Buuuut he’s a drinker, at least mildly, which is nice for Milena and I because it adds another person to party with. We started on Wednesday, working up every day until Saturday night, which was a shit-show, to put it in perfect words. It was great fun. A bonfire on the porch at the side of a river, great fun.
I had the next Monday off and Jes flew out of Madrid on Wednesday and I flew out to Italy on Thursday. So I went ahead and took the whole week off to go say goodbye to Jes. It’s funny, because she and I are great traveling partners, but we’ve never actually met stateside. We met in Ecuador, have traveled together in Spain and Morocco, and been good online friends, but since she lives on the East Coast and I on the West, we’ve never had the chance to run into each other except while abroad. Interesting.
So we stayed at a really fun youth hostel in Madrid. There were a lot of young people, even more than normal because schools were getting out in the States and all the adventuresome and well-to-do kids had taken to Europe to travel. There was an explosion of Americans, all doing the same thing, just with different stories. It was cool, but also a little odd, because we got grouped in with them usually. Which just erases the last seven months. But that’s okay. Not a big deal.
We went on a pub crawl the first night, which turned out to be super fun. We hung out with Serbian-Canadians. They were really nice. Jes, who has a boyfriend, knows how to work it for free drinks. She did so. Those boys definitely thought they were going to get laid. Haha, they definitely did not.
The next day we intended to go to the Museo del Prado but there was a line that wrapped all the way around the building. We’re not line people. So instead we walked all the way around Madrid, finally ending at 4pm in the Plaza Mayor for a tapas tour, which was delightful. We ate bull’s tail in chocolate sauce and fried pig’s ear. The first was good, the second was… bleh. A little too much fat for two people to handle. But fun. :)
We went back to the hostel early in the evening, chilled online (I enjoy being places with internet), and showered. The second game of the “Clasico”—rivalry between Barcelona and Real Madrid—was on TV, so we sat in the TV room with all the young people and watched.
Jes left early the next morning. I checked out on time and kinda snuck into the common area again to use their computers. I caught up on emails and booked hostels in Italy, so it was a very productive couple of hours. I hung out with one of the Serbians. He told me that the day before one of the guys staying in the hostel was sitting in the same computer chair I was sitting in, watching porn and rubbing himself. Sweet.
After I didn’t really have anything more to do on the computer, I grabbed my bags and headed for the park. I really like the park in Madrid. It’s like a Central Park, I supposed, but I feel like it’s a little more personal. There are little places to hide and feel like you’re so far disconnected from it all that no one would find you. So I sat and had a kebab picnic, napped in the sunshine, read, and hung out for as long as I could drag it out. Then I headed to the airport for the night.
The thing about Ryanair is that they like to do things in waves and at stupid times. It takes, at the very least, an hour to get through lines and to your gate with Ryanair and if you’re not careful and you get delayed in the process, you’re just out of luck. So, they like to fly people out at stupid hours of the morning. They have like at least eight flights leaving around 6am, meaning that you have to start getting in line by 4:00 or 4:30. Stupid. And metros in Madrid don’t start running until at least 6, I believe, and taxis from the center of town to the airport are more expensive than most flights. So sleeping in the airport, despite the discomfort, is really the best option. And luckily there are a lot of people doing it, so it never feels like at any moment someone could rob you and no one else would notice. There is a crowd of sympathetic travelers around at all times to lend a hand.
I had an extra reason to stick around the airport this time too. A new online friend from Florida who has been studying in Seville for the semester was leaving the same time as me the next morning to Amsterdam. So we met! Which was interesting. I always have this issue where I read characters differently and then when the movie comes out—or in this case I meet the person face-to-face—it’s sometimes hard to reconcile who the person really is with what I thought. Nice guy though.
I slept an hour that night, so it was good that I had slept in the park during the day. As a pro with the Ryanair system now, the process went smoothly the next morning. I got on the plane after only a minor setback where they changed the gate at the last minute. I was on my way to Italy!
I slept the entire flight. I actually have no idea how long the flight was because I was out just after take-off and woke up just before landing. Rough landing. Probably the roughest I’ve ever experienced. It was a little scary.
Once in Bergamo, I found the bus to Milan and hopped on. A lot of that head-bobbing you do when sleepy. It was about an hour busride.
The train station in Milan is incredible. And it’s just a train station. The train station there is more ornate and grand than probably any building in all of the United States.
I found the hostel on foot and then the grocery store while I was waiting to get a room. The hostel was adequate, but I wouldn’t go beyond that. The bed was very comfy. The staff was not friendly and I could tell that they were only there because they had to be. There were only two bathrooms for like 25 people, and the place was clean, but not fully so. The stairs still had grunge on them. And I had to wait for my room, which I didn’t mind, but it should have been ready long before it was. They banished me to the kitchen in the meantime, where I hung out and read. I met some great, nerdy Michiganians there. The kind that button their short-sleeve polos to the very top button. They were nice. And in the rest of the hostel I met a lot of other people. A nice Aussie girl who gave me a book that I had always meant to read, a Mexican who I ended up traveling with to Venice, and some nice English girls who wore way too much make-up and took their curling irons traveling with them.
The next morning I went walking all around Milan. I walked past Prada, La Perla, Armani, Luis Vuitton, Dolce & Gabanna, and lots of others. If I were a shopping woman, it would have been heaven (hell for the credit card). I got a picture in front of La Perla for my not-quite sisters. I saw the castle, the park, the Duomo and a protest against fascism, I think.
It was amazing how much Italian I remembered from only a semester at University and then how much I could understand beyond that because of how similar it is to Spanish. I love Italian, but I don’t know that the Milan accent is my favorite. I’m itching to go to the south for a taste of their accent. I’d love to take more Italian.
That night I was going to make myself pasta (I bought groceries at the grocery store, which ended up saving me a huge amount of money) and the Mexican I mentioned (named Cristian) was also upstairs in the kitchen. He studies gastronomy in France. So he offered to cook my food along with his! I ended up having a way better pasta meal than I would have otherwise. And it was nice to have someone to eat with. Apparently I’m drawn to Mexicans like magnets!
I talked to Davey for a while and then went to bed to be ready for Venice!
We took a train together the next morning to Venice. I had an open ticket, which means I’m not guaranteed a spot to sit. But by like the third stop there were seats open after people got off, so I got to take those. I ended up sitting next to two Americans who didn’t realize I spoke English. They thought I was Italian and I let them think that, but had to cut in when they said Vienna sausages and high class in the same sentence. Haha. They were surprised when I started laughing. We had a nice conversation. It’s so much fun to meet people while traveling and say, yeah, I’m American, but right now I live and work in Spain teaching English. People are always so impressed, which makes me feel really good about what I’m doing. They were from Connecticut and North Carolina and were in Prusia because they had bought old jet engines there that they converted to wind turbines for generating electricity. I think. Something like that. It sounded interesting.
I got off in Mestre, which is just before crossing over to the island of Venice. I parted with the Mexican, because he was staying somewhere else. We agreed to try to meet in Venice later, but because I only had internet on my kindle and no phone and he only had a phone and no internet, we agreed to contact via facebook if possible. I found my hostel with a little trouble. Well, trial and error. It was nice. Very quiet. Clean. Comfy bed. I read for a bit and then, oddly, two girls were placed in the beds next to me from none other than Washington state. Not only that but they were juniors or seniors at WSU! Not only that but they had been studying Spanish in Seville for a semester! What a small world! They were only in Venice for the night as well and then were headed to Rome the next day. They invited me to come with them into Venice, which was really nice because I ended up not being able to get into contact with Cristian
We had pizza and played around with a kitty in the street. Then we headed toward the main plaza, Piazzale San Marco, where we found a bottleneck to get in. Turns out the Pope was ccoming! What?! Fantastically, the Pope, two Washingtonians and I were all in Venice at the same time. So they checked our bags (rather lax, to be honest) and we went into the plaza and got a place in front of the metal border they had set up where he would come down. There we met a crazy Italian woman who wore way too much make-up (a bronzer that was about 6 shades too dark for her face), who I think was saying bad things to her neighbor about us while pretending to be nice to us. We also met a couple from Lithuania and a couple from Minnesota, who were REALLY nice. They had kids at home and were on a cruise for a week or so.
We were in the front row when the Pope came, gave his benediction, and then climbed on top of his ornate golf cart and drove along the little loop set up for him. He passed us twice. We were within like 6 feet of the Pope. Random.
We decided to top it off with gelato. I had peanut butter and chocolate. Soooo good. Then we took the train back to Mestre, showered, read and went to bed.
An aside: I’m reading Fountainhead right now, the other renowned Ayn Rand. It is soooo good. I think I like Atlas Shrugged better. But Fountainhead is different. It’s shorter, for one. And Atlas Shrugged was Rand’s magnum opus, so it’s like ka-bam. I don’t think I like the characters in Fountainhead quite as well. But the book has so many commentaries on truth, love, self-esteem, and self-contempt. It’s truly fascinating, but I still don’t understand it totally.
In the morning the girls were leaving for Rome, so I went with them. I could have gone back to Venice, but I would have had to do it with all my bags and I had seen a lot of it the night before, so I just called that good and left around the same time as the girls. I took a Regional train back to Milan, which was slower, but like half the price. And I got a seat without a problem.
When I got back to Milan, I was at the same hostel, they knew I was coming, and my room wasn’t ready again. And this time it was way later in the day before it was ready for me.
I had a very simple dinner because none of the grocery stores were open on a Sunday, so I ate the pasta that remained with some peas, olive oil and balsamic vinegar on top. It was actually quite good. And it did the job. I walked around some, read, and hung out. There were two new Canadians in my room, who turned out to be very odd. It was a boy and a girl, who were obviously boyfriend-girlfriend at some point, but by then were about to go separate ways. I felt like there must have been tension there that they hid form the publicness of a dorm style hostel room. One was traveling to Venice the next morning and the other to Rome. Alone. Maybe they were sick of each other?
I got sick of them pretty quickly. Usually I love Canadians, but these ones were particularly judgmental. I know people don’t like Americans and I don’t mind “stupid American” jokes most of the time because they can be accurate. We are ugly travelers, in general. What I don’t like is being attacked personally as a part of that stereotype. I have worked hard to expand my horizons and be a global citizens and not create a stir wherever I go. And these Canadians kind of attacked me. I was not a fan.
The next morning I got up and went to the park and the castle, and ended at the Duomo, where I went inside and also climbed to the top. Lots of stairs!
It is the most ornate church I have ever seen, and I have seen a lot of churches and cathedrals in my day! A thousand ornate details to everything. It seems odd to me that cathedrals like that are built to the glory of God and then inside they have collection plates to help the poor. If they had enough money to build the place to begin with, there should be far fewer poor around to help because it seems like more of the money should have gone straight to the masses. And don’t get me wrong, I’m all for building beautiful things, it just seems odd to make it THAT big and THAT ornate and then to beg for money to help the poor. Then again, I don’t think churches today don’t operate the same as they did in the Gothic period when the Duomo was built.
I enjoy normalcy in traveling. It’s nice to be going and moving all the time, but I love it when hostels have kitchens where I can cook because it makes me feel more at home, even in the midst of not knowing what’s going to happen next. Anyway, ate another simple dinner, met a Peruvian, talked on the internet most of the night, and went to bed. Since this trip was right after Osama bin Laden’s death, I got a LOT of questions about that. I also get a lot of questions about Obama and politics, which I just hate talking about. It’s part of what I was saying earlier. I’m my own person, and the political climate of the US is not what defines me. And it frustrates me that politics is what people want to talk about when they meet me, because, of course, every American must be super politically charged. The Peruvian was super nice, but he proceeded to lecture me for two hours about the faults in American culture. I also can’t stand that as well. People make judgments about America based on what the see on TV and in movies. And while I form ideas about other unknown countries the same way, I never go into a situation saying, “this is how this country is because I saw it on MTV.” If I really suspect that a country is a certain way, I ask my new-found friends about it. Is it true that…? I don’t just assume. I take the media with a grain of salt, not forming a concrete opinion until I have experienced it for myself or someone who really knows can tell me just what goes down. And it’s always such a turn-off when people tell me, oh well I know about America because I see it in the movies. The Peruvian was lecturing me about, I don’t know, something about how we use too much electricity and we don’t recycle in America. And while I agree with him, I also don’t think he knows a damn thing about it. I recycle and I conserve energy. He’s never even been to the United States and he told me, “quite frankly, I have no desire to visit a place like that.” Thanks, thanks a lot. That’s the country I love. Thanks for crushing parts of my personality and identity.
It just frustrates me because it’s everything I have worked against. I’m not the typical ugly traveling American, I’m not the girl who leaves every light on in the house, I don’t own a convertible and talk on my cell phone all the time. And I don’t appreciate people making judgments on a country that, while it has its flaws, is one of the best places on earth. I love that I can walk outside at night in many places and not feel scared. And I like that I can drive an hour and be at a National Park with buffalo and elk and grizzlies. And I like that people smile at one another and do things occasionally just because it is nice and someone else needs help. It’s total ignorance to judge based on third-person and through mass media. And you’re just being a jerk if you tell me who I MUST be because I’m American. Grow up and move past the stereotyping and profiling. If you’re not interested to know who I actually am, rather than telling me who I must be, then I’m not interested in giving you the same basic human courtesy.
Okay, sorry. Rant. It’s past.
The next morning I walked the dark streets of Milan to the train station. It was actually a very pleasant walk. I was a little sad to be leaving Italy. I’ll definitely be going back. I caught the bus to Bergamo, where I got on my plane without any trouble and flew to Madrid. I went to the train station in Madrid and got my number to get in line for a ticket. I tell you, they need a new system for selling tickets. The shorter trains sell tickets via machine and I can understand wanting to sell longer tickets at desks, but for the Media Distancia that I have to catch from Madrid to Castuera, it makes no sense to have to wait an HOUR just to buy the ticket in person at a desk. They should get machines. So while I was waiting for my number to be called, I left the station to buy water, a pop, and a sandwich to eat on the train. It was perfect timing. I got back to the ticket office and I was three numbers away from being called. I bought my ticket, sat and read for a bit, and then went to board my train.
It was good to get home. I always enjoy coming home after traveling. And it still amazes me that this is home. I know I don’t always like it, but amazingly it does feel like home after traveling. Who would have known that Spain could eventually morph into a semblance of home?
1 comment:
Updated :) Thanks for posting, sorry it took me so long to read. I definately feel like we missed out on a lot of amazing things because it was so fucking cold. Oh well. Guess we will just have to do it again. Laters. Besito.
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