Just a little note on Bilbao and the Guggenheim.
Dad and D and I set off early on Tuesday morning, leaving Till to her 11 hour day of class. Taking a slightly misdirected route to the musuem we finally made it there and luck of luck, scored a parking spot across the street.
It really is a spectacular building, a piece of sculpture. Dad loved every single bit of it. I loved the outside and felt slightly nauseated by the inside. It wasn't that it's ugly, or distasteful, just busy with lots of ungulating lines.
However there were two GREAT exhibits that we all enjoyed. First was a Richard Serra exhibit that was wondeful. The three of us wandered through the curving, tilted space, trying to keep our balance. Once inside the structure you always feel like you're in another world, sounds are muted, or drawn out, and the walls that hold you in feel both like protection, and, slightly more ominously, like a dead end, or trap.
After a snack we headed to the third floor to the visiting collection being presented there. To my great pleasure it turned our that we were being treated to a selection from the fabulous Kunsthistoriches in Vienna that I visited last year. I took turns with Dad and D telling them what I knew about the paintings we saw. It was lovely.
All in all a sucessful musuem outing.
Friday, October 24, 2008
Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Pamplona: A Study in Comparison
When my Dad, D, Till and I returned to Pamplona from our sunny weekend abroad Till had to settle down and do some work, so the rest of us went to get a restorative drink and a bit of dinner. We ended up at the Cafe Iruna in the main square. The cafe is a beautiful example of art deco style done in greens and golds with plenty of mirrors that multiply the chandeliers in a kind of head spinning way so that it is difficult to tell which is the reality and which is the illusion. More than that, however, it is a famous haunt of Hemingway's. He included it in a scene in The Sun Also Rises. It is a lovely atmospheric place to sit and have a drink, dinner however is another matter altogether.
The realisation has slowly dawned upon us that waitstaff here is not of the same calibre we have appreciated in other European countries we have visited. Generally people are somewhat surly, and unfriendly. No having said that we have been to some higher end restaurants where people have been much more helpful and professional, but otherwise, and especially since tip is included and one doesn't have to earn it, servers seem to care (***insert scathing remark of your choice ***) about you.
Our Waiter at the Cafe Iruna was the worst example of this trend. He was young and fairly attractive, and probably wondered why his life's path had taken him here to wait upon the elderly and tourists (the demographics represented). Anyway he took our orders without interest, and left us to eat our sub par food in peace. We all remarked that it was a shame that such a beautiful historic landmark (the cafe also sits in the square that once held the bull fights) should have such crummy food. Anyway, the straw that broke the camel's back was when I ordered the "fruta del dia" for dessert, trying desperately to salvage my growing waistline. Out of the kitchen came a plate with a single unpeeled orange, that was placed in front of me without even a hint of humour. Luckily they had provided me with a knife and fork, which helped me attack the orange's very thick skin. I was reminded of one of my favourite moments in the film We're No Angels (Humphrey Bogart, Aldo Ray, and Peter Ustinov). Basel Raithbone plays this horrible misery Uncle who has his family in his pocket and decides to come and ruin their Christmas by taking inventory and looking over the books of his floundering store that they run. The three actors mentioned above are convicts who have escaped from Devil's Island Prison, and for one reason or another have become entangled in the lives of the family and want to help them. Basel Raithbone says to Bogie, "Fruit man, get me some fruit." Bogie goes into the kitchen, takes a pineapple and lots off the top with a machete. He puts the pineapple on a plate and brings it out with great ceremony. Basel Raithbone is not pleased and asks, "How am I supposed to eat this." Bogie replies, "with a knife and fork," and whisks it away into Raithbone's room.
Last night we ate at the much more pleasing, though still rough around the edges, Hotel Europa. The hotel has a small, private dining room, and is supposed to a Michelan starred kitchen. We didn't find the food and service to be quite up to par, but it was still world's away from Hemingway's Haunt. My favourite server was also the sommelier, who was donned in a black leather apron. He had very long, lean arms and his hand would elegantly sneak past your shoulder to pour the wine flawlessly without spilling a drop. My desert this time around was a cold raspberry juice with four balls of fresh cheese floating in it. The cheese was a perfectly firm skin, that when broken would reveal a liquid inside. The sweetness of the cheese mixed with the tart raspberry was heaven on my tongue.
So as we know when we are traveling we can't win every night, but we can relish the times that we do.
Challenges:
- Still not speaking any Spanish - we we're hoping we might magically learn it through osmosis
- Loud people on Till's street that awaken me too early or too late
Perks:
- really cheap food (The Cafe Iruna three course meal I had came to 13 Euros)
- WiFi (pronounced wee fee) at Dad and D's hotel
- my South American run international call centre that allows me to call the people I love back in Toronto for a mere few Euros
The realisation has slowly dawned upon us that waitstaff here is not of the same calibre we have appreciated in other European countries we have visited. Generally people are somewhat surly, and unfriendly. No having said that we have been to some higher end restaurants where people have been much more helpful and professional, but otherwise, and especially since tip is included and one doesn't have to earn it, servers seem to care (***insert scathing remark of your choice ***) about you.
Our Waiter at the Cafe Iruna was the worst example of this trend. He was young and fairly attractive, and probably wondered why his life's path had taken him here to wait upon the elderly and tourists (the demographics represented). Anyway he took our orders without interest, and left us to eat our sub par food in peace. We all remarked that it was a shame that such a beautiful historic landmark (the cafe also sits in the square that once held the bull fights) should have such crummy food. Anyway, the straw that broke the camel's back was when I ordered the "fruta del dia" for dessert, trying desperately to salvage my growing waistline. Out of the kitchen came a plate with a single unpeeled orange, that was placed in front of me without even a hint of humour. Luckily they had provided me with a knife and fork, which helped me attack the orange's very thick skin. I was reminded of one of my favourite moments in the film We're No Angels (Humphrey Bogart, Aldo Ray, and Peter Ustinov). Basel Raithbone plays this horrible misery Uncle who has his family in his pocket and decides to come and ruin their Christmas by taking inventory and looking over the books of his floundering store that they run. The three actors mentioned above are convicts who have escaped from Devil's Island Prison, and for one reason or another have become entangled in the lives of the family and want to help them. Basel Raithbone says to Bogie, "Fruit man, get me some fruit." Bogie goes into the kitchen, takes a pineapple and lots off the top with a machete. He puts the pineapple on a plate and brings it out with great ceremony. Basel Raithbone is not pleased and asks, "How am I supposed to eat this." Bogie replies, "with a knife and fork," and whisks it away into Raithbone's room.
Last night we ate at the much more pleasing, though still rough around the edges, Hotel Europa. The hotel has a small, private dining room, and is supposed to a Michelan starred kitchen. We didn't find the food and service to be quite up to par, but it was still world's away from Hemingway's Haunt. My favourite server was also the sommelier, who was donned in a black leather apron. He had very long, lean arms and his hand would elegantly sneak past your shoulder to pour the wine flawlessly without spilling a drop. My desert this time around was a cold raspberry juice with four balls of fresh cheese floating in it. The cheese was a perfectly firm skin, that when broken would reveal a liquid inside. The sweetness of the cheese mixed with the tart raspberry was heaven on my tongue.
So as we know when we are traveling we can't win every night, but we can relish the times that we do.
Challenges:
- Still not speaking any Spanish - we we're hoping we might magically learn it through osmosis
- Loud people on Till's street that awaken me too early or too late
Perks:
- really cheap food (The Cafe Iruna three course meal I had came to 13 Euros)
- WiFi (pronounced wee fee) at Dad and D's hotel
- my South American run international call centre that allows me to call the people I love back in Toronto for a mere few Euros
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Pamplona and abroad with the Parents
Traveling north from Barcelona I met up with my sister Till, who tearfully (in happiness) greeted me in the Pamplona train station. I spent two lovely days with her mostly sleeping, munching chocolate, and seeing a few of the sites in Pamplona.
Thursday morning the parents arrived, slightly flustered from their brush with the winding, somewhat chaotic streets of "Old Pamplona" where Till lives. Waiting for them in her apartment, I happened to look out the Balcony window as they drove past. I recognized D's hand clutching a map. I gave an excited cry and ran to get a sweater and meet them in the street. But by the time I made my way downstairs and popped my head out the door, they were nowhere to be seen. Puzzled I headed back upstairs. I kept peering out the window to check if they were coming, and finally I saw them way down the street. I guided them, in their somewhat frazzled state, to Till's where we all had a moment to chat before we left again to find a hotel conveniently located right around the corner. Once Till made it home, we grabbed our stuff and left for the weekend.
Our plan was generally to head towards France with definate stops at Biarritz and San Sebastian. D then suggested that we spend our first night in the delightful St. Jean Pied de Port. This suited me extrememly well, because it marks the place where the Camino de Santiago begins. Knowing that within the next week and a half Till and I would be at the finish of the Camino in Santiago de Compostella it seemed only right to start my pilgrimmage where everyone else does. And so lazy (car bound) pilgrims we became. On the way to St. Jean we breaked in Roncesvalles, an important stop on the Camino, which is home to a beautiful monestary, and 12th century church. I peeked in the stone barn-like building that houses the weary pilgrims and feeds them for a modest 9 Eruos. It looked rather like a hostel, except much more atmospheric, and likely to be quieter at night...and possibly much colder as well.
St. Jean Pied de Pont was a beautiful little town, very medieval in atmosphere, with tiny cobbled streets steeply climbing towards a citadel that sat overlooking the town. Our hotel was right out of my dreams, with grand staircases fashioned out of dark wood, and faded wallpaper showing scenes of hunting parties replete with dogs and red coats. Till and I had a large room overlooking the river. We felt luxurious, and pampered.
In the morning I suggested we all walk to the Port of St. James, one of the orginal entrances into the city, and also the official marking place of the start of the Camino. We hiked up the little cobblestoned street, past houses dating from the 1500s and lots of pilgrim hostels and information centers. We even passed a house that had burnt out hiking boots proudly hung over the front door. We ended up hiking all the way to the Port, and then upwards to the citadel where we got an amazing view of the town and mountains. It was sort of drizzly, and chilly. Very romantic and medieval in my mind, so imagine our surprise when less than an hour later we pulled up in front of a sunny white sand beach dotted with sunbathers.
Biarritz was at least ten degrees warmer than it was only a couple of kilometers away in St. Jean. There were even people swimming in the ocean! I felt very sorry that I had talked myself out of bringing my bathing suit. We checked into the hotel Marbella, and found another cozy Mom and Pop type of hotel like the night before. We had been promised free WiFi, but as soon as we went to check our emails (really facebook) it stopped working. I was forceful with the desk clerk, but to no avail, I was internetless. Anyway, we spent the rest of the day wandering around the craggy penninsulas admiring the blue sea and feeling the sun on our faces. Biarritz itself, or at least the part we were staying in, was mostly modern, a little too oriented towards functioning as a party town for my taste. In short it was tacky, certainly the architecture wasn't anything to write home about, so I won't. We did have a lovely dinner though at a local restaurant with a healthy mix of locals and tourists. Dad and I had a kind of seafood kabab that came on a long skewer with its own stand. Mmmm, the jumbo shrimp were cooked to perfection.
Next morning we slept in and ate some crepes for breakfast before heading off for San Sebastian. Oh, if we could have only known the pleasures we were in for. San Sebastian is the most elegant seaside town I could possibly imagine. Beautiful white, ornamented buildings, gorgeous Victorian hotels with grand dining rooms, a crescent shaped white sand beach set against the sparkling blue ocean, and a lovely port with sailboats and seafood restaurants serving you the catch of the day. Our hotel was right off the main boardwalk, and we eargerly changed into our summery clothes and set out to beathe in the fresh salty air, and admire everything. We did some shopping, mostly window in the boutique stores in the newer quarter of town, ate some gelato, returned to the boardwalk, and then went out for a late dinner around 10 at a Michelan recommended restaurant in the Old Town. We had simply exquisite food, and one of the best red wines I have ever tasted (11 dollards - ha!).
Today Till and I made it down to the beach and walked in the water, which was delightfully warm. It was heaven, there were babies learning to walk in the waves, dogs playing, octogenarians taking their morning exercise, and lots of others just soaking up the sun. By far that beach was the highlight of my trip!
Now we are back in Pamplona and Dad, D and I are going to explore more of Till's new Spanish home while she toils away at school. Until tomorrow!
Challenges:
- Useless showers at the Mom and Pop hotels
- being poor when faced with beautiful purses costing upwards of 600 Euros
- not speaking any Spanish
Perks:
- everything about San Sebastian
Thursday morning the parents arrived, slightly flustered from their brush with the winding, somewhat chaotic streets of "Old Pamplona" where Till lives. Waiting for them in her apartment, I happened to look out the Balcony window as they drove past. I recognized D's hand clutching a map. I gave an excited cry and ran to get a sweater and meet them in the street. But by the time I made my way downstairs and popped my head out the door, they were nowhere to be seen. Puzzled I headed back upstairs. I kept peering out the window to check if they were coming, and finally I saw them way down the street. I guided them, in their somewhat frazzled state, to Till's where we all had a moment to chat before we left again to find a hotel conveniently located right around the corner. Once Till made it home, we grabbed our stuff and left for the weekend.
Our plan was generally to head towards France with definate stops at Biarritz and San Sebastian. D then suggested that we spend our first night in the delightful St. Jean Pied de Port. This suited me extrememly well, because it marks the place where the Camino de Santiago begins. Knowing that within the next week and a half Till and I would be at the finish of the Camino in Santiago de Compostella it seemed only right to start my pilgrimmage where everyone else does. And so lazy (car bound) pilgrims we became. On the way to St. Jean we breaked in Roncesvalles, an important stop on the Camino, which is home to a beautiful monestary, and 12th century church. I peeked in the stone barn-like building that houses the weary pilgrims and feeds them for a modest 9 Eruos. It looked rather like a hostel, except much more atmospheric, and likely to be quieter at night...and possibly much colder as well.
St. Jean Pied de Pont was a beautiful little town, very medieval in atmosphere, with tiny cobbled streets steeply climbing towards a citadel that sat overlooking the town. Our hotel was right out of my dreams, with grand staircases fashioned out of dark wood, and faded wallpaper showing scenes of hunting parties replete with dogs and red coats. Till and I had a large room overlooking the river. We felt luxurious, and pampered.
In the morning I suggested we all walk to the Port of St. James, one of the orginal entrances into the city, and also the official marking place of the start of the Camino. We hiked up the little cobblestoned street, past houses dating from the 1500s and lots of pilgrim hostels and information centers. We even passed a house that had burnt out hiking boots proudly hung over the front door. We ended up hiking all the way to the Port, and then upwards to the citadel where we got an amazing view of the town and mountains. It was sort of drizzly, and chilly. Very romantic and medieval in my mind, so imagine our surprise when less than an hour later we pulled up in front of a sunny white sand beach dotted with sunbathers.
Biarritz was at least ten degrees warmer than it was only a couple of kilometers away in St. Jean. There were even people swimming in the ocean! I felt very sorry that I had talked myself out of bringing my bathing suit. We checked into the hotel Marbella, and found another cozy Mom and Pop type of hotel like the night before. We had been promised free WiFi, but as soon as we went to check our emails (really facebook) it stopped working. I was forceful with the desk clerk, but to no avail, I was internetless. Anyway, we spent the rest of the day wandering around the craggy penninsulas admiring the blue sea and feeling the sun on our faces. Biarritz itself, or at least the part we were staying in, was mostly modern, a little too oriented towards functioning as a party town for my taste. In short it was tacky, certainly the architecture wasn't anything to write home about, so I won't. We did have a lovely dinner though at a local restaurant with a healthy mix of locals and tourists. Dad and I had a kind of seafood kabab that came on a long skewer with its own stand. Mmmm, the jumbo shrimp were cooked to perfection.
Next morning we slept in and ate some crepes for breakfast before heading off for San Sebastian. Oh, if we could have only known the pleasures we were in for. San Sebastian is the most elegant seaside town I could possibly imagine. Beautiful white, ornamented buildings, gorgeous Victorian hotels with grand dining rooms, a crescent shaped white sand beach set against the sparkling blue ocean, and a lovely port with sailboats and seafood restaurants serving you the catch of the day. Our hotel was right off the main boardwalk, and we eargerly changed into our summery clothes and set out to beathe in the fresh salty air, and admire everything. We did some shopping, mostly window in the boutique stores in the newer quarter of town, ate some gelato, returned to the boardwalk, and then went out for a late dinner around 10 at a Michelan recommended restaurant in the Old Town. We had simply exquisite food, and one of the best red wines I have ever tasted (11 dollards - ha!).
Today Till and I made it down to the beach and walked in the water, which was delightfully warm. It was heaven, there were babies learning to walk in the waves, dogs playing, octogenarians taking their morning exercise, and lots of others just soaking up the sun. By far that beach was the highlight of my trip!
Now we are back in Pamplona and Dad, D and I are going to explore more of Till's new Spanish home while she toils away at school. Until tomorrow!
Challenges:
- Useless showers at the Mom and Pop hotels
- being poor when faced with beautiful purses costing upwards of 600 Euros
- not speaking any Spanish
Perks:
- everything about San Sebastian
Saturday, October 18, 2008
October 14th
Today was my last day in Barcelona, as I head off to new adventures in the North with my sister Till. I had spent the last two days trying to pretend it was not as hot as it was and suffering for it. So, today I decided to embrace the heat and humidity by donning a short black cotton dress, to this I added Nina’s infamous grey boots from my last trip, which were almost destroyed last winter in an unfortunate accident involving sidewalk cement (it could only happen to me!). All that plus a vibrant scarf, and I thought I looked quite fetching. Clearly Barcelona agreed. It’s funny how all you have to do is show a little leg here to warrant a whistle from a passerby.
I wondered if the extent of the appreciation I received was due in part to some leg starvation being levied upon the men of Barcelona. If you are keeping up with the times you will now that high fashion has embraced a style of pants, which look like baggy crotched jodhpurs. Seriously, the crotch of these pants hangs close to the knee in some cases! Another apt comparison would be a badly diapered baby. Anyway, while I was sure some brave souls would go for this look in Toronto, I wasn’t prepared for the fervor with which they were embraced in Barcelona.
Poor men of Barcelona, I’m sure they’ll be glad when this trend has ridden its course.
*(ten minutes after this entry was written). Waiting for my train to Pamplona in the train station lounge I have just seen the man version of the pants. Barcelona, you are on your own.
Challenges:
- lugging my HUGE bag around town. Till you better appreciate all the stuff I’ve lugged across the world for you!
Perks:
- white chocolate covered Oreos: When I was quite young my mother bought as a road trip treat these delicious Oreos. Imagine a regular Oreo dipped in white chocolate, so that it covers the whole cookie in a thin layer. They were by far the best cookie I had ever tasted. Alas when my Mom tried to buy more they were nowhere to be found. As the years passed I would from time to time check the grocery for them, with no success. I began to think I must have imagined them, that is until my trip to Europe last fall. I was perusing a cookie aisle in a grocery store in Amsterdam and lo and behold there they were. Today in the supermarket at the Corte Ingles I thought I’d try my luck again, and I was rewarded. Bless you Spain, I have to wonder why didn’t they take off in North America? Much the way I feel about the equally MIA double stuffed neon Oreos.
I wondered if the extent of the appreciation I received was due in part to some leg starvation being levied upon the men of Barcelona. If you are keeping up with the times you will now that high fashion has embraced a style of pants, which look like baggy crotched jodhpurs. Seriously, the crotch of these pants hangs close to the knee in some cases! Another apt comparison would be a badly diapered baby. Anyway, while I was sure some brave souls would go for this look in Toronto, I wasn’t prepared for the fervor with which they were embraced in Barcelona.
Poor men of Barcelona, I’m sure they’ll be glad when this trend has ridden its course.
*(ten minutes after this entry was written). Waiting for my train to Pamplona in the train station lounge I have just seen the man version of the pants. Barcelona, you are on your own.
Challenges:
- lugging my HUGE bag around town. Till you better appreciate all the stuff I’ve lugged across the world for you!
Perks:
- white chocolate covered Oreos: When I was quite young my mother bought as a road trip treat these delicious Oreos. Imagine a regular Oreo dipped in white chocolate, so that it covers the whole cookie in a thin layer. They were by far the best cookie I had ever tasted. Alas when my Mom tried to buy more they were nowhere to be found. As the years passed I would from time to time check the grocery for them, with no success. I began to think I must have imagined them, that is until my trip to Europe last fall. I was perusing a cookie aisle in a grocery store in Amsterdam and lo and behold there they were. Today in the supermarket at the Corte Ingles I thought I’d try my luck again, and I was rewarded. Bless you Spain, I have to wonder why didn’t they take off in North America? Much the way I feel about the equally MIA double stuffed neon Oreos.
Barcelona Notes
My second day in Barcelona was delightful. I had countered some of my jetlag by napping and sleeping through some of the night – emphasis on some. My hostel has a “youthful vibrancy” rooted in the large numbers of teenage backpackers – many of them Australian. Lord knows I love Australians, and their friendly familiar ways. But once they get to drinking, the charm is replaced by volume control issues, and general bad judgement. (See my post from last year on Camping Roma re Australians peeing on our tent). Obviously this is an unabashed generalization that cannot be applied to every Australian (ie my lovely friend Jade), however more often than not my prejudices are rewarded with like behaviour.
My hostel is supposed to enforce quiet after 11 pm. I’m not sure who was supposed to be maintaining this rule. Perhaps they were sleeping with earplugs like I wished I had been. For my part I was awakened many times by screaming, singing, and door slamming.
But on to more pleasant topics. I started my day with a tour of Gothic Barcelona, led by a hilarious tour guide with an eccentric grasp of English. Instead of look up, we got “turn your noses towards the sky.” Through the tour much of the beauty of Barcelona was opened up to me. I saw in its aesthetics a hybrid of Paris and Rome – not bad! So many of the buildings were wonderfully ornamented with beautiful colours, stonework, and frescos. After the tour was over I continued to walk on my own, rapidly leaving St. James Square where the tour ended as it was filled with protestors and policemen.
I wandered to check out the much talked up church Santa Maria del Mar. Truth be told I was a little disappointed. I knew that some time ago all of the original Gothic decorations had been removed, and all that remained was the stone walls. Beautiful though it was, I have seen so many churches now that it seemed very plain, even structurally boring in comparison to other structures. After a nap in the afternoon I went to visit Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. I was not disappointed! I cannot possibly do it justice here, but it was truly a visual feast for the eyes.
Challenges:
- After tripping and laughing at myself, having a group of teenagers make fun of me. Get me out of this hostel!
Perks:
- seeing workers taking a smoke break inside the church.
My hostel is supposed to enforce quiet after 11 pm. I’m not sure who was supposed to be maintaining this rule. Perhaps they were sleeping with earplugs like I wished I had been. For my part I was awakened many times by screaming, singing, and door slamming.
But on to more pleasant topics. I started my day with a tour of Gothic Barcelona, led by a hilarious tour guide with an eccentric grasp of English. Instead of look up, we got “turn your noses towards the sky.” Through the tour much of the beauty of Barcelona was opened up to me. I saw in its aesthetics a hybrid of Paris and Rome – not bad! So many of the buildings were wonderfully ornamented with beautiful colours, stonework, and frescos. After the tour was over I continued to walk on my own, rapidly leaving St. James Square where the tour ended as it was filled with protestors and policemen.
I wandered to check out the much talked up church Santa Maria del Mar. Truth be told I was a little disappointed. I knew that some time ago all of the original Gothic decorations had been removed, and all that remained was the stone walls. Beautiful though it was, I have seen so many churches now that it seemed very plain, even structurally boring in comparison to other structures. After a nap in the afternoon I went to visit Gaudi’s Sagrada Familia. I was not disappointed! I cannot possibly do it justice here, but it was truly a visual feast for the eyes.
Challenges:
- After tripping and laughing at myself, having a group of teenagers make fun of me. Get me out of this hostel!
Perks:
- seeing workers taking a smoke break inside the church.
Sunday, October 12, 2008
Reunited and it feels so good!
Yes friends Europe and I are back together, and the love is stronger than ever. And as for this blog, I am also back - but a reluctant backpacker no more! This three week sojourn is being carried out in style - with rolling luggage as the good Lord intented.
My flight was totally uneventful, a pleasant fact to report. When Jon (the bf) and I arrived at Pearson International, Terminal 3, it was practically empty. I saavilly glided though security and shortly thereafter boarded my plane. Barring a slightly longer stop-over than planned in Dorval (Montreal) everything ran smoothly - thank you Air Transat.
Once in Barcelona I had just as equally a pleasant time. The customs official didn't even look at my travel information card, and casually stamped my passport before waving me through without a word. And then imagine my surprise when my bag was one of the first to trundle out on the baggage carousel. Though slightly more difficult to identify in a sea of luggage than my purple and green monstrosity of last fall, it was simply heaven to pop up the handle and roll away gracefully.
My hostel sits on a street called Passeig de Gracia amidst designer boutiques and upscale cafes. And as I ponder an ornately decorated window belonging to Gucci, I think, well this is very pleasant. Currently it's a bit muggy, and overcast, but I will take a walk in a little bit, and fight off the sleep a little longer. Tomorrow I'll be a better explorer.
Challenges so far:
- a confusing touch activated range in the kitchen that appears to have no lights to indicate when it is on or off.
- being on the top bunk, because someone stole my assigned bottom bunk bed.
Perks:
- self serve kitchen with mostly comprehensible appliances
- free Internet (big yay for that!)
- large balcony trimmed common room
- being identified as a Canadian by another Canadian based on my President's Choice soup cup.
My flight was totally uneventful, a pleasant fact to report. When Jon (the bf) and I arrived at Pearson International, Terminal 3, it was practically empty. I saavilly glided though security and shortly thereafter boarded my plane. Barring a slightly longer stop-over than planned in Dorval (Montreal) everything ran smoothly - thank you Air Transat.
Once in Barcelona I had just as equally a pleasant time. The customs official didn't even look at my travel information card, and casually stamped my passport before waving me through without a word. And then imagine my surprise when my bag was one of the first to trundle out on the baggage carousel. Though slightly more difficult to identify in a sea of luggage than my purple and green monstrosity of last fall, it was simply heaven to pop up the handle and roll away gracefully.
My hostel sits on a street called Passeig de Gracia amidst designer boutiques and upscale cafes. And as I ponder an ornately decorated window belonging to Gucci, I think, well this is very pleasant. Currently it's a bit muggy, and overcast, but I will take a walk in a little bit, and fight off the sleep a little longer. Tomorrow I'll be a better explorer.
Challenges so far:
- a confusing touch activated range in the kitchen that appears to have no lights to indicate when it is on or off.
- being on the top bunk, because someone stole my assigned bottom bunk bed.
Perks:
- self serve kitchen with mostly comprehensible appliances
- free Internet (big yay for that!)
- large balcony trimmed common room
- being identified as a Canadian by another Canadian based on my President's Choice soup cup.
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