Here's how it is to be inside my head right now.
Second #1: I can't wait to go home and see everyone.
Second #2: I'm not ready to leave. I'm never going to stop crying when I get on the plane home.
Second #3: Just don't think about it.
And then it starts all over again.
For my last weekend in France, I spent the night in Toulouse with a few friends. Toulouse is one of France's largest cities and has a very diverse and mostly student population. We found several second-hand clothing stores, coffee shops and bookstores, and the atmosphere kind of made me wish I had studied abroad in Toulouse instead of Pau. Our art history teacher met us at the train station and showed us around the city's curvy streets and pink brick buildings, then left us to do our own thing in the late afternoon. We drank vin chaud (hot spiced wine) at the crowded Christmas markets in the town center, ate at a nice Indian restaurant for dinner, then got a drink at the bar next door.
The bar seemed to be popular with the young crowd, and it wasn't long before a large group of French people invited us over to their table. So cool! And it was during the conversation with them that I realized I could finally understand everything perfectly, and communicate without any problems. I may never speak French as well as I want to (especially only having lived in France for three and a half months), but I have made amazing progress with my comprehension and vocabulary since I arrived in September.
Toulouse is a place I would like to visit again. I'm glad I went this weekend, especially since it's only two hours east of Pau by train. When I got back on Sunday afternoon, I decorated the Christmas tree with my family and we ate another raclette for dinner. I believe I've eaten four times my weight in cheese while I've been in France.
It's pleasant evenings like that that keep me from packing my suitcase. The pulling of clothes from my closet is something I have trouble facing.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Friday, December 10, 2010
14 Avenue Montilleul
The fireplace and its heat on my toes; my hands in a bowl of raw pastry crust; the spiral staircase leading to my room; the smell of baking cheese and potatoes; mugs of tea in the upstairs kitchen; sunlight filtered through my yellow drapes, coloring the air in my room like butter or gold; fast piano music; Michèle's radio in the morning; rain on the roof; family pictures, maps, dictionaries, books; the rich, lively colors of the walls and furniture; the green shutters and willow tree; raindrops on my bike seat; the echo of your fingers drumming on your desk; the warmth of my down comforter; the purple silhouette of the Pyrénées from my window; the drying of dishes; French words running like piano music from your lips
Monday, December 6, 2010
Skiing in the Pyrénées
While I spend my last two weeks in Pau excited to return home and increasingly heartbroken over leaving, I'm trying to enjoy every minute of my time here.
I went skiing with my host family in the Pyrénées on Saturday. Michèle, Charles and I drove an hour to their tiny apartment on the slopes on Friday night, then Philippe and Dénis (my host dad and other host brother) joined us Saturday morning. At dinner on Friday night, I found what might be my new favorite French food: raclette. This monster is a hunk of cheese that you melt under a heat lamp and spread over potatoes and various gourmet pork products. I think I may have gained about 10 kilos just from dinner, but I don't even care. If I ever see raclette on a restaurant menu again, I'm getting it.
Saturday was the first day of the ski season, so there were a ton of people on the mountain. There was also a lot of fresh powder, which I got to know quite well because I spent a lot of the day tumbling face-first into the snow. I haven't fallen at all the past 5 times I've been skiing in Colorado, but for some reason, I had a really hard time staying upright in the Pyrénées. Maybe I suck. Or maybe I can blame the snow, which is more humid and heavy in the Pyrénées than in Colorado. All members of my host family are excellent skiers, so I was taken on my first-ever rouge (rouge=black on Colorado trails=basically cliffs with moguls), and got well acquainted with useful French skiing vocabulary such as dérape (slide), chasse-neige (wedge), and virage exagéré (exaggerated turn).
Despite spending half the day on my face, I still had a great time. How amazing is it that I got to skiing on the other side of the world? The views of the mountains and towns below were incredible, and it was a sunny day without falling snow or rain. We stayed until about 5:00 in the afternoon, then headed home.
I went skiing with my host family in the Pyrénées on Saturday. Michèle, Charles and I drove an hour to their tiny apartment on the slopes on Friday night, then Philippe and Dénis (my host dad and other host brother) joined us Saturday morning. At dinner on Friday night, I found what might be my new favorite French food: raclette. This monster is a hunk of cheese that you melt under a heat lamp and spread over potatoes and various gourmet pork products. I think I may have gained about 10 kilos just from dinner, but I don't even care. If I ever see raclette on a restaurant menu again, I'm getting it.
Saturday was the first day of the ski season, so there were a ton of people on the mountain. There was also a lot of fresh powder, which I got to know quite well because I spent a lot of the day tumbling face-first into the snow. I haven't fallen at all the past 5 times I've been skiing in Colorado, but for some reason, I had a really hard time staying upright in the Pyrénées. Maybe I suck. Or maybe I can blame the snow, which is more humid and heavy in the Pyrénées than in Colorado. All members of my host family are excellent skiers, so I was taken on my first-ever rouge (rouge=black on Colorado trails=basically cliffs with moguls), and got well acquainted with useful French skiing vocabulary such as dérape (slide), chasse-neige (wedge), and virage exagéré (exaggerated turn).
Despite spending half the day on my face, I still had a great time. How amazing is it that I got to skiing on the other side of the world? The views of the mountains and towns below were incredible, and it was a sunny day without falling snow or rain. We stayed until about 5:00 in the afternoon, then headed home.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Eurotrip, Part 3: Rome
Only two days after I returned from Amsterdam and Brussels, I took a plane to Rome with my friend Danielle. I was expecting a city covered in the brown dust of ancient ruins, pushy men, and no English speakers. What I actually experienced was--pleasantly--quite the opposite. We spent the better part of the evening before our departure planning where we wanted to go each day. Thank god for my host mom, travel guides and maps. My host mom is an art history teacher and has been to Rome numerous times, so she helped us figure out what was worth visiting. We were thus able to spend one day in each quarter of Rome and (mostly) avoided riding the Metro or bus across town multiple times in a day.
Rome is ridiculous, but awesome. There's a Catholic church on almost every corner, and after you've visited two or three, the rest start running together in your memory as an endless collection of gold and marble statues. At first, Danielle and I felt overwhelmed with the sheer amount of art and buildings there was to see. When you're faced with a million options, how can you pick just one? We relied heavily on maps and travel guide recommendations, but we often started out in the wrong direction before realizing yes, that gelateria we wanted was indeed the other way. It takes a while to acquaint yourself with a new city.
On Thursday, we visited the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica. Not only did we get up early to avoid huge crowds (which is, by the way, impossible), but it was absolutely pouring rain, and we couldn't find the entrance to the museum because the thing is so enormous. By the time we got inside, we were cranky and our clothes were very damp. We went in the Sistine Chapel first, which was much smaller and darker than I had anticipated. We then attempted to navigate the huge maze that is the Vatican--rooms and rooms of intricately decorated ceilings, marble floors, gold cherubs, and Renaissance/Baroque era statues. After a good three or four hours wandering around, we moved on to St. Peter's Basilica for even more Catholic bling sightseeing. I can see why Martin Luther wanted to move away from the excess of the Church in the 1500s. The churches in Rome are like palaces.
That night, we ate dinner in the Trastavere neighborhood. The narrow streets were almost too picturesque; it was a series of winding cobblestone paths lined with tall, butter-yellow buildings, little shops, and fountains in every piazza. Classic Italy. We found a cramped, lively restaurant for our al dente pasta dinner, complete with live accordion music. And as I poured myself another glass of Chianti and mopped up the remains of my pasta sauce with foccacia bread, I asked myself to remember that moment forever.
On Friday, we visited the Coliseum and ancient ruins. The thing about Rome is that it's a great mix of history--half the city is ancient Roman, and the other half is Renaissance/Baroque. You walk down a street with leather shoe shops and cell phone stores, turn a corner, and suddenly you're standing in front of a building with 1,000 years of history in its walls. And stuff like that is everywhere.
The Coliseum was impressive, but I enjoyed the Palatine and Roman Forum more. We had nothing but sunshine after that rainy day at the Vatican, so our visit lasted several hours. The Palatine was like a park dotted with ruins, and there were several places to catch wide views of the entire city.
Saturday, we visited the central part of town, including the Pantheon (less impressive than I was expecting) and a Medieval church from 1100 AD. We also toured the Palazzo Massimo, which holds some of the best-preserved frescoes in the world. Last on the list was the impressive Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a huge art gallery that has housed one of Italy's most powerful families for centuries. We ate dinner near the Trevi Fountain at a restaurant with deliciously cheesy pizza and fresh buffalo mozzarella.
On our last day, we visited possibly the weirdest church I have ever encountered in Barberini Square. What would appear to be just another church houses an exhibit of 4,000 monk skeletons in the basement. Basically you walk through a series of 6 rooms and marvel at how screwed up this one monk must have been to dedicate his life to arranging skeletons into chandeliers, archways and ceiling decor. Unfortunately there was a no-photo policy, so if you'd like to creep yourself out, click here.
We didn't spend any late nights out in Rome, as it seemed like less of a party city and more like a place to see during the day. We didn't encounter any pushy Italian men, and English was widely spoken. The only complaints I have are:
1) The water. Restaurants don't serve tap, yet they'll charge you as much as 5 Euros for a bottle.
2) Public transportation. There are only two Metro lines that stop running at 11:00 p.m. and only cover the north and south parts of the city. The bus system isn't too stellar either--not clearly marked or mapped anywhere. Thus we did a lot of walking.
3) Fiumicino Airport. DEAR GOD. The security line wrapped all the way around the airport twice and left us scrambling and stressed to make our flight back to Pau on time. And then when we got to the gate and stood in line for another half an hour, we found out our plane was going to be delayed another two hours. And there was a huge group of French boy and girl scouts getting on our plane. We didn't get back to Pau until 1:00 a.m. (as usual, Charles was way too nice and picked us up in the car), at which point I was ready to kill someone or drop dead from fatigue.
Rome is ridiculous, but awesome. There's a Catholic church on almost every corner, and after you've visited two or three, the rest start running together in your memory as an endless collection of gold and marble statues. At first, Danielle and I felt overwhelmed with the sheer amount of art and buildings there was to see. When you're faced with a million options, how can you pick just one? We relied heavily on maps and travel guide recommendations, but we often started out in the wrong direction before realizing yes, that gelateria we wanted was indeed the other way. It takes a while to acquaint yourself with a new city.
On Thursday, we visited the Vatican Museum and St. Peter's Basilica. Not only did we get up early to avoid huge crowds (which is, by the way, impossible), but it was absolutely pouring rain, and we couldn't find the entrance to the museum because the thing is so enormous. By the time we got inside, we were cranky and our clothes were very damp. We went in the Sistine Chapel first, which was much smaller and darker than I had anticipated. We then attempted to navigate the huge maze that is the Vatican--rooms and rooms of intricately decorated ceilings, marble floors, gold cherubs, and Renaissance/Baroque era statues. After a good three or four hours wandering around, we moved on to St. Peter's Basilica for even more Catholic bling sightseeing. I can see why Martin Luther wanted to move away from the excess of the Church in the 1500s. The churches in Rome are like palaces.
That night, we ate dinner in the Trastavere neighborhood. The narrow streets were almost too picturesque; it was a series of winding cobblestone paths lined with tall, butter-yellow buildings, little shops, and fountains in every piazza. Classic Italy. We found a cramped, lively restaurant for our al dente pasta dinner, complete with live accordion music. And as I poured myself another glass of Chianti and mopped up the remains of my pasta sauce with foccacia bread, I asked myself to remember that moment forever.
On Friday, we visited the Coliseum and ancient ruins. The thing about Rome is that it's a great mix of history--half the city is ancient Roman, and the other half is Renaissance/Baroque. You walk down a street with leather shoe shops and cell phone stores, turn a corner, and suddenly you're standing in front of a building with 1,000 years of history in its walls. And stuff like that is everywhere.
The Coliseum was impressive, but I enjoyed the Palatine and Roman Forum more. We had nothing but sunshine after that rainy day at the Vatican, so our visit lasted several hours. The Palatine was like a park dotted with ruins, and there were several places to catch wide views of the entire city.
Saturday, we visited the central part of town, including the Pantheon (less impressive than I was expecting) and a Medieval church from 1100 AD. We also toured the Palazzo Massimo, which holds some of the best-preserved frescoes in the world. Last on the list was the impressive Galleria Doria Pamphilj, a huge art gallery that has housed one of Italy's most powerful families for centuries. We ate dinner near the Trevi Fountain at a restaurant with deliciously cheesy pizza and fresh buffalo mozzarella.
On our last day, we visited possibly the weirdest church I have ever encountered in Barberini Square. What would appear to be just another church houses an exhibit of 4,000 monk skeletons in the basement. Basically you walk through a series of 6 rooms and marvel at how screwed up this one monk must have been to dedicate his life to arranging skeletons into chandeliers, archways and ceiling decor. Unfortunately there was a no-photo policy, so if you'd like to creep yourself out, click here.
We didn't spend any late nights out in Rome, as it seemed like less of a party city and more like a place to see during the day. We didn't encounter any pushy Italian men, and English was widely spoken. The only complaints I have are:
1) The water. Restaurants don't serve tap, yet they'll charge you as much as 5 Euros for a bottle.
2) Public transportation. There are only two Metro lines that stop running at 11:00 p.m. and only cover the north and south parts of the city. The bus system isn't too stellar either--not clearly marked or mapped anywhere. Thus we did a lot of walking.
3) Fiumicino Airport. DEAR GOD. The security line wrapped all the way around the airport twice and left us scrambling and stressed to make our flight back to Pau on time. And then when we got to the gate and stood in line for another half an hour, we found out our plane was going to be delayed another two hours. And there was a huge group of French boy and girl scouts getting on our plane. We didn't get back to Pau until 1:00 a.m. (as usual, Charles was way too nice and picked us up in the car), at which point I was ready to kill someone or drop dead from fatigue.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
The first Thanksgiving I've ever missed
Today is Thanksgiving.
I didn't think I would miss it too much. But when you have 50 other Americans wishing you Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving, and it's nearly impossible to find turkey, cranberries and pumpkin in France, and your family is on the other side of the world, and you feel like the rain clouds are permanently cemented over the city
Yeah, you miss it. Of course you miss it.
I didn't think I would miss it too much. But when you have 50 other Americans wishing you Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving Happy Thanksgiving, and it's nearly impossible to find turkey, cranberries and pumpkin in France, and your family is on the other side of the world, and you feel like the rain clouds are permanently cemented over the city
Yeah, you miss it. Of course you miss it.
Eurotrip, Part 2: Amsterdam and Belgium
Show of hands, who LOVES getting up before dawn to catch a plane or train?
No one?
Oh good, me either. So let me recount for you the morning we left for Amsterdam:
My friends Jessica and Lindsey met me at my host family's house at 5:30 a.m. so we could share a taxi to the train station. However, I didn't know taxis at such an early hour required night-before reservation, so I called the taxi service and got a driver yelling at me in fast French to try again in 15 minutes. Our train was due at 6:15, and taxis can be rather undependable anyway. Nor were there any buses running. So the three of us ran (already weighed down with heavy backpacks and bags) to the nearest free bike rental station, spent a frustrating five minutes trying to figure out how to detach the bike from its post, and then hauled ass via bike to the train station. And on the way up a huge hill, one of the pedals broke and completely fell off my bike, leaving nothing but a metal bar for my right foot. And then we had to find a place to leave our bikes for the weekend (hoping they wouldn't be stolen) and run another 15 minutes down to the train station.
After a solid 25 minutes of Ironman-style running and biking, we made it to the train station with 5 minutes to spare.
But there's more!
We stopped in Paris to change trains, but the stations were nearly on opposite sides of the city and we only had 25 minutes to catch the next train. So our group of six ran through the Montparnasse station (yelling many an "excusez-moi" at people ahead), hopped on the Métro, and ran through the Paris Nord station. Made that train with two minutes to spare.
I don't think I've ever run that hard to catch anything in my life. But in retrospect, Amsterdam made up for it all. I absolutely adore that city, and I WILL go back someday. Fall was in full bloom, so for the two days we were there we caught the stunning effect of gold trees lining the canals. The colorful rectangular houses and cruiser bikes completed the image and felt like classic northern Europe to me. It rained for a good part of the voyage, but we caught some sun during our canal tour on the last day. We stayed in the city's most popular hostel (primarily a bar, secondarily a place to sleep), which allowed us to meet some great people from all over the world. The first night, we barely even left the hostel because it seemed like the best place to be. The next day, we toured the Van Gogh museum and a cocktail museum, coffee shops, and walked through the red light district.
For those of you that still live under a rock, marijuana and prostitution are both legal in Amsterdam. Despite the utter weirdness of walking down a street and seeing underwear-clad women bouncing in front of dimly lit windows, I never felt like the city was an out-of-control party. Maybe the incessant pot smoking makes everyone a human vegetable, you might reason. Yet I'd say that's not it at all. Virtually no one smokes in the streets, only in coffee shops, if even there. I didn't encounter a single person who seemed stoned, and no one made a huge deal out of the pot. Amsterdam seemed to confirm that abuse of a substance or practice does not result from its legalization. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I left Amsterdam feeling as if I had not seen or spent enough time exploring the city. We wanted to stay a third night, but we already had reservations for a hostel in Brussels. So we got back on the train.
In truth, I didn't like Belgium very much--or at least Brussels. As my friend Summer put it (and I think she's right), the Belgians are a rougher people than the French. Instead of the black scarves and small-framed figures of France, Belgium boasts dreadlocks, hoodies and big bones. Economic problems between the French-speaking and Flemish parts of the country reflect in filthy streets and buildings coated in pollution. Put it all against the backdrop of a cold, gray sky, and you have the reason why there's not much to do here except eat.
And eat I did! Beer, waffles, chocolate, more chocolate, more beer...
We took a night train back to Pau, and although no hauling ass was necessary this time, we were all exhausted. I arrived in Pau at 7:20 in the morning, with only two days to get ready for my trip to Rome.
No one?
Oh good, me either. So let me recount for you the morning we left for Amsterdam:
My friends Jessica and Lindsey met me at my host family's house at 5:30 a.m. so we could share a taxi to the train station. However, I didn't know taxis at such an early hour required night-before reservation, so I called the taxi service and got a driver yelling at me in fast French to try again in 15 minutes. Our train was due at 6:15, and taxis can be rather undependable anyway. Nor were there any buses running. So the three of us ran (already weighed down with heavy backpacks and bags) to the nearest free bike rental station, spent a frustrating five minutes trying to figure out how to detach the bike from its post, and then hauled ass via bike to the train station. And on the way up a huge hill, one of the pedals broke and completely fell off my bike, leaving nothing but a metal bar for my right foot. And then we had to find a place to leave our bikes for the weekend (hoping they wouldn't be stolen) and run another 15 minutes down to the train station.
After a solid 25 minutes of Ironman-style running and biking, we made it to the train station with 5 minutes to spare.
But there's more!
We stopped in Paris to change trains, but the stations were nearly on opposite sides of the city and we only had 25 minutes to catch the next train. So our group of six ran through the Montparnasse station (yelling many an "excusez-moi" at people ahead), hopped on the Métro, and ran through the Paris Nord station. Made that train with two minutes to spare.
I don't think I've ever run that hard to catch anything in my life. But in retrospect, Amsterdam made up for it all. I absolutely adore that city, and I WILL go back someday. Fall was in full bloom, so for the two days we were there we caught the stunning effect of gold trees lining the canals. The colorful rectangular houses and cruiser bikes completed the image and felt like classic northern Europe to me. It rained for a good part of the voyage, but we caught some sun during our canal tour on the last day. We stayed in the city's most popular hostel (primarily a bar, secondarily a place to sleep), which allowed us to meet some great people from all over the world. The first night, we barely even left the hostel because it seemed like the best place to be. The next day, we toured the Van Gogh museum and a cocktail museum, coffee shops, and walked through the red light district.
For those of you that still live under a rock, marijuana and prostitution are both legal in Amsterdam. Despite the utter weirdness of walking down a street and seeing underwear-clad women bouncing in front of dimly lit windows, I never felt like the city was an out-of-control party. Maybe the incessant pot smoking makes everyone a human vegetable, you might reason. Yet I'd say that's not it at all. Virtually no one smokes in the streets, only in coffee shops, if even there. I didn't encounter a single person who seemed stoned, and no one made a huge deal out of the pot. Amsterdam seemed to confirm that abuse of a substance or practice does not result from its legalization. Stick that in your pipe and smoke it.
I left Amsterdam feeling as if I had not seen or spent enough time exploring the city. We wanted to stay a third night, but we already had reservations for a hostel in Brussels. So we got back on the train.
In truth, I didn't like Belgium very much--or at least Brussels. As my friend Summer put it (and I think she's right), the Belgians are a rougher people than the French. Instead of the black scarves and small-framed figures of France, Belgium boasts dreadlocks, hoodies and big bones. Economic problems between the French-speaking and Flemish parts of the country reflect in filthy streets and buildings coated in pollution. Put it all against the backdrop of a cold, gray sky, and you have the reason why there's not much to do here except eat.
And eat I did! Beer, waffles, chocolate, more chocolate, more beer...
We took a night train back to Pau, and although no hauling ass was necessary this time, we were all exhausted. I arrived in Pau at 7:20 in the morning, with only two days to get ready for my trip to Rome.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Barcelona
I remember as a teenager, my friend showed me pictures of her vacation in Barcelona, Spain. Her pictures of the buildings were some of the most interesting things I had ever seen, and from then on, Barcelona was on the list of places I needed to see in my life. What better time to go than during my study abroad, just a 6 hour drive away?
I went with 5 other girls, so we rented a stick shift minivan and spent three days driving and sightseeing. The only problem was that I was the only 21-year-old (the minimum age for rental car driving) who could also drive a manual transmission, so guess who sat in the driver's seat the whole time? I studied up on road rules in France and Spain for a good two hours before we left, but surprisingly, driving in Europe is not that much different than driving in Colorado. I drove through the Pyrénées and small towns without even a near accident, but I'm still relieved we had a GPS navigator and left the car at the Barcelona airport instead of driving it in the city. We took a train the rest of the way.
Side note: If ever in your life you have a chance to see the Pyrénées during the last week of October, please, please take it. The mountains were beautiful beyond words; absolutely covered in gold and red trees. I will try to find some pictures taken from friends' cameras.
Barcelona is the #1 pickpocketing capital of the world, so from the moment we got on the train, I was clutching my bags tightly to my chest and watching everyone around me. I even wore one of those dorky wallets that hangs around your neck to keep all my money and passport safe. Luckily, none of us had anything stolen. I'm not sure whether theft isn't quite as bad anymore, or if our vigilance really did make a difference.
That night, we ate a long, delicious meal of tapas, paella and Spanish wine in a crowded restaurant on the main street, La Rambla. We got up the next morning to see the architecture around the city. Antoni Gaudi, who constructed his nature-inspired buildings in the late 1800s/early 1900s, never even finished his most famous work, the Sagrada Familia church. It's still under construction. We were able to see the majority of Gaudi's works that day, but I think we did miss out on a few (and tours of museums and churches were extremely expensive, so we only went inside once). Nevertheless, the architecture is pure eye candy--curvy, colorful buildings covered in intricate mosaics. Finding these buildings in random places throughout the city felt like going on a treasure hunt.
It's hard to name just one of Gaudi's works as my favorite, but I loved our walk through Park Güell because it reminded me of a life-size Candyland game. Flute and guitar players filled the crowded place with fairy tale-like music, and mosaic benches lined the main courtyard (which doubled as the roof of a second lower level...check out pictures to get a better idea).
Casa Milà earns a close second to the Park as my favorite Gaudi destination. In addition to a Gaudi museum, you can also access the roof to see even more bizarre, beautiful architecture and 360-degree views of Barcelona. We got there at sunset, and the way the pink and purple sky illuminated the white mosaic roof sculptures can only be described as breathtaking.
That night, we went out for another long Spanish dinner. The Spaniards party LATE. We went into a department store at 9:30 p.m. and the number of people there made me think it was actually 10:00 on a Saturday morning. People don't start dinner until about 10:30 p.m., so by the time we left the restaurant it was already midnight. We went to a bar on La Rambla but didn't stay long. At one point, I was standing outside next to the sidewalk on the narrow street, and a car ran into my ankle! I wasn't hurt, but I still screamed from the shock of having been hit by car. The driver gave me a weird look and drove off. I put ice on my foot when we got back to the hostel, but it was still a little swollen and purple for the next week.
Unforunately, we didn't have enough time to see everything in Barcelona. We drove back to Pau on Monday, and all of us were tired and starving by the end of the trip. I never thought I would miss fast food, but when your dining choices along the autoroute consist of sparse, run-down Spanish restaurants, you start dreaming about anything besides gas station chips and cookies.
I went with 5 other girls, so we rented a stick shift minivan and spent three days driving and sightseeing. The only problem was that I was the only 21-year-old (the minimum age for rental car driving) who could also drive a manual transmission, so guess who sat in the driver's seat the whole time? I studied up on road rules in France and Spain for a good two hours before we left, but surprisingly, driving in Europe is not that much different than driving in Colorado. I drove through the Pyrénées and small towns without even a near accident, but I'm still relieved we had a GPS navigator and left the car at the Barcelona airport instead of driving it in the city. We took a train the rest of the way.
Side note: If ever in your life you have a chance to see the Pyrénées during the last week of October, please, please take it. The mountains were beautiful beyond words; absolutely covered in gold and red trees. I will try to find some pictures taken from friends' cameras.
Barcelona is the #1 pickpocketing capital of the world, so from the moment we got on the train, I was clutching my bags tightly to my chest and watching everyone around me. I even wore one of those dorky wallets that hangs around your neck to keep all my money and passport safe. Luckily, none of us had anything stolen. I'm not sure whether theft isn't quite as bad anymore, or if our vigilance really did make a difference.
That night, we ate a long, delicious meal of tapas, paella and Spanish wine in a crowded restaurant on the main street, La Rambla. We got up the next morning to see the architecture around the city. Antoni Gaudi, who constructed his nature-inspired buildings in the late 1800s/early 1900s, never even finished his most famous work, the Sagrada Familia church. It's still under construction. We were able to see the majority of Gaudi's works that day, but I think we did miss out on a few (and tours of museums and churches were extremely expensive, so we only went inside once). Nevertheless, the architecture is pure eye candy--curvy, colorful buildings covered in intricate mosaics. Finding these buildings in random places throughout the city felt like going on a treasure hunt.
It's hard to name just one of Gaudi's works as my favorite, but I loved our walk through Park Güell because it reminded me of a life-size Candyland game. Flute and guitar players filled the crowded place with fairy tale-like music, and mosaic benches lined the main courtyard (which doubled as the roof of a second lower level...check out pictures to get a better idea).
Casa Milà earns a close second to the Park as my favorite Gaudi destination. In addition to a Gaudi museum, you can also access the roof to see even more bizarre, beautiful architecture and 360-degree views of Barcelona. We got there at sunset, and the way the pink and purple sky illuminated the white mosaic roof sculptures can only be described as breathtaking.
That night, we went out for another long Spanish dinner. The Spaniards party LATE. We went into a department store at 9:30 p.m. and the number of people there made me think it was actually 10:00 on a Saturday morning. People don't start dinner until about 10:30 p.m., so by the time we left the restaurant it was already midnight. We went to a bar on La Rambla but didn't stay long. At one point, I was standing outside next to the sidewalk on the narrow street, and a car ran into my ankle! I wasn't hurt, but I still screamed from the shock of having been hit by car. The driver gave me a weird look and drove off. I put ice on my foot when we got back to the hostel, but it was still a little swollen and purple for the next week.
Unforunately, we didn't have enough time to see everything in Barcelona. We drove back to Pau on Monday, and all of us were tired and starving by the end of the trip. I never thought I would miss fast food, but when your dining choices along the autoroute consist of sparse, run-down Spanish restaurants, you start dreaming about anything besides gas station chips and cookies.
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