Cava Caves & Mediterranean Waves

It’s sad that I keep equating Spanish things with those back in los Estados Unidos, but…the comparisons are just too good! That said, we went to Spanish Napa last weekend. But instead of being by the chilly Pacific ocean, when we drove out to the coast we were greeted by the now-familiar turquoise of the Mediterranean. An afternoon in Sitges was a pleasantly slow day eating lunch by the waves, continuing our cava (Spanish champagne) samplings, and just taking in the beauty of a sleepy beach town, but with medieval churches instead of surf shops. That part beats California.

The tour was actually pretty impressive, considering the Codorniu winery was founded in the 1500s and is the largest producer of sparkling wine. Not that we paid much attention to the tour guide’s facts while we were distracted by the sheer magnitude of the underground cellars while we wound around thousands of bottles down dank tunnels in little carts on the “Wine Train”…and pretending like we were down in Gringott’s Bank (Harry Potter fans only).

After a “tasting” at Codorniu, we supported the family business in the gift shop then hopped back on the bus to head for the beach. Sitges is stunningly beautiful. We ventured down narrow, shady cobbled streets winding between old buildings, which finally opened up to aqua water and a white sand beach. A leisurely lunch, our souvenir bottles of cava, and a great group of Americans–What could be better? Oh yeah, it was the Sitges film festival and “zombies” were roaming the romantic streets. It added a nice touch of whimsy to an otherwise idyllic day.

This couple was wearing matching bikini bottoms–and nothing else. They were also apparently training for the Topless Paddleball World Championships, because they played for all 4 hours we were on the beach. Impressive, but a bit disturbing, too.

Andorran Adventures

Yes, Andorra is a country. No, I had not heard of it before coming to Spain, but now I’ve been there and you haven’t. HA! I wasn’t exactly planning on visiting this minuscule, seemingly mundane country, but…i wasn’t exactly planning on much to begin with. A last minute invite to backpack and camp in the eastern Pyrenees from “the Stanford crew” turned into a fantastic weekend exploring a bizarre little nation (181 sq mi, to be exact). With no expectations and no plans other than to reach a refugio before nightfall, we set off with backpacks full of baguettes and sour gummies to conquer the Andorran wilderness…although we were in the middle of nowhere and kind of hoping for some danger, the most volatile thing we encountered was the path of a cow beset with diarrhea. A bear might have been better.

The Crew = UCLA + Stanford. Even if we can't follow a map, at least our SAT scores are high.

We started our “urban hike” right out of the bus station in Andorra, which took about 3 hours to reach from Barcelona. Close in distance, but Andorra seemed to be worlds away from the busy streets and discotecas of Barcelona. Steep cliffs and towering mountains encircle the puny capital city of Andorra la Vella, to which we promptly hiked, past all the designer boutiques and liquor stores. Andorra is a tax free zone, equating to lots of booze, cigarettes, and fine leather goods for sale. An interesting scene in which to begin a backpacking trip, but we were soon panting up a steep path that led straight up to a pleasant (man-made) lake, where some of the guys went fishing. And all had a cerveza.

Although the lake was full of trout, they weren’t interested in being caught, so we stuck to cervezas and crackers. ¡Que rica! We (ok, I. And much of the group.) was pretty tired by this point in the hike after minimal physical exercise beyond the dance floor in Barcelona, but we still had about 7 km of climbing to reach our refugio. So, onward ho, and after summiting another ridge we started to descend into a valley, then climb up the lush valley floor alongside a river. It was amazing to finally fill my lungs with fresh air instead of smoke, and hear cow bells instead of honking horns.

After a false hope that someone’s private cabin was our spot for the night, we finally came upon our camp just as the temperature was dropping and the sun was setting behind the Pyrenees. The old stone refugio was like a scene from a movie–but better. Up on a grassy knoll, with mountains behind, river beside, and cow shit all around! Which actually proved to be excellent kindling for our roaring fire. Ok, maybe it was more of a loud whisper, but we got that thing going. And a ladybug decided to play daredevil:

Building the fire turned into a manly photo shoot.

We literally froze our butts off that night. A few brilliant chaps had sleeping bags, but Julia and I decided to go with the “army blanket + cuddle fest” tactic, just like Oktoberfest. And just like Oktoberfest, we shivered all night, but had smiles plastered to our faces the whole time. Not sure if that was delirium or delight, but that’s unimportant. What’s important is that this is what we woke up to:

After a nice slow morning of exploring the surrounding stream and thawing out our limbs, we headed back towards Andorra la Vella via a loop trail. For our second night in Andorra, we stayed in a relatively luxurious hotel, where I (surprisingly) showered and slept (surprisingly) in a real bed. It may have been a little pricey, but an included buffet breakfast ensured that I eat the price of the room, and then some. So for our last day in Andorra, we explored the charming capital (consisted of beautiful old buildings, then shopping, shopping, and more boring uninspired shopping) and took it easy.

Julia was on the hunt for a watch, and when we were about to give up hope beyond a huge blingy timepiece, we stumbled upon a musty old shop down an alley. We then spent an hour creating our own custom vintage watches with the sweetest little old lady, whose shop probably hadn’t seen much action since the 60s. Well, neither had she, most likely. Anyway! We scored priceless souvenirs, and a place to stop in for dinner should we ever return to Andorra for a longer backpacking excursion, which I certainly hope I do! With more than a blanket, this time.

le poème sophistiqués.

Inspired by Danielle’s exemplary journalistic venture, ohtheplacesivepeed.blogspot.com, I penned this elegantly cultured poem while flying back to land-of-the-siestas from Geneva, also known as land-of-the-$15-gas station-sandwich. While writing this intellectual piece, I was also taking advantage of Swiss Air’s generous baguette, cheese, wine and chocolate freebies. Hey, when in _______!

I had the most epic squat
whilst hiking in Zermatt.

Snowy Swiss Alps were all I could see
as I proceeded with this alpine pee.

But as bad as I had to go,
It came as slow as glacier flow

I suppose fellow admirers of the Matterhorn
Looked at public peeing with scorn

But what else was I to do?
At least I didn’t poo.

Want to know what’s even more sophisticated than this delightful little ditty? I had to look up the title on Google Translate. Because, sadly, me no know no Frenchy. Our lack of knowledge of French beyond oui, merci, croquette, and croissant led to infinite problems asking for directions, or finding out prices before paying $5 for a baguette in a grocery store. Virtually everyone in Switzerland spoke French + three other beautiful languages, but rarely did they speak Spanish or that bloody English. Spanish may be great for California, but learning French would definitely have proved more beneficial in our European travels. At least I should learn how to say, “Where’s the bathroom?”

¿Skool?

And we can just stroll on over to Parc Cuitadella for a photo op between classes. Beats UCLA's Inverted Fountain.

I keep receiving emails from my loving parents with the few words, “How are classes going?” (to which I have yet to respond), and which as of late have devolved into just, “Class?”

Yes, I take them.

I’m actually sitting in class right now! Isn’t that swell. Spain in Cinema isn’t exactly a challenging course relative to UCLA standards. Or preschool standards. Our professor just asked, “You are knowing who Johnny Depp is, right?” Yeah, Americans tend to know him.

Other than this sleep-inducing cinema class, my daily Spanish language class is pretty good, although I wish it were a bit more challenging. We’re currently reviewing tenses and vocabulary that I learned in 7^th grade, but at least we’re getting more formal practice than just ordering cervezas and asking to try flavors of gelato. In all actuality, it’s fun to have a laidback language class to just take in the idiomatic nuances of español…

Classes are tragically mandatory, so I’ve been attending far more class hours than I normally do at UCLA, but doing virtually zero homework. Not that there isn’t any work, but the bulk of it consists of class participation and economic case studies and simulations. Which are certainly more practical and fulfilling learning experiences than any economics class at UCLA thus far.

So, yes, Mother and Father, I am learning stuff good. Real good.

PROST! Oktoberfest

Although I celebrated my new favorite holiday, Oktoberfest, a few weeks ago, it’s just now that I’ve collected decent pictures from the classy event because someone (ahem. Juli.) happened to lose her camera that contained the most German-fabulous pictures. Wonder how that happened…Oh well, we’ll just have to go again next year.

Los Tres Blondes in Germany...a little more subtle than in Spain. (Uncle David, note my sophisticated pretzel earrings.)

Oktoberfest may be one of the most kitschy, hyped-up international festivals, but I FREAKIN’ LOVED IT! A weekend at this Bavarian beer-fest far exceeded my expectations of, well, just beer. While there was beer aplenty, (a-excess, to be more accurate), the festival grounds were full of families with lederhosen-ed tots, beer-loving seniors, (Papa, let’s go next year? An elder-hostel excursion! Your favorites: beer and pretzels, and all to to your heart’s desire!), and enthusiastic partiers from all over the world. We made more than just beer-goggled drinking buddies–people were so excited to be a part of such a global guzzle-fest that great conversations were spontaneous, singing and dancing was wholehearted, and meeting friends of mutual friends was all too common because virtually all of America’s junior college class abroad is in Europe, attending the ultimate college beer party.

Outsside of Hofbrau, where we spent much of our time on rainy Saturday trying to get in. Full at 8 am?! But we were persistent in line...for 2 hours. Boo.

Inside, before the crowds came. Hofbrau was decidedly our favorite, definitely the most rowdy, and was like a beer-fueled German musical. Perfect.

He may look friendly, but this little guy is the catcher for articles of clothing that happen to "come off" during the festival...heard about a wedgie-gone-wrong that resulted in boxers on the cloud. Ouch.

A party it certainly was, but our “accommodations” were anything but. Camping out in the nearby Campingplatz among emerald trees and fields was a beautiful, economical, and undoubtedly more exciting choice than a hostel. Camping always beats a hotel room for me, but it just so happened that rain poured just as much as the beer did that weekend. It suffices to say that the tents may have been water-resistant at some point, our lack of sleeping bags and pads was idiotic, and beer-drenched clothing didn’t help ward off the cold. Thank the beer Gods that I packed my Bogner down-vest, not only for its German heritage, but because temps dropped to a brisk 36°C. Freezeyourbuttoff-schnell! Regardless, we went to bed with smiles frozen to our faces every night. Literally, frozen.

Lebkuchenherz, the traditional German fastival cookie. Looks great, tastes bad. Go for the enormous pretzels! Or tofu-brats?

A member of a 16-man British bachelor party hamming it up...little did he know that he would be rescuing an American damsel in distress later that day...

Before heading to our campsite after flying into the spectacular Munich airport, we hopped off the train in central Munich to explore a bit. Five minutes passed, and we couldn’t stop expressing our love for Germany. Beautiful baroque buildings, ornate churches, genial people (ok, maybe it’s just the beer), and a constant waft of something buttery baking nearby instantly secured our love for this modern, yet romantically traditional, city. I felt much more at ease while wandering through Munich–I’m not going to attribute that to the camouflage of blonde hair (as opposed to anomaly in Barcelona), but I wasn’t getting the normal curious looks that I do in Spain. Which blatantly say, “Hi, American” (euphemistically, of course). Munich was so international that tourists didn’t seem like such, other than big camera straps and backpacks. Don’t get me wrong, I love Barcelona, but Munich was such an unexpectedly inviting city.

The first thing we saw when we emerged from the subway...not too shabby! It's the Neues Rathaus (New City Hall). Yes, I had to look it up on Wikipedia.

Theatinerkirche at sundown

The style of the Theatinerkirche is classically baroque, but the interior is uniquely a stark white. Remembered that gem from architecture class!

An all too familiar name, Gould Family

Our last day in Germany was also spent exploring the city of Munich rather than the tables of the beer tents, and I visited far too many churches to remember their names (except I knew they were of some cultural importance from a past architecture class), the 1972 Olympic Park, the BMW Welt, strolled the streets of Marienplatz city center, and stormed more than a few grocery stores to stock up on German chocolate. The fantastic underground and many walking streets made the city easily navigable, and although we saw much of the city, I’d love to go back again and see more of Munich as well as pretty much everything else in Germany. The streets were full of traditional architectural masterpieces, but interspersed with über-modern achievements like the BMW Headquarters and the steel-cobweb-like structures of the Olympic Park.

BMW Welt. We didn't expect much, but BMW definitely puts on a show here.

Inside BMW: He did wheelies up and down stairs and across the pedestrian bridges; definitely not your typical museum.

One "people picture" all day. Go Abby & Vera!

Marienplatz McDonald's mutilingual signs are evidence of Munich's diversity...but whatever, they serve beer!

Look, Ma, more boyfriends!

And now for some beer-ology:

Especially during Oktoberfest, streets and storefronts are bedecked with traditional cookies and costumes, but the modernity of Munich is always apparent…I mean, their beer production alone is impressive. By the numbers (yes this is the research I perform during class):

1,300 breweries in Germany

5,000 brands of beer

494 years of German breweries’ strict adherence to Reinheitsgebot (“purity order”), according to which the only allowed ingredients of beer are water, hops, and barley-malt

>6,900,000 liters of beer are served every year at Oktoberfest…!!!

115.8 liters of beer consumed annually, per capita (beer belly much?!)

So I loved Germany, but alas, I will never be considered a true German as I don’t think I can measure up to 3-digit consumption of liters. One can always dream…

Don't look so smug. We shall meet again...

Neon Lights and Trashy Sights…But We Still Love Mallorca

To relate Mallorca back to America, we’ve dubbed it “The Jersey Shore of Spain,” “Vegas by the Beach, ” or “Spanish Spring Break.” Neon lights, trashy people, too many bars–that’s the side of Mallorca that we saw! Apparently, a mystical side of the island exists where obese people don’t don thongs and techno music doesn’t drown out the rolling waves. However, our college budgets required that we partake in the British debauchery that dominates the Palma Nova cove of the island–no complaints, just a little confusion with why all these British bachelor parties consist solely of fat, hairy, costumed men. No matter, our American crew was large enough to entertain ourselves and avoid (for the most part, other then optical scarring) the other island-folk.

Mallorca is just a skip away from Barcelona–a 50 minute flight and then we were landing on an island surrounded by turquoise Mediterranean waters. After a long struggle with cab drivers that didn’t even know the hotels their own dang island (can it get much easier?), we arrived at our hotel, only to be greeted by a boisterous group of drunk Irishmen–the main species of the island, usually in costume and at least 20 pounds overweight.  Needless to say, we bonded a lot with each other over the weekend. The itinerary was basically: eager exploration then subsequent horror at island nightlife on Friday night, beach on Saturday, then city adventures and a couple hours at a beachfront pub playing cards on Sunday. A few long days on the beach in white sand, frolicking in azure waters, with the added entertainment of Europe’s worst dressed? Just what we needed to conclude the summer, kick off the school year, and vow never to return to Mallorca until we can afford our own private villa.

There's a whole lotta surface area to cover there, buddy.

And she just happened to have a tattoo that read, "World's Best Mom"

The perpetual parade of drunken, costumed representatives from the UK. Not sure how the costume tradition fits in on an island, but I guess it adds some British theatre and flavour!

Banana boat ride wasn't thrilling, but definitely entertaining. Much like the entire weekend.

Catalog candid!

Ok, so Mallorca redeemed itself with a cathedral of cultural value in the city center, which was actually quite charming and devoid of tipsy Englishmen. Thankfully.

Marina, Mountains, Markets, & Mila

The first few weeks in Spain, I was determined to see/do/experience as much as possible every single day. Now that I’ve worn myself into the ground with exploring the city by night and day, I can finally start to write a little (too much) about our home city of Barcelona. Alliteration list, begin:

1. Marina

Calle de Marina–that’s my new street, just two blocks from Universitat Pompeu Fabra, three blocks from the beach, and four blocks from a 24/7 Churreria (yes, a churro stand. Chocolate dipped or plain hart attacks, all day errday!) I can’t imagine a better location for my stay in Barca–I can drag my butt to class in the morning without taking the Metro, can easily run along the beach every morning (can not will), stroll to the Gothic Quarter to get lost in alleyways full of fascinations, or take a nap on the grass at the most remarkable park, Parque de la Ciudadela. I definitely scored a prime location to experience many facets of the city–churros being a very important cultural activity after a long night out.

2. Montserrat

It’s a monastery. On some mountains. And it’s one of the most stunning places I’ve ever been–the mountains look like lumpy dedos, fingers, rising straight up in a landscape of rolling terraced hillsides. The monastery and cathedral are literally perched on the side of a peak; I have no idea how they built those elaborate, massive structures in the 16 century. Horse-driven helicopters?

99.99% of people take a funicular or tram up the steep, jagged mountainside. But as Maddy and I are decidedly the mountaineering type, we chose to scale the mountain “path” up to the top. Path= random yellow arrows painted on random rocks, with the general direction of “up,” regardless of bushes or boulders or vertical incline. So it was less of a hike, and more of a crawl in the blazing midday heat. On the way up, we didn’t encounter any other fellow hikers, and when we finally arrived hours later, drenched in sweat and dirt, we were amused see droves of Asian tourists at the top in their heels after a pleasant tram ride up. However, the hike made the experience that much more spectacular, even as amazing as the monastery itself is. Montserrat is definitely a must-do in Catalonia! (And there were numerous local cheesemongers at the top, offering free samples of fresh goat cheese, figs, and honey…of course free food adds to the greatness.)

This was about halfway. The tram-people were probably laughing at us.

A drastic (and welcome) change of scenery from the bars and cars of Barcelona!

We finally encountered human life to snap a photo of our worthless selves.

3. Mercat de la Boqueria

Too. Much. Good. Stuff!

Candyland

Although it is the most famous market in Barcelona, Mercat de la Boqueria still manages to maintain its local authenticity despite the hoards of daily tourists. This is a positive thing; the prices stay relatively low and the produce and meats are better than anything I’ve seen in supermarkets. After a day of classes, a group of us headed over, just expecting to get a few chocolates from Boqueria’s storied candy vendors. But we were overwhelmed by the mountains of fresh, picture-perfect vegetables, fruit, cheese, and less picturesque but still potentially delicious piles of fish and meat everywhere. Thus, we instantly decided to make  dinner with ingredients just from the market. With the aim of fish tacos, we started piling up veggies and then went to choose our fish friend, with a head and guts, that was cleaned by our kind butcher friend with elephantiasis. It was quite a dramatic butchering process, and we opted to keep the head for future entertainment. Only 13€ for a massive fish for 6 ravenous kids? ¡Viva Boqueria!

Love at first sight

It's awkward to see your own body being chopped to pieces...

Finally...guacamole, mango salsa, and real food!!

Mature, I know. But it's not everyday that you have a fish head around to stage a still-life with.

4. Casa Mila

I’ve studied Gaudi’s work, I’ve seen countless pictures, and I’ve always been interested in his designs, but I was not expecting to be so enthralled by Casa Mila, or La Pedrera. The biomorphic forms of the building are so bizarre and surreal, it’s hard to remember that La Pedrera is a place for people to live in–and at the turn of the 20th century, its absurdity must have offended more than a few people. Casa Mila is definitely not an overrated tourist site…even though we had to take the customary plethora of tourist photos!

Holy Toledo!

While I’m not sure that the cliche expression has much relevance to the city of Toledo itself, “Holy Toledo” is certainly an appropriate reaction to this elegantly antiquated city in the middle of Spain. Picturesque, drowning in a rich mixture of history of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim cultures, and thankfully not overrun by tourists, Toledo is an idyllic Spanish city full of culture and a token local food: marzipan. Not a fan o’ the marzipan, but as I’ve found, every Spanish city seems to have a bizarre food that they’re famous for–or maybe just weird enough to actually produce on a massive scale. Regardless, I’ll take a stab and say that Barcelona’s local food is deep fried __(fill in the blank)__.

Da girls...well, at least part of our massive UCLA crew.

Back on track–Toledo was a stop on our bus ride from Madrid to Barcelona, and an unfortunately brief one at that. Although we were just in the city for a day, our marathon-style touring yielded an impressive coverage of the city’s many monuments and museums. We went on a walking tour with a feisty little Toledo local, who proceeded to quiz us about Spanish history and geography, and somehow make us feel guilty when we didn’t know the Queen’s birthday or favorite meal or whatever. So I tuned him out, and just took in the narrow twisting, yet inviting, alleyways that connect the dense old city of Toledo within the Moorish city walls. Although the majority of the modern city lies outside the old city walls, the winding walkways within (ooh alliteration) are genuinely romantic–everything is just so freakin’ old. I can’t even imagine what living in a 14th century building would be like–except that you could always defend yourself from annoying neighbors through the arrow-slits. How practical!

After a day of being in constant awe of Toledo’s beauty, and almost all night spent in a club converted from an old cathedeal, we hopped back on our trusty tour buses for an 8 hour trek to Barcelona. The drive was oddly reminiscent of my least favorite drive on the I-5 from SF to LA–hot, nothing to look at, hot, and full of stinky cow poop. So, in a way, it was just like driving back to school. Except the part about being in Spain, and our destination being Barcelona, it’s (sadly) time to learn stuff good!

Mobbing Madrid

After a week in London of being disturbed by British cuisine but enthralled with London’s endless parks and stunning architecture, I finally made it to my new country of residence: España. While I had already dragged through a few days of worthlessness to adjust after jet-lag, all my friends that had just arrived in Europe were just acclimating to GMT +1…which equates to staying out until 6 am. Or, at least that was our justification.

After a decidedly long night out in Madrid, we began the next day visiting Picasso’s Guernica at the Museo de Arte Reina Sofia, a block from our hotel. the museum had an amazing collection of Spanish 20th century art, boasting numerous works by Dali and Picasso. The museum itself was a marriage of an old crumbling building and huge glass and steel additions and elevator shafts, representing the architectural juxtaposition that seems so prevalent in Spain.   After being fascinated by the Reina Sofia, I was lulled into a deep coma by our monotone tour guide at the massive, classical Prado museum. 30 minutes of background information on a painting is not only unnecessary, but painful. Ditching tour groups has become crucial to avoiding the obviously indifferent American stereotype in museums…TMI on classical art=zzzzz.

The Reina Sofia has definitely been a favorite so far...because all I've been doing is museum hopping, right?

Inside the courtyard entrance of the Reina Sofia

Unfortunately, our stay in Madrid was all too brief for much cultural fulfillment, but our entire ISA exchange group stayed together and had an amazing time roaming the beautiful streets, hanging out in a nearby park, eating awful fried food, and getting to know the people that we would be learning and living with over the next four months of our Spanish adventures.

I Live Here?

2 blocks from school, 3 from my apartment. Do we really have to attend class?

So I may be more than a week behind on updates, but for good reason: days in Barcelona have been frantic with classes, exploring, trip planning, those gosh darn logistics (cell phones, schedules, orientation, registration…), and just adjusting to living in such an amazing city. I don’t feel like I’m necessarily adjusting to a foreign, unknown city, but more like I need to adjust to the beauty of Barcelona–I really get to live in this amazing city?? Every block is saturated with stunning architecture, a view of one breathtaking landmark or another, and virtually minutes from the best urban beachfront I’ve ever seen. So, yes, I feel more than comfortable living in Barcelona, and can barely take the time to sleep for all the places we want to see, things we want to do, and adventures we want embark upon. Until the incredulity of my new address gives way, I’ll going to bed and waking up at the crack of dawn! Siesta in the middle.