Emily Ruth Kuhl
C/ Turroneros, N° 5 - 1°B
06420 Castuera (Badajoz)
España
I have heard, however, that you may need to write "Spain" instead of "España" because the US postal service is a little slow on the pick-up. :)
Next, photos to go along with this post:
Mom
Today I write again on paper. A houseguest has come to stay for a month and must use my computer to complete coursework. I feel so ancient with a pen and paper. :)
I have not forgotten my blog, you see, merely I have been busy and unable to have long enough to sit down and write. Genereally the only tie I have to myself on the computer I use to take care of business; blogging is low on the priority list. Since last writing I have done much that is worth telling. Chronologically first, I went to Granada. It’s a city in the south in the province of Andalucía. The city is half designed by Spaniards and half designed by Muslims, creating a gorgeous Arab-flamenco style to the architecture (no, that is not an official textbook way to describe the architecture, I just invented it). Beautiful.
I went to meet my delightful friend, Jes. We waited too long to make hostel arrangements and found it was way too expensive to stay all the nights of the 5-day weekend, so we just booked 2 nights. My journey was a three-part one, but I screwed it up halfway through… I stayed on a train too long and ended up in Seville rather than in Córdoba, which meant I had to pay for and catch a train back to Córdoba, where I stayed the night in the bus/train station because I had missed the last train or bus to Puertollano, and wouldn’t make a connection there to Granada. Arg. Luckily I didn’t get caught coming off of the train in Seville, otherwise I would’ve either been arrested for traveling for more than my ticket was worth or at least had to pay the difference in ticket prices. I would’ve had to pay in order to make a mistake. Ugly.
So I was frustrated. Spending the night in the bus/train station was not pretty either. There were several of us, but I was definitely the only woman. And not everyone seemed sober. So we got kicked out of the bus station at 1am. It was beginning to drizzle. Some of the young men out in the rain with me were asking me where I was going to stay the night. I would answer simply that I didn’t know and walk away because the conversation was definitely over there. Not a good situation. And then it got worse… it started pouring. I had walked across the street to the train station to see if they were open but they were not.
Sooo… I was under a pavilion with parked cars hidden as well as I could hide behind the bushes watching the rain come down so heavily that the bus station was beginning to disappear. The water was running past my just barely dry feet in rivers. I moved closer to the building in front of the glass doors so that if one of the “happy” young men decided to try something, the security guard would be just on the other side of the doors. But then the security guard came around the corner (handsome guy too) and asked if I wanted to come inside the station because it was safer than being out in the rain with all the men. It was like the first life ring that anyone had thrown me since coming to Spain. Not quite, but certainly the first stranger who’d offered help without knowing me. He took me just inside the door to a staircase that was kind of dark and told me to sit and stay. And I didn’t move for like 4 or 5 hours. I wanted him to know how thankful I was that he had helped me out by showing I could follow his directions. I was faithful.
And I survived thanks to the stolen Delta pillow and fleece blanket. Happy I stole them. That and the end of a ted in of bread and some liver spread I had brought with me. Saved my life, though my breath didn’t smell great.
I was, needless to say, tired and frustrated when I made it to Granada early-ish in the morning on Tuesday. I had booked my room for the 2 nights, meaning I had to pay the full 2 nights even though one of those nights I spent in Córdoba, freezing my ass sitting upright on concrete for hours. But I got to see Jes and meet her friend, the lovely Scottish Rachel. We walked around, shopped, ate, had a beer, and I got caught up on my emails at the hostel. Successful trip, though frustratingly expensive and just generally frustrating travel.
On the way home, the train from Puertollano to Córdoba was full all except for first class, which meant that I had to spend double on one of the legs of my journey just to get home for the 2 hours of work that I had to do that week. Pretty lame, but I like to show up when possible. I didn’t want to miss it since I was part-way home already and I would have had to get a hostel or something for the night anyway, so I did it, though I ground my teeth at the price. Other than that part, though, it was delightful. If I have to do it, I sure like first class. Someday, I’ll be on first class on an airplane. Someday.
The next day (Thursday), I raced to move out of my old apartment, into my new apartment, go to classes, and catch the train to Madrid… all before 2:30pm! I made it, but barely. I was definitely running to the train station.
I spent Thursday night in the Madrid airport on a cold marble floor. Yeah, I know, bad week for sleep. I didn’t take my Delta pillow and blanket this time, unfortunately, so I was rather chilly. It was a long night.
I welcomed my mom to Spain the next morning and we set out to find a place to stay. We ended up in a little mom-and-pop hotel really near the center. Mom and I learned the metro, explored the city, rented a car, and were regular badasses.
Then we headed to Castuera! I was ever so grateful for all the help my mom gave me in setting up my apartment. Monetarily she was a huge help, but even more than that, she helped teach me what setting up a household involves.
While she was here, we took day trips to Portugal and a bird park. Elvas, the city we visited in Portugal, was phenomenal! It was like 900 years old and the whole city was contained in a fortress, basically, built atop a hill to make for easier defense. And the Portuguese know how to do Christmas lights, so that was fun! My semester of Portuguese in Ecuador did me NO good. I recognized words, like obrigada, but other than that, it did me nothing. But we didn’t have too much trouble with the language, anyway, since most everyone spoke Spanish too. Oddly, the town of Elvas only had tourist maps in French.
And the bird park was great, though we didn’t actually get to do much birding. We hadn’t communicated effectively and we got out of the house too late and were just getting to the park at sunset. It was a bummer, but we found something left of a guard tower, climbed it, and had an AMAZING view. With the sunset over the lake.
Annnnd I got a parking ticket in Castuera, which was hard to deal with because no one knew what I should do to pay it. Beautiful. I paid it, finally, but I think it was lucky that I was able to because there were some serious complications.
Then we went back to Madrid, which was NUTS. My mom will forever have my respect for her ability to handle that much pressure in the car—going around huge, confusing, un-marked and untidy roundabouts like a champ. I would have died.
We decided we wanted to stay in a nice place for the last night, but even when we decide to go crazy and splurge, mom and I are outrageously reasonable women. Frugal, even. Instead of 40 euros per night at the mom-and-pop establishment, we spent a whopping 60 euros for our last night in Madrid. I know, wild.
We ate AMAZING lasagna and shared a bottle of wine at a great Italian restaurant. Really good.
It was sad to see her go. I open the invitation to anyone who wants to see Europe—come visit me! I’d love to have something to look forward to. Thanks, mom, for all your help.
And that’s installment #1 since last writing. Christmas break and travels with David still to come.
Monday, January 17, 2011
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