Tranquilo: Cordoba

I’m writing this now as I sit on one of Spain’s high-speed rail trains. At the moment, I believe I could walk faster, even in my boot and possibly even on crutches. Given that it seems my trip will take quite a while and I am sick at looking at Olive trees, I’ve put on some Dave and will recount what Saimah and I have termed our “trophy wife” day yesterday. We arrived in Cordoba from Granada on Tuesday night and so had the whole day yesterday to explore the city, which I believe we adequately did in one day. We started early in the morning by making our way to the infamous Mezquita. When learning about this hybrid mosque/cathedral in various history and Spanish classes, I was fascinated and hoped that I could one day make it there. I think Saimah felt the same way, maybe more due to the importance of its Muslim history. However, we both got there and were a little disappointed. Rather than being a “Mezquita” it really was just a church, the only remnants of a mosque being the grand brick red and white archways fitted throughout the building. Other than the arches, the rest of the building was designed like a stereotypical catholic church, making it just a weird, cacophonous mixture of architecture, which was strongly reinforced by the numerous Christian paintings of Virgin Mary and baby Jesus juxtaposed against obviously Muslim designed walls. I felt it was kinda like mixing Mango and cheddar cheese together (this was an aweful tapa I had the other day), some things just shouldn’t be mixed. And although I found the Mezquita worthwhile to see—albeit disappointing—I felt bad because I think Saimah was even more disappointed by the overwhelming prevalence of Christian faith.

After coming to Cordoba mainly for the Mezquita, waking up extremely early (really like 8 am), and making it through there it roughly 30 minutes, we decided that shopping was the next logical option to consume time. Even though we knew all the shops around the Mezquita were overpriced and geared purely towards tourists, we decided to start here first, eventually making out way into the Juderia (Jewish quartes of city). After accumulating portions of the gifts I plan to give to my family back home—Dad you are going to laugh so hard—it was time to maybe to a bit more site seeing. The alacazar was really the only other site that we wanted see in the city. After trying unsuccessfully to find it, I went up to a tourist stand and in very slow poor Spanish explained to them that I was a dumb tourist and couldn’t find the alcazar. They nodded in agreement, confirming that I was a clueless tourist, and told me to turn around for I was standing right in front of the alcazar. So I turned around and imagine that, I was right in front of a huge stone palace that was obviously the alcazar, for it spanned the length of my entire street back home. I turned back around and thanked the woman at the desk who was looking at me like I was retarded. As I turned to walk away, I caught her roll her eyes and say something to her co-worker. I chuckled at my cluelessness and for the old couple I saw wearing ponchos with a huge map obscuring their faces making their way to the tourism booth. I bet they were looking for the alcazar too.

The alcazar was beautiful, though not quite as grand nor as confusing as Seville’s. Though it did have 2 very large ponds that I thought could be turned into some very nice swimming pools with 4 or 5 lanes. I think Saimah thought I was a bit ridiculous and crazy when I mentioned this to Saimah. I think most people must see these pools as relaxing places to sit by and feed the fist rather than future swimming pools. But they could have made one Olympic size if they would have just knocked out the concrete divider between the two pools! After spending a bit longer in the alcazar we left. It was now a little before noon and we had already seen all of the city that we really wanted to see. So, we decided to go to an Arab bath. Arab baths were commonly used throughout Muslim history as places of relaxation and can be seen in many alcazars and at the Alhambra in Granada. We wanted to go a modern one here since I don’t really think they exist in the state at all. Turns out it was the best 26 euros I have spent so far and was one of the best and most relaxing experiences I have had in a very long time. I liken the Arab baths to a water-based type of spa. The pictures we saw of them showed naked people lounging in huge pools. The huge pools caught my attention. I told Saimah I was going to swim in them. She laughed and shook her head, I think hoping that I wasn’t series. On our way, I secretly stored my goggles in my purse, just in case. After we paid and that sort of stuff we were instructed to change into a bathing suit, flip flops, and given a towel. After making our way through the tiny changing room and locking all our stuff, we walked through the doors into the spa. The first room was instantly calming. The walls were a mixture of dark stone and white painted drywall that met a beautifully carved wooden ceiling. The room was composed of two beautifully tiled baths filled with ice-cold water. Each bath was lined with rows of candles, creating a vibe of pure relaxation. An open archway led to the second room. This room was much bigger with one larger pool—though not enough to really swim laps—filled with lukewarm water. On one side of the pool was a bench on which to place towels and to sit with teapots and cups placed nearby. On the adjacent side were two message tables and two neatly tailored masseuses, wearing white gear that I imagine workers at insane asylums would wear. Off to the right of the main room was a smaller, darker room that contained two smaller hot baths that looked very similar to the cold baths. Each bath had fresh water constantly following into the mix. The recommended progression between baths was from warm to hot to cold for it somehow mirrored the natural pattern of blood flow. So we started with this pattern, though no one except for me stayed in the cold baths very long. For a while I couldn’t figure out how they managed to get the water so cold because it was far colder than the coldest setting on any faucet I had every felt, but then I discovered hard chunks of something floating around, which I realized were bits of ice. Ahh so that’s how they did it. I kept jumping back and forth between the extremely hot and the extremely cold baths, for I found the transition between temperature somewhat exhilarating and pretty much just awesome. Though by the end of the time in the bath house, I was spending significantly more time in the cold bath than either of the other 2 baths. In addition to spending time in the baths, Saimah and I also had a 12 minute massage. Usually I am not a big fan of massages because I generally don’t like other people touching me unless I am dating them. However, I was able to relax enough to somewhat enjoy this massage, which shows huge progress for me because I used to not even like hugging other people.

After our lovely spa time, we went out to eat (thank God not at a Spanish restaurant), then planned out our trip to our next city, Cadiz. This consumed most of the next few hours, until dinnertime. I offered to use what little ingredients we had to try and make a decent meal. This is when the day became a little less relaxing. The kitchen in our hostel was quite deceiving in that at a first glance lit ooked like a cute, functional little place. It absolutely was not. All I was trying to make was a nice fruit salad and a tomato & cheese open-faced baguette sandwich. I thought this seemed easy enough, haha not quite. My plan of attack was to first conquer the fruit salad and then move onto the tomato sandwich. The fruit salad went easy enough, for my only challenge was fighting with dull out-dated weapons.

Task number two: sandwich. This posed a little bit more of a challenge.

Step 1: Toast the baguette. Weapon of choice: Oven.

Oops, oven doesn’t work. Hmm, well maybe a toaster.

Oh wait, no toaster. Ok, maybe toast using gas stove top.

Apparently there are no matches in whole building.

New goal: Find lighter. Uh oh. Goal achieved: found crappy lighter that barely works.

All right, so now I am trying to light the burner with a lighter, which means, given the angle, that I kept burning the back of my fingers. Ouch, ouch! I think this is also a good time to say how I am secretly terrified of fire. I hate it whenever anyone asks me to start campfires because often I’m the only one that knows how to. I try to leave the living room, pretending to get some water or something, whenever my dad is tending the fireplace because I know that inevitably I will be enlisted for help. I don’t even like lighting birthday cake candles. Essentially I try to avoid engaging in any fire related activities unless absolutely necessary. I deemed toasted bread and absolute necessity. Therefore, this was quite an unpleasant experience for me. After trying unsuccessfully to light the burner for a few minutes, another kitchen noticed my plight and probably also my shaking hands and the sweat beading down my face. She came over to help me. After a few clicks, 12 inch flames shot up from the stove top. We both screamed, jumped back, the lighter flung against the back wall of the kitchen. Not only was one dysfunctional burner lit, but two were! One was ridiculously bad because only half of it was lit and the flames were large enough to light the window curtain on fire. We quickly jumped to turn of the really bad one and in panic accidentally turned off the half-way decent one. The other girl, having had enough of helping me, quickly left. I was on my own for this one. I tried to turn the burner down. Just my luck, knob doesn’t work. I moved everything away that could catch on fire, opened all the windows because I think we were all close to being asphyxiated by the smoke. After watching the flames for a few, I turned the good burner back on. It sparked, and almost lit because the flames from the other burner were almost big enough to light it as well. I decided that part of the baguette bag was going to be my next match. Wow, that paper lit fast. After a couple tries I managed to light the other burner and turn off the deadly one. Ahh Success. And only after a few burnt fingers and almost burning the hostel down, not too shabby. The rest of the meal went pretty smoothly and the bread was deliciously toasted

After dinner, still shaken up, I went for a walk around the city while Saimah stayed on her computer. I talked to the guy down at the reception desk about good, safe places to walk. He told me he thought I would love “La calle de las flores” a.k.a “The street of flowers”. So I began my quest to find the street of flowers. After about 30 minutes of wandering through the narrow, windy, cobblestone streets, I found it. It was the smallest road that I had come across so far, barely enough to even bike through, which makes me think that this guy was maybe sending me so some sketchy place where tourists were kidnapped. Guess, I’ll find out. So I rounded the corner and ducked through the low archway. Wow. Pots of flowers lined walls, winding as ivory winds around old buildings. I slowly walked down the gorgeous street, which opened up into a small, secluded courtyard with a fountain a tree and each wall covered with climbing clematis and hanging pots of flowers. I was the only person in the courtyard and so sat on the edge of the fountain, just chilling for a few and listening to the water fall. After calming down enough from dinner, I made my way back, did some planning, and went to sleep. Overall: awesome day.

Crazy Boys

My friend James from Montreal. *shakes head* So crazy but so much fun. Then yesterday it seems was the day of bachelor parties for I saw 2 in Seville and one in Granada. This pic is one from Seville. Gotta love drunk men in women's aprons (internet shitty will load later)

Granada was also funny because the guy who was obviously about to be married was dressed in a German Helga costume with a huge empty pitcher saran wrapped to his arm, while all his friends were dressed in normal clothing holding him up/pushing him down the street. I think I would like to mimic this type of behavior for my bachelorette party but just move it to the beach. ;)

The fight

This does not refer to any type of drama between friends or anything, though tensions rise and fall, that has stayed to a minimum. This refers to my first (and last) experience of a bull fight-watching it that is. It may have been the second or 3rd day in Seville that my friends and I went to see a fight, I'm really not so sure now, because all the days seem to run together a bit. But I do remember that this was the same day as Corpus Christi in Seville. Corpus Christi occurs 40 days after La Semana Santa, and that's pretty much all that anyone (including spaniards) could tell me about it. I think the Spanish just like their wine and parties too much and so make up holidays as an excuse to drink and party in the streets. I missed the brigade of floats going through the streets, but I was woken up by all the bells ringing from it. After eventually making it out for the day, Saimah, some hostel mates, and I wandered around the beautiful city, the scent of Rosemary titillating our senses. I guess one tradition of Corpus Christi is that everyone throws sprigs of Rosemary around because for most of the day the streets were covered with Rosemary. We had a nice and peaceful afternoon walking around, seeing the remnants of what looked like a much classier, but probably just grand, religious version of the Macy's Day parade. We had delicious tapas that were extremely cheap. Four of us split 11 tapas, paying only 9 euros each!! One thing I have discovered: food and drinks are so much cheaper here than in the US, though I must say I am not very partial to all the fried food served at almost every meal. In short we had a wonderful afternoon around the city and lounging in the pool during the brutally hot hours. Then after this wonderful day was the bull fight....

Essentially I found this experience absolutely horrifying and never want to see it again. As we walked up to the gates of the bull ring, I began to get the feeling that I might not like this too much. Across the street were hundreds of protesters shouting "We love the bull" (oddly in English) being held at bay by the police. I was a little unsettled by this but tried to push it from my mind as we proceeded to find our nosebleed seats, which were unpleasantly right in the sun. I paid attention to everyone else around us as we made our way around the rink and noticed that many people were dressed up as if they were going to the kentucky derby or an extremely fancy date night or something of that sort. I found that a bit odd that people would dress up so nicely for an event of pure slaughter. It seemed that killing was the classiest form of entertainment here, but I went with it and tried to keep an open mind about what was about to come, because at that point I really had no idea and didn't even remember if the bulls were actually killed or not. They definitely were. Each fight began with the releasing of the bull into the ring. The bull charged out and usually stopped to look around, obviously dazed and confused, thinking what I only guessed to be, "Wtf am I doing out here? Why are these tiny men dressed like women waving a pink and yellow flag at me?" These confused bulls of course charge at the Michael Jackson-like clad men and are then stabbed repeatedly with what looked like hooked nunchucks. The bulls were then stabbed with spears by men on horses and then by swords carried by more matadors. After the bull eventually collapsed from blood loss and exhaustion, he was stabbed in what I believe to be the jugular. Then his head was pretty much sawed off. This whole process of killing lasted about 20 minutes per bull. After the bulls finally died, they were quickly dragged out of the ring by a line of running donkeys. We saw 7 bulls killed... Though, one was actually spared because his horn broke during the fight and it was considered "unfair" to let an injured bull fight. I kinda thought it was pretty unfair to let a bull fight 6 men with swords and 2 men on horses with spears, but apparently I was in the minority on this one.

After slaughter #1 I was absolutely horrified. I might have condoned the event slightly if the dead bull were eaten or something rather than being pitched but this was not the case. In addition to being horrified at the actual bull fight, I was also horrified at whole event, for after each stab the audience would cheer for the matador. I wanted to cheer for the bull! And eventually I secretly hoped that the bull would kill one of the matadors, and clapped in my head every time it was a close call. Then after each round, the audience would stand up and clap as the matadors bowed. I think my friends were horrified at first too, but then after about round 3 or 4, they started to get into it and clap with the rest of the audience, rooting for the bull. I actually caught myself not paying attention and clapping a few times as well. Ahhh such is the power of group think.

Seville

Oh boy...

I am in a new city now, Seville, Spain, if that wasn't obvious from the title of post. I haven't decided quite what to make of it yet. I think it would be quite a lovely place if it weren't over 100 degrees everyday and if there was a reliable bus or metro system, or maybe even relatively level blocks (I believe this is what happens to a city when everyone drinks all the time and siestas from noon to 5pm--no joke that's really how long siesta is). I've been here since wendesday afternoon and kinda am looking foreword to traveling maybe to a beach, who knows where really at this point, but somewhere with large bodies of water. But thank God my hostel has a pool because this heat would be absolutely unbearable otherwise and it has served very well for meeting new people. In part because of the pool, I definitely think my best times so far have been at the hostel meeting random people from all over the world rather than traveling around with friends. Things just get a little too messy and difficult when you have to incorporate another person's needs and wants into your own, which is exactly why I'm not the biggest fan of dating. It really is just too difficult and stressful to always make sure someone else is alrite and happy, while still doing your own thing. But then again, I can't say that my opinion is formed simply by the challenges of being tied to another person, for the people I have met here have been proven to be quite the lot of entertainers and so begins the story. You might think that a happy story would begin on a nice summer day in Seville, not to hot but not too cold, sun shining, birds chirping, some Spaniards playing guitar and dancing in the streets, good food and wine. The good wine is about all we got so far. The rest I liken to the 9th level of hell in Dante's Inferno. In other words--a wicked time.

After arriving in Seville, we had to trek from the airport--with our 20 lbs suit cases--to our hostel, which was made infinitely more confusing because streets tend to change names every 2 blocks (I believe this brilliant idea also must have arisen from the obnoxiously long siestas and of course, can't forget the wine). The weather was also over 100 degrees, yay summer! *insert not amused face*. After this trek, the only reasonable course of action is to either drown yourself in the river or casually lounge in 10x10 foot pool on the roof of your hostel with 15 other people. The first option did initially seem quite appealing, but, since I'm here, I obviously chose the second. This turned out to be a brilliant choice for upon arrival at the pool I found people doing shots--or rather chugging ladles full of mixed drinks--out of a watermelon and pounding beers. My first thought: Ahh these must be Canadians...yes! And of course most people were from Canada, with one Ozzy and one from England. Only the Canadians can rival our classy american drinking habits of funneling and shotgunning beer, body shots, using fruit as bowls for alcohol, helmets, and shields, and of course drinking games. Needless to say we had a great time at the pool drinking, talking, and oddly doing abs and push ups, which, now that I think about it, is kinda of a weird thing for 20 drunk people to be doing. This was of course led by our wonderful brothers across the border, while the Ozzy--known as "Ozzy Bond" a.k.a Australian James bond--did everything else needed and "England" a.k.a chef from England kept repeating, "England rules the world" and "Damn rebels, we're gonna take you back". Eventually actual foreigners joined the american force and ridiculous sayings escalated, to the point that I was telling everyone that I was from Ohio--a Mexican island territory in the U.S.--which in retrospect also does not make very much sense, but I do think I had a few people goin for a little bit, which makes it so much better.

After this wonderful outing, Saimah and I met up with my friend Mallory, who studied in Seville this semester, and her Spanish friends. This was great because I chatted in spanish for a while with some local spaniards, but more importantly because I met my true love that night--vino tino con limon. I must say, I never thought true love really existed but now, I'm a believer. I like to think it was fate that brought us together. My significant other is a wonderful blend of cheap red wine mixed with the creme of the crop of carbonated beverages-lemon Fanta. When the drink is classy, actual lemons are also added to the mix. After first encounter, I have been almost entirely faithful except for a quick flirtation with Absinthe, but it meant nothing. Ever since then there is not a day that we are apart. Every day since this one, has been even better with more quests, adventures, tales of true love, death and gore, but I am tired and will recount ensuing events hopefully tomorrow.

Miss you all.

General Thoughts

Tonight is the night that I am finally just sitting down and relaxing before I undertake the massive amounts of traveling I'm about to be doing in the next few weeks. I’m not quite sure where to begin about what else I have experienced and thought over the past week, because so much has happened, from the crazy and weird to the simple and peaceful. So I guess I’ll start with a bit more about Valencia and then move onto Palma de Mallorca and eventually just end up ranting because I’m writing more for me at the moment than simply for updates. But to provide a general tone of the trip, I’ve had all good experiences: some I liked, some I didn’t, but each has definitely been good for a reason. To sum Valencia up, I loved it and wish I could have stayed there for weeks. The day I first got there, I threw all my stuff in my room, changed and explored/got lost by myself in the city for hours. The buildings were so amazing to walk through, for you could tell that every detail from the trellises to the doorknobs had been carefully planned or at least it was plausible to think that they had. My hostel was smack in the middle of La ciudad vieja “The old city”, which contains all the grand stone buildings with hints of gothic influence. As I walked around the city soaking up the architecture and trying to speak Spanish to everyone—sometimes ending in success, more often in failure—I began to wish more and more that my brother were with me. Not because he is any good at Spanish or really any other language for that matter, but because he is absolutely brilliant in architectural design and construction and I knew he would just love to be seeing what I was. If there was one person who would be ecstatic and should walk around this city, it should be him. Jason, if you actually read this blog at all, you and I need to go to Europe and I will show you all the awesome places and buildings I have found and probably will still find. From what I’ve seen of Valencia and Palma, the buildings here seem to be the perfect blend of art and functionality, though Valencia ranking a bit above Palma in both aspects.

Though I did love Valencia for it’s beauty and had a wonderful experience, there were a couple of things I’m not quite sure how much I liked, referring to my experience in the hostels. All in all I loved it. I thought I was going to be pretty alone here because I was traveling all by myself and didn’t know anyone and spoke only mediocre Spanish. This was definitely not the case, for I met so many people each day that it was almost exhausting and I barely had any alone time! All these people were awesome and I am definitely glad I met each and every one, but—there is always a but—they all spoke English. When I was by myself, every small interaction I had was completely in Spanish. I could think is Spanish. I could pay more attention to observing the Spanish world around me. However, when I was with a big group of English speakers from hostels, we would only speak in English, drink a lot, and definitely not try to assimilate or pay any attention to the world around us.

I thought this English-speaking trend would end once I reached Palma de Mallorca and met up with my friend Saimah, who had been studying there all semester, but this was not the case. I actually think I may be speaking more English here than in Valencia. At first we tried a blend of Spanish and English, which worked just fine for me, but being creatures of habit, we eventually settled more and more into just conversing in English. I found that though she had studied here for the past 5 months, most of her friends from the same program only spoke in English to each other. They also went to English bars like O’Briens and Shamrock’s, which I also went to the first night here. I felt a little disappointed at this, but tried not to say anything or show any disapproval of this to my friend for I guessed that this trend might not just be due to habit and inability to speak Spanish, but part of it could be due to the fact that these people were just homesick and that maybe it felt like home to speak in your native language. I’m not sure bout the homesickness influencing the language theory, but I definitely did see the homesickness side of living abroad. After Saimah and I walked back from what was known as the “shit beach” on day 1 (it definitely lived up to it’s name), both ecstatic to catch up with each other, she told me that she was so happy to see me because it was like I brought a little bit of home to her. I reminded her of home. I saw this further when she showed me all the souvenirs that she bought for her friends and family back home and how much time and effort she put into these, including the ones that I received. I understand these actions, for already want to bring to whole Mediterranean home to my family. I wish I could give the buildings to my brother, the beach to my mom, the eco-friendly cars to my dad, the gardens to Rosalie, and the art to my friends. In addition to souvenirs, today Saimah got Burger King for lunch—I couldn’t quite bring myself to join in on this meal so I pretend that I wasn’t hungry and skipped it—because she was homesick and said that it reminded her of home. At hearing this half of me felt sorry and wanted to go make her Nicole’s classic fajita meal that she loves, go buy her some cheap red wine, and watch friends (This was the story of our fall semester), while the other part of me shook my head that home to us could be somewhat represented by fast food. And in a weird way Saimah also reminded me of my home but also showed me the dichotomy of worlds that was too come. I saw and reminisced with the old Saimah, but I also saw all the changes when I was out with her and her new group of friends. I thought I would feel more alone if anything in Valencia, when I actually was alone, than in Palma with one of my good friends, but this was definitely not the case. Though I have loved being with Saimah during the day, at night when out with her friends, I feel very much like an outsider, which is exactly what I am in reality. These people have been together sharing the experience of living abroad and adapting together since day one, I am just arriving as they are leaving. Over the years, I have learned how to be quite social, which I usually enjoy, and in general am very good at adapting to new situations. I found it very difficult and quite effortful to break through the niche that had been formed through months and months of work and enter into their circle of friends. At first, I was a bit shy and actually kept thinking about home and was oddly comforted by the American country music that was playing at the bar, which apparently never happened. However, eventually after a few jokes, side comments, and stories, the group began to take interest, eventually making me feel pretty welcome by the end of the night. But boy, it was kind of a struggle at first. This feeling of being an outsider has waxed and waned throughout the trip, which I’m sure will be reinforced at some points and totally eradicated at others.

But as of so far the only place in which I have felt entirely comfortable, safe, and happy has been out in the Mediterranean sea swimming around. Both in Valencia and in Palma I have absolutely loved and been totally content at the beaches. Today, Saimah and I ventured to Calla Major, an absolutely gorgeous beach that was situated nicely in a somewhat secluded cove area. I would have instantly ran into the water, broken footed and all had Saimah not been the voice of reason causing me to lather up with sunscreen and proceed relatively slowly into the water. As I swam around—topless by the way—I felt absolutely ecstatic, making incomprehensible noises of excitement. I explored the shoreline, swam out to the buoys, explored the rocky cove until it became a little bit too dangerous for a cripple. I can honestly say that I am never happier than when I am swimming, especially when I am out in open water. Though the water did sting the newly acquired scraps on my face, knees and hands, I hardly noticed until after I was out back on the mainland. Eventually I was able to contain my excitement to become aware that maybe it might not be so nice to leave Saimah alone on the beach all day by herself, so I made it back and plopped down on my towel. I do wish that people my age would like to play in the water as much as I do, for I do not like to lay like a lizard on a rock all day, occasionally rolling over from side to side. I kept enviously watching all of the 8, 10, and 12 year olds play games in the water and in the sand and was reminded of a conversation I had with my hostel mate at the beach in Valencia. As we were both watching a dad and a daughter play a ping pong-like game on the beach, she said that she never wanted to have children. I, somewhat confused as to how this scene could spark such a thought asked her why not. Her response, “Because then you have to play with them. I don’t want to play with kids at the beach, I just wanna lay out.” I then thought how much more fun I would be having playing with kids than just lying there. I thought of what it would be like to throw my whole swim class in the water, watch them attempt to swim and then have to save them all because, well, they can’t actually swim very well. I then thought about how someday I would probably have kids, undoubtedly future Olympians ;), who would probably be like “Mommy, mommy come play in the water with us, come race us.” And I could reply, “Ok kids, mommy’s gonna kick your ass in the water! Let’s go”. I then looked around at all the people lying on their towels, and proceeded to run/hobble—this time with Saimah—into the water again, forgetting about everything except the sea and me.

If anybody actually reads all the way through this, I am sorry for the length and the rant, I sometimes just like to write.

Pics, Not Scabby Face pics, but Valencia pics

So here are some pics of Valencia. This first pic is an action shot of what I determined was one of Spain's many indigenous panthers a.k.a black cats running around. One of my hostel mates and I went to the main beach in Valencia and decided that these black cats were actually indigenous panthers and decided to chase them around and sneak up on them by crawling on the ground in numerous attempts to get panther action shots. Judging by the amount of weird looks I received from locals and tourists, I deemed that it must have been a pretty strange and entertaining site to see a girl in a boot hobbling around in bushes trying to take pictures of stray cats. If only they knew the truth.... Well least I was able to convince Saimah that they were actually panthers until she noticed the car in the background a few minutes later.

The next picture is of what I have no idea, just thought it was a beautiful site when I was walking around one night.

The next photo is an example of a type of street performer along the valencian beach. We have no idea what really this guy was supposed to be and why the African drummers were dressed in semi-cow suits, but we liked it anyways.

Next is of an "art museum" that was on the corner of my block. I say this in quotations because although it seemed like an art museum from the outside and people told me it was, there were always people going in and out after midnight, which seems like strange activity for a museum. Also, one night at around 3am there were about 50 people waiting to get in-definitely suspicious behavior. So really I have no idea what the deal is with this building but kinda wish I would ventured a bit more to find out.

This one is my favorite statue/fountain that I found and it was just across the street from my hostel. I liked to sit by this for a few as I was waiting for buses and well just pretty much anytime I passed it.

Next: Ehh, I don't remember what this is but is very prototypical of the cities architecture- breathtakingly beautiful.

Next is La Lonja de la Seda. I am still a little fuzzy as to why this grand building was named essentially "Silk shop" or "Silk exchange. Though during the time it was built (late 1400s) the main source of Valencia's wealth was from silk manufacturing and trading. This building was designed to represent the finest of Spain's gothic architecture and to display the cities wealth during this time. I also believe that it was then used for a period as the main place where silk trading occurred. Was a very peaceful and absolutely gorgeous building, definitely my favorite that I walked around.

After La Lonja de la Seda is Valencia's main cathedral in the Plaza Reino (Reino=Kingdom). Apparently in this Cathedral is where the holy grail lies, but who knows? This plaza was a bit touristy but I loved all the old buildings anyways and seemed to circle back here at least 3 times every time I was lost.

Last two: not sure, but liked them just the same.

Craziness

Each day since I have left, something crazy has happened, each day topping the previous adventures. This makes me a bit nervous about what is going to happen tonight. Let’s recall events since attempt one of departure.

Thursday, May 27^th: I was supposed to leave Cleveland at 7:30pm this day, fly to Newark, then from Newark to Madrid, getting into Madrid around noon on the 28^th, then from Madrid to Palma de Mallorca at 2pm. That didn’t quite happen… Upon arrival, I discovered that my plane was delayed for 1 hr because of “Air Traffic Control” (wtf?), making it very close as to whether I would catch my flight to Madrid or not. So I make it through security, am driven to my gate. I wait there for bout 30min, when this guy that looks more like a drug lord than a airport worker arrives and says, “Miss Lord, follow me”. I was quite surprised that he knew my name, but then figured the crutches were a dead give a way. Anyways, he said that he was going to try to get me on an earlier flight—one that was supposed to leave at 4:30—in order that I might make my connection. It was 5:45, when this happened. Right then I figured this was just foreshadowing the events that were to come. He talked on the phone for a while, which makes me a bit happier until I hear him asking, "Ooh what kind of chips are they?". This was followed my "mmmm". *Shakes my head* FML. I am then transported to my new gate, which I promptly find has been delayed at minimum until 8:30—at which time we will receive an update—because of “Air Traffic Control” once again. There was one poufy red-headed lady working dealing with all of these issues. I, nervous about missing my series of ensuing flights, asked her if she thought we would actually leave my 8:30. Her response, “I cannot say for sure, but if I were a betting woman, and I am, I would say that we will.” This same conversation was repeated throughout the night, to the point that I began to wonder how much money this “betting” woman must have lost in her life—probably a lot. In short, we kept getting announcements that we would be getting further announcements. During this time I met an accountant who knew more about airplane models and makes that probably any pilot, a lady from Romania who was traveling to the middle east by herself as a vacation from her husband. I got invited to a wedding in Valencia and I got a marriage proposal from some boy’s mother because she wanted me as a daughter. So all in all it was a pretty fun and very interesting time, but I missed my ensuing connecting flights and ended up still in Cleveland at the end of the night.

Friday, May 28^th: Ok, so this time I did actually end up making it out of the country. I ended up being rerouted to Valencia because there were no available flights to Madrid or Barcelona for the next 3 days. And although my flight was “restricted” because of competition with volcanic ash, I was able to fly to a different city because the customer service lady was awesome and rerouted me for miscellaneous “medical reasons”. Flew through Newark, sat and drank all day in Continental’s presidential club-so awesome. I then hopped on a plane to Zurich. You guys know my story there.

Saturday, May 29^th: Made it to Valencia. Had an amazing day! However, that night is when things started to turn a bit for the worse. I decided to go on a “pub crawl” that the hostel offered. This is where a bunch of people from my and other hostels get together, pay 15 euros and are taken to 4 different bars, where we would then get a few “free” drinks at each place. So, we went around, had a sweet time. I met a lot of people, yada, yada. I was surprisingly the only American on this adventure, becoming known as Ms. America hehe. I ended up spending most of my time at each bar with a group of Ozzies, my two favorites being Stefan (who I later named “Gloria Estefan” hehe) and Sam. Sam just danced around and said, “This place is shit” everywhere we went, so he became the token hilarious shit boy of the night. Then, Stefan a.k.a Gloria Estefan ended up covering most of my other not included drinks because we made a deal that every time he got my name wrong, he would buy me a drink (2 drinks when he called me Beatriz). He didn’t seem to have the best memory but that’s ok because I started introducing him to people as Stephane (he didn’t like that very much) and then eventually as Stephanie (liked this even less) ;). So around 4:30am, I am still jet lagged and want to go home. Gloria Estefan says he’ll walk me home, assuming that I know the way (I avidly assured him that I did). Well, I couldn’t exactly remember to get back…so after 6:30am when we were still not back, I was demoted from being the navigator. Well, Gloria, as we already know, doesn’t have the best memory either and didn’t fare much better leading the way, even after we ended up finding a map. We ended up making it back to my hostel at 8:45am!! That is how long we walked around the city. Then this poor guy had to walk back across the city to his hostel. I must say though, he was quite the gentleman to stick with me for 4 hours trying to get me back safely, which was pretty awesome and my foot didn't hurt one bit. Yay!

Sunday, May 30^th: Beach all day-Amazing!! Pretty much everyone topless, very interesting, especially during beach volleyball. But once night came….things started to get a lil crazy again. I initially intended to just stay in and catch up on sleep, but as we can all see my plans don’t seem to quite work out very well. As I was walking downstairs to check my e-mail round 11:30pm and I was sitting down, I was hollered at by a group of pregamers goin hard on minute 40 of power hour. So of course I decided to join them and go out with them later. Duh. So the group of us Americans ventured out into unknown waters. The rest of the group were big smokers and decided to try and find some mystical green plants. We learned that if someone offers you a beer for a Euro (tons of people do this to tourists) but they don’t have a bag, that means that they are trying to sell you weed. The code for marijuana is “Chocolate” at least in Valencia. So, if you say “Quisiera chocolate” this is code for “I would like some weed”. Amazing what you can learn in 2 days. So they got some weed-I didn’t participate in this adventure. But we continued walking around, this time me successfully navigating this, until…the fall. Let’s preface this story a bit first. In Valencia there a tons of little posts that go almost to your knee that line the street but follow the curbs around turns as well. So, I was walking talking to Nema—a very attractive boy pursuing his masters in Behavioral Economics—when one of these poles jumped out in my path. I didn’t see this pole, tripped over it (it catching on my dress along the way). Given that I was traversing on cobblestone, uneven terrain in a boot and one flip flop, I couldn’t recover and maintain my footing. So, I fell into the side of a building, my face breaking the fall. It was terrible, and my nose is pretty scabby now, with a slight cut above my eye. Hopefully didn’t break anything, not quite sure, but am very glad that I was relatively fine and didn’t chip any teeth. Ok so that is rough overview of previous craziness. Hopefully tonight will be a little more relaxed in Palma de Mallorca. Yay! Finally made it here.