London to Florence 27/28

I don’t think that I have ever found myself in a country where I have so little means of communication. I feel almost fluent in Spanish now that I realize how bad my Italian is. But, unfortunately, this fact didn’t occur to me until I landed in Bologna, Italy, yesterday afternoon. Before I get to that though, I think that, once again, it is worth describing my journey to the said location.

I woke up that morning at 7, got on the right metro for London Liverpool Street and arrived with few troubles. The next step was to get a train ticket for the airport, but, as luck would have it, the train was down for the day due to reconstruction. I asked around and eventually found a bus station with buses headed to the airport that came once every half hour. Of course, the bus pulled away just as I arrived. One thing I am much better at now, however, is not getting too upset when things like this happen. I took some deep breaths, realized that it was all out of my control and searched for means of entertainment until the next bus/train/plane/ect. arrived.

I flew out of the same airline that I came in on – RyanAir. This time, however, I had accumulated another bag, which I was planning on putting under the plane. The bag had some of my snow stuff such as pants, jacket, gloves, ect and weighed all of 2 kilograms. The cost to bring it on the plane? An extra 35 euros. So that meant that I had to get creative. I put my jacket and pants on and found little places to hide the other stuff and, looking like I was about to jump off one of those helicopters and start skiing, I boarded the plane. Upon landing I took everything off and put it back into the bag, but it was a pretty toasty plane ride.

So now we are at where I began this blog, Bologna. Like I said, this was the first time I realized how little Italian I actually knew – two words: gratzi and bonjorno. I knew what I had to do to get to Florence, but like all travel in Europe, that proved to be more difficult than I would have desired. I somehow was able to find a bus from the Bologna airport to the Bologna train station and from there I purchased a train ticket to Florence. The first ticket I purchased was for a train out of a different station, however, so I had to repurchase another one which was 20 euros more. The train ride wasn’t bad though, only about an hour, and this time I actually had the address of my hostel and a map from the station to the hostel. It still took some exploring, but with help from a tourist office, I was able to find it without the help of a taxi.

Last night there were two other people in my room, both of whom were traveling together from Boston. We went out to dinner last night and then explored the city, amidst a good deal of rain, today. Four new people just moved in and they all speak Spanish as their main language, so its pretty cool being able to have conversations with them. Tomorrow I have tickets for the Academia (apparently a pretty famous art museum) and I leave for Switzerland on Wednesday.

Also, I am trying to put up pictures because I have a lot but my camera won’t connect to the computer! I will continue trying because right now this blog looks like a book and is in some serious need of beautification.

Italian words that I now know:

Prego/a – used for everything imaginable

Cerna – can be used for hello

I am learning! Jajajaja

1st photo - The famous Florentine Duomo Cathedral (first to use a dome like structure - which you can't see here jaja)
2nd photo - 2 very strong men... must be gods or something

Troubles with Travel - London, England (23-27)

When I finished writing the previous blog I figured that I had about 15 more minutes before we would begin boarding the plane… I was about 2 hours off. They wrote that the plane had been delayed on the departure screen, but neglected to tell anybody in any way how long that delay would be. I was confused, to say the least, but everybody else seemed to be perfectly ok, and, being that a line was beginning to form, I hopped right in it, figuring that it wouldn’t be long until we left. After about 45 minutes of standing in that same place I began to doubt myself. I wanted to move, to go sit down, but the line behind me was further than I could see and there was no way that I was going to risk losing my position. So I stood there. And stood there some longer. I guessed that it was a combination of two things: Spain and RyanAir. Spain can be a very layed back country and RyanAir can be a terrible airline. So, when you combine the two, long waits with no notice may be quite common. We eventually did take off and I was pleasantly surprised to pass through customs in England in no more than 10 minutes. I got train tickets (the airport is about an hour outside of London) to go into the city and boarded the train with no problems. It was at this moment, feeling quite content with myself, that I realized I had forgot 2 magazines, a book and some traditional Spanish chocolates I had bought for my cousins. I have no idea where I left them – either the plane, the customs desk or the ticket desk – but regardless of the place, I knew that somebody else was going to get an early Christmas gift.

At about 12 that night I arrived at London Liverpool Street. From there I figured that I would simply take a metro that would miraculously drop me off at my hostel. Boy was I mistaken. Maybe I had been overconfident as I knew that I was traveling to an English speaking country, but all I had on me was the name of the hostel,  “Astor Kensington”.  I took a metro that had Kensington on the map, but unfortunately it went in the opposite direction and then, at “Alsgate” decided to call it a night. So now I found myself even further from where I wanted to be, in a metro that had closed for the night with almost no idea of where my hostel was. I asked a cab driver how much a ride into Kensington would cost and he told me 40 pounds if we were lucky. I decided to try to get there on my own. I wandered around for a bit and found a different metro station, read the map with a bit more care, and then, at around 1 am got on a train headed towards Kensington. Only now a new problem presented itself: there were three Kensingtons. High Street Kensington, West Kensington and South Kensington.  I did a short little game of ennie-mennie-minie-moe and got off at South Kensington. From there I asked a cab driver to take me to the Marriot (it was where my cousins were staying and I figured the chances of him knowing of that were better than the hostel) and when we got there I asked him if he knew of the hostel because on google maps it was close by. We drove up and down the street a couple of times and, at precisely 2am I entered the front doors of Astor Kensington.

We would hope that the journey would stop here, and it kind of does, but you know those moments when all you want is a place to put your stuff and a bed to fall in? Well, that’s exactly how I was feeling. Only, to my utter disappointment, the floor of the hostel was covered with bags and clothes and all the beds looked like they had yet to be cleaned. I eventually decided on the top bunk of a bed that looked reasonably neat, threw all of my stuff up onto it with me and passed out. It was by no means easy (I had technically started at 9am that morning when I caught a bus to Santander), but I figure any story that ends with some sort of bed and sleep can be deemed a happy ending.

The next 3 days were exactly what I needed. Time with family, big meals, pools, hot tubs, movies, sight seeing, relaxing, long/hot showers, very little time in the hostel. I wouldn’t have wanted to spend Christmas in London any other way. Thank you Pierce family!

Spanish Adventures (19-23)

I am currently in the Santander, Spain airport killing some time before my flight to London so I thought I’d start writing a little update on my adventure to this point. So far I have been to Toledo, Madrid and San Sebastian. Marco and I took the overnight bus to Madrid on Saturday night and then caught another bus that morning to Toledo where we spent most of the day. It was a pretty cool little city and, if you don’t like to see other tourists, the perfect time to go. First off, it was a Sunday – always a quiet day in Spain – and second off the temperature was having trouble getting above 1 degree Celsius, which is about 34 degrees Farenheight. The city has the same Muslim foundations as Sevilla, but what makes it so unique is that much of the Muslim constructions remain standing today. It is located on a hill and is enclosed by a “Muralla” in which everything of importance to the Islamic tradition can be found. The streets are narrow, steep and windy – and the drivers are crazy. I think that they rival off-road drivers in terms of spectacularness for the places where they manage to fit those vehicles. We spent the day wandering, getting lost, finding our way back to the cathedral (located in the middle of the city) and then getting lost some more. It wasn’t too big which allowed us to see just about everything in the time that we were given.

We returned to Madrid with no plan for the following night or, for that matter, the next 3 days. Our original idea was to go to take an overnight bus to Bilbao, but that bus would have had us arriving at 5:00 am – a little bit early given that we had no place to stay. We searched other destinations and eventually decided to take the 12:30 am bus to San Sebastian. Accordingly, we arrived at 6:30 am and began our search for a place to stay. We found a bar with internet and from there we booked a hostel for that night. We got there at about 8 in the morning and had to ring the doorbell on and off for about half an hour before somebody finally came to our service. The workers weren’t there, but we slept in the main room for a couple of hours – bed or no bed it felt amazing to lie down – before heading out into the city. And, as luck would have it, it just so happened to be the day of the biggest festival in San Sebastian. San Sebastian is located in the Bask country in the north of Spain and, as we quickly discovered, is a completely different culture when compared with that of Andalusia. In honor of the holiday (I hope) all of the woman wore dresses that reminded me of those worn by the Omish and the men wore little hats like the Scottish. San Sebastian is located right on the coast and receives a lot of moisture making it a very green area. The people combined with the scenery convinced me time and time again that we were in Ireland, Scotland or the 1800’s. The streets were jam-packed with people drinking sidra (a famous type of cider – which is very unsavory) and eating chorizo (which is also ate in sevilla, but is made differently here). From 11 that morning to 12 that night the setting didn’t change. People singing, dancing old dances and talking in their native tongue of Bask. This language, as far as anybody knows, has absolutely no similarities to any other in the world, in fact, nobody even knows where the Bask as a group of people derived from. I at first thought that there were similarities between this and Celtic, but I ran into an Irish person who told me that that was like comparing English to Chinese. We spent the day exploring the city, watching the festivities and doing the recommended sightseeing. We also walked what had to be 10 miles. We both loved San Sebastian as a city itself. The wide, clearly marked streets were a nice contrast to those narrow, curvy ones found in Sevilla and Toledo. It was all incredibly green (one color that Sevilla severely lacks) and the fact that it was located right on the ocean brought it all together- though maybe the summer would have been a better time for taking advantage of such water.

Marco left the next day (Tuesday) but I stayed and spent the majority of my time trying to rediscover the incredibly cheap sandwich shop that we had found the day before to no avail. I met some Australian mates (say in Australian accent or else that looks weird) and we went out to a few tapa, or “pincha”, bars. In San Sebastian they have this technique where they put the little tapas (be it little sandwiches, croquetas, pimientos, ect) on the bar in front of you. The plates are continually full (you aren’t, due to their size) and incredibly delicious looking. The idea is that you eat as many as you want and then tell the bar tender how many you had at the end and pay for it then. In terms of profit making the system is ingenious. A) You just can’t stop yourself B) they’re small enough that you can’t fill yourself up C) they are very good and D) they are ridiculously overpriced. We were in one bar for a grand total of 30 minutes and ended up with a bill of 37 euros between the 4 of us. We could have ate 37 one euro cheesburgers at mcdonalds. That’s almost 10 to each of us. But I guess that you have to experience that local flavor.

So I guess that phase one of the adventure is almost over – the Spain phase. Now its off to England for 4 days followed by Florence. Anybody know some helpful/essential Italian???

- Top left: Me in Toledo
- Top right: Toledo
- Bottom right: Me in San Sebastian
- Bottom left: Marco and I in San Sebastian at some famous (we couldn't figure out why) statues

Also this isn't quite how I would have chosen to arrange the photos, but this program is impossible to work with. And even more than impossible to get how you want it to look.

Bon Voyage!

So I’m about to start my adventure! My friend Marco and I leave at 1 am tonight and take a bus headed for Madrid. From there we are going to visit Toledo, which is only about an hour from Madrid, and then we’re going to head up towards the north of Spain (what’s that saying? ‘it rains on the plains in the north of spain’ or something? Anybody know what I am referring to? Audrey Hepburn I believe…) for a few days. On the 23^rd I leave him and fly from Santander to London where I’m going to meet my cousins for Christmas. I stay there until the 27^th and then things gradually get a little bit less organized. From London I fly to Bologna, Italy and then I’m either going to go to Florence then Milan or Venice then Milan. From Milan I am planning on heading up to Zürich, Switzerland for New Years. I have a 10-day pass (which can be used over the course of 2 months) in Italy, Switzerland, Austria, France and Spain. The plan is to travel throughout those countries for about 3 weeks upon which I will return to Sevilla for my second quarter – I have to be here by January 20. I will do my best to keep everybody updated and post pictures from everywhere that I go! If anybody thinks I absolutely have to do something in any of those countries please tell me! Ok, here I go, hasta luego!

Essay Competition

We had the option of writing an essay for our program about a particular experience we had here in Sevilla. The winner got 100 euros! (I am approximately 100 euros richer...) Here is what I wrote!

Starring blankly into his eyes, his face marked with the frustration of trying to explain a simple task to somebody who can hardly understand a word of his language, I tried to find the perfect speed at which to nod my head. Not too slow, that would convey confusion, but not too fast either, because then I would look crazy, and you don’t want your host family thinking that they were given the spaz kid on your first night in the house. No, just the right speed to show that, hey, don’t worry, I think I can figure out how to turn the air conditioner on. Regardless, when my host dad finally left the room I felt as though a hurricane had just pummeled my brain into oblivion, leaving me with less knowledge of both the Spanish language and of your common air conditioning unit. Trying not to feel frustrated, I reminded myself that being abroad wasn’t going to be easy. On the bright side, I thought, at least I have an air conditioner and, as I turned it on and went to sleep that night, I wondered if I would ever call this new bed, in this foreign country, my own.

It wasn’t long, however, before I woke up that night in what I first suspected to be a hot tub, but soon realized was a bed drenched with sweat. I turned to the air conditioning unit and changed the setting from medium to high and somehow, amidst that pool of water, fell back asleep. The next time I woke up it was if I had just finished running a marathon wearing a wet suit and a football helmet. Sweat was pouring down the sides of my face, my pillow was nothing short of drenched and water creatures were starting to grow on their newfound pond.

I will never forget the reaction of my host dad when he walked into my room that morning. The look on his face was a combination of shock and complete horror, like he had unexpectedly walked into a blazingly hot place. He looked at me, losing body water at what had to be record pace, went over to the air conditioning unit and burst out laughing. He called his wife in to have a look and I heard the first word I actually understood since arriving at my home stay – “sauna”, the same as in English. “Sauna!” they said, louder and louder between their uncontrollable spurts of laughter. And then it dawned on me. I hadn’t turned the air conditioner on at all that night, but the heater. I could have roasted marshmallows on it, or used it to stay warm in the middle of an Antarctic winter, or, as I so wisely chose, put it in a room that was already hovering around 38 C. I couldn’t help but join in. It was our first family experience together and, as I have since realized, would be an analogy for my time abroad.

We arrive here with the very basics. We know what language is spoken, but whether or not we understand that language is a completely different question. We know where we want to travel, but getting to the desired destination is an adventure in itself. We might know what kind of food is common or what sports are played, but that’s all we are equipped with; the bare minimums. It’s the details, like how to work a Spanish air conditioner, that you can only learn through actually being here. We start off as foreigners, but by the end we are all part of another culture, a different society, a new family. Its not always easy, there will be days when the simplest of tasks seem like the greatest of accomplishments, but through each experience we grow, we learn, we adapt and we become. Everybody came here with different goals, different objectives, but we all will leave with something in common, we all will return home with a little piece of our new home, with a little piece of Spain. The next time life makes me sweat, the next time I feel completely and utterly confused, I know that I will think back to that first night in Sevilla, remind myself that its all part of the journey, and have a little laugh.