Barcelona, pt II

March 20th, 2014
Hotel in Rome
Evening


I'm busting at the seams right now to tell you all about Rome, but I haven't even finished Barcelona… Let's remedy that.

I left off at espresso outside of La Sagrada Familia. From there, we journeyed back to the hotel, which at that point was the nicest place we'd stayed at. Dinner was at the hotel… Cream of vegetable soup (we had a ten minute discussion regarding exactly which vegetables), followed by chicken and spinach rolled up, cooked, and covered in an unidentifiable red sauce… Not tomato. I'm sure there's a fancy name for it, but it wasn't crazy good. They served us chocolate mousse for dessert, then we headed for bed. I woke up early and had a long, leisurely, European-style breakfast… Their spread was heavenly. Pain au chocolat (Or, as I described them at the time, crispy, flaky, mini-croissants stuffed with chocolate. Cring-worthy, but spot-on.) Not too sweet, not too bitter, and just beautiful with an americano. And while we're on the subject of coffee, allow me to rant briefly… Brace yourselves. The size of the letters in my journal increased twofold as I wrote this. 

THESE WUSSY EUROPEANS CANNOT GRASP THE IDEA OF BLACK COFFEE. Every time I turn away sugar, they make this little, surprised sound that's half shock and half snobbery. I ordered an  americano in the Eurostar station and told the guy very specifically (he even asked to make sure he heard me right) that I didn't want milk. Two minutes later, I get a drink and a receipt that says- FULL MILK. They either can't wrap their minds around it, or they do it out of spite. Even the machines get angry… The past two hotels have had coffee machines with at least six different drink options, from cafe au lait to hot chocolate. Press any of these and you get a piping hot cupful. Americano? You get a measly half cup.

WHY.

So, that's my rant. Back to Spain.

We began our day (Michael and his group's last day of the trip) at the Poble Espanyol, a village built sometime in the 1930s for the World's Fair. It's modelled after what a traditional Spanish village looked like in the 1700-1800s. The architecture was lovely… Narrow stone streets, terraces, wrought iron, plazas… And orange trees everywhere. Tomasso amused us all when he read the required 'group rules' aloud, among which were 'do not go topless' and 'do not pick oranges and throw them'. We wandered in and out of the expensive shops there, then hopped a bus and headed up Montjuic, named after a Jewish cemetery in the vicinity. We made a brief stop at an overlook with a nice view of the port, then went down to the beach for a fifteen minute stroll. I got to dip my feet in the Mediterranean- nice and toe-numbing. Afterwards, we headed down to Las Ramblas, which is crazy packed with shops, people, and pickpockets. A few of us went off into a market off the main strip. It was an absolute maze of fruit, meat, fish, nuts, chocolate… To list a few items that I saw: brain, tripe, whole rabbit with eyes, rooster heads, fish of all types, dragon fruit, pomegranate seeds, mango, hunks of coconut, dried dates, chocolate and candy in every shape you can imagine, pistachios, paprika, marrow, prawns…
My mind did a mini mushroom cloud in excitement. People were dodging in and out of the narrow rows, yelling, scraping fish blood off of slabs of ice, and hacking up cuts of meats. I paid three euro for a delicious salami and cheese sandwich on a baguette, then 1.50 for a cup of strawberries and chunked pineapple. The fruit there was seriously dirt cheap… dried dates, one pound for a euro?! Fresh papaya, one euro?! If America had markets like this… If we weren't so disconnected from where our chickens came from, our cows, our fish… If we had such easy, cheap access to such fresh food… I believe our nation's overall physique would look a lot different.

We crouched awkwardly by a lamppost for part of the meal, then stood in an alley for the rest. Luncheon over, we headed off into the Gothic Quarter, a beautiful (if smelly) maze of streets and sketchy shops. We waked that for a while, then split into groups for free time. I joined a group headed towards the Picasso Museum… Thank God it ended up being free, that's all I can say. I feel like Picasso was a lazy dude with just enough talent to waste.

Afterwards, the others went shopping while Lizzy and I found coffee at a place that advertised its hot dogs… Go figure. Hey, it was good. Even if the guy was surprised I didn't want the four packets of sugar he handed me. We had a good talk and missed the shopping (thank goodness).
Then, it was off to a restaurant with jambon hanging from every corner of the ceiling… Very Spanish.
We had some kind of potato cake (tortilla espanola), salad, pasta with mussels and perfect prawns, and some kind of airy chocolate dessert that was a cross between mousse and sponge cake.

Back to the hotel to pack for flights… Some to the states, some to Rome. I had a very entertaining conversation with Lauren while packing; we tend to bounce off of each other's comments. Example: I mentioned Frankenstein, she referenced seeing a Shelly in Poet's Corner, I guessed it to be Percy, and she expressed relief… She didn't like Frankenstein. (This whole conversation took place over the course of thirty seconds, rapid-fire style.) How many people can I do that with? Answer: not many.

I woke up at six am the next morning to goodbye to Michael. I was sorry to see a lot of that group go… Everything is quieter. Though I will admit, that's not that bad. Anyways, after another European-style breakfast, we headed to the airport for an hour and a half flight to Rome. Which I will tell you about tomorrow… Starting with the massive amount of food I just ate, and the semi-strip show we saw at the restaurant. Once again, don't freak out, Mom.

Ciao ciao-

Abigail

Mediterranean 

Market off of Las Ramblas

Lunch

This is… I don't even remember.

Market, again

And again

… again

Rabbits, chickens, unidentifiable other dead things...

Market

See the little brain in its handy, dandy, plastic carton? Between the marrow and the ogling sheep's eye.

Dried fruit, nuts, etc.

This is Lizzy. I like her. I could always count on her to sniff out a nearby coffee shop.

Paris Pictures

Louvre 

Child strangling fowl. Seen in two different cities. Artist intended to portray…?

Ouch.

Best guess… Diana.

If you zoom in, you'll see the 'no photography' sign displayed on top of the artist's copy. Which I conveniently did not see until snapping this. Oh, well.

Crucified Christ

Wedding Feast at Cana

Too lazy to get close, so enjoy this super-zoom shot.

Love Locked Bridge 

View of Notre Dame

Love Locked Bridge

Cafe 

Lunch

A little Parisian bakery. Did I eat there, you ask? No. But I got a picture.

Pictures in Notre Dame sucked, due to poor lighting. Oh, well.

Couldn't resist sharing this gem. Happy St. Patrick's Day. 

Barcelona, Part I

I HAVE INTERNET! Onwards.

March 20th, 2014
Plane to Rome

My companions for the night train were Mrs. Halley, Natalie, and a young couple from Chile. Mrs. Halley speaks Spanish (they spoke some English, also) and was able to talk to them a bit- they were quite nice. The compartment was about as wide as the aisle of an airplane, with three beds stacked on either side… I was on top. Five people crammed into one small compartment generates a lot of heat, so we opened a window. However, our final roommate, a French lady, shut it, saying it was too cold. She then preceded to spend the rest of the night getting up, opening doors, fiddling with windows… all in heavy boots. Needless to say, I did not sleep deeply. The rocking of the train was soothing, though, and helped a bit… Only a bit.
7 AM- we watch the sun come up over southern France. We see scraggly olive trees, blossoming pink almond trees, palm trees… It's as if in one night, we've travelled to a whole new planet.
After alighting in France, we hopped a bus for about two hours to Barcelona. We passed the Pyrenees… Splendid. I'd never seen mountains with snow caps before, so I was glued to the window for a while.
No border guard, which was nice. 
The landscape in Spain was a refreshing change of pace: hills, abandoned stone buildings built in the traditional Spanish style, and lots of scrubby plants… Somewhat like the hilly areas of Arizona, but with more green and less red rock. As a note, that had been the extent of my travels before this trip. Obviously.
We made it to Barcelona and were blessed with some time to shower and eat- thank you, Tomasso and Mrs. Halley! Nothing changes your experience in a city like clean clothes and hair. After cleaning myself up, I went with one of my roommates, Victoria, and her mom out into the area around our hotel to find lunch. We stopped at a little market, where they bought a baguette, I got a jar of Nutella (ubiquitous here), and we split it all on a street bench. I also grabbed a bag of what I thought were peanuts… Turned out to be Mister Corn Fried Corn, BBQ Flavor. Oops. Can't escape American food wherever I go, I guess.
Lunch over, we headed into the city to meet Marie, our tour guide. Unfortunately for her, she got us on the most exhausting day of the trip. Several student (and Michael) fell asleep during her presentation. She was not overly pleased.
We visited Casa Mila, a house designed by Barcelona's biggest architectural celebrity, Antony Gaudi. The house has very few ninety degree angles… all waves and curves, with gorgeous pops of color. We headed to the roof and saw a lovely view of the city, then were off to a park with a name I've already forgotten. Parque Guell. It had been purchased by an entrepreneur back in the early 20th century; he had bought forty lots with the intention of building a sort of gated community, complete with a market. The lots were at the top of a hill outside the city, however, and too difficult to access by buggy… only one lot sold. After several decades of trying to make the project work, he gave up and sold it to the city, who developed it into a park. The area is huge, and gorgeous… Plants and trees everywhere, a Roman style, open-air building designed as a market, a mosaic-decorated terrace looking out over the city, and a few quaint, Gaudi-built houses scattered around. And hills… Hills. I didn't realize how much I missed hills until I came to Spain.
After the park, we headed to La Sagrada Familia, which was by far my favorite spot in all of Barcelona (a cathedral in the works). Gaudi designed it expecting it to be finished long after he died, and left detailed instructions and plans to guide the many people who have worked on it since. It's supposed to be finished in 2026, a hundred years after his death. I didn't go inside (too expensive), but the outside was all I needed. The facade is covered in religious symbolism- nothing is there for a solely decorative purpose. Each side of the building is meant to represent either the Nativity, the Crucifixion, or the Resurrection… only the first two have been finished. The Crucifixion looks very modern, with busts and statues created with very angular features. Christ is hanging from a horizontal cross jutting out from just above the door. Marie left us there (with mutual relief on both sides, I'm sure), and we scattered for some free time. Michael, Hannah, Wesley, and I broke for coffee at a little shop directly across from the church. We had a good talk covering everything from cars to home life to our shared group-crush on Tomasso, and spent several minutes trying to identify some of the symbols on the church: the traitorous kiss, the rooster, etc. We were stuck on one of the apostles for a while. Jacobus in Latin is…? After an agonizingly slow Google search, we found him to be James. Or was it John? Oh, well. It was James.
That was the best part of that city… Sipping espresso in front of a masterpiece like La Sagrada Familia was surreal. I'll cover the rest of the city as a later time; making an ear-popping landing in Rome at the moment.

Ciao,

Abigail

At La Sagrada Familia

Parque Guell

 Casa Mila

This is Lauren, or as I call her, Laurence Olivier. She is my intellectual soul mate. And this picture is proof that I DID make a friend or two on the trip. 

Paris, Part II

Upon reading this, I find myself wincing at most of what I've written. It's very unlike me to be impressed with anything, much less go on and on about it… But, I've stayed true to the entry, so… Here it is. 

March 18th, 2014

Evening in Barcelona


Picking up the story…

We had seen the Eiffel Tower earlier in the day, rising up into the hazy Paris sky. We had a couple of 'oh, neat' moments, then moved on. At night, however…
We saw it on our way to the River Seine cruise. Covered in yellow lights, looming over the city and loudly declaring- this is Paris.

The cruise was wonderful, also. Not too cold, with magnificent views of the buildings along the bank. Parisians cheered us past from where they hung over bridges or sat on the walls along the banks, while the full moon lit the water from above. It was one of those times where you simply sit back and smile stupidly, because… Well, you're in Paris. On the river. Under a full moon.
We got off at the Tower. Seeing it in movies, pictures, postcards, etc., just doesn't do it justice. You have to stand underneath it, gazing up into the intricate framework that keeps so many tons of metal upright. Everyone around you is happy, because… You're at the Eiffel Tower. Everything looks golden, and there's nowhere to go but up (if you'll excuse the puns). Two elevators later, I'm standing at the highest point in Paris, the wind whipping my hair into knots and the city spread out beneath my feet. I had thought the view from Notre Dame would have been the highlight of my day… No.
Paris at night is Paris the way the poets see it, the way authors write about it. Paris at night is what Parisians stick around for… Eating dinner in the moonlight by the river, walking the neon streets of the Latin Quarter, watching the Eiffel Tower burst into sparkling white lights every half hour or so.

I know everything I'm writing is stereotypical Paris, but that's what I saw. I did see berets, and fluffy toy dogs, and more little street cafes than I could count. I did see gorgeous women on retro bicycles and old couples feeding pigeons. Granted, I only saw three days worth of an enormous city, but I feel convinced that Paris lives up to the postcards and chick flicks. It's beautiful.

Back to the Tower. The wind was ferocious, so I spent a great deal of time spitting hair out of my mouth, but it didn't diminish the experience. The view… Go see it before you die. Golden lights, cars flashing by, and a thick, dark streak of absolute nothing where the river cuts through all the chaos.
It hurts to remember and know it may be many years before I see it again. It will be forever impressed in my mind as one of the greatest nights of my life. I'm going to add here that I watched Ratatouille the other night and nearly cried (or came as close to crying as a Brown can) because I wanted to go back so badly. Let that say what it will.
I may not have mentioned this before, but I'm traveling with a fun (read: interesting) group of people. Several of the guys proposed marriage to random girls- I believe only one said yes. They have yet to set a date.

Anyways, when my poor hair had been sufficiently knotted (and after a few random pictures with some Indian tourists) we headed down. The trinket peddlers were there, and a few girls attempted haggling with them. Here's how it went:
"Five for one euro!"
"How about six for one?"
"Five for one."
"Hmm… I got six for one someplace else."
"Well, not from me."
Silence.
"Okay… Five for one, I guess."
Paris tip: don't haggle with the trinket sellers.

Back to our hotel, bed, morning. Our day is refreshingly slow, starting with a late wakeup call at 8:15. We had a nice, relaxed breakfast, packed our bags for the night train, then listened to a missionary to France talk. His name was Ricardo, and he was originally from America. He shared a bit about the church he works and the spiritual needs of the French people, while also encouraging us to be sensitive to God calling us to foreign mission work. It was encouraging to see a Christian trying to reshape the way we evangelize… Instead of thumping on our Bibles and roaring out John 3:16, we immerse ourselves in the culture, make long-lasting relationships, and train natives to make apostles. It's a tough job, and I admire him for taking it up.
After this, we headed to the Louvre. After finally making it past the rather rude people at the gate (the only people in the city who really fit that 'French' stereotype), I made it inside and realized there was nothing I particularly felt the need to see. We wandered aimlessly through the sculptures, then made our way into paintings. The vast amount of them were nude and dull, though I confess that art has never been my thing. I found several interesting works featuring martyred saints, however, one featuring a meat cleaver through the head. I also saw repeated statues of children strangling ducks, in Rome AND Paris. Anyone care to explain this to me? Was this a game enjoyed by ancient children… Fowl strangling?
We made our way (pushed, shoved, and scratched, I should say) to the Mona Lisa, saw the Wedding Feast at Cana (far more impressive), then found ourselves in an exhibit featuring ancient tribal art from various cultures. More moai. Our group then left to walk inside Notre Dame. The interior is gorgeous, with a massive organ and beautiful stained glass. Flickering candles, statues of Mary, prayer benches… It all felt very Catholic and very solemn. Obviously, this was my first visit to a Catholic church. 
Looking up into the massive, vaulted ceilings, it wasn't hard to imagine Quasimodo crouching in the shadows, savage face half-lit by the colored light streaming through the windows. Harder to picture those talking gargoyles.
I wandered for a while, comparing Notre Dame to Westminster. I came to the conclusion that while the Abbey is more beautiful, it feels more like a consecrated tomb and less like a church. Notre Dame, however, felt very much like a church… if a little stiff.
After the church, we went to find lunch. The majority of the group went for a sit-down lunch, but seeing as how I only had about six euro in my pocket, Michael and I opted for takeaway crepes. I am ashamed to say this was my first time buying food in Paris… The previous day had been so rushed, and I had felt so sick, that I opted out. But after sinking my teeth into a hot crepe slathered in Nutella, I regretted it. It was comparable to the top of the Eiffel Tower. The Nutella wasn't as sweet as it is in the States, and the crepe was warm with crisp, flaky edges… Michael and I sat by Notre Dame and ate and talked. It was nice to talk to him, especially since he's not going to Rome. He's pretty amazing, and I'm beyond thankful he helped me go on this trip. If he hadn't pushed and pushed, sold BBQ, organized yard sale stuff… I wouldn't be sitting in a hotel room in Barcelona. So, thanks, Uncle Mike… I'm sorry we can't see Rome together this time, but I fully intend to come back, and I'm dragging you with me. This time, I'll do the fundraising for you.


After eating, we headed off to find an ATM. We went in the completely wrong direction and found a few cute little streets… Bought some treats for the Browns back home, then found the rest of our group at the Love Locked Bridge. We studied some of the more interesting locks while a guy played his saxophone opposite, then walked off the bridge to the sounds of an accordion. Again… quintessential Paris.
We drifted in and out of a few tourist shops, then met up with the rest of the group for dinner. Now comes the confession… I bought another crepe beforehand. I was determined to eat Parisian food while I could, so I got ham and cheese. The cook, however, recognized me. His exact words: you want something else? His face said- really? Oh, the shame. Bad omen. He then felt the need to make the thing twice as large as it should be. I only managed half of it (no regrets), and barely touched dinner, which was basically pizza on a cracker with a funny name- flammekeuche? Who knows. 
We ate, then got our luggage and headed to the train station. We were herded into groups of five, then given thirty euros and instructed to buy next morning's breakfast. Problem- we had thirty minutes, and we spent half of that time looking for and using a bathroom. It then took us ten minutes to find a shop where we could buy food- Tomasso, God bless him, met us and pointed us in the right direction. I couldn't help but notice he had purchased an entire pack of Oreos… perhaps we drove him to a sugar binge? Who knows. Anyways, we bought our food and puushed our way through the narrow, neon streets of the Latin Quarter (which I intend to explore more thoroughly the next time I'm there… interesting place). Anyways, we made it only a minute late, then headed back for the night train… Which I will relate to you tomorrow, along with my impressions of Barcelona.

Abigail