The Adventure Continues: Buh-bye Barcelona

I am happy to report I am safe and sound in Madrid.  Phew!

So, Barcelona was a bit of a nightmare.  To top of the whole theft incident and subsequent scrambling to get everything in order, a guy started lurking outside of the hostel and getting increasingly creepy the last couple days.  Of course he took a particular liking to me, as I am a creep magnet.  Lucky me.  

Saturday afternoon I was walking several blocks away when he approached me on the street and I thoroughly freaked out.  I don't know how long he had been following me, but in that moment I heard the magic words, "do you know this guy?" spoken with attitude in none other than a good old fashioned American accent.

Enter, Chris and Melissa.  My saviors turned out to be a young couple from Florida, on vacation and doing some pricey shopping on Passieg de Gracia.  Chris, self-described as confrontational, promptly told creeper to "get the fuck out of here" and Melissa asked if I wanted to walk with them.  

All I have to say about this is: god bless Americans.  We are brash, no-nonsense, and I love it.

They walked with me for several blocks, and made sure he didn't follow when we went our separate ways.

Chris and Melissa from Florida, thank you.

I eventually made my way back to the hostel via a very complicated and circuitous route (nervously checking to make sure I wasn't being followed the entire time) and wondered how on earth I was going to survive another full day in this godforsaken hellhole of thieves and stalkers.

As you can imagine by this point Barcelona felt officially ruined for me.  Like, fuck this city and get me the hell out of here (like, now) status.

So, obviously, I wasn't about to leave the hostel alone again.

One of the perks of hostel life is it's quite easy to make new friends.  Especially when the internet only works when you're sitting in the lobby.  I had met Kenneth from Miami a couple days prior, when we went with my room mate Lety to midnight mass Christmas Eve (no, I'm not Catholic, or frankly even religious, but I enjoy attending church in foreign languages.  And the music is beautiful).  Kenneth was also present for the whole purse jacking incident, and spending the wee hours of the morning in a foreign police station does kind of force you to get to know someone.  He came to Europe with the intention of spending three weeks, and now he wants to move to Germany.  Which I think is awesome.

So, we had already chatted about going to dinner together earlier that day, and that afternoon we met Marlot, a young Dutch girl from Amsterdam in the lobby.  As it turns out creepy guy had also been trying to talk to her, so we formed a trio and hung out the rest of the time together in Barcelona.

Sunday morning we trekked over to Park Guell, which is just gorgeous and you get a view of the whole city from the top.  Here's a few photos (credit goes to Kenneth, as obviously I am lacking a camera at the moment).

After this we went over to the gothic area where we grabbed lunch at a kebab place; five euros will get you a beer and more food than you need, and it's delicious.  What's not to love?

We did a whole lot of walking and eventually made it back to the hostel, took a break, and then headed out for tapas.  Marlot and I shared a bottle of cheap red wine and a tapas sampler, and she patiently listened while Kenneth and I got into an enthusiastic discussion about US politics and social issues.  Then she prodded us out of the restaurant to Club Mojito for salsa dancing.  

Yep, I'm still uncoordinated as hell, but we had loads of fun.  The dancers there were so intimidatingly good!  Personally, I'm not convinced it's possible to make my body move that way, but a girl can dream.

Photo by Marlot.

We got home way past bedtime and I wasn't particularly excited to get up the next morning for my train, but I made it.  It was a bit of a bummer to leave just as I was starting to really have fun again.  

Here are all the photos I have from before my camera was stolen.

So, until dad is able to send me my new camera, that's it for photos (with the exception of any I get from people I meet along the way).

But in the meantime I'm in Madrid, staying at a really nice hostel through New Years.

Fun fact, if you order a beer anywhere here, they give you free tapas.  Seriously.  I went to a place called El Tigre yesterday afternoon (recommended by both Kenneth and the front desk here), and for five euros I got a pint and it came with a huge plate of snacks.  Potatoes, bread with meat and cheese, croquettes, yes.  I'll probably go back again in a bit, there's also a market that sells olives down the street that I'll probably make a stop at.

So far, I'm liking Madrid.  All I've really done is walk around, but for some reason I'm not feeling like hitting museums or anything.  I've done so much of that in my trip I'm kind of enjoying just wandering and seeing what I find.  I'm feeling a little under the weather today as well, so I'm taking it easy.  I want to be able to enjoy New Years - there's a tradition here where you try to eat one grape per second for the last 12 seconds before midnight (I guess the local superstition is you get your wish if you manage it).  Apparently, this is harder than it sounds and also winds up being hysterical, and the front desk is providing grapes.  

In the meantime, I'm happy to be in a new place, and looking forward to continuing my adventures.

~Swan

Open Letter to Morally Bankrupt Thieves

I had a whole other post drafted, but after the spectacular events of last night I think this takes precidence.  

To the assholes that stole my bag last night with everything in it:

Thank you for gifting me hours of frustrating and elaborate phone trees to cancel all my credit cards from Spain.

Thank you for the totally disheartening phone call to the consulate at 3am that informed me that there's absolutely nothing they could do about my stolen passport until Monday because of a very conveniently placed national holiday.

Thank you for taking my beloved camera that I've had for almost ten years.

Thank you for taking my first ever pair of prescription sunglasses.

Thank you for taking my journal, complete with train tickets, recipes, all my private thoughts, and photos of friends.

Thank you for taking my Tilley Bag, a birthday gift from my father.

Thank you for taking my giving key, a very special gift I have been carrying around for over a year with it scarcely leaving my side.  The ironic part?  It said "faith."

Thank you for giving me the pleasure of spending my Christmas evening in a police station in a country where I don't speak the language (where, of course, the English translator had gone home for the day).

But you know what?

Yesterday I also saw the opposite side of that coin.

Yesterday people I've known for three days, one day, and only a few hours paid for my dinner, came with me to the police station, got indignant on my behalf with everyone from the restaurant owners for not paying attention to themselves for not following their "spidey sense" about the couple seated behind us, handed me tissues when I cried, translated English to Spanish and back again, helped me brainstorm everything I had lost, laughed with me about the absurdity of it all, proofread police reports, helped identify one of the theiving bastards from a mug shot, walked me home, got me the number for the consulate, and promised they would take care of me as long as I needed help.

Yesterday I was first given the strength to laugh when on the phone with a young lady with Chase Visa when, upon hearing the police wouldn't file a report until I canceled all my credit cards, stated incredulously, "now that is the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Yesterday I met a policeman who smiled apologetically and said, "welcome to Barcelona."  And I laughed again.

Yesterday I met two other people who had also been robbed the same night, and we instantly formed a bond of mutual support and held each other up.

Yesterday I was reminded that these are only things; they are all replaceable.  Two people with no moral high ground stand no chance against the abundance of true human kindness.  

And, I have a bed to sleep in, clothes, an iPad, two oranges, and a bottle of water, and you know the best part?

This morning they found my passport and my (empty, as expected) wallet.  Now I have photo ID.  And after everything, that might be the best Christmas present ever, because all things are possible with government issued identification.  (As it turns out, when a bag containing a passport is stolen the morally bankrupt responsible parties ditch it immediately about 85% of the time because in Spain the repercussions of carrying someone else's stolen ID are not even close to worth the risk of pawning it.)

That all being said:

I hope those hunky Policia find your sorry asses and that you kindly rot in hell.

Love, Swan

Hola, Barcelona!

I made it to Barcelona!

Of course, it's never a Swan journey without some unforeseen obstacles.

I woke up before the crack of dawn, figuring I'd give myself plenty of time to get across town to the train station, just in case.

As it turns out, that was a very, very good move on my part.  

I jauntily walked to the local metro stop, self-assured, for surely it wouldn't be a problem to buy a metro ticket.  I had even had the foresight to save up my coins because I knew the machines don't take bills or American credit cards.  FYI, for anyone planning to travel to Europe, most places now only take these newfangled credit cards imbedded with a microchip.  As Carol has since explained to me, they're much safer, but since my ordinary California credit card does not contain such a chip, I've had to use my debit card to get cash more than I expected.

To continue.

As I'm walking, I'm thinking, "I've got this, no problem!"

Because, what could possibly go wrong?

I get to the metro, go to the ticket machine, confirm what ticket I need, and then realize, to my horror, while these machines have a coin slot, it's been blocked off.  Credit card only, buddy.

Merde.

Thankfully, I also had the foresight last night to google how long it takes to walk to the train station, just for shits and giggles.  So I know, if all else fails, the hour plus timeline I've given myself is more than double the amount of time necessary to walk the whole way.

So I start hoofing it.  I try the Jean d'Arc metro station, which is the next closest in the right direction.  No dice.  I finally make it to Jean Jaures, where I find a ticket office and buy a ticket and, blissfully, make it to the train station, with time to spare.  There I buy two gigantic water bottles at ridiculously inflated prices and board my train (first class!) for Barcelona.  

Whew.

A little over three hours later I got off the train, and quickly found my way to the metro where I bought a ticket and got off at the correct metro stop and then, I got lost.  Again.  It seems to be a theme.

Only this time, anticipating such an event, I had googled a map of the area around my hotel and took a screen shot so it was saved on my iPad.  Take that!

With only a little trouble I reoriented myself and found the hostel, where I was told I couldn't check in until 2, but yes, I could leave my bag.  Then, of course the first logical item of business: food.

Having skipped breakfast and also faced with the need to kill some time, I walked down the block a bit and found a sidewalk restaurant.  Which is where I am as I write this.  It's definitely more pricey than what I've been going for lately, but the quality is definitely worth it.  And anywhere that brings out olives as outstanding as these as a starter is in my good graces instantly. 

For the main course I went for the fresh market fish (monkfish) with potatoes and romanesco.  Also outstanding, and I am going to have to learn how to make romanesco.

At the moment I'm on my second glass of the cheapest rosé bubbles they have and wading through a 1/2 portion cheese plate.  

I don't know how to explain it but I already feel very comfortable here.  Even when I thought I was lost I didn't feel the least bit concerned.  I just sat down on a bench and calmly looked at the map until spotted a useful landmark.  I still haven't figured out the street signs around here (where the hell are they?!) but I am very glad I'm staying here for a week.  

Now I'm going to top off my lunch and two glasses of bubbles with an espresso before wandering back to check in at the hostel.  Another habit I've picked up here, coffee.  Black coffee at that.  Never been a coffee drinker but there is something so wonderfully civilized about a shot of caffeine after a meal to jolt you out of the food coma.

The adventure continues!

~Swan

Ah, Toulouse

Today is my last day in Toulouse.  I'm so glad I stopped here!  It wasn't originally on my must-see list but I'm so happy I didn't miss out.  But, as cities go, it's pretty small, so I'm looking forward to moving onward.

Yesterday morning I woke up to gray skies and, pretty much the instant I left the hostel, it started drizzling.  Then, raining.  Kudos to dad for insisting I pack that cute sized umbrella, because I needed it.  I had heard about Le Couvent des Jacobins via a blog about Toulouse I stumbled on, so I trudged in that general direction wondering if getting soaked would ultimately be with the effort.  As I ducked into the empty cathedral out of the rain, I stopped short.

Um, wow.  Just, wow.  Neither words nor pictures can capture the magnificence of this building.  It takes a few minutes to even start absorbing the details.  Like how the light blue stripes in the ceiling are painted with perfect, tiny stars.

And the way sound echoes; a single person whispers and you hear it vibrate through the entire space. And the colors!  Oh the colors.

Then I discovered the giant mirror below one of the columns, which reflects the entire space back at you.  

 Sorry Notre Dame, you cannot compete.  If you ever, ever have an opportunity to come to Toulouse, go to Les Jacobins.  It is just stunning.

Here's a little history for you:

Les Jacobins is a Dominican monastery which was built in 1229.  Eat your heart out, young America.  For many years classes for the first University of Toulouse were held in the city's monasteries and convents, in particular at Les Jacobins, the bell of which was used to mark the times for class.  St. Thomas Aquinas' relics are currently housed here.  During the revolution, the monastery was transformed into barracks and the cloister was partially destroyed, but because of its strong identity it attracted the attention of the first inspector of Historical Monuments, Prosper Mérimée, and renovation therefore got underway.  

But, it gets better.

For an additional 4 euros, you can wander the rest of the property.  Including The Cloister, The Chapterhouse, The Reflectory, and Saint Anthoninus Chapel.

The Cloister.

I spent some time hanging out, listening to the rain.  Magical.

The Chapterhouse.

The Reflectory.

The tower bell.

Rain and cobwebs.

Saint Anthoninus Chapel.

I saw the ceiling and said "oh wow!" out loud which of course echoed like crazy and sounded deafening in that silent space.

By the time I left the rain had let up and I wandered back towards Le Capitole, looking for a little lunch. After a few days of eating street faire food and sandwiches from the local bakery, however delicious, I had decided I really wanted to sit down and have a real meal in a real restaurant.  And that's when I let my nose lead me to nirvana, also known as, Lebanese food.

Yes, I know, I'm in France, but they have these little Middle Eastern joints everywhere and not only was it really reasonable there was the owner behind the counter making flatbread and his wife next to him making the accompanying side dishes and you could smell the deliciousness down the block.

It was perfect.  The salad was full of spice (horseradish in the dressing?  Is that insane?), the little side dish with veggies and bulgur was delightful, the hummus was so good I had to restrain myself from licking the bowl, and the shawarma hit the spot.  Happy, happy Swan.

So afterwards I wandered back through the market where I finally bought the scarf I'd been eyeing for days (it's cashmere, oh la la) and also something called a Basque cake, which turned out to be an exceptional idea.  The cute little nondescript looking thing was filled with custard.  I love custard.  I love it so much I bought myself another mini cake tonight when I went to le Capitol.

But to continue.

I then took a walk over to the Japanese Garden that's near my hotel, where I dawdled until it started to drizzle again.  It is a gorgeous little place.

Pathway leading up to the Japanese garden entrance.

That little red bridge is just so cheerful!

Frankly, I don't think he looks very meditative, he looks a little grumpy, but hey.

And then I proceeded to spend a quiet evening at the hostel reading the rest of a book.  Dinner was bread and cheese and macarons.  Very old lady of me.

This morning both my roomies left, so once again I had the place to myself for a bit before taking off for another day of exploring.  As an added bonus, it turned out to be a bright and sunshiney day with not a single cloud in the sky.  Which meant it was a tad colder but nothing like Paris.  As long as I can feel my fingers and my face, I'm good to go.

I decided to check out the Musée Saint-Raymond, which is a quick jaunt from my hostel and specializes in antiquities.  Think, lots of Roman looking marble statues, etc.  They kindly gave me an audio tour wooftie heaptie (that's dad-speak for "thingamajig") which made it way more interesting and as a consequence I spent a couple hours dawdling my way through.  As it turns out Toulouse is way more ancient than I had given it credit for.  But on a sadder note most if not all of the sites where they located the artifacts for the museum have since been turned into car parks or shopping malls without any trace left of the history underneath.  Way to go, guys, way to go.

This was a sacrificial table where they would place offerings for the gods to be burned.  I know it was more likely fruit and meat and such, but I kept thinking ancient Maya and therefore all the more gruesome possibilities.  Shows you where my mind goes if you give it free reign.

If you can't handle nudity, Europe is not for you.  

Now, I love this; they have this stunning old mosaic that used to be on some rich villa's bathhouse floor just hanging out on the floor in the middle of the aisle.  You could step on it if you weren't paying attention.  The laissez-faire attitude just kills me, it's so amazing.  In the states this would be under plate glass, but here all these ancient artifacts are casually strewn about without any fear.  They trust that people won't do anything destructive or stupid.  And apparently trusting people works.

I cannot even fathom the workmanship that went into something like this!

And, speaking of laissez-faire, just look at this.

Here are these ancient busts of Roman rulers and their children and wives, and there's some sort of group here wearing blindfolds and touching them.  I think it must have been for some sort of art class, they had a whole discussion after touching both female and male busts, comparing the differences.  But can you imagine what would happen if you tried something like this in a lot of places?  I see... Bars.  It took me some serious willpower to reach out and touch one myself because it's so ingrained in me that it's a big no-no.  I kept expecting an angry French lady to come out of the woodwork and start yelling at me.

And do you know who this is?  It's Julia!  (Daughter of Julius Caesar). 

Theater masks.

I found Pan here oddly delightful.  

One of a set of six "medallion" pieces, this is Cybele, a mother goddess.

And this is the goddess of health/healing, Hygieia.

One of the trials of Hercules, this is the Amazon Warrior Queen (Hercules himself has fallen apart but you can see a bit of a foot at the bottom left there).  According to the legends the warrior women used to cut off their right breasts to more easily draw their bows.  That charming tidbit of information will likely stay with me forever.

A whole lot of brawny, naked Herc.  I love that the ancients had this kind of stuff as wall decor.

The final level, the basement, where all the urns and sarcophagi are.

So, that was that.  By this time I was starving, so I made my way to the street faire for some grub.  Which, with the nice weather and it being Sunday, was a zoo.  Nix that idea.

But, Le Capitol is nice, right?

Wandered a few streets over and found a quiet pâtisserie, where I bought myself a tuna sandwich (I swear, they're like crack, they're so good), and the sat in the sun watching people go by while I ate.  I had also decided to hit up the local photography museum, so after lunch I made my way across Pont Neuf towards a different part of town.  Gorgeous day for a walk!

As it turns out, the photography museum was a little underwhelming, but maybe I'm just not artsy fartsy enough for some of that stuff.  

Then I walked back over towards the Japanese Garden because I knew the canal was somewhere behind it, and stopped for a brief repose at this lovely little lake.

The canal was gorgeous as well, and I hung around for a bit before heading back to the hostel for a break before dinner.

It was such a lovely day I was sorry to see the sun go down, but I knew I wanted to hit the street faire one last time and grab some early dinner.  It's all Christmassy and lit up and lovely!

And yeah, if I thought it was packed earlier, oh boy.

Hello, crazytown.  

But, I did manage to score a baked potato stuffed with ham, tomatoes, and cream, and un vin chaud, before retreating to the outskirts to eat.  Delicious.  Of course, I then dove right back into the fray, because why stop when you're full?  One of the most popular foods I had seen over the last few days at the street faire is something called "aligot," which appeared to be mostly melted cheese with perhaps the barest whiff of potato.  Which as it turns out, is precisely what it is.  It's about nine parts cheese to one part potato, but the online definition still insistently says "mashed potatoes with cheese."  Ok, if you say so.  I mean, you can peel it away from the container with your fork and there's no potato residue left.  At all.  It's gooey, cheesy, (mildly) potatoey goodness with garlic and seasonings.  They whip it with a giant whisk so it's light and airy and ohmygod good.  I ate about half of my "small" portion when I decided enough is enough and I gave up trying to stuff more down.

Home was a quick walk and I'll be going to bed pretty shortly as I have an 8am train tomorrow.  Off to Barcelona!  Ironically, one of my new room mates tonight is from Barcelona.  I have the dorm to myself right now and I wish I was more tired but, no dice.  I have about a three hour ride tomorrow and will get to town before I can check into my hostel but I'm sure they'll have a place to drop my bag and I can kill a couple hours finding my way around.

By the way, my hostel in Barcelona where I'm staying for the next week?  It's called "The Hipstel."  No, I'm not joking.  I'm really not sure they could have chosen a more unfortunate name.  But, they have good reviews and a good location so I'll try not to snort derisively in front of any employees.  

Good night, see you in Spain!

~Swan