Travel
Jun 8th, 2010
Wait Time in Salamanca
It’s early in Salamanca, and we’re in the in-betweens. In between when everything is closed and when it opens. In between awake and asleep. A living limbo in the train station. You know… You’ve been here. Now it’s our turn. This morning started at 4:15 when I stepped out of my sleeper, and Ken stepped out of his. No co-ed sleeper cars for us out of Basque country. My roomates for the evening were (I surmised) two adult sisters and their mother. When I opened the door into the sleeper (to which I was directed by the uniformed attendant), Mama sounded off like an alarm. All I could do while she was overcoming my injustice in loud, protesting Portgese is stand in the doorway as unthreateningly as possible and hold my ticket and my ground. Eventually, I understood that it was less my filling a bunk as my filling a bottom bunk that got her going. I pointed at myself and then at the top bunk. Polite smiles exchanged with the daughters, and I was presented with the ladder to climb to the top bunk. That was somewhere in the neighborhood of 11:00.
I slept. Ken seems not so lucky. He looks tired. A 24-hour coffee shop inside the train station is our salvation. The weather turned during our daytrip to San Jean de Luz yesterday. We got caught in the rain, and thus kicked off our waiting time earlier than expected. Whereas now we’re waiting for a reasonable hour when other businesses will be open, last night we were waiting out the rain and waiting for transport back across the Spanish-French border to San Sebastian earlier than we otherwise would have been. As we arrived here this morning, we saw that we brought the rain with us.
So, I’m glad to be at least partially-rested, warm, dry, safe, and caffeinated. I’ll take this moment to extol the utter fantastic-ness of traveling with a smart phone. Ken and I tend to compose these little ditties during the inevitable wait times that accompany travel and upload them when a wifi opportunity presents itself. This is the first trip of its kind where I’ve had my own snazzy gadgetry, and I’ve really enjoyed keeping up with the news, writing emails (without hunting down any Internet cafés or navigating funny keyboards), uploading pictures to Facebook, and posting my few entries to this blog. Being this connected changes the way it feels to travel.
Speaking of the news, Spain is in the headlines in the US because public workers here are threatening to strike over wage cuts due to take effect this month. We’ve heard a lot of protests in many of the places we’ve visited. I assume they’re all focused on the economic situation, which I only vaguely understand. Other than the seemingly frequent protests (and the increasingly favorable—for us—exchange rate converting dollars to euros) our personal experience as foreign tourists has not called real attention to Spain’s economic hardship. I personally hope it stays that way for us and that we continue to avoid inconveniences (such as a strike by public workers) for the remainder of our stay. That the country and its people are struggling is clear. Reading about concerns that the EU and/or its currency could fail bother me a lot. I’d always thought the whole notion of the EU was/is lofty. I wish I knew more about the situation here (in Spain particularly) but much more than that, I wish it fixed, rapido.
That about taps my tired brain for this early morning. We’re going to try for a bus into town where we’ll occupy more wait time getting breakfast. Hola from Salamanca!
Posted in Spain, Travel | No Comments
May 30th, 2010
V is for Valencia!
Today was our first full day in Valencia. Love this place. The streets of the central historic district are paved in shiny marble, which feels so decadent! We’ve encountered fewer tourists here, so the place feels more authentic.
We spent the day at the modern Arts and Sciences complex. It’s huge. Beatiful too. We discovered while there that the traditional thing to have with authentic Valencian horchata is a brioche-like pastry called fartons, which we ordered twice at the complex (and both times we were told they had sold out).
Valencia being the place of origin for paella, we have a couple of foods to try during our final day here (which will be tomorrow). There should be no trouble finding fartons to go with our horchata tomorrow since cart vendors sell the stuff on every other corner of the city near our hotel.
I will say too that we got lucky with this hotel. A steal at 60€ per night, we double-checked our information when we read the sign posted out front that it is a 4-star. I don’t want to sully our reputations by admitting this, but Ken and I don’t typically stay in 4-star accomodations. If we can squeeze in one star, we get to feeling pretty luxurious.
Ken is sacked out as I write this. Of course I’m not bothering him as I am in my separate bed in our double room. I suspect there is some European code that looks unfavorably on matrimonial double beds. We can’t so much figure it out. Only one bed have we shared on this trip so far, and that was the first. After I’ve grown accustomed to sleeping apart, it will be time to get used to sharing the covers again. O the hazards of vacationing in Spain!
Posted in Spain, Travel | 2 Comments
May 25th, 2010
This Spain Fling
It’s our first early night back at our hotel since we arrived, and wifi in the room gives me a chance to add a word or two. Unbeleivable, all– in a good way– that’s how it’s going. Ken gets high marks for navigating city streets and attractions alike. Unlike in Italy, the tourists we’re among seem more mixed. We’re surrounded by many different languages, and Americans are less the rule. In other words, it’s easier to lose myself in being somewhere else. Somewhere other than where we’re from.
Now we’re relaxing at the end of our romp around Granada. The pomagranate being the symbol of this city (so sayath Rick Steves) we postulate grenadine must be named for this place. But I swear I’d always known the name Granada. I just can’t remember how.
To the lady at the shoe store who gushed at the very mention of this town: you were right. The Alhambra is magical. Mythic-seeming, it had been conquered so long ago, I can’t relate to the timline. It’s a contradiction too. A palace of impossibly intricate design, it was ruined and restored by a culture that simulaneously rebuked yet revered its past. All that to say: it is worth a trip around the world and back again.
So the Alhambra. Yes. Sublime romanticism for the taking in a modern world. Not to forget, we’re not the only ones discovering this daily. Tourists outnumber locals in such places. And lest I sound too high-falootin’, I are one. Well, we are a tour group of four. Before this trip, and for the first time, I abandoned all pretense of blending.
Because I don’t.
Shoe fashion here includes Greek-style sandals with buckle anklets. I’ve never seen harem pants worn on the street before coming here. I’m wearing tennies (my feet are thanking me for it) and wearing my backpack across my front (thieves beware). I really don’t care how I look; I’m here to see–not to be seen. It’s just…8,000 tourists a day hit this town by storm. The town don’t mind; tourism is important for business. I only wish we could relate better to the place we’ve come so far to visit. Being a tourist, that can be quite a trick.
So to Warren: Thank you for connecting us with Estefania whom I very much look forward to meeting tomorrow night. Before we rendezvous with her in Seville, we’ll sample Ronda with its bullring, its street cafes, and its scenic bridge.
Let me end with a callout to my favorite food and drink which is to be recreated on the otherside of This Spain Fling. Last night’s tail of toro was a melty geletin carnivore’s delight. Salmorejo will be prepared (by me) in the dog days of summer with Spanish (I-can’t-remember-the-proper-name-of-them-now-but-the-sell-them-jarred-at-Trader-Joes) peppers. And… Sangria, why had I forsaken you?! Never again, O paramour of the parched and palid pilgrim. Never again.
The salvation-giving banos arabes will forgive me for not telling about our 2-hour-long soaks and quarter-hour massages. And I’ll remember the double-scoop of coffee and pistaccio ice cream from Los Italianos around the corner from the Chris Columbus statue, even without blogging about it.
I do detest travelers who go on and on expecting others to read about their vacations. Don’t you agree?
Hasta luego!