Dear Lovely Readers,
I am just basking in the glorious, rare Edinburgh sunshine. Staring out my window at Arthur's Seat, watching all the hearty tourists scrambled up the side of the mountain (word used loosely). While I am stuck inside "studying" women's medieval literature. It's pretty much one giant love letter to Jesus. I suppose an appropriate thing to do on Easter. But in reality, my thoughts are elsewhere. I am currently planning my evil grinch-like plan to dress up as the Easter bunny stalk through the streets stealing chocolate from children. On a sugar-high and on the recognition of my bad-assness, I am going to get into my favourite pjs from Mummy, and start punching and kicking the air chaotically through my room. Blare Jay-Z, punch in some walls, overturn the sparse furniture in my room, push small children in the streets.. I think I have brought new meaning to that horrible world "chocoholic." I think it really is the most appropriate way to celebrate the holiday.
Okay, okay, I know I should be working.. not breaking into random family houses and demanding they not only give me all their chocolate, but that they hide cutely around the living room for me to find. Preferably so that the first letter of every word of the hiding spot spells out "Katie is awesome and totally mentally stable." But instead, I will do procrastinate attempt two! Write about my vacations.. Because I know you are all checking in everyday, desperately curious to find out what I could possible be up to!
I can only imagine your line of thought goes something like this.. "Are the rumours true, did someone really let Katie rent a scooter and drive around terrifying the poor Spanish people? Did Katie really go out at night in Barcelona? Why did we let this tornado of destruction out and about in any city!?! We really should turn Tobin Island into a full time care facility, isolate Katie as much as possible..."
Thanks guys, appreciate all the support. (Yes I did just have a conversation between myself, and am now a little grumpy about it, I think that is TOTALLY normal, right? right?)
ANYWAYS... Moving on, (I hear ya mum: c'mon Katie get a grip, try and come join the realm of reality and normalcy again please.. People might actually be reading this!) I did just spend a week in Spain, and had a lovely time.. and get prepared to be bombarded with every little detail of what I got up to. Are y'all ready?
Day One - Barcelona
I flew London-Barcelona, arriving before my friends who were coming from Edinburgh, found the hostel alright. Immediately on entering the hostel, a fellow guest demanded that everyone do shots of her Polish vodka with her. I must admit, staying in hostels is a very different experience from traveling as a child 2.7 (I don't know if I quite count as a full person just yet) of the family unit, Sharp model.
So I waited around the hostel a little bit until it was time to meet Zoya and Rhianna at the bus stop. That night we splurged a little bit and went and had absolutely delicious Tapas at a nearby restaurant. It was pretty busy, so we only got a seat at the bar, which was like seating around the kitchen. It was pretty cool seeing the Spanish chefs hard at work. In case you have noticed from above crazed chocolate obsessed ranting, I do like dessert, so we decided to order some. Apparently, it is tradition to mix sweet and savory flavours in ways I have never seen before. Example the desserts on offer that night were strawberries and vinegar or chocolate and olive oil. We went with the second option, but were clearly a little weirded out while eating it. Being my awkward self under all circumstances, I caught the chef's eye while visibly confused and wincing (little did he know that is my expression at least 93% of the time!) So he kept sending more stuff to improve it. Aka, so many of the little crackers we were supposed to eat the chocolate with. At least, we got our moneys worth?
The next day we dedicated the day to seeing the main Gaudi sites in Barcelona. Cue endless tourist photos now...
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| First stop of the day, Gaudi's Sagrada Famillia. Unfortunately, the line up went all the way around the block so we couldn't go inside. But we enjoyed looking at the outside of the still unfinished building. The front side, the one actually designed wasn't to my taste. The old addage was proved true: "less is more." It looked sort of gothic, but with the stomach flu, so it was sick all over itself. Gaudi needed a good editor or something. Its out of control |
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| However, I did enjoy some of the smaller details. Including the pillar composed of squirrel tails. Also, the base of the main columns were actually tortoise' sculptures. |
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| The other side, designed after Gaudi's death is incredibly emotive. The sparsity contrasts completely to the overwrought stylization on the other side. |
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| We moved on to Parc Guell to enjoy the sunshine in the public park. This is the entrance to the main structure of the park. |
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| View from the top! |
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| Rhianna, Zoya and I made it to the top. Not that hard, but its remarkable how quickly you can escape most tourists by going upwards. |
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| We picked up our lunch at the market, a small local one we stumbled across on our wanderings. It was absolutely incredible! I have never seen so much pork on sale in my life! We also got these delicious mini muffins for 10 euro cents. The ladies behind the counter could not understand why we only wanted one. I guess it was like only ordering one tim bit. If tim bits were a delicious taste explosion. |
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| Here was Gaudi at his best. The sculpture was interesting and beautiful. However, absolutely PACKED with people. I can't even imagine what this place would be like in the summer. I'll have you know, I lined up for quite a while to get this shot. Tourist after tourist sat and had their photo taken beside this lizard-man. It really makes you question your very originality when you think of how many scrapbooks are stored away in the attic getting dusty, never getting looked at, filled with IDENTICAL photos. Sigh. And here I thought traveling was supposed to make you interesting and original. |
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| Looking straight up in the columned building. The colours are absolutely stunning. |
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| Confession: Rhianna and I can't go anywhere without managing to climb on stuff. We are like monkey children together. It's a little ridiculous. But we stumbled upon this rock passage, and tah-dah, we climbed up it. |
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| Walking along Las Ramblas, one of the most famous streets in Barcelona. Coincidentally, one of the most overrated streets too. It was filled with all the weird things designed for tourists, all those things that you can't imagine anyone ever wanting. Aka, a picture of yourself, on these street, with a man in a chicken/gorilla/darth vadar costume. Like really? Why world why? But we spent some time speculating how this guy pulled it off. I swear he is not sitting on anything. Quite a few different people waved their arms underneath him. We are thinking some kind metal body brace coming from the stick? Regardless he must have some serious abdominal muscles. Do you think he does pilates? |
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| Phenomenal market of the side of Las Ramblas. The candy stalls are enough to make me want to permanently relocate to Spain. The food was so cheap and so good! With fresh veggies, tomato sauce and pasta purchased at the market we made a delicious dinner back at the hostel. To top it off, despite clearly being a huge tourist area, it was SO cheap! Man, I loved it. |
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| The unimpressive Las Ramblas. |
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| View from our hostel room! |
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| Rhianna and Zoya had a friend studying abroad in Barcelona who took us out that night. First stop el chupitos the infamous Barcelona shots bar where some of the classic ones include: viking shot, Harry Potter, Monica Lewinsky (I bet your wondering about that one, c'mon use your imagination, I can't give you everything), and the above boy scout. I'm not sure what the concoction was but the bartender lit it on fire and we got to roast marshmallows over the open flame. Amazing. |
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| One guy did the viking shot, I merely stole the viking hat after the fact. Continuing my intense love for all things viking. |
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| Day 2: We decided to get out of the city and took a 1.5 hour long train ride to Montserrat. Then it was a 15 minute cable ride up to the monastery at the top. It was one rapid cable car, let me tell you. Despite my well-known neurosis about heights, and well anything possibly dangerous, I was not the only one who was nervous. |
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| Looking excitedly up the mountain. Rhianna is trying to determine how the rocks formed the way they did. I am not contributing anything helpful. Love traveling with my geography nerd. |
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| View from the cable car station. Breathtaking. |
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| The cable car only drops passengers off at the monastery. From these starting point, there are about 5 different hikes to go on, they pass by beautiful vistas and small hermitages. It would be a great place to spend more time! There is both a hotel at the top, and a refuge for backpackers. |
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And now, with gleams of half-extinguished thought With many recognitions dim and faint, And somewhat of a sad perplexity The picture of the mind revives again: While here I stand, not only with the sense Of present pleasure, but with pleasing thoughts That in this moment there is life and food for future years. |
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| Alex and I about to enter a small wilderness. |
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| At the top! |
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| I think James in the background really adds to this photo. He is wearing those gloved shoes, so he is a true monkey man in this moment. |
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| Wood-nymphs |
We had noted before leaving the time of the last cable car (6:30) so we decided to head down with plenty of time to spare. We had no real desire to get stuck on the mountain over night. At this point, however James, I guess tired of our meandering pace (remind us of anyone.. Sam..) sprints ahead on the path. Well we figure we'd meet him on the cable car, but alas, no sign. Being my usual unsympathetic self, I have no interest in looking around the mountain for him, but hop on the cable car and head down. Only then do we get cell-phone service, our phones buzz with missed texts from him. Apparently, falsely believing he had caught the last train, James had abandoned us to our fates on the mountain and was speedily-racing back to Barcelona. However, Alex held our metro pass for the day so once James got to the train station he was a little stuck. We actually made it back to the hostel first. Only once we were back, cooking our dinner in the hostel room did Alex get a text, from a friend back in Edinburgh saying "Hey girl. Hope you are doing well! Just so you know, James is lost in Barcelona and does not know the name or address of the hostel you guys are staying at. Miss you." Jeez Louis. Some people. But he eventually made it back, right in time to eat the dinner we cooked for him.
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| We went out again in Barcelona, hoping to experience the infamous party scene. The friend Matt I mentioned early on got us on to a guest list for one of the main clubs. Saving us from paying the 20Euro cover charge! Have you every heard of anything so ridiculous?!? 20 Euro, I complain about how expensive Toronto is frequently and it is usually between 5-10. The only special thing about this club is that it opened up onto the Barcelona beach. So we decided to take a breather from all our wild dancing out on the beach. |
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| If you are in Barcelona, and there is a beautiful warm ocean in front of you, how can you not go swimming? Alex and I moved the danceparty out in the water. You could clearly tell this was a regular activity of tourists because there was more than one person scouring the beaches for abandoned clothes and purses. Good thing we are no where close to being that silly, purses safely left with our group of friends who did not feel as compelled to get in the water. | |
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Next morning we flew to Malaga, but more on that later. I actually have an exam tomorrow on Feminising the Word: Women's Medieval Literature where I will argue things about how women did indeed feminize the word. In fact, one lady, a miss Margery Kempe, an English mystic who spoke to Jesus, actually invented her own language of crying and screams. And thus freed herself from the tyranny of male language.. Yes. I am afraid these things are true. I cannot express to you how uninteresting a book is where the narrator is trying to express herself through wailing and screeching. This is what I am learning in college. Once I am done, I will continue to post more of my abroad tales.
lots of love,
The Sheepish Traveler
