Ben's Worldwide Adventures, Things, and Stuff

Italy Spring Break, pt II

2011-05-16T06:22:00.000-05:00

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

2011-05-07T14:17:00.001-05:00

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

2011-04-17T03:58:00.000-05:00

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

2011-03-25T11:35:00.001-05:00

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

2011-03-15T05:08:00.000-05:00

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

2011-03-06T10:50:00.001-06:00

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

2011-03-03T17:49:00.000-06:00

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

2011-03-03T03:00:00.001-06:00

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.

Long time, no blog!

2011-02-17T19:05:00.000-06:00

First and foremost, I'd like to thank/apologize to everyone who's commented on the blog recently. I didn't realize that I needed to go through the comments and accept/reject each one, so I had no idea that people were commenting!

I also now realize that while the blog details my trips and vacations, I haven't really detailed what it is I do here on a daily basis. Allow me to shed some light...

Tuesday's are my busiest day, so we'll use that as an example (with some other days mixed in, for narrative purposes.) I wake up at 9 or so and brush my teeth, have my breakfast (3 yogurts w/ cornflakes mixed in, for added crunchiness and satisfaction), and check my email, watch soccer highlights, find out what I missed as I was sleeping and the US was hitting prime time. At 10 past 10 I have my first class, so I walk down four flights of stairs, down the block, and across the street to school, a 4 minute journey. Coincidentally, 4 minutes is about how long it takes students to go from classroom to classroom and get settled, so I can leave my apartment when the bell rings for classes to change. Sometimes I leave a bit earlier, so I can stop by the teacher's lounge, check my mailbox, talk to a teacher, lo que sea.

The first class of the day on Tuesday are 15 year olds, in a small class that I believe is mandatory, judging by the enthusiasm that most of them show. The teacher of that class is not very good -- she doesn't really prepare much (a common occurrence in Spanish schools) and has me just read from their book, and then make up questions on the fly. This week, I read a chapter of "Mrs. Doubtfire," which I didn't know existed in book form. After reading a random chapter in the middle of the book, I didn't really know the story at all, so asking questions was difficult. The students are also trying to get away with using as little English as possible, so they often give curt, garbled answers after I've labored to come up with a question.
But luckily, the class eventually ends. From 11-11.30 the whole school has a break (not lunch, which everyone eats after school ends at 2, but a mid-morning snack) so I run back home and do some laundry, eat a ham sammich, whatever.

At 11.30 I'm back at school, but to tutor two teachers. One's a French teacher and the other's a science teacher. They are in an English class and use me to stay sharp and get some extra practice. Many teachers are scared that their jobs will disappear based on the financial crisis, so they are doing what they can to make themselves more attractive employees, including learning English. With these two, we usually just try to talk about our lives and converse. They are still beginners, and I need to keep reminding myself to speak very slowly, clearly, and using simple vocabulary. They also have a book they work out of, so that often gives us something to do -- I can create examples or questions based on what they're learning, they can get some practice using the phrases or techniques they're learning, etc. (For instance, one teacher once asked me to ask her questions that would require to use "used to" in the answers. Okay...do dinosaurs live here in Castellon? Are you a university student? Etc)

The bell rings at 12.20, and its off to one of my favorite classes, the business marketing class. They are all at least 20 I think, as its more of an adult-ed class, and although they aren't the best at English, I can at least relate to them on a social level, joke around, etc. The class' English teacher is really good to work with, because she always has something prepared, has things for me to do that don't require me to invent entire dialogues on the spot, etc. For instance, last week we worked on different ways to greet someone, depending on the situation -- a business acquaintance you're seeing in person for the first time, an email to your best friend, a love letter, etc. It makes me think of all of our little idiomatic expressions, and usually brings a smile to my face as I recall a little turn of the tongue I know that nobody will pick up on. (i.e. "Howdy, pardner!" or "What's crackilackin, joe?" in the case of the greetings) Since these students are generally my age, I've also met up with some of them outside of class, to have a beer or play soccer. At times we can get distracted and lose focus, but that doesn't happen too often.

The last class of the day is another one of my favorites: 16 year olds who chose "Angles Practic" (Practical English, for those who don't speak Valencian) I spend two hours a week with them (twice as much as any other class) and the class' teacher, a gentleman named Guillem, has been very warm and generous towards me. As part of their studies, students have the opportunity to choose a song in English that the whole class works to translate and then sing, accompanied by the class' other assistant, Mr. YouTube. I've had some fun translating and explaining the lyrics to the R&B, Pop, and Rap songs that they choose -- a lot of slang, and a lot of subject matter that makes me glad they don't understand the lyrics. This class also surprised me on my birthday with a cake and an extraordinary rendition (i.e. wouldn't be welcome in the United States) of Happy Birthday.

In the afternoon's, I help Guillem with the Informatica classes. These are adult ed, and basically are classes for students who want to work in IT. Therefore, its pretty technical, boring stuff -- the students label the parts of the computer, determine what is a peripheral and what is an input device, and pronounce gigabytes "jiggabeaties." The students don't seem to find it very entertaining either -- as I'm going into the building, I usually see a couple students fleeing.

Then it's time for more tutoring. I tutor Guillem's twins, who are two lovely 15 year olds who have no problems chatting for an hour -- movies, parties, my relationship with Billie, fashion, etc. They usually have no problems understanding me if I talk at about 90% full speed, and don't seem to get stressed out when they can't come up with a word. I don't really have to prepare anything in advance of working with them, since they are expert talkers, and if we run out of things to talk about we play hangman or practice the boring staples of English -- days of the week, the vowels, etc. After I finish with the twins (making sure to compliment their mom on the smells emanating from the kitchen) I head over to Victor's, about 10 minutes walk away. He's the same age (15) but goes to a different school. He's also really good at English, and he loves Real Madrid too, so we basically spend 2 hours a week talking about Real Madrid. Its a bit more difficult to converse with him only because there's one less of him than there are of the twins, and also he's a naturally quieter person. He's currently reading a book in English about the Holocaust for school, so he reads me a chapter and I listen without looking at the words, so I can be sure he's understandable. He'll ask me about a word once a page or so, and they're pretty obscure words -- grimace, tickling, knock, etc. He's really good at using context to figure out what stuff means, and if he doesn't know something, I generally don't know it in Spanish, so I need to resort to acting or gesturing. Which is not bad for a word like "frown," but a bit more involved for "acting" or "punch." After our hour is up his father always says hello and asks how I'm doing. For the holidays he gave me two bottles of red wine, which were delicious.

My work day over, I walk from Victor's apartment and through downtown. I have an hour to kill before I meet my Brazilian friend Bruno at the train station, so I stop in some stores, check what's on sale, etc. Bruno and I meet at the train station because its a central location and sometimes we wait for a Scottish guy to join us. Bruno has been working with me on my Spanish, and in return I help him with his English. He's helped me a lot (and vice-versa) and its been nice to have someone to hang out with and work with on a regular basis. After working for an hour or so we head off to a soccer field, where he has a weekly game with his Brazilian friends. Then its shower time (at the field's locker room, to save that water bill money) and off to bed.

Y ya esta.

Winter Break pt IV

2011-01-24T17:36:00.023-06:00

The Tyn Church from behind

Going back to Prague was nice. We didn't have any hotels lined up, but we found a decent room with an excellent view after only a bit of walking. After setting our stuff down and getting settled, I demanded we go straight to my favorite restaurant possibly in the world. After maxing on some amazing pasta fagiole, outrageous tagliatelle arrabiatta, and some honestly disappointing pesto, I had scratched that particular itch, and we could continue with the trip. We went to Prague castle and splurged on some tickets , granting us access to the cathedral, some galleries, etc. We took our tours, snapped some pics, and went back over the famous Charles Bridge to the old town, where we found some Thai food just down the block that was surprisingly good.

Charles Bridge at night

When I was first in Prague as a student 5 or so years ago, I didn't have much to compare it to. Now that i've been able to do some traveling, I can see why it is considered one of the continent's most beautiful cities. Full of windy old cobblestone streets, towering church steeples, and a wide river crossed by picturesque bridges, we are lucky Prague was be spared in WWII. We went to a big market I'd never been to that was mostly Vietnamese people dealing North Face knock offs, to the museum of Czech artist Jan Mucha, (who I would have definitely commissioned to do something for me if i was ballin and he was still alive,) and went up a few church towers that offered sweeping views of the city below. We found an excellent Italian-style pizzeria named after the Roma soccer team ( we ate 4 large pizzas from this place while we were in Prague. Actually, we ate them all in one 24 hour span.)

The bombest pizza in Prague -- Giallorosso. And also an old dude in a bunny suit

We were so enamored with our pizza spot. That we were a bit behind schedule going to the airport. Luckily we made it (barely) on time, and i didn't even get charged for my oversized bag. Back to Spain (where the hotel we'd booked didn't exist, leaving us homeless at 11pm. Yet still the original hotel charged my credit card) we immediately stripped our heaviest layers and found some jamon. Home sweet home. The next morning we woke up and went to the bus station by way of the hotel we'd stayed at before the trip, which i had to convince had a pair of my shoes and that I'd wanted them back. Then, 6 short hours on a bus later, I was home. Sure, I had to walk home instead of bike because the bike system thought I'd taken a bike out for 6 hours longer than one's allowed to, but at least I was back on home turf.

Winter Break pt III

2011-01-24T16:40:00.001-06:00

Auschwitz

Our final activity in Krakow was the most difficult, a trip to Auschwitz. The day had an eerie feel, as the normal cold was affected by an apparent solar eclipse. We boarded a van and rode out of the city south to the town of Oświęcim, where we were let off to walk through the snow to the museum on the grounds of the concentration camp itself. There was a short movie in English, and then we were led on a tour by a polish woman through the various parts of the camp-- first the sign above the gate proclaiming that work would lead to freedom, then into the main camp, a set of about 20 red brick buildings that showed little evidence of the horrors they had seen. We saw rooms where prisoners had been left to starve, enormous piles od human hair, glasses, lugggage, and other personal effects.

We walked through a gas chamber, unable to wrap our minds around any of the stupefying statistics and stories we were dealing with. We got onto a bus and rode 10 minutes to the camps annex, a much larger area that was desolate and foreboding. Here there were no brick barracks, but Instead wooden stables, with the rings to tie horses intact. We saw the wooden pallets used as beds, the holes in the ground used as group latrines, and the rail tracks used to expidite the entire process. But we also saw the crematorium that had been destroyed by prisoners, using gunpowder they'd smuggled out frm the munitions factory under their fingernails, as well as memorials written in the 22 languages spoken by the camp's prisoners.

the crematorium destroyed by Jewish prisoners

For millions, Auschwitz was hell on earth. To be in such a horrible place left me feeling numb, but at the same time I knew that while Nazism has been all but vanquished, the Jewish religion carries on. We took a cramped van back to Krakow, and the next night boarded an overnight train to Prague.

Winter Break pt II

2011-01-23T07:36:00.001-06:00

the mean streets of Krakow

We walked to the reception of the Krakow apartment we were staying in, where we were put into a taxi and sent on our way. The apartment was very nice and modern, with a very comfy bed and not too far from the historic old city. We went straight to the supermarket to stock up for the week, then back home to make dinner.
We spent the next few days doing our best to see what Krakow had to offer. There was much to see and do, but things were made more complicated by a combination of factors -- some predictable (sun setting at 3 and complete darkness by 4.30, the cold and snow, etc.) and some less so (the Ray Charles-based jazz quartet lost their singer to illness after we'd bought tickets and found the bar)

Krakow's market square, gussied up for a new year

We went through the castle district of Wawel (decently interesting but nothing amazing) the market square (the largest in Europe, with freshly grilled kielbasa deliciously available,) and the church that Pope John Paul II was bishop of before becoming pope. We also tried a variety of restaurants, many of which were tasty and surprisingly cheap. We found a Thai restaurant that had just opened a few months earlier that had great food for the equivalent of 5€ a dish (yes, I now convert foreign currencies into euros, not dollars. Makes things seem cheaper)
Although the city had set up a free concert in the city center, with a performance from Kelis (aka Nas' bloodthirsty ex-wife) we decided to miss the cold, dampness, expense, and Polishness of it all and stay in. Definitely more comfortable and cheaper.

After New Years, we explored Kazimierz, which had been the Jewish community before the Nazis put them into ghettoes. There were a lot of interesting old synagogues and cemeteries, and klezmer music was everywhere.

a wall in the old Jewish cemetery, made of gravestones that were broken -- some naturally and some maliciously

There was an interesting museum that had pictures of Jewish cultural importance throughout Poland and the surrounding countries, showing the destruction and chaos left behind by the Germans. We also found some good restaurants - an Argentine steakhouse, an American bagel cafe, and of course, delicious Polish pierogies.

Winter Break pt I

2011-01-15T11:16:00.001-06:00

Billie and I met up in Barcelona on the 23rd of December to begin our 3 week winter vacation. After much debate and research, we decided to brave the wintery weather and head to a place neither of us had been, Poland. After a few nights in Barça that were pretty dull (everything was closed due to Christmas) we made it to the airport and onto our flight to Warsaw, without even having to try and jam our carry-on bags into the little box. To explain, I should note that generally when we travel, we do so on airlines that charge arms and legs for checked bags, so we've become experts on jamming what we need into small bags, as well as knowing the exact dimensions of what each airline will accept.
We flew for a few hours, and emerged onto a snarling, blustery tarmac, all grey and white. A bus took us to baggage claim, and we wandered into what I can now say is one of the most confusing airports Ive been to. Nobody was at the info booth, no one had a map of the city, nobody could sell us bus tickets into town. We finally found the bus stop, bought our own tix, and were soon on our way. We somehow navigated ourselves to our apartment, where we were let in by a very nice guy who spoke no English. The apartment was very nice, though, and we quickly made ourselves at home.

Warsaw's center by night (dusk I guess)

Warsaw was almost completely destroyed during WWII, so the towns historical center was completely rebuilt in the following decades. It's therefore, unfortunately, a bit phony feeling -- they used old paintings and photos as a guide, so the buildings have old designs and layouts, but look very new, in terms of the materials and paint. It felt sort of silly to take pictures, like taking pictures at epcot or something. But they had decorated the old town very nicely for the holidays, and despite the cold (one random reading said with windchill, -2F), we had a good time wandering. We took a tour of the palace (boring) went to a monument for the Jewish community that had resisted the Nazis, and found an overrated, out of the way Indian restaurant.

The memorial to the Jewish resistance in Warsaw

It honestly isn't the greatest tourist city (especially when the cold punishes any exploration or indecision) and we were eager to take the train to Krakow, 3 hours to the south. Unfortunately we weren't the only ones with this idea, and so it was standing room in the corridor he whole way. Luckily the corridor was where the heaters were, so it wasn't as uncomfortable as it might have been, and we could even sort of sit down, on the heater. Soon enough, we were there.

The long weekend -- Canary Islands, pt II

2010-12-22T12:47:00.000-06:00

We arrived in Lanzarote, found a cheap rental car, and set off in search of a beach and lunch. We weren't really able to get to the beach, as we got lost in a dreamlike maze of empty parking lots and roundabouts. After that we decided to go with what we knew, and found an excellent yet completely empty Italian restaurant, where the Bolognese owner gave us discounts on some deliciousness. Then it was back in the car, and onto the highway bisecting the island. Huge dark clouds had begun to gather, and soon enough it began to drizzle, then rain. We also noticed that the greys and beiges of the terrain we'd become familiar with in Fuerteventura were nowhere to be found -- Lanzarote was formed by volcanic activity, and therefore was a surreal, dark, black. The weirdness of the color was compounded by the bizarre rock formations caused by the volcano's lava, and the locals had discovered that this type of soil was good for growing grapes. The strong winds made grape-growing difficult, so across much of the island are odd, black, semi-circular walls protecting little green plants. Combined with the clouds, the landscape was truly surreal.

Across the island we went, to the town of Famara, a tiny village that is considered the location where Europe's best surfing waves can be found. We indeed pulled up to an idyllic beach, and rented an apartment from a surf shop. We got settled and took a walk down to the beach, and then got some dinner.

The next day I decided to capitalize on the waves and weather and took a surfing lesson. I was the only student, and my teacher was a young English lady who seemed to be about my age. She did her best, and I had a good time, but I can't say that I'm exactly ready for the pro tour yet. But it was indeed fun and hopefully I get another chance to surf and get better. It was tiring, though, and frustrating.

After my lesson I sat on the beach for a while and then we went to try to find a good spot for the sunset, which we were able to do. A mountain road had been built seemingly just for our express purpose, so we arrived with enough time to climb around the mountain for a while, listen to a dog imitating an angry cow, watch the wild mountain goats jump from precipice to precipice with no fear or hesitation (or slips) and eventually watch a pretty-good sunset.

The next day, our last day in Lanzarote, was spent at the island's national park, which is focused on the volcanoes that formed the island. We arrived to see a demonstration of the natural heat and energy of the mountain we were standing on, which was quite impressive. First, a pitchforkful of hay was tossed into a hole about 8 feet deep. In less than a minute the hay was on fire. Then we were taken to a grill built into the mountain, which requires no fire or energy besides the heat that the mountain gives off. Then we were told to dig into the ground and grab some pebbles, which we quickly discovered were too hot to hold. Finally, the guide took a bucket of water and poured it down a 10 foot metal pipe going into the mountain:

We left Lanzarote the next morning, and eschewed another rent-a-car for the public bus to the tiny town of El Cotillo, also famous for its beaches. Like we'd been doing on the entire trip, we arrived with no reservations and no plan. We wandered through the town with our bags, looking for a place to stay, and were unable to find anything. We were standing outside of a locked hotel, calling the German man whose number was listed on the door, when it began to rain. Luckily, a bizarre old man looked out his window and saw us (and another similarly stranded couple) and told us he had a whole block of apartments available, for much cheaper than the hotel had been. We took a quick glance and paid up, happy to have a big place to ourselves, out of the rain.

The next day the sun was out, so we left the apartment, stored our bags at the reception, and went straight to the beach. It was a good December day for me -- sitting on the beach, watching the surfers and bodysuited toddlers.

Naps and sandwiches soon followed. Eventually it was time to leave, so we got our bags and caught the bus going to the capital of the island, Puerto del Rosario. We found our hotel after a bit of confusion, found some food after a bit of a wait, and found some sleep after opening the balcony doors and fighting off the mosquitos. Then it was a bright and early flight the next morning, and back to the real world.

The long weekend -- Canary Islands, pt I

2010-12-17T16:28:00.000-06:00

I apologize for the length of time I go between posting on this very blog. I'll do my best to post more often, which will hopefully correspond with more interesting things happening in my life.

Either way, Billie and I realized that even though the winter chill that settles over the Iberian peninsula would be considered a warm spring day, possibly shorts weather, for hearty Midwestern stock such as my family, we had spent enough time in Spain to feel that we deserved a respite from the temperature. We looked at a few different destinations, but in terms of weather, there was only one real candidate -- the Canary Islands. Located off of Africa's west coast, the seven islands are closer to Mali than Madrid, and the weather there is always nice. We had flights to the 640 square-mile large island of Fuerteventura, which is the second-furthest north. We decided to avoid making too many plans and instead decided to improvise once we arrived, assuming that the combination of depressed economy, low season, and wildcat air traffic controller strike would allow us to get good prices on everything.

We landed after a two and a half hour flight from Valencia, and quickly hit the bathrooms to change into shorts and t-shirts. Then it was off to find a rental car, which we were able to do for a very reasonable price. About ten minutes after landing, we were in the car and on the road towards our first destination, the northern coastal city of Corralejo. The highway ran through the flat gravelly interior, until the gravel abruptly ended and sand dunes began. It was an interesting difference, and I'd never seen a highway running straight through sand dunes before. We pulled off to get a better sense of the sand and coast, then continued on. The landscape on Fuerteventura is pretty desolate once you leave the coast, and it is easy to see why it was the poorest part of Spain for centuries -- the island didn't even have running water or electricity until the 1970s. But once Franco opened up the islands to tourism, the building boom began, which is how Corralejo came into being. We had no interest in staying at a resort with sunburned English retirees, so we found an apartment that rented for 30E a night in a complex of holiday apartments and booked one.

the sand dunes near Corralejo

Corralejo didn't have much going on, and the nearby beaches were infested with aging German nudists with a deficiency in modesty, so we hopped in the car (so much better than buses when you aren't in a big city or going between two distant places) and drove around. Corralejo's redeeming factor were the two restaurants we found via our Lonely Planet guidebook -- a delicious Italian restaurant that offered actual Italian-tasting food (the owner was from Bologna) and an interesting and tasty Spanish restaurant, where we were served by the Andalucian chef's Austrian wife.

After Corralejo we headed to the other end of the island, to the small city of Morro de Jable. We found a good hotel/apartment with a terrace overlooking the town and coast, and found an excellent parking spot right across the street from the hotel:

The town and nearby lighthouse were decent, but the best part of this side of the island, and my favorite part of the entire trip, was the trip across the mountains. This tip of the island is bisected by a large mountain range, and Morro Jable is still a ways away from the crossing. The road to get across the mountains is an unpaved, switchbacking snakepath full of potholes, blind curves, and washed-out stretches, and all we had was our tiny VW Polo, which we'd been told not to take off road. So we set out one morning and did just that, and after about an hour of harrowing/exhilirating turns that took us up into the mountains, yet still with good views of a small portion of the coast, we finally reached the point we could cross over to the other side of the mountains. I had no idea what was waiting for us -- this was what we saw when we eclipsed the hill:

Beautiful untouched beaches stretching out to the horizon, with huge azure waves washing into them, flanked by imposing mountains. It was a pretty surreal sight, and we couldn't decide whether to continue taking in the incredible view from on high, or to head down and get to the beach. We hung out for a few minutes and then went down to the water. I won't lie and say we had the entire coast to ourselves, but there weren't more than 15 people on the entire beach that we could see, so we definitely felt like we'd discovered some long-lost tropical treasure.

After enjoying the beach, we went to the tiny local restaurant, almost surely the only one in the group of little hut-like houses assembled on the side of the mountain -- a little village only accessible by the road we'd come in on, which makes me think that during heavy rain or winds, they are completely cut off from the rest of the island. I tried the papas arrugadas con mojo picon, which my friend Oscar had told me is the typical food of the islands. It was just potatoes with a hot sauce, but it was pretty good nonetheless. We headed back to Morro Jable glad we'd taken the long drive up through the mountains.

Our next destination was the interior city of Betancuria. It wasn't very exciting, but it was cool to see some actual color and vegetation instead of the drab beige and grey of the majority of the island's natural coverage. We walked around for a half hour or so and then left.

Eventually we decided to take a ferry across to the island closest to Fuerteventura, called Lanzarote. Only a 15 minute ride away, we headed back up to the North, got our tickets, returned the car, and hit the boat.

Back to Mallorca

2010-11-14T17:32:00.000-06:00

Last weekend I was able to secure some extra extra cheap air tickets to Mallorca ($35 round trip). A co-teacher of Billie's, Xesca, graciously let us use her minivan for almost two days, so we did some exploring of the island. It's not very big, and since there aren't many towns, getting lost is pretty difficult -- you just find where you want to go on the map, identify the cities between your destination and current location, and at the nearest roundabout, head towards the nearest city on the way. We had a few destinations in mind, but no set schedule and no pressing obligations, so it was pretty relaxed.
Billie's town, Porto Colom, is near the southeast corner of the island. The island isn't really round, but if it were, Porto Colom would be at about 4:00. The capital and main (read: only) city is Palma, which is at about 8:00. We wanted to see the city's and coast to the north, so we headed towards Soller, which we had been told was cool. There were two options, route-wise -- the modern tunnel that is much quicker and more direct, or the slow, snaking roads up and over the mountain passes. Since we had no pressing time constraints, and didn't want to pay any tolls, we headed up and over the mountains. The road indeed snaked back and forth, and besides the rare car that passed us, the only sound we heard was the rustling of the leaves and the clanking of goats' bells. Oh, and the wheezing, grunting, and snide comments of our minivan. The thing was not built for driving up mountains. It didn't even do well over speed bumps. It almost laughed at me as I lugged it around the hairpin turns, revving the engine to no avail, as my precious momentum slipped away. The vehicle was simply designed for other activities -- namely, in my opinion, picking up the 3rd and 4th place finishers in a donut-eating contest. Nice and easy, space to stretch out, no exertions -- that's what the van had in mind. But here I was, trying to get the tires to sing, imagining we were in a Ferrari 458, or perhaps a 612. No. We were in the modern version of the covered wagon, as it mockingly read me a version of "The Little Engine That Could:" "You think I can? You think I can? Are you for real?"

The Road Less Traveled (by minivans with single-digit horsepower)

Southern Mallorca is sort of desert-y, with not much elevation or lush vegetation. The northern part of the island, however, was verdant and very mountainous, which made for some cool scenery. We made it to Soller and walked around -- they have a cool old church, a crazy-ass bank, and a generally photogenic little town in the middle of the mountains.

the streets of Soller

As dusk approached, we made our way to a lighthouse in Port de Soller to watch the sunset, which was unfortunately hidden by clouds. We weren't able to get to a few places we had wanted to go to, but we had the next day to come back, if we so chose. The night was capped by Billie herself taking the wheel, and stick-shifting us home from a long-awaited Mercadona (which she doesn't have in her town) where she stocked up on the staples -- water, sugar yogurt, and chocolate muesli cereal.

The next morning we set off for the island's Northeastern corner. The beach towns were cool, but our final destination was pretty unique -- Formentor. Not only doesn't it sound like "Tormenter" and "Portent," it's the absolute edge of the island, and suitably tight. To get there again required supernatural efforts from the tubby van's 1/3 cylinder, Fred Flinstone-era engine as we flung it around the blind curves. It was worth it, though, as we got some stunning views of the waves crashing against the jagged cliffs far below. There's a set of lookout points on a walkway atop the mountains, and even further up, almost twice as high, was a tiny little castle that looked over it all. After taking some pictures and enjoying the view on the walkway, we headed up to the castle for the sunset. Although we weren't facing quite southwest enough to get a good view of it, it was still a dope place to chill.

We hung out there for a while, then got the van back to Xesca, who then drove us home.

It was a lot of fun, but that may be it for me in Mallorca for 2010. As the weather gets colder, we're going to try to do some more exploring around Europe and the rest of Spain, so hopefully we can find some cool new spots we've never been to, and then find the cheapest Italian restaurant there and make ourselves at home. We have a short vacation in the beginning of December, and then a longer one over Christmas, so there will be some good opportunities to travel.

Life in Castellón -- the line of terror

2010-11-04T16:31:00.000-05:00

The Benicassim rainbow, highly edited and HDR'd

It's been a while since I last posted, as I've been busy. Most of my time is spent at school, of course, where I work 12 hours a week with probably around 150 students total, in a wide variety of classes. The students are mostly between 12 and 16, although a few of my classes are adult ed business English classes. The students all seem to like me, and its fun to get to interact with a wide range of ages during the day. I've also found that many people around town are interested in learning English, so I've picked up about 7 hrs a week of tutoring -- a bit more work, but the extra income is definitely worth it.

On Saturday I put all that behind me and went to Valencia to meet another auxiliar, Cody, and some other Americans in the area for a Halloween get-together. I'd been teaching about it all week, including special powerpoint presentations featuring fat men in skintight Spiderman suits and houses that had been covered with toilet paper. I had a lot of fun and it was very nice to hang out with some other Americans (and Mexicans, and French, and British people too).

I've also been hanging out with one of my students, a 32 year old named Oscar. He and his girlfriend (and his girlfriend's younger brother, who has Downs Syndrome) have been nice enough to invite me to different little towns in the area. On Sunday we went to Benicassim, where we stopped en route to take pictures of an unbelievable rainbow that had appeared in the mountains we were driving through.

However, I was unable to teach my full schedule this week because I had to confront a demon I'd been concerned about since I arrived a month ago -- acquiring the visa I'd need to let me stay here for the full school year. Nobody could give me a straight answer as to what I'd need, and every time I walked by the line into the foreigners' registration office it was frighteningly long, so I wanted to be sure I had everything before I fought through the line. But since nobody could tell me exactly what I'd need (every foreigners office in Spain seems to be able to make up their own requirements) I wasn't able to make any progress. Finally, last Friday I assembled what I thought I'd need and headed to wait in the line before the sun came up. There are two lines at the office -- those with appointments and those without (of course, the only way to get an appointment is to wait in the line without an appointment to GET an appointment). I was probably the 5th person in the non-appointment line. Yet somehow, in the 5 hours I waited, I wasn't able to make it in the door! The police officer in charge let everyone with an appointment in before us -- no matter what time their appointment, or how long they had or hadn't been waiting. I got to the front of the line (to get into the building, where there was another line) with only about an hour until I needed to be at school teaching, so I asked the cop how long he thought it would take. "Another half hour of waiting, and then perhaps an hour once you get inside. And this is a GOOD day!" Ridiculous! I also wasn't sure I even had the right papers, and in my nervousness and confusion I decided to give up (at the front of the line!) and head home, do some intense research, and try to figure out what I needed once and for all.

I now believe that had I just waited it out I would have been a-okay, but such is life.

The office was closed Saturday and Sunday, and I wasn't sure about Monday since it was a local holiday, but the office was a national governmental office. Of course nothing was posted on the door of the office or online, so I decided that since I had nothing else to do, I'd wake once again at 6.30 to walk over. Nobody was waiting and nothing seemed to indicate that they would open, but I decided to stick around for a few hours (I had my Kindle, iPod, phone, and a magazine, so I was ready for this) to make sure. Which I did, and sure enough, they didn't open at all.

The next day was my last and only hope, since I'd heard that I needed to have the process done 30 days after my arrival in Spain, which was Wednesday. I knew that the line would be long, so I prepared everything the night before and woke up extra early. Even so, I arrived to find a line of about 10 people. The line steadily grew as the sun began to rise, and eventually at 9:00 the door was opened and the first stream of appointment-holders was allowed in. Hours passed, and the stream of appointmentees never let up -- there was apparently double the normal amount, since the office had been closed the day before. At 12.30, after I'd been standing waiting in line for about 6 hours, we had not advanced at all. Eventually, there were no more people in line with appointments, so the police officer began to sift through the unwashed, unappointmented masses. He asked for a few different groups (apparently the actual order of the line didn't really matter to him), and when he called out students I fought through the people in front of me and gained the first spot in the new line. After a few people had left the office I was finally given my ticket, and let across the sacred threshold and into the office. I literally had a smile on my face, as I left the shouting angry mob behind and ascended the stairs towards salvation. My number was soon called, and I dumped the papers I'd been told to bring onto the desk. She looked through them, and after I'd pointed a few things out to her, she told me I had almost everything I needed. Except for two obscure items that nobody at all had told me about -- a form from the local government that says I actually live here, and a medical insurance policy that will guarantee that my body be shipped back home should I die (I don't know what they aren't telling me about teaching English!) I would have to come back, but I nearly fainted with relief when she told me that I wouldn't have to wait in the line again. I'd come back Friday (tomorrow, as of now) and get everything finished up.

Today was spent getting those two documents in order, and hopefully I have the correct versions of both. This weekend I'm going to see Billie, so that should be a nice break after the tension of getting my papers in order this week. When I get back , I slip back into my now-normal life -- soccer once a week, paddle tennis, tutoring, teaching, and hopefully no more long lines.

Settling in

2010-10-19T17:01:00.003-05:00

The view from my balcony. In the top right corner of the picture you can see the corner of my school.

As you may have guessed, I'm still settling in. I've been under the weather for a week or so, but I'm feeling better now and should be back to 100% in no time. I still have not gotten the paperwork I need to be here legally after November 15th, and I also am still choosing between apartments (more on that later.) I've gotten a chance to meet almost all of the classes and teachers that I'll be working with this year, and I've already been contacted repeatedly with offers to tutor different students and teachers around town, which should help cover the costs of the Ferrari I'll be renting for long weekends. I am still deciding on where I want to live -- my school is on the outskirts of the city, so the choice basically is whether to be close to school but far from everything else, or the opposite. My schedule, as it stands, has a lot of odd gaps and breaks that make living close to school appealing. But the city center is where all the action is. We shall see...

El Catedral de Castellón

I also was able to procure a BiciCas card. For 10E and a copy of a credit card, the city will give you a card that allows you to check out a bike for two hours from some 30+ bike racks around the city, each with about 20 bikes. You simply swipe your card, put in a PIN, and choose your bike. You can drop the bike off at any other rack that's part of the system, where it automatically locks it up and checks you in. It's a great system that makes getting around a breeze, and hopefully our United States of America can figure something like it out soon!

My first trip to Mallorca

2010-10-14T11:36:00.000-05:00

I decided to put off settling in for the weekend and visit Billie, who hasn't stopped raving about how awesome her little beach town is since she arrived. I was looking forward to seeing it myself, and when I received the word at 4pm on Wednesday that I didn't need to work on Thursday, combined with the fact that I have Fridays off, Tuesday was a holiday, and I'd already asked off for Monday, and I was staring at a long weekend, if I could organize myself in time. I'd spent the morning at our orientation, which was anything but -- it left me more confused than when I'd began. After we'd finished that, all of the language assistants in the region -- there are about ten of us, from the UK, US, and France -- went out to lunch, where we got the chance to get to know each other a bit better. After lunch I went back to my apartment and took a nap, at which point I found out I didn't need to work the next day. I began to look into the various transportation connections, and realized that I'd need to hurry down to Valencia in order to be sure to get a spot on the ferry I'd take to the island. I quickly settled upon a few things to bring, grabbed my camera, and began to walk towards the bus station. After I'd gone just far enough to make it too late to turn back, I realized that I wasn't exactly sure how to get to the bus station. I wandered towards where I thought it was, but didn't quite get there. I left with 25 minutes to go until the train, but with only 10 minutes left, I needed help. I asked a cop, who told me, but with the time pressure I had to jog/sprint the last mile (in flip flops, khaki shorts, and a polo shirt, rocking a full backpack) to make it to the station, just in time to see the train pull in, doors opening and bell clanging. I dashed down two levels to get to the train, where I saw them collecting tickets, which I didn't have. Back up I went, quickly bought a ticket at a machine, and, dripping with sweat and very cognizant of the fact that I'd forgotten to pack deodorant, I made it onto the train.
Once in Valencia I took the metro to the port, which was much bigger than I'd thought -- about 30 minutes of walking (read: more aimless wandering). I eventually made it to the correct terminal, and bought a ticket for the overnight ferry. Although it was almost completely empty of fellow foot travelers, it was still almost impossible to get comfortable enough to sleep, as the armrests on the chairs didn't move, so one couldn't take advantage of the completely empty sections of chairs.
I eventually made it, but we weren't let off of the boat fast enough for me to make the bus that would get me to Billie's town, Porto Colóm, before she left for school. Instead I went straight to the beach and promptly took a 3 hour nap, which I needed after my hours of running, not sleeping, bus-missing, and so on.

It was very nice to see Billie, especially bearing chocolate cookies. Her apartment is very nicely placed, with views of the Med from just about every window and balcony. She has three bedrooms and two bathrooms all to herself, so if you're planning on visiting, visit her!

We spent the weekend walking around her town, and enjoying the rocky coastline and deep blue sea. There wasn't much to do, per se, but we were able to whip up some good food, watch some scintillating TV, and I was able to meet some of her co-workers. Unfortunately, the rain and wind ruined the latter half of the weekend (and delayed my flight back to Valencia) but it was still an awesome trip. I already have tickets to return, as the plan is to visit her while the weather is still theoretically good enough for the beach.

I also should point out that I'm going to try using Flickr for some of my pictures. I'm still learning how to use my new camera, so you can see the results of my experiments there.

I'm Back!

2010-10-05T16:26:00.000-05:00

Hello everyone, I'm back in the blogging game like I never left. I'm working as a teaching assistant in Castellon de la Plana, which is north of Valencia and south of Barcelona, on Spain's eastern Mediterranean coast. I arrived yesterday, after a trip that took about 20 hours and saw me in O'Hare, JFK, Barcelona, and then via train to Castellon. Another auxiliar, who I'd been in contact with on facebook, was kind (read: bored) enough to meet me at the train station, and he helped me find a cheap hotel to drop my stuff off at, which was a lovely thing to do after having it weight me down for the duration of the journey. We got a kebab and went to an internet cafe, where I was able to email a few people and look at a few apartments. We went over to the local university and looked at an ad board there for apartment listings, and the variety and depth of options means that before long, I should have a place to live. I met up with my school's English coordinator, a lovely woman named Ana, who offered me the use of her boyfriend's aunt's unused apartment, which I moved into today and am enjoying tremendously, although there's no TV reception and no fridge. That's ok, don't need a fridge when you can eat all the pasta at once! And don't need TV when you can find a loose WiFi network, like I am at the moment.
The city itself seems very nice. It's much bigger than Huercal-Overa was, with 180,000+ people, and there are all of the things that make a city useful -- grocery shopping options, a daily market, things to do, a free bike-sharing system, good travel connections with the rest of the region, and so on. It also is just 10 minutes from the beach, which I actually haven't been to yet but plan on going to tomorrow. I still don't know my schedule or what classes I'll be working with, but I've already been contacted with proposals to tutor students, which will be a nice income supplement.
Pictures and more info will get posted as soon as I get it. Hope everyone is doing well!

Uruguay - best of the rest

2010-05-03T18:04:00.000-05:00

not the Atlantico Hotel, in Piriapolis, Uruguay

From Montevideo, we headed east, towards the Atlantic. Our first destination was a tiny town called Piriapolis, a few hours away. We arrived at the bus station, which also appeared to be a school lunchroom, and walked towards the massive, out-of-place hotel that was built as a resort for the continent's rich decades before. We passed it, and found the main stretch of beach, lined with hotels. We looked at a few and settled on one, the Atlantico, where we set our stuff down, and hit the beach. They had nice white sand, and I found a group of guys that let me borrow a soccer ball for a while. At lunch we were stalked/begged at by a stray dog, who didn't seem to understand that we had no interest in feeding him. After circling for about 15 persistent minutes, he wandered off. We compared prices on the country's then-current sandals of choice, Brazilian-made Havaianas, and decided that even at 30% off, they weren't worth it. We walked along the water and back, and realized that there really was not much to do. So we went to bed and made plans to leave the next day.

Sunset and poultry dinner in Piriapolis

The next day we took a bus to La Paloma, an even tinier town further up the coast. The bus didn't go straight there, so we had to stop over in a different small town. Then that bus had a problem, so we had to wait for another bus to be brought, a multi-hour process. We didn't even have seats on the bus, we were standing in the aisles, so we decided to abandon that company entirely and buy completely new tickets, which got us to La Paloma much more quickly.

How to stay warm on a cool fall night in La Paloma, Uruguay

We took a taxi to a hostel that claimed they'd repay for taxi delivery, which they did, and we got a room. The hostel was very relaxed, across a sand-road from the beach, and had a huge fire pit, grill, and a hammock. Chill as heck! We made the most of our time enjoying those things -- beach, grill, and hammock, and met some interesting people. There were two Aussies who had come to surf and were therefore dissapointed that the waves were barely ankle-high. There were two Argentine twin sisters who were some sort of cirq-de-soleil performers, who had left something in our room by accident that they never found. There was a Chilean guy who worked as a air traffic controller, who had been up in his air traffic control tower in Santiago when their earthquake hit.

the view from "inside" our hostel

We spent a few days in La Paloma, chilling. We walked around the bizarre town -- dusty roads that looked like an abandoned suburbia, surf shops, a big ol' lighthouse, old dune buggies, and carnicerias (butcher's shops.) I bought some fake Havaianas, which promptly fell apart. We explored the beaches, lighthouse, and cool natural rock formations, and enjoyed an argumentative couple hashing out their differences in front of the whole beach. Good times.

Uruguay - Montevideo

2010-04-22T17:38:00.002-05:00

After Iguazu, we wrapped up our life in Argentina and headed east, to Uruguay. Nestled between Argentina and Brazil, Uruguay is a tiny but cool little land, very similar to Argentina -- same type of food, language, people, etc. Unfortunately, their employment outlook was similar as well. Montevideo, the country's capital, is where we stayed for about a week, looking (in vain) for jobs. The morning after we arrived, I found that there was a street market going on, so I hustled out of bed, walked the 20 or so blocks to the market, and enjoyed the bargaining and cheap counterfeit items that accompany the world's great street markets. This one was one of the best I'd seen (the other top winners being the Feria de Ladra, (the thief's market) in Lisbon, and the Mercat del Encants (the market of wonder) in Barcelona) in terms of size, hustle/bustle, variety of random stuff (used soccer shoes, puppies, axes) and affordability. I ended up looking at a lot of things but only getting a very practical, uninspiring money belt for about $1.25. It doesn't have a clip, so I have to slip it on through my shoes like a skirt, but it is significantly cheaper than buying a money belt here (Eagle Creek's is $18, for instance.)
The city itself was cool, although much more laid back than BsAs. One point the guidebooks made sure to drive home was to go to the market/food court at the port. When we got there, we saw that apparently no Montevideños had read those books, because it was completely touristy. But delicious.
The hotel we were staying in was right across the street from the beautiful old Teatro Solis, and they also happened to be hosting a band from BsAs that was performing at the Solis that night. We got some tickets to see our hotel-mates, the Babel Orkesta, and were treated to a spectacle that was sort of like an acoustic tango-klezmer circus.

As the week went on, we checked out a few different markets...

you've never used an outdoor dressing room before?

...explored the city's beaches and parks on bike. Interestingly, the seats of the bikes we paid a handsome sum (handsum) to rent were made for people with rear ends made of a metal that hasn't been discovered yet, but will prove to be stronger and more durable than anything now known to man...

...and went to a skate park on the water that was surrounded by nice palm trees and bizarre art...

"Enough of this!" we agreed, and so we went east, to the beach.

Argentina - Iguazu

2010-04-16T16:13:00.004-05:00

After searching for jobs for what seemed like forever, we needed a break. We decided to head to Iguazu Falls, which is in Argentina's northeastern tip and is generally considered the most awe-inspiring waterfall in the world -- 3 times the size of Niagara, and more accessible than Victoria (at one point a person can stand and be surrounded by 260 degrees of waterfalls). It was not close -- 17 hrs on the bus -- but the buses in Argentina are great, and we used the time to figure out where to stay, how to spend our time, etc. We arrived, found the hostel we were looking for, and got settled in. Since it was already mid-afternoon, we decided to save the waterfalls for a full day, and instead hung out at the hostel's pool. The city of Puerto Iguazu itself was woefully lacking things to do, so we caught up on emails, read, watched TV, etc.
The next day, we got up bright and early, had some breakfast, and then got on the bus that took us the 20 min or so to the Parque Iguazu. We paid the entrance fees, got our tickets, and went on in. We started off by deciding to walk along an eco-trail instead of taking the shuttle bus, based on the fact that we came to the park to see the nature. We saw a group of tourists pointing and snapping pictures, so we tried to get in on the action. It was a family of little monkeys, actin like animals!

After the monkeys, we finally got to see some waterfalls. The park is basically a series of waterfalls, with boardwalks and viewpoints that allow you to see everything very well. We spent the rest of the morning walking around and enjoying the flora and fauna...

We got an expensive but delicious lunch at an all-you-can-eat parilla (grill) in the park, and then we started towards the park's highlight, the Garganta del Diablo. For those that ain't talk Mexican, that means, literally, the "Devil's Throat." To get there, we had to take a mini-train for about a 5 minute ride, then walk on a long, half-mile or so boardwalk across the Parana river to an overlook that puts you right over the precipice. It's an awesome way to show off an incredible natural wonder, and we were certainly not disappointed. It's hard to describe in words, but the mist generated from the incredible crashing of the water onto the rocks below made it all have an otherworldly feel. I can't upload videos of the waterfall directly to the blog, but here's one that I took.

Just as we arrived to the Garganta, we noticed some dark black clouds on the horizon, moving quickly in our direction. Sure enough, within a few minutes it began to rain.

People began heading back across the long bridge towards the train pickup, slowly at first and then a rush of people. The rain and wind picked up, and before long it was a full-fledged storm, which made the waterfall that much more intense.

the rain made it difficult to hold my camera steady

We were the only people who had knuckled down and stayed through the storm, and eventually we had gotten waterlogged enough that we decided to head out, which seemed like a good decision as the lightning began (we were on a metal platform, connected by a half-mile long metal bridge, over a river. Unsafe) Eventually we made it back to the train, which took us back to the park's entrance, where we caught a bus back into town. We left the next day, having seen the majestic falls. They were very impressive, and worth the 34 hours of bus time for sure.

There are more pictures and videos that I took on my Picasa page.

Argentina - Rosario

2010-03-29T22:51:00.000-05:00

Monument to the flag...you'd think they'd put a flag on top

After we'd determined that BsAs did not have what we were looking for in terms of jobs -- there were jobs, but the pay was not good -- we headed a few hours north, to the country's third-largest city, Rosario. The birthplace of the nation's flag, Rosario is perched on the banks of the Rio Parana, with a very relaxed feel to it, especially compared to hustle-and-bustle BsAs. We stayed for over a week, doing our best to find work. We were ultimately unsuccesful, but there were some highlights of the time we spent there:

-The city's laid-backness is emphasized by the two long pedestrian-only boulevards that run through the city's center. It was nice to be able to stroll along without having to worry about getting hit by a bus, or even clipped. You could veer from side to side, you could just stop if you saw something in one of the stores or street sales that interested you, and were in no danger of being killed by a fast-moving vehicle. And they were quiet too.

-Built out of big white stones, with a flame in the middle, the monument to the flag is a large, uh, monument to the flag. Featuring a tall tower that we weren't able to get into to climb, and a shallow pool with statues of army soldiers doing nationalistic things, I was inspired. It stood out from the rest of the city, in scale and tone, but it was a cool things to see.

don't worry, just a statue in the park

-The city, like Chicago, made the most of their waterfront by turning it into a long park, with benches, running lanes, sports fields, statues, and restaurants. I don't understand why more city's don't do this, but its always nice to find one. One of the pedestrian avenues noted above runs straight into a small park, abutting the flag monument, which in turn is just off of the river, where you can walk along and hang out. Not a bad lineup.

a gov't mansion near the river

-8 or so blocks from our hotel, there was a busy street that for about a mile, was lined with restaurants. Mainly typical Argentine variety -- pizza and steak, pizza and pasta, pasta and steak, or just one of the three. We tried a few of them, and they were decent, but eventually we got tired of the walk and stuck with the limited selection closer to our hotel. One place had great Italian food, but was carry-out or delivery only, so we'd go there, order, walk around the block a few times, get the food and take it back to our hotel, and eat it there. Not the most scintillating stuff, but got the job done.

-In terms of jobs, there were probably around a dozen English schools in the city. Our first stop was Aricana, which was apparently a school with a large student base that was based around America -- they offered American-specific English lessons, helped with people interested in studying abroad in the US, were certified by the U of Michigan to qualify people as "proficient" English speakers, etc. After we'd pestered them with our resumes and how American we were, the director admitted that they'd love to hire us, but because we weren't legally allowed to be working in Argentina, they couldn't really offer us anything more than a few hours a week of private tutoring. Since that couldn't really cover our costs, we had to say thanks but no thanks.

Buenos Aires - The Boca game

2010-03-25T20:46:00.001-05:00

The highlight of my time in Buenos Aires was also the highlight of my time in Argentina. And South America. Possibly of all. It was that tight.

Soccer fans in Argentina are a special breed. As many of you know, I've been to games in a lot of different places. I'd say I've been to over 50 professional soccer games, in at least a half-dozen countries. I'd never seen anything close to what I saw at La Bombonera ("The Chocolate Box," Boca Juniors' home stadium).

As I said before, I'd gone to a game in Mendoza, Godoy Cruz (of Mendoza) vs Boca Juniors (of BsAs, the most popular team in South America). Since I was in a hostel in Mendoza, I got a ticket from a guy from BsAs who had travelled with a group of fans to support Boca, and therefore was in the Boca fan section. They went wild. A few days later, I took a bus ride to BsAs, and was on the same bus as two of the Boca fans that had made the weekend trip for the game. I impressed them with my knowledge of Argentine soccer, and when we got to Buenos Aires' massive central bus terminal, they very kindly helped me find a cab, warned the cab driver to not mess around and try to overcharge me, and bid me a fond journey. I quickly got one of their phone numbers, although I think we all thought we'd never see each other again.

But they must not know Ben Kaberon. Boca had a game the next weekend, and I didn't have any pressing plans, since job searching was a weekday activity. I called Pablo, and eventually got myself invited to the weekend's game, vs. league leaders Estudiantes. He gave me an intersection in La Boca, told me to take a cab there an hour before the game, and we'd meet up. As an official "socio" (member) of the club, he has an essential season ticket. A friend of his, also a socio, wasn't going to the game, so I would use his card.

I had been warned that at Argentine soccer games, prepare as little as possible to bring, and then leave most of that behind. I wore a white shirt, grey pants, grey shoes, carried a tiny amount of cash with me in Billie's money belt, and my cell phone. I took a bus to the corner we were to meet at, but he was running late so I explored the neighborhood. Everyone was wearing blue and yellow, and the excitement was palpable. Finally he arrived, with his young friend who told me he went by the nickname "Gnocchi," and we were off. But we didn't go to the stadium. No. We went in the opposite direction, which I vaguely recalled as being labled in my guidebook's map as "Dangerous for tourists, avoid." We went through some dirty and dim streets, zigging and zagging, until we got to a small garage door in the middle of a industrial block. We went in, and inside there was a huge parking lot filled with cars. Not in parking spaces, simply lined up bumper to bumper, mirror to mirror. Crowding around in the free spaces were hundreds of Boca fans, drinking, eating sausages grilled in the corner, yelling, singing, chanting, fighting, and generally pre-gaming. It was like I'd stumbled upon a soccer asylum.

As gametime approached, the hoardes moved out from the parking lot en masse, towards the blue and yellow stadium, brightly lit among the dark neighborhood buildings. The crowd was funneled into essentially a holding pen a block before the stadium. Once the crowd in front of us had dissipated we were let loose, and I didn't really have to walk forward as the surge of people behind me clamoring to get into the stadium provided more than enough propulsion. The next holding pen had riot police patting people down, and once we'd been patted down we were allowed to swipe our socio cards and enter the stadium itself. The hard core fans stand behind the goal -- in terraces, no seats -- so of course that's where we were. Since we were late arrivals, we were right at the bottom, in the middle.

Only a few short yards in front of the craziest fans (i.e. us) -- the "Barra Brava" -- is the goalie himself, with the goal just behind him. The fans are separated from the field by a 20 foot high fence topped with barbed wire. The bottom few rows of terraces are unoccupied, since the fence has a huge banner on it that obscures the view of the bottom rows. Between the last terrace and the fence is a wide flat area, for people to walk back and forth, riling up the crowd. So, it's like this:

goalie/goal

|_____________|

x x x x x x x x x

FENCE/BARBED WIRE

___________________B A N N E R__________________

WALKWAY

_____________________________________________________

______________________TERRACE ______________________

etc...

To get a sense of how close we were to the field...

This empty walkway at the bottom is good for people who need a break, people taking their kids to the bathroom (yes there were kids in this madness, prepubescently cursing the referee's apparent whore of a mother) etc. But when a goal was scored, by Boca, the entire mass of fans standing, waiting, praying for the joy and relief a goal would bring, explode forward into this empty space, turning it into a mosh pit unparalleled.

The noise was also immense. The entire game the Barra Brava was singing, chanting, waving their hands, stomping their feet, and generally acting as if the game could be won or lost by decibel generation. I didn't know the songs at all, yet I was glared at and threatened if at any time I allowed myself to stop waving my hands, or making some sort of singing action. I eventually picked up a few of the songs, and I have had them stuck in my head ever since.

This was taken when I was standing in my regular seat. I tried to hold the phone as steady as I could, but with the entire stadium rocking from side to side it was difficult.

From South America

There were many crazy people there, but two stood out. The first I never talked to, and it didn't seem like he did much talking at all. He didn't watch the game, and didn't really seem to even care about the game. He looked like he hadn't showered in a few months, and his green t-shirt, which he used as a flag, looked like a science experiment gone wrong. This dude's M.O. was to run back and forth along the walkway, jumping majestically and gracefully, and waving to the fans, who were paying no attention to him at all. I honestly think he was under the impression that the entire stadium was cheering, singing, and yelling for him. He would wave and point to people in the stands, tap his heart and blow kisses, while the rest of the fans cursed the ref. At one point he climbed up onto the fence between the stands and the field...

jumped off, and lay on the ground for a minute or two, snow-angel style, before getting up and thanking the fans.

The other crazy was a guy named San Juanni. He seemed to be a longtime fan, since everyone knew him. He looked basically like a middle-aged Santa Claus, if Santa Claus was a homicidal soccer hooligan. Before I knew that he was friends with the people I was with, I almost lost my composure when he came up to me (6'3", 250 easily), looked at me with eyes that could melt a brick, and screamed at me to sing louder. He waited for the terror in my face to fully foment, then he let a grin slip out. He quickly put his scowl back on, slapped me on the back, and I made sure that I was singing louder than ever. For the rest of the game he rambled back and forth, intimidating anyone who dared take a breath between songs and cursing the referee. After the game, we were able to talk for a while, and he was a very nice man who had grown up in Spain, but been living in BsAs since 83. When I told him I wasn't born in 83 he let out a hearty laugh, then basically threatened to mutilate me, with his eyes only (no words were needed). I told him what hotel I was staying at, and he said that he knew the owner of a restaurant only a block away, and to go in and tell him that I new San Juanni, and that I'd be taken care of. Never got to that.

In the video below, he's the guy towards the bottom right, in a black jacket, hat, with his hands raised. The singing depicted followed absolutely nothing of note -- it was the norm for the entire game.

From South America

The game itself wasn't so great. Boca had some chances, Estudiantes (without their best player, Seba Veron) had some as well, yet nobody really stood out (even Riquelme). Finally, Boca won a penalty, right in front of us, and when Martin Palermo scored, the place went wild. I was shoved and hugged and elbowed and kissed and somehow ended up standing next to the fence, with all of La Boca seemingly behind me screaming yelling and thanking the lord above. But the ref, the world's eternal enemy, had noticed a Boca player encroaching into the area, so the penalty had to be retaken. Palermo, luckily, was just as accurate on the retake as he had been the first time, and the celebration began anew.

It was insane. The video's below don't really reflect the noise level, but you can get a sense of the energy and passion that Boca fans have for the sport. It was an utterly unforgettable experience.

Argentina - Buenos Aires

2010-03-20T21:29:00.001-05:00

Our time in Buenos Aires was enjoyable, to say the least. The food was excellent, there was always something to do, and the people we met were very friendly. Some of the highlights...

We stayed for part of the time at a hostel in San Telmo, a "trendy" neighborhood in the city's center. Nearby was one of the city's most frequently-recommended restaurants, a parilla (grill) called "El Desnivel." We stopped by one night, and I had one of the best steaks I'd ever had. They grill it on a huge grill right at the front of the restaurant, and serve it with a homemade chimichurri sauce -- oil, garlic, red pepper, and parsley -- that is delicious. Not too expensive, fun atmosphere, and really great food. Another night, we went to a fancier steakhouse, but one that was adorned with an incredible range of soccer jerseys, scarves, pictures, and balls, all signed by some of the world's greatest players. They also had great steak, had steak knives that were sharper than anything I'd ever encountered, and had steak so tender that they literally could cut it with a spoon. (the waiter did just that to ask me if it was cooked well enough, I do not know why a spoon is preferable to one of the extra-sharp knives, but it was impressive nonetheless.)

Desnivel's incredible parilla

We went to the famous Recoleta cemetery. It's a very photogenic place, with really ornate and elaborate shrines, memorials, and mausoleums that guard the resting places of the country's richest and most famous dead people, Evita included. There was an artisinal fair outside, some street tango performances, and some really good ice cream. Unfortunately I didn't bring my camera, but check back and pictures may be uploaded.
We went to a cool sidewalk flea market type thing. We had been near it but couldn't find it, so we stopped at a fresh pasta place (Its like a deli, except behind the counter, instead of various bolognes, they have freshly-made, hand rolled/cut pasta, sold by the kg, in countless shapes, colors, thicknesses, etc. as well as fresh sauces. Amazingly awesome. We eventually did find the fair, and saw some wildness being sold -- tons of melted beer bottles, mate gourds (mah-tay, a herbal drink enjoyed to the point of obsessiveness by Argentines, Uruguayans, and Argentians) clothes designed by local designers, and so on. Interesting stuff abound.

The painted houses of La Boca

We walked through the Boca neighborhood, a poor neighborhood near the city's port. Because the residents were so poor that they couldn't afford paint for their homes, the area is now famous for the wide range of colors the houses are painted in due to the fact that the residents took the leftover paint from the docked ships nearby, in whatever color they could find. The neighborhood is also home to the famous Boca Juniors soccer team, so what wasn't painted in wild colors was blue and yellow. The neighborhood has a dangerous reputation, but the area near where the houses were painted, the "caminito" was very touristy and safe. One could even take pictures with a Diego Maradona lookalike. I should have.

Argentina - Buenos Aires arrival

2010-03-07T21:24:00.000-06:00

February 23

I packed my bags and headed to the hostel lobby to check out and catch my bus to Buenos Aires, where I'd be meeting Billie in a few days. The bus ride was about 15 hours, so I decided to splurge for the semi-cama class bus, which was the middle level. In the lobby, I saw a few other guys talking about the same bus. They were Argentinians from BsAs, who had come to Mendoza just for the game that I'd gone to the night before. We determined that we were on the same bus, so we began to chat a bit. I realized that they had a completely different accent than I'd ever heard before -- they pronounce "ll" like a "sh" sound, and speak Spanish with the cadence and rhythm of Italians. It took me about three repetitions to understand everything that they were saying, but once we got on the topic of soccer, things got easier. They were very impressed by my knowledge of soccer, Argentine soccer to be exact, and we ended up sharing a cab to the bus station. They watched my things while I bought a 7-up for the ride, they sat right behind me on the bus, and when we got to BsAs, they helped me find a cab that wouldn't rip me off, told him where to take me and warned him not to rip me off, and generally went way out of their way to make me feel welcome. They also let me know that Boca was playing a game later in the week, and we exchanged numbers.
I didn't have a hotel lined up, but my guidebook said that the Avenida de Mayo, a main street in the city, was lined with cheap, clean hotels. I directed the taxi to the intersection that was noted in the book, and set out with my life on my back and front, looking for a good deal. The first few hotels were expensive, and then I hit some blocks with no hotels at all. I headed in another direction, when my body (read: bladder) realized that the backpack was digging into it, and decided to pull all the alarms and forced me to haltingly gallop towards the nearest open cafe, throw my things down, and kick open a bathroom door. After I'd eliminated that concern, I sat and had a fresh squeezed OJ, and took advantage of the free WiFi for a bit. Once I'd settled down, caught up online, and sipped my beverage, I headed back into the wild. This time I had a bit more luck, and was able to find a perfectly decent room for a decent price, in a good location. I set my stuff down, took a very long-awaited and well deserved shower, and then a nice, long-ass nap.

Argentina - the rest of Mendoza

2010-03-06T17:16:00.001-06:00

Aconcagua, the highest peak in the Americas

February 19-23, 2010

The rest of my time in Mendoza was pleasant, if uneventful. I went through a long list of English schools that claimed to be in Mendoza, but after hours of walking and trying to find the addresses, I discovered that many were either incorrectly described or no longer existed. I handed exactly one resume to one human being, slipped a few others under locked doors, and generally had an unsuccessful trip in terms of finding jobs. However, I had some great food -- the parilla experience,where you pay once, get to take what you want from the cold salad buffet, and then choose what you want from a huge fire full of a variety of meats, is awesome, and the Italian food in Argentina is really good. The wine, of course, was delicious and cheap, and even the local beer wasn't too bad.

Parilla -- the only way to eat

Beyond that, I did two activities in Mendoza. The first was a bus tour of the mountains, which was my friend David's idea. I didn't know that the bus would go back into the mountains that I'd driven through on my way from Santiago, but it was a nice tour nonetheless. We stopped at a cool natural bridge that had been colored yellow by the naturally-occurring chemicals in the water, and at the highest peak in the Americas, Aconcagua.

Puente del Inca

The other cool activity was going to a soccer game. Godoy Cruz, Mendoza's local team, happened to be in first place when I was there, and also happened to be hosting a game against the country, and continent's, biggest team, Boca Juniors of Buenos Aires. I was having trouble getting a ticket, and when a bunch of Boca fans from Buenos Aires showed up in our hostel the day before the game, rowdily preparing for the weekend. The hostel's employees told me that they didn't have any tickets, but perhaps the Boca fans did. I timidly went up and asked one, and he looked at me, and told me that he did, and that he'd be wiling to sell it to me. His name was Cristian and his voice sounded like the Godfather's. I bought the ticket, and greedily placed it in my locker.

The day of the game came around, and I'd talked to a few other people who'd also been able to get tickets. We were to be in the Boca fans' section, cordoned off from the rest of the stadium by police on horses. It was myself, two french nerds, an American college guy, a German college guy, a British college guy, and a bunch of Swedes. We took taxis to the game, but I somehow ended up in the taxi with the French guys and a Swede. We got to the stadium, and the taxi full of the other Swedes pulled up. However, the English speakers were nowhere to be seen. Not wanting to try to handle the whole experience on my own, in a place known to have some of the world's worst behaved fans, I stuck close, but not too close, to the Swedes. The entire crowd was funnelled into a sort of cage, where cops on horses broke up the groups into more manageable chunks -- a couple hundred would be allowed through to the next cage, and then eventually to be patted down by cops, through the ticket takers, and into the stadium, and when they had cleared one cage the next chunk of fans would be allowed in. While we were waiting the raucus crowd happened to notice the extremely tall, extremely blonde, non Spanish-speaking Swedes and decided to comment on their appearance. They called one Harry Potter because he had glasses, and generally roasted them. It was entertaining, and the Swede's said they were used to it since they looked so different. Eventually we got into the stadium and were crammed into standing-room only terraces behind the goal. There was barely room to inhale, but I elbowed myself a bit of space and prepared for the game. The players came out to a roar, and the Boca fans that I was in a section with (the entire area was Boca fans, the Godoy Cruz fans were on the complete other side of the stadium, behind the other goal, with platoons of police between the two groups) kept up singing, chanting, drum playing, and general mayhem for the entire 90 minutes, with only a brief respite at halftime. The best player in Argentina, Juan Roman Riquelme, was playing for Boca, and he showed glimpses of his lazy brilliance that the crowd loved.
Riquelme is a player that plays no defense, rarely sprints, complains a lot, and uses his left foot for getting on and off the bus only. Yet his right foot is so cultured, so advanced, that he makes the game look like art. Its 21 players and Riquelme. He's on a different plane. Where other people need to take three touches, Riquelme can take one. Riquelme hits his passes with correct weight. Not too hard, not too soft, not what the player receiving the ball can best control, but the correct ball. He needs a team to be built completely around him, but when he's on form he's simply one of the best players in the world. For some evidence just youtube him, here's a start.
The game ended 1-1, and we walked back to the hostel. It was a lot of fun, and I looked forward to my next opportunity to go to a game. Little did I know, I wouldn't have to wait long!

Argentina - Mendoza

2010-03-02T12:07:00.000-06:00

18 February 2010
I got on the bus and settled in. It was like a first class airline seat -- pillows, blankets, really comfortable and wide, ample leg room, etc. The ridc itself was supposed to be beautiful, so I did my best to stay awake throughout. It was difficult, considering the plush seats and inviting pillows, but I managed to wake up and snag a picture every so often. We went through the vineyards of Chile, up into the mountains, up higher into the mountains, eventually winding our way through a snake-path that reached over the Andes and down into Argentina.

We went into a garage for visa processing, which I had been warned took some buses up to 6 hours. We did not take nearly that long, and after only a half hour or so, we were able to get back on the bus and head towards Mendoza. The Argentine side was similar -- mountainous, with mostly dry desert rock and a few streams meandering alongside the highway. We went past some pretty large mountains, and I tried to take as many pictures as I could. Eventually we emerged from the mountains to the sight of a big blue lake, and past the lake we began to see signs of Mendoza -- namely, the infinite vineyards that make up the area's world famous wine bodegas. We pulled into the bus station, I got my bags, and then realized that I had nowhere to go, nor any Argentine money. I hauled my stuff to an ATM, took out some money, and then got into a cab and directed him towards a hostel that claimed they'd pay travellers back for a taxi. Sure enough they did, and I got a bed in a 6-person dorm room at the Hostel Itaka, on a busy street full of bars and clubs outside of the city's downtown.

I set my stuff down, locked up what needed to be locked up, and walked around for a bit. We weren't far from the downtown, so I headed in that direction. I got a SIM card for my cell phone, which would make getting jobs easier (hopefully), and continued walking. I eventually headed back to the hostel, where I met David, who was also staying in my room. We decided to grab dinner together, where I found out that David and I really got along. He is an Australian that works as a business/finance consultant, and also owns a bar. We talked a lot about owning one's own business and what it took to succeed. We went out and grabbed a drink, then headed to bed.

Chile

2010-03-02T11:35:00.000-06:00

February 16th, 2010

a big ol thing in a park

I took a minibus shuttle from the airport, with a list of hostels in hand. I hadn't made any reservations, per se, or been in contact with any hostels, but I had a in mind that sounded good that I decided to try. The minibus driver took us down the highway and into the city, and before long we were pulled up at the Hotel Santa Lucia. However, I needed the Hostal Santa Lucia, so a minute or two later we'd actually made it to the destination. I didn't know if they'd have space for me, and definitely didn't know if they would let me check in at 7am. However they did have space, and she even let me into the room, turned on the lights, and loudly announced which bed was mine. This was great for me, not so great for the five other people sleeping in the darkened quiet room. I settled in quietly, and lay down for a quick nap.

After I took care of that, I got up and walked around the city for a bit. My first order of business was to go to the bus station and buy a ticket for Mendoza, Argentina, which I was able to do without much trouble. Then I walked around some of the city's parks, which seemed to be a good amount of the city's center. Right across the street from the hostel was a nice park, so I grabbed some food from a supermarket and sat in the park and munched.

After eating, I wandered up the park's path, which led to a small castle-type thing on top. The way up was lined by fountains and small plazas, which made nice rest areas. It wasn't too long of a walk, and the top afforded good views of the city. Everyone had said that Santiago was really polluted and dirty, but I didn't find that to necessarily be the case. I noticed a market across the street from the park, so I headed back down, crossed over, and made my way into the market. It was definitely tourist-oriented, but they had some cool stuff, interesting t-shirts and the like, and I walked around for a while. Eventually I got tired and went back to the hostel, where I made dinner. I had to get up at around 5 to make the metro to catch my bus, so I headed to bed not long after.

The next morning I awoke without problems, slipped my clothes on, and left the hostel. I had just about reached the metro stop when I realized I didn't have my camera. Cursing myself for forgetting it, and then possibly making myself late, I hurried (as best I could with a big backpack on my front and a huge backpack on my back) back to the hostel, where I looked through my bed and the area around it. Finding nothing, I went back down to my backpack. Sure enough, I'd had it the whole time. I made it to the metro, and the bus itself, with plenty of time to spare.

Quito -- Leaving it all Behind

2010-02-24T16:37:00.000-06:00

15 February 2010

We woke up bright and early and headed out in two cars towards Quito's outskirts, where Juan knew of a park that had a bunch of paths through the forest leading to some big waterfalls. The journey took a while, including a half-hour or so of extremely rough, unpaved road that we took in Luis' tiny VW hatchback. The route was filled with Ecuadorians in pickup trucks; that is, a few people in the cab and about a dozen in the pickup bed. Whenever these trucks made their way through neighborhoods with multi-story buildings, though, they were dead meat. Entire families would be prepared on balconies with buckets, hoses, water balloons, etc. to douse the poor exposed people. Even dogs seemed to be kicking over buckets onto the people below. Babies, grandmas, everyone was involved on the carnival fun. The road narrowed down to about a lane and a half for a while, which meant we needed to pull all the way over to let the traffic going the other way through. Which there was a lot of; they all said that the road was closed. This did not stop Juan, who had a 4x4, so we powered on. We eventually realized that while the public road was closed, the one leading to the park was open, so after crossing a river on a rickety old wooden bridge, we parked the car and got out and stretch. Juan's family dog, named Doggy, is about the size of a shoe, so he excitedly explored the open space while we all walked around. I watched him approach an irrigation ditch, but from his height he couldn't see the steep fall, only the tall grass. Sure enough, he barrelled in and fell into the ditch. "Whoa, I think Doggy just fell into that ditch!" was my response, and Luis got him to safety. Super. We started off walking, and once we were on the single-file path, with no real room to turn around or move, Emilio produced the silly string that he carried for carnival and began menacing me. I tried to make a quick run for it, but as had become my custom in Ecuador, I turned an attempt to move faster than a sloth into an opportunity to fall down. This time there were no (new) injuries, and he sprayed me with the silly string anyway.
The park itself was cool, it reminded me of a walk I'd done on birthright in Israel. The waterfalls were also cool, and it was fun to get the blood going and get into the environment, especially since I'd spent virtually the entire time in Quito itself, a big city.

It was full of slippery slopes, rickety wooden bridges -- the real deal. I was impressed my host parents could do it all. After we left we got some Ecuadorian fast food, and then went home. It was my last full day in Quito, and it was nice to spend it really experiencing the country.

The next day I walked around one last time, even though everything was closed due to carnival. I packed my bags, said my goodbyes, and headed to the airport about 5 hours before my flight. Better safe than sorry, and when the airport has free internet and nowhere else does, that's a reason too. I took care of some last-minute business -- namely, determining where I'd need to go once I landed in Santiago, Chile -- and then got on the plane. They served food, which was nice, and I did my best to get some sleep. Soon enough, though, it was 6am, which meant we were landing in Chile.

Quito -- birthday celebrations

2010-02-24T16:33:00.001-06:00

14 February 2010

My final weekend in Quito was a nice cap to my time. I said goodbye to Billie early Saturday morning, which left me sad but happy to have the whole bed to myself. We spent the day at Juan's house in Carcelen, after spending an hour or so at the butcher shop. The plan was to grill a big family lunch and enjoy the carnival, which is celebrated in Ecuador by having water fights. We got there and got the grill going. While the food was prepared, I was invited upstairs by my host brother Luis and his fiance Mayra for some TV kareoke. After about 3 minutes of Luis' moaning into the microphone I decided that my time in Ecuador would be better spent elsewhere, so I headed back downstairs to see what Juan's children, Domenica and Emilio, were up to.

Domenica, armed for water combat

We tried to tell each other jokes and riddles, but for obvious reasons it was difficult. However, they soon came back loaded with water guns and whatnot, ready to start the carnival celebrations. They were waiting outside for Luis, who unknowingly headed outside to get something out of his car. They immediately assulted him, but he quickly found a hose and left them running for cover. Then Mayra came out to see what the fuss was, and Luis doused her with the hose. I found a pot in the kitchen and filled it up, ready to do find a target. I stepped outside and was immediately hit from behind with a blast from the hose -- Luis was hiding in the garage, just behind/next to the house. I turned and tried to step towards him, but the wet stone steps, combined with my loose-fitting and slippery-soled thong sandals, caused me to lose my balance. I stumbled down one step, then the next, braced myself with my knee and elbow against the cement, and slowly tumbled head-first into the parked car at the bottom of the step. A big ol' bloody scrape on my elbow, the same on my knee, and a high level of embarrassment.

I recovered and got into the carnival atmosphere a bit more, dousing Emilio with the pot full of water. After a while I headed back inside and changed, and avoided the ER-level recommendations of the family, including ointments, bandages, alcohol, icy-hot, and a ear of field corn. The food was soon served, and we gathered around a tiny table to enjoy the delicious mix of meats that had been prepared. As usual there wasn't enough to really fill up on, but I enjoyed it anyway as it was nice to talk to everyone. After lunch I got ready to go, naively thinking that a barbecue ended after the food had been eaten. Nope -- it was just games time. Out came scrabble and jenga. I started at scrabble, thinking that I could do alright even if it wasn't my first language. But I hadn't considered the different rules. They played where you could create a word with any single letter on the board, regardless of the other letters around it, or if the tiles once you'd finished your turn spelled a word. So if the word corn -- maiz -- was on the board, and you wanted to put shoe -- zapato -- you could just stick it on: maizapato. And so on. After about an hour of playing, four or five games, I got the hang of it, but never really came close to winning (I was on 11 year old Emilio's team; he kept me afloat.)

My butt was getting sore from sitting on the tiny steel seat of the picnic table, so I seeked some respite inside, where the ladies were playing jenga. I did not need a translator for this one, but I did need an explanation for why someone would play jenga over and over, for hours. I guess games are big in Ecuador. Pretty soon it was time for dinner, which was lunch's leftovers, and then time for the cake, which involved more face-stuffing. I was ready to go, but of course no family meeting would be complete without an update on Luis and Mayra's wedding, which took literally two and a half hours. Finally we said our goodbyes and headed back to our home. Not to fear, though -- we'd see them again all day the next day, on a trip to the forests and mountains just outside of Quito.

Argentina -- Blogging ReBegins!

2010-02-21T12:59:00.001-06:00

Sorry, everyone. I fell off the blogging wagon and its been a struggle to get back on -- the more time that goes by, the more I do, and the more I need to write about, making it less appealing than ever to write! But I'll do my best to catch up, little by little.
-The course in Quito ended with little fanfare. We had a good time celebrating with the students at a small party, which also was an occasion to celebrate my birthday. I had a lot of fun, an Ecuadorian specialty is to take the birthday person to bite the whole cake. Then when they go in for the bite, they get the cake stuffed in their face. I learned this tradition the hard way, but it was fun nonetheless. Ecuadorians love to dance, too, so I did my best to keep up. The girls said I was doing alright, but I have my doubts.

-The weekend before our program ended, we took a trip to see where many of our students are from, a lower-income neighborhood known as Carcelen Bajo. Billie exquisitely wrote it up on her blog, so I won't even try to beat it. Here's what she wrote:

A lot of the Ecuadorian students that we teach in our practice teaching sessions are from a neighborhood in the northern part of Quito called Carcelen. Carcelen is a big place and is broken up into Carcelen Alto (Literally, “High” Carcelen, which is on the top of a hill) and Carcelen Bajo (Low Carcelen, at the bottom of the hill). Our students come from Carcelen Bajo, which is the poor part of town. We had been told that it was a slum, but other than that we didn’t really know what to expect. So we headed out there today to visit our friends, hang out, and stage the Ecuadorian vs. US Olympics – a Ben & Henrry creation.

We made plans for the four of us (Sara, Ben, Darren and I) to meet one of our Ecuadorian students, Santiago, who is not from Carcelen but wanted to join, at noon. After a little confusion of Ben and I waiting at the wrong Metrobus stop, we finally joined up with the other three and caught the bus to Carcelen. Santiago was our unofficial tour guide seeing as he was the only Ecuadorian with us and we relied on him to ask the driver for a sign when we should get off. As usual there were no seats on the bus – this country runs more frequent buses than any other place I’ve ever been, yet every single bus is either full or far beyond the capacity allowed by safety standards.

About half an hour into our ride we passed the Carcelen Alto bus terminal, one of the many landmarks Ben and I visited on our failure of a trip to Papallacta. I knew where we were, but Santiago seemed to have less of an idea. A few minutes later he went to the front of the bus to ask for directions, and then quickly motioned for us all to get off the bus. We hopped off in front of a pharmacy and Santiago called Henrry to get the next part of the directions. He informed us that we’d have to walk a few blocks downhill till we found the park. We walked about a block and then found a park with a church next to it – exactly as Henrry had described to us Friday. Unfortunately the lady sticking her head out of the rip-off DVD store informed us that we were still in Carcelen Alto, and this was not the park Henrry was waiting at since he was in Carcelen Bajo.

We shopped at her DVD store for a while, waiting for another one of the same buses we had gotten off to come around, and then piled on and repaid our 25 cents each. Eventually we got to Carcelen Bajo and scrambled off the bus before we could be taken to another town. The boys were first off the bus and they set off toward the park. Before Sara and I could make it around the corner Darren grabbed us and turned us around saying that we didn’t want to go that way. At first I thought he was joking and fought back but then Ben joined him and pushed us up the street. They informed us that we didn’t want to see what was happening on that street. Of course the worst things possible sprung into my mind and I wondered if there was someone being held hostage or being raped just around the corner. Later they told us that what they had been protecting us from was the sight of a woman lying on the sidewalk bleeding from her chest, clearly having just suffered some type of wound. Welcome to the ghetto!

We walked down a deserted street towards the park and eventually saw Henrry standing in front of a community building wearing his usual rainbow sweater. We welcomed us all and led us upstairs where his younger brother, also named Santiago, and another student we knew from English classes, Rene, were hanging out using a laptop. I quickly realized that while we were in the Carcelen Bajo community center, we were also standing squarely in Henrry’s own bedroom. Other than the two mattresses pushed up against the wall, and a few old armchairs, it had nothing to mark it as a bedroom. But I knew from what Henrry had told me that this was where he lived. Henrry grew up only about a block from the community center, and his parents still live there, but Henrry has worked on the community center for about ten years and lives there now. At age 32 he is in charge of the community center that he has worked so hard to build and support. He has turned a formerly desolate strip of land into a playground with basketball courts, swing sets, a gazebo, and many other things for the people of Carcelen Bajo to use and enjoy as a community. He continues to work to further this cause, teaching English to the children of the community every Saturday morning, and developing an organic community garden and compost project. A few months ago Henrry finished up a year of training in organic community gardening in San Diego. Upon completion of his training he decided that flying home to Ecuador would produce too many greenhouse gases. He decided it was much better for the environment for him to find an alternate way home. So he began hitchhiking, from San Diego, to Quito. He made it as far as El Salvador, where he was deported back to Ecuador. That ought to give you a glimpse into who Henrry is.

We had arrived in the rain, but now it was beginning to fall faster and harder. It made a lot of noise against the tin roof of the community center. We took in the views out the floor to ceiling windows and I spotted Henrry calmly walking through the rain in his rainbow sweater, without a rain jacket or umbrella, to the store across the street. He emerged a few minutes later holding a bag, and ran through the rain back to us. When he arrived he opened the bag and offered us each a croissant like piece of bread, hot out of the oven. They were delicious, and the perfect thing to eat on a cold, miserable rainy day.

On the bottom floor of the community center there was a ping-pong table and we began the Olympics informally as Santiago played against Darren. Soon one of my favorite students, Carla, showed up. She lives just up the hill and had come to join the Olympics. Sara, Carla, Alberto and I played a round of Ecuadorian “Ochos Locos” (Crazy Eights) and then decided to get serious and play “Cuarenta.” This is a typical Ecuadorian game that is played by families during the Festival of Quito every year. It is the same game that Emilio and Domenica had attempted to teach Ben and I the first day we met them, and then again the second time we spent time with them. I was feeling confident as the only American at the table with any prior knowledge. Henrry and I played against Carla and Sara and won handily. Then it was onto ping-pong. It took some time for Sara and I to warm up, Henrry and Carla apparently play often and were already pros. Henry and I beat Carla and Sara at ping-pong twice and then headed back to the Cuarenta table to take on the other winners – Ben and Alberto. Although we tried our best Ben and Alberto beat Henrry and I by a landslide, and then we all decided it was probably time to go foraging for food.

The group of us, at this point we had about 10 people, wandered around town for a while. They showed us Rene’s house, and a few other important points of reference, and then Henrry pointed in a window to a griddle covered in unidentifiable food. He asked if it looked good to us, and I asked what was in it. Potatoes, no meat. Everyone found that acceptable and we entered. The most interesting thing about this place was that if I had been walking by it on my own, without Henrry, I would not have even known it was a restaurant. There was no sign outside, no menus, no waiters - just one room with a griddle, a woman cooking, a TV showing a soccer match, a few wooden tables, and tons and tons of empty glass soda bottles. The unidentifiable food turned out to be “llapingachos” which are fried potato balls, very similar to potato latkes. They were delicious, but came with a side of beets that none of the Americans wanted to eat. A few minutes into our meal a man with dreadlocks and a fraying shirt came in and quickly shook hands with everyone at the table. I figured he must be a friend of Henrry’s, but things became very strange. very quickly. After shaking everyone’s hand he started to ask us for money. The Ecuadorians seemed embarrassed and uncomfortable and all made some sort of excuse or joke about how they didn’t have any money, how Henrry was paying for everything. Rene joked, in English, that Henrry was “the bank”. He then turned to the foreigners and began asking us roughly for money. None of us really knew what to say, so we didn’t answer. So he began asking Henrry if we spoke Spanish. Henrry told him that we understood Spanish, to which he responded, then we must just be imbeciles. In my book, insulting the people you’re begging for money is probably the number one way to fail at actually getting any money from them, but he didn’t seem to think this was an issue. After insulting us he began to demand money from us until finally I told him I didn’t have any, and Darren agreed. He left the restaurant in a huff, after using their bathroom. As soon as he exited Carla explained to us that he was a drug addict, and was always asking them for money every time he saw them. She was quick to add that he was not a bad person though, just always wanting and needing money for drugs.

We ate our llapingachos and Henrry went next door to buy a bottle of Coca-Cola for the table. I explained to Alberto that I don’t usually drink Coke because when I do it tastes so good that I get addicted and he found this fabulously hilarious. For the next fifteen minutes all the jokes were about how much Coke I was drinking and how close I was keeping the bottle. After lunch I asked Henrry where we could find a cheap peluqeria (barber shop) for Ben to get a haircut. We passed a few but Alberto insisted that we go to the one on the corner by his house. Sure enough Alberto’s peluqeria was half the price of the others in town and they even opened up shop for Ben. We all crowded into the tiny one-chair barbershop and watched as Ben had his head shaved, and then his face. Juan Carlos, one of my students showed up with his girlfriend and a good time was had by all, excluding Ben, whose face suffered a few nicks. Overall it was good quality entertainment at a bargain price – only $3 for the haircut and shave.

Darren had to head back to town in order to meet a friend, but the rest of us hung out a bit longer. Eventually, after taking a lot of group photos, we set off for the bus stop. Henrry, Carla, Alberto and Rene all accompanied us and waited with us until our bus came. As we waited an electrical wire began sparking and all of the street lights flickered on and off. A group of kids came running down the hill to watch the free fireworks show, but it didn’t last more than about five minutes. After saying goodbye by giving everyone a kiss on the cheek, Sara almost got left behind by the bus. Luckily she made it and we were on our way out of Carcelen Bajo and back to Mariana de Jesus.

Our day in Carcelen Bajo was wonderful despite the rain and the cold, which foiled our plans for an Ecuador vs USA basketball game. I found it so comforting to be surrounded by new friends who despite only having known us for three weeks were tremendously welcoming and warm. Whatever they had, they were happy to share with us, and were proud to show us their neighborhood. I think the most noticeable thing to me was that the group of us spent almost the whole day together, but didn’t rely on any technology for entertainment. We talked, laughed, played cards and ping-pong, and went for a walk around town. No TVs, no DVDs, no Playstation, no computers or Internet – just good clean fun in the ghetto of Quito.

The Carcelen Bajo crew, L-R: Santiago, Henry, Sara, Rene, Carla, Ben, Alberto, Billie

Quito -- the Weekend Roundup

2010-01-31T10:37:00.000-06:00

January 31
Its been a while since I updated el blog-o (no Blaggo) so I'll hit on some things that happened this week.

After Tuesday's soccer/ER fiesta, I was sore but excited that I'd found a place to play. Luis had told me that there might also be a game on Thursday, but he wouldn't know until he got home from work Thursday evening. Luckily the news came through in the positive, so we got in his car at 8pm to go scoop up his brother Diego (Abby's dad) from work and hit the field. We were playing at a place called "Futbol City" which is a place that I like the sound of. This was outdoors, small rectangular fields made of field turf-type stuff (less risk of burns like on old artificial turf.) It was a while before we were able to get a field, and we were with two other teams, meaning we had to rotate one team off for 20 minutes at a team. We started off on the sidelines, so I was able to get a quick sense of the speed of play and how hard people were playing. It seemed like a better situation than it had been on Tuesday -- a bit slower and more thoughtful play, with no boards to get pushed into. Finally it was our turn, and we hopped on. I played decently -- tried to do a bit too much but sometimes it worked, making me look good. After we finished playing our two games we were off, except the team that was coming on had lost a player. They somehow ended up asking me to fill in, so even though the Andean air wasn't treating me so kindly, I obliged and stayed on. I played better, and got a few goals and was able to do a few little tricks to get by people. Then it was our team's turn again, and so I was able to keep playing. We had the field for two hours, and except for that first twenty minutes, I played the entire time. I was dead tired afterwards but it felt great -- I hadn't collapsed of exhaustion, I didn't feel sore or anything, and I'd acquitted myself well on the field, representing my country, city, team, etc. I combined with my host brothers for a few good goals, which was nice, and its nice to know that when I show up places to play with them they don't have to act like they don't know me and that they're the idiots that brought the tall kid who can't play.

On Friday, we had a bit of a special day -- instead of us students teaching, the instructors taught. They had the experience teaching, we had the experience with these actual English learners. I was personally predicting/hoping for the instructors to not do so well, so that when we (students) didn't do so well, we could point to their failures in our defense. I wouldn't say they did "badly," but they definitely did not perform significantly better than any of us would have. One student pointedly told me that it was "boring." Earlier in the week, Billie had a led a warm up for us called "Never Have I Ever," in which someone says something they've never done, and all the people that have done it have to get up and switch seats (there's one less seat than person.) I was sure our students would be completely unable to play the game in English, but Justin (the main instructor, and one of the day's class teachers) thought he could. They ended up being able to play the game, but only because Justin explained it to them in Spanish. So I don't think he gets credit.

Then today, Sunday, we attempted to take a trip to a town called Papallacta, about two and a half hours away famous for its natural springs. We'd read that the drive was gorgeous, and that a $7 entrance fee granted one access to 20 baths of differing temperatures, in a serene and tranquil environment high in the mountains. We got a series of tips as to how to get there, and set off at 9am to get on the bus. We caught the first bus, which was supposed to take us to the main bus terminal, where we could buy tickets and board the bus straight for Papallacta. But the bus line wasn't running to its final terminal, so we had to switch buses. However, at the station that we switched at, a different bus driver told us that we could take a different bus that would also get us to the station we needed to get to. We boarded this other bus, and the driver told us that this was the wrong bus. A helpful passenger, however, told us that we indeed were on the right bus, and before we could make a decision, the bus had pulled off. We drove for about ten minutes, stopping and picking people up and dropping them off on the side of the road. At a random intersection, the passenger gestured for us to get off. We were clearly not at any bus station at all, just at a busy intersection, but we got off, hoping someone could help us. We started to cross the bridge over the busy street, when a man told us that to get to Papallacta, we needed to catch a different bus, that would take us to the main bus station, Carcelen. Carcelen is a huge neighborhood about an hour north of the city's center (more on Carcelen later), so we went back down to the side of the road and caught a bus that said Carcelen Terminal on it. We eventually rolled into the station, which was seemingly brand new. We walked around, asking where to buy tickets, until we found the booths, with the attendents yelling out their respective companies' destinations. None of them were saying Papallacta. We went to one, and he smirkingly told us that none of the buses from that station went to Papallacta, we needed to get to a different station, Quitumbe. OK. We weren't going to give up at that station based on one comment (especially considering how many "one comments" had been helpful thus far) so we asked a few other people. They all had the same answer. One guy pointed us towards a bus that was going to Quitembe, so we headed towards it. However, to actually get to the bus, we had to pay 20c each to get access to that part of the station, a fee system I've never seen before (imagine having to pay to get into the parmesan cheese aisle at Dominicks -- you still have to pay full price for the cheese, you just can't even get to the aisle without paying). We paid, got on the bus, paid again, and once it had filled up (Moroccan style -- the bus ain't leavin until you ain't breathin (c)) it pulled off. We went on highways, on byways, through forest and mountain. Occasionally we saw glimpses of Quito, but it seemed like we were moving away from the city. However, Quito's large monument to Jesus that overlooks the city always was in view, and we seemed to be making a large loop around it. We went on city streets, highways, and unpaved roads. Finally, we pulled into another new, gleaming station -- Quitumbe. We looked at a map. We had started off in central Quito, where we live. We'd taken an hour and a half to get to Carcelen Terminal, in the extreme North of the city, and then had just gotten off a bus that had taken us in a huge loop around the city, to the extreme South. We were FURTHER away from our destination than when we'd began. Amazing. It was now 12:00, and the two and a half hour journey would have been pointless considerind we'd only have a few hours to spend there. We figured out which companies actually went to Papallacta, confirmed it repeatedly with the attendants, and promised that we'd give it another real shot next Sunday. We took the trolley (the great bus/tram system that runs through the whole city) back into the middle of the city, hung out in the historical center for a while, and then went home. Quite an adventure (an "Odesia" as our host mom Laura put it) for not going anywhere. Luckily, the entire journey, in total, for both of us, was able to be paid for with the $3.50 or so I had in change in my pocket. The actual bus to Papallacta costs a royal $2, so we'll be saving up our pennies until then.

Quito -- School of Hard Knocks

2010-01-26T13:08:00.002-06:00

the official post-game injury report

Finally, I got to play some ball. Luis, our host brother, has a game he plays in with all his cousins and friends on Tuesday nights, so I finally begged my way into the game. I ran home from school, got changed quickly, and we left a few minutes later. Quito was at its trafficiest, so getting to the field took a half hour or so, for only a few miles of driving. We went through some interesting neighborhoods, but I was thinking about how I'd do playing against Ecuadorians.
We got there just as the game was about to begin, so I threw my stuff on and hit the field. I started off in the middle, and got a few early touches that I did alright with. I got the ball wide out on the left, with a defender just to my side and behind me. I did my normal move in that situation, which is to sort of cut in front of the defender so that he has to either let me run by him or foul me -- he went for the latter. I skidded hard on my right side side, nicely burning my right calf and hip.

A few minutes later and the Andean air and my woeful fitness level had caught up to me, and I staggered towards the bench for a substitute -- probably 8 minutes into the 30-minutes half. I regained my breath a few minutes later, but nobody else seemed to be floored by the air (probably because they were born and raised in it) or the tempo of the game (probably because I was running around like an idiot while they let the ball do the work). I sat through halftime, and then got an opportunity to go back in the game with about 15 minutes left. The ball was played to me, but a bad touch left me racing to track the ball down to my right. I got to the ball just as it got to the hockey rink-style walls, where I was greeted by a strong shoulder. I tumbled into the boards, and got up feeling a little off. I begged, and eventually got, a foul called.

I played a bit better than I had in the first half, but even though I'd only come on with 15 minutes left, I still got way tired and had to come off with like 8 minutes left. A few minutes later, I went to wipe my face with my shirt, and when I took it back down I saw there was blood on it. I kept dabbing at it, and kept getting more blood. The game ended, with us winning 5-3, and we drove home.

When I got ready to shower I got a good look at the damage. Bruised and bloodied big right toe, turf burns on my right shin, knee, hip, and left knee, a scraped wrist, and a swollen and cut right cheek. All this, despite playing probably less than 40% of the game. It was remarkable. I can only remember one game I've ever missed in my life through injury, and none of these would keep me out for any length of time, but it was still weird for me. Oh well, it was great to play, my host brother thought I'd played well (and I can play better) and I might get a chance to play twice a week on a regular basis. So that will be dope.

Quito -- The Weekend

2010-01-26T09:51:00.002-06:00

Lou, Billie, and I

January 25
This weekend was pretty fun. After class on Friday, we dropped our bags off at home and took a cab to a pizza place that had been recommended as one of the city's best by one of our teachers, Justin, who's lived here for almost ten years. We invited him to join us, and not long after we'd sat down he pulled up. I had a pizza with spicy salami and arugula, Billie went for the arugula and parmesan, and Justin chose a pizza with pesto sauce. I didn't get to try anybody else's, although I wish I could have, but mine was pretty good. Not as good as in Italy, Chicago, or northwestern Croatia, but good. I had a good time talking with Justin, we talked about a lot of South American history and politics. Its a subject that is often neglected in American schools, but it is interesting stuff, with tons of coups, dictators, human suffering, and the works, going well into the 20th century (and almost assuredly continuing today, in some form or fashion.) We hung out at the pizza place for a few hours until Billie got tired, at which point we took a cab home. Cabs here, as I've said, are exceptionally cheap, and the streets are apparently dangerous (I have my doubts but I'll trust the experts for now) so its no problem to get door-to-door service for an evening out.
Saturday we had a paper due, so we weren't able to go to Otavalo like we'd initially wanted to. Otavalo's a community a few hours away from Quito that's famous for its handwoven products and its lively Saturday market; we'll hopefully go next Saturday instead. We went to school to drop off our papers at 2, stayed for a bit to videochat with my parents, who were celebrating birthdays. We headed back to the apartment at around 4, and got showered and changed for a dinner with her uncle. Her uncle is in a group of friends that, every other year, take an 'adventure' trip -- hiking through Chile, kayaking in Mexico, etc. This year they were in Ecuador, doing horseback riding, river rafting, mountain biking, and some other fun outdoors activities. We took the trolley -- an express bus that was jam packed, even on a Saturday evening -- down to the city's historical center, walked a few blocks, and found her uncle Lou waiting outside of his hotel, one of the city's best. We went in and talked with him for a little bit, while we waited for the other member's of his group to show up for their final dinner together in Ecuador. He had had a really fun time, and encouraged us to get to know Jorge, their guide for the week, as he was a Quiteno about our age who spoke good English and obviously knew a ton about the country and area. A few moments later one of the other members of the group, Jay, came down, and we said hello to him. A doctor in New Jersey, Jay was soft-spoken and even keeled. This contrasted sharply with the final member of the group, Derrick. A large South African guy, Derrick was always ready with an embarrassing story, joke, or trick to keep the crowds entertained. Finally Jorge showed up, and we walked a block, to an even fancier restaurant, for dinner. We were led downstairs to a wine cellar/restaurant, and walked past a grill with some huge steaks being prepared.

However, we had a set menu to choose from that did not offer steaks. We considered our options, until Derrick stated that after seeing the steaks he had to have one, regardless of the additional expense. So Billie had the fish, Jorge the ribs, and everyone else an awesome cut of steak. During dinner, the guys talked about their trip, asked us about what we were doing in Ecuador, etc. Derrick impressed everyone with a trick in which he took a wine cork stuck between the thumb and forefinger of each hand and transferred them to being held between his thumb and fingertips of the opposite hand, in one smooth motion without letting go of either cork (we had a few bottles of wine as well). The restaurant remained mostly empty for almost all of our dinner; a four piece band performed to our lonely claps. However, just as we got our desert, a party of a few dozen showed up in a festive mood to celebrate someone's birthday. After a rousing rendition of "Feliz Cumpleanos/Happy Birthday" accompanied by a merry jig from the birthday boy (middle-aged man) and drunken toots of referee whistles from his guests, we made our escape. After dinner we were invited to a party for Jorge's friends and girlfriend, whos birthday it was. We crammed ourselves into Jorge's car for the short trip, and we arrived, 5 white people and Jorge, to a room with a sound system and a few Ecuadorian girls sitting. It was awkward at first, but eventually more people came, the music started, and we got into the swing of things. Eventually the guys decided they had to get going, since it was close to 11 and they had to leave for the airport in 5 hrs. We said our goodbyes, but Derrick decided to stick around, for the "cultural experience."

We grabbed some more drinks and were able to really get into the party, doing our best to dance and keep up with the music. It was pretty fun -- a near-fight, some sassy moves on the dance floor, dubious fashion sense, etc. -- and I'm glad we stayed. We caught a cab home a while later and went straight to bed.
Sunday was more chill. I hung out at home, working on lesson plans and watching sports (NFL football, Argentine, Spanish, and Italian soccer). We walked down to the mall, where we got some parmesan cheese, olive oil, and other necessities. We stopped on the way back at on a block that is home to nothing but DVD stalls, where one can get 3 DVDs for $5. I will not comment on the provenance of said DVDs, but I now have Season 1 of the Sopranos and Inglorious Basterds on DVD, if you're interested. And if you're interested in any other DVDs, let me know and I'll keep an eye out.

Quito -- Class is in Session

2010-01-22T09:47:00.001-06:00

January 21
    Today we started off by going over yesterday's teaching. "Reflection" is an important component of what they're teaching, so when someone else is teaching taking notes on what things they're doing, what's working, what isn't, etc. is important. The reflection started off with me identifying how I thought it went. I gave myself a 2 out of 5; I wasn't very pleased with how it had gone. The activities that I'd planned hadn't taken long enough, forcing me to improvise, and the activities that I did use seemed overly-confusing and boring. I abandoned my main activity 2/3 of the way through due to the fact that it was boring for the students, boring for me, and didn't seem to be improving anyone's sports vocabulary, which was my stated objective. I moved onto sports charades, which they enjoyed, but which wasn't the most educational activity. However, my classmates were much more positive in their assessment of my performance. They liked the charades, they thought that I explained my activities well (even thought that may be due to the fact that I made them stupidly complicated to begin with, and therefore had more to explain) and they thought that in the end, the students learned the names of the sports. So I walked away thinking that I hadn't done horribly, but left a lot of room for improvement. Which, in the big picture, is probably not too bad for the first day of real teaching (coming up with a subject, lesson plan, materials, classroom dialogue, etc.) in my life.
    Today I taught for an hour, twice as long (chronologically, eight times as long mentally) as yesterday. I chose a subject that I thought I could stretch out to an hour -- telling time. My objective was to get the students to feel comfortable using " 'half/quarter/twenty/etc.' 'til/past/of/to' " I realized that there was a system to how we use those phrases, and so I drew an impossibly complicated clock-chart that had arrows pointing backwards and forwards, times with multiple numbers written next to them, and a system of three colors that, if used properly, would result in the student being able to mispronounce their way through a barely-useful set of phrases. I also made a one page schedule for a boy named Alex, with opposing halves (A-B) of the dialogue missing for two sets of students, so they would need to combine with a partner, and ask them "What time does Alex..." to get the answers, which would hopefully give them a chance to use the phrases in response.
    The class went well. I started off by having the students go around saying the numbers one-by-one to 60, and every so often I'd make them count backwards just to make sure everyone was paying attention. Then I wrote a few numbers on the board, had the class say them, and then threw a colon in between two numbers to get them to understand that in English, we just say the two two digit numbers for time, there's no "two and thirty" like it is in Spanish. After that I changed the plan, and passed out the A-B worksheet I'd created, and had them work with each other to put a time with an action. After that, I really got into the heavy stuff. I started off with writing a simple time, 7:05 or something, and had them read it out loud. Then, I showed them that it could also be said "5 past 7." It was pretty simple what had gone where, i.e. minutes past hours, and so from there I wrote a few examples on the board until they got the hang of it. Then I did the same, except did times closer to the upcoming hour, i.e. "20 'til 9." From there, it was pretty easy to get them to get the hang of "quarter," especially since its almost the same in Spanish (cuarto) and "half." At this point I unveiled my chart, and it was a lot easier to use it as a backup reference than as my primary teaching tool. In the shower just now I thought of an better way to have drawn the diagram, but oh well. From there we played a game where I wrote a time on the board digitally and had the students write out the time in English, which worked well. With only a few minutes left I realized that I'd forgotten to tell them about our friends "o'clock," "noon," and "midnight," but I snuck them in right towards the end. I felt good after I'd finished, and even better when I considered that of the hour-long teaching slots I'd gone first, meaning I could sit back and relax for the rest of the week.

Asides

2010-01-21T09:58:00.001-06:00

A few quick points...

I finally bought a camera and have been taking some pictures. I've also been putting a lot of older pictures from Europe online. I've been messing with a technique called HDR, which is basically combining three pictures, taken at different exposures, into one, so that you get the full range of colors. I also put together some panoramas that I hadn't gotten to yet. Check these all out at my Picasa (these are the HDRs, these are the panoramas, and this is the rest of the albums, which I need to clean up), and let me know what you think.
The Spanish here is a bit different, but nothing too overwhelming. They have a lot of fruits and things that simply didn't exist in Spain, so that offers a whole new, delicious, vocabulary. I am also having trouble with the 2nd-person point of view ("you", "yours", etc) since I don't really hear anyone using the form I'm used to; the type used in Spain. I'm still understood and I understand others, but I'm gonna have to look into that.
The altitude doesn't generally have an effect, except when I'm really exerting myself. Every day coming home from school is a 5 block walk straight uphill, and by the end we're panting, sweating, and groaning, and this is after two breaks.
Getting very excited for the World Cup. Clear favorites are Brazil and Spain (Spain are more talented but Brazil have the experience and almost just as much talent), although I wouldn't be surprised if Argentina, who barely scraped in and are coached by an lunatic named Diego Armando Maradona, win it. They have the most talented attacking lineup in the world, with seeming limitless options up front.)

Quito -- the economic benifits of a South American economy

2010-01-21T09:45:00.000-06:00

20 January
Today was the first day that we actually taught students. Yesterday we got a quick taste of teaching, with a 15 minute lesson that we taught to a few other teachers. I taught my fellow teachers the card game Burrito Nervioso, which I'd learned only a few days earlier, and everyone really enjoyed it and had no negative critiques of my teaching, which surprised me. For instance, they complimented my "flexibility" and "modesty," based on the fact that the game took 20 seconds to teach, 4 minutes to play a few rounds, and so I asked if they had any ideas to keep it interesting, which I considered a lack of preparedness but they considered flexibility; the modesty was that I'd admitted that I got whupped by the 11- and 8- year olds Emelio and Domenica when I'd first learned to play. Oh well. In the afternoon, we observed Justin (the class' teacher and an experienced TOEFL (Teacher of English as a Foreign Lupe) teacher) teach the Ecuadorian students/volunteers that would soon be working with us. He managed the class of 20 expertly, allowing the students of varying levels to all feel involved. His topic was adjectives -- specifically, to describe a person. He hung pictures of celebrities up and had people describe them, he had people write anonymous descriptions of other students and then match them up, etc. It was interesting to watch (we were "observing," taking careful notes to review with the teacher later) and it gave us an idea of how a "good" class should go. After the break we were allowed to stop observing, and instead got a chance to interact with the students. We were supposed to talk to a few and gauge their level of English, but a kid named Alberto, about 18 or 19, monopolized me. I have to think his English was the worst in the class, as he couldn't really string a sentence together or pronounce anything correctly, yet his persistence in talking to me was interesting. We somehow discussed soccer, Avatar, Avatar 3D, his family, and his list of the best things to do in Quito. I can't tell you how we did it though, his English was really bad, and I tried to not talk to him in Spanish. Although I didn't get to talk to anyone else, which I had wanted to do, it was nice to spend some time with a real Ecuadorian that I'd just met.
Today's class was pretty normal -- we go through the teaching process, focusing on different "modules" -- teaching, learning, observing, planning, etc. We're currently on teaching, although they all sort of run together. Today our host mom wanted us to go out for lunch (even though she's supposed to make us lunch every day) so we headed out at noon to find a spot to eat. On a busy street near school we found a place that offered "Almuerzos" -- lunches -- that seemed to be pretty popular. We went in, and without a hostess or anyone apparent, we took a table. A waitress came over and took our order. We asked if they might have menus, and she looked at us quizically and told us that they offered "almuerzo" -- lunch. Soup, with either fish or a burger. OK then; I ordered the burger, Billie the fish, and I got us a bottle of water to share. The soup came soon enough (I'd hope so, with it being the only appetizer on offer) and it was a huge bowl of chicken and corn soup
that had some vegetables and spices in it. Billie gave me her chicken and part of her soup; I tried my best to finish the massive quantities but couldn't really. Then they brought the main courses -- a big plate of rice and beans with breaded fish on it for Billie, and the same with a still-sizzling hamburger patty instead of the fish for me. I broke up the meat and mixed it all together; soon after they brought out some sort of orange/pink fresh squeezed fruit juice. We did our best to finish the food, which wasn't half bad, and then asked for the bill. The total, for two 2-course meals with fresh squeezed juice and a bottle of water?

$3.90

After lunch we had to plan to teach, which was difficult. I decided to focus on sports, since I figured I could come up with a half-hour of material to teach, and it is obviously something I'm interested in. I was having trouble coming up with what I actually was going to do, but I asked around and came up with something. I won't say it was a disaster, but it was telling that the activity that the kids were most into was the one I'd come up with only a few minutes before I was supposed to start teaching, while the one I'd been planning for hours fell flat on its face. Oh well. I teach again tomorrow, for an hour, so I'll get a chance to improve again.

Quito -- school daze

2010-01-18T09:40:00.004-06:00

18 January

Today was the first day of classes. We ate our breakfast (pretty similar every morning -- eggs, bread, fresh juice from a fruit we've never heard of but that tastes pretty delicious, warm milk with chocolate, the TV) and grabbed our bags. Laura (the host mom) handed us our lunches -- rice and beans with plantains for Billie, the same for me with a pork chop thrown in -- and we headed for the door. Laura, however, had no intentions of letting us walk the 4 blocks straight downhill to school, and grabbed her purse and walked us the 6 minutes it took from door to door. We walked in and met Justin, who we'd been in contact with throughout the application and decision process. Both Billie and I, moreso the former, had been in frequent contact with him regarding everything from what to wear to job placement questions to questions about sleeping situations, so it was nice to finally put a face to his low, enunciated voice. He said hello to Laura, who he'd worked with many times in the past in hosting students, and then we got a quick tour of the building. 3 stories in the north of Quito, with a mix of offices and small classrooms. The top floor will be a cool place to hang out -- a big kitchen where people often leave food to be eaten, with a large balcony with great views of the city and the surrounding mountains.

the view from the roof, in glorious HDR

After the tour we went into the class, where five other students and one other instructor sat. The other instructor is named Shirley (I am serious) and has lived in Ecuador for 35 years, first arriving as a Peace Corps volunteer. We did some ice-breaking activities, and then another student walked in, who had been running a bit late. This was the whole class; seven of us. A girl from Australia who's lived in Quito for four years working odd jobs, and an Irishman who lived all over the globe since he's been an adult except for Ireland, which he says he hates (he told me he worked in Chicago for two years, doing construction on the South Side, before the government got fed up with his non-visa-having ways and kicked him out for an undetermined amount of time). Incredibly, all of the Americans were midwesterners/Big 10, except for Billie. A girl from Lake Geneva, a girl from Cleveland, a guy from Michigan, me from Chicago, and Justin (the trainer) from Iowa. We get along well so far; nobody seems to have any real negative tendencies so far.
Class was okay. A bit on the abstract side, but I guess that was to be expected during an introductory session. The highlight was getting a sense of what its like to learn a new language, via a quick lesson on Kechua. Kechua is a language spoken by some indeginous groups in Ecuador, and we were taught by a guy named Edison who spoke to us only in Kechua. We learned to say a few things -- my name is, I'm fine, that's a dog, etc. -- but it was very frustrating when he took away the flash cards/cheat cards and we had to rely on memory. It was a very useful demonstration, since it let us know that learning English, or anything, is not easy for people who've never encountered it meaningfully. The rest of the day was spent getting familiar with the books and texts we'll be working with, as well as the schedule we'd hopefully be keeping. We'll teach a group of Ecuadorian semi-volunteers a few hours each week, which will be a good opportunity to put into practice the things we learn, as well as take note of the things we can improve upon. Tomorrow each participant has to teach something to the other participants; I couldn't think of anything too clever so I'll be teaching Burrito Nervioso, the card game I described a few days ago that I learned from my host mom's grandchildren.
After classes ended we walked down to the mall a few blocks further down the hill, where I got a phone card for my phone. If you want the number email me. We also hit up a supermarket, where we got some cornflakes and chips. A sweaty walk back up the hill saw us arrive at home with some dinner just about ready. Then it was homework (reading some silly-ish essays and doing some self-assessments) and then bed.

Quito -- the CENTER OF THE WORLD

2010-01-17T12:13:00.017-06:00

17 January

Toeing the line

We woke up and hung out for a while, and then got instructions on how to take the bus to El Mitad del Mundo -- the tourist city around where the equator was marked. We were given a ride for the first part of the trip, and then caught a bus with a huge "Mitad del Mundo" sign on the windshield. We paid the 40 cents each for the 40 minute ride north of Quito, and after picking up some people along the way, allowing a ice cream salesman aboard to hawk his wares, a stop to stamp the bus driver's time card, and a few precarious high-speed turns, we were there. We walked through the gate, paid a 3$ entrance fee, and were given a map.

The musical performers took some quick pics before their performance

We wandered around for a while, noting the bold red line painted across the ground to mark the division of the hemispheres. Rumor (almost assuredly truth) is that the actual equator is at a different location, 400m away. After some wandering and some friendly restaurant salesmanship we entered the monument marking the location where the French scientist first realized that he was on (near) the earth's dividing line. From the top of the monument you could see the surrounding areas, which were mainly mountainside farms and dusty soccer fields. Within the monument was an interesting ethnographic museum of Ecuador's indeginous peoples, including a group who used a tight blowgun, a group of African slaves that had escaped a shipwreck, formed a small society, and invented the marimbas (among other things) and a group that shrank the heads of their conquered opponents. After the museum we did some more wandering, this time in search of food. We were wary of overpaying as horribly as we had the day before, so we looked at a few different places before we settled on a crepe/waffle place.

Drankin' from the fountain with straws

They had a balcony that overlooked the main plaza, which was where concerts and dances were taking place. When we sat down, performing was a guy named Rudy La Scala, who apparently had the ladies a-swoonin with his smooth Latin flavor. Everyone pushed up to the stage, sang along, and generally acted fun. After we finished eating our pretty-good and cheaply-priced food, and I'd finished my pretty-bad and pretty-massive Pilsener beer, Ecuador's most popular, we walked around for a bit and then caught a bus home. We asked the driver's assistant if the bus went to Quito's center and he assured us it did, but we were not so assured when the bus did a quick two block lap and then pulled back up in front of the Mitad del Mundo. But sure enough, we took off onto the highway, and after some apprehension about finding our stop, and a massive influx of standing-room-only passengers, we made it off by pressing a button in the nick of time to warn the driver that we were jumping out of the back door. We walked around the neighborhood for a little bit, where a park was in full swing with families playing basketball, soccer, and volleyball, tiny kids riding tiny little scooters at crazy speeds down steep hills and making the sharp turns with no fear apparent, and people walking around selling ice cream and fruits. It seemed like fun, but as the sun started to set people began to go home, and we did the same. Tomorrow our class begins, and we won't have nearly as much time to enjoy the city and area.

anybody want some fresh grilled guinea pig?

We saw most of the major sites in our first few days here, though, so we can't complain too much. We still need to decide where we want to live and work after the program ends, so that will be this week's task.

Quito -- learning the city

2010-01-17T11:59:00.013-06:00

16 January

the view from the volcano

We had a quick breakfast -- warm milk with coffee or chocolate (chocolate for me every time, thanks), bread, and a fresh squeezed pitcher of juice from whatever fruit she has on hand. I've actually liked the different fruit juices, while Billie hasn't been as big a fan. We discussed the day's options, and decided to spend the morning exploring Quito from above -- 4100m, or 13,451 feet above sea level -- via the TeleferiQo, Quito's new cable car system that ascends the Volcan Pichincha, the volcano that overlooks the city. After a $2 cab ride, we paid the hefty $8 fee that foreigners are charged (which also gives you access to the "Express Lane" bypassing the waiting Ecuadorians) and ascended the mountain. The air at the top was noticeably thinner than even Quito's already-thin air, so we took a few minutes to get acclimated and survey the area.

We could see almost the entire city, from the airport in the east to the mountain villages in the west, with the imposing Andes mountains all around. It was a sunny and warm day, but the air whipped around mercilessly and I wished I'd worn pants instead of shorts. We walked around for a while, took some pictures, saw what there was to see, and came back down an hour or so later.

a little panorama action

We grabbed some chips (Billie had potato, I tried yuca, a local vegetable) and then took a city bus (25 cents, payable to the little girl standing next to the driver) down into the new part of town. The bus ride was not bad at all -- there was the driver, the girl collecting money, and a guy who hung out the always-open front door to try and let people know that the bus was coming and to ready themselves if they wanted to get on, since stopping for passengers was more of a slight drop in speed to let those who could hop onto the moving bus do so. The new town is known as Mariscal Sucre, or more colloquially "Gringolandia" (gringos being South American slang for white people), and we hoped to find some decent food in this tourist center. However the restaurants we wanted to eat at were all closed or mis-marked on our map, so we settled on a Mexican place that had gotten good reviews. The American prices stunned us ($8.50 for fajitas, whereas the day before we'd had a complete meal for $3) but we hoped the food would be worth it. It was not. We went down the stairs, and found that next to this Mexican restaurant was another Mexican restaurant, the one that had actually been reviewed in the book (now we know to check extra-carefully.) Of course, walking around a little more showed us a wide variety of cheap, delicious looking restaurants. Hopefully we avoid this situation in the future.
We found a quick internet cafe, and then decided to try to wind our way home on foot. I hadn't shaved in a long time, and had been thinking that my razor wasn't quite up to the challenge, so I decided to give an Ecuadorian barbershop a shot. I told her I wanted just the beard taken off, and it was an ominous start when she almost cut her entire thumb off with the straight razor she unsheathed in preparation. After a quick trip to the medicine kit she lathered me up and started hacking away at the dense forest on my cheeks.

Slowly but surely she cleaned me up, with minimal nickage and pain, and I was clean shaven and ready for school to start Monday with only a few minute cuts. I paid the $3, plus a small tip for her mangled and useless thumb.
After the beard removal, we continued our walk home. I had a rough route planned out, with buses to take if we got tired of walking, but we went slow enough to not need any bus service. The buses looked crowded, anyway, and we saw a cool sunset/rainbow over the mountains. We made it home, tired from the walking but happy to have seen much of the city.

Quito -- early times

2010-01-16T11:48:00.008-06:00

15 January

exploring Quito

We woke up at around 10, had some breakfast, and then took a quick walk around a local park. The sun was surprisingly hot, and so we went back in to change. Laura invited us into the city's historical center, and so we got in the car, and drove for about 20 minutes (the traffic was bad; the area wasn't far at all). The city has a neat old colonial-Spanish style that sort of looked like Spain, except for the huge Andean mountains in the background and the dark skin of the population. We explored the major governmental buildings, palaces, churches, etc., then got a quick lunch at a fast food place.

The food here is very cheap -- I had beans, rice, a Pepsi, and a pork chop for $3.50 -- and they were nice enough to treat us. After exploring at a very casual pace, due to their concern about the altitude's affects on us, we got back into the car. I had a bad case of the itis, so it was no surprise when I dozed off as the combination of the car ride, the warm sun, and the full stomach took full effect. I sort of nodded in agreement to a proposal he made, and before I knew it we were swinging through a new part of town, pulled over, and then two little kids and a tiny dog hopped in. Our host family has three sons, and these were the children of Juan, their oldest son. We were introduced to Emelio, age 11, and Domenica, age 8, and their pet dog, Doggy. They were very talkative, although they talked much faster than their grandparents and it was very difficult to understand them. After we'd picked them up and they'd squoze in the backseat with Billie and Laura, we went over to another daycare to pick up another grandchild. This was Abigail, age 3. She grinned with familiarity as the car pulled up, toddled up to the car with a huge smile, and stopped dead in her tracks as she saw me in the front seat. She looked like she'd seen a horse doing the backstroke in a chocolate sundae -- not fear or sadness or anger, just utter confusion. She quickly regained her composure and ambled into the crowded backseat, where she sat on Laura's lap. We went back to our house, and the older kids played Uno. Being an experienced player, I asked if I could join and was given an affirmative response.

They played with some interesting rules that caused me to finish in a morale-sapping last place, so I was glad to try some different games. They took out a regular deck of cards, and they tried to teach us a game called Cuarenta ("40") that I couldn't understand. So they switched to a simpler game, "Burrito Nervioso," which I quickly picked up. Basically, the dealer takes all 52 shuffled cards and lays them down in a face-up pile one by one. Each card they lay out, they say the sequence of cards, with Ace lowest. If the card showing matches the card that was announced, the players have to put their hand on the pile. Whoever's hand is on top -- the slowest -- has to keep the cards, and whoever finishes with the most cards loses. I tried to do some fake-outs but ended up only confusing myself, and I ended up losing once again. We switched to blackjack, which I did a little better at, and then decided to play the Ecuadorian generic version of a popular American game, known here as Superoply. I did pretty well, and enjoyed talking to the kids and helping them practice their English. It was funny to see how they played. For example, when it was time to pay Domenica would ask her brother "How much?" and he'd tell her, and then she'd say "How?" and he'd say "Hmm, 4,500. That's 3 brown bills, 2 tomato-colored bills, and 3 pinks." and she'd immediately pay up. He didn't even need to look at the color of each bill; they'd clearly been using this system for some time. And when someone landed on her properties, she'd announce the amount owed "four comma zero zero zero." No room for error with that system. Some people came to meet with our host family, and after Domenica whispered to me "Who are they?" I had no idea, but thought it was funny that she was asking me, a person she'd met maybe an hour before and a person who'd arrived in her country less than 24 hrs earlier, to fill her in on who some other people were.

Abby roamed around and tried to drink everyone's Pepsi and eat all the popcorn, and their parents eventually picked them all up. Hopefully we get a chance to hang out with them, which I think we will. Family is very important to Laura, and she told us about how they decided to leave the United States, where they'd lived for a few years, because they missed the rest of their family too much. After everyone left we had some soup and ice cream, watched a pre-season game for some Ecuadorian teams, and then went to bed. It was a fun day of exploration and acclimatization, and gave us a good basic orientation of the city. There are a lot of things I hope to do here in Ecuador, and we'll see if we have the time and energy to do them, but it is a good feeling to know that the people we live with are so warm and hospitable.

Quito -- our arrival

2010-01-15T11:38:00.001-06:00

14 January
I put my huge backpack on my back, stuck the normal backpack on my front, grabbed my leftover pizza in my hands, and waltzed onto the crowded morning train. I met up with Billie a bit later than planned, and we made it to the airport easily. The flight to Miami was crowded but uneventful, and with some time to kill in Miami we looked for some food. Everything was hilariously overpriced -- $8 chicken fingers, $9 turkey sandwiches -- so we ate at a similarly overpriced, but at least good-looking, South American buffet-style place. The food was pretty filling, and there we noticed that there was almost no English being spoken, which I'd never seen before at an "American" airport. The flight to Quito left a half-hour late, and when we arrived we breezed through customs and immigration, grabbed our bags, and hoped that we'd be picked up, since neither of us had any dependable contact information for anyone south of Oak Park. Luckily, right in front, was a small, tan lady with a sign that read "BILLIE & BENJAMIN." We waved hello, and she greeted us warmly with a kiss on the cheek. Her name was Laura; she was the lady that would be hosting us. Her husband swooped in and took us and our bags to the car, and 15 minutes later we'd arrived at their home. We had a room to ourselves, and were given the full rundown by Laura, with occasional input from her husband. We went over the city and country, safety precautions, how to get from their place to the school we'll be taking classes at, our dietary preferences (I like meat except fish and don't much like veggies, whereas Billie tries to avoid chicken and beef but loves fish; she also likes them greenz), and the house and area itself. We discovered that they indeed have hot water all of the time, never experience the brownouts that the rest of the city does due to their proximity to two major hospitals, and were advised that the whistling sound outside the windows at night was just the security guard making his rounds, alerting everyone of his presence. We thanked them profusely, had some bottled water (the tap water here is notorious) and went to bed, tired from our journey but excited about the new place we'd just gotten to.

Quito -- The journey begins

2010-01-14T11:36:00.000-06:00

13 January
My dad and I drove to Midway, fighting the morning rush hour, and I checked into my flight with time to spare. I'd spend the previous night making sure I'd remembered everything, finalizing the documentary video I'd made about my grandfather and his family, and trying to secrete the memories I'd need to hold onto of my family, friends, and Italian beef. The flight took off, and a few hours later I arrived in New York City. I had checked with American Airlines, and I was under the impression that since I'd be arriving at LaGuardia from Chicago less than 24 hours before I'd be leaving from LaGuardia to Quito, I would be able to check my huge backpack for the next days flight, which would allow me to explore New York with nothing more than a normal backpack. But this turned out to be untrue, and I had to lug my 50lbs of stuff onto the airport bus, from the bus onto the train, and from the train to Prospect Park, a park in Brooklyn that I'd been told was both interesting, and geographically near my friend Brian's apartment in Boerum Hill, where I'd be staying. Billie recommended that instead of sitting in the 30 degree weather with my huge bag, I find a cafe with WiFi and stay warm and connected. After only a block or so of wandering I found a bagel cafe (typical NYC eh?) that had WiFi, got a pretty-good salami, cheese, and egg sammich on a pump bagel, and hung out until Brian texted that he was done with work. I got back on the train and we walked to his apartment. I set my stuff down, we walked over to nearby Smith Street, apparently one of the best restaurant streets in BK, and we decided on an Italian restaurant with an empty dining room. I got a gnocchi baked with mozzarella, basil, and shredded beef, as well as a pizza with sausage and spicy peppers. The food was disappointing, but I enjoyed talking to Brian. We went to a bar near his place called the Brooklyn Inn, and Brian's roommate and my friend Searles met up with us there. We hung out for a bit, went back to the apartment, watched a little Music TeleVision, and hit the hay (read: small couch.)

Adriatica: The Final Chapter

2009-11-02T00:45:00.026-06:00

...when in Rome (Bari)...

Friday, June 26
The announcement to wake up was made an hour before we actually needed to, which was frustrating. Then, when I turned in my key to get my passport back, she took Mikey and said "I can't give your passport. Americans must see the police doctor before they can get their passports. He'll be in the restaurant at eight and 10 minutes o'clock." great, while everyone else is getting off, I'd have to talk to a dining doc. But the doctor only wants to confirm that I hadn't been in the US since this one flu thing got going, which I hadn't. We got off the boat, got put into the short line for customs, and got through with no more than a cursory glance. That was lucky, since Billie's visa may have expired and she could have been denied entry into the EU -- which would have messed up her whole summer-in-Milan-plan slightly.

Grandmas make fresh pasta on the street! What a great country! Mamma Mia!

We caught a bus to the train station, dropped off our bags, use the free toilets at McDonald's, picked up a city map, and started a slow shuffle through Bari, which probably wouldn't make any toured books must-visit list. But it was pleasant enough place to spend the day -- we saw wedding and a big old church, saw a tiny street filled with women outside of their kitchens and making some pasta (Orecchiette - little ears) and then leaving it on screens in the street dry, got some great lunch at a small osteria, and then I got the best haircut of my life.
I've been wanting one for a week or so, so I stopped into an empty barbershop, ask for a buzz, and sat down. He threw on the cake to keep the hair for off of me, threw on a coat to keep it off of him, got out the clippers, and got to work.

After he finished, I got up to pay, but he held me in the seat. Then he powdered and soaked my neck, cut around my neck and ears with some scissors, re-powdered it all, busted out the old-school straight razor (I won't lie, I got a little bit scared,) and by hand lined up the back perfectly.

that old school straight edge razor is no joke, word to the nicks on my ears

Then he finished by spraying me with some stuff that left me smiling like a fresh kitchen floor. It was great; I wonder if I can get that service anywhere else (for only €10 too.) Maybe that will be my new thing, getting haircuts in different countries.

The day was winding down, so we went back to the railroad station, got our bags, and caught the bus to the airport. We said our goodbyes, since I'll be in Barcelona and then Chicago, and Billie will be in Milan, then Greece and Turkey, then Lake George. It was a great trip, and it an awesome route through Europe.

your faithful correspondent and trusty companion -- over and out

for now...

Adriatica: Montenegro IV

2009-11-02T00:38:00.014-06:00

Stari Bar

Thursday, June 25
Checkout was at noon, so we chilled in our room until then, and then trudged off towards what we weren't 100% sure was the bus station, to get a bus to Bar, where our overnight ferry was to leave from. Luckily, the bus we needed was already on the road, saws looking quizzically at it, pulled over, and let us hop on right in the middle of the street, the rest of traffic not surprised. In our later we were dropped off in the city's outskirts. We eventually communicate it to someone that we needed to a) store huge bags, b) get to the cities most interesting site, an old town nearby that had been destroyed in the late 1800s, and c) get back from there, get our bags, and get to the port. A & B were easy enough, as they held on for bags while I got some snacks at the minimarket down the street. A cab driver spotted waiting for the bus and promptly offered to drive us to Stari Bar for only three euros, less than the bus fare. It was a quick drive up into the mountains. We had about eight hours to kill, so we took our sweet time the entering through the old stone walls, which were in the process of falling down and being overcome by nature.

Stari Bar, your walls are like falling apart dude

We fell asleep in an old church, watching an old goatherd let his flock out into the mountains; an escaped donkey, his next still held by a ripped off rope, munching a few snacks; and some great views of the average countryside. The high point of the day was probably the dumb waiter at the restaurant we had lunch at.

Goats! In them there mountains!

We eventually took a bus back, got some food at a mini-market near the bus station, and caught the bus near the port. We got some ice cream, then finally got checked in at the port, convinced the guy at customs to stamp our passports, and boarded the ferry, 6 1/2 hours before we were scheduled to leave. I had to deposit my passport to get the room key, which I didn't like, but we had a full, four bunk room to ourselves, so that was good. Eventually, more people came on, although I'd say there were less than 60 people aboard, and only 45 or so minutes later, we pulled away from Montenegro, into the Adriatic night.

that's that

Adriatica: Montenegro III

2009-11-02T00:23:00.001-06:00

Budva

Wednesday, June 24
We packed up, checked out, and drove the 10 minutes or so to Budva. We still had 45 minutes until we were to meet the rental car guy, so we use that time to find a hotel, drop our bags off, and get settled. We found a good room in a hotel the book had recommended, so we were all set, with room and no car, by 11:15. The rain had even taken a break, so we headed towards Budva's old town, a mini Dubrovnik. this seaside promenade eight 3/4 mile or so from the hotel to the old city, wasn't the most pristine, but there were a wide variety of beachwear, T-shirt, and fast food shops. Since Montenegro is a huge tourist destination for Russia's newly rich, a lot of signs and ads were written with Cyrillic letters, which made everything feel more foreign. Billie grabbed some surprisingly decent penne arrabiatta, and I grabbed an expectedly-delicious gyro, and we entered the old town -- just as the skies opened up. We ran from awning to awning the whole way back. We watched some TV for a while, and when the weather had cleared up we returned. It really wasn't anything special; expensive restaurants, cool small old lanes, souvenir shops, views of the water, etc. We headed around the shore, noticing how much of the city's waterfront had been commercialized with hotels, restaurants, and shops.

walk along the rocks in Budva

We walked for a while, until the sun went down, and then killed sometime before 8.45, when the US was to face Spain (three years unbeaten, 15 game winning streak -- the longest ever) in the Confederations Cup semifinals. An Irish pub, which and Irish bartender not much older than myself, were showing the BBC broadcast of the game, as the announcers all but declared the game over before it had begun. The US had some good chances in the beginning, but it seemed that only a matter of time before the Spaniards struck. But late in the first half, my boy Jozy Altidore beasted his club teammate Capdevilla, somehow got San Iker Casillas (world's best goalkeeper) to go the wrong way, and the US was up 1-0. I yelled with joy, but soon realized there were still 60+ minutes to go, and Spain had arguably two of the world's five most dangerous strikers. We got a piece that have time, trying our luck with the Gouda cheese that the continent (outside of Italy) seems to think is a natural pizza topping (like ketchup.) The second half began, and this time got scarce, Spain threw everything they had at the US. And on one occasion, the US picked the ball up in midfield, countered perfectly, got an unfortunately unsurprisingly poor touch from Real Madrid/Spain defender Sergio Ramos, and rapping Texan Clint Dempsey snuck in to make it 2-0. a few moments later with three hoots of the whistle, the ref drew to a close the greatest upset in US soccer history.

Charlie Davies celebrating with the homeboy Jozy

Adriatica: Montenegro II

2009-11-02T00:07:00.038-06:00

whip game proper

Montenegrin tow truck ads, proving once and for all that "schlep" is a real word

Tuesday, June 23
We had two things to do before we left toward Bar: get ferry tickets and rent a car, to partake in one what our guidebook called "one of the world's greatest drives." We were able to book a cabin for ourselves for the 10 hour Bar-Bari (Italy) ferry on Thursday, and found a €90 rent a car that we could drop off in Budva (the city we wanted to end up in anyway.) We met the guy whose car we were renting, he gave us the rundown and the number of the guy we'd have to call to meet to drop off the car the next day, he apologized for having neither a map or GPS, and in the driving rain, we were off on what we hoped would be a great drive. It was up into the mountain behind Kotor, the tallest in the country, the country's namesake (the' Black Mountain') It was slow going at first, behind another car and a cumbersome bus that almost came to a complete stop before each hairpin turn of the road's snaking path up the mountain, so we decided to take some pics at the next overlook, to get some space between us and the other vehicles.

a very foggy drive, leaving us above the clouds

We did just that, and had been driving along when I made one of the countless 180° uphill turns, and saw something big in black in the middle of the road. I slow down, and saw what it was: a huge black bull, staring directly at me. He trudged towards me, flanked by smaller bulls foraging in the mountainside. I flashed my lights, and he shuffled off to a delicious-looking shrub on the side of the road. it was pretty cool, I've never been face-to-face with the ball before besides the time I got Scottie Pippen's autograph.

No bull. They were really in the middle of the road, they moved before we got out the camera though.

The road wound up and around for an hour or so, revealing great views in the beginning, only to be obscured by fog higher we went. We eventually got to the top, and after some more mountain driving we reached the Mausoleum of Petar II Petrovic Njegos, Montenegro's heroic poet and ruler of the 1800s. To get to the actual tomb, you had to climb up a long enclosed staircase, which in the fog had a very heaven-like feel. The tomb was guarded by two huge statues representing the homeland and her people, and inside there was a huge sculpture carved out of a single 300 ton block of black granite. The facility also apparently had a great lookout, but the fog made that a no-go.

guarding Njegos' tomb

We got back in the Renault, and went towards Cetinje, the old capital. We found a decent spot for pizza, and then spent an hour walking around, looking at old embassies. Then it was on to Sveti Stefan, the coastal island/town that is the number one photogenic spot in Montenegro, if not the whole region.

the approach to Sveti Stefan

We parked when we thought we are near it, but after the 35 minutes of walking, we gave up and trudged back to the card. Of course the place we were looking for was only a hundred meters past where we'd gone, but oh well. we got a great room with a private balcony overlooking the coast, and enjoy that for a while.

Sveti Stefan, from our balcony

Then we headed down to the ocean to enjoy the sunset. Sveti Stefan is basically an island the size of a baseball field, except it is connected to the mainland by a long thin boardwalk, lined on both sides by sandy beach. We headed out onto the boardwalk, only to find that the gate at the end of the boardwalk was locked, and had been for some time. The island was abandoned well, not quite, we found out later that a few years ago a hotel group bought the entire island, closed it off, it and are renovating all of its buildings to be rented off as villas.

Sveti Stefan sunset

We went back to the mainland, walked along the coast through some dense pine forest, and eventually went back, got some dinner, and went to bed. It was too bad that we had to leave early the next morning, since the room, and especially the balcony, were so nice (and expensive for our budget: €24 a person) but 8AM checkout, and an 11AM rental car return, called.

Adriatica: Montenegro I

2009-11-01T23:49:00.001-06:00

Kotor

Sunday, June 21
We caught a bus to the bus station and bought our tickets for the Montenegrin city of Kotor. The bus was pretty crowded, and it took a nice long route south from Dubrovnik and along a tight winding road into the Bay of Kotor, where we were going. It was still raining on and off, but we found an apartment, put our stuff down, and went out to get some food to make use of the kitchen facilities. The food was good but the rest of the day was a rain out. We did take a long walk along the bay, although I had proposed the walk in order to see some island that I never was able to spot.

Monday, June 22
Another lazy day in rainy Kotor. Kotor's main attraction is the 1200+ step pathway high up into the mountains, through the walls and fortifications that protect the city and overlook the day. It was pretty tiring, but it felt good to accomplish. We didn't get rained on, and the views were pretty good, although it was a little foggy. The height back down was easier, and our work for the day was done. We watched a horrible cop movie with the crap actor Rob Lowe, had dinner, and went to bed.

the long walk up

the view from on high

Adriatica: Dubrovnik II

2009-10-06T15:32:00.000-05:00

Saturday, June 20
Our only full day in Dubrovnik started, and we grabbed some bread to sustain us. The old town was absolutely deluged by tour groups, many of whom arrived on the huge ferries docked at the port. We walked around for a while, seeing the sights we are interested in, and then got somewhat. We couldn't stand the crowds anymore, so we took a ferry boat to a nearby island/nature is her. We walked around the island for while until we found some nice rocks to swim off of. We spent the afternoon chilling on the rocks and in the water, enjoying the clear blue water, big waves, and warm sun. We took the boat back a few hours later and immediately headed towards Dubrovnik's main attraction. It was a great walk that offered amazing views of the sea, city, port, and nearby islands. After that we got some dinner, despite a long wait. Just as we were finishing up, though, the dusk skies turned black and it began to rain huge, hard rain drops that quickly made the city's white marble lanes and stares canals. We went from awning to awning until we got to an Internet café, where we killed some time. we were not dressed for the rain at all, but we think ourselves for finding room so much easier to get to than the first. We rushed back home after some ice cream (according to our observations, no Italian or Croatian may be seen in public without an ice cream cone at any time.)

Adriatica: Sarajevo to Dubrovnik

2009-10-06T11:56:00.001-05:00

    Friday, June 19
    The next morning we went back into the center for one last look around. We went a little bit outside of where we had been to two or a traditional 18th century Ottoman house that had some cool woodwork furniture and nice courtyards.
We only had a few hours, as we had to catch up noon bus. We got to the bus station with a few minutes to spare, which we spent crazily buying up everything we wanted a new stand, in order to get rid of our last KM (Bosnia was also unique in that almost everywhere, you could just as easily spend Euros or Croatian kunas as you could KM.)
    The bus ride was long, but went through some beautiful land and made a rest stop at a place that had full sheep and goats being turned on skewers powered by a stream. Which was interesting.

We arrived in Dubrovnik at around 9 PM, which meant that we'd have to find a room on our own. We didn't want to be thousand stairs away from the old town again, so we eventually found a room much closer, on more level terrain. At that late hour all we could find was a room with a single bed, but we took it as it was much better than nothing.

Adriatica: Sarajevo

2009-10-06T11:49:00.001-05:00

Sarajevo

Thursday June 18
We got up bright and early to catch the train to Sarajevo. We weren't able to convince the lady selling tickets that we were students, despite having myriad cards, but we did make it onto the morning train and found a car occupied by one other lady. Billie promptly fell asleep, while I tried to stay awake to and see the views, which are supposed to be some of the best in the region. We followed the river north, passing through gorges and mountains. It was indeed an enjoyable ride. We had set up a place to stay already, so the lady was waiting for us at the train station. She walked us to the room, 10 or so minutes away, on the fourth floor of an old (elevator free) apartment building. She talked us into hiring her friend as a driver to take us to the tunnel museum, which we did. He was to pick us up a few hours later, which gave us time to wander around and grab some incredible fresh pita from a little bakery. We drove to the tunnel museum, where we were deposited. It was a private home who's owner had offered to build a tunnel under the airport, connecting besieged Sarajevo with the outside world, beyond the range of the Serbian forces in the mountains surrounding the city.

the house where Bosnians were able to access the outside world during the Serbian siege.

There was a 10 minute video compilation of buildings, people, cars, ambulances, and anything and everything else in the city being mercilessly rained down on with bullets; it was hard to imagine what it must have been like to fear leaving your own home for months at a time. We then went down into a portion of the tunnel. Moist and low-ceilinged, with uneven ground to walk on, in its original form almost a kilometer long, it must have been a very arduous trip back and forth through the tunnel. The video showed an old lady who waited at the end of the tunnel, all day every day, with a huge tank of water and a little tin cup to offer everyone upon emerging. There was also a collection of awards, commendations, and medals from a wide range countries, agencies, and celebrities, for the tunnel's creators and hosts.

short in height, long in length, impossibly important -- the Sarajevo tunnel

After the tunnel museum we were dropped off in the city's center. we didn't know where, exactly, so we popped into a travel agency and found out. Central Sarajevo is an old Ottoman market that is hard to navigate, so we were getting frustrated as we tried to find the city's various sites.

the central market area

We finally got to our first destination, the city's Sephardic Synagogue it was a big old stone building, with a great museum and a wonderful host/guard, who told us all about Sarajevo's Jews, with a story that mirrored our travels (to an extent). The Spanish Jews were pushed out of Spain during the Inquisition and many settled in Sarajevo, where they were treated better by the Ottomans. The Museum also mentioned Ladino, the Spanish version of Yiddish (instead of Hebrew and German, Hebrew and Spanish) and even headed some pictures and banners of "Lira," the community Spanish-Jewish band of Sarajevo. They also had some of the stories of Jews and those who helped them during the Holocaust.

We went to a "Mexican"place for lunch, then walked over to the bridge where Gavilo Princip shot Archduke Ferdinand, starting WWII.

the return of the assassin!

Near the bridge was a fancy mosque we took a peek in. A 30-year-old or so man ask us if we'd like to go in, and we asked how much it would cost. "Only a few minutes of your time," was his reply. We were rich in that regard, so he took us inside (after we removed our shoes and Billie had put on us are.) He talked to us for at least an hour, in excellent English, about the history of Muslims in Sarajevo, the war, the differences between religions, his own life and his transformation from a nonbeliever to a believer, and all sorts of other things.

the orator's mosque

He said that his family had had power and money under communism, but he had found more success and happiness than ever when she started practicing religion. he also said that the media's portrayal of Islam being a male-dominated religion were wrong -- women have all of the same rights, except for one. If a man tells a woman of his (spouse, sister, daughter, etc.) something, she must okay. He said that this only came up where we, but it is quite a difference. He left us with a few pages of Koran translated into English, and we headed off.

We stopped at a bookstore, where we decided to buy a guidebook for the Western Balkans. Although we had only a week or so left, it made everything else a lot easier. We walked on, stopping at one of Sarajevo's "red roses." during the war, much of the country, including Sarajevo, was mined. Where one exploded in Sarajevo, the resulting crater was filled in with red cement, to mark the location. There weren't many left, but the fact that ones still existed in heavily trafficked areas give an idea of how dangerous and real the war was to Sarajevo's civilian citizens.

We found a nice café with some seats available in the courtyard and had a drink. It was interesting to see the social scene -- girls and covered heads and shoulders holding hands with less religious girls, talking to a wide variety of people. It was getting late, so we started to walk back after deciding on a place to eat near our room. It was an Asian fusion place; not the best ever but filled us up. We had the place almost to ourselves and took our time enjoying the food. A short walk later and we were back home.

Adriatica: Mostar

2009-10-06T11:14:00.004-05:00

Mostar, Hercegovina, and its famous Old Bridge

Wednesday June 17
We got an expensive ride from Zlatan's cousin to the airport, got our bus tickets, and set off for Mostar, Hercegovina. The bus was a nice 3 hr ride back up the coast, across the border (actually across 3 borders -- into BiH, back into Croatia, and then finally into BiH for good.) We found a room right across from the bus station with a lovely woman named Lena, put our stuff down, and walked into the city. The war had hit Mostar hard.

the remnants of the war

During the war the city's famous, long-standing bridge, a bridge built so well that centuries after it had been built by hand, it was still strong enough to support Nazi tanks. The bridge was so important to Mostar that was so important to the city that people cried when it finally fell, saying that they'd lost an old friend. Using the original methods the bridge had been rebuilt, so we were able to see the amazing structure in the same way people had for centuries beforehand. And just as Rick Steves had promised, there were guys in bathing suits posing on the bridge and passing a hat. Once they had reached the desired amount, one stripped down to a speedo, climbed up onto the bridge's wall, doused himself with the river's cold water to prepare himself, looked down, took a deep breath, and jumped the 35+ feet into the fast moving, freezing cold Neretva river below.

We moved on, exploring the Turkish-style street shops. There was also an empty lot surrounded by a fence decorated with Jewish stars, the site of a synagogue being rebuilt by the community to thank the area's Jews for their care for both sides during the war.

the area where the synagogue will be built

The Neretva River connects East and West -- in this case Orthodox Christians (Serbia) and Muslims (Bosniaks) While each religion mainly stays to their side of the river, we never felt any tension or in any danger. We had some lovely meals next to the streams that feed into the Neretva, and were granted access to one of the mosque's courtyards and minarets for some outstanding views.

Adriatica: Dubrovnik

2009-10-06T11:07:00.000-05:00

the City Walls by night...

and by day

Tuesday June 16
We took a final look at Korcula, and then hopped onto the big car ferry to Dubrovnik. It was an uneventful 3 hr ride through the narrow straits between the mainland and the long stretches of islands along the coast -- beautiful blue water and a nice breeze, along countless pine-covered rocky islands. We arrived in Dubrovnik and were immediately attacked by the room dealers. We went with the Rock Palace Dubrovnik, a "10 minute walk" from the center. We drive there, and realize that it is a 10 minute walk because it is straight down a steep hill. Which means that coming back up will be a 25 minute, sweaty and curse-filled voyage. We got situated and argued with Zlatan, the guy who's room it was, to give us some towels. We head down the hill to get some dinner. The city looked great at night, it was easy to see why many consider it the "Jewel of the Adriatic." The pasta wasn't the best I'd ever had, but it was a nice place and a good introduction to the city.

the Bulls are big in Croatia, points to whoever can guess why.

An introduction was all we'd get, because we were only using Dubrovnik as a waypoint to get to Bosnia & Hercegovina, having ditched the rent-a-car idea. We hiked back up the mountain, and knocked on Zlatan's door to use the internet, as he'd promised us we could. Zlatan was in his mid-40s, and his wife and toddler son came in and out while Billie used the computer and we all talked. We talked about music (he was in a band for years and is a huge fan of American rock and roll, hence the name and theme of his house), politics, his conspiracy theories and fears of joining the EU (he believes that eventually there will be just one government controlled by one person for the entire world) and he even offered me some of Croatia's famous brandy, Rakija, even though he was a recovering alcoholic.

Adriatica: Korcula

2009-09-08T03:43:00.000-05:00

the view from our room -- not bad eh?

The catamaran ride from Hvar was pretty quick, only an hour or so, and we disembarked and were set upon by the room-renting rabble. One seemed good, so we got into his van (he assured us that it was only a four minute walk, 'five uphill' but with bags it was easier to make the circuitous, 10 minute drive. He showed us two complete apartments, and we chose the one that looked better -- full kitchen, full bathroom, huge bed, AC, satellite TV, and a balcony with an incredible view of the tiny peninsula. For only around 19E a person per night it was a great deal. We'd be staying for two nights, so we set our stuff down and went into town. Korcula's a small place, so we made our way through it relatively quickly, and then started to look for dinner options. We found a place a little off of the beaten track that was a little cheaper, and I had a great steak and wine. We got some ice cream, ascended the hill, and went to bed.

Monday June 15
We got some breakfast at the supermarket and gave the town a closer look.

As promised, it looked a lot like Venice, which is no surprise since it was under Venetian rule for centuries. We took a bus to Lumbardo, where we walked for 15 minutes through vineyards until we reached the beach. The beach was crowded and slightly dirty. However, it was sandy, which meant no more issues with stepping on jagged rocks or prickly plantimals. We swam and hung out all afternoon, then took the bus back to Korcula. We got some groceries at the supermarket and made some good pasta. Ice cream, of course, came next, and then bedtime.

delicious and hard to clean up

Adriatica: Hvar

2009-09-08T03:38:00.000-05:00

Abandoned somethingorother in Hvar

Saturday June 13
We arrived in Hvar and took a look around. On first, and final as well, impression, Hvar was disgustingly picturesque. We were accosted by the room-renters, and took one with a crazy redheaded woman who found it necessary to continually slap and pinch our cheeks. We paid up and then went to choose a beach.

This is proof that we chose a beach, as mentioned in the sentence above.

Hvar's beaches were generally rocky and reefy, but the water was, as usual, incredibly blue and a good temperature. Ferries would go back and forth creating some waves, but nothing too disruptive. Than the big Krilo catamaran came to make a drop-off from Split.

the Krilo catamaran, searching for prey

The wake slowly spread through the water, violently tossed us around in the water, and easily hopped over the rocks where we'd put our stuff -- shoes, shirts, towels, footwear, etc. -- and pulled it all into the sea. Some quick-thinking search-and-rescue work from a sunbather we were able to recover it all, soaking wet, but there was no permanent damage and somehow the cameras and passports had stayed dry. We swam for a while longer, enjoying the beautiful water and scenery, and then went back and got changed for dinner. After dinner we walked around the bay, stopping when we see a group of people partying, dressed in all white. As we get closer, the hava nagilah begins to reach our ears -- it's a Jewish wedding. They go through all of the classics, and we sit and listen and watch for a while, with a few dozen other spectators, and then get some ice cream and go to bed.

Sunday June 14
The next morning we get some fruit for breakfast, and decided to hike up to the mountain above Hvar, to see the fortress and walls. We realized we had no real interest in the fortress, so we took a side-path a good way up, stopped at a cool old one-room church, and enjoyed the towering views over the island, bay, and archipelago.

the view from above

We then, surprisingly, decided to go swimming again, this time on the other side of the harbor, about a 15 minute walk away. After picking and choosing our spot, we settle on another rocky/corally locale, but one that isn't too crowded and is flat enough to put our stuff down. I'd made the fashion choice to cop some goggles at the supermarket, so I put those on and dove in. We swam for a while, but on one attempt to get out of the water I stepped on some sort of spiky black animal/plant that left some nasty little prickers in my foot and toes, a creature who's sole purpose was to ruin my day. We stopped at a restaurant to get some food and the waiter advised me to pee on it, and then poke at it with a needle. Thanks but no thanks my friend. I hobbled back to our room, got our bags, and got onto the Krilo ferry to Korcula.

Adriatica: Split

2009-09-08T03:28:00.001-05:00

Friday June 12
We got some breakfast, and headed straight to the bus station to get the 3.5 hr bus to Split. We got onto a bus that was leaving when we arrived, and after a few unscheduled stops and pauses, we'd made it to hustling bustling Split. We were met by an army of room-offerers, one of whom was good enough to convince us. We walked 10 minutes or so through the old town to get to her apartment. We put our stuff down, had a little discussion about changing the schedule, and set out to explore Split, and look into getting a rental car to take us to Bosnia & Herzegovina. We had no luck on the latter, but Split was sunny and interesting -- Diocletian's palace, a humongous structure built by the Romans, was integrated into the city itself in a way that I'd never seen before. The palaces walls, rooms, and hallways had been slowly adapted to meet the needs of each generation, which made for some cool contrasts.

Split also held countless Australians, as did the rest of Croatia. We walked around for a few hours, enjoying the open-air markets and people watching, got dinner at one of the restaurants we'd read about, and then took an evening stroll along the pier.

Saturday June 13
We woke up, and reached the conclusion that although it was big, Split didn't have that much to offer. So we decided to leave that day. We left the key in the mailbox, took our bags and did a final dip through the old city -- a tour of the palace, a final check of rental car agencies, and so on. The map had a little Jewish star on it, so we pursued the star until we came to a small alley with a door with a mezuzah. We rang the bell and were shown in by a older gentleman with the most quintessential Eastern-European/Yiddish accented English. We went through some doors and up some stairs, and entered into a small synagogue.

the man himself

There were a pair of women there talking with the gentleman -- Uruguayan women whose parents had fled Europe before WWII. He told us about Croatia's Jewish history in a very engaging and personal way, spiced with a few choice quotes:

on the US's role in WWII: "Did you know that the US turned back a full boat of Jews that had escaped from Germany? Sent them back! Now with the economy how it is, I bet they wish they'd let them stay!"

regarding the 1999 war in Yugoslavia: "They were so busy killing each other that they forgot to kill us!"

Highly educational and entertaining. We gave them a little tzedakah and then dipped out, taking the catamaran to the island of Hvar.

Adriatica: Zadar

2009-09-08T03:10:00.003-05:00

An old ass building in Zadar

Wednesday, June 10

We left Plitvice at 1, which gave us just enough time to get some lunch and step on the gas to get to the Zadar airport (one gate) in time to drop the car off. That went well, although I hadn't counted on the Zadar airport being so disconnected from Zadar. The next bus from the airport to the city was 3 hrs away, and so we bit the bullet and took a cab into town. It wasn't cheap, but it doesn't make sense to spend the time, energy, and money to get to Croatia and then not see the sites when you have the opportunity, regardless. We got dropped off in the center, found a travel agency, and booked a room on the end of the old town that juts out into the sea. Our hostess was a very friendly, very hairy woman who showed us our room, balcony, bathroom, etc. We put our stuff down and went to explore the city. We had been given a recommendation to try the ice cream at Donat, so we found it and had a scoop or two. It was incredible -- creamy, smooth, and really tasty.

Amazing, amazing ice cream. Donat. Remember the name.

We took our ice cream and walked along the boardwalk, scoping out the various boats offering tours of the nearby archipelago. However nothing really jumped out at us, so we kept walking. We made a loop through the old town and ended up at the sea organ, a pretty cool little feature of the city. It's basically a set of long steps leading down into the sea, under which are carved some holes or pipes or something that naturally make sound when the waves lap up against the steps. It was sort of cool to see the waves come in at different strengths and heights and hear the resulting changes in sound.

In Croatia when the day is just about over, the sun goes down

Thursday June 11

We woke up and got some breakfast, and walked around for a while. Zadar was cool but didn't have that much to offer, so we checked out the Jadrolinja ferry schedule to find out where we could get to for a little day trip. There were frequent ferries to the nearby island of Preko, so we hopped on one, found a few beaches, and swam in the incredibly blue water all afternoon.

Preko

We got a little food at a nice seaside cafe with big lounge chairs on the water, and were served by a clumsy Croatian waiter who'd been living in Mallorca, playing drums in a hard rock band. He claimed that a few nights earlier there had been a well-known band playing in Zadar, and he'd been in attendance, and that after the performance, which the crowd found underwhelming, he himself took the stage and "brought the house down." We took the ferry back, got some dinner, and went to a late night showing of "Angels & Demons," which costs 2E -- the right price.

At the movie we sat near a young Indian/Croatian couple that had been looking at the same rooms as us a week or so earlier, in Rovinj. Small world, apparently.

Adriatica: Plitvice Pictures

2009-09-06T23:28:00.002-05:00

Adriatica: Plitvice National Park

2009-09-06T22:27:00.006-05:00

Plitvice National Park

Tuesday June 9th
We decided to stick to the coast, which would be a longer drive but much more scenic, and were rewarded with some great views of the coast and mountains, some cool little cities, interesting little bays, and so on. We arrived at the national park, and looked for a place to stay. One little forest road had a lot of rooms available, so we went down it for a while. Eventually it split, and we decided to turn back and go to one of the ones we'd already seen.

the view from the road

I tried to make a 3 point turn on the road, which was bordered just by a ditch into the forest filled with shrubbery. I will say that I misjudged it, and tried to cheap out on the backing up part, so when I went forward I was too close to the edge of the road, and before I knew it the front left quarter of the car was in the ditch/bushes, and at a relatively serious angle -- the things in the backseat sorta fell up against the back of our front seats because of the angle. I tried to back up but the front wheel drive wouldn't grab onto anything. I felt a bit sick to my stomach, since I didn't want to have to call a tow truck and definitely didn't want to have to pay for a new car if this one slipped away into the ditch. I put on the emergency brake extra strong and got out to assess the situation. That's when I saw that the back right tire was about a foot off the ground, due to the car's angle. Not a good feeling. I also realized that if I didn't get the right foot's brake-to-gas move correct, the car would roll forward even more. I tried a few times to back up, but the front right tire (the only one with driving traction) just spun in the gravel. I tried putting all of our bags in the back right of the car to get the weight distributed better, but it didn't make much difference.
With the bags in the back right, and with the assistance of Billie sitting on the trunk to the right, we were able to get enough weight off of the front left of the car to squeal back to safety. The transmission didn't smell too good, but we were at our destination and had a long hike planned for the next morning, so by the time we got back in the car, 15 or so hours later, it was ok. We found a good room, got some dinner, and went to bed in advance of the vigorous hiking we'd have to do the next morning.

We were too nervous and frazzled to take pictures of the 3-wheel motion, and for the rest of the night, and trip, I was too scared to pull too close to anything besides pavement, as evidenced above.

Wednesday June 10
We walked across the highway to the Plitvice's main entrance, and headed through the gates a few moments after the park opened, at 8.30. We took care to get in ahead of the four massive buses full of Japanese tourists. However, we stopped to take some pictures right at the beginning, which allowed them to pass us and spread out along the pass to make an overtake impossible. They had an amazing collective ability to go really slowly through the boring parts, which meant we could weave our way through and try to pass them, only to get to the really good parts, in front of the groups, just in time for them to speed up and push us past the good parts.
In terms of the park itself, words can't really do it justice, and pictures may not either. The water was an freakishly Technicolor blue, a hue that you wouldn't believe was possible in nature, and was so clear that you could see to the bottom at basically any depth. There were incredible waterfalls, some amazing rock formations, interesting caves and paths, and big-ass birds too.

Adriatica: Rovinj and Pula

2009-09-06T22:11:00.005-05:00

Room with a view

Monday June 8
We got to the train station, and took the long train to Trieste. The bus station and train station are right next to each other, so we got our tickets for Rovinj (our first stop in Croatia), got some lunch (mozzarella, tomato, and bread -- usually good, divine in Italy.) The bus came, we hopped on, and an hour or so later we were crossing into Slovenia. An hour or so after that, it was time to leave the Schengen border-free zone as we got to the Croatian border. We showed our passports, but immediately realized that since we hadn't been on a tourist visa, but instead a student visa, we might not be able to leave (since the visas had expired.) For some reason, my visa card was set to expire in August, but Billie's had expired in May, so the border control guy told us that we'd have to show our cards, and that we may have some trouble on re-entry to the EU. OK, sir. We eventually got to Rovinj, walked down to a travel agency, and got booked in a huge room with a huge bed up a huge flight of steep stairs. We set our stuff, and headed out to explore the small old city as the sun started to go down. A town that, since 1750, was part of the Republic of Venice, the Austrian empire, Italy, Croatia, Yugoslavia, and then Yugoslavia again, it is a very Italian Croatian town (or a Croatian Italian town, if you like) which meant that everyone was bilingual and the food was great.

the sun goes down on Rovinj

Tuesday June 9th

We spent the day walking around Rovinj, enjoying the small town and the ocean. There was a lively little fish and vegetable market, with kids playing soccer on a marble square near a playground. We stopped at a place called Da Sergio Pizza Italiana, where we had two of the most incredible pizzas we'd ever had. The cheese, the sauce, the toppings -- they were all amazing.

Da Sergio Pizza, in Rovinj, Croatia -- amazing

The waiter was an interesting dude too -- maybe 19 or 20, telling us all about the countries we'd be going to, his opinion of them (he liked them all except Albania, who he compared to Iraq or Iran) and more. Unfortunately we had to catch a bus, so we couldn't go for a third huge pizza. We took the bus down the coast to Pula, where we needed to get from the bus station to the airport to pick up our rent a car. Unfortunately we found that there was no bus from the station to the airport, so we started looking into a taxi. I asked the bus driver how much it might cost, and he said around 100 kuna -- 12 or 13 Euros. We got to our bags, and then the driver came over and said that if we could wait 30 minutes, he himself could drive us in his car for half that price -- he needed the money and had time. Sounded good to us, so we plopped down and waited. Pula is famous for having a nearly complete Roman amphitheater, so I hustled over there, took a quick glimpse, and came back, and then we got into his rickety old car for the 15 minute drive out to the airport. Our car, a four-door Fiat, was ready and waiting, and although we didn't have a GPS, which we thought we'd really need, we were given a big map of Croatia, which indeed helped us. We pulled out of the airport, onto the new "Ypsilon" highway that connects the peninsula that Rovinj and Pula are on to the mainland, and headed towards Plitvice, the famous natural park that guidebooks describe as a combination of the Grand Canyon and Niagra Falls.

Adriatica: Leaving Huercal-Overa and Milan

2009-09-06T22:07:00.005-05:00

stompin on a bull's testicles.

Saturday June 6
I packed all of my bags as full as they'd get, laboriously dragged them to the bus station, and got onto the overnight bus to Barcelona. It was sad to see Huercal fade into the distance, but I had a great time, met some great people, and am happy with how the year went for sure.
The next morning the bus pulled into the station, and I took a city bus to my friend Lluis', in a suburb called Sant Just Desevren. It was great to see Lluis again, for the first time in a few years, and he made me feel incredibly welcome. We met playing on a soccer team while he was at Brandeis for a semester, and he is a really good player. He currently plays for his local club team, so they had a game that I was able to go watch -- they won 3-0, with Lluis playing the first half at center mid and the second half came out and talked to me. Then I went to the train station to meet Billie, who'd taken the train, and we had some dinner and then took the bus back to Lluis'. He and some friends were watching the American TV show "Supernatural" to practice their English, so we watched that for a while, then went to bed. The cab came early the next morning, and we made it to the airport, and made it to Milan by the early afternoon.

Sunday June 7
We were picked up at Milan's Malpensa airport by Francesco and Marcella, the couple that Billie will be helping work on English for July. They were also amazingly welcoming and warm, and they made me really jealous of Billie. They drove us back to their apartment in the suburbs, we put our stuff down, and Marcella made us some great pasta, with some nice steaks for the men (Francesco and I.) We then drove back into the city to get our train tickets to Trieste for the next day. After we'd gotten the tickets, we walked around the central area -- Piazza del Duomo, Galleria Vittorio Emanuele (the fanciest mall in the world, with the flagship stores for Gucci, Versace, etc.) We got some gelato, stepped on the ceramic bull's testicles (for good luck), and generally enjoyed ourselves. Then they took us to a great restaurant for dinner near their house, and although the food was a little slow, it was great when it arrived. It was made better by the fact that it was served by the most stereotypical Italian waiter they had -- bushy white eyebrows, balding, little spectacles, crazy hand gestures and motions.) We capped the evening off (I did, at least) by challenging Francesco to a game of FIFA 2009 on his XBox 360, on a huge flatscreen with some Bang&Olfusen 2.1 speakers (Francesco works for Microsoft, so he gets the hookup on Zunes, XBoxs, etc. Not a bad set up, making me that much more jealous of Billie.) He whupped my ass twice.

The fanciest mall in the world, complete with a combination McDonalds-Jewish Studies Center-fancy windowed dome and arty stuff

The end of the school year, pt IV

2009-06-27T15:42:00.001-05:00

The last week was a mix of old and new. I said goodbye to all of my teachers at school, got some email addresses and whatnot in case we want to keep in touch. We said goodbye to our Spanish teacher Juanni, who had been very warm and helpful not only in terms of learning Spanish, but helping us adjust to life in Spain, answering random questions, and always having a smile. We did our best to clean up the apartment, although as I type there are two pros in there, thanks to the recommendation of our real estate guy. I packed all my stuff up, but ended up shipping some stuff home. It was hella expensive, though, so it better be all waiting for me when I get back. I grabbed a drink with Luci, the English coordinator at my school, and Melissa, the other American that works there. It was a nice meal, we shared some laughs and memories, and said our goodbyes. Then I went to the final dinner for another American, Jonathan, that ended up with us going from bar to bar to Plaza Mayor until 4am. Then Jessica, another American, said her goodbyes, and then it was just Billie, Alyssa, and myself (and Melissa, she's staying until July, but she doesn't really chill with us, she's basically an adopted Spaniard after 3 years here); Tristan had left earlier in the week (after I almost deleted his priceless pictures with his classes, the only tangible memories he'd have of them. Crisis barely averted).
Billie's school was having a culture week, so I went with her one day when they were making a huge paella. It was pretty good, aside from all of the seafood and the intense mosquitoes, but the highlight was meeting the Moroccan students at her school. Her school is just a few moments away from a "residencia," which is where the government places the juvenile illegal immigrants that arrive in Spain and are caught. They were very warm and friendly, and invited us to see the residencia. I had never been to anything like that -- part orphanage, part college dorm, part mosque -- but it was very interesting. Now, these are kids who have had it rough. Many didn't go to school at all in Morocco and were illiterate in both Arabic and Spanish, many had very difficult journeys getting to Spain (one kid swam like a half mile to sneak onto a Spain-bound ship through an open window), and all of them have no parents here and can't see them again until they turn 18. But with that said, they had it pretty good here. They live three to a room, each with their own bed, dresser, closet, etc. They have a pool, big flastscreen TV, playstation, computers, soccer/basketball/tennis/handball court, full-time cooks and cleaners, teachers that come in to tutor them, a mini-mosque for their daily prayers, they get an allowance, and they live within walking distance of school. They were really excited to show us around, proudly pointing to their names on the doors, showing us the bathrooms, introducing us to the people cleaning the bedrooms, etc. They were exceptionally polite and warm, and really seemed to be excited about their lives in Spain. They were realistic about the fact that they missed their families and hoped to get good jobs so they could bring their families to Spain as well, but they still were average adolescent kids -- flirting with the girls, playing soccer, talking behind teachers' backs, etc. It was definitley cool to see and I wish I'd seen it sooner, maybe I coulda helped out there a few times a week or something. Then that night was "Sports Night," which meant that there were soccer games all night long between students, parents, and teachers. They set up a Moroccans vs. Spaniards game for the students, which the Moroccans won handily, and then I stepped on for the parents, teachers, and friends vs. students game. It started off as 5v5 (small concrete court), but in their eagerness to beat the old folks the kids soon had 8-10 players. We tried to even the numbers up but it eventually decended into a farce, with dozens of players making it impossible to get the ball and have a second to think. Jesus, the second-division ref/gym teacher, was our ride home, and he left as the game fell apart. We said our goodbyes to him, and then went home.

The last week in Huercal-Overa is a sad one, but also happy. I'm sad I have to leave the people I became friends with, from the Bolivians I play soccer with Sunday mornings to the teachers at school to Pape and the Senegalese people who were so friendly and warm when I'd come over to the co-teachers of the other Americans who we went out with. But mostly I'll miss the kids, especially because most of them are so young that unless I come back next year, they probably won't remember me. It's weird to think that if I see them again they'll be, to them, a lot older, and look different, be able to speak and write a lot better, etc. But I'm happy because I met a lot of cool people, my Spanish improved a lot, I lived in a small town for the first time, went to a lot of cool places, saw some good soccer played and went to some new stadiums, big and small, and lived to tell (blog) about it all. I'm also happy cuz now we get to go to Croatia, where I've been wanting to go for a long time, and then Barcelona, which will be a not-bad place to spend July. But every day takes me closer to getting home, which is where I want to be. There are a lot of things that I love about Spain, but it's not home -- there are still things that confuse or trouble me that are unfortunately just part of the culture, that I'd have to learn to deal with. I don't mind; I wouldn't have come if it was going to be the same, but it will be really nice to know just where everything stands, to be able to express myself perfectly without hesitation, to not have to worry about how much random things are going to cost, etc. And to see my family and friends again will be awesome. Can't wait for 4.40PM CST on July 28th, 2009, when I touch down in Chicago, Illinois, USA. I still have to plan how I'm going to get home -- should I rush home so I can be there, finally? Or should I take my time, stop at Superdawg, or the loop, or visit the fam in Oak Park, or the other Western Burbs, or what? All I know is whatever I end up doing, I'll be relieved to be home.

The end of the school year, pt III

2009-06-27T15:29:00.002-05:00

Sadly, the year was drawing to a close. At school we had the first annual Women's Equality Week, which meant something fun every day, for all genders. The two main days were Sports & Games Day and then a Dancing Day. Sports & Games day consisted of all sorts of games for the kids -- hopskotch, jumprope, "Diana" (sort of like a one-way shuffleboard, or darts on the ground) and a throwing-at-targets game reminiscent of Pro Day at Northwestern, except with more talent on display. I started off watching the kids do the Diana, sliding rocks towards a target painted on the ground, but it got a little boring since the kids just stood there and waited for me to bring them the rocks. I moved on to jump rope, which was a lot more fun. There were tons of small ropes, enough for each kid, and there was also a much bigger rope that the teachers could use to have the kids jump in group. The older kids were sort of able to do the individual ropes, but the younger kids got progressivly worse, which meant progressivly more entertaining. The 5 and some of the 4 year olds would kinda be able to understand the concept, but almost none of them could actually get the rope up over their head, under their feet, and in a position to do it again, with any sort of consistency. The rest of the 4 year olds, and 3 year olds, couldn't even figure out what was supposed to be happening, so they'd just hold the rope and jump. But the problem was that they were thinking they were doing something very complicated -- holding a rope AND jumping at the same time -- which meant they couldn't do either very well; the ropes would slip out of one hand or end up tied around an arm, and only maybe 15% of the jumps involved two feet simeltaneously leaving the ground. But they were really happy just to sort of stand up on their toes while shaking the rope, so whatever works.

thats me behind the tree in blue, showing young Israel and Cristian Fuentes what's really good with jumping rope

Then the teacher and I would hold the long rope and slowly sway it just over the ground (or even dragging on the ground,) so the kids could try to jump over it, like it was a small, moving creek or something. This also proved challenging, since by the time they'd made the decision to jump, the rope had gone back in the other direction, and they'd have to wait again. Counting down didn't help them at all, since they would hear us say 3, 2, 1, and then realize that since we weren't counting they should jump, and then figure out how to get both feet off the ground AND land on the other side of the rope -- it was quite the process. Almost all of the boys would fall down or roll dramatically after making it across, and many of them thought that taking long running starts would help. Some of the kids just couldn't get it no matter what, so we'd just put the rope down and they'd step over it, and even this was a bit of an obstacle for some of them. The mere idea of getting over something, even something as small as a rope lying on the ground, proved difficult to realize. I was able to get some great pictures of the kids in action though, so that was good.

Then later that week, a dance leader came to do some dances with the whole school. This meant that the little kids would have to make their way the three blocks to the big school, a complicated process involving lots of stopping and reorganizing, kids holding onto the shirts of the kids in front of them to figure out where to go, screams of delight whenever the group passed anyone, old or small, and so on. They made it, though, and joined the older kids on the playground. The older kids either knew or were related to a lot of the younger kids, so there were some happy reunions, some unhappy reunions, some confusing moments of mistaken identities, etc.

me getting ready to show the 3 year olds how to step

We finally got everyone lined up and the dance guy came. He was a long-haired dude, tank top and cargo shorts, with a strong headband and an interesting face. He hit play on his discman, and the sweet sound of mid-90s uptempo techno turned up way too loud rocked the playground. He started with some basic side to side, raising your hands moves, and got into some hip shaking, some back and forth, rocking, etc. The older kids were able to keep up but the younger ones were woefully out of beat, behind, and generally unable to keep up. However they seemed to be having the most fun, trying to match the guy in front, and their attempts to follow were pretty entertaining. The female teachers didn't hesitate at all, but the guys were more hesitant. Everyone was having a great time, though, especially young Ronaldino. He's a chubby 4 year old Romanian kid who watches way too much wrestling and consequently tries to fight me every time he sees me, although before he punches or kicks he looks to both sides to enjoy the thousands and thousands of fans who have come to see him wrestle, and usually gives them a wave or a gesture.

Ronaldiño and Cosmin, the world's most professional wrestling 4 year olds.

Then he slowly advances on me, making intimidating gestures, before lobbing a kick that takes about two minutes to get from the floor up to my shin. So I usually grab his foot mid-air, which takes us to the next stage of the bout, where he looks around in shock and terror at the pain I am going to inflict. I usually raise it up higher and higher, until its about at his shoulder level, at which point he falls down. Then he lies on the ground for a while, every so often trying to do some sort of leg sweep or other move. Anyway, his teacher pointed out that he behaves poorly, doesn't really enjoy doing the work, doesn't try very hard, and isn't in any way a good student, but he loves dancing. And sure enough, R onaldino was up front, belly jiggling, having the time of his life. It was cool to see.

One night that week we were invited to dinner by Pape. Pape is a Senagalese guy I met at a dinner party we were having at the place where we take our Spanish classes, who said he wanted to learn English. Like most of the non-Moroccan Africans in town, Pape works at the various markets in the area, selling purses, watches, belts, etc. He lives with 4 or 5 other Senegalese people, and every time I came over to help Pape they'd offer me tons of food, drink, put on music they thought I'd like, constantly ask about Billie, etc. I'd had some of the Senegalese food he'd made before, Chebo'uyap (spicy rice with chicken) and it was good, so I figured this would be a good chance to get Billie to come meet them and try some Senagalese fare. The week before, I'd been sitting on a chair, when suddenly I saw something move on the couch. It was the tiniest baby I'd seen in quite some time. It was his neighbors baby Mohamed, who was only 3 weeks old at the time (now he's twice as old.) I made Pape promise to invite Mohamed to dinner since I knew Billie (and Julia, indirectly) would enjoy meeting him. We showed up with an origami flower made by Alyssa as a gift.

Pape, me, Rose, Billie, and Mohommed

People came through all night to say hi to us, meet Billie, etc. Then Rose, a woman who lives with them, brought out an absolutely massive plate of food that looked like enough to feed the whole town. We got started, though, and pretty soon the 8 of us or whatever had gotten through it. We spent some more time chatting, and then went back home with full bellies. Pape is a great guy, and one that I'll be missin' -- hopefully he can make it to America when he's rich (which he will be, according to him) and we can hang out and I can repay the hospitality he showed me.

The end of the school year, pt II

2009-06-27T15:26:00.002-05:00

We got lucky a few days after getting back from Granada -- Jonathan had his friend Paco's car, and he was going to the beach and had extra room. Even though we're only like a half hour away, since we don't have a car I'd never made it to the beaches near here. We all hopped in, with Jonathan behind the wheel since he'd been to all of the beaches, and made our way towards Almeria. We were headed towards Cabo de Gata, a nature reserve near Almeria that had a lot of beaches in it. We got off the highway, made our way through the small local streets, and eventually pulled onto a rough gravel road that wound between huge sand dunes and cactus-laden fields. We stayed on the road for a while, checking out a few beach options, until we pulled into one that looked good. We got out and spent the rest of the day enjoying the sun, discussing our various lives (Emily and Jonathan both worked on the Hill in Washington DC and also had gone to college only a few miles apart, in Virginia, so they had a lot to discuss) and generally having a good day off (Yeah we'd skipped work. In America this might be a big deal but here, it would have been a big deal from our employers' perspectives if we hadn't skipped our non-essential work on a beautiful day to go to the beach. It's the best part of the Andalucian psyche and lifestyle.) We had to get the car back to Paco by the late afternoon, so we left Cabo de Gata and went to another beach. The drive was really beautiful, on long curvy seaside roads, and interesting -- there were towns and towns full of half-built, abandoned hotels, condos, and the other marks of a housing boom-turned-bust. One mountain had a huge hotel built on the side of it overlooking the sea, except the hotel was completely unadorned, empty, and full of bushes and weeds on all of the balconies and in what would have been the lobby. There were also tunnels that the Moors had built back in the day, that were put back into use for the Spanish Civil war last century. We were going along the highway when Jonathan suddenly turned down a ramp on the side that I hadn't even seen, which took us at a pretty severe angle downward. We followed it for only a little bit, around a mountain and away from the highway, and he parked us at what looked like a big rock. The rock had a hole in it, thought, and he led us through to a cool cliff overlooking a rocky, isolated beach. Two lesbians and their dog were down there, all three of them nude (there are a lot of nude beaches in this part of the world, apparently.) They looked surprised to see us, so we went back through the cave and through some wild plantlife until we arrived at another tiny beach that Jonathan had seen before. We hung out there for a while, swam around and climbed on the rocks, took pictures of the incredibly clear water, observed the wildlife (in this case, human) and then headed back. We had to fill up the car and give it a wash, but, considering the day it had offered us, it was a small price to pay. We had a big paella dinner all together courtesy of Jonathan, and then came back and gingerly took sunburned showers. It was a great, quintesential Andalucian vacation day.

The end of the school year, pt I

2009-06-27T15:12:00.002-05:00

the senderismo crew

I took so long to get all of Semana Santa up onto the blog that I fell woefully behind in terms of what was acutally happening in my life. In a desperate attempt to catch up, I'll just try to hit up the various points of interest that happened since we got back from Portugal in the end of April, a month and a half ago. I'll start with Senderismo, which we did the weekend after we got back. Senderismo is basically a hike, through whatever land surrounds the town. In our case, it's desert/dried riverbeds, which we had obviously seen a ton of, but had never actually spent time exploring. It is organized by the town's athletic facilities, and led by a man named Guillermo who is not only a geologist but also an apparently legendary desert/mountain runner. He also works in the same school as Jonathan and Alyssa, and takes English classes with Tristan. Even though they had senderismo every few weeks, Billie and I had never had a chance to go, but they seemed like a lot of fun. However, once we'd paid we were horrified to find out that the fleeces that come with signing up had run out.
Overcoming this obstacle, we woke up bright and early on Sunday morning (along with Alyssa, Jessica, Tristan, and Tristan's girlfriend, Linh) got all set for a morning walking through prickly desert bushes under the hot Andalucian sun, and made our way over to the movie theatre, where the bus left from. We drove for about 15 minutes, heading deeper and deeper into the campos (rural fields) until we turned off onto a gravel path, where the bus slowed to a halt. We disembarked, stretched, and then the 35 or so of us began heading down the path. We were all wearing athletic gear (right down to my soccer socks, which I'd naively thought would protect my ankles and shins from scrapes), but Guillermo was sporting a plaid button down (or button up, depending on your opinion of gravity) shirt, corduroys, and a ridiculous porkpie hat, all accesorized by a beard, potbelly, cigar, and hippo-sized white dog. After about 10 minutes walking, Guillermo stopped us all to tell us something (in Spanish) about the history of the rocks or something. We all were able to follow along pretty well (relatively, that is -- I wouldn't understand an archeological term no matter what language it was in) but nevertheless, Guillermo looked around until his eyes landed on the big target, Tristan (Tristan's a 6'5" lighter skinned blonde guy in a land full of 5'10" dark haired, dark eyed, olive skinned people, so he is where a lot of peoples' eyes seemed to land) In the halting English we've all known to understand and love, from various Spaniards, he said, "Tristan! I am talking about the rocks! They are very old!" Tristan got a big grin on his face and said slowly, like he was talking to a child with low self-esteem, "I know! You're doing a great job!" The Spaniards thought it was pretty funny, and so did we. Tristan is a guy who's motto seems to be somewhere between "Don't worry, be happy," and "Live and let live," so he always seems to give people the benefit of the doubt, is always in a positive mood, and is an all-around great guy to be roommates with (and basketball teammates, not so great to play against him if you try to take it to the cup.)
We walked all morning, stopping to eat the sandwiches we'd packed every three hours or so. We went from seeing nothing but sand and rocks to lush bursts of green where rivers had recently run, went up steep cliffs, drank from old-school buckets in wells, picked (a lot of, the rest of the year's worth of) fresh rosemary, saw a snake, almost died falling down a cliff, went from the deep ravines to walking along the crest of the mountains, smelled the patented Huercal pig shit odor, and much more. It was apparently the last Senderismo of the season, so to celebrate there was a huge meal waiting for us at the destination, and better yet, the bus was waiting for us too. The meal was good, there was free beer, there was extra food we were able to take home, and we got on the bus just in time to beat the rain. It was a lot of fun, we met some cool people, and finally got a chance to explore in-depth the type of land we'd been calling home for the better part of a year.

In the week before Senderismo, the Americans of Huercal-Overa had a special guest -- Jonathan's 80+ year old grandma. She is an acclaimed food and wine critic, and she was being flown to Valencia for a tasting. Jonathan scooped her up in a rental car and brought her down to Huercal to spend the night. She spoke not a word of Spanish, yet somehow she almost immediately became the most popular person in the town (with her grandson a close second, as the grandapple did not fall far from the tree.) We went to Marquesina, a popular restaurant with a bullfighting theme, and she wowed the waiters with her fancy bullfighting-themed scarf. She wowed us with her general sharpness, quickness to make a joke, interesting tales of wine tastings past, digital know-how (Billie's facebook friends with her) and more, and she wowed the Spaniards we were with with her immediate interest in learning to dance flamenco at a local bar/dance spot, and the fact that she was interested in staying out later than any of the other Americans, and many Spaniards as well. She was only in town for one night, but she made quite an impression.

The second weekend of May brought visitors from the US on Spring Break. Alyssa's friend Lauren, who had been working as an au pair in Paris, stayed with us for a while, and then Billie's friend from Lake George Emily came. Emily was flying into Granada, so we made the most of our power-in-numbers and rented a car to go to Granada, so that Lauren could see Granada, we could pick up Emily, and so that we could get out of Huercal-Overa -- there's only so much (1.47 hours worth, to be exact) one can do in Huercal-Overa itself. Alyssa had told one of her professors she was making the trip, and he noted that he had a house there that was only being used by his son at the moment, who was going to school in Granada, and that we were welcome to stay there if we needed to. We hopped in the car, dropped the windows, and a few hours later we had made it. We didn't quite know where we wanted to go, per se, so I just parked us in a big city garage and we walked. Emily and Billie in Granada

We found Emily, made plans to meet up later, and headed our seperate ways. I went with Emily and Billie to their hostel, which had an incredible view of Granada's famous Alhambra, and we hung out there until we got hungry. Granada's one of Spain's tapas capitals, and famous for offering a real tapa with any drink, not just the usual bowl of nuts that one gets with a beer. So we got drinks -- a beer for me, tinto de verano for the ladies (red wine mixed with lemon or orange Fanta) and were soon brought the tapas. Unfortunately we got the mushrooms, which Billie and Emily gobbled up. We chatted some more for a while, then moved onto the next bar, where we got some more drinks and more tapas (this time bikinis -- basically ham and cheese sandwiches) and then onto the next, an asian place that gave us noodles and rice with our drinks. I was sort of getting full of the drinks, and wanted just the tapas, but considering that a tapa cost 1.60E, and a drink (with the same tapa included) cost 1.90E, it was hard to resist. After getting a few rounds at the Asian place, which had great noodles, we got a call from Alyssa that they'd met up with Pedro, the professor's son, and were going to be heading out to his house soon. We met up with them at the plaza in front of Granada's huge, old Cathedral, where we met Pedro and some of his friends. He was an energetic, interesting feller, and his friends were generally one or the other as well. They were all physics students, and they were all really friendly and I quickly struck up a conversation with one of them about soccer, learning languages, etc. We went to a bar near the cathedral, where we hung out for a while, and then I walked Billie and Emily back to their hostel, through the windy, hilly back streets of the Albaycin, the old neighborhood opposite the Alhambra. I hustled back down to the bar, since the trip up had taken longer than I'd thought, but they were still there, having a good time. It was probably 1 or 1.30 at this point, so Lauren, Alyssa, and I were pretty tired. We asked when Pedro thought we would be leaving, and he said "Really soon! Let's just stop at one more bar, so I can say hi to a friend!" We walked for about 15 minutes, found the bar, and a few of Pedro's friends stopped off their to have some drinks. We kept moving, and Pedro promised just one final bar, 30 minutes, max. So we made our way to a hardcore punk rock club, with old punk music blasting from the speakers. It was not too crowded yet, since it was only 2ish, so we reluctantly got drinks and waited it out for 45 minutes or so, until we were ready to go. We found the car, hopped in, and, after a few wrong-ways down one way streets (I wasn't familiar with the city, especially at night, and Pedro, the local, doesn't drive or even have a license, so he didn't see the big deal down any paved pathway, regardless of direction of traffic, if it was a street or sidewalk, etc.) we made it to his house. I'd been expecting a small apartment, or maybe a little house, but this was the real deal. There was a pool in the back (it wasn't filled, but still), a huge kitchen, and best of all, 5 or 6 empty bedrooms. I found one, and fell straight asleep.
The next day I was on my own -- Billie and Emily went to see the Alhambra (which I'd already seen with my family) and Lauren and Alyssa went shopping, and then to some Arabic baths to get massages. I explored the Albaycin for a while, and then made my way up the mountain towards the Gypsy neighborhood of Sacromonte. It was cool walking around a new part of the city, although to be honest it wasn't much different than the other old parts of the city. Granada also has a huge Moroccan community, and for a few blocks in Granada, it really does feel like you're in Morocco -- small stone paths lined with people selling their wares, mint tea being doled out left and right, and Arabic drifting in and out of conversations. After we all reconvened, we made plans to meet up later, and then Billie, Emily, and I went to a flamenco show in Sacromonte. It wasn't as good as the other ones I'd seen, and we got horrible seats. After that we rushed back down to make sure Lauren and Alyssa didn't drive back without us, and we all headed to Pedro's house (Billie and Emily had been able to cancel the second night of their hostel reservation), and went to bed. We woke up the next morning and got right on the road, so we could get the rental car back in time. It was a fun trip, a cheap trip (free sleeping!) and a good final visit to Granada.