only 4 blogs and only 4 days left....oops.

Weellllll I suppose I should start with an apology for the lack of blogging... I'm sure no one is shocked I dropped my blogging for running around europe.  The truth is it kind of became a chore..and who needs chores on vaca. 

At the moment I'm in Madrid eating an entire pizza and grapes with nutella. yummy. These last four days it's just me.  My travel buddy has continued on to her home in Zafra and I am wrapping up my time in europe before my flight home.  This trip has been a compilation of one unexpected thing after the next.  Finally, here in Madrid everything is coming to a slow (thus I have enough the time to blog). 

I just spent the past four hours in the Riena Sofia and actually plan on going back tomorrow. My student ID has come in handy lending me free access under the assumption I am still a student ;) The Riena Sofia holds many famous works focusing on the twentieth century art revolution.  The most famous being Picasso's Guernica:

 
Unfortunately while viewing this masterpiece I coughed up a lung...literally.  I have come down with something resembling the bubonic plague. I'm not sure how I got sick with the amount of dirty public transit, lack of sleep, and smoke filled city air. Buuuut it happened.  And since about a week ago I have been eating whole bags of Ricola cough drops daily, and carying around rolls of toilet paper in my bag or back pocket.  Despite my sudden urge to cough till no end, the beauty of the masterpiece perservered.
 
Although most of Dali's work resides in his hometown, just outside Barcelona, some works are kept in the Riena Sofia.  I regret not making it to his museum ouside Barcelona...buuut I suppose that just gives me an excuse to one day return.  Unlik the Picasso's cubism, Dali takes a surrealist approach to his work.  It resembles dreamlike states with realistic and unrealistic characters intertwining, as if the work were a still frame of a dream world. 
 
Yesterday I spent half my day on a train here, which by the way, went incredibly smoothly!!! Not only did the cabby give me a break on the cost (probably out of pitty and hope that I would spend the money on some meds) but I also a. new the address to the hostel  b. new which metro line to take to the hostel  c. new which stop to get off at and  even d. knew which direction to walk out of the metro and exactly where the hostel was.  Prrrrrbly the most prepared I've been this entire trip. lol
 
The second half the day I spet reading in the Botanical Gardens.  Although I've encountered numerable gardens all over Europe, their beauty never ceases to amaze.  I took a relaxing stroll through flowers I had never seen before, trying to remember the names of favorites until the list grew too long and I had to forfeit my efforts and give up.  I wondered to myself if it was acceptable to lay on the benches in the garden and read...uhhh. Thus far public sleeping in Europe was much like public sleeping in Bloomington (never frowned upon but rather expected).  I finally started seeing other doing it...safety in numbers.  I quickly found a sunny bench next to a fountain and began to read.  Oddly enough my animal whispering skills came out of nowhere and soon I had a kitty friend joining me. No joke...a random kitten decided to sleep with me on the bench.  (ok maybe a little gross for some...but it was so sweet and of course I loved it).  I read quite a bit before I jerked and woke up the sun receding behind the horizon. woops.  I then resisted McDonalds and went to a little cafe and ordered coffe and a club sandwich.  Later that night I took a walk around the city and observed the city full of life, food, love, and an unexplainable energy.

My shit got Taken

I decide to take everything out of my purse except the bare essentials, seeing as Barcelona is infamous for pick pocketers.  Savannah and I jokingly discuss how all our shit will soon be stollen from us and find ways to hide money all over our bodies, in different pockets, in zipper pockets and everywhere.  Finally ready to face these theives we venture off down the Romblas and head to the beach.

Each person that bumps into me is a suspect.  Despite the distraction of my fear I take in the beauty of the Romblas and all the people.   Just as France was so French, Spain is so Spanish...thus far sterotypes hold true (except the whole French are rude and Spanish are polite...very opposite due to a crazy language aggression in Barcelona) I find that spanish fashion consists of large, baggy, brightly colored, skirts or gennie pants and lots of dreads and incredibly weird piercings. At the end of the Ramblas the buildings give way to the sea, god I love the Mediteranean.

The people don't disipate but rather switch from tourist and spanish to tourist and illegal immigrants.  We find a little opening and lay our towels out.  I soon realize in front of us lie two very topless ladies, to the right are two beautiful brazillian men, and the left are four Brits around nineteen years old.  Yet again stereotypes prove to hold true as I am intertained by the Brits' Russell Brand like attitude, talking about parties, booze, and girls, as their mini ipod speakers play hits from about a year ago. Over all their racket the real noise comes from the vendors circling like vultures around a carcas. "Masseh, Masseh, Masseh". No i do not want your hands on my body...no massage. The sun warms my body and puts me in a lul until I start sweating. I slowly wade into the cool sea and finally make it all the way in and float around for a little while.  It's the perfect mix of the cool water and the warm sun.  I climb over sleepy sun bathers and push past the obnoxious swarm and reach my towel.  I lie down and watch a "massuse" give her glorified back rub, but notice that she's not concentrating or even looking at the person's back, her fear stricken eyes scan the horizon...IIII don't think what she's doing is legal. My eyes slooowly close.

I'm kicked and yelled at. Wtf I don't want a massage!!! I look to my side, no purse. I gasp "Savannah they got my purse".  I know it's over and am convinced it's the girl that kicked my that is apart of this scandall. She keeps yelling and pointing away from the beach. Her determination gets me to jump up and look around.  She insists I run after them.  Savannah and I both head off and then stop realizing we are leaving our other stuff behind.  She stays with the stuff and I chase down the imaginary theif in the distance, after jgging a couple yards more massage ladies snile and yell pointing awya. OK great. Now I'm their dumb intertainment.  I walk back and surprisingly vendors are no longer in our little area. We say a few words to the people around and of course no one saw anything.  Apparently some people selling towels help them up around the two of us blocking people's view of the action.  The two Brazillians along with the others have a slight expression of guilt.  It's one of those things where they realized things were a little off, but pushed it aside.  Supposedly a certain vendor had been circling me for some time making sure I was asleep, befire the scheme was played out.

Overall I'm more mad that they had one the game than I was at loosing the purse.  I lost a cute orange purse ($15), hand sanitizer (priceless), keys to the apt ($30), a metro pass($10), about 15 euros, annnnnd the kicker.. my camera. Sadly I will be taking/posting no more pictures of the places I go.  I plan on leaving hate notes in all my pockets and possibly fishing for theifs at a later date.  Or maybe even buying cheap purses and leaving hate messages in them throughout the city. All great ideas I think. lol

Nice in a Nutshell

Despite the slight interruption, I wake up revived and ready to go. The blaring classical music also aided in the waking up process. The hostel we’re staying at isn’t your typical hostel, it’s a “world famous” hostel. Aka it’s a nightclub. The blaring music at night brings forth what seems like hundreds of young travelers to the common area to drink cheap drinks and mingle all night and the blaring morning music (more for the staff) echos through the corridors to inform all the guests it’s time to get up. The old remnants of a chapel bring color to the lounge area, surrounded by stained glass. I stuff my face with all you can eat cereal and cups of coffee and go to ready for the day. I organize my life as best as possible in my overgrown excuse for a backpack. We decide to head to the “Flower Market” for the day and simply walk along the Mediterranean Coast (not so bad).


The all encompassing sunlight blinds me as I exit the tram, I make my way around the corner and realize I am surrounded by brilliant color in the form of fresh flowers, fruits, vegetable, and even local art. People old and young crowd the streets to shop for their delicacy of choice. A stand piled high of baguettes and bread amazes me and think to myself “It’s so French!”…Ok maybe I exclaim it louder than necessary, but it brings laughter to one particularly friendly French woman who walks on smiling. As tempted as I am to buy these beautiful, but useless, things I resist. We decide the streets have shown us enough and venture to above eye level and into a labyrinth of a castle(?).

I climbed and climbed endless stairs to reach the view of Nice I had craved. Above all looking down on the sprawls of people. I went higher and higher and again looked over the sprawls of people gathered as close to the ocean as possible. People crave the sea, as is obvious by the ring of clustered people at its coast, followed by a gap of emptiness.

Nice is the most peaceful, tranquil, relaxing, beautiful place on the planet.

First Night in Nice

Even after the long travelling day there was no staying in and resting for me. From what I had seen on the train and tram rides, there is far too much beauty in the city to sit in the hostel and rest. I gather my stuff and am sure to grab my camera and get on the tram to the center of “old city” . The doors to the tram open and I enter the center of a plaza surrounded by surreal neon glowing budhas sitting in Namaste like positions above the plaza skyline, overlooking Nice. In the very center of the plaza lie a huge fountain and to the side a set of six smaller playful fountains. The water seems to frolic in and out of the glistening lights of the city’s center. The movie scene unravels before my eyes, the further I walk the smaller the streets get. People hug the crumbling stone coated in ivory to avoid the whizzing of mopeds on what now appears to me a sidewalk but is in fact a street. The small angles of building corners and windy roads laugh at the American grid system. Restaurants find it unnecessary to seat guests inside when there is obviously plenty of room in the streets. Walking past the luxery of fine French cuisine my stomach pleads. I keep my stingy self in line, seeing as I lack a real job. I remind myself luxury will come in my 40’s, for now I will settle with the adventure of living on a dime. Instead I choose from the missions of cafes selling ham and cheese baguettes. A French favorite.


Crawling into bed amongst 14 strangers could be awkward but there is an understanding between all of us travelers, a likeness of personality that can’t resist the adventure of travel. I fall soundly asleep within a few seconds of my head hitting my pillow. Suddenly I am awoken by the slamming of the door. The lights flick on for her convenience. She proceeds to unpack her entire pack full of cheap nylon that makes that oh so wonderful sound when it is rubbed together. A suite case full of rain jackets? What else could make that much noise. After a half hour of that, she catapults into the bunk above me almost knocking the entire bed over…a running start? How could she have not seen ladder? Then she settles down, with the lights on, to read her lonely planet apparently oblivious of the 14 others that attempt to sleep. I eventually fall back asleep. And shockingly am awoken again..rather than unpacking, she is packing. It is still dark out and I am completely unaware of what time it could possibly be. Needless to say I fall back asleep.

The Journey to Heaven

We are past the point of having travel woes...it is incredible how little planning we have done and yet are still alive and well. It all began the night I arrived in Marseille, we didn't have a place for the following night. As the day began we both new this but didn't think much about it carrying our optamistic theme that everything will be ok. Everything will work out. We'll be fine.  As the day grew into the night this tiny little detail became a pressing issue.  We had somewhat assumed there would be room in the hostel we were staying in for an extra night.  The long haired, swarthy (savy's words) night shift hostel front desk man assured us this was not the case.  We began searching the internet for other hostels in Marseille- all booked.  So we got creative and started looking at nearby cities and towns (worrying about how to get there would come later, all we wanted was a bed)..what about aix-en provence? Nope. Avignon? Nope. Then we started looking at seperate bookings..single beds in any hostel that we could possibly sleep at. nope.  So we/Savy sent out desperate e-mails pleading all the couch surfing host's in Marseille to please save us from our homelessness.  We went to bed with an uneasy anxt.. The following morning we got a single response from an unreviewed couch surfing host that seemed a bit questionable telling us to meet somewhere where he would pick us up and drive us to his friend's place.   Far too many things could go wrong in that process so we decided to thank the man for his offer but that we had changed our plans.  We would rather stay up all night at a safe pub than take the chance. Overhearing from the breakfast hall balcony the possibility of an opening, we raced down to the front desk and inquired about this possible opening.  It was our man Reme, the front desk worker that found our many previous trials, tribulations, and train wrecks (and we had only been there a day) to be comical . He searched his computer and found one bed, and a couple that had not called in yet and would possibly cancel. He assured us he could find us something and to go explore the city and come back at noon and he would have good news for us.  We did just that...only when we came back he had good and bad news. The couple called and were coming...uh oh. Buuuut another group cancelled. We had BEDS!!! Never been so excited in my life. Now...where would we stay the next night. Uhhhhh.

Having been put on Replay we spent the night the exact same way as the prior night.  We knew we had seen Marseille and were ready to move on.  We were thinking Aix, Nimes, or Avignon, or there's always Nice.  Nimes and Avignon sparked our interest based off the wiki site as they are filled with beautiful Roman ruins.  But of course...no openings.  The only opening we could find were in Nice.  We arrived at this conclusion around 8 and yet searched for three more hours to arrive at the exact same conclusion.  We were'n super [syched about Nice, as it seemed to be about the same as Marseille...but it was what we had so we went with it. Another anxious night passed, I agot up early and ran the port to see the city one last time before departing.  The cool breez off the Medeteranian kep tme going until I got a huge wif of raw fish...looking over to huge sharklike fish on ice...yuuummy.. I returned, packed up, and we headed to the metro.  By this time we were running late to catch our 9:15 train.

Struggling with the metro we arrived at the train station aaaabout 5 min before the scheduled departure. I have never been so excited to see a delay.  We could still make it. One miiiinore detail.  In ordering the pack of two eurorails....they had both come with my name on them. Biiig woops. Sooooo we went in to what looked like the information center (of course having no sign).  By now I had realized that despite my little understanding of French the people liked it if I just tried a little and started off the conversation with a little French. A for effort. So I told the lady where we were headed and a little about the problem at hand.  Once she saw the tickets, our passports, and our faces, she knew the problem at hand. She shook her head and asked if we bought them by the internet.  After answering yes, she said oh boy...looooong pause....there's nothing I can do. We stood longer awkardly trying to find anyway to beat the system and find a loophole.  She took us to another desk and translated for us.  The conclusion was to buy another ticket and refund the one we had. Not bad. Buuut they only sell 3, 4, and 5 country passes...we had a cheaper 2 country pass. They spoke for another 30 minutes or so before arriving at the exact same conclusion (deja vu).  Either way SAvannah was going to save her 4th ride for her trip from Madrid to Zafra where she was moving.  So she got her single ticket and we boarded the 12:15 train to Nice, hoping we would have better luck there.

The train ride took us along the seaside past rolling gro\een hills, old forgotten castles, and luxery seaside homes. We refused to let the woes of traveling get us down, but insisted to learn form our mistakes and plan ahead next time.  Screw this free spirited roaming...we need bookings and beds!  We agreed to first thing talk to the information desk and test our luck with the tickets once again. Overall everything is much more laid back everywhere in the world, the only problem being there is a muuuuch larger margin for error with such a lack of authority.  We as American's live with bumpers, protecting us from doing anything too wrong but also preventing us from learning how to survive without them.  Where it's almost impossible to board a plane going to the wrong place, it was completely viable to board a train going to the wrong place.  Which of course we had a little scare of but calmed down and deduced that we HAD to be going in the right direction.  The train pulled into the Nice station without us once having our tickets checked.  A waist of 22 euro for SAvannah but an empty ticket and thus extra ride on mine. lol

We entered the station and desperately searched for the hidden bathrooms.  Signs pointed to dead ends and eventually we gave up.  We went ahead to wait in line and talk to information.  We scoped out the nicest looking receptionist there and aimed for him.  Unfortunately we moved up in line and couldn't control our fate.  The second we saw the Ursela looking creature with buggy eyes stairing at us through her thick glasses we knew we were...well fucked. Pardon mon francais.  But we had no choice, as decided earlier I started off in french.  She quickly snapped " I speak English". We were in for it. Her black lip liner lining her thin shriveling lips made me want to vomit and her harsh snappy responses and tone made me want to punch her.  Her agression mad eus aggressive.  She went as far as to say we were stupid and that ordering the ticket online is useless and in fact that the eurorail tickets were useless.  I'm not sure what we were supposed to buy or how we were supposed to buy it in person from america...but we later concluded her problem was that we were american tourist and not the situation ofr the tickets.  She tested our faith in humanity.  We resisted the temptation and decided she was a single evil person and that the evergrowing number of gracious help we have recieved outweighed her evil self. We contu\inued to the tour guide center where they were much more open to people like ourselves.  We continued on and founf our wat to the tram and to our stop. Strangers on the bus wishing us "bon vacance!"

We got off on our stop and started the treck, up hill, to the circle on our map.  P.S. cities in France are not on the grid system.  Windy roads constantly change direction and roundabout feed into 5 even 6 streets at an intersection. Oh and there are very few road signs. Awesome! We hiked up a hill, asked a passer by, walked back down the hill and up another hill, asked another passer by who led us to her husband, the cutes old French man ever who spoke a little English.  He seemed as self conscious of his English as I was of my French.  His accent was surprisingly clear and he used vocabulary like angle and incline..we were impressed.  We thanked him and walked, yes, back down the hill, and back up our original hill. We took a few breaks on the trecherous "inclined hill", during which more cute old french men smiled at us and encouraged us to keep heading in the same direction.  One specifically said the word summit.  Summit is never a  good word. We rounded the corner and found the "summit".  The literal 75 degree rise up a long windy road.  We kept climbing convinced the next turn would reveal the infamous hostel. Nope and nope.   Until finally Yes!!! But no the front door was further. It was never ending....and then we were THERE. Panting, we drug ourselves up to the front desk.  I started off by quite a hill...from which the rediculously attractive australian front desk worker responded, you're brave to climb it.  What?!?!!!? There was another option? OMG I hate my life. He generously bought us two waters fromt he vending machine before taking us on a tour of the hostel.  Turn out the hostel is "famous" an old chapel revived into a hostel.  The walls were covered in stain glass.  Not to mention the cheap drinks and food cooked by a chef. Thus far we had survived off pasta, baguettes, and cheese.  This was Heaven. And we had arrived...

More to come on the city itself and the nightlife.  All I can say is this is home. I have always had the worst sense of direction. If I think go left go right and if I think go right go left... but here it is honestly perfect. I've come to the conclusion that my bad sense of direction was really just leading me to Nice. Maybe? No? Ok, whatever. But this is for sure in the right direction of what I'm looking for in life.  Love and miss you all!

Marseille

Having just arrived in Marseille we decided to walk the port to get a bottle of wine and call it an early night.  Wine had never tasted SO good, and for only 3 euro!!

The next morning we awoke early and went to Notre Dame de la Garde, a cathedral located on the top of a hill overlooking all of Marseille. Needless to say the view was amazing.  After we took a bus out to les calanques, the cliffs, known to be a top ten beach in the world...and they were not kidding.  After an endless hike we descended to find a tiny in-lit of clear blue water surrounded by prestigious cliffs hosting a small gathering of pure white sand at their base.  People were sprawled out on any rocky cliff resembling horizontal. After a long sedentary meditation like rest we faced the hike all over again, only this time up.

Two things are for sure....the french are skinny and the french love accessory puppies. Every where you turn and every where you go, tiny yorkies trot along next to you or are in a purse or man purse../sachel.

what to pack

Well the difficulties of travel began in the forming of packing.  what to pack and not what to pack lead quickly into packing everything.  Thus leading to the heaviest pack in the world.  The best advice I heard on packing was to not pack your past in your back back. Which turned out to be about the only thing I didn't bring along with me.  The shock set in sitting in the airport in Memphis.  I was sad to leave but so excited to go and definitely nervous about actually getting there and our general lack of plans...

On the plane I was lucky enough to not sit next to any criers (although there was one that cried the entire 8 hour flight) or a drooler but instead a very nice man my parents age that was excited for me and my journey.  He proceeded to inquire about the itinerary and I proceeded to fib a little pretending we had one..After a few hours of wrestles sleep the plane landed in amsterdam for a 3 hour layover. By that time I had lost all concept of time.  I had no idea what time it was or what time it would be.  All I knew was that I was dead tired and it was bright out.  I slept soundly for what seemed like hours but was probably only about 20 minutes and boarded the plane to my final destination, Marseille.  This was where the challenge lay...France...meaning French.  The airport was easy enough and I gathered to take a shuttle to a metro station and take a metro to viex port.  Little did I know the metro station would be a zoo with no signs, just a giant mass of French swarming around in flocks knowing exactly where they were going.  I wandered down the stairs and up to an information desk and very self consciously told the lady, in french, I wanted to go to viex port.  She responded with a stream of unrecognizable syllabals.  After seeing the shocked/blank look on my face she brokenly asked in English if I understood French... Nope. Sooo she treid to explain to me what I was supposed to do and pointed in a general direction.  I wandered aimless off in that direction before the kindest French girl took me under her wing.  She was headed to viex port and was happy to show me the way.  She was meeting a friend of her's, whom she failed to mention was the most beautiful French man I have ever seen.  The two of them lead me all the way to the hostel before parting ways.  Already I loved the French.

Of course the hostel was located completely up hill from the train station ( a theme I have found common).  Sweaty and out of breath, I opened the hostel door and climbed the bagillion stairs to my room. I set my stuff down and ran to find Savannah.  I had finally made it.