The Portable Julia

Banff Shenanigans - Day Two

2010-05-28T21:06:00.000-07:00

6:15am: I'm up! Shower and dress presentably. What colour is my poster again? Pink shirt and baby blue necklace means I am ready to snub my teachers at today's poster session. Grandma is up a few minutes later and we leave for an early, leisurely breakfast in the amazing Vistas restaurant. Cinnamon raisin french toast with fresh fruit, eggs, and hashbrowns makes me happy. The three cups of coffee don't hurt either.

8:30am: First sessions begin. Two talks, one "nutrition break", three more talks. Nutrition my foot - welcome to scone and danish heaven. One cup of coffee per two talks = heart-stopping stimulation. Good thing too, since I received an oddly enthusiastic endorsement in my supervisor's morning talk. My labmates tell me I am going to be mobbed at the poster session and I prepare myself for a lynching.

12pm: Lunch in the beautiful restaurant again. Hello broccoli soup and delicious salads. Cherry poppyseed torte? Mocha cheesecake? Maple walnut ice cream? Pass the insulin please. We stroll into the poster session late because a lunch like that requires more than a half an hour to enjoy.

1pm: Uh-oh. There are many labels missing from my poster. Also, the pink seems to be warding away many of the male faculty members who expressed interest in the project initially. They catch sight of my pink shirt and the pink headings and then make a beeline for the other end of Cpx row. Except for the structural biologist with a vendetta against periplasmic-facing OM lipoproteins ... when he is satisfied that I don't know the answer to his questions, he leaves to grill a labmate. Surprisingly, the poster session makes me feel like I know what I'm doing. Inappropriate jokes mean it's time to leave.

3pm: The pool is smaller than I thought, not that I need a large pool for my skills. I throw deflated yellow balls at Grandma's head while she swims laps and make pathetic attempts at shooting hoops in the water. Lack of hand-eye coordination confirmed. Shampoo and body wash is PROVIDED in the showers. I am easily impressed and enjoy all of the many benefits being a patron of the Banff Centre offers.

4:30pm: We're off to Sukiyaki House for some sushi. Plum wine is a sweet aperitif. The vegetable sushi combo is ridiculously filling and ridiculously delicious. ET eats a whole mound of wasabi and everybody's stomach turns. The training chopsticks are broken out and I have to remind everyone that I am NOT Japanese. Racist bastards.

7:30pm: Back at the Max Bell Building, we're still full but I grab another cup of coffee. The first speaker is hilarious, which is great because the power fails in the middle of his talk. My attention fails by the next coffee break. Four talks at night? Really? I conclude that biofilms are just not my thing.

10:45pm: Props Pub is tiny but perfect for an informal gathering like ours. The Doppler Effect, Pynchon's novels, and words that are impossible to pronounce make their way to our conversation. More racism, more made up laughs, and scientific sexual innuendo bring us to the bottom of two pitchers before we give up and leave. RM manages to catch a terrible video of us. So much blackmail in so little time. I stay up until 2am, wishing I wasn't too drunk to write up that scholarship application.

Banff Shenanigans - Day One

2010-05-28T20:47:00.000-07:00

Hour 1. Speedy SL takes off for Red Deer before us because JI was late picking SV and I up by, maybe, five minutes. Blasting Madonna's "Like a Prayer" from a sporty blue Honda, we take off for Starbucks so that I can feel my face again. Grande soy cinnamon dolce latte secured and I am at least partly human as we take off for Banff.

Hour 2. The 90s are back for good. Ace of Base, Backstreet Boys, and N SYNC join the ride. SV may or may not have taken blackmail-worthy video from her backseat view. Grandma SL meets us outside a purple ceramic teapot gallery beside the Donut Mill for a brief stretch before we head for Cochrane.

Hours 3 and 4. Hanson blares through Airdrie, though the locals pretend not to notice. The four blocks of Cochrane's downtown afford us little eating choices and we settle for an Opa/Quizno's split. Guacamole means Quizno's trumps Subway's veggie delight anyday. McKay's ice cream anyone? How can SV call herself a vegetarian when she eats flavors like "spotted cow"? I have never eaten Halo Halo, you racist bastards. I am NOT Phillipina for the umpteenth time. I choose white chocolate raspberry truffle, hailing the beginning of the end for my pancreatic beta cells.

Hour 5. Winding roads into Banff are occupied by people who like to drive on the double solid yellow line. When the signs say "Mountain sheep - next 2km", they literally mean 2km worth of mountain sheep. The Banff Center is lofty and beautiful. How could I have let so much time elapse between the last time I saw the mountains and now?

Hour 6. Sprawled on our large double (queen?) beds, Grandma and I break out the candy. Our very own Backstreet Boy joins us for some Mead, Aprikat, and sloppy ballet. Lazy is an understatement.

Hours 7 and 8. There's already mead on the carpet but none of us can bring ourselves to clean it up. Wait ... Grandma is anal enough to fight the laziness and finish off a box of mono-ply facial tissue to sop most of it up. We pull ourselves from the luxurious beds and head to registration.

Hours 9 to 12. It's an intimate meeting alright! Three ambitious talks with plenty of comic relief. Thank goodness microbiologists are so good-natured. A million samosas, cakes, squares, mousses, late spanakopita, and a glass of red wine later, Grandma and I are tucked in and ready for sleep. Our computers finally connect so we can check our e-mails (for peace of mind) and day one closes uneventfully.

The plane we almost missed

2009-08-20T14:57:00.000-07:00

We left early for Charles de Gaulle because we needed more Metro tickets to get to the airport. Without Elise's guidance, however, we were pretty lost. We bought tickets at Gare du Nord and boarded the wrong train, which took us in the right direction but not all the way to the airport. We disembarked when somebody said this train does not go to Charles de Gaulle and we waited anxiously on the platform for an announcement that would tell us where to go. Eventually, Matt stretched his French tongue muscles and inquired of a woman,"Excuse-moi - Charles de Gaulle?" She pointed to a platform on the other side of the tracks, so we moved. I ate the rest of my millefeuilles, which was lovely even the day after. We finally boarded a very very crowded train to Charles de Gaulle and disembarked at Terminal 1, which turned out to be very wrong, regardless of what our reservation told us. We hopped back on the train and took it to Terminal 2, which passed through two parking lots en route. We walked the long way to our gate where we were greeted by familiar accents and non-accented English.

"Just note that your baggage must be transferred yourselves once you get to Toronto. This is not done for you."

Oh. I have never done that before, so good to know. We went through security painlessly and we walked through the gates. Matt and I stopped for coffee and a croissant before looking for things to spend our last euros on. Matt, ever the Grinch, refused to lend me euros to buy perfume. Instead, I bought magazines and hard candies at a Relay before we used the last French bathroom of our trip (*sniff sniff*) and then boarded our flight to Toronto. Air Canada is so smooth - I watched Doubt and attempted to watch Revolutionary Road before falling into a heap of brainless nothing in the middle. I couldn't watch Kate Winslet throw around old-school abortion tools and yell at Leo DiCaprio for his insensitivity. It was too real.

Once in Toronto, we had to go through customs and declare our items.

"The cheese and wine must be good. Everyone's bringing it through." It is France, after all. The Customs agent asked why we had spent so much, since we wrote down the wrong amount to declare. We said we had spent $1500 on gifts when we meant $500. The former amount was what we had brought total. We were waved through and Matt and I caught dinner at some diner that really liked beef and large portions. Ahh. Back in North America. We wasted time looking at ice cream and toques and novels and magazines and ... was that our plane? We heard an announcement:

"Final boarding call for flight 870 to Edmonton. Please make your way to the gate." Matt and I dashed for the gate at the end of the hall, where we were greeted by smiling flight attendants who handed me a National Post. Matt and I settled in just as the plane seemed to have small electrical problems. Matt leafed through a brochure that showed all of the Air Canada flights that go through Edmonton, which is not many.

"Edmonton is where planes go to die," I admonished. The man beside Matt in the window seat chuckled. He was our buddy that we never talked to. On the way to Edmonton, he ordered an entire pizza for himself and we watched him eat it while drinking our orange juice and coke. Ironically, the only plane we came even close to missing was the flight within Canada - from Toronto to Edmonton. Oh well.

This flight was fraught with turbulence and not even until we were over Edmonton skies. Just before we landed, we hit a frightful bout of turbulence that sent hands to the armrests and clenching. I did that on every landing, so it was no big deal for me, but Matt was grabbing the headrest of the passenger in front of him and our Window Buddy was laughing into the window as we went up, down, faster forward, up up up, and down down down down. Worst. Landing. Ever.

But we were on home soil. Matt's dad picked us up and took our bags to put them in the back of the van.

"Whoa! What smells so bad?"

Uh. Yeah. Matt's duffel. Tom made a face. It's his socks, I said innocently. It's the cheese, Matt said, glaring.

"Whatever it is, you're not bringing that into the house."

We were home.

Paris sans Planning

2009-08-20T14:36:00.001-07:00

The next morning, Elise met us at our hostel and we set out for La Defense, which none of us had been to. Unfortunately, it was rather far and a longer ride on the Metro than I had anticipated. Once we were there, however, it was quickly apparent that it was the most modern part of Paris. There was a geodesic dome and a glass sculpture ... thingy, and a gigantic thumb thrust out of the ground. Like France wanted to give the world a gigantic thumb up! Only one, though. We took some crazy pictures outside before going into the mall and starting our day of shopping. I looked but didn't find too much. Matt had a pretzel and we looked at a bunch of stores before Elise showed us Auchan, which is the best all-round grocery store ever. I went crazy and bought all of the treats, cheese, and novelties that I wanted to bring back home, including olives, and then lunch for that day. On the way out, we stopped at Zara and I bought my black and white striped tunic for 9,99 euros.

We took the Metro to Concorde, which has a lovely fairground that we watched from a shaded wall. We ate our lunch and I scarfed down my three part sandwich slowly. My juice was made of clouds. It said so on the bottle. We walked in the sunshine for a bit, then opted to sit in the shade and chat. Elise told us of the most common English phrases taught to every French student who is learning English. What's his face is in the kitchen and what's her face is in the bathroom. It can be made very dramatic, actually. We then attempted to shop in the district, but found even the chocolate stores intimidating. We contemplated heading to the Latin Quarter, but our plans were quashed when we started buying wine and realized we would be rather bogged down by so many bottles when walking around the Latin Quarter. I guess that district and the Sorbonne were left for my next time in Paris.

Elise helped me select wines to make Kir and Matt bought wine for his parents from a fancy wine cellar. Elise bought a bottle for her parents and we promised to deliver it. Which I did. Eventually. We went back to our hostel to drop off our purchases then bought macarons at the bakery just around the corner from Caulaincourt. Elise promised us that we would not regret trying the Millefeuilles, which were just what they sound like - thousands of layers of pastry and alternating custard with delicious chocolate and almonds spread thickly on top. We walked to a nearby cemetery, where what appeared to be an independent film was being shot on the stairs, and we settled on a stairway in the shade to eat. I could not finish my millefeuilles - it was too hot and too large. I wrapped it for tomorrow. We got up then, and walked farther down from Montmartre, where we stopped at a corner cafe for a drink. We were seated directly in the sun, which was uncomfortable. The bartender said it was okay to sit inside, so we switched tables. I finally had a bright red Kir Royale and a Coke Zero. Just outside of the cafe and across the street was Chicken Corner and an adorable diner called Flunch. The French are so quirky. Before taking a picture in front of Chicken Corner, I went to the bathroom, which was posh and clean. In fact, it was the cleanest bathroom I had seen in a while, minus Elise's apartment toilet. Everything was automated, including the lights and the air freshener, which turned on automatically when you entered and ... well, shut off while I was on the toilet. But energy saving is worth it, I tell you.

We stopped inside Castorama to see if anything interesting might be around, but no such luck. We walked back near our hostel, searching for places to eat. Elise picked up some grapes, which were special to her. We do the same thing - freeze them and eat them frozen because they are a real treat that way. We eventually found a place to eat and the waiter agreed to bring Elise's food out quickly. Matt and I wanted to treat her to dinner for being such a lovely hostess to us in Paris and she ate and ran for her train. We had a more leisurely dinner, which I enjoyed very very much. The dessert was the best part, even if it meant stuffing myself beyond recognition with frozen slabs of chocolate drizzled in raspberry sauce and whipped cream. Matt and I walked up the hill to burn off some of these calories and around Montmartre before settling in our hostel room and holing up for one last night in Paris. It was dark and the night was still warm and, for once, I was happy to be going home tomorrow. It was not that I disliked Europe, but more that being home would mean not feeling guilty for sitting at home, drinking tea, and reading a book. I had seen much. Now, I would sleep much.

Pleasures in Plaisirs

2009-08-20T09:24:00.000-07:00

The next morning, we had agreed to meet Elise at her house in Plaisirs-Grignon, but we had to check out of the Montclair Montmartre and back into Square Caulaincourt first. Matt went searching for showers but I just bathed in the sink in our room. The hippies were unmoveable and did not mind the sounds we made, dressing and going down for breakfast. Matt found the showers and I took breakfast while he went clean. Downstairs, a Chinese lady guarded the milk and coffee viciously - "only one roll!" - and I sat beside a good-natured boy who introduced himself as a Canadian from Waterloo. We exchanged vitals and talked about the sights we had seen. I said we were going to Plaisirs to see a friend and he said that he had not been out of the city for two weeks.

"There's too much to see, you know? But I'm getting tired of Paris. I wish I had planned to go to more cities."

I nodded. I told him a few details of Spain, which he was excited to hear, before Matt joined us and the boy decided he had better start his day. We finished breakfast, packed our stuff, and checked out. It was nice to be outside the stuffy hostel and into the cool, Paris morning air. First, I misread the map and walked the opposite way of Square Caulaincourt. Matt corrected me and we turned around and walked up the hill. Of course. You can never go downhill in Europe. Everything is an uphill struggle, really.

Finally, we dropped our stuff in the hostel and set out for the train station. We would have to go all the way down on the four and then take a train on the Ile de France side to Plaisirs Grignon. This time, neither Matt's nor my credit card worked, so we had to walk up to a cashier with a sticker on the plexiglass that protected him with a Union Jack on it and a small "I Speak English" slogan at the bottom. Thank goodness.

"Two tickets to Plaisirs-Grignon, please." He passed them without enthusiasm under the glass and pointed in the direction of the gates. We walked through to hear our train about to take off, so we ran through the doors and up the stairs to the top of the train where it was sunny and the PA system with a woman's voice was speaking beautiful French phonetics. I listened to see if I could try and divine the soft r sounds from her, but my French-Canadienne accent was not going to go away. A man sat a few seats in front of Matt and I, facing us. He was in a casual grey suit and he was well groomed. He had white hair and a soft leathery face that seemed full of rue and anxiety at this very moment. At his side was a gigantic navy blue gift bag sprouting ballet pink tissue from its opening. There was a large box of chocolates that seemed very expensive peeking out of the top of the bag. Beside the bag lay a gigantic bouquet of flowers, throwing orange, red, purple, and yellow light around the cabin. I watched as he got more and more agitated as the trip wore on.

Outside, the train to Plaisirs was not like the train into Paris from Charles de Gaulle. Ivy crept up the brick tunnelways and houses sat on green hillsides in soft sunshine. It was hot, but you could not tell. A bunch of people unloaded from the train at Versailles. The man got off a stop after Versailles, picking up his bouquet and the bag and hurrying off of the train. His face was eager. I leaned into the aisle to watch him embrace his wife. The anxiety was gone. He just couldn't wait to see her.

At Plaisirs, the end of the line, we met Elise just outside the station where she attempted to give me a hug, but I assured her that I smelled. She laughed when we tried our hand at giving her kisses on the cheek. North Americans are so absurd - they actually try to plant one on your cheek! We walked through the gates and into the parking lot to get Benoit's car. We were already late for lunch, which couldn't be helped because we were such confused and helpless little tourists. It would help if our French was more understandable, I think.

Benoit said something in French that I didn't quite catch and I asked Elise for a translation. "He said we're going to ... an open chicken restaurant." She shrugged. You'll see what he means. I guess so. The restaurant was hedge-lined and really quite perfect. Inside was cool and elegant, outside was shaded and lovely. We chose to sit outside where we took the menus and I had the menu of the day, as I have all throughout the trip. It included a zucchini and goat cheese salad, with tender meat and potatoes, accompanied by some red wine.

The infamous Kir story happens here. Kir is an aperatif taken before a meal and can be flavored with different liqueurs. (As a side note, Arrested Development makes a reference to Kir Royale in the third season. This is Kir made with champagne.) The waiter took our orders. Benoit will take peach - peche. Elise will have raspberry - framboise. I will have blackberry - mure. And for you sir? Matt looked up and said, carefully, "Fromage?" The waiter paused only for a millisecond before saying,"Ahhhh, oui. Framboise." before scooping up our menus and walking away without a single hint at Matt's mistake. He was slightly pink in the cheeks when I turned my eyes on him. Benoit was looking for chickens in the bushes.

"Did you just say fromage?" He reddened. "You know that means cheese, right?"

Everybody laughed. There was even a bleeding nose.

"He knew what I meant. They're practically the same."

Right. We ate our meal, which was admittedly the best meal I have ever had while in France, and went to Elise's apartment. She was concerned that it was messy but her living space met the conditions of "clean" in my books. Clean on a good day, really. It was nicely lit and they had a balcony that looked out over the village. The bedroom was about the size of my apartment and their shower was the size of my bathroom. They even had in-suite washer/dryer that sat under their counter and leaked wonderful blue stuff out of the bottom. Elise fretted at the stains. To me, it seemed wonderful. Even more whimsical was the bathroom, complete with decorative red toilet seat (the subject of heated debate as to how it broke) and a quirky gnome, made by Benoit's uncle. He apparently looks cross-eyed at you when you use the toilet.

Elise was generous enough to let us have expresso and sit in her clean apartment. Benoit made fun of how she broke the toilet seat, which she adamantly denied. After a good time sitting and chatting, we left for Paris, where we found a Michael Jackson tribute occurring underneath the Eiffel Tower. Matt's parents had informed us in Lisbon that both Michael Jackson and Farrah Fawcett had died on the same day. Apparently, Paris loved Michael very much (sorry Farrah) and they had imitations galore occurring on stages and in tight circles of people. Everybody for miles was dressed in black and white, with velvet blazers, white, glittering gloves, and the iconic hat. Billy Jean was droning constantly from somewhere in the crowd. We crawled through the people and onto the other side of the Seine for pictures. We watched the hubbub before deciding to get some ice cream at Berthaillard. A walk around to see the bumper boats, a stop at a mistaken Metro station, and a brief remembrance of Princess Diana, and we were headed to Berthaillard on Ile St.Louis. Ross had made me promise two things to him before we left Lisbon:
1. Take these postcards home with you.
2. Have a triple ice cream at Berthaillard and ask for the following flavors: Cannelle, cannelle, et cannelle.
After such a lovely meal in Plaisirs, I could not stomach a triple but cinnamon ice cream was a welcome idea on the hot and humid day. Unfortunately, they were not serving cinnamon, so I got green apple instead and found out that Berthaillard makes green apples better than God does.

We walked back to a Metro station and took it to Montmartre so that we could see the Sacre-Coeur basilica, one of the famous sights of Montmartre. Up and up we went, watching crazy people jog the height and back down, then up again. We walked into the tourist part of Montmartre, where restaurants and bars were overflowing with people and the infamous Chat Noir decorated store windows. We walked past and through them to get to the Basilica, which was crowded with people looking out over the entirety of Paris. Elise told us that you can go up to the top of the Basilica and see a 360 view of the entire city. Inside the Basilica, there were candles and people praying. I looked into the basin carrying holy water and felt the same pang of reverence I used to feel when I went to church regularly. But I was no Catholic and holy water could be Gatorade for all I knew of it. I exhaled a small prayer for the souls of those beside me and walked back out into the twilight. We walked slowly back to the hostel, stopping at a candy shop so I could pick up sugared violets and chocolates for my sister. Postcards were also in order, including my personal favorite and one I contemplated sending to Twila: a map of the Paris Metro and RER.

We watched girls get frightened by mimes and then we found our way back down the hill. On the way, we saw a bronze statue coming out of a wall, so I coordinated a photo shoot that Matt reluctantly became the star of, even though it was one of the photos his friends liked best. Use that one as your profile picture, douchebag.

ANYWAY, we walked down the hill and said goodbye to Benoit and Elise. This would be the last time we would see Benoit because he would work for our last day in Paris. Elise made a quip about how he is French and likes things that smell like feet. I dare not repeat it (and I don't remember the exact joke) but he said we may have to spend the day alone the next day. She may not survive the night. We left them to duke it out on the long ride home and we retired to our ... what's this? Private suite? I forgot what I had booked. It was a private suite that contained its own shower and sink. The bathroom to use was the one in reception or just down the hall. We showered and climbed into our double bed, which was really two twins shoved together. We read Catch-22 and ate candy until we got sleepy (which wasn't too late) and we fell asleep to the sound of our hostel receptionist telling girls sitting on the hostel steps how pretty they were.

Which way is the beach?

2009-08-19T09:16:00.001-07:00

The next morning, I was a little bit concerned about arriving at the airport on time, even though we were scheduled to leave at 7pm. The thing was that we had not had very good luck going anywhere in Lisbon, so I had a feeling that we should be Barcelona-early to catch our flight.

Still, we had planned a trip out to Cascais to see the beach, which we were told was only 35 minutes by tram. Our red-haired hostess said that we should stop in Estoril and walk to Cascais because it is very beautiful by the coast. Accordingly, we got off too early - just after Belem - and ended up nowhere. We attempted to walk to Cascais, but it was completely useless. The closer we got, the farther we seemed. We had to walk alongside a highway, which did not encourage me. In a horrible mood, concerned about timing, and just annoyed at Lisbon in general, we walked the opposite direction, back to the tram station.

Ross had a crazy idea that we should illegally cross a highway and jump a fence to get to the beach. Under the pedestrian bridge we went and then back up. Running across highway. Jumping fence. Then there was a walkway, lined with swaying palm trees. It was sunny and the beach was warm. People were sunning themselves in the rather dirty sand. Barcelona's beaches were a bit cleaner but more crowded. Here, clams covered every rock surface and people stayed out of the ocean, generally. We lay in the sun long enough for me to burn my hip bones - yes. I burned my hips. Slowly, we walked out to the ocean, two by two, and dipped our feet in the Atlantic. It was cold.

We left as the day got cloudy and windy. It was 12:15 and I thought we should get back. I wasn't sure if we'd have time to stop in Belem, so we did not. We instead took the longer than 35 minute tram ride back to our hostel and just filled our afternoon with last minute shopping. When it was time to go, we packed and headed to the stop where our Aerobus had dropped us off, only to see one drive past us. We waited FOREVER for the next one to come and the driver opened the door. Matt tried to board and the operator drily informed him that this was the stop going from the airport and that we would need to go to the stop a few stops over. Of course.

It was now 4:30pm and we had already waited for over an hour. We walked the streets over to find people sitting on their suitcases with sunburnt faces. Encouraging. We waited. And waited. AND WAITED. Finally, it came. Full of people and likely late. We boarded the bus and left, anxious because check-in was at 5pm and we were already bridging on late. At the airport, we got off the bus and walked into the open terminal. We checked the reservation and it said Terminal 2B, so we looked for signs pointing to Terminal 2. Under our feet, a highlited pathway guided us back out the doors of the terminal and to ... our bus? Matt asked the bus driver where Terminal 2 was and he said that we would need to take a bus there. Of course.

So we boarded our bus again and it drove us the distance to Terminal 2, which was much smaller. Inside Terminal 2, we could not find a single Easyjet kiosk, except for one headed for Madrid and Mallorca. We walked back outside, terribly lost and afraid we would miss our flight because it was bridging on 6pm now. I asked one of the valets who looked relaxed where we could find this terminal and pointed to our reservation.

"Oh. That is in terminal 1." What?! "Terminal 2B is in Terminal 1."

Great! So we waited for the bus and went back to Terminal 1, rushing to get to our gate, which was already backed up with French speakers carrying far too much luggage. A man in uniform came up behind the kiosks and promptly switched the Easyjet sign for a Portaway sign, effectively switching our line destined for Paris with the next line, destined for London. We all looked at each other and ran to switch spots. It was chaos. By 7:15pm, we were waiting in the security pool, where about 20 gates were being security checked all together. The woman two spaces in front of me was forced out of line, partially stripped and searched. The woman directly in front of me was also stripped and searched. "Take off your boots," said the security guard. She just stared blankly back. "I said take off your boots!" he clipped. He turned to her luggage, which included a guitar case. "What's in here?" She continued to look at him with the same emotionless stare. "Go over there" and he grabbed her arm roughly to toss her over to someone who searched her. He took my passport, glanced at my face, and waved me through. I passed without trouble. The woman behind me was searched and protested when she saw me traipse off without assault.

"Yes, yes. Go over there." said the guard, looking past her and passing her to another officer. I stood on the steps and watched as Matt got the portable metal detector swiped over him over and over. He was always getting stopped. Eventually, we went up to our gate and stopped for food. Lisbon's MacDonald's had a sandwich called the Chicken Mystic. Curious more than hungry, I bought the meal and found that the Chicken Mystic tasted a lot like fish and the mayo was a lot like paprika. The Lisboas are famous for their sweet tooth and I managed to get a bag of caramels and chocolates at a sweet-smelling candy shop before we attempted to board. The Portugese, however, move at a pace of which even the Spanish would be embarrassed. First, they attempted to separate the A boarders from the B boarders, which is there inefficient system of priority boarding. Families and pregnant women board first, followed by first check-in, first seat priority. Since we had taken a bus from terminal 1 to terminal 2 and back again, we were B-grade boarders. Maybe people who don't get motion sick do not understand this, but the key to avoiding vomiting all over your neighbor is sitting on the aisle in the middle of the plane, where rolling action has the least impact. I took physics. And you can ask Michael Davis what it's like to have me vomit all over your lap, thanks. Once that attempt at organization failed miserably, they proceeded just to bar everybody from boarding. It was already take-off time and we could see our plane was not even on the tarmac yet. 10 minutes late, we boarded and our pilot carefully said that we were right on time since the conditions favored an early landing. Our pilot was rather good at speaking Spanish and Portugese but rather bad at speaking French, which was unfortunate for all of the Parisians heading home.

The flight back was uneventful, except for the ladies who were speaking French in hushed tones behind us. Once over Paris, the lady behind Matt asked if he could please turn down his air-conditioning because it was rather cold and blowing right into her. He obliged politely and shrugged. "Canadians, " he said, grinning and shaking his head. Yep. We're cold and frigid alright.

Down in Paris, the baggage pickup went slowly around in circles. I watched as a group from Canada (they had the flag sewn onto their backpacks) contemplated taking a taxi into the city. The Metro was right there, after all. But they had no idea where they were, really. Matt and I picked up his very smelly bag and started the long trek all the way across the massive Charles de Gaulle airport and down into the Metro station. Elise was correct in saying how expensive it truly was to get in and out of Paris. We bought our ticket in for 8,40 euros and 10 Metro tickets for the next two days. Matt's credit card would not work in the electronic kiosks so we used mine. Once inside the gates of the Metro, we had to decide which train would take us into Paris. Luckily, we picked the correct one.

12:30am in the Parisian Metro could have been Edmonton's LRT at the same hour. It was virtually deserted, except for the bearded homeless man who was giving directions to a stop for a woman who spoke much better French than I did. We attempted to look for Jules Joffrin, which was not on the old school map framed inside the Metro car. Finally, I managed to fish an old map out of my backpack and we were thrilled to discover it was on our good ol' line, number 12. We decided to get off at Gare du Nord and take the lines up to Jules Joffrin from there, but as I was about to fall asleep on my bag, we stopped outside the stadium. Here, what looked to be hundreds of people were being held back by police with batons. Once the Metro cars had come to a complete stop, they removed their hold on the crowd and people began to flood onto the platform.

"Move your stuff, move your stuff!" I said to Matt, who was also falling asleep. Groggily, he pulled his stinky duffel bag onto his lap. Then he saw the crowds and moved faster. We squished ourselves into the windows of the train just as hordes of sweaty, happy, Depeche Mode fans flooded the train, carrying posters and wearing t-shirts. My God. The Edmonton LRT would be lucky to get this kind of traffic at any time of day!

Once off at Gare du Nord, we took the appropriate lines and made it to Jules Joffrin where we had initial troubles orienting ourselves. A man with a British accent looked amused and offered to help us. He used the scrolling maps on the street to show us where we were and what direction we needed to head to get to Rue Ramey. We thanked him and he continued happily into the French night. Up the hill and over to the left, we found our hostel which was relatively clean. The man at reception gave us a key and told us there was only one key per room. We were on the sixth floor. Sorry - no lift. Good luck.

It would have been okay if not every building in Europe named their ground floor 0. Damn. After a long, tiring walk up the winding staircase to the sixth floor, we found our room hot and without showers on the floor. There was a WC and a sink in the room. I threw on my pyjamas, washed and brushed, then fell into bed just as Matt mistakenly locked our door. What North Americans we are.

Accordingly, at 2am, there was a knock at the door that almost woke me but could not break my limbs free from sleep. There was another quick rap, this time more insistent. Of course, Matt just turned over and ignored it. Somewhere, in the depths of my sleepy brain, I knew it was our roommates. So I willed myself awake and up and opened the door for them. I had seen them before - they were hippies! They didn't smell so good, but I was too tired to care. I apologized for locking them out then went to bed. Sleep never felt so good as that night, which seemed longer than any night we had spent in any city.

It is.

2009-08-18T13:25:00.001-07:00

We only have limited time in Portugal, so Matt and I were gunning to catch our tram to the Alfama, but Ross has not yet arrived at the hostel. At 10:30am, he is here but has not been checked in. We wait and we wait until somebody finally helps him and then he disappears again. At 11:00am, he is showered and ready to go. Apparently, the train had not been all that great here and he had not slept well.

We took Tram 28 up the Alfama, only to find that none of the stations were marked! Sable leaned over and asked her fellow passenger where Praca do Graca was and the lady answered with gesturing. Two elderly ladies in front of us objected to those directions and a verbal showdown ensued. Through the yelling and jabbing, another lady joined in, leaning under the jabbing arms and telling us something different. Embarrassed, we exited at the next stop, turning around to find arms flailing out of the tram to direct us in all different directions. We just turned down the next street to go with the flow.

Actually, nothing is marked in Lisbon. No streets, no building signs, no nothing. And nobody speaks English, unlike in Paris or Spain. We wandered and wandered until we came upon a Tram stop and an old man asked, "Castelo?" I nodded vigorously - yes! Castelo Sao Jorge was where we wanted to be and was at the peak of the Alfama. He gave us directions in Portugese but used very effective gestures. We came upon the largo he spoke of and took pictures of the seaside city. Finally, we arrived at the Castelo, which was weathered and overgrown with greenery, but still very beautiful. We split up to look around but met up on the turrets again, where we admired the view and took silly pictures in front of windows.

I tried to call the fat cats that slept around the plates - "Gato? GAAAAAATOOOOOOS!" - but to no avail. The horrible screaming you hear around the castle are the peacocks who live there. Who knew they made such racket?! We left and walked down the hill again, back to the largo. A large machine promised stamps and I fed it 8 euros before I realized I had been tricked! It was jammed and would not feed me what I wanted.

We could not find the correct tram to take us back to Comercio, so we walked down . Matt and I stopped at the hostel for some water and to find directions to the Oceanario. We took the Metro to Oriente, where the famous Vasco de Gama mall is situated. We walked around the residential neighborhoods, looking for the Oceanario and blindly following the signs. We came upon the Mathnasium! I mean - the Mathnasium :( Eventually, we reached the gigantic Oceanario with its towering waterfall, its whale made of pop cans and its facts about conservation. I loved every single little part, from the way they subdivided their exhibits by ocean to all of the wonderful creatures in the central tank who live in perfect balance. As in ... they don't eat each other. We marveled at the size and lethargy of the ocean sunfish. We met up with Sable and Ross at a video about the treatment of animals at the Oceanario and tried to coax the Vibrio to bioluminesce inside the organs of Japanese pinecone fish.

I walked away fully satisfied and happy that I could be there. We wanted to rent bikes and ride across the boardwalk along the River Tagus, but the rental place was closed. Instead, we just walked along the boardwalk, all the way from the Oceanario to the Vasco de Gama bridge. It is the longest bridge in Europe and spans as far as the eye can see! From the Vasco de Gama, we walked ALL THE WAY BACK to Oriente station. Matt wanted to stop in the mall to see if he could find a gift for his brother at Fnac - he did look! But no such luck. The Vasco de Gama mall is famous for the water that washes over the glass ceiling of the building. The water comes from the River Tagus and is actually cleaned and returned back to the river in better condition than it came!

Back to Bairro Alto we went, looking for a place to eat in the fading light of day. Two girls in unbelievably high wedge heels were walking along the shiny streets of Lisbon and walking down the incredibly steep slopes that I was having a hard time with in my flats! We wandered and settled on the same district in which we had found the Indian restaurant. The restaurant was in my handbook and affectionately named "The Fatboy II" or El Gordo II, as it was known here. The rastafarian waiter greeted us with an enthusiastic "Bom noite!" to which we just stared back in fear because our Portugese did not extend to greetings past the afternoon. His smile slowly faded and he cut curtly to English.

El Gordo II follows in the steps of its predecessor by offering almost American sized tapas. I ordered the asparagus risotto and garlic mushrooms, which were delicious and too much for myself. Everybody else was too full to share in my bounty either. They meant it when they named it Fatboy. Still, I had my crema catalana for dessert (even if it was a cheat to have it outside of Barcelona) and enjoyed yet another sweet custard. It's a bit like a creme brulee, really, but more cinnamon-y.

From there, we walked back down the hill to a posh shopping district. I stopped to buy underwear at "Women's Secret" and then walked into a nearby mall, where everything was open! I could buy bedsheets, shoes, dresses, underwear, food - you name it, it was open and full of nighttime shoppers! I browsed but stuck with my underwear purchase. It would save me some laundry later.

We walked over to a fountain which was in the opposite direction from our hostel and the River Tagus. I noted for the first time that Ross was wearing a t-shirt from Madrid. "Oh yeah - I bought it while you were gone. I didn't go to Seville." What's this?! Ross stayed back and secretly shopped?! Secret Shopper Ross. Collect all six!

Matt wanted to see the House of Vodka, so we went back to the hostel to put away our purchases and get ready. The hostel, however, was too comfortable. Ross checked his e-mail and played on his computer while Sable and I chatted, like normal. Eventually, we were laughing and having too much of a good time to leave but Matt wanted his liquor. With much reluctance, I left the comfort of the hostel to go out into the busy night. On the map, it doesn't look too far to the House of Vodka. I can reassure you, however, that it is much better to catch a taxi or perhaps the Metro than to walk all the way from the River to the House of Vodka. Maps. They lie.

We walked along dark, deserted alley ways with the most narrow sidewalks we had encountered in Europe yet. We had to twist our bodies to get around corners and around the cars that parked alongside the sidewalks. Eventually, we reached a lively district with people walking away from bars. After some confusion, we found the blue-lit House of Vodka. We walked in and the bartender nodded, before politely telling us that they were closing. Dejected (and I somewhat annoyed), we left and tried to walk back a less shady way. Not really possible in Lisbon, since their unlabelled streets just wound around and around hills that were alternately populated and completely deserted. Eventually, however, we reached our hostel again and I just went to bed. Sable and Ross went downstairs, presumably to check their e-mails. And I fell asleep to an uncharacteristically silent Lisbon night.

Is everything backwards in Portugese?

2009-08-18T13:12:00.001-07:00

In the morning, we ate a leisurely breakfast, checked our e-mails, checked out and headed for the airport. Ross would be taking an overnight train to Lisbon but he was staying an extra day so that he could see Seville. So he said.

At the airport, we had lunch and listened to American business men lecture each other on what was appropriate to say in an important meeting they were to attend today. Matt realized that he did not like blue cheese. I had a delicious vegetarian sandwich and a candy bar that tasted like all of the best cookies smashed into a bar and then covered in chocolate. When we made it to the gate, Matt and I went on a hunt at Relay for some Spanish porn. It was a goal we had promised to fulfill by the end of the trip. Alas - only Vanity Fair showed an almost naked Gisele Bundchen on its cover and I bought that as a poor excuse for porn. Matt found what appeared to be a business man's magazine and opened it to find real articles ... AND a small inner booklet full of racy pictures. Still not exactly what we were looking for, but at least we know that the Spanish are more discreet than originally thought.

The flight into Lisbon was the worst yet, with a rather shaky take-off and another shaky landing. We were let off onto the tarmac and we were shuttled to the exit, where passport control did not care about us, again. If you want stamps on your passport, fly major airlines. We took an aerobus to the Praca do Comercio, or so we thought. We got off a stop too early and had a bit of confusion finding the "big arch" mentioned in the e-mail. Eventually, however, we found it and ended up at a stylish and clean hotel. After the heat and dirt of Spain, breezy, fresh Lisbon was welcome. However cold I was finding it ...

Our red-haired hostess greeted us, gave us a tour, showed us to our room, and invited us to free guacamole and sangria at 8pm that night. How could we refuse! The beer and water was free. The hostel was a modern art museum, with postcards and letters flattened between the tablecloth and its glass covering. The stools were fashionably upholstered and color-coordinated to every other piece of furniture. Bean bag chairs lined the windows and laptops were available for use in the common room. There is no place without music in Lisbon - there is always singing. There is always an iPod pounding out tunes through impeccable speakers. We rested in our room for a bit before going for an exploratory walk.

The Tagus River is right on the street! Steps will take you directly into the river, which washed up onto the sidewalk in welcome. Small, colored pods held trees and people riverside on the promenade. Palm trees and poplars swayed in the evening breeze. Quaint stores watched us walk by and we drank in the architecture of the buildings. We stopped for pasteis at a small pasteleria, which was custardy, sugary, and cinnamony in all the right ways. Back at the hostel, guacamole was flowing, as were white wine and red wine sangrias. We sat, ate some of the best guacamole I have ever tasted on crusty bread chunks, and listened to Matt tune an old guitar with needlenose pliers. We attempted to play, but it did not sound very loud at all.

At 9:30pm, we walked up to Bairro Alto, where the sidewalks are like everywhere else in Lisbon - made of small pieces of ceramic. The Lisboas are so well dressed and we know why now - you can shop for clothing any time of night! Even after our meal that night, Pepe Jeans was open and brightly lit! We stopped for dinner at an Indian place which could not seat us right away. It was alright, though, because I could listen to the sound of Portugese. It is a bit frustrating for me because I cannot wrap my tongue around their L's. We order cheese and garlic naan and our own dishes. The curry is delicious, the naan is soft and hot, and the chai is authentic. Matt has his first Super Bock, which will never show up again outside of Lisbon.

We walk back to our hostel, refusing the many people pestering us to buy "hashish", and go to sleep in the cool air of Portugal.

TO-LEDO!

2009-08-18T12:47:00.000-07:00

Early the next morning, we grabbed a quick breakfast at the hostel and rushed to Atocha station, where the electronic kiosks once again let us down. Matt and I grabbed our tickets from a cashier when we turned around to find no Sable or Ross anywhere in sight. In our car, the exterior temperature said: 26 C. Interior temperature: 24 C. Hmmm. Insulation not so good. I was getting hot and a bit sick, so I tried to sit up away from the seat to reduce the rocking motion.

The Spanish countryside is full of red rock and green, stubby bush. It's everything I had imagined it would be. When we arrive, only half an hour later, Toledo is already hot. We exit the station and I buy a bottle of water first thing. Sable and Ross are shooed to do their own, rapid walking while Matt and I take the long way up the hill. There is a pedestrian walkway that crosses into the New City of Toledo and, if you continue up the hill, to the Old City. The new city is boring, with the most unimpressive fountain in their sole traffic circle ever. A young blonde was smoking up the hill in front of us and attracted the attention of a very drunk man, singing his own theme song. He passed her, spun around and sang louder, obviously checking her out. We follow her up the hill and through the gates into the city. Inside, it's like living in a gigantic castle. Toledo is famous for its many beautiful and old buildings paying homage to Catholic, Islamic, and Jewish faiths. I get an ice cream and Matt buys a gigantic bottle of Aquarius. We make our way to some arbitrary point at the top and come up on a square with all of the tourist places. MacDonald's, for instance. I make a stop at Bereshka to buy some tops and a pair of leggings. We walk through the shopping district and I realize that I am sun exhausted. Sick and tired, we stop at a bar under an umbrella where a woman starts yelling at me from an adjacent table because I am trying to pour my water into a glass without removing the safety seal.

We walk some more, trying to shop, and even find the most whimsical candy shop in the world. The man up on the ladder is wearing a bubblegum pink apron. He swung his arm down to offer us a sweet cookie. Matt purchased a giant box of candy, complete with a large ribbon to seal it shut. I wanted to buy some sweets - Toledo is famous for it's turron! - but I decide against buying any here. Down the hill we go, around and around in circles. Up again, looking at gigantic buildings that look like they belong to royalty. Eventually, we leave the Old City and walk down toward the train station again to eat lunch. This time down, however, we found the magical, outdoor escalators that took us down into ... a parkade. We pull out our juice, pan, and fruit. It's too hot though and our appetites are very small. Trying to get out of the sun, we wander around the empty New City to look for shade. We find only narrow streets and empty buildings. Matt suggested that we walk up the hill another direction and we find a mansion with open gates. We walk inside and up some stairs to what looked like it could have been an adventurous look out, only to find a very bald patch of grass overlooking a fenced-off pool. The pool made us think that this was no tourist lookout so we climbed the stairs down only to find our entrance barred off by iron gates. We walk past a gardener who was looking suspiciously at us and up some stairs. Small groups of young people were talking in English on the terrace, so we assumed it was a hostel. We followed some people out of a small back door and out again. Phew. We walk farther up the hill and stop at a rotunda just in front of the hospital. It's breezy and hot and I am beginning to feel a bit better. Back down in the New City, we find a restaurant that has VLTs for its regulars and offers gigantic sandwiches. Matt eats and I pick at tapas. We have a drink and contemplate buying cigarettes from a vending machine but decide against it at the last minute. Back at the train station, our train still has not arrived and we are very bored. We sit in silence for a while before boarding our train and going back into Madrid. The outskirts of Madrid could be Toronto's outskirts, if it weren't for the dry and desert-like summer conditions.

To the Prado! This was a mission that really should take as much time as the Louvre. There is too much! The Thyssen had instilled in Matt and I a deep love and appreciation for El Greco whose artistic flair was beyond his time. He loved making people appear green and slightly sinister (even Jesus) just by outlining their figure in a deep black aura. The strokes, the definition, the expressions were all reminiscent of a comic book. We had fallen in love with a painting that was supposed to symbolize budding sexuality: a monkey, a man, and a magician were staring at a crystal ball that was glowing between their hands. Here, entire rooms were devoted to his visions - Jesus walking on clouds of dead babies. Innocence taken in the same way he would be slain. Another favourite: Goya's Pinturas Negras. You have to go all the way to the basement and far to the right but it's worth it. Saturn Devouring One of his Children depicts a long-faced God with his mouth open and dripping with the blood shed from one of the human beings he has just began eating. His eyes are incredibly terrifying. They are dark, they are intimidating, and they will pierce your soul to depths you swore weren't there. They speak to the darkest times of Goya's life and far beyond the darkest parts of my mind.

Across from the Goyas, you will find classical sculpture. Beautiful, white, marbled sculptures missing toes, noses, genitals, and other things that authenticate them as real. In two short hours, however, we were finished and I had only seen Goya, El Greco, and the sculptures!

On Ross' request, we head to FresCo for dinner where Sable learned we had eaten twice before. She made us jealous with tales of Finnish hippies who hosted her in Porvoo. We stayed for a while and walked to the fountains near the Royal Palace where many couples were already in the position. A tour guide gave information about the fountain in an indeterminate language while we listened and tried to divine the language but failed. Matt gave us a hoe-down photo shoot and we left the palace and all of its romance to show Sable the other side of it. Ross let his hair down and shook it in the breeze. We walked for a bit around Madrid, savoring its feeling before going back to the hostel, checking some e-mail, and heading to bed.

A Day at the Museums

2009-08-18T10:23:00.001-07:00

We headed out early to see some of the iconic sights in Madrid. First, after the usual mediocre breakfast, we headed to La Fuente de Cibeles, which is at a rather busy intersection. After getting out of the Metro, we stood at the traffic circle, trying to take pictures of the fountain and of the Palacio de Communicaciones behind us. Down the street, we found the Museo del Prado, which we vowed not to see until later that night when it would be free. Instead,we opted to see the Thyssen-Bornemisza, which was not far from the Prado at all. Three young girls approached us and asked if we could answer some questions in English.

The questions were amusing and our answers were probably even worse. "Who's your favourite football team?" Espana? "Can you name three Spanish foods?" Paella, churros, and ... cafe con leche? They laughed at our pronunciation of churros and left us to continue. The Thyssen was showing a temporary Matisse exhibit: Themes and Variations. I took an earlier showing by mistake, as did Ross, so we went to the exhibit sans Matt and Sable. Inside the exhibit, people were crowding the watery, impressionistic paintings containing elaborate patterns on rugs, curtains, Turkish screens, at fairs, and all over the upholstery. Black-haired women sat or stood in ornate robes, reading or fanning themselves by windows. Naked women lay in seductive, relaxed poses. His sketches revealed slight changes in positions - hence the exhibition's apt name - including hand over the head or by the side. Face to the left or centered. It was a revealing exhibit and I picked up some of my favorites on postcards.

The lobby contained four paintings: one of each of the Thyssen-Bornemiszas and one of each of the royal family. The relief sculptures set in stone on display were interesting and set the tone for a collection of classical and Renaissance art. Upstairs, there were paintings that depicted country life, beautiful sea and rural landscapes, including many artists unbeknownst to me. Every once in a while, a familiar name popped up. My favorite part would have to be a split between the 12th and 13th century paintings - who knew art existed then! - and Dali's painting of a pomegranate birthing a tiger shooting bees out of its mouth and into the ear of a sleeping woman who is really a desert landscape. The title is something like,"Bee buzzing round a pomegranate a second before waking" or something wonderfully Dali-like. There was another artist whose name Matt kept repeating that I also liked but have now forgotten. He may be deaf but I lack attention.

The gift shop had no pull for me but I purchased a few postcards for the boys back home and we left. We walked back to the Palacio de Communicaciones in the dry heat of the mid-afternoon and looked around for a place to eat. Finally, we decided on a pizza place not far from the Reina Sofia, actually. When the waiters ignored us at the pizza part of the restaurant ,we moved to to the part that was decorated with table cloths. Sable and I had the menu del dia, with three courses. Agua con gas and a lemon granizado for me, with gazpacho, and some sweet pork on rice. Ross had a ensalada caprese and Matt ... well, I never paid attention but he might remember if you ask him.

After lunch, we walked to the Estacion de Atocha, which wasn't far, to see the greenery and the fabled 24 degree interiors. It was indeed misty and very beautiful. This would be the train station that we would need to get to for our trip to Toledo. Ross said he might want to skip Toledo and see Seville, so we played around on the machines for a while before realizing that our Canadian money was no good there. We would need to see a cashier. In the end, however, Ross decided to go to Toledo with us. We took a few pictures of the misty greenery inside, blocked off by yellow ropes, then left the relatively cool humid inside of the station to see another museum. Outside, the digital thermometer read 41 degrees.

We walked back to the Paseo del Prado and happened upon Caixa Forum - a free modern art museum in downtown Madrid. The vertical garden was cool and refreshing if you stood right next to it, as though the green and violet plants were breathing life back into you. We walked up the steel colored steps to the second floor where reception regarded us lazily. The exhibit was El Mundo de Islam and it was up one more flight of stairs. There, a security guard stopped only me from walking in the direction of Sable and Ross because, and I quote, "all tours must start over there". He pointed in the opposite direction. Whatever, constipated man.

I walked the other direction, looking at the oldest remnants of Islam culture on display in Madrid. It was a comprehensive historical tour through the development of Islamic culture in Eastern Europe. From the Visigoths to the Mujaders and then to the Ottoman Empire and onward, it was an exotic display of textiles, jewellery, pottery, ceramics, painting, music, and literature. Well set up, I looked at some of the oldest Korans in existence. Under glass, of course. They had a digital reconstruction of a book that contained Buddhist lyrics. It was a wonderful display but I was stopped from taking pictures by a guard, just as Matt's stupid $11 camera was clicking behind me. Of course, he didn't hear the guard.

We waited for Ross on the steps, when we were promptly told we could not sit at all. Anywhere. Thanks, Madrid. Upstairs was a plea for Cambodia - pictures of emaciated and malnutritioned children who were missing limbs and swimming with prosthetics. Videos in all languages, pleading for money and support and volunteers to help in an area without help. There were people sitting in organic cotton wear in a circle on the floor, discussing what they could do to help. It was like World Vision had designed a photography exhibit to draw in art-lovers (who are never really poor) so that they could sucker them in for money. Too bad we are poor.

Back to the Puerta del Sol, where we wander down a side street to a supermarket. Preparations are necessary for tomorrow's trip to Toledo. We decide that we will have breakfast on the train - Matt and I pick up some fruit, a few boxes of pure pineapple juice, and some pan de leche. Pan de leche is a soft, milky, almost sweet-tasting bread that has the texture and aftertaste of fresh dinner rolls. There is no such thing as whole wheat in Europe. The cashier lectures Matt for bringing his bag into the store - there are lockers at the entrance where you must leave your stuff. Otherwise, she will have to go through the trouble of moving her eyes from your fruit to your bag, which is more than she can bear, apparently. After a look through his bag and a sharp-tongued lecture, we left the store. We made a visit to the Mercado San Miguel, which is warm-looking in cherry coloured mahogany. The vendors sell fresh, misted fruit, fresh chocolate, Spanish wine, and seafood from the coast. It is warm and expensive-looking, so we look but don't touch. Outside, there is a cafe where we stop for a drink. Ross and I tried Horchata, which is a milky, cold drink made from some unidentified sweet root, something like taro, I can imagine. It was delicious.

We stop for falafel at Maoz and I eat some fries, halfheartedly. They're not so good. A bimbo asks the cashier what you put on falafel, to which he just smirks and shrugs. There is a freakin' buffet of stuff to put on your falafel, you American idiot!

We walk back to the hostel, where we rest and write postcards. I get restless and our roommates ask if we want to join them for a drink. We refuse politely and wait for them to leave. Eventually, though, I get restless, so Matt and I leave for a drink an hour or so later at the same place. The waiter places a small plate of black, round olives on our table and leaves us with our coffee and beer. The night is cool and the cafe is full of people. We drink our share and leave the cafe in the same bustling manner it was when we had arrived.

ART

2009-08-17T15:07:00.001-07:00

The next morning, Ross waltzed into the breakfast room at 9:30am looking well rested. The ride to Madrid had been good.

We decided to visit El Parque del Buen Retiro first, since it was morning and cool. The park was beautiful and right beside La Puerta de Acala, which is a great, brick-stone gate in the middle of a traffic circle outside the park. The gardens below the gate are immaculately groomed.

Inside the park, small dot statues carrying books, standing pensively, or just looking quirky were scattered throughout the entrance to the park. Fountains and horse-drawn carriages occupied the spaces between lush greenery and great monuments to famous Spanish conquistadors, doctors, and scholars lay about the park. The main attractions are at the center on the lake, where the Crystal Palace and a museum lie on the lake. At 10:30am, the museum was not open, but it is free from 6-9pm, according to my book!

We eventually happened up on a garden that looked straight out of a Lewis Carroll novel. It had squat, perfectly groomed trees encircling round, symmetrical fountains within mazes of hedges. A set of grand staircases led down into the gardens, which used to be the royal gardens when the Museo del Prado was a royal palace. Under the staircases was a fountain. An old, leathery man was bathing in the fountain and reading the newspaper. Matt and I took pictures, musing at the architecture, when Ross appeared, seemingly out of nowhere and without a shirt. Everybody - this is Shirtless Ross. Collect all six!

At a vending stand, we stopped for a Magnum ice cream and then exited the park. Next stop: Centro de Arte Reina Sofia. We decided to do this one without Sable, thinking that she was more into classical art than modern art, which is what the Reina Sofia boasts as its advantage. The great glass elevator at the front bears its names and the concrete structure makes you think modern instantly. We subjected our bags to yet another X-ray search and bought student tickets with our student cards that made the cashiers wrinkle their noses when they read "University of Alberta", then shrug and wave us through. The first sculpture at the base of the stairs was a recent exhibit that showed statues of men hanging by their necks from the ceiling. Interesting. We proceeded through 60s graphic art, then 80s pop art, then really timeless modern art. Our first Dali spotting was a painting of whirlwind geometrical shapes - a small one, with bulletproof glass encasing it. The guard eyed us sharply as we looked casually at it.

There is simply too much art there for me to describe. We took a break for lunch at 3pm at a cafe just around the corner from Reina Sofia. The Madrid sun beat down on us hard, even under the umbrellas outside. Ross and I had gazpacho with little croutons shaped like baguettes and cheese-veggie toasts. I drank some agua con gas and eventually traded places with Ross, who offered to do so because he had a hat and could be in the sun while I was hatless. We ate a leisurely lunch - forced to do so, really, by the rather leisurely Madrileno service - and eyed the full basket of croutons left by the business man beside us.

"Are you going to take that man's bread?" I asked Ross, who was eyeing the basket more enviously than the rest of us.

"I am not above it," he answered. Matt casually draped his arm over the chair behind him. Then reached and pulled the basket toward our side of the table. Yawning and stretching to check who was watching, he then switched our empty bread basket for the man's full one. No harm done - the man had already left. Ross ate his bread happily. We had dessert; I had tiramisu and we paid. Back to the museum for more art!

The Juan Munoz temporary exhibit consisted of little sculptures of Chinese men, all with the same expression but all with different body language, making each man appear to be doing and expressing something different. Ross caught some excellent moments in this exhibit before we got wary of the guard and left the exhibit. One exhibit was like a living David Lynch movie, complete with men dressed in animal costumes and running around a grand 18th century Victorian mansion. The guard was a pudgy, mean-faced blond woman who perpetually followed me and yelled,"Photograficas SIN FLASH!!" I told her, in a flat voice, that I understood. Even in the adjacent dimly lit room where the animal costumes lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, she followed me to pester me.

"Hay un problema?!" I yelled back. She just glared.

By the end of the day, we were arted out. We walked back from the Reina Sofia, feeling the intense heat rise from the streets and clog the flow of thoughts in our brains. At an ice cream vendor where we stopped to get some water, I noted a collectible Hello Kitty ice cream. Note to self: tell Sable. We rested on the grass in the Parque del Buen Retiro and watched helplessly as strong, tanned, sweaty men with gigantic muscles and no fat ran around in the 45 degree heat of 7pm. My. God.

We walked through the park and took the Metro back to our hostel, where we changed and talked with our roommates before heading out for dinner. Our roommates were from Atlanta, Georgia and Santa Barbara, California.

"Where y'all from?" asked the obviously gay man on the top bunk.

"Canada."

"Canada? No way! I have a cousin from Ontario, Ottawa ... Ottawa, Ontario ... I can never remember the city."

"It's Ottawa, Ontario. Ottawa's the city," Matt replied drily.

"Yeah - y'all know him?" We shook our heads definitively no. Canada is big.

Ross suggested we go to FresCo, which sounded good after a long, hot day. We walked to Puerta del Sol and up a few streets until we found it, nested on a side street. Only tourists occupied this FresCo, but we weren't embarrassed. I mean, here, they had bubblegum pink Sopa de Sandia! Watermelon soup! We loaded up our salad plates and sat down to a long, satisfying dinner before Ross suggested we go to Plaza Oriente before picking up Sable. We stopped instead at the Royal Palace, where the Infantry gates looked like they stretched on forever. Matt said he expected to see ocean past those gates, but we knew Madrid was completely landlocked. Around the other side from the palace, there is a garden, which is more of a dog park/make-out point. Near the entrance, dogs ran around their owners, other owners, us, through hedges, into fountains, and alongside other dogs. It was doggy chaos! The more secluded areas of the garden included couples who "assumed the position". It seems like every couple in Madrid takes on a specific position or some variation of one fundamental technique I will attempt to describe. Essentially, the man sits or lies down on his back and his partner straddles his waist (or ... whatever) with their legs and sits up. We sat at the back of the park, watching three couples simultaneously makeout. Ross' eyes widened and his brows arched.

"Well ... she's not in the position anymore. She's going for acrobatics."

Apparently, the couple behind me were going for gold. All of a sudden, a squat man yelled out, "Senoras y senores! Time to go!" He ushered us out quickly because the square was closing. No bother. We walked to Plaza Oriente and saw patrons get misted inside of a restaurant courtyard. Ahhh Madrid. How clever. There was a musical instrument store, which sold guitars. Tempting. Very tempting.

We took the Metro to the airport to pick up Sable and realized that we did not have any flight information. British Airways? Terminal 1? The magic of texting saved our asses and we met Sable at the terminal. We went back to the hostel to check her in, which was more of an ordeal than our check-in because the receipt printer ran out of paper and the receptionist couldn't fix it. He also only spoke Spanish to Sable, who speaks only English in this country, so gesturing was more help than anything. It was during this receipt-language fiasco that Matt discovered Aquarius and an undying love for all things sodium-ridden was confirmed.

Matt and I went looking for a place to fetch my cafe con leche but could not find one!! How terrible! Even as we walked back to the hostel to see if we could try the cafe just outside our street, we saw that it was dark and they were stacking chairs. For a city that never sleeps, they sure turn in early! I went to bed, sans my caffeine and without a clear picture of why people rave about Madrid so much.

Madrid Makes Me Sick

2009-08-17T14:29:00.001-07:00

The morning that Ross almost missed his train, I was sick.

Another leisurely breakfast was had in Center Ramblas. Ross was playing around with pictures on his computer until 10:15am, when we were about to leave for the Metro to the train station. I leaned against the table displaying all of the brochures in the lobby beside Matt. We were waiting for Ross to bring his bags down so that we could escort him to his gate. A man walked in, casually leafing through brochures. I was not particularly concerned about him so much as just concerned about pickpocketing in general, so I shifted the bag that carried my camera and money to my other shoulder. I also did this so as not to obstruct his view of pamphlets. Agitated, he continued to look through pamphlets closer to my side, so I just leaned in closer to Matt's side, who was ... I actually don't remember what he could possibly be doing. Staring at other people, likely.

I forgot about the man leafing through pamphlets momentarily to ask where the heck Ross could be. Matt shrugged. Then, the Pamphlet Man came rushing out of the sliding door of our hostel, rather angry, and looked back at me with flared nostrils. "You're looking for trouble bitch!" He was crossing the street. I looked blankly back. "Yes - you! I'm going to follow you all day!"

Not precisely sure what I did, I turned to Matt who looked back at me as blankly as I had looked at Pamphlet Man. "Did you hear that?" Of course not. His ears are full of cement. Or maybe just hot, Spanish air. I was threatened.

"Oh really? I didn't hear anything!" So much for traveling with male companions being safer.

Ross finally came down and we left for Liceu, the closest Metro station. At the station, however, Ross realized he did not know what stop the train station was at. Apparently, most European cities mark it very clearly on the map, but Barcelona did not. Every station was "Estacion". After much frustration, Ross crumpled up his map and tossed it into the garbage, only to retrieve it again. We could need it. He racked his brain to remember and tried asking someone, who threw their hands into the air as through being arrested, saying they were only a tourist! Ross finally settled on Barcelona-Sants, which he thought was probably the most likely station. When actually down on the platform, he asked a woman in Spanish if his assumption was correct and it was. Good thing, too, because it was 10:42am and his train left at 11:00am.

We chased him up to the station where he left hastily for Madrid. It was in the Liceu station that I realized that I was nauseous. After Ross left, I gave in to dry heaves and a terrible headache. I bought some water, spent some time in the filthy train station bathroom, and sat outside Barcelona-Sants with Matt. A man speaking rapidfire Spanish seemed to need help but Matt explained that he didn't speak Spanish. I said I spoke "un poquito" to which he continued in his rapid Spanish. Lo siento, amigo. No comprendo.

We took a Metro station to Placa de Espana, sat on the steps and watched people before we walked to a little place so that I could have coffee and a croissant. I took a Gravol, just to be sure and watched the morning melt into a familiar, anti-nauseant numbness. Matt finally had paella. The old man who served us told us, sternly, that paella was for just one person. JUST ONE! We nodded, not perturbed because I was sick and not in the mood for steamy seafood. Yet, when he brought out the iron skillet full of tomatoey seafood, he brought me a small place setting anyway. Too bad I never used it.

Afraid of missing the plane, I forced Matt to gather our stuff and we took an Aerobus to the airport. When at the airport, we walked all the way across the airport to Terminal C where our plane to Madrid would be waiting ... in 6 hours. But in my rather numb and incoherent state, it made perfect sense to spend it in the air-conditioned, relatively silent airport. We ate, read Catch-22, did crossword puzzles, and took walks around the airport. When check-in came, we were ready to be in Madrid, but it was a 1.5 hour flight.

Our tickets said Gate 20 to board, but Gate 20 read Mallorca on the screen. A man asked if Gate 20 was for Madrid or Mallorca, and the flight attendant at the gate said that Gate 23 was destined for Madrid. Our tickets were wrong! We moved to Gate 23 and lined up, with no trouble boarding and no troubles during the flight.

Once in Madrid, I was ecstatic to find that the Metro station was linked directly to city center. We picked up our Metro passes and headed to Tirso de Molina station where our hostel would be. On Calle Jesus y Maria, the door to our hostel was locked and armored. Somebody coming out looked us over and said,"I think you're okay to be let in, hey?" and let us into the building. We climbed the first floor and found no office. None on the second. Apparently, the party - and reception - is on the third floor. A scruffy, long-haired man greeted us in Spanish and checked us in without incident. We dropped our stuff off in our room, which was empty when we arrived, and noted how nice and clean everything was. It was nice to have a bathroom inside of our room after Barcelona!

Back outside, we noted that it was 28 degrees at 10:30pm in Madrid. The night was hot but not nearly as humid as Barcelona. We walked in the dark, stopping at a restaurant that housed a bar and lounge in the front and a restaurant in the back. The waiter greeted us and presented us with menus. For lack of any good vegetarian option, I ordered the Andalusian swordfish and Matt had hake, I think. My swordfish was delicious and free of sauces or excessive spice. It was a small portion with a little portion of boiled potatoes and steamed red peppers, which were lovely. I drank my cafe con leche, solidifying my addiction, while Matt sampled some of the Estrella. He successfully asked where the bathrooms were (they were downstairs) and we left, feeling satisfied and happy to have landed.

In the hostel, people were draped all over the bunk beds, deep in sleep, and, perhaps, a bit pissed that we were walking in at 12:30am and disturbing their sleep. All I could think was thank god this hostel has fans!!

"Pea-ches is going to the bea-ches!"

2009-07-14T15:03:00.000-07:00

Breakfast was my favourite meal. At Center Ramblas, you get a Bizcocho, which is a sweet, sticky bread that you comes cut in half so that you can spread jam over the insides. There is also large bowls of cereal and refrigerated UHT milk and melba toast to eat, with cold butter and strawberry jam. You could choose your coffee. Cafe con leche, which was my personal favourite, was a strong coffee served with a healthy portion of milk, but Matt and Ross had cappucinos when they had coffee, I think. I watched as a girl pulled a 3kg jar of Nutella from her bag and spread it over everything possible.

This morning was shopping morning. We decided to head to RedMarket, which was a flea market with good bargains, according to my handbook. We had to go to Fontana, which is a stop close to La Sagrada Familia. It was a Sunday, so the traffic was slow and the people were friendly, saying '¡Buenas!' to us in greeting. We walked all along the Carrer de Casp to find this market, but we could not find it. All of a sudden, Matt noticed that there was a store called RedMarket. Inside, there was a sleek black bicycle displayed alongside jeans. The women's finds were not particularly notable - they were of the denim corset category - but the men's clothing was super cute. Ross found a jacket that he did not end up buying but looked really great in. Matt bought a quirky t-shirt with a picture of a brain and a label: Human Brain. I found a dress and an awesome gold cuff bracelet at a store that sold Indian-type wares.

We left and walked down the Paseig de Gracia. Our first stop was Intimissimi where I bought a second bra! Woot! It turns out that the bra I had meant to pack was still at Melissa's apartment when I got home. Go figure. Ross got sweet undies and we continued. Matt bought some shoes while Ross and I debated what the word for yellow was in Spanish. Amarillo, friends. We stopped for lunch at a little cafe that sold orxata. Unfortunately, they were sold out of orxata! I shrugged it off and got a Miller with foccaccia de verduras. We gnoshed on focaccia pizzas then took a picture at the arc de triomf made from recycled materials. We saw all the major designers on the Paseig, including Louis Vuitton, Valentino, Yves St. Laurent, Chanel, Bvlgari, Dior, etc, etc. I was tantalized and tortured by such haute couture! We stopped at the more shoppable places, including what looked to be equivalent to a Chapters. I bought a book in Catalan and Ross abandoned a book that would have helped us: Catalan for Dummies. We continued. The huge trend in Europe is yellow skinny pants. Actually, any skinny jeans, especially the really skinny, slightly short, zippered at the ankle ones. The ones that I just cannot wear! I bought Melissa a pink tank at Mango from the Paulo Coelho collection and a tank and necklace for me. We walked past El Corte Inglés, the major department store in Spain, and then from Plaça Catalunya to La Rambla and back to the hostel. It was still early in the day and very hot! We stopped to drop off our purchases and pick up our beach wares.

Off to the beaches! Down La Rambla we went and then veered to the left, where we walked down the promenade. The day was beautifully sunny and nice and breezy. It would be my first real day at a real beach! We continued and tried numerous times to find an entrance to the beaches. Our first attempt was stopped by the Spanish naval guard. Our second attempt was thwarted by fences, which Ross' manly shoulders simply moved aside, but we were blocked again by more fences that could not be moved. On the way to the actual beach, we did see the talking car, which promised a tour of Barcelona literally by your car, which would tell you about the sites you passed as you drove. When we refused, the man said, "Oh my god, lady!" He just couldn't believe I wouldn't go for the talking car.

Eventually, we did find the beach, where the famous boxes lay. Families were crammed into the tiny sand space between the shores of the Mediterranean and the boardwalk, which was crowded with people watching over the beachgoers. Little fountains were scattered so that you could wash the sand off of your body and feet. I sat, enjoying the sun, the sounds, the smells, and the sights of the beach. Ross had bought licorice at a supermarket and shared some with us. We lay, tanning, before the boys decided to swim to the man-made rock formation that stood to block the waves from crashing on the shore. I watched as whole children were swallowed by tides, their heads bobbing up at some indeterminate distance from shore. I squinted, trying to spot the boys and take pictures with my camera, but I failed. Epically.

As the boys were coming up onto shore, two bleach blondes walked in front of my view. They weren't particularly attractive women, with broad chests and rounded stomachs, but they were blondes nonetheless. A swarm of men came down from the sand behind me, from the sand in front of me, from the sides. They all came and wrapped their arms, their bodies, everything around these women, asking for pictures and kisses and names. The girls just giggled, happy to be the center of attention, and made futile attempts to bat off the attentions of them. They continued across the beach in a great swarm, all legs and arms and pelvises. The boys missed it completely.

The weather turned colder and windy. The sun was gone, so we decided it was time for gelato. Ross sleuthed out a place without stuff on their gelato and he was right! It was half the price of the place we had been going to for gelato. I had crema catalana flavour, since I didn't get a chance to have the real dessert while in Barcelona. We went back to the hostel to shower out the sand from our bodies, then ended up at FresCo, which had been advertised in our hostel.

FresCo was a restaurant that served mostly salads and some hot food. The main attraction was that it served all-you-can-eat buffets for only 9,95 euros on the weekdays. We descended on the salad bar, taking far too much for our stomachs, and ate for a while. There was the traditional "salad", but there was also pasta salad, gazpacho, hummus, fresh tomato wedges, fresh olives, bright pink watermelon soup - everything we wanted and didn't think we could get in Spain. We ate and laughed and tried to figure out the name of a song that was stuck in Ross' head. We talked about science for the first time on the trip!! Epic times, friends. Epic times at Fresco.

After putting his still-wet laundry in his compression sack (big mistake!), Matt packed away all of his items in preparation for leaving the next day. My laundry wasn't quite dry yet either, but I opted to pack it the next morning instead of that night. Ross had finished his laundry and we decided to go for a walk around town. It was late but the city was still alive. We had not yet had a chance to see the Universitat de Barcelona, which was of great interest to us young academics bitten by the travel bug. After walking around in circles for a bit, we came up on the shadiest circle you could ever find - with construction tarps put up around what appeared to have been a walk way. It was dark, the streets were not lit in this area, and only a woman with a broom was outside. She was super nice and offered to give us directions if we could understand some Spanish. She told us to walk up one street and continue for only five minutes and we would find it.

Her directions proved semi-accurate. Either the Barcelonians are super fast walkers, or us fat Canadians are super slow because it took a good 15-20 minutes for us to find the University. It was empty but well-lit compared to the areas we had been walking around previously. Ross went on a photo bliss and vowed to find out what he could take there. We walked around the main building, taking pictures, talking and joking. The night was still and beautiful. There were teenagers in a square under some palm trees doing God knows what. We walked past them, down an aisle of cafes, still bustling with people drinking coffee and other beverages. We walked all the way down the Paseig de Gracia (again) to Catalunya, and then down La Rambla. It took forever, but the walk was leisurely and indulgent. We were breathing in our last breaths of Barcelona night. Then to bed, for one last night in the city that truly never really sleeps.

¡Gaudí!

2009-07-14T14:29:00.000-07:00

Matt and I got up early the next day so that we could go back to the Parque de la Ciutadella (because I really wanted a picture of those sea turtles!), but it was cloudy and the turtles were gone. We walked around and tried to exit off of what looked to be a terraced exit, but we discovered that it was just a fenced part within the park. Walking around the fence, we found our way out. We walked back to La Boquería, which was bustling with activity. Inside the market, there was a stand selling just dried fruit! Row upon row of dried fruit, including dried bananas, apples, kiwis, apricots, plums, peaches, cherries ... everything and more! There were stands for chocolate, meat, pasta, salads, fresh fruit and vegetables, pizza, necklaces, jewellery, and fish. There was music and there were pickpockets - it was everything promised in all of those Visit Spain brochures.

We walked up to a prepared pasta stand, which had lots of pasta salads available. We chose a pasta salad with veggies and olives and some fish in it. I asked for a kilo, not sure how much that was. The woman frowned and asked, "Half a kilo?" I shook my head and said one. "One kilo?" Yes, we nodded. She started scooping into the perfect sized container, so we were happy. Then she picked one of the same and told us that she would split the kilo between the two containers! Okay! Just half, I said. Point five, I said, when she held her hand up to her ear. "Five kilos?!" she asked, flabbergasted. No, no! Half a kilo! Half! "Ahhh!" She wrapped the container she had packed and handed it to us. For a cool 6 euro, Matt and I had more food than we wanted. I bought some cut fresh fruit and we headed back to the hostel.

Sitting at the table in the kitchen was Ross! He was typing on his computer, so we sat and ate lunch, watching the Simpsons as we ate. All of the characters have similar voices when dubbed in Spanish, EXCEPT for Homer, who sounded high-pitched and nasal in Spanish! We had a good laugh, while looking up the directions to La Sagrada Familia. I stuffed myself with Spanish goodness and we left for La Sagrada Familia, which had its own metro stop (rightly so).

Once outside the station, I stood in awe of the great spires created by Gaudí's imagination. It was incredible. The outside looked as though it was crusted with seaweed, but a closer inspection revealed classical scenes and beautiful sculptures. The inside was bare because it was under construction, and the line to go up the spires was far too long for my tastes. Plus, I had just begun my Europe On a Budget scheme, in which I only brought 25 euros with me for the day, so a visit to the Sagrada Familia had already robbed me of over half my day's budget. Instead, we bought the combined ticket and ended up going to Park Guëll to see the Casa Museu Gaudí after La Sagrada Familia. There are no words, really, for La Sagrada Familia. You just have to see it.

We walked through the museum in the basement, taking pictures of the construction over the years, learning about the meaning of the Sudoku looking grids outside, and looking at Gaudí's death mask. After what may have been too little pictures on my part, we headed to Park Guëll.

Here's the thing about Park Guëll: my handbook said that we could get off the Metro at Lesseps or Vallarca, which is near the far north of Barcelona. We got off at the farther stop, thinking that we could make our way to the closer stop and take the Metro home from there. Once off at Vallarca, we walked basically back to Lesseps and walked uphill for a good 30 minutes. Most of it was covered by awesome outdoor escalators, which I think should be constructed in more areas around the world, but some of it was all in the gluteus maximus because we had to hoof it ourselves up the hill. It was all worth it at the top, though. The view was amazing. The spires of La Sagrada Familia dwarfed the whole city. A cool, um, liberal house was spotted from the top.

We walked down, having fun in the great tree-like columns of the walkways and the great pillars in the hollow rotunda. We took pictures, sat around, joked while tourists swarmed the lizard sculpture at the entrance to the park. We had worked our way from the back down, so we were seeing the major tourist sites last. I saw a woman dressed up as that stupid lizard taking pictures with people, so I asked Matt to take a picture with me. She sat a lizard head on my head and took a picture, after I paid her 2.50 euro, of course. After a photo blitz, we walked up to Casa Museu Gaudí, which was relatively subdued compared to the amazing, distinctive architecture that he created across the city. The house was small, but not without its eccentric touches, including a great wing-backed chair made of smooth wood and an interesting seating arrangement in the sitting room. I would have missed the sculpture in the ceiling at the top of the stairs if it weren't for Matt's sharp eye.

Then we walked all the way down the hill again and all the way to Casa Batlló, where the roof looks like sea glass and the balconies look like waves. It was too expensive to go inside and Sable had recommended that we not spend the money, so we contented ourselves to take photos like good little tourists and walk away. We walked all the way down the Paseig de Gracia, looking for the last house in the discordant trio, and Gaudí's first apartment building. I don't think we ever found it ... I mean, we were on the street, but I don't think the building we ended up taking pictures of was really the building we were looking for.

It didn't matter. We were hungry and beat. Along the Paseig, we found a tavern that was completely empty and quite cheap. Ross bought patatas bravas and I had the tortilla de patatas with tomato toast. Literally, that is fresh tomatoes smeared on toast! Matt had some kind of satisfying meat dish. Matt and I had a beer while Ross downed his traditional Sprite and we marvelled at how cheap the bill was! The man who served us was a little Chinese-looking man who was very friendly and in need of more customers. If I could, I would go back today.

From dinner, we walked to toward the Arc de Triomf, taking pictures of that and what could have been another Statue of Liberty ... then on to the Parque de la Ciutadella for the second time that day. We didn't mind because it was one of our favourite places in the city. We lazed around the great fountain, enjoying the warm, insect-free weather. A lady on a bike asked Ross for the time and he gave it in Spanish. Matt opened the map so that we could plan our tomorrow and a bird in the tree above pooped on it! We discarded the map and headed back to the hostel for a rest.

I wrote more postcards and slept for a bit. After a couple of hours, we went out to the same place we went for gelato last night, where Ross advised me that places without 'stuff' on their gelato were the cheapest. He's so sagely! We walked for a bit and called it a night.

"It's a German University."

2009-07-13T14:01:00.000-07:00

Barcelona was hot and humid, as expected. We took the Aerobus to Plaça Catalunya and took the Metro from Catalunya to Liceu (which we would later find was not much of a walk, let alone a Metro ride ...). The cars were airconditioned and cool, while the stations were warm and stuffy. We came up onto La Rambla, disoriented and surrounded by a hoard of people, all of which looked like potential pickpockets. After some wandering around in circles and intense map-staring, we found our way to Carrer de L'Hospital and, eventually, to Center Ramblas.

The hostel looks a bit like a rec center, and maybe smells like one too, but the staff were friendly. Unfortunately, the people occupying our beds in the 10-person dorm had not yet checked out, so he put us in a 3-person suite instead. In the room, we found another hot humid place, but it was clean and it had large lockers that only required a loan of 2 euros to access. As long as you brought the key back at the end of the day, you would obtain your 2 euros back. We dropped our stuff off and headed out toward La Rambla, where we stopped at McDonald's for some lunch. Inside, it was airconditioned and had three levels of places to sit. Plus, all of the workers wore t-shirts that read,"Hamburger University" on them. Swanky.

After lunch, we headed in the direction of La Ribera, which is lined with cool little retail shops and bustling with people. We eventually reached El Parque de la Ciutadella, which has three historical buildings inside of it, a few awesome fountains, and a lot of places for people to run, jump, play, sleep, and just chill. We walked, marvelling at how cool it was in the shade, how lovely the fountains were, how large and imposing the Catalonian castle was. The sky was a bright, cobalt blue and the sun was hot. We rested every few minutes by my request and eventually headed back to our hostel so that I could pick up my camera.

Out again, we headed back to La Ribera to visit the Museu de Xocolata, whose entrance is on the side of what looks to be an abandoned warehouse. Inside, however, the glass doors lead you to a stunning display of fine, gourmet, local and imported chocolate products in a glass display case that doubles as their cash register and reception. The lady asked us for the admission price, which I think was a little over eight euros, and then handed us a chocolate bar as an admission ticket and walked us through a turnstile. Inside, everything smelled decadently sweet. The chocolate sculptures were delicate and impressive, the history more extensive that I had imagined! Here, we saw sculptures of La Sagrada Familia, famous soccer players from FC Barcelona, Homer Simpson, The Enterprise, and Wall-E! I bought some chocolate to bring home (and to eat), packed it in my purse, and we headed out again. We walked the winding side streets around La Rambla before returning to our hostel for a nap. Matt slept, while I waited for him to wake up, until he didn't wake up and I slept too. He woke me up, wanting to know if we should go out. Reluctantly, I agreed.

Outside again, we walked the side streets to look for cheap tapas. We settled on a nearly abandoned side street with a tucked away restaurant inside. The waiter pointed out dishes for us and tried to communicate what they were in slow Catalan. For the most part, I understood and tried to translate. In the end, we took his recommendations blindly and enjoyed a nice meal of tapas and cold drinks. The cocido serrano was a thick stew of chickpeas flavoured with the regional specialty (and "garnish" that even the vegetarian dishes could not escape) jamon serrano and it was hearty and delicious.

After dinner, we walked back to our hostel where I curled up to write postcards. We wanted to go to Schilling, which is a place notorious for housing JUST FOREIGNERS. It would be like partying with people in our hostel, but not in our hostel, which was better. Instead, we ended up a plaza, where Matt bought me a red wine that I could not finish, and we walked around, finishing the night with gelato.

We walked back via La Rambla, dodging the partiers, curving around the people captivated by the moving statues and people still buying wares. Something caught my right eye - a little man, with a tired, tanned face. He had white hair and leathery skin. His shirt was off and it looked like he walked around in a bubble because people were walking a wide radius around him. He looked perfectly content, rolling in his bubble down La Rambla. As we approached, I noticed that he was completely naked! He wore only his faded, black tribal tattoos down his arms, stomach, and around his waist. O Barcelona! You don't disappoint.

Paris, we hardly knew ye

2009-07-08T10:20:00.000-07:00

At 10:30am, we met Elise at Opera, from which we took the Metro to Père Lachaise cemetery. The cemetery contains the graves of such famous people as Oscar Wilde and Molière, none of which Matt and I found. Instead, we wandered the upper side of the hill, strolling through graves of ballerinas, aristocrats, Chinese-French, Auschwitz prisoners, leaders of the French Communist Party, commanders of Napoleon's Legion of Honor, and famous anthropologists with very blank tombstones. It was a beautiful day, with not too much sun and not too much wind.

From there, we went back to Opera, where we had some crêpes and a drink before heading out separately. Sable and Ross went to see the highly recommended Latin Quarter (even if they didn't know what the Sarbonne was!!!) while Matt, Elise, and I went to les Galeries Lafayette for some uber shopping. We wandered the mall, marvelling at the brands (and corresponding prices) before settling on buying things as less expensive places like H&M and Mango. Everybody found something, including Elise who was looking for a functional but stylish purse! After shopping, it was time for the Louvre.

Outside the Louvre, people were washing their tired feet in the fountains, which I am sure is not allowed but most tourists don't care. Inside the Louvre, Matt and I saw the whole Denon and Sully wings, rushing through the exhibits, since we only had two hours. Benoit met us at 8pm, before we made a mad dash for the Mona Lisa, Venus de Milo, and Etruscan exhibit. Oh the Etruscans! How I wish I could have been a part of your civilization! We met everyone at the inverted triangle (somehow of Dan Brown fame in North America) and wandered the gift shop. Benoit helped me buy international stamps and we were off to the Latin Quarter for dinner.

At Chez Clement, I ordered the set menu of tarte de Provence, a harmony of berry sorbets served in shot glasses and finished with a Pocky stick, and some carbonated water. Elise and Benoit had to leave early to catch their train to Plaisirs (which they did not end up catching!) and we stuck around to finish our meal then get lost on our way back to the hostel. At the end of the day, I was glad to not have to carry my terrible Metro card around and I was glad to be leaving France for another country. The first two days did not solve my dilemma because I was feeling quite satisfied with the city, feeling as though I had covered most of the major sights to see and did not have to return after this trip. At reception, the man called us a taxi only after we agreed to say Charles de Gaulle in a proper French accent. Go figure.

At 5:15 a.m., we left promptly for the airport. Sable was off to Helsinki, Matt and I were off to Barcelona, and Ross was taking the train to Toulouse. In the airport, we could not find the easyjet terminal, since a little sign told us they were changing gates. When we reached the terminal, I had forgotten to check my sunscreen and a sour faced, thin lady wagged her index finger at me while pursing her lips. Then she tossed the sunscreen back into my bin while putting her hands into prayer position and asking me to spread my arms. She then passed her hands through my cleavage! I guess French women hide things there more than other women ... at the X-ray, the man picked up my sunscreen from the bin and made THE SAME FACE WITH THE SAME WAGGING FINGER to scold me for it. I told them, in a not so calm voice, to throw it out for God's sakes. A little bit of fruit and waiting and we were gone from Paris for a little over a week.

Vite, vite!

2009-07-08T09:16:00.000-07:00

It was my second time in Paris and I was having a dilemma. My last visit to Paris was only two days in length and had given me the impression that Paris was a dirty, cold, hard city full of people who did not want you to speak their language and who could care less for your comfort or well being. This time around, I wanted to get the impression that Paris was a romantic, beautiful city, full of wonders undiscovered.

We arrived at 8:30am and were met promptly by Elise, who lives in Plaisirs. I bought postcards at Relay, where the clerks handed me free Sweet Gum for my purchase and smiled at my strange, Canadian accent. We lined up for Metro tickets and a ticket into Paris. If you are coming from Charles de Gaulle, you require a ticket to get into Paris (8,40 euros) and Metro tickets to get around Paris (1,14 euros each). Naively, we bought a two day pass and tickets to get into the city.

The train ride in was pleasant, showing you ivy-covered brick walls and small neighborhoods as you whizzed past them all into the heart of downtown. Elise took us to our hostel on Rue Caulaincourt where we finally met Ross. We dropped our bags off and headed to L'Arc de Triomphe for our first whole day in Paris. The Arc cost 9 euros for admission into the "museum" and we climbed 276 steps to get to the top. It was our first exposure to a series of neverending windy stairs, but not our last. We spent some time taking pictures at the top of the arc, sans Ross and Elise who had already seen the Paris sights over the weekend.

We then took a leisurely stroll down the Champs-Elysées, stopping at an Orange store to buy a phone for Matt so that he could call his parents. Meanwhile, I stole into a candy store across the street, marvelling at all of the elaborate sweets! Chocolate cupcakes with rose petal icing, macarons of every color and flavor imaginable, strawberry almond tarts - it was incredible! They even made perfume that smelled of their best-selling sweets in those old-fashioned bottles with a squeeze bulb!

At the end of our Champs-Elysées tour, we went inside the Petit Palais for free. Here, we discovered the Europeans' penchant for handing out actual tickets for free admission. We rested in the courtyard, taking pictures.

I don't remember exactly when I started having troubles with my Metro ticket, but my troubles were many. First, I simply could not get through the gates because my ticket was "invalid". I had my ticket recharged three times, I was let in through the "baby gate" (the gate where moms with strollers are let in) once, and I got stuck between the turnstile and an electric door once. Even the cool protective case couldn't save me from demagnetization. I am just one giant, human magnet.

Next stop was Saint-Michel and Notre Dame. I had been in both churches before and didn't feel the need to stand in the large, crazy line for another look. Matt and Sable went inside Saint Michel while Elise, Ross, and I walked around looking for a drink and/or sandwiches. Perhaps the most frustrating part of travelling with other people is the indecision. Looking for a place to eat is like getting gutted alive. This particular search for sandwiches was not as painful as searches in other cities, but it is something you do not need to worry about when travelling alone. We finally just settled on buying a drink and sitting by a fountain, resting our legs and feet. When Matt and Sable finally met us, we were ready to go and get something to eat. We all got sandwiches at a shop near the Notre Dame. I could not finish and saved my sandwich for later, along with all of the meals Air Canada had bestowed on me.

The last time I saw Notre Dame, it was virtually empty. It was undergoing restoration and cleaning, so I was thoroughly impressed to see the church up and running for its peak tourist season. It was bustling with people, including Catholics on bended knee, children lighting candles, tourists resting in the dark, cool inside. Everything - the ceilings, the flooring, the supports - was elaborate. It filled me with wonder and warmth.

From Notre Dame, we walked to an ice cream shop that Ross and Elise raved about. Canelle - that is the flavor that is so amazing and which I did not try. Instead, I tried the creamy, nutty kind of ice cream, watching as blond-haired, blue-eyed German schoolchildren bickered, laughed, and took pictures of Matt from behind. I was tired and sick from the motion-sickness patch (ironically), so we headed back to the hostel, where we checked in and I almost collapsed from exhaustion. The man at the reception desk was a dark-skinned, grinning man with a perfect French accent and an even more perfect English accent, making me think that perhaps I wasn't hearing my French accents correctly anymore. He was jovial and welcoming, and, though not particularly quick, he made the wait somewhat pleasant.

After a nap, I was awakened by a call to the room asking whether or not I had paid for the room and how I had done so. In fact, I had paid with a 100 euro bill! Reluctantly, I trudged downstairs to clear up the matter which merely entailed a screw-up at reception. Apparently, he had entered my payment as credit card on the receipt and could not find an authorization slip for the transaction, which never transpired since I paid him in cash. I was up, so we went to a cafe called Le Café qui parle for some dinner, where I had poached eggs on asparagus in a creamy mustard dressing with a crème brulée de cassis for dessert.

Then, sweet, sweet sleep.

Are we there yet?

2009-07-06T14:33:00.001-07:00

The morning of our flight to Charles de Gaulle, I woke up to my mother asking when I was leaving.

"This morning, mother."

"Oh. Weren't you supposed to leave on the 11th?"

"Obviously not."

I have been living out of the house for over a year and our conversations have hardly changed. I packed last minute items, slapped on a motion sickness patch, lost and re-discovered my money belt, then climbed into the car for a ride to Matt's.

At Matt's house, life was just beginning to stir. His mother put on a pot of coffee and I read the paper, staring at a large, 5 foot baby about to be put into the Alberta Art Gallery. Matt finished printing off reservations while I called my credit card companies to let them know that I would be making purchases in three different countries over the next two weeks. Matt called his debit company to inform them that he would be making purchases overseas as well, only to learn that his multi-digit PIN would not work overseas. Hopefully, he wouldn't have to use it since the banks didn't open until after we would be checked in at the airport.

One quick stop at TD Bank for a last minute withdrawal of Canadian cash and were were off ... to pick up Sable. Luckily, Sable is about 1000 times faster than a bank, so we were off to the airport in no time. At baggage check. my bag was 4.5kg. So much room for so much stuff!

My liquids were properly bagged this time around, so I breezed right through customs. On the other side of the metal detectors, I saw Sable getting randomly searched and Matt was surrounded by police. Sable finished and we left Matt to deal with whatever illicit drugs he may be harbouring to find crosswords and universal adaptors. When we had purchased our wares, Matt still wasn't finished. Apparently, the placement of his electronic devices and softcover book looked a lot like a bomb from the view of the X-ray machine. He promptly put his headphones away elsewhere. I was having problems of my own while Matt was being questioned, since I had dropped my change down my pants instead of down into my money belt. Sable cracked up while I shook the leg of my pants, dropping coins all over the floor. Change is cold.

The flight to Montreal was smooth and problem free. I watched random movie clips without real attention and fidgeted until we landed. We had a dinner at a lounge where the waiter shooed us out of the restaurant while he cleaned our table. A family who arrived after us simply jumped on a table, so we did the same and he reluctantly served us. There didn't seem to be any boarding calls being made over the PA system, so we were worried we might miss our boarding call. We ate quickly and ran to our gate only to find that we were just on time. The thunderstorm over Montreal didn't stop us from leaving.

The ride to Paris was amazing smooth. We experienced little to no turbulence that I remember. I watched a number of crappy movies, including Bride Wars and The Reader. I can appreciate Kate Winslet's niche, but I am tired of seeing her naked or half naked. Yay for good body image, boo for movies with poor plots. We received two meals on the plane, which made me sorely regret eating at the airport. If you are flying in the near future, be sure to list yourself as a "lacto-ovo vegetarian" so that you get the stellar special meals. My first meal was a chana masala on rice, with a dairy-free egg-free bun and a salad with water and fruit for dessert. My breakfast was a small banana muffin, a cup of fruit, and a small can of V8 juice. Good stuff people, good stuff.

In only a few short hours (11.5 or so), we had arrived in Paris. Bienvenue a France, mes amis!

Madrid - Day one?

2009-06-14T21:41:00.000-07:00

Meet Madrid:

Day 1: The Lonely Planet walk down Paseo del Prado. We can leave our hostel and walk to Tirso de Molina, the nearest Metro station. From there, we head to Banco de Espana and stop to admire the Fuente de Cibeles and Palacio de Comunicaciones. Two minutes north is the Palacio de Linares. Back to Paseo del Prado and working south, we can admire the Spanish Naval Museum and the stock exchange. Across the Plaza de la Lealtad is the Palacio de Canovas del Castillo, where the local sports teams celebrate their victories on the rather familiar fountain out front ... We can also take pictures in front of the Hotel Ritz and Hotel Palace, or stop for tea and pretend we are the celebrities we may or may not be surrounded by. And that is a solid guarantee. We can break for a fabulous collection of art at the Thyssen-Bornemisza, where a temporary exhibition of Matisse (1917-41) and both Thyssen-Bornmisza collections are showing for an admission price of 9 euros. On the Plaza de las Cortes is the Spanish Parliament and down the nearby Calle Duque de Medinaceli is the church which houses the famous Jesus de Medinaceli, brought out into the streets only on Easter! Back to the Paseo del Prado, we can see the Museo del Prado, with all of the splendors of classical and modern art. For the green thumbs out there, past the Plaza de Murillo lies the Real Jardin Botanico with three beautifully planted terraces and a greenhouse divided by climatic zones. Last, but not least, is the Estacion de Atocha which was converted into a greenhouse with a constant internal temperature of 24 C, which is a far cry from the 36 C it was in Madrid this weekend! Holy crap! From here, we can take the Metro to Estacion de Sol and head to the oldest restaurant in the world: Casa Botin, which seems to serve such old world dishes as suckling pig and lamb ... OR, we can go to Casa Labra, which is famous for their tapas and once housed the Spanish Socialist party. There are too many tabernas to choose from off this stop, so take your pick! Then, off to the clubs! Or ... sleep. Whatever works.

Paris Proposal

2009-06-08T09:01:00.000-07:00

Not talking about marriage here - dresses scare me.

Actually, I wanted to propose a loose itinerary for the two days we'll all be in Paris together. However, I am mapping stuff out from the internet ... which may or may not be totally unreliable. So Elise - you have to tell me what is an impossibility and what is not, because I can assure you that I have no idea what is going on with Paris transit other than what Google maps tells me :) So, we'll get to our hostel and we'll be in Montmartre on the morning of Tuesday, June 16.

We can walk to the nearest Metro station (Place de Clichy?) and take a LONG METRO RIDE back the way we came to Charles de Gaulle-Etoile. Here, we will find the L'Arc de Triomphe and gaze down the vast avenue where the Tour de France terminates. From there, we walk down the famous Champs-Elysees and take in the giant windows full of wonderful fashion I could never afford, even on my most dreamy Nobel Prize-winning salary (Seriously - I saw a special on Hermes bags yesterday and one Birken bag can cost as much as $15 000 CAD!). Just past Franklin D. Roosevelt station, we can find Les Galeries Nationales du Grand Palais to browse and enjoy.

If we continue down Avenue Champs-Elysees, we can either hop on the Metro at Concorde and take the train to Tuileries, where we can find the world famous Tuileries gardens. I will strike my best Marie Antoinette pose and we can wander forever and ever and ever along the palace grounds. OR, we could hop on the Metro at Concorde and take the train to Saint Michel, where we can see Notre Dame and the surrounding cathedrals. Here, I will pretend to be Esmerelda, but fully clothed, since nobody is allowed into the churches without full cover. (Respect for Jesus, yo). We'll see how people feel.

I'm not sure where we will fit lunch in there, but we can fit it. It will be time for dinner and we can dine somewhere ... I don't have my handbook on me so I can't make an instant recommendation, but we'll see how we feel that day. Nightey-night in Paris - I say we see the Sacre-Coeur Basilica, where you have to hike a bunch of small steps to see creepy chanting ... but the church looks beautiful at night and is lit entirely by candlelight from the inside. It's beautiful and we can walk there from our hostel. Then it's sleepytime for us!

The 17th could be real shopping day, with a short Metro ride from Lamarck (ha!)-Caulaincourt to Opera, where we can see the Opera House (the steps on which I have highly amusing photos from the last time I was in Paris and also on which you must watch your back ...) and Les Galeries Lafayette. It's a huge shopping mall, not too unlike malls in America, but containing some uniquely French department store brands. It's worth going to see, anyway. From Opera, we can head to Palais Royal/Musee de Louvre, which is self-explanatory. It will take HOURS to get through all of those wonders, so we'll probably spend the bulk of our day here. I have heard rumours that the Louvre is free for anybody under 26, but I am not sure if that is just an empty promise ... after the Louvre, we are close to the shadiest shopping district in Paris (that is a feat people!) and I kind of want to go, but I don't expect everybody to follow. Les Halles is a few Metro stops from Palais Royal, so I might go for some cheap buys and eats apres-Louvre. Those who don't wish to follow could perhaps continue on the Metro to Bastille or Universite de la Sorbonne Nouvelle Paris III, where I will probably want to meet you. The Bastille needs no introduction, but the Sorbonne might. It is a famous center of learning and includes some of the most modern architecture in all of France. If we didn't hit up the Notre Dame Cathedral yesterday, this would be an ideal time to do it, since Ile de la Cite is just north of the Sorbonne.

The night will be chill since we will have to rise early for the - gulp - 7:40am plane ride to Barcelona the next morning. We could take our last night in Paris to see the Eiffel Tower at night. I am partial to it all lit up, but others may not care to go at night. We could have a quick drink with the bums around the Eiffel Tower, watch the Seine ripple, then call it a night. What do you think?

I'm excited, friends. I am so excited!

Yay for almost travel!

2009-05-29T15:41:00.001-07:00

Okay, it's getting down to business and I should really do some real planning for the trip. I was supposed to take my birthday money and go get some comfortable yet stylish shoes, but I think it got blown on eating out. Though eating out is equally as good as getting new shoes, the practicality of new shoes far exceeds that of eating out. Especially the practicality of buying travelling shoes, which must be comfortable enough to spend hours and hours of walking in them without getting blisters or feeling like your feet might burst the shoe. Since most men I know care less for fashion ANYWAY, this idea is not as harrowing as it sounds to me. But as a female who really does care how she looks, I really feel like I need a fashionable alternative to the *shudder* croc or even the comfy Birkenstock. I mean, I need a Hush Puppy designed by Steve Madden.

Okay, so I need new shoes. I also need a money belt and euros to put in that money belt, as well as a light rain jacket and maybe a couple of phrasebooks ... ? I think I will at least need a Portugese phrasebook to make me feel comfortable enough to ask for a ginja without laughing at myself. I should also stop calling it a made-up language just because I sound stupid when I speak it.

On the non-purchasing end, I need to find a sturdy, lightweight bag that can carry all of my essentials, including my clothes, toiletries, and electronics while still being secure enough to prevent me from getting robbed blind from my side pockets. I thought I might be able to swing bringing my notorious black and white lululemon bag, but I think it is too "open" for the streets of Barcelona. This may also turn into a shopping trip ... I also need to decide on what backpack I would like to bring to check all of my goodies in.

Furthermore, I am going to sit down and write out explicitly all of the places I DEFINITELY want to go see so that I can be firm and say,"We're going here!" Like, the Aquarium in Lisbon! Then I will make a secondary list of things to do when I feel like the trip is slowing down as well as a list of things to do when clearly bored. That list will include sleep. It's all about the itinerary, people.

Finally, I will make a short list of the places I would like to eat. As you can tell from previous posts, I am all about the eating. Hopefully I can get all of the above done in a couple of weeks ... I am worried that I am running out of time entirely to do the things that I should and can do. It's terrible. But that's the beauty of impromptu trip planning - it sure keeps you on your toes!!

Cheap flights

2009-05-20T16:35:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, I can't help but check out the flight sales. Like today, less than a month away from my two week Europe trip, I scrolled down the e-newsletter just to peek at the sales.

Get this: Edmonton - Tokyo is $274 each way. Seriously, that is less than we are paying to fly to Paris, my friends! To the Bahamas? $239 each way. $90 to Seattle, $159 to L.A. ... if only I had more time to just spend elsewhere!!

Well, I guess if you have time to spend elsewhere, you should definitely check the deals out and send me a postcard!!

Portugal = food heaven

2009-05-19T21:41:00.000-07:00

Welcome back foodies!

After adjusting to the Spanish meal schedule, we will get a chance to switch back to a more normal meal schedule before we head back to Paris (or wherever you may be headed post-Lisbon!). The Portugese eat a light breakfast whenever they wake up and breakfast consists of milky espresso and a roll, served with butter or jam. Lunch lasts for over an hour and is served from noon to around three, followed by a late dinner at 8pm. Usually, the main meals include soup.

I don't know about you, but I heart soup. It is probably one of the most comforting, most enjoyable foods on earth. Calo verde is a soup made of potato, shredded cabbage, and Portugese chorizo. Fish stew, or bacalhau, is also common. Though I doubt we will have the chance to sample it, cocido a portugesa is a fiery, hearty stew filled to the brim with whatever the chef can get his hands on. Beef, pork, chorizo, fish, chickpeas, carrots, turnips, cabbage ... you name it, it's in there. What will I eat, you ask? Feijoada is a thick, rich bean stew or acorda, which is a rich bread casserole flavoured with herbs and vegetables, or sometimes seafood.

The main dishes are hearty and flavourful. The beef lovers out there (I mean, we're from Alberta) will like the traditional dish alcatra, which is beef marinated in red wine, garlic, and herbs then roasted. Tripes a moda do porto is tripe with white beans; francescinha is a tripe sandwich; pork served with clams; rice flavoured with lamprey; alheira (yellow sausage) served with fried potatoes and a fried egg; and, not joking, resende is an entire ox roasted, encircled by roasted chickens. Despite their variety of meat dishes, the regional specialty is seafood. Cod is the most readily available fish and is served in a million different ways (think poutine at La Banquise in Montreal!), including fried, dried, salted, steamed, boiled, grilled, and even roasted! More exotic seafood will cater to adventurous foodies, including cuttlefish, spiny lobster, barnacles and goose barnacles, and periwinkles. Something to try? Piri piri is a small, hot red pepper and is dried, ground, and added to the marinades of many meat dishes. I have an inkling that piri piri chicken is likely extremely delicious and too good to be imitated by President's Choice (sorry PC - you're still my favourite :)

CHEESE. The cheese in Portugal is usually made from sheep or goat's milk and are flavoured with many different spices, herbs, fruit, and vegetables. Quiejo de Sao Jorge is a spicy cow's milk cheese while quiejo da Serra da Estrela is a fragrant, soft, sheep's milk cheese. Rarely is cheese incorporated into traditional cooking, so cheese is often eaten as an appetizer or with dessert.

SPEAKING OF DESSERT, the Portugese are known for their rich and creamy desserts that are too high in egg and sugar content. Leite-creme is a sweet egg custard, arroz doce is a popular rice pudding, aletria is a pudding made from vermicelli topped with a stenciled heart made of cinnamon, pudim flan is a custardy pudding, and pasteis de nata is the most famous dessert in the country and is a sweet egg custard tart flavoured with vanilla and cinnamon. Mmmm ... cinnamon ... this would be the country where you should purchase spices for your mothers. Just saying.

Finally, the drinks. Wine is a common drink in Portugal, just as in other parts of Europe, but here you should sample the Vinho Verde, or green wine. In actuality, the green wine is a rose, red, or white, but it comes specially from a province called Minho and is called green because the wine must only be imbibed when the wine is young. Another regional specialty is port wine, usually served with dessert. Vinho de Madeira comes only from Madeira and tastes like sherry. Ginjinha is cherry brandy and is also very popular in this country.

I gather that Portugal is very diverse in its cuisine. Traditional Portugese cuisine is available, but, if we grow tired of seafood by then, there is a more diverse array of cuisines from which to choose while dining in Portugal than any other country we are visiting, perhaps with the exception of France. Indeed, Lisbon houses some of the most impressive Indian and Thai restaurants in the world, as well as Japanese, Italian, and even Ukranian (!). We will most certainly not be at a loss here.

Mmmm ... pastries.

Chau!

NEW Flight Change

2009-05-05T09:09:00.000-07:00

Hello travel buddies!

I am still pouring some research into Portugese food (stomach ... growling ...), but in the meantime, I thought I would highlight a major flight change:

Our flight from Vueling airlines which flies from Barcelona (BCN) to Madrid (MAD) was supposed to leave Barcelona at 4:10pm and arrive in Madrid at 5:30pm.

Our NEW flight will be leaving Barcelona at 19:00 (7pm) and arriving in Madrid at 20:15 (8:15pm) on June 21. Looks like we'll be able to fit in some tapas before flying ...

As a side note, it is my birthday today, and in the spirit of cultural exploration, I thought I would give you a little history on the significance of el cinco de mayo (May 5).

Back in the 1861 day, Mexico was heavily in debt to countries like France and it stopped making payments. In response, France attacked and occupied Mexico. At the time, France was undefeated in 50 previous battles. On May 5, 1862, an underpopulated Mexican army revolted and defeated the French during the Battle of Puebla. It was one of the most unexpected victories in the history of war and certainly something to celebrate. Contrary to popular belief, el cinco de mayo is not a national holiday, but is observed in Puebla and a few other regions. Worldwide, it is recognized as a day to appreciate Mexican culture and independence, even though Mexico's actual independence day is September 16.

Also, the French came back and eventually occupied Mexico City until our country's independence year, 1867, when the United States put heavy pressure on France to withdraw its presence in Mexico.

Cool, huh? ¡Hasta luego!

Foodies

2009-04-22T16:48:00.000-07:00

I was going to give you a detailed history of each cuisine by country, but I am feeling dissatisfied with that style at the moment. Instead, I am going to give you a preview of the dishes I want to try in the hopes that my readers can suggest more! Or at least drool over possible eats with me ... Also, since I know we are operating off of a budget here, I will include some of the lesser celebrated dishes and go for the cheap eats. That way, if we find ourselves in a bit of a financial squeeze by the end of the trip, we'll know where to go ...

In Paris, cheap wine is good and there are few corners you can turn where you won't find a boulangerie (bakery) full of freshly baked goods. According to the travel section online in our local paper, the budget-wise traveller can eat quality dairy and good wine every day in Paris because "you have your whole life to eat vegetables". Cheap eats include steak and frites (fries!), ham and cheese in baguette, and quiche. Online Tripadvisor suggests that the cheapest way to eat is to buy market food, including fresh, locally farmed vegetables and meats. Also, large grocery chains are the most moderately priced in Paris, including Monoprix, which is a department store that will sell you everything from clothes to food, and Franprix, which is a small grocery store chain. Among the notable dishes you can try in France (though not necessarily part of budget-friendly travel) are coq au vin (chicken cooked in red wine), pot au feu (beef stew), bouillabaisse (a fish stew), foie gras (fatty duck), escargots, and les jambes des grenouilles (frog legs). My personal nostalgic favorites included the potato omelette, which used to cost just 4 francs outside Versailles, and any kind of galette. A galette is a small savory pie, which can contain creamy sauces and meats and vegetables or, my favorite, the tomato basil galette. Far from traditional but SUPER yummy. Vegetarians? There are lots of options, including vegetable quiches, vegetable stews, vegetable galettes, and more non-traditional preparation of dishes cropping up, especially in Marais, where the hip, trendy, University crowd tends to hang. The more famous dishes from France tend to be the desserts and I can attest to the quality of these dishes firsthand: mousse au chocolat, crème brulée, profiteroles (little cream puffs!), éclairs, chocolate filled croissants, les gâteaus (cakes), and many other delightful pastries stuffed with cream, liqueurs, chocolate, caramel, and drizzled in ganache.

Are you hungry yet?

In short, the most decadent part of our trip will be in Paris, sampling the creamy, rich textures of traditional French cooking and the savory flavors of seasonal, regional herbs.

In Barcelona, we will begin our foray into tapas. I think I already gave you good preview of some of those dishes in a previous entry (What are tapas, anyway?), but I will mention a few more: grilled razor clams, baby calamari, ham croquettes, chiperones fritos (fried, blackened hot peppers dipped in sea salt), tuna and stewed cabbage, cheese and prawn tortillas, chorizo sausage, crab mayonnaise or cream cheese with blueberry jam over a sweet croissant ... literally, the combinations of ingredients to make tapas is endless! The drinks are equally enticing: orxata is a soft drink made from chufa, a papyrus plant; granizado is an orange, lemon, or coffee slushee drink; beguda de pobre (drink of the poor) is a mix of oranges, anise, and sugar to make a refreshing and surprising drink; cerveza is a beer in a bottle; caña is a draught of beer; and, of course, cava and wine.

Catalonian entrées? Try calçotada with romesco, fire-grilled spring onions dipped in a sauce made from tomatoes, red peppers, onions, garlic, almonds, and olive oil. Or any of the following: Conill con cargols, rabbit with snail in a perfumed sauce; sarsuela, a fish and shellfish dish served in a tomato-paprika spiced sauce; fideua, paella served over noodles instead of rice; arros negre, or rice served with black squid; faves ofegades, or beans cooked with black and white Catalan sausage served with peas; tiro amb naps, roast duck with turnips; or mariscada, which is fish and shellfish served with garlic and olive oil. Um ... yes, dining as a vegetarian seems like a daunting task in Barcelona, but I think we can manage. La Boquería is the place to find vegetables all the time. Dessert? Mel I Mato is a soft, white cheese served with honey, crema Catalana is a custard pudding coated in burnt caramel, pastisset is a cake stuffed with almonds, menjar blanc is a milky almond pudding, and, of course, churros are a sweet, donut-like pastry.

Phew. Okay, I need a snack break after reading all of that. Until next time fellow foodies!

Loving Lisbon

2009-04-16T13:29:00.000-07:00

Lisbon. When I figured out how to fit Portugal into our whirlwind tour of France and Spain, I could barely sleep, thinking about the possibilities. But a few websites alluded to the fact that a large earthquake had destroyed nearly the entire city and there wasn't much to see. The Polish lady from our wash-up room also confided that she was terribly disappointed by Lisbon, but could not stop thinking about Barcelona. My excitement slowly waned. Then I picked up a Lonely Planet guide to Lisbon. This entry, my friends, is dedicated to showing you why the two and half days we will spend in Lisbon may very well be the best of the trip.

The Phoenicians dabbled in modern-day Portugese land, but the Romans truly established Olissippo, or Lisbon, in 205 B.C. Julius Caesar declared the city the western capital of the Roman Empire in 60 B.C., explaining the remains of the grand Museo do Teatro Romano that exist in the city today. The Moors fought their way into Lisbon on 711, taking over the city and fortifying their Castelo de São Jorge to define the city they called Lissabona. With their strong industry in preserving fish, the Moors' fortress sustained the townspeople and the walls proved inpenetrable by the Christians for the next 400 years. The Alfama is a modern-day tribute to Moorish Lisbon.

In 1147, Lisbon was seiged by the British Christians, and King Afonso Henriques banishes the Moors from Portugal. To add insult to injury, they burned down the Moor mosques and built the Sé Cathedral on top of mosque ruins. Moving the capital from Coimbra to Lisbon made sense to Afonso III, since Lisbon provides access to strategic ports and an attractive geographical position.

The Age of Discovery saw Portugese explorers claiming lands all over the world. Notably, Madeires and the Azores were claimed by Prince Henry the Navigator in the early 1400s, Vasco de Gama discovered the sea route to India (sorry Columbus), and Pedro Álvares Cabral founded Brazil in 1500. Unfortunately, Portugal could not keep their colonies long - Spain claimed Portugal in the 1500s but the Peace Treaty of Lisbon returned rule back to the Portugese in 1668. Brazil declared independence in 1822, and Macau - Portugal's last colony - was returned to China, eventually.

On November 1, 1755, All Saint's Day, the most violent earthquake ever recorded in European history hit Lisbon. It measured a 9.0 on the Richter scale. For reference, the Chinese earthquake of August last year measured a 6.1 and the L'Aquila earthquake in Italy from last week measured a 6.3. The earthquake triggered a fire that blazed through surrounding towns and provinces. Out of 270 000 Lisboetas, 90 000 were killed in the earthquake. Immediately following the earthquake, the Marquês de Pombal repaired and rebuilt streets and avenues in a grid-like pattern preserved today. He earthquake-proofed all of the buildings in an architectural style advanced for the times. Baixa stands as a testimony to his ingenuity.

During Napoleonic occupation, Lisbon spiralled into misery. Poverty was exacerbated as the royal family fled to Brazil and looters plundered the royal properties. By the mid-nineteenth century, Maria II ruled over a stable Lisbon and built the fantastical Palácio Nacional da Pena. The population was growing steadily, hence the addition of Avenida da Liberdade to the North. The advent of the 20th century brought the famous Lisbon trams into operation.

The political landscape of Portugal grew turbulent during the 1900s. King Carlos' oldest son was assassinated in 1908, which spurned the revolution of 1910. King Manuel II abdicated, giving way to the Primeira Republica. Like all first republics, the autonomy was short lived, when a 1926 coup d'état put General Antonio de Fragoso Carmona into dictatorial power.

António de Oliveira Salazar succeeded Carmona as Prime Minister of the Estado Novo in 1932. Salazar was a staunchly Catholic, authoritarian, right-wing ruler who chose to support General Franco in the Spanish Civil War of 1936. He also established the Policia Internacional e de Defesa do Estado (PIDE), which conjures flashbacks to the Gestapo, looking for communists and other dissidents. He declared Lisbon neutral during WWII, but allowed the Allies to use air bases located in the Azores.

Interestingly, the Conservative government worked to establish economic stability in Lisbon. Salazar's most famous and most controversial move during his rule was to use militia and infantry to stop radicalism in Portugese colonies in Africa. He died in 1970 after a stroke, succeeded by Marcelo Caetano, who was overthrown in 1974. Democracy had finally reached Lisbon, along with a huge flood of refugees from the African colonies, changing the population demographic for the decades to come.

I don't speak Portugese but I do speak Spanish. It is tempting to believe that the Portugese will speak Spanish because they are shoulder-to-shoulder neighbors, but speaking Spanish to a Lisboeta is more like a slap-in-the-face than a friendly attempt to communicate. Do not attempt to speak Spanish in Lisbon until you ask "Fala espagnol?" and they reply "Sí". The better way to approach Lisboetas is to speak broken and terrible Portugese. They will laugh at you in a good-natured way, then help you, which is a lot better, you will see, than what happens in France when you speak Canadien to them.

After leaving Madrid, we will be all tuckered out from long days sightseeing and long nights partying, but Madrid was just a warm-up for Lisbon. The drink of choice is ginjinha, or cherry brandy, and most bars center around this drink. Ginja D'Alfama charges only one euro per ginjinha, and represents an ideal place to try the drink. Última Sé is a reggae bar that serves sushi with mixed contemporary art - a small indication of the eclectic culture Lisbon serves up on a regular basis. The best wine bar in Lisbon can be found in the neighborhood Belém, Enoteca de Belém, which closes at 10. Apparently, wine fests constitute only 'pre-drinking' in western Europe. Another treasure? House of Vodka showcases over 300 different kinds of Vodka for you to sample, including fig and, wait for it, potato-flavored vodka. It's listed hours are 12-3pm and 7-late. Go figure.

Centro Cultural de Belém is a concert hall that hosts experimental jazz, contemporary ballet, breakthrough plays and musicals, as well as performances by the Portugese Chamber Orchestra. Casino Lisboa hosts Cirque du Soleil shows and caters to a young, hip crowd dressed in smart casual. Parque das Nações is a promenade designed for biking. Rent a bike and travel the entire riverfront to burn off that midday lethargy.

Avenida da Liberdade is the equivalent to Paris' Champs-Élysées, featuring tall windows of Gucci, Louis Vuitton, Prada, Jimmy Choo, Armani and the lesser known but still famous Portugese brands Mango, Swatch, and Foreva.

Still, wandering Lisbon is the best way to take in all the sights. Alfama is the Moorish neighborhood, Bairro Alto is the land of perpetual bar-crawling, including the world famous bar Lux, which does not charge cover until 4am. Be warned, though, Lux lines are long and the more glamorous you look, the faster you get in. Mosteiro dos Jerónimos was the hub of Portugese explorations returned to the motherland and is a must-see by all tourists in Lisbon. Miradouros are the virtual stairways to heaven - sets of long, high stairs that lead to spectacular outlooks over the entire city. They will also help you burn off all the calories you consume at the pastelarias, which serve light, carmelized pastry wrapped around silky, lightly sweetened cream. The Museo do Oriente offers a glimpse into the Portugese obsession with Asian culture, including exhibits dedicated to Oriental gods and curses. Finally, the Palácio Nacional de Sintra will leave you with the impression that the wealth in Portugal could parallel any of the world powers we have toured before.

The biologist in me wants to believe I am not a total square, but Portugal's Oceanario is nothing to be ashamed of wanting to see. This aquarium is the second largest in Europe and 8000 different species of sealife in seven million litres of seawater. What, you wonder, could Lisbon offer that is unique from, say, Stanley Park? Try Magellan penguins, filigree seadragons, ocean sunfish, moon jellyfish, and the mythical giant sea octopus.

Lucky for us, we are arriving during one of the most celebrated months for the country. The Festa do Fado occurs during June, which celebrates the tradition of spontaneous, joyful, beautiful song called Fado. Think musical meets folk, and you might begin to understand the complexity and meaning of fado. Hopefully, we can take in at least one street show of Fado, but the Mesa de Frades houses performers who are professional fado singers, which might be worth the ticket price. Additionally, it's Gay Pride month, meaning the wildest, craziest, most colorful parties ever will erupt throughout the city.

Interestingly, the best Indian and Japanese food this side of France can be found in Portugal, thanks to the colonial ties it established during the Age of Discovery and those ties solidified during Salazar's rule. I suggest we try Tamarind for a truly international experience (and naan to die for). Doca Peixe is the heart of Lisbon food, including the freshest seafood you can find. Pick your meal from the aquarium at the front.

For the traveller with more than a few days, I suggest a day trip to Sintra. The town houses the most elaborate palaces and showcases the brightest, most stable times Portugese had. The optimism is almost tangible, meaning it will brighten up a gloomy day with glitz, gold, and ... Andy Warhol? Yep, the city contains an unparalleled modern art collection at the Museu de Arte Moderna. If we can squeeze it in, we should also visit this city who fuses every culture from Spanish, Portugese, and Indian to Bavarian. Speaking of Bavarian cream, this city is famous for rotting the teeth of its royalty - try the pillow (travesseiro), which is a puff pastry rolled seven times, filled with almond and egg yolk cream, then dusted with sugar. Or the queijadas, which inflates puff pastry with marzipan creme made of cheese, sugar, flour, and cinnamon.

There is so much to see and so little time! I have a feeling I will be dreaming of Lisbon for months to come, even after I return from Europe.

Até logo meus amigos!

¿Café? ¿Chocolate?

2009-04-15T19:26:00.001-07:00

I used to visit our friend Nicole in her lab when we were in our fourth year. Her supervisor was from Argentina and had a very discerning taste in coffee. I once walked in with a coffee from a certain famous national franchise and he insisted that I dump out my "dirty umbrella water" so that he could make me an expresso. "Proper coffee" he insisted. To us, coffee is coffee. Even lattes are coffee. To the Madrileños, coffee has as many dimensions as string theory.

In Madrid, your morning meal is light - toast and coffee (coffee as we know it, that is). Mid-morning, the whole city seems to stop for chocolate y churros, or café con churros. What kind of café should you be drinking?

WELL:

If you want strong, black expresso, ask for café solo. If you like creamy, milky expresso, ask for café con leche (coffee with milk). Like just a drop or two of milk? Café cortado. Hot?

You may be like me and somewhat sensitive to the effects of caffeine. Ask for un americano, which is expresso and water ... coffee! Hot morning? Café con hielo gives you un americano over ice. Descafeinado = decaffeinated. (But what's the point of that in Madrid?)

Tea is for the English, so the tea will not impress or surprise you in any way, but the best choices in any Spanish café will be manzanilla (chamomile), mento (mint), or poleo (peppermint).

While we are on the subject of beverages, allow me to introduce you to a few of the regional specialties.

Wine in any of the countries we are visiting will be exceptional, especially in France where the grapes differ by coast. The red wines, like Bordeaux, are exceptional. Champagne is this country's specialty. In Spain, cava is a popular drink, which is sparkling wine that originates from Penédes. Sangría mixes red wine with Spanish lemonade (gaseosa), fresh cut fruit, sugar, and different liqueurs. Vino con gaseosa, or tinto de verano, combines just red wine with lemonade. Dry sherry called fino pairs well with cava while txakoli (a sparkling Basque white wine) is a good stand alone drink. Cervezas are beers and, my personal favorite, cervezas negras are dark beers. Pacharán is sloes served over ice; anís is a strong herb liqueur reminiscent of ouzo; Orujo is a strong herb liqueur, like Jaggermeister on steroids while orujo blanco is am milder version of the same liqueur; gin and tonic is ... gin-tonic; rum and coke is Cuba-libre; and agua de Valencia is cava poured over orange juice. Lisbon is so eclectic ... the drinks are many, but the regional specialty is ginjinha, a beautiful cherry brandy.

Finally, the hot chocolate is amazing in each region. When Sable and I visited Montréal, we went to Juliet et Chocolat and ate chocolate until we were sick (literally). In France, ask for chocolat chaud and you will receive a thick, creamy, steaming mug of melted bittersweet chocolate. In Spain, ask simply for chocolate and you will receive even thicker blends of milk and dark chocolate. In Lisbon? Xocolat is the same. My advice (without even being there): have it, but don't overdo it.

Just needing water? L'eau in France. In Spain, water is agua, but you have to specify con gas or sin gas for sparkling or without carbonation, respectively. Also, for the Spanish-savvy, jugo is not used in Spain. Zumo is the word for juice, so orange juice is zumo de naranja and fruit juice is zumo de frutas.

If you have any questions about a specific drink, message me and I can post it¡

What are tapas, anyway?

2009-04-14T19:51:00.001-07:00

When the taberna was first established, apparently in 1725, bartenders use to keep flies out of their patron's drinks by topping each glass with jamón serrano (cured ham), which the patron would eat. 'Tapa' means 'lid'. Thus began the tradition of giving one tapa with every drink bought, even after the flies were no longer a regular nuisance.

Tapas have evolved over centuries to showcase the best ingredients from all over Spain. Some tapas you can find in North America include Manchego cheese drizzled in honey and chorizo wrapped around Spanish olives - these are the result of creative culinary minds working to combine the best of tastes. In Spain, however, tapas vary according to availability. In Barcelona, you will find the best in seafood tapas - prawns in oil, squid in paella, octopus in spicy sauce, and fried cod. In Madrid, you will find much the same but a a focus on agrarian sources, including roasted lamb chunks and fried cheese. Want to join the young, hip, Madrileño crowd? Eat the potato omelette (tortilla de patata). Not only is it nutritious and delicious, but it seems to revive partied out foreigners from the worst hangovers.

I suggest trying the paella - a fishy, tomato-based stew containing fresh seafood brewed in broth and served over rice. It is satisfying and a famously Spanish food. The choices, however, are endless. Bowls of olives and almonds, fried fish (especially cod - bacalao frito), stewed meat, stuffed aubergines, chorizo sausage, sea bream, tripe stew, cocido (Madrileño stew), all kinds of prawns, stewed bull's tail, and almendritos (small sandwiches).

Remember: eating in Spain is all about timing. Eating a late breakfast will help you eat a late lunch (lunch is often not served until 1:30pm at the earliest, and even then, the pickpockets can spot a hungry foreigner from a mile away, just by seeing when you eat), which will prepare you for a late dinner, which will help you survive all those late nights!

Am I excited for tapas? Hells yes! And I hope, dear readers, so are you.

Branch Out

2009-04-13T11:30:00.000-07:00

There are a number of daytime excursion trips that you can take from the city of Madrid for a very reasonable Eurail fee. Our original itinerary included some time to go to Toledo as a day trip, but there are other famous cities that we can consider as well.

Supposedly, you can follow the history of Spain just by chronicling the changes in architecture that adorns the city of Toledo. Toledo was once Spain's capital, housing the archbishop Primate of Spain (I know - I thought it too.) The Tagus River bounds Toledo on three sides and the best vantage point to view the city in all of its splendor is from the world-famous parador hotel and its waterfront cafe. The main industry in Toledo was inlaying steel, meaning that you can bring your brothers real swords back as a souvenir. Assuming that customs doesn't confiscate it, that is ... Toledo is also home to the Alcázar, the 16th century fortress built by the Moors; the Monasterio de San Juan de los Reyes, built by orders of Ferdinand and Isabella when the country defeated Portugal in the 15th century; many mosques, churches, and synagogues because all three religions co-existed in the one city; and the Museo El Greco, showcasing the art of the infamous El Greco.

El Escorial is the impressive mausoleum of General Franco, located outside the city of Madrid. 1500 workers completed the palace in 21 years, installing 1200 doors and 2500 windows. The four wings are the Palace Monastery, the Basilica, the Library, and the Friar's garden. Within wings, you can find museums dedicated to specific aspects of the palace, like the Museum of Art and the Museum of Architecture, but the tourist moneyshot is the Royal Pantheon. Inside the Royal Pantheon are the sarcophagi of Charles V (a.k.a. Carlos I), Felipe V, Fernando VI, and Amadeo I of Savoy, and their princesses are entombed in adjacent rooms.

Segovia is a Castilian town situated between the Eresma and Clamores rivers. Here, you can find a deteriorating aqueduct that serviced Madrid and the surrounding towns. The Knights Templar built Vera Cruz, a cathedral that stands in Segovia today. Segovia constitutes a half-day, at most.

Follow the foothills of the Sierra de Guadarrama out of Segovia and you will find yourself at La Granja de San Ildefonso. Felipe V could not get the image of Louis XIV's Versailles out of his head, so he ordered the construction of an elaborate palace to serve as Spain's own magnificent palace. Though not as famous as Versailles, it contains all of the indulgent decor you would expect from constitutional monarchs of the time: gold stucco, marble floors, velvet draperies, ornate gardens, and impeccable landscaping. The chestnut woods hedge the outdoor gardens and greenery creates a maze out front of the palace, that you can wander around for another half day.

If we had a car, I would say we should make a trip up the continental Spanish countryside to see all of the medieval towns in their rustic splendor, but there just simply is not enough time. When we get to Madrid, I think we will have a better idea of the satellite towns we want to visit and when. But this was just to get you thinking ...

¡Hasta luego!

Merciless Madrid

2009-04-12T17:46:00.000-07:00

When I was an impressionable little girl, I picked up a magazine at the movies that interviewed Bif Naked during her non-cancerous hardcore partying days. The interviewer asked what her most memorable event on tour has been thus far, to which she answered,"Pissing in Madrid." He proceeded to ask what her favorite place to travel was and why, and she answered,"Pissing in Madrid." Curious, methought. Yet, after reading about Madrid, there is no way I could be more excited about, ahem, visiting Madrid.

In 852 A.D., The Moors traveled from North Africa to Spain and established a permanent settlement called Magerit (Mayrit), which is the Arab name for Madrid. Muhammad I built a large fortress, alcázar, around the city in the subsequent decade. The following two centuries saw the persecution and ultimate triumph of the Christians, establishing a strong Catholic following in Madrid, seemingly characteristic of all countries within landlock of Italy.

Flash forward to 1492 (the past centuries were a blur of saints, crusades, and campaigns), when the Jewish people are expelled from Spain, emptying the Lavapiés Quarter of Madrid. The Catholic Church erected the monastery of San Jerónimo el Real in 1501, which is still used for weddings today.

Felipe II moves his court from Barcelona (see Busy in Barcelona post for his predecessor) to Madrid, making Madrid the official capital of Spain. Over the next two centuries and four Felipes later, San Lorenzo del Escorial, Plaza Mayor, and the Palacio del Buen Retiro are built; Miguel de Cervantes, who authored Don Quixote, dies; and Spanish becomes the official language of Madrid thanks to the establishment of the Royal Academy of the Spanish language in the city.

1759 hailed the arrival of King Carlos III in Madrid and he builds some of the most famous pieces of architecture in Madrid today, including La Cibeles, Neptune and Apollo, the Royal Botanic Gardens, and the Palacio Real.

In 1808, Madrid loses the battle to overthrow the occupying French forces. They are defeated in under five hours, leaving more than 1000 Madrileños dead in the streets. Wellington finally ousts the French during the Peninsular Wars (well ... they retreated, actually) and seizes the Church properties in Spain. Finally, Madrid has entered the Industrial revolution.

A railway is built, the fortress walls are taken down, and Madrid opens to the rest of the world. In 1873, Spain declares its first Republic, making use of its new Cortes (Parliament). Unfortunately, First Republic implies that there is probably a second republic coming. Alfonso XII restores the Bourbon monarchy to the throne, continuing to build the extensive infrastructure plans started in Madrid with the railway. Underground lines and the first Metro station are completed in 1921 under Alfonso XIII. The monarch is exiled in 1931 when Spain declares its Second Republic.

The Spanish Civil War ensues, Juan Carlos I assumes the throne after the death of Franco, establishing a democracy. In 1978, a new constitution is approved by the Spanish people. Things were looking up for the Madrileños, until 1981, when Colonel Tejero attempts a futile coup d'état. In the same year, Picasso's masterpiece Guernica, which visually documents the ravages of the world wars, is returned to Spain.

During socialist rule, Madrid is declared the Cultural Capital of Europe by the European Union, referring specifically to its museums, palaces, and talented artists. In 1996, the conservatives succeed the socialists in an election. Socialist government returns to power in 2004, when terrorist bombs were planted on commuter trains and the people blamed the Conservatives for mishandling the tense situation. The Al-Queda claimed responsibility for the attacks. In 2008, the socialists were officially elected.

What to see in Madrid? The formula is the same for all of Europe when you are a tourist flying through the city: see the palaces, churches, and museums. Catedral de San Isidro, Iglesia de San Jerónimo el Real, Iglesia de San Nicolas (a mosque-style church built by ... Christians?), the Palacio Real, and the Palacio del Buen Retiro.

Additionally, perhaps the most famous painters in Europe were born in Madrid. CaixaForum is the newest art gallery, showcasing mostly modern art and housing an auditorium in the basement for film screenings, concerts, and poetry readings. Centro de Arte Reina Sofía houses Picasso's Guernica, one of the most controversial pieces of art in the history of Europe (and the painting everybody massacred on the AP Social Studies exam). See all four floors to see Dalí, Picasso, and Miró. The first and third floors are reserved for temporary exhibitions, while the second and fourth floors house the 20th century great works and post-Civil war Spanish art, respectively. The Museo del Prado has been said to contain so many famous canvasses, that we have been advised to split our visit into a few days to cover them all. The most famous collections at the Prado include Titian, Velásquez, Bosch, Angelico, Goya, and El Greco. Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza contains modern American, Impressionist, Expressionist, and Cubist artists. The story goes that Baron Heinrich Thyssen-Bornemisza travelled around the world, buying the most advanced and up-and-coming art. His son, Hans, inherited the collection but died in 2002. Thus, Carmen Cervera, Heinrich's wife, took over, expanded the collection to 775 paintings and established a permanent Spanish home for the collection (there were talks of it moving to Switzerland, where the Baron was born). To the Madrileños, the museum is simply 'La Thyssen'.

For the anthropology freaks in our midst, we might want to make a stop at Museo Arqueológico Nacional, where you can find a replica of prehistoric Cantabrian paintings under the beautiful outdoor garden. The Classics freak in me is drooling over the prospect of seeing Basque bowls from the Bronze Age and the Dama de Elche, which is a bust of woman adorned with jewels and a famous hairdo.

The heart of Madrid, however, lies in the Tabernas. It has been said that the tabernas are to Madrid what pubs are to London. Some of the tabernas, like Casa Botín, date back to the 18th century. In fact, Casa Botín is the oldest restaurant in the world, according to the Guinness Book of World Records, established in 1725. Its specialties are suckling pig and wood-fired lamb. Not a fan of suckling pig? Try huevos rotos sobre patates (eggs broken over potatoes) at Almendro 13, or delicia de Idiazábal (fried ewe's milk cheese). A perfect compliment to your tapas are the house wines - different for every Taberna.

Flamenco. Enough said. Casa Patas requires a reservation.

El Corte Inglés is like Galeries Lafayette in Paris, except that there is 13 of them in Madrid. Think West Edmonton Mall but way cooler because its in Spain. Sweet shops? Mallorca contains the best of turron and mazapanes (a soft, almond nougat and marzipan ... also with almonds). Or Monasterio de Corpus Christi - yes, you can find candy made by nuns! La Violeta serves sugared violets (flowers); Santa sells "giant sweets", whatever that means; and Caramelos Paco has one of the most enticing window displays in Spain. When shopping in Madrid, remember that there is tax. It's called the IVA (ee-bah) and will not always be listed on the bill, so ask if you are not sure. If you spend enough, you can get all of the IVA back when you leave the country, so save those receipts!

Enough of this daytime drudgery. A typical Madrid day starts at 8am, when businesses open. Have your toast and coffee for breakfast, but save an appetite for chocolate y churros at 10:30 or 11am, because you won't be having lunch until after 2pm. That is when "siesta" begins, so businesses are closed, but you can find most people at the streetside cafes, enjoying drinks, tapas, and, eventually, lunch. Pace yourself, though, because locals don't have dinner until after 10:30pm. The clubs look like Halo at 9pm at 12am, and (get this) cover does not apply until 4am for most clubs. Joy Eslava is a celebrity dancing haunt in Madrid, whereas Kapital is a seven-storey club which plays different music on every floor. Lucky for us, the night buses circulate until 6am, picking up the poor blokes who missed the last Metro.

I have been alerted to the fact that Madrid is famous for cured hams and they are not ... fond of vegetarians. The new, young, international-savvy University crowd has created a demand for a few vegetarian establishments, but your gastronomical experience will be greatly enhanced by sucking it up and eating that pig. Where, you ask, should we eat? La Bola is a moderately priced restaurant which presents a staunchly madrileño menu, including cocido - a spicy, often seafoody stew - served in traditional earthenware bowls. Even cheaper, Soidemersol serves homemade fare at dirt cheap prices.

Oh Madrid. So much to do and so little time.

I have decided that food deserves a special, stand-alone post, so watch out for my interjection on the cuisine of each city. It will entice and delight!

¡Adiós mis chums!

What are tapas, anyway?

2009-04-12T17:19:00.000-07:00

Busy in Barcelona

2009-04-12T14:45:00.000-07:00

Like almost all Western European countries, the first to settle modern day Barcelona were the Romans in 3 B.C., who named their settlement Barcino. A succession of crusades saw the Visigoths, Moors, and Franks take power before the Muslims took hold of Spain in 9 A.D. Wilfred the Hairy conquered neighboring regions to the original Barcino, effectively establishing Catalonia, eventually making Barcelona the center of power. He was the patriarch of a five-century dynasty that failed to gain control over Catalonia from the Muslims. Eventually, Count Ramon Berenuer IV of Barcelona married Petronilla of Aragon, thus annexing Catalonia into the Crown of Aragon.

The new power of Aragon seized the city of Valencia and the Balearic Islands from the Muslims, who now controlled Sicily, Sardinia, and Greece. The Black Plague (Yersinia pestis, for those who are curious) weakened the Aragon powers and William the Hairy's last descendant died without leaving an heir. A Castile noble took over the Crown of Aragon, merged the country with his own, and left the kingdom of Catalonia to fend for themselves in a newly developing mercantile world. Catalonia and its allies lost the War of Spanish Succession from 1702-13, bestowing power to the triumphant Bourbon king Felipe V. Felipe V forbade the the teaching of Catalan, decimated the existing legal system, and built an immense fort to oversee the entire city of Barcelona.

During the Industrial Revloution, Barcelona rose to power again as the commercialization of wine-making, corking, and manufacturing led Barcelona to the forefront of Spanish industry. The Renaixença, or Renaissance, spurred heavy interest in political activism, foreshadowing the political instability to come for Barcelona.

To compound the problems of World Wars, the gap between rich and poor was widening as Castilian aristocrats, like the patrons of Antoni Gaudi, maintained the majority of the country's wealth while the country's poorest population was almost doubling. The end of the first and second world wars spurred a fight between leftist and rightest ideological parties, including numerous assassinations, gang fights, and executions.

In 1931, Catalonia declared independence but was crushed in 1934 when a right-wing government won power in Madrid. Left-wing radicals rose to popularity again in 1936, contributing to the onset of the Spanish Civil War (1936-39), where General Franco triumphed, unfortunately for the Catalonians. Italian fascists regularly bombed Barcelona, which was the acting capital of Spain, during the Spanish occupation of Mallorca.

Anarchists and the Partido Obrero de Unificacion Marxista (POUM) ruled Barcelona until 1937. From 1937 to 1950, socialist rule begat lootings, assassinations, public spurnings of religion and religious figures. Over 1200 priests, monks, and nuns were killed and the churches they occupied were burned. Stalin eventually sent in communist troops who killed 1500 to quench anarchist violence in Barcelona.

When Franco finally died, Catalonia was granted regional independence in 1977. Barcelona began to rebuild, to spruce up the old city and to build a new region of the city to hail its rebirth. The 1992 Olympics were held in Barcelona and the government invested millions of dollars to erect historical monuments, build museums, clean parks and streets, and develop waterfront property. The city continues to rebuild to this day.

It is important to note that Barcelona is a mixed bag of Roman, Castilian, Moorish, and Spanish heritage, making the Catalans a rich, unique culture. While I am proud to say that I can speak Spanish decently well, Catalan is the official language of Barcelona and contains many words that I will have to learn to use. For instance, in North American Spanish, we say please by saying "por favor", but Catalonians say "si us plau", which is more similar to the French "s'il vous plait". We can safely assume that most Catalonians can speak Spanish, so if I screw up in conversation, they likely won't be offended.

The shortlist of must-see sights in Barcelona always contains Antoni Gaudi's La Sagrada Familia, an unfinished church built as three parts: The Nativity, the Passion, and the Glory. The Glory is being finished by architects who have studied Gaudi's style and will attempt to emulate his creations in the last part of the church. If we make it up to the top of the towers, we can visit the peregrine falcons who have taken safe haven high above the city since 1999. We probably should not stop at his most famous work, though. There is lots of Gaudi to go around, including Casa Museu Gaudi in Park Guell, mansions of the aristocrats, and frescoes around the city.

Museu Nacional d'Art de Catalunya was once a temporary palace but now stands as a national museum for Catalan art, including Gaudi frecoes and Romanesque frescoes preserved from the 11th and 12th centuries. For the more modern minimalist side to me, we should also visit the Modernista and Noucentista exhibits, which are coincidentally located right beside the museum restaurant ... Actually, Barcelona's many museums can be accessed by one large underground route via tunnels and the Metro, so it has been suggested we save the museum part of our trip for one long, rainy day.

Sonar is a music festival featuring world famous DJs who spin electronica and house music, as well as experimental acts right out of the heart of Europe. This festival is world-famous happens exclusively during the month of June. I would say that we are one lucky bunch to be going exactly then! Somebody remind me to buy tickets beforehand.

Papabubble is a candy store located in Barri Gotic and La Rambla, famous for their penis-shaped candy. Actually, this quarter is full of sexual innuendo, including Museu de l'Erotica and La Condoneria (literally, condom store. It's labelled like a freakin' pharmacy!) Biocenter is a vegetarian restaurant in El Raval, which includes an option called "combinat", which serves a hot vegetarian meal with free buffet salad. The same district houses the club called Moog, the name of its overused synth, which includes a thumping downstairs dance club and an upstairs indie retro lounge kept quiet for conversation. The hours? 11:30pm to 5am, with 8 euro cover.

La Ribera contains Museu de la Xocolata, which showcases the history of chocolate cultivation, harvesting, and manufacturing. The best part of the museum includes a chocolate model of La Sagrada Familia and Winnie the Pooh!! We should definitely aim for the peak time of demonstrations and tastings. La Vinya del Senyor is a wine bar which highlights Barcelona's famous drink - cava - and over 300 wines. The adjacent tapas bar doesn't hurt either ... but this bar closes at 1am, so we shall have to find a different place to play after.

And don't even get me started on the shopping. We should take in some flamenco, some chocolate y churros for our morning, and always eat tapas on the street. Between the beaches, the sights, and the nightlife, I have a feeling we will be BUSY in Barcelona.

¡Chau, mis amigos!

Profiling Paris

2009-04-07T09:41:00.001-07:00

I thought that research into the best tourist places would be a fun thing to do for Spain and Portugal, but I am a bit disenchanted with Paris. I have been before and I have seen Versailles, the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, the Champs-Élysées, L'Arc de Triomphe, etc. etc. I can appreciate the historical significance of each of these monuments, but I really wanted to get to a more meaningful part of Paris this time around. Thus, I thought it appropriate to include an entry that tells the story of Paris so that we can construct our own "must-see" list and to help familiarize my fellow travellers with the so-called "City of Lights".

The first permanent settlements in the Paris region were recorded as early as 4200 B.C. The Parisii tribe, Celtic merchants and boatsmen, settled around the Seine River, which runs through the heart of modern-day Paris and separates the city by more than just geography. Paris comes from the Celtic parisio, which means "working people" or "the crafstmen", after the occupation of the first settlers. The Romans took Paris in 52 B.C., creating two separate settlements: the Left Bank Sainte Geneviève Hill and Île de la Cité. The Gallo-Roman town was called Lutetia, but the Gallic bastardized the name to Lutèce. Finally, in 400 AD, Clovis I established Paris as the official name of the city.

During the ensuing "Middle Ages", Renaissance, and Reformation, Paris changed hands between the Burgundians, France, the French Catholic Church, and, finally, the Russians in 1814. The overseeing monarchy led by Charles X abdicated in 1830 and Louis-Philippe was overthrown in 1848.

France had now entered the Industrial Revolution and the great urban metropolis we think of today was now beginning to take shape. The building of railways allowed for mass immigration into Paris from other European countries and Napoleon III leveled and paved the roads that were once winding country trails. Better routes for transportation combined with improved sanitation attracted immigrants from all over Europe. The Belle Époque, as it was known, laid the foundations for Paris' international fame.

The Eiffel Tower did not appear until after three epidemics of cholera in the 1830s and 40s, the Franco-Prussian War, and the Universal Expositions. In 1889, the Eiffel Tower was erected and in 1900, the first Métro line was laid.

Germany did not invade Paris during WWI, thanks to the joint efforts of the British and French at the Battle of Marne in 1914. Between WWI and WWII, Paris saw the rise of nightlife and hosted the talents of world-renowned writers, artists, and composers, including Stravinsky, Hemingway, Picasso, and Dali. At the same time, Paris expanded its network of transportation in two rings: in the suburban cités and within the central hub, also known as la Péripherique. In 1940, however, the French fell to the German forces and Paris was occupied until 1944. Surprisingly, central Paris remained untouched by the ravages of war, mainly due to a lack of strategic targets for the Allies within the city. After WWII, the cités of Paris became seedier and the Péripherique tightened, modernizing industry with high-technology and greater service-based industries, leading to a widening gap between the French rural-suburban ghettos and the metropolitan elite. The business sector is affectionately known as La Défense. Riots centering around the gap between rich and poor continue to this day.

In 2008, Nicolas Sarkozy announced a plan entitled Grand Paris, which included a widening of the Métro to the suburbs and the creation of a University campus to the south, to increase the development and use of advanced scientific technology by the city at large. Furthermore, the participation of France in the Kyoto Accord has called for a more ecologically-friendly development of the city. La Défense is expected to house a few skyscrapers by the end of the 2010s.

Modern-day Paris can be thought of as two different islands: Île Saint-Louis and Île de la Cité. The latter island is the larger of the two and, as you can tell by the retention of the Gallo-Roman name, the oldest of the islands. Montmartre is a famous hill in the relatively flat city, and stands at an elevation of 130m. The surrounding parks include Bois de Boulogne and Bois de Vincennes and the acquisition of these outlying areas has allowed Paris to divide itself into 20 arrondissements, or districts. The summer months of Paris see temperatures of 18-25 degrees Centigrade.

According to Wikipedia, the most notable architectural sites include the world-famous wholesale food market at Rungis, the largest sports stadium in the country La Stade de France, the research laboratories Saclay and Évry, and the schools École Polytechnique, HEC, ESSEC, and INSEAD. All can be found at within La Défense.

Our particular group will undoubtedly visit La Place de Bastille, Place de la Concorde, Champs-Élysées and the Arc de Triomphe, The Basilique du Sacrè-Coeur, Notre Dame, The Louvre, the Opera house, Montmartre, and Quartier Latin, for reasons you can trouble me about later (or reasons which you can deduce).

This time around, I would like to visit Les Halles (which includes Rungis) for the food; Montparnasse for the music halls, cafes, art studios, and La Tour Montparnesse; Avenue Montaigne for the Louis Vuitton, Givenchy, and Dior boutiques; Faubourg Saint-Honoré for Hermès and Christian Lacroix; Parc de la Villette, which is a park built within Paris' former slaughterhouses; as well as the famous cemetary on the Left Bank. I highly doubt I will be getting around to it all, but I think it is good to have a few places in mind.

In addition, I would like to visit La Mère de Famille, which is a candy shop that first opened in 1761 and that will cater to Eiffel Tower tourists. You can watch them make chocolate before your eyes! The Hotel Ritz houses some of the finest traditional French cuisine in the country, but chefs with six Michelin Stars do not sell their fare for cheap. I think we will have no trouble finding excellent places to eat and drink in France.

À la prôchaine mes amis!

The flight/hostel planning is finished!

2009-03-14T11:29:00.001-07:00

Finally, we have booked all of our flights, all of our hostels, and I have itemized the receipts.

Here is the finalized skeleton itinerary (all in local time):

June 15: Depart Edmonton at 11:55am, arrive Montreal at 5:50pm. Depart Montreal 7:50pm. (Air Canada)
June 16: Arrive Paris at 8:30am (Air Canada). Check in at Square Caulaincourt about 10:30am. Stay at Square Caulaincourt for the nights of June 16, 17.
June 18: Depart Paris at 7:40 am, arrive Barcelona at 9:25am (easyjet). Check in at Center Ramblas at approximately 11:30am. Stay at Center Ramblas for the nights of June 18, 19, 20.
June 21: Depart Barcelona at 4:10pm, arrive Madrid at 5:30pm (vueling airlines). Check-in at Musas Residence at approximately 7:30pm. Stay at Musas Residence for the nights of June 21, 22, 23, and 24. Day trip to Toledo included in the nights at Madrid (undecided date).
June 25: Depart Madrid at 3:15pm, arrive Lisbon at 3:35pm (easyjet). Check-in at Goodnight Hostel at approximately 5:00pm. Stay at Goodnight Hostel for the nights of June 25 and 26.
June 27: Depart Lisbon at 7:10pm, arrive Paris at 10:45pm (easyjet). Check-in at Le Montclair Montmartre at approximately 11:30pm. Stay for one night at Le Montclair Montmartre.
June 28: Check-out of Le Montclair Montmartre at 11:00am, check in at Square Caulaincourt at 4pm (lock-out until then). Stay at Square Caulaincourt for the nights of June 28 and 29.
June 30: Depart Paris at 10:30am, arrive Toronto at 12:15pm. Depart Toronto at 2:50pm, arrive Edmonton at 5:00pm (Air Canada).

It's all booked! Who's excited for June?!?!

Next post: Tourist Research

It all works out in the end

2009-03-12T08:57:00.001-07:00

After a brief period of panic, I am sure that the Lisbon-Paris flight misunderstanding has been resolved.

First, Matt e-mailed the hostel where we are staying in Lisbon and asked how much it would cost to change our reservation. In fact, there is no cost to change our reservation so we will not lose any money in changing our plans for staying in Lisbon. Thank god for high-ranked hostels and good customer service!

Second, the hostel we have booked for Paris on June 28 and 29 imposes a lockout between 11am and 4pm but they do not specify when their reception closes down. I am assuming that they close quite early because 24hr reception is not advertised like it is on other hostel sites. Our Lisbon-Paris flight lands in Paris at 10:45pm. SO, I think we will get a taste of another Paris hostel in Montmartre. (Plus, it's cheaper than booking Saturday night with Square Caulaincourt!)

Finally, I will not have to modify my flight plans. The total cost to fix this messup will be about $35CAD/person.

The moral of the story is: keep your travel plans organized. That way, you won't end up having to pay for stupid mistakes.

On the upside, I plan on stopping by Chapters sometime this week to pick up a Spain/Portugal visitor's book. Though they tend to be touristy and probably not that useful, but it will keep me focused on the light at the end of the tunnel that is my first year of grad school. In only four months, I will be on a plane to Europe!!

To Portugal!

2009-03-10T13:34:00.001-07:00

My wonderful boyfriend has booked our hostel in Lisbon, Portugal:

June 25, 26, 27: Goodnight Hostel, Lisbon Portugal.

Problem?
June 27: easyjet flight June 27 19:10 depart LIS, 22:45 arrive CDG.

Cost of flight change? 106 euros - more than the flights!

Coordination: we're not so good at it. But we'll get it together before June.

Flight Update

2009-03-05T16:46:00.001-08:00

Here are the flights I have booked (excluding Air Canada):

June 18 - 7:40 CDG (Paris) to 9:25 BCN (Barcelona) Easyjet
June 25 - 15:15 MAD (Madrid) to 15:35 LIS (Lisbon) Easyjet
June 27 - 19:10 LIS (Lisbon) to 22:45 CDG (Paris) Easyjet

The Rain in Spain

2009-03-05T14:58:00.000-08:00

... trumps any precipitation here. Did you know we are in line with the base of Alaska?

So, getting the group together is not really proving to be an easy task. Ross is in Montreal and then off to Mexico. We may or may not have another travelling buddy joining us. If she comes with us, plans could definitely change ... and things could potentially get cheaper with four people. This month is hell month for most of us academically as we struggle to finish projects, term papers, and things we should have had the foresight to start months ago. In other words, the planning has been slowed to to the speed of continental drift.

Lately, I have set my sights on the beautiful city of Lisbon. It seems that its historical monuments were ravaged by a terrible earthquake in the 19th century, marring some architecture of the city to this day. However, the parts that were preserved or reconstructed were done so beautifully and I am excited to see it in person. Additionally, hostel sleuthing work courtesy of Sable produced a result that looks more promising than any of the European accomodations we will be lucky enough to survive: the Goodnight Hostel. Not only do the pictures look catalogue-worthy, but the hostel is ranked eighth in the world.

Thus, the new travel itinerary is as follows:

June 16 8:30am: Arrive Paris. Paris: June 16, 17. Barcelona: June 18, 19, 20. Madrid: June 21, 22, 23, 24. Toledo: June 25 (day) Lisbon: June 25, 26, 27. Paris: June 28, 29. June 30 10:30am: Depart Paris.

So satisfying. Three countries in reasonable amounts of time in each city. We decided that cheap budget flights from Lisbon to Paris beat flying back to Madrid and then flying again to Barcelona, no matter how many euros we appear to be saving. A 22 pound flight from Lisbon to Paris works for me!!

Hopefully, by the time Ross gets back, we'll have our flights booked and our accomodations settled. There is no end to my excitement about this trip!!!

Next entry: Booking more flights!!

The Itinerary

2009-02-27T13:33:00.001-08:00

Now, when planning with friends, your itinerary must be a fluid concept. Last week, I carved out an itinerary using various airline websites, Eurail schedules, and the excellent reviews at hostels.com and hostelworld.com.

The original itinerary goes as follows:
Leave Edmonton June 15 at 11:55am, arrive Montreal at 5:50pm for a 2h layover. Leave Montreal 7:50pm for Paris, France and arrive at 8:30am June 16. In Paris, our hostel is in the heart of Montmartre, which is only a 15 minute walk or so from the Sacre de Coeur (one of my personal favorites from Paris). Paris will hopefully make a much larger impression on me than it did in 2001. I have to admit that I am still a sucker for Italy ...

We leave for Barcelona on June 18 and the original itinerary specified a 12h Eurail train ride through France to Spain, but new information might save us, oh, 11 hours of that time. Regardless, we check in to our Barcelona hostel - our home for the next three nights - called Center Ramblas. We leave Barcelona for Madrid at 9pm on June 21.

In Madrid, we check in to our hostel Musas Residence and stay for four nights, leaving for Toledo on June 25. Toledo is only a 1/2h away and is actually a cute little medieval town that everybody labels as a "daytrip town". The original plan was to stay in Toledo for June 25, 26 and then head back to Madrid, fly back to Barcelona all in one day, staying at Center Ramblas on June 27. Then, we would head back to Paris for two more days and leave for Edmonton at 10:30am on June 30.

Summary:
Paris: June 16, 17; Barcelona: June 18, 19, 20; Madrid: June 21, 22, 23, 24; Toledo: June 25, 26; Barcelona: June 27; Paris: June 28, 29; HOME: June 30

Sable recently introduced me to skyscanner.net, which posts budget airline prices and "pocket change" flights between European cities. Assuming that you can stand an hour of bumpy flight time, a flight between any given city in the Portugal-Spain-France vicinity is only 20-40 euros. THUS, I was contemplating doing only a one day daytrip to Toledo on June 25, going back to Madrid, and flying to Lisbon, Portugal all in the same day. We would stay in Lisbon two nights, fly back to Barcelona or even Paris on the 27. In total, the flights in Spain will cost 109 euros. Ridiculous! I know.

Summary of desired changes:
Paris: June 16, 17; Barcelona: June 18, 19, 20; Madrid: June 21, 22, 23, 24; Toledo: June 25 (day); Lisbon,Portugal: June 25 (night), 26; Barcelona: June 27; Paris: June 28, 29; HOME: June 30.

In an effort to be a good travelling buddy, I will consult my travelling partner on this one. But, hopefully, our small budget will allow us to take some new and exciting directions in our travel itinerary, including a couple of days in the paradise that is Portugal.

Next entry: Getting the group together.

Julia and Friends Travel to Europe

2009-02-26T12:11:00.000-08:00

I love this blog because it started as a chronicle of a simple, impromptu Reading Week vacation to Toronto and Montreal but I see it as a permanent fixture in my traveling repertoire.

This year is the year of changes and I think it is time this blog received a makeover to reflect the dynamic and fluid image of the world I perceive each time I travel. I suppose 2009 is not the best year to travel, since the entire world is experiencing a global recession that is devaluing currency, increasing unemployment, destabilizing international markets. Yet, the best time to buy plane tickets is during the tourist off-season and 2009 represents an entire year of off-season for most of the world.

So that only leaves one question: where are we going? Well, my friends, that was up for debate until a week ago when I carved out an itinerary (by ignoring work for an entire 4 hours, of course) and started booking hostels, train, and plane tickets. Yes, this year brings Julia & Company to Spain.

With only two weeks holidays to spare in the summer, I knew I had to make the days count. I had taken a lovely European tour when I was in middle school, but the whirlwind tour only taught me that two days in a country is hardly enough to appreciate any aspect of its culture. Thus, my goal was to spend at least four days in every city (excepting Toledo) to make sure that I got everything that I exhausted the tourist haunts and more. The cities we will visit include: Paris, France; Barcelona, Madrid, and Toledo. If I had more time, I would also see Valencia, Ibiza, and Seville. Also, I wanted to make it to Portugal, but that would have rushed my Spanish Holiday and probably killed my bank account.

With trip planning comes "future trip planning" because you get the travel bug from just glancing at flight plans. For future trips: Northwest Spain and Portugal; Greece and Morrocco; the UK. If anybody would like to join me on said trips, please feel free to fire me a message. In this frame of mind, I am ready to drop everything to get out of here!

Next entry: the itinerary!!

Heading West

2008-02-26T19:36:00.001-08:00

4am and I'm up, washing my face. My God. I have to be at school in two days.

We wait outside the Holiday Inn ... sort of. The shuttle stop isn't clearly marked on the map, so we're waiting at an intersection in hopes of flagging the shuttle down. Taxis are honking at us. Men are shouting things like,"$45 flat rate to the airport! $45!" No thanks. We already paid for our transportation. Even though it's late.

15 minutes late, to be exact. Oh well, the service was uber friendly. We slowly made our way to the airport and hung out at the gate. I managed to spill the berry salad ALL OVER my purse, getting pecans in the most inappropriate places. Berry stains on my white hoodie. But the salad was so delicious. But it was too early. I couldn't eat it all. Sable ate my berries. I chucked the rest. I drank my cranberry juice and drugged myself up for the trip. Mmmm ... Gravol.

We boarded the plane at last and I slept through most of it. Except for a brief time where I woke up and my tv was showing Ellen. She was talking about going to Universal Studios. I fell asleep again immediately. I didn't wake up until we landed in Edmonton, about 9:20am. Yay! I was home!

Home is a beautiful thing. I just don't know it because I don't travel often enough. But it is. And slushy Edmonton was beautiful on Saturday morning. I couldn't wait to see my peeps!!

When it was all done, I was glad that I had gone. I wish that we had had more time for things like museums and other touristy attractions, but I felt like I got a good feel for Toronto, at least. I'll go back to Montreal. Not just for the stopping, but maybe to stay for a while. It's cool. Plus I want to brush up on my French.

Edmonton is nice for now. Homeward bound.

I gots a Bag!

2008-02-26T19:15:00.000-08:00

Friday was the final day that we could hunt for my bag. "Jules, I'll find you a Matt and Nat bag if it's the last thing I do before I leave Toronto!" Man, when Sable's determined, things happen. She mapped out our route beforehand. To Yorkdale mall, where there are plenty of stores to make the bag happen.

In case I didn't fill you in on this, because I don't think I did, I wanted to find a nice bag while I was out east. Bentley at West Ed does not fulfill this purpose. Even Aldo is dull. I wanted something truly hip and good quality. Something that I didn't have to throw away in a year. Coach or Matt and Nat would work. If I hadn't bought so much at Simons, I suppose I could have bought a Coach bag. But then ... that's for New York now :)

ANYHOO, we headed to Yorkdale via the Rocket. We shopped all morning, from 9-12. It was a good session. We saw a very outletey-outlet. We tried to hunt down a cool tea traveller at lululemon but to no avail. We hunted down Matt and Nat. Nobody knew what they were in Toronto. One lady said they weren't in this mall. Sable rolled her eyes and said she would find one. And she did!

There's a store called B2, which is the younger, hipper version of Brown's. Brown's is a LARGE shoe company that carries EVERY kind of shoe you can think of. Every brand. Brown's in Montreal had nothing interesting but the Brown's here carried Matt and Nat. Not the one that I wanted though :( I ended up purchasing an equally cool bag, even though the salesman wanted me to buy a larger, bulkier bag because it looked better on me. No no - I want this one. Matt and Nat bags come with a carrier bag inside that carries the Matt and Nat bag. They left that bag in my purse and wrapped it in a cloth Brown's bag. Then put THAT bag into a plastic shopping bag with PVC handles. 4 bags for the price of 1! Gross.

We looked throught their GIGANTIC Holt Renfrew, with Marc by Marc Jacobs and Louis Vuitton. We tried out Coach bags. Looked for hair accessories. We had lunch in the upstairs foodcourt then headed for The Path.

The Path is the underground shopping district in Toronto. It is the largest underground shopping hub in the world. You can enter The Path from any subway station, though it's not always easy to find. The one by St. Andrew's is clearly labelled. We walked through, buying nothing. It was interesting and full of cool places. Wait ... I lied. We did buy a few postcards. It was good. We went to a market called Fresh n' Wild where we bought berry salads and banana bread for breakfast for the next day. Planning ahead is essential!

We headed back to the hostel where I fell asleep "studying". I dreamt about my significant other because I think I missed him, even though I wouldn't ever say so out loud. Then Sable's phone rang and nearly stopped my heart. Her cousin Calvin called and wanted to pick us up for dinner. We got into dress formation for Dirty Dancing, then met him outside.

As we were getting dressed, one of the girls we shared a room with came in. She asked how long we were staying. I said we leave tomorrow morning. She nodded. Short holiday. I laughed. You know it. I asked her how long she would be here. She laughed then shrugged. She said she had a problem with her hands - then held them out - that kept her here. The hospital said she couldn't go home until her condition was stabilized.

Here fingers were deformed at the tips and completely black. It's what you see when organs die. Tissue necropsy. I tried not to cringe. Does it hurt? "Like hell." What happened? She didn't know. One day, she was fine, taking a holiday in Toronto; the next day, she was in a hospital being told she had an autoimmune condition. "The doctors told me my immune system was attacking some disease that ain't there. So there's a lot of stuff in my blood and it's causing these clots." I asked if she was given anti-coagulants. She looked at me like I was Jesus. "Yeah, yeah! And they gave me blood pressure pills and pain pills. Just about everything you could think of." I nodded. She said she was sure that it was her poor diet. I shook my head. Autoimmune conditions are nobody's fault. Anything can trigger them and nobody can predict them. It's not her fault. She wasn't convinced. We had to leave before I could tell her anymore. I told her to feel better and that I hoped she could go home soon. Where did she live? She smiled wryly. Florida. She's sick of snow now.

I waved at traffic aimlessly to signal to Sable's cousin where we were. Renee, Sable's sister-in-law was with him. He drove us to Richtree Market, which is a sort of buffet-style restaurant where you get a credit card that scans everytime you purchase an item. Then, at the end of your meal, you bring the card to a cashier who will take your payment there. But if you lose your card, you have to pay $100 fine or do dishes. Plus, you need a receipt to exit. So it's pretty hardcore. I had roast porkloin with rosti potatoes and a banana-strawberry napoleon. It was amazing. Then we went to Dirty Dancing!

Man, I wish I had the body of the girl who played Penny. She's frickin' beautiful. Legs that extend two feet above her head and strong strong strong strong strong. But she's also about six feet tall and 120lbs. The little Asian girl from the third season of Canadian Idol joined the guy who sang everything to sing all of the important songs from the movie. I .... had the time of my life ... cool. I liked it a lot, even though it was much abbreviated from the movie. I missed Baby's nose though. And her sister should sing like shit, not like a broadway star, dammit! Oh well. Still enjoyable, especially the lifts in water. Electronic screens do wonders.

A walk back home made me chilly, but off to bed as 12am for a 4am wake-up. And I'm still singing the songs in my head.

Coach and Shoes

2008-02-26T18:34:00.000-08:00

7:30am
There is something about travelling in the morning that makes me reflective. The sun is up just outside of Montreal. The snow is bright. Small, rural houses blow white smoke out of their brick chimneys. I am being carried away on a train.

I wonder if I could live in Montreal. I don't think Toronto is a city for me in a permanent sense. I suppose I could live in TO for a year or two, but the vast urbanscape is wearing. I like trees, hills, rows of flax. I like the Prairies in an aesthetic sense.

Granted, Toronto doesn't sleep. People are always going, with people wandering the streets at 4am just about the same as when they roam the streets at 10am. Little shops are always open, there's 24 h grocery stores, and there's always a place to just hang out. Montreal goes to sleep at 7pm, so you'll have to be home before then if you want to stay warm.

But, for me, Toronto is just too urban. People walk everywhere without stopping to look or think or dream. I think Edmonton is still small enough that you can stop and think for a second without getting trampled. In TO, you have to go, go, go. On the Rocket. Off the Rocket. Onto Bloor. Yonge. Queen. Spadina. Crazy.

Montreal can be this way when you hit the heart of downtown. Rue St. Catherine Ouest is where you can be trampled. Pedestrians dash between speeding cars, just so that they can get to the other side and do it again in the next 100 metres. They do it without flinching.

But the people in Montreal are warm. They speak English if you need. They aren't the bastards that everyone makes them out to be. Maybe if we were in Quebec where EVERYBODY speaks French, they wouldn't be so tolerant, but in Montreal, you are so close to the Ontario-Quebec border that bilingualism is more of a necessity than it is an asset. I like Montreal. It has all the facets of a great city, with its truly poor parts completely contiguous with its truly rich parts. You just have to walk south to north to see it all. It has a well developed underground and above ground transit system. Le Metro et les autobuses. It feels like a real big city without the urban landscape that Toronto has. Toronto is all about glass and walls. Montreal has windows and trees and normal things. And a whole lot of hills. It's a rhythm, I suppose.

11:15am
Checking in at Clarence Castle again. Oliver greets us with a big smile and a, "Sable and Friends!" I ask not to be pluralized again without my permission. He smiles. "But I forget which one of you is Sable ...".

After changing, applying lipstick (real lipstick, with dark colour and everything!), and waiting for some guy to arrange to get his cat from Vancouver, we called Sable's friend Justin to try and meet up with him. We ended up texting him from my phone, so hopefully there's no long distance charges for text messages ...

We met him at East! on Queen and St. Patrick's Market. It's a fusian asian place. Sable and I shared Sexy Summer Rolls, which were thin slices of smoked salmon, prawns, vermicelli, and veggies in a rice wrap. We shared a house pad thai, with chicken and prawns, and talked with Justin for a while. He asked if we wanted dessert and we said,"Sure!".

He drove us in his car downtown, whipping around the UofT in a record 10minutes. We made fun of school children who had to spend their day at the Uof T, even though they were four. Getting an early head start, we supposed. Oh God. Those poor children. The design school is held up by giant ... pencils? They look like coloured chopsticks, but they are supposed to be pencils. The top is a large slab of black and white tile. The library is supposed to be shaped like a peacock ...? I don't see it. Physics building was. Shudder.

Yorkville mall is much too swanky for me. It was upscale enough to make me feel uncomfortable. Like, if I worked there, I would be watching me too, with my ugly Esprit hobo bag and odd purple jacket. There are four Hugo Bosses within a square mile. Over the Rainbow is way overrated. The jeans aren't even that nice, but are worth $300, apparently.

On our way out of Yorkville, when we realized that Coach is in YorkDALE and not YorkVILLE, we saw an ice-sculpting contest. They were unloading their ice that has to be shipped here in pre-formed pieces. There was a treasure chest and sea horses already standing. A mermaid was in process but still in pieces. Looked cool! The lady had to shoo away hobos, as they seemed fascinated with the ice and wanted to plunk themselves down to beg in front of a big public draw. Too bad for them.

Bloor offered numerous shopping opportunities .... for Justin. He bought shoes and some stationary gifts for people. Sable bought a long-anticipated pendant from Coach that ended up being oddly spherical. But still cool. Just spherical. We searched for Matt and Nat bags, but to no avail. The Pet Boutique, however, let me handle pink velour hoodies by Juicy Couture that cost $128. God - I don't even have clothing that expensive for myself, let alone a dog. I bought my mom and Melissa some gourmet dog treats. There was a Christian Dior t-shirt on-sale, so I bought an XL for Dilly and a pin that reads "I love my chihuahua" for my mom. I hope the dogs like the Pupcakes!

Then we headed to a cafe on Bay and Yorkville called Pusaterie where we sampled 7 - count them - SEVEN different delectable treats, courtesy of Justin. Key lime chocolate, berry, lemon meringue, chcolate, tiramisu, almond meringue, and a caramel meringue. SO. GOOD. They also served free water containing lemon, lime, grapefruit, strawberry, and cucumber. I resolved to make some when I got home. Erotic chocolate bars. Enough said.

Dawn joined later and ended up spilling her wonderful salad from Fresh! Not the avocadoes! Sable and her gathered the sprouts and avocadoes from off Dawn's purse and legs. The floor was scavenged, but then abandoned. Alas, most of the avocadoes were done. But most of the salad was intact, so the green dressing went down, and the salad was eaten. We cleaned up and took off to the Bata Shoe Museum.

Pablo Picasso had zebra shoes! Shaquille O'Neal is a freakin' size 23. Christian shoes contain the papal seal. We bought a gift for Nicole then headed off for dinner.

Everybody had recommended New Generation on Bloor, just west of Spadina, but we tried and couldn't get in. Far too busy in such a small place. So we crossed the street and tried the least shady sushi place we could find. J-time offered us a wonderful combo of 8 california rolls, 8 CNE rolls, and 6 spicy tuna rolls. We drank green tea and passed the time amiably, eating the large amount of sushi and tempura in front of us. Then we ordered green tea ice cream and found out it was on the house! The Cantonese people that owned the place were super nice. I would recommend the place for delicious sushi!

Dawn called and met us at St. George's station. We took the Rocket to Bathurst, boarded a streetcar (no, not named Desire) to College. Walked to Dawn's apartment. We met Sarah's, Dawn's roommate, guinea pig, Bella. she was fat and cute. We tried to convince her to go to Mod Night, but she was already going to a salsa function the next night and wanted to get work done. C'est la vie. After a handful of almonds for Dawn, we left.

The Mod Club is AWESOME. Even though we came super early, at about 10. Not too many people were there, but that meant that I could really see the place. It's really like a concert venue rather than a club, with a big stage and huge sound. Large screens flank the raised stage and small, white tableclothed tables sit near the back of the dance floor. Each table is it by a small tealight. There was Brit Pop radio being broadcast and it was pretty groovy. The bartenders don't have tip jars and don't seem to want them. They're fast, as long as you know what you want. A gin and tonic? Right up. Two malibu sunrises for Sable and Dawn. We sat and grooved for a while. Watched the bouncers greet each other. Watched the psychedelic movie screens. Looked at past concert photos of Metric and Death Cab for Cutie. If you want to start big in music, you have to start here. It would be a cool place to start, that's for sure. We left early so that Dawn could get some sleep.

We headed to Dominion, a 24h grocery store and bought a berry salad and chicken wraps for tomorrow's lunch. We walked Dawn back, caught a street car up College to Spadina and Spadina to King. Off to bed. Another day well spent. The liquor had made me warm and overly happy. Mmmm ... sleep.

Mercredi en Montreal

2008-02-23T21:33:00.000-08:00

I awoke Wednesday to find the person on the bunk across from me staring right at me. Oh God. I rolled over and rocked myself gently until I mustered the courage to go take a shower. Oh wait - the bathrooms weren't free. Who the hell is ALWAYS showering? I brushed my teeth, washed my face, and drummed my fingers until the person exited and I jumped in the shower immediately. Sable and I were going shopping today.

I was so excited that I left my shampoo and conditioner in the shower. I hopped out, dressed, and we headed out for McGill. McGill is easy to enter from Rue Sherbrooke and is just a few stops from Berri-Uqam. We took pictures, hunted down the bookstore, bought a few paraphernalia items, then headed for the malls. I needed a TD, so we hunted for one of those as well. Note to self and others: TD has virtually no locations in Montreal. We had to hunt down an obscure street down Sherbrooke and interstecting at Parc, which eventually turned into Bleury where a TD Canada Trust lay on the intersection of Bleury and St. Catherine's.

Oh my. The north side of St. Catherine's was beautiful. New York-like. Tall, grand stores with long, colourful banners and wide, glassy storefronts. Bustling with life and people. Notably free of sex shops. We did everything. Guys - I LOVE Simons. It's an amazing department store with beautiful clothing that gives you slight aneurysms from all of the colour and the sheer quantity of good stuff you can buy. I over spent by buying a trench, a basic cream V-neck cardigan, and a plaid zip-up mockneck sweater, but it was so worth it. They are beautiful. I wanted to buy a pair of pink jelly shoes, but they were $20, and I needed dinner too, so I waited.

Now, I had been on the hunt for a good handbag. Since we were in Montreal, we looked for Mat and Nat and found a really cool green sporty one that had pockets on the front and cute little buckles and a nice sized strap. But I wanted to save myself to look for Coach stuff instead, so I left it. OH! I left it! Bad Julia! Good things always happen when you give in to impulse!

We went to Ogilvy to look for a feather headband for Sable's mom. Ogilvy is a very upscale store, like the stores you see on movies where the sales associate won't let you touch anything and looks at you suspiciously until you buy something. Sort of fun to look through, though.

Lunch at Reuben's, where their specialty is smoked meat. I had half of a gigantic burger and I packed the rest away. Back to the hostel.

We decided that we would go to the main boutique for mat & nat because that would be where the most unique bags would be, right? Since they are manufactured in Montreal, it would make sense that they would have an exclusive boutique. We looked it up online and found a location at Rue Chabanel, north of the end of St. Laurent. If anyone is familiar with the east, they would know that St. Laurent is rather long. They would also know that the Trans-Canada Highway intersects at the end of St. Laurent and that we were going north of that. Sable suggested it was their warehouse. I said there were still shops around. It could happen.

No it couldn't. We walked to the office building where we found their corporate headquarters on the fourth floor. Oh. We're so done. We took a picture with their metallic philosophy, then ran for the bus, which was just heading back parallel to St. Laurent. We got off at Sherbooke and headed for the Gogo-Lounge on St. Laurent, picking up pastries at a bakery on St. Laurent for tomorrow's breakfast.

So cool! The seats are shaped like palms of hands. The feeling is psychedelic and the lighting is red. The bartender looks like Buddy Holly and sports a tight black t-shirt proclaiming J'adore GoGo. I order a Twister, which is a grapefruit juice, peach schnapps, and cointreau concoction. He serves us Bits and Bites in a martini glass. The menus are on old LPs. 6pm on a Wednesday. The bar is empty. We are so cool.

A guy does a mime act to make us smile outside the window. I pray to God that he doesn't come in. He doesn't, he waves and walks off when he gets his unamused look from Sable and my ever-obliging laugh. Two old men enter and order drinks. We leave before they figure out that we are not francophones.

We head back to the hostel by streetcar where we find kindred spirits from Vancouver. They felt alienated by the French. We also met Americans who were surprised that the lunar eclipse takes "several hours!". Sable and I were happy to discover that the showers were free. 12am sleep for a 5:30am rise.

Mardi en Montreal

2008-02-23T21:05:00.000-08:00

Oh Mardi Gras.

A 6:55am train saw us rise at 5am to catch our train. Supposedly, we were supposed to check in a half an hour early to check our baggage BUT only certain trains allow you to check baggage. Apparently, our train is carry-on only. So we hobo'd it out at the gate until it was time to board.

The train ride was long and we made about 8 stops. I realized, very quickly, that the Ontario-Quebec countryside was not very different from Alberta's. In fact, heading out of Toronto, you feel as though you are driving down Yellowhead Trail, following train tracks and looking at factories and cranes. Signs of development and signs of stagnation. It's all the same. And the bloody snow. By the time we hit Oshawa, it was blowing snow in all directions. We were delayed at the Ont-Que border because we had to wait for a CN train to clear for us to cross. We arrived an hour late at Le Gare Central. A taxi took us from the station to our hostel, L'Alexandrie. The French hostel was a bit more ... rustic? than the Toronto one. But the people were far more open. Our host pointed us to the best shopping in Montreal. Rues St. Catherine, St. Denis, and St. Laurent. We were armed with maps and a key, so we headed out for Old Montreal.

The Metro took us from Berri-Uqam, just around the corner from our hostel, to Place Des Armes, where we walked our first icy, windy hill to Basilica Notre-Dame. What a sight. $5 to get in. So ... what a sight from the outside. There were plenty of postcards to see the inside anyway. Who wants to pay to go to church? We walked the cobblestone streets to find most of the interesting stores closed. The perfumerie. The Marguerite de Bourgeoys Museum. There was a man carving an ice slide that ran down Rue Jacques Cartier down into Place Jacque Cartier, down a sloping hill that levelled out by the St. Lawrence. (Montreal is an island, you know. I didn't.) We watched until we were cold, which wasn't long, then continued to look for interesting places. As scenic as Vieux Montreal was, none of the interesting shops were open. Nobody was on the icy, blustery streets. The city throws gravel over the new ice in hopes of providing its unsuspecting citizens with more traction, but the gravel just sinks into the water and becomes immortalized in ice. Ca c'est Montreal.

We stopped at a small cafe, Cafe Presse, for chai lattes and a snack. The lattes had two teabags in them! Then, we tried shopping on the streets that everybody had suggested. Always go south for the ritzy areas, right? We found sex shops, strip clubs, pawn shops, and other seedy things on all the streets that we saw. The coolest find was a small, cramped shop on St. Denis where we bought mittens, hats, and scarves. The saleswoman was a petite blond woman who spoke English super well and told us to try St. Laurent. No such luck. What were people always raving about? The shopping was thoroughly disappointing.

We proceeded to map out a route to get to the University of Montreal. Sable had a friend, Erica, that was performing in an open rehearsal for Die Fledermaus, an opera. This meant returning to Berri Uquam, transferring to a line that would take us to Jean-Talon, then transferring again and getting off at Edouard Montpetit. We figured that the University of Montreal would surely have some swanky cafes or places for students to eat.

THERE IS NO FOOD ON THE UNIVERSITE DE MONREAL CAMPUS. NONE. Nada. Nil. Nunca. Like, we walked for ten blocks up Edouard Montpetit and found nothing. We asked locals, and they said at the very end of Edouard Montpetit, there were a few not-so-nice cafes. We searched their buildings. We found that EVERYTHING in Montreal is on a steep incline and requires more than normal effort to get to regular, uninteresting places. There is a stairway to heaven with no stairs in the building adjacent to the Metro station. It's like the longest treadmill in the world. Even just standing on it requires the use of your obliques. It's ridiculous. It took us up to nowhere. We walked around, hungry, until we found their phys ed. and rec building, where we bought a chocolate milk and waited for the opera to begin.

The hill up to the Claire-Champlain Room where the opera was taking place was one of the hardest hills I have ever climbed. We scaled that hill, then realized that the building was on a hill atop the hill we just climbed. My quads and lungs were burning as we reached the entrance. My face had lost sensation. It was horrible.

But the opera was lovely! Sable's friends are so talented!! I wish that I could sing so lovely and so on key. The constumes were fabulous, the set was well-designed. The only thing that would have been nice is if the actual acting part was translated to English in subtitles. I don't get every french joke. But, I understood the majority, so it was okay. We met Erica after the show, took pictures, then headed home.

I was hungry. Starving. Ravenous. We contemplated ordering-in. Just as I had picked up the phone, Jack Black asked me why I hadn't gone for poutine. Well, not literally. But he looked like Jack Black and he was just as cool, if not cooler. He showed me a map to La Banquise, a 24h poutine place that served 22 varieties of poutine. His only advice was,"Get the small if you are not to be hungry so much." Will do. Sable and I did the 15 minute trek UP THE HILL. How is it that this city has so many hills? Are they just a continuous series of hills that build on each other? The cold was nearly unbearable. But the poutine was well worth it. I bought Poutine Matty, which consisted of bacon, green peppers, onions, and mushrooms on poutine. Sable had pizza poutine, with pepperoni, green peppers, and mushrooms. We were sated and we headed back.

Downhill, by the way, is almost worse than uphill. You feel as though you might slip on their useless gravel-ice walkways and die, sliding forever down this hill-city. But we made it back in one piece, to find the showers are never free, and we went to bed at about 2am. Sweet, sweet bed.

Sunday-Monday Hybrid

2008-02-20T17:22:00.000-08:00

Sunday = lab work, last-minute packing, and off to Sable's.

We had a dinner of leftovers, including a delicious salad, chicken and potatoes on rice in a creamy gingery sauce, and Limonata. We sat around, watched the end of Love Actually and Project Runway Canada. We headed to the airport at around 11:15pm.

I forgot to package my under 100ml liquids in a clear, resealable bag. Have no fear, however, because security is well-prepared. The Edmonton International Airport at night is very empty. People are sitting around at the gates, in flip-flops and capris, and falling asleep. Sable and I sat around and laughed loudly, waiting to board. Finally, at 12:46am, we boarded.

The flight was fine. The take-off was really smooth. I was a bit apprehensive before taking off because there was a loud, blond girl who was laughing in a SUPER annoying way and swinging her gold-foil tna bag. Gross. Her boyfriend was looking around, possibly for escape, and catching the important documents falling out of her disgusting bag. But she fell asleep right away on the plane. I watched the live map until we were 37 000 feet above ground then fell asleep. When I awoke, we were descending, but not as smoothly. Up, sharply down. Straight. Roll to the right. Uh-oh. Julia is motion sick.

There was two boys to my left who were talking across the aisle, making fun of the people who were surprised by the movements of the plane. I grabbed for the barf bag, leaned over the guy and wretched. I wasn't sick, but it was satisfying to see the boys horrified. Sable slept soundly until we landed.

We had booked a shuttle from the Airport to the Holiday Inn closest to our hostel for 6:55am EST. The shuttle showed up and the driver took our confirmations to give us a ticket but he refused to let us board. In the next half an hour, we experienced the humid cold that everybody from the east warns you about. The creeping, ugly cold that seeps into your marrow and circulates throughout your body to leave you slightly breathless all the time. We boarded the next shuttle at 7:25am and rode into the heart of Toronto.

Guys - there is nothing sweeter than the skyline of the city you have been waiting for. Toronto's skyline was so distinct, even in the sleety grey background of snow and rain. The city is tall and the infrastructure is a winding series of concrete overpasses. Everything about the city is sleek and modern. The black glass windows of office buildings, the digital readouts of minute-by-minute stock exchanges in the Trade Centre, and even the MacDonald's looked swanky and new. We were in Toronto!

Check-in wasn't until 1pm at Clarence Castle, so we dropped off our backpacks and headed to Bloor Street for brunch after a breakfast. Actually, one of the owners, Danny, met us on the road up to Clarence Castle. He asked, "Are you two headed to Clarence Castle?" We nodded. He smiled. He asked if we knew how he knew we were staying there. I suggested that our backpacks were a dead giveaway. "But we're surrounded by hostels! Who's to say you weren't going to the Backpacker's Hostel just across the street?" We shrugged. He smiled again. "Only the classiest guests stay at the Clarence Castle." Touche. He left us to eat breakfast.

To kill time before meeting Sable's friend Dawn at Fresh on Spadina and Bloor, we explored BMV books, which sells used books, CDs, LPs, comic books, text books, VHS cassettes, etc. etc. Three floors of literature in a white store with a floor-to-ceiling window front. I picked up a few gifts then we headed out to Fresh.

Fresh is a vegan restaurant that is famous for its fresh fruit smoothies and juices. I had a Ladybug, which is a smoothie of strawberries, blueberries, and apple. I also ordered a roasted vegetable and pesto burrito with a side of sweet potato fries. Oh man. Grilled eggplant, roasted zucchini, alfalfa sprouts, cucumber, sundried tomato, radicchio, and romaine lettuce topped with fresh basil pesto and soy ranch dressing. So. Good.

We then walked the entire downtown area of Toronto. Bloor to Yonge, Yonge to Queen, Queen to Spadina, Spadina to Kensington Market. Much to see, including numerous shops, Chinatown, MuchMusic, numerous restaurants, University buildings, City Hall, the Bata Shoe Museum. the Royal Ontario Museum (ROM), and the Biggest Bookstore In the World. Kensington Market is a flea market that Sable and I imagined would be a bit like the open air markets in Europe. Instead, the shops are in small townhouses and sell vintage wear, odd accessories, and other novelty items. It was a bit disappointing, but I got a cool leather cuff out of it.

We bought pastries in Chinatown for breakfast the next morning. 5am train to Montreal. Sweet. We walked back to our hostel, showered, re-dressed, and headed out again. Dinner at a nice Indian restaurant topped off my day of eating good things. Butter chicken and some kind of kopta. The kopta was a creamy vegetable sauce with cottage cheese balls baked into it. We ate it with basmati rice with carrots and peas and garlic naan bread. Mmmmm ... spicy. Then we walked one block to the Second City Comedy Club for a night of jokes, including jokes about Dalton McGuinty, MacDonald's, children's puppets, having sex in the water, lesbian sex, friends playing pool, and, of course, good old improv. I enjoyed it. The toffee coffee helped. Bailey's, white chocolate liqueur and coffee. So warm and so good.

We headed home for an early night. Toronto thoroughly enjoyed in one full day.