…Nowhere – it’s summer, silly internet! Well, it did rain one time in Barcelona, but I was asleep so it didn’t count.
My trip to Spain actually started quite eventfully; after hopping a plane from Toulouse to Barcelona, I made my way to the train station to catch an overnight train to Granada. Now, I wasn’t that worried about communicating in Spain, because clearly getting a HD in the one semester you took of Spanish two years ago means that you’re permanently fluent, right? Turns out that a) No, and most of the things you do remember are flirtatious words you heard on American sitcoms like “caliente”, or words from Dora the Explorer (not that I watch Dora. At all.), like “vamanos!” and these aren’t really as useful as you think and b) In Barcelona they speak Catalan, not Spanish. To an extent, this was a relief, because it explained why none of the signs made any sense even to an expert Hispanophone like myself, but it also meant that, for the first time this trip, it was “Point to things and smile hopefully” time, rather than “speak the language” time.
Anyway, after getting stuck in the toilet at the station and getting the maintenance guy to help me (suitcases were not meant to accompany us in toilet cubicles, guys. Let’s just write that down and put it on the fridge and never forget it), I was pretty ready to chill on my couchette for the night and wake up in Granada. Unfortunately, it was not to be! Well, I DID wake up in Granada, but the chilling was not to be.
In my compartment (which was NOT as much like Harry Potter as I anticipated, guys. It was WAY smaller and nobody comes around selling magic chocolate frogs.) there were three lovely women, but between us there was a bit of a gigantic language barrier. There were two girls from South Korea who spoke a teensy bit of English but no Spanish, a very elderly Spanish woman who only spoke Spanish, and me, who technically speaks both of those languages but doesn’t really speak Spanish enough to, you know, do anything. Now, even though the other three had no way of communicating between themselves, they seemed to have some kind of unspoken thing going on because without me knowing, they appeared to have an election, electing me Boss of the Compartment and Communication and Bedding. At first it was great – we had a whale of a time, the elderly women and I, trying to pronounce my name (we got as far as Paigggghhhhhhhhhhhie and I decided that was adequate and gave up) and I managed to ask her some questions in Spanish with the help of my phrase book and my ailing Spanish vocabulary, although I couldn’t, you know, understand her answers or anything. But whatever.
After a while, our conversation transitioned from me asking her questions about how many children she had and nodding and saying “si, comprendo” a lot (even though actually no comprendo. At all), she started gesturing and saying something about las camas (the beds). Now, to get the folding beds down, you need to get an attendant to help you – they come around and do it for you at a certain time, but you can ask earlier if you want, which is what I think this poor lady was getting at. But, since I had no idea how to ask the attendant to get the beds down and was also wedged under a billion suitcases, I wasn’t really in a position to help, and I also wasn’t sure that that was what she wanted because really the only word I understood was “cama”, and then when I asked her in broken Spanish if she wanted the beds folded down I would receive, rather than a simple yes or no, some rapid Spanish paragraph answer. That may have been because it turns out I was actually saying “Do you like beds going down?” and not “Would you like the beds taken down” and maybe she thought I was hitting on her or something, but regardless, it went on for a really long time and the Korean girls kept asking me what was going on and not understanding my answers, so it was really just a chain of language confusion. But eventually the attendant came by and pulled the beds down and we slept and it was all good in da hood.
Now on to actual Spain! Granada was beautiful, and had the same hot, dry climate that you expect of Australia (oh how I missed you, weather-that-everyone-else-hates!). I wish I could have been in Granada for longer, actually, but I had fun with the time that I had – I did a walking tour and found out that left-handed soldiers rarely died in Granada because the entire fortress is designed so you can’t defend yourself with your sword in your right hand and your shield in your left (take that, lefty haters – we ARE good for something!), I ate ridiculously cheap and delicious food (3 euros for a glass of sangria, two tapas and some paella? WELL OKAY THEN IF YOU INSIST), went on a tapas crawl, and, of course, did the famous Al Hambra. I was actually quite worried that I wouldn’t be able to do Al Hambra, after being told you often have to book weeks in advance or get there reeeaaaallly early. So I tried to get there reeeaaaalllly early, but for me, really early ended up being more like 9:30. Oooops. But luckily, there was almost no line for tickets and I got a pass to the castle at the perfect time! I also met a stray kitty who lived in Al Hambra (highlight of my day? Maybe a little), and a little girl who, upon hearing me Speak, asked (in Spanish) “Do you speak English?” and when I said yes, replied with the proudest “Me too!” I have EVER heard in my life and it was adorable. And, you know, Al Hambra was good too – centuries-old castles and jaw dropping architecture and a totally unique Islamic-Christian mix of restorations. All that jazz.
All too soon, I had to board my first of about a billion Spanish buses, this one from Granada to Malaga. Malaga is big, and cosmopolitan, and has a huge fortress similar to the Al Hambra, although nowhere near as grand. Picasso spent some of his childhood there (and trust me, Malaga won’t let you forget it), and there’s some beautiful architecture. Don’t get me wrong, this is all fab, but the highlight for me was something that probably didn’t draw many international tourists, particularly those whose Spanish vocabulary is pretty similar to that of a three-year-old – Les Miserables! Or Los Miserables, technically, but same diff. I was off on what seemed like the world’s longest ATM search, and what did I stumble upon but a) the largest theatre in Malaga and b) the touring truck for the Spanish tour of Les Miserables! Anyone who knows me knows that the fact that it was in Spanish would hardly be a deterrent, seeing as a) I know the English score off by heart so could always follow the story and b) I totes speak some Spanish. Enough to know that ‘Chicas Guapas’ was the Spanish version of the song ‘Lovely Ladies’, anyway. And really, do you need any more than that?
On to Madrid! Other than that it was the capital of Spain, that my mother enjoyed her time there, and that the area I was staying in might or might not be “sketchy” (thanks random guy in my hostel room in Toulouse for scaring me about that), I came with very little knowledge about this city. I learned a lot though. I learned that Madrid has the third highest pickpocketing rates in the world (after Rome and Barcelona), I learned that El Museo del Jamon (the ham museum) is a real food chain in Madrid and you can buy awesome sandwiches there, although it’s not actually a museum dedicated to celebrating ham 🙁 I met the lovely Hannah (who will also feature later in this blog so WATCH THIS SPACE) and Cara, and saw the Reina Sofia, the Prado, and El Parque del Retiro, which is an amazing park, bigger than Central Park in NYC, with boats and restaurants and art installations and crystal palaces (which, okay, is actually just a big glass building, but they CALL it a crystal palace. Those sneaky Spaniards).
My favourite things in Madrid were the royal palace (NOT the one made of glass in a park), where the art, architecture and artefacts were stunningly beautiful and opulent, and the Teatro Real. This theatre is actually incredible because (I hope this is all true, because these factoids are testing my memory a little bit), although it was destroyed various times, often because of fire, they insisted on keeping the original design, even as productions became bigger, sets became more complex, and backstage space became a necessity. The stage there has no wings, which makes set changes, at least the kind we see most commonly in Australia, impossible. To cope with this, the theatre has been built up vertically – sets are kept below the stage and brought up to the stage at the right time (usually during an interval) using a kind of wheeling motion, which is run by crazy gears. Even if you’re not a giant theatre nerd like me, I’d recommend doing a tour here, and, if you can, seeing a show. If you’re under 26 and you book at the last minute, the tickets are something crazy like 90% off, so really you’re SAVING money (this attitude to theatre/food may or may not be why I am broke).
OH and I went to the last night of the Pride Festival in Madrid and we got alcoholic milkshakes and crazy donut burgers (which are basically regular burgers but they use donuts instead of bread).
Barcelonaaaa! I had been so excited for Barcelona for so long, partially because I had heard great things from everyone who had been, and partially because I was about to be reunited with Sarah, my theatre-soulmate who I met in London at the start of my trip, who very graciously invited me to join her on the last leg of her trip. Sarah is a kickass individual, a Shakespearean and classical actor, and… did I already say she was kickass? It’s very, very true, anyway. Barcelona has some amazing things to offer (although I must admit that Sarah and I were lazy and didn’t necessarily see them all). We DID however do a walking tour, an opera house tour (the Barcelona Opera House is another must-see – it has the highest seating capacity of any in Europe, and its original private funding means it’s incredibly over-the-top and glamorous – although I think it often gets overlooked in favour of Gaudi architecture and beaches and drinks where they offer you free shots.) Honestly, thanks to a few creepy experiences with fairly insistent members of the opposite sex which made it difficult to go out at night, I didn’t enjoy Barcelona as much as I expected, but there were plenty of things that I did love – the beach (although they import their sand! Leave Egypt’s sand alone and get your own, Barcelona. Jeez.), the aforementioned opera house, and the incredible fresh food market, where you can buy everything from icecream to complete, made-before-your-eyes-from-fresh-market-produce meals, to delightful pastries, to pretty much every variety of fresh juice ever in some very pronounced colours that I don’t think are possible in the natural world. And of course, spending time with Sarah was a blast. We swapped national delicacy stories (I now REALLY want to try poutine), went to nationally-premiering operas in accidentally matching ensembles and looked like the cutest couple ever, and I introduced Sarah to churros! I am very lucky to have met her.
After Barcelona, I said goodbye to Spain, hopefully not for the last time, and headed to Portugal. Portugal was the first location on my trip where I didn’t speak the language at all (although, as mentioned previously, my Spanish isn’t, you know, great at the moment). I taught myself the basics (hello, thank you, excuse me), and hoped that what I’d read about the Portuguese having exceptional English was true, even though I hate being the “Um, excuse me, DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH?!” tourist. Honestly, I don’t know if the Portuguese speak better English than anywhere else, but we got by, which gave me a new confidence in my mime skills (seriously, people underestimate that skill. It should be a Year 12 course or something). My hostel was tiny, and hidden away on the third story of a run-down apartment building, which made me nervous, but it was actually a charming place, with the best hostel breakfast I’d ever seen. Seriously, the day I left, I stuffed like 4 mini-muffins in my bag. But they were so nice! And individually wrapped! They were basically ASKING me to swipe some for the road.
My first full day in Lisbon I spent doing a quirky, lovely walking tour with a woman who, in telling me how to get 1 euro sandwiches (they’re made with pork and called Bifanas, and they really hit the spot) and where to find the best chocolate cake in Lisbon, won me over completely and easily, and this tour was also where I met a bunch of other travellers, one of whom had a birthday to celebrate that night! And what better way than with 3 euro cocktails? In Portugal it’s legal to drink on the street, and, when all the bars close at 2am (this is when the clubs open), the promptly kick you out to do just that. With everyone drinking on the street though, the street BECOMES your bar! Only there are no bathrooms, so watch out for that. Drug dealers are also REALLY forward in Lisbon; generally I think I give off a pretty powerful goody-two-shoes vibe, but here people were offering me drugs left, right and centre! It wasn’t scary, because it was in populated areas in the middle of the day with policemen nearby, but it was definitely an experience. Is this what non-goody-two-shoes people feel like all the time?
Anyway, this blog is getting absurdly long, so to summarise, I also visited a beach town near Lisbon for a day trip, went to MODA, their fashion and design museum (which, I’m just saying, had a LOT of chairs that I’m pretty sure I’ve seen at my crazy grandma’s house), ate about 6 catrillion custard tarts (it’s LISBON guys. If you’re not eating nata, you’re persona non grata. I think that’s in the national anthem there.), browsed at some supercute vintage shops but didn’t buy anything because RyanAir will sell my soul to the highest bidder if I exceed their 20kg baggage limit, and saw the world’s most expensive chapel with the world’s most excitable volunteer to insist on explaining all the information panels to me (even though they were in English. But still, thanks guy!
And so that was Spain and Portugal! Stay tuned (hopefully not for too long this time) for a painfully-detailed recount of my second UK excursion. I’d promise to make that one shorter, but we know I won’t keep that promise. Can I just promise to throw in some light comedy to make the length a little more bearable? And to keep capitalising important words so you can just skim the blog and tell me you read it to protect my self-esteem? Bueno.