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| View from Pena Palace in Sintra |
This past weekend, as my slow train from Yvetot entered the station in Paris, a loud argument broke out between two men. From where I was sitting, we couldn't see what had happened, but we could certainly hear them yelling at each other on our overcrowded train (the slow one that stops in less-great areas on the way to Paris). One was yelling "I SAID I WAS SORRY (plus other arguments)", and it seemed like a fight was going to break out and the train's platform couldn't come soon enough. Yup. We were definitely back in Paris.
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| Me with the bridge in Lisbon. Look familiar? It was done by the same guy who did the Golden Gate bridge. |
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| The Tower of Belem, near Lisbon |
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| View from the Tower of Belem |
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| Beaches in São Pedro do Estoril, just outside of Lisbon |
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| Surfers at São Pedro do Estoril |
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| The monastery in Belem, near Lisbon |
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| Cloister at the monastery |
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| The hostel in Lisbon was in a train station! How interesting is that?! |
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| Pastel de nata (Portuguese custard tart) |
What a contrast from Spain. After having the hostel room to myself for 3 nights in Lisbon and crepes, scrambled eggs, and apple slices for breakfast at the hostel every morning, I finally had to move onto Seville. Since there were no trains between the two cities, and the plane cost 300 Euros, I decided to take my only true option: the overnight bus. I liked to think of it as saving on a night at a hostel. Oddly enough, Google said the drive would only take 4 hours, but the bus would take 7 hours. But no problem. I would get the bus at 9:30 pm, and arrive near my hostel at 6:15 am (hopefully when the city came back to life and public transit started running). Just as I was eating dinner at my hostel in Lisbon before I left, a man at the table told me "you'll arrive at 4:30 am. They just tell you that you'll get in later so you buy the bus ticket thinking you'll get a full night's sleep". Well, there was nothing I could do at that point.
After a 1:00 am pit stop (apparently Spain and Portugal haven't adopted buses with bathrooms on them), I did get in at 4:30 am Portugal time. So it was 5:30 am in Seville, the skies were dark, and I realized that my directions I'd printed out and prepared were useless. So I asked a man who worked at the bus station, followed his directions, and stopped at a hotel on the way for a map. Unfortunately, all of the comments I'd read online were correct, and Seville is one of the easiest cities to get lost in.
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| La Giralda in Seville, Spain |
Just after 6 am, I made it through the labyrinth to the hostel, and since I'd sent an email warning them of my unusual arrival time and my bed was free, they were kind enough to let me have a few hours of sleep in a bed. The Argentinian gentleman behind the desk gave me an orientation all in Spanish AND I UNDERSTOOD IT ALL (only asked him to repeat twice)! I was feeling better about my Spanish already. (Note: Later, when confronted with Andalusians with thick accents on a train to Malaga, every single word was lost on me)
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| Enjoying the sun at Plaza de Espana in Seville |
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| Recognize Plaza de Espana? Apparently is was in Star Wars. |
The breakfast was blah (Corn Flakes and white bread with jam), but it was free, so I stocked up and headed out on a walking tour. What was supposed to be a 1.5 or 2-hour tour ended being almost 4 hours. Most of the day had been taken up by this tour, so we stopped for lunch at a Spanish place and I finally tried Spanish tortilla (kind of like a quiche without the crust, and with potatoes inside), and patatas bravas (home fries with different eccentric sauces).
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| Spanish tortilla (with mayo on top) |
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| The view from La Giralda |
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| See how none of the streets are straight? Perfect for getting lost. |
The next day was Andalusia Day (good for them, bad for tourists), so I saw the cathedral, and climbed up La Giralda (the giant tower inside the church with a ramp to get up so that lazy churchmen could ride donkeys up instead of taking the stairs up 5 times a day to ring the bells), saw the palace (not like palaces in France or Germany...we're talking unfurnished, empty, tile-covered walls with amazing gardens), and even did a tour of the bullfighting ring. The bullfighting season goes from April to October, so I had missed anything gruesome. But they said that there are 35 or 36 shows a season, each sells out all 12 000 seats, and 6 bulls die per show. Mind-blowing. Barcelona made it illegal 2 years ago.
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| Alcazar palace in Seville |
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| Orange tree in the palace's gardens. These oranges are very bitter and are only good for making marmelade. The oranges inside the cathedral nearby are apparently only sold to the Queen of England for making marmelade. |
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| Bullfighting arena in Seville |
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| Bullfighting arena in Seville |
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| The costumes of people in the Holy Week parades... |
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| Famous bullfighter's costume |
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| Flamenco performance in Seville |
Unfortunately, the ceramic tile museum (and store), and the market were closed, so I'll just have to go back one day and see them. That night, I took in a flamenco show. I had become quite familiar with sangria since entering Spain (the free sangria every night at the hostel helped), so I wasn't keen on the watered-down drink in my hand, or the yelling (they call it singing), but the dancing was all right. The hostel offered a quick flamenco lesson to me and some other travelers (including another language assistant in France I met), and I was TERRIBLE. I can salsa, but this....I might have a better chance at rocket science. At the end, they told us that it was more of a folkoric Sevillano dance, so I didn't really recognize any moves onstage that night. It was a cultural must-do experience in Spain, right?
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| Tapas |
So were the tapas we had that night for dinner. (Side note: Good luck trying to find a filling meal at a Spanish restaurant when you're starving. Having little tapas dishes like olives are not always appropriate) We had croquetas (deep-fried balls of cod), olives (delicious here! Don't taste anything like the ones at home! Even an American who didn't like olives normally loved these), cow cheek (also good), chorizo, and some other little things to nibble on. The specialty in Spain is Iberian ham, which (sorry in advance to the Spaniards), is pretty similar to French ham or prosciutto. It's good, but at 10 Euros for a plateful of it, we never really felt the need to order it like that. (I tried it on other occasions instead, like on a sandwich or as an entree)
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| Church near the hostel in Seville |
The next day, I took a train to Malaga, and on the way, I say some neat geography, and then piles of garbage on the sides of the rails and streets. It looked like some were shanty towns, and I got a little worried about what Malaga would be like. Glimpses reminded me of townships in Africa. Then I got more worried as the station where I was supposed to arrive wasn't listed on the map of Malaga. I'm still pretty confused about where it was. All I know is that when Lidia and her boyfriend Carlos came to pick me up, it took a long time to get to the centre of town.
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| Olive trees on the way to Malaga |
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| Interesting views from the train to Malaga |
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| Snow-capped mountains between Seville and Malaga |
We dropped Carlos off at his university, and Lidia and I explored the town (the port where I bought Monarch butterfly wing earrings), the gardens, and the main square. I learned many things in Portugal and Spain:
- One: that Portuguese is very difficult to understand, but luckily most people speak English.
- Two: that in both countries, you have to get up and ask for the bill.
- Three: That hot chocolate to the Spaniards is just warming up almost straight chocolate.
- Four: That shoes don't even exist past size 40 in Portugal or past 41 in Spain (I'm a 42).
- Five: At restaurants, they will put bread out in front of you with no warning. If you eat it, you will be charged around 1 Euro per dinner roll. If you don't eat it, they take it back. I'm not sure how that's sanitary for the next person to get it.
- Six: That there can be life in Europe past 7 pm! Lidia and I drank our think chocolate drink, and stores were still open afterwards. It was awesome. But this leads me to
- Seven: When your hostess says that you'll eat dinner around 11 pm (normal dinnertime in Spain), find something to eat FAST.
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| View from the port in Malaga |
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| Malaga from the gardens |
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| Orange trees in blossom |
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| Spanish hot chocolate (and cake) |
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| What people carry during Holy Week in Malaga |
The next day, Lidia, her boyfriend, and I went to see Alhambra in Granada. It was cool and all. The views of Malaga and the sea on the way were amazing, though. :) At 6 pm, we stopped for hot chocolate, and I (starving by then) asked when we were going to eat dinner. Lidia replied "maybe around 11 pm". Full panic set in, and I ordered a burger that I credit for keeping me sane until we had soup at midnight.
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| At Alhambra in Granada, Spain |
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| Inside Alhambra |
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| Cloister in Alhambra |
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| View of Alhambra from the gardens |
The next morning, we flew back to Paris. I had noticed that there were Pizza Huts in Lisbon and Southern Spain, and I definitely wanted some North American-style pizza with a real dough crust. I'd looked it up and found out that there was a Pizza Hut right near Gare du Nord in Paris, which was on our way back to Yvetot if we took the RER train. Lidia and I bought train tickets at the airport and as we got to the doors of the train's platform, it said that there was a detour. I was ready to give up on my dream of pizza and just take the bus, but they wouldn't refund our ticket since "they were still providing a service". So we took the airport shuttle to terminal 3, then took a bus to a different train station, only to take a train through every ghetto outside of Paris until we finally arrived at Gare du Nord. By now, there was no time for pizza, and we had to get to Gare St-Lazare to catch our train back to Yvetot. So we waited for our train to Gare St-Lazare. And waited. And waited. But it never came. And we missed the train to Yvetot. So I was having kittens, and said "fuck it, we have earned that pizza".
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| View of Granada |
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| Leaving Malaga behind |
Lidia and I went and got our Pizza Hut pizzas, and then took one of the few trains actually running to Gare St-Lazare, where we washed our hands and ate until the next (and more expensive) train to Yvetot left. After all that, when we got on the train to Yvetot, there weren't many empty seats, and so Lidia, another assistant we'd met at the train station, and I sat on the floor of the train.
During that ride, I thought I'd felt my stomache gurgle. I spent the next bunch of days beating the flu.
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| The Eiffel Tower from Sacre-Coeur Basilica |
So back to this past weekend: I was headed to Paris, and I was going to arrive at the train station in Yvetot right on schedule, when a man pointed out that I'd dropped a glove. I didn't even remember putting them in my pocket! But where was the other one, then? I knew it would bother me if I left town, thinking my leather glove I'd bought in the States with my Mom was on the side of the road somewhere or never to be seen again, so I decided to miss my train and retrace my steps to look for it. Still tired and my body fighting me, I sat down. Tada! My backpack's zipper had opened, and the other glove was right there and had been all along. But by then I had missed my train and a beautiful afternoon in Paris.
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| Place de la Bastille |
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| Enticing bakeries! |
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| Sacre-Coeur during the daytime |
Olivia and I evetually met at a hostel in Montmartre and had dinner at a well-rated burger place (nothing special for North Americans), and then saw the city at night from Sacre-Coeur, including the Eiffel Tower light up. We joke that it was a good "date" night. The next day, we went our separate ways and I checked out the markets. It was supposed to be 14 degrees that day with a bit of sunshine, but it never warmed up past 6 degrees, and stayed cloudy all day. After a morning of market-hopping, my hands were purple from the cold. I checked the weather and saw that it was going to snow 10-15 cm the next day (today) in Rouen, which meant mayhem and that the weather was only going to get worse. Since almost everything was closed in Paris, I decided to come home. But when Olivia and I met up again later that day and walked through Montmartre on the way to grab my bags at the hostel, we noticed that some of the stores there were open. A woman working at a bookstore with a lineup at her cash register left her post to go outside and yell at a customer opening a book and bending the cover. Classic Paris. Meanwhile, today, the snowstorm has caused mayhem in Upper Normandy and school closures. They've cancelled buses for today and the next two days. Classic France. You really have to live here to believe it sometimes. :)
