Italy Spring Break, pt II

Just a reminder, the pictures from this trip can be seen on Facebook -- pictures from Rome are here, and pictures from the rest of the trip (which is what this blog post is about) are here. 

Enough Parmesan cheese to last a lifetime! (or a week)

We said goodbye to the Hall parents (Emily's flight was a day later) and moved to the hostel we'd be staying in that night, in a nearby neighborhood, next to the central train station. We had some cheese that we'd bought earlier and weren't interested in eating, so we spent an hour looking for hungry looking people in need around the station. Some chose the cheese , some denied the dairy, and some elected to elucidate extraneously. Emily also haggled a umbrella salesman down from 5€ to 2€, which I took advantage of to keep myself dry. We walked around for a little bit, trying to stay out of the rain. We headed to the old Jewish ghetto, and then crossed the river to Trastevere, a working-class neighborhood full of little streets and ivy-covered walls. After much searching I found a pizza place we'd read about, and we fought through the rains and crowds to grab delicious pies.

a street in the Jewish ghetto

The next morning Emily went back to the US and Billie and I went to Perugia, a pair of train rides away. A small city on a hill, Perugia was a cool place to hang out for a few days after the hustle and bustle of Rome. We found that a movie was being filmed in the main piazza, so we stopped and watched that for a while.

this dude's job was to feed and then agitate the pigeons, to add a certain ____ to the scene being filmed

We didn't really have an idea of where to eat in the city, so I looked online and found that the city's highest-rated restaurant, which some thought deserved a Michelin star, was not very expensive. We found the restaurant, and enjoyed one of the best meals I've ever had. One of those meals that ends with another main course instead of a desert.

La Taverna in Perugia. Deliciousness.

After Perugia we caught the train to Firenze (Florence). It was much more crowded and touristy than Perugia, but it was still a cool city to visit and explore. We didn't see the most famous sites -- the Academia or the Uffizi, nor the cathedral. But we were still able to enjoy the city's other sites, and had a good time just walking around people-watching and eating gelato.

Florence's Cathedral

 Florence's Synagogue

 Florence's sunset

We had some delicious food in Florence too, although we weren't able (rich enough) to try the city's famous massive steaks. At the main market, I was able to have a deli make me a panino with Milanese salami, fresh mozzarella, and sun dried tomatoes -- simple and really delicious. We stayed with a crazy old lady (which Rick Steves seems to enjoy recommending) who insisted that the TV would work if we would only hold the remote backwards. Oh well.

From Florence we took a high-speed train to Bologna, where we got off with a fellow who had been hiding in the bathroom for the entire trip. In Bologna we had a hotel room with a great view of a church across a courtyard, but we left the hotel to run through the rain in search of food. That first meal was a bit disappointing, but I had high hopes for the rest of the city, which were soon met.

The view from the hotel

We were lucky enough to be in Bologa for the International Ocarina Festival, a gathering of people who dance around and play the ocarina (a tiny little round fluteish thing) merrily, sometimes accompanies by drums and other instruments. It was pretty bizarre. We watched for a while and then moved on. The rain was somewhat negated by the fact that Bologna's streets are almost all arcaded -- the buildings overhang the sidewalks -- which kept us mostly dry.

the arcaded streets of Bologna

We found a store that had some cool, but overpriced, shirts, and the guy working there gave us a great recommendation for lunch. It was all the way on the outskirts of the town, and in a pretty grungy residential area, but by george if Da Toto' Pizzeria in Bologna, Italy isn't the bees' knees. The pizzas were priced from €4-7, which is pretty cheap. The pizzas were about the size of King Arthur's round table. And the service was so fast that I ordered, the waiter walked to the oven, and when I called him back to add sausage to my pizza, he said it was too late because the pizza was already in the oven. Then he walked back to the oven and brought our pizzas. I swear, it was less than 4 minutes. Add a big mug of beer and I was a happy paisano.

The next day there was a political rally in the town's main square. The communist party was offering up wine for all -- at 10am. Red, of course. In the spirit of things, I grabbed a cup.

We had a flight to catch later in the day, so I stopped at one. We had some delicious gelato, a pretty good lunch, and then made our way to the airport. It was an excellent trip to a country I really like, and I hope to get back to Italy some time soon.

Spring Break -- Rome

For Spring Break, I was graciously invited by the Hall family to join them in Rome. I accepted before they had finished asking.

For those that want to check out the pictures I took, I am now using Facebook to host them. Pictures from Rome are here, and pictures from the rest of the trip are here. Please let me know if you have trouble seeing them.

Rome is an incredible city -- the amount of history that is still tangibly present is mind-boggling. Our apartment was in between the Coloseum (the site of the gladiatorial battles and an engineering marvel in its day) and the Circo Maximo (a stadium that seated 250,000 people) for instance. It was very nice of them, and I apologize for my shoes, which were funkier in stench than style.

We explored the city's countless sights and monuments, and also made sure to take the "vacation" part of the vacation into account and got into some good, old fashioned laziness. I am not going to talk about the food for fear of having flashbacks that will make my current meals' ineptitude that much more profound. Suffice to say that describing the food generally required a thesaurus. I will, however, give a special shout out to my mother Katherine, who not only birthed me, but also recommended a restaurant that was literally one block away and was the one of, if not the, best meals I (or the Hall family) had ever had -- a restaurant so good that I left the plate clean enough to be used again right away.

this was taken post-meal I swear to god

It was cool to walk around what was the Forum and get a sense of what it might have been like for someone coming from outside of Rome -- a provincial town like Valencia, for instance -- and imagine their reaction to seeing such a built-up, crowded, busy place. It was also cool to think about the history spanning the fall of the Romans to present day, and how each culture felt that the Roman ruins were important enough that they needed to be preserved (some more than others).

 This arch was built by slaves from Israel, commemorating the Roman conquest of that particular chunk of the Earth.

old stuff

We visited the Borghese gallery, where we saw some cool sculptures and paintings.  We went to Palatine Hill (not Palatine, Illinois) and saw where the Emperors had lived. We crossed the border into the Vatican City, where we did not see the Pope. We saw the famous Trevi Fountain, the incredible Pantheon, and many churches.

the Pantheon

 I had a great time, and Rome would be one of the city's I'd most like to return to. The city was jam-packed with tourists because it was Easter Sunday, so it was hard to really get to see the city beyond the tourist attractions. I'd still like to see a game there, check out their famous Sunday market, and eat so much food.

The hoards gather to hear the Pope talk on Good Friday

Salamanca, Segovia, and Madrid

 

Salamanca

Last weekend Billie and I met up in the bus station of Spain's capital, Madrid, to begin a weekend seeing two of the oldest cities in Spain, Salamanca and Segovia. Because of our primo placements -- me in Castellon and her in Mallorca -- we haven't done much traveling within Spain this year, instead making use of the more local attractions of big cities (Valencia is about an hour away from me) and beautiful beaches (Mallorca is chock full of them.) We decided to remedy that, and after a few hours on a bus, we arrived in Salamanca. We checked into our hotel, and quickly got set up so we could get to exploring with the limited time that we had.
Salamanca's most famous site is its Plaza Mayor. Every city, town, community, outpost, garrison, and unincorporated municipality has their own Plaza Mayor (main town square) but Salamanca's is considered to be the prettiest. I can't disagree -- it doesn't win by much, but it was definitely an incredible site. It was always full of people and things were always happening.

We spent the next 24 hours walking around the city, checking out the other old buildings. Salamanca has the oldest university in Spain, and the rest of the town isn't exactly brand new either.
Right across from each other were a building with shells and an old church:

All in all Salamanca was a cool city; I'm glad we visited.

After Salamanca, we headed to Segovia. Segovia is famous for two things: its Alcazar, which is Arabic for fortress or castle, and its ancient Roman acquaduct. We also tried cochinillo, the region's famous roasted suckling pig. It was pretty disgusting. Later I found that everyone considered it famous and important, but nobody really actually enjoys it. Add me to the list.

 the acquaduct

To make a quick escape from the old city...

The castle was indeed pretty impressive. We took a tour of the inside, climbed up the towers and took in the view from on high alongside a group of English students from Hogwarts, and then clambered back down. Billie explored the area further while I walked down a windy forest path that may or may not have been technically closed so that I could get a view of the castle from a bit further away. It was worth the hike.

 for cleaning out the sink or slaying dragons or impressing people at jousts.

Segovia, from atop the castle

Segovia's Alcazar from below. Apparently the castle above was the inspiration for the castle below:

 The train we wanted to take back to Madrid was sold out, but we caught one an hour later. After ruthlessly hunting down Thai food, we hit the hay so that Billie could catch her flight early the next morning. She did so, and I spent the morning hanging out in Madrid and trying to find a branch of my bank -- no luck. So I ate a loaf of bread and walked around. 

Las Fallas

Check out all of my Las Fallas photos here.

March 15-19 marked Las Fallas in Valencia, which is one of Spain's most famous celebrations. Private clubs in the city work throughout the year to create incredible cardboard and paper mache statues representing society's ills, which are then burned to the ground. I had heard a lot about it, and so I was very interested in seeing it. It turned out to be an awesome and unforgettable experience, and one that I'm 100% positive could never be held in the USA.

Billie came to see Las Fallas as well, and we were invited by some of my co-workers to join a school field trip on the first day of Las Fallas (which runs Tuesday - Saturday). We were met in Valencia by another teacher, Ismael, who is from Valencia and therefore knew a lot about the history and culture behind Las Fallas. He also knew someone at a radio station, so we were given a tour of the studio, which was interesting I guess. Then we were able to walk around for a bit and take in the Fallas. Spread out through the city's plazas, the Fallas generally stood about 30 feet tall or so, although some were a bit taller or shorter.

 this Falla represented the good and bad of the internet

Additionally, there were Infantil Fallas (children's fallas) which were on a smaller scale and had less suggestive themes. The weather on that Tuesday was a bit rainy and grey, but we still had a fun time exploring and seeing the city dressed up.

 a falla flies through the rain

Then we met back up with the big group, and the students were given free time to eat and explore the city, with the advice to come back and see the "Mascleta" at 2:00. The Mascleta is basically a basketball court filled with small bombs and fireworks -- the goal is not beautiful explosions of light in the night sky, but rather a more visceral, physical experience. The teachers and us went to a Basque bar for lunch, choosing small sandwiches stuck together with toothpicks, and paying by counting up the toothpicks at the end. Luckily the Spanish tradition of having the school's pay for the teachers' (and in this case, the language assistant and his girlfriend) food, so we were able to eat for free. Then it was time to watch the Mascleta, which involved convincing some of the less-enthusiastic teachers to get closer and closer to the explosives themselves, in order to make the most of the experience. Finally it was 2:00, and the show began. Clouds of smoke rose as the first firecrackers went off, and about 10 minutes later, the heaviest explosives began to ignite, which was so loud that I could feel my ribs shaking and bumping into each other (note: I am not a doctor so I don't know if this is actually anatomically possible) The earth itself seemed to shake, and both Billie and I were very impressed.

The next day, after work, we returned to see more of the Fallas, and also watch the parade of the Falleras. Old Valencian families dress up in traditional clothes and parade through the streets with flowers, making their way to the Plaza del Virgen, which is where they drop off the flowers to be used to decorate a giant wooden statue of the Virgin. It was cool to see them parading, with little bands providing the sound, and it seemed to be a very emotional experience, as many of them were sobbing just a few steps after handing off the flowers (of course, in typical Spanish style, for every crying woman there were five either smoking, drinking, or gesturing wildly. Or all three. Or all four, I guess.)

the parade of Falleros

The virgin of flowers. The men toss the flowers up to each other; you can see a white bouquet in flight on the top left part of the virgin.

That night was the Nit de Foc -- Night of Fire, in Valencian. For a culture that loves to take every opportunity to use fireworks and flames, an occasion specifically called the Night of Fire promised to be special. We milled around for a while, unsuccessfully trying to find my friend Cody, but we found some chocolate y churros and then a place to sit to see the fireworks. They were pretty amazing -- some of the best I've seen. They had some incredible fireworks that would shoot up into the air and then explode as they began to fall back towards earth, but every so often they'd rise back up higher into the air, only to soon continue their descent. I can't even imagine how those worked. The finalé was amazing, also -- it was like a strobe show was happening during an earthquake, with the combinations of colors, lights, sounds, and explosive vibrations. It was quite a treat. We fought through the not-insignificant crowds and made the train back to Castellon, even finding seats.

Eventually came Saturday, the night of the Crema -- the burning. We packed some sandwiches and wine and hit the train. Soon enough we were in Valencia, where we were this time successful in meeting up with my friend Cody. We hung out for a while, walked around the city, and then made our way to one of the smaller Fallas to see the burning. It didn't disappoint -- the Falla is wrapped in explosives, which are then lit by an honoree. The falla burned pretty quickly, and it was all over in a matter of 10 minutes or so. It's crazy to think that such beautiful, interesting creations are burned to the ground happily, and it's also crazy to think that only a few days later, work will begin on the next year's fallas.

All in all we had a great time, and I'm glad that I got the opportunity to finally take in such an important cultural event.

Ben 101

 me and the Practical English class on my birthday

    Recently, many of my classes finished taking their exams. In Spain, classroom attendance, homework, participation, and in-class assignments make up a minimal portion of a student's final grade; instead, they are judged almost completely on their exams. While it is arguable whether or not this emphasis leads to better educational outcomes, it definitely makes students very focused on studying.
     For a few classes, I prepare presentations on my little vacations that I give to the class. They're generally about 10 or 12 slides, with a few simple lines and a picture on each slide. I do my best to make sure they're understandable, without using a version of English so basic that it is essentially useless. For instance, I use words that sound similar in English and in Spanish, and focus on things I know the students have studied. I make sure to include details or slides the kids find entertaining (a fat man in a tight Spiderman costume for the Halloween presentation, for instance, or a note about how I took the wrong train back from Valencia on my trip to Italy a few weeks ago.) The students seem to enjoy it, and its a lot of fun for me -- they ooh and ahh at my pictures, they ask good questions, and start complaining when I show too many pictures of the delicious foods I had.
     I thought these presentations were just a way to get the students used to hearing and understanding me speak English. However, a few days before exams were to begin, I was asked to give the presentations again. I went through the ones I thought were the best, and this time the students took copious notes, telling me to repeat things and writing down the words on each slide, almost verbatim. It turned out that they would be tested on how well they knew my presentations -- in essence, their grade would be partially determined by how well they knew my life!
     "What did you say the best food you ate in Krakow was?" "How was the public transportation in the Canary Islands again?" "Could you explain again why you crashed that moto?"
  In another class, I joined the class while they were taking their exam, and talked for a few minutes about my trip to Italy. Without anything being written down on slides (for my benefit or theirs) I did my best to get the point across using good English that they'd understand, which isn't always as easy as it seems. They took notes and then had to write an essay about the trip. A few days later, after they'd gotten the exams back, a few students read their essays to me. It was a funny feeling having people read stories about my life to me -- like I was auditioning biographers or something. They did a great job of taking notes and then turning those notes into a cohesive essay, so they must have understood what I was telling them. Mission accomplished, then.
Now, if I could only get these students to study my resume and help me find a job at home for when I get back...

A Weekend in Puglia, pt II

After Martina Franca, we went to the region's biggest city, Lecce. A busy Saturday afternoon, it took us a frustratingly long time to find parking that was legal and free, walk around, and get to a B&B that looked promising. We eventually found one, and it ended up being one of the best housing situations we've been in. If anyone's going to Lecce, let me know and I'll recommend it to you.

 the courtyard of our B&B

We were famished, so we headed to a pizzeria next door to fill up. The door had a giant picture of a pizza, the menu had two pages of pizza options, and the restaurant was full of content diners. So we were a bit surprised when the waiter told us that sadly the pizza oven wasn't working. This set us into an uncontrolled rage, which apparently fixed the oven. 10 minutes later, we had two steaming hot, fresh, pizzas. Well, sort of -- my pizza was steaming hot, Billie had been given a cold salad on a pizza crust. But our hunger was sated.

It's a cool city. We spent much of our time just walking around, enjoying the plazas, gardens, and cathedrals that fill the old town/castle. The city's main attraction is the facade of the Basilica di Santa Croce, which apparently makes people think the architect was on a variety of mind-altering substances during the building's design. I don't know enough about architecture to make that claim, but the building was pretty interesting to look at:

Basilica di Santa Croce

Our last full day in Italy was spent on the road, as we explored the coast and went down to the tip of the boot's heel. We found a good little restaurant for lunch (with a orichette and tomato/garlic sauce that was so good we ordered it again, instead of desert) 

We also found the highway that was supposed to be one of the most picturesque in the region. We were bombing down it when we saw some signs in yellow. However, they were written in Italian for some reason, so we ignored them. Then, there was a big yellow barrier that had been placed in our lane, with flashing lights all around it. "That's strange.." we thought to ourselves as we slalomed around it, and around another one that was a few meters past it on the other side of the road. We continued driving, stopping to take pictures a few times, until we suddenly reached a barrier set up across the entire road. There was no way through. We went back and tried a few small roads that had branched off from the highway, but these, too, suddenly ended, leaving us in tight little spaces trying to 7-point turn our way back to the main road. Apparently, the initial signs and barriers had been for more than just show -- they meant the highway was closed. Ah well, you live and learn. We wound our way back to where we'd eaten lunch, and found another route south.

a scarecrow, which failed at scaring us off of the closed highway

Unfortunately, it was pretty rainy, so we weren't able to really enjoy the views or beaches as much as we would have wanted. The coastline is similar to Croatia's (which makes sense since it is on the other side of the Adriatic) and was also reminiscent of Mallorca's. We made it down to the very point of the peninsula just as dusk fell, and Billie drove us back to Lecce in the rain.

The next day we hopped in the car and headed back to Bari, where we got some lunch at the same restaurant we'd began our trip eating at. This time, we avoided the costly extras (pineapple, steak, etc) and stuck to the basics, which saved us some money. Then it was off to the airport, where we dropped the car and got on the plane. A few hours later we were back in Spain, with a chance to make it back to Castellon before the supermarkets closed if we hurried from the airport onto our train.

Unfortunately in our (my) hurry to get on the train, I didn't check which train we were getting on. We weren't paying attention as we pulled away, but eventually it was frighteningly obvious that we were headed due south, towards Alicante. Billie yanked us off the train, and we crossed the track to await the train back to Valencia, where we could catch the correct train to Castellon. Eventually we made it, safe, sound, and spaghetti'd.

A Weekend in Puglia, pt I

springtime in Italy...love is in the air (crust)

In semi-honor of my birthday, and full honor of Ryan Air allowing us to fly from Valencia to Bari and back for €20, we hit up Puglia, the heel of Italy's boot. Billie had a few days off for a Mallorcan holiday, and I negotiated with the teachers that I work with to get a few days off, so we were able to fly out on a Thursday night and stay until Tuesday afternoon. We had actually been to Bari before, at the end of our travels following my last long trip to Spain, but this was a chance to see and taste more of the region. We arrived at 10.30pm, found our hotel with no problem, and the next morning awoke, killed some time, rented a car, and then went to the airport to pick it up. We were given the choice of two Fiats, the cumbersome and ugly Panda, and the fashionable and nimble 500 (pronounced Chinkwa-chento, with hand gesticulating furiously) By 3.30 we were on the road in what we'd soon call "The Pebble" -- small, round, and easy to toss around curves. And by 3.35 we were already having panic attacks due to the pressures of driving in Italy.

the Pebble, surviving the rain

In Spain, roundabouts are generally large in diameter, with one or two signs posted well in advance of the intersections to clearly describe where each exit leads. Once you enter the roundabout, the exits are labeled with large, simple, easy to read signs listing the major cities in that direction. In Italy, the fun begins about 20 feet before the roundabout. There, one finds a set of at least a dozen signs, arrows pointing in every direction, listing all of the local restaurants, hotels, bathrooms, gas stations, shoe stores, sidewalks, and mailboxes, complete with small icons and font effects. Of course, these signs are in the same color and shape as the real city signs. Immediately behind those signs (close enough to be obscured by them) are the actual signs for the cities/roundabout exits. But its not just one or two cities, nor just major cities. The entire region is listed on each sign, making finding your true destination (while traveling at 30 mph) impossible. Add to all of this the fact that it is all written in a language I don't understand, three people are honking, and apparently the driver's ed instructional video "how not to stay in your lane" is being filmed all the time, it was enough to make me want to do a few laps around the roundabout until I coasted to a stop in the center, softly pouting and moaning "Mamma Mia!"


Instead Billie took hold of the map and got us out of there in a hurry. In a few moments the dust had cleared and we were on our way to our first destination, the town of Matera.

 Matera by night

Matera was pretty awesome. We found a "tourist information" office that was just a dude in a garage with some old maps, but he knew of a B&B that was a little pricey, but offered a nice room with a pretty amazing balcony and some delicious breakfast. The town was originally just a series of caves that were inhabited by the region's poorest families, and as the town grew bigger the caves began to be filled up, and eventually homes were carved into the gorges and cliffs nearby. The resulting village is an incredible mumble-jumble of streets and stairs, with the complete chaos of the layout juxtaposed with the uniform natural grey of the buildings themselves.

We spent the afternoon walking around and exploring, wrapped up with a delicious pair of pizzas -- a traditional margherita (mozzarella, basil, and tomato) and one of my favorites: arugula, parmesan, and proscuitto on tomato sauce and mozarella (pictured at the top of this post). The pizzas were delicious, as expected, and the night offered a different view of the city from on high. The next morning we hung out for a bit more, drove around the city, and then headed off.

We hit a few more towns up in the course of the day. Next was Alberobello, a town noteworthy for its abundance of trulli. Trulli, for those who don't know, are small rounded huts that for some reason are plentiful in Puglia. There was nothing else of note in the town, and the trulli themselves were only so interesting, so we moved on after about an hour of trulling/looking for a bathroom.

A cluster of trulli

After Alberobello we hit up another tiny town, Locorotundo. It was not notable for its trulli nor its horsemeat (generally a Puglian specialty) but instead just for being a nice little town. We struggled to find an open restaurant for lunch, and then walked around the town. The day's main event in Locorotundo was apparently a funeral, which (as fans of either the Godfather or southern Italian funerals would know) involves a little parade, led by a small marching band playing some of the most somber, mournful, moping little collection of ditties. Just looking at the trumpeter having a coffee afterwards made me want to cry rivers, although that would have been more useful in Spain, where the rivers all seem to be drying up. We took some pictures and hopped back in the car.

The next stop was the slightly larger town/small city of Martina Franca. We arrived in time for the B&B we had hoped to stay at to be full, and we were referred to a gentleman who led us to a dingy room with a tiny bathroom that he'd let us stay at for €40. Not a bad price, but we probably should have kept looking, as the dinginess didn't go away. Nevertheless, we walked around town for the rest of the evening, checking out the old city and watching the citizens take their strolls through the center. We killed some time before the restaurant we wanted to eat at opened, and we were the first ones in. A few hours later, and after a great meal (ending in a shot of grappa, one drop of which is probably strong enough to knock out a herd of buffalo) we headed to the dingy dormitorio. The next morning we got some breakfast and hit the road.

The Artist's Association in Martina Franca

Castellon - February in Mallorca

As dedicated fans may remember, one year ago I was celebrating my birthday in Quito. Well, almost all of me -- a few bits and pieces of the skin from my knee, butt, and face had been lost in a soccer game. I still managed to turn 25, and I was able to stay relatively complete for the entire year.

But it seems that February takes an annual opportunity to help me adjust to my new age, and the adjustments that I'll need to make in terms of my older body, slower reflexes, worse vision, balding, etc. I went to Mallorca to visit Billie, and she couldn't wait for me to see her motor scooter, which she uses to buzz around her town and get to school. It had been described to her as a "toy," and sure enough, she rode it around like it was the easiest thing in the world. She said I could give it a shot, so I hopped on, ignored her as she desperately tried to give me instructions, and zipped off.

What happened next was eerily predicted by a mysterious and powerful entity years ago, in an influential and popular written work. I'm not referring to Machiavelli, but instead Curious George. I'll let the following pictures illustrate how the ride went.

1 seconds after turning on the moto:

2 seconds after turning on the moto:

3 seconds after turning on the moto:

The thing malfunctioned, straight up. (the thing = my brain) I tended to my wounds as best I could, via paper towels wrapped around my legs and strapped with a dress sock. After getting the blood off my Jordans, I took it easy for the rest of the weekend.

Which wasn't too hard -- the weather was perfect, so we spent most of the time hanging out and walking around her town. On Sunday, we were invited to a big ol' lunch with her friend/co-teacher Xesca, who had a friend that was hosting a bunch of people for 9kg (20 lbs) of burgers. We were recruited to put a dent into that, which we were able to do. I also tried some Mallorcan spreadable sausage, which was weird. I talked to a friend of hers, a Serbian guy who had lived in France before moving to Mallorca, who spoke perfect English, and gave us some recommendations on places to visit in the area.

The rest of the weekend was spent exploring new parts of the island. We went to the west coast, north of Palma, and saw some cool little towns and drove around in Xesca's borrowed car on some windy mountain roads. I'll let the pictures do the talking...

By the way, all of the pictures, and more, are on my Flickr page (organized by trip here), which I encourage you to check out as I learn to use my camera.