Tuesday, April 12, 2011

Things I Learned in France/Spain

1. Danika is weak. And looks silly in pictures.

2. Research the weird stuff. (ex: find local treehouse hotels, museums and castles all begin to blend together but a bacon-themed restaurant and a porcupine purse store do not)

3. Do not pack a one-use toothpaste.

4. Do not try to pull out a wine cork with a rental car key.

5. A lot of mountains look like they could be part of the Pyrenees.

6. Wear a watch.

7. How to spend five hours eating dinner.

8. The location of my future home.

9. Pizza is usually a safe choice.

10. Down in my favorite direction.

Maureen and I walked briskly down the tiny curved cobblestone streets. We were a bit giddy with huge scoops of cinnamon and almond gelati/gelato (what's the difference?) in hand. Not any ordinary gelato either; these were from the World's Best Ice Cream parlor, Raya's, which, as far as we could tell, is only open after 10pm. We attempted to follow the carefully plotted directions on our map, but the street signs are sporadic and usually hidden on the streets of Sevilla.

The sound of a crowd of lively Spaniards became a sight to behold as we turned the corner. In one of the many town squares everyone had gathered to drink, young and old squeezed together to make merry on an ordinary Wednesday evening (around 11 pm). Tempting, but we passed on knowing our destination was only a few blocks away (and knowing that it could take us hours to find it).

Next, we passed a cozy bar; sitting at a long table in front of the window were a group of priests, all dressed in full cassock, all drinking deep glasses of red wine and laughing loudly. Several more streets. A young man getting a ticket for speeding on his Vespa. Several chats (that's cat in French!) glaring down from wrought-iron balconies. At one point of confusion I finally looked up and realized we had just passed an ancient cathedral that was plunked down in the residential 'hood. We found the right street. There was nothing on it. We walked slower. We stopped in front of a door and stared at it. Just as we were about to walk away an old man asked us if we were looking for the *forgettable Spanish bar name*. We nodded and he opened the door-of-no-signage-whatsoever.

The flamenco show involved an intense, heavy woman with a visible mustache and sideburns and this guy.

Next Trips Include:
Vienna, Austria
English countryside

in no particular order

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