Sorry we haven't posted anything since, like, Toledo. The beginning of our Morocco trip was such a whirlwind that we didn't even have time to sleep, let alone blog. The end of our Morocco trip, well...
We're back in Spain, having cut the Moroccan portion of our trip short by 4 days. We came down with a pretty serious bug in Marrekesh - maybe from the street food we ate there Sunday night, maybe from the orange juice that is apparently served in dirty glasses, maybe from the tap water I'm sure the ice cubes are made from. Regardless of how we got it, it absolutely devastated us. We were fine all day Monday, but both woke up on Tuesday spewing like Old Faithful. From both ends. It wasn't pretty.
We had originally planned on leaving Marrekesh on Tuesday afternoon/early evening, but that pretty obviously couldn't happen. We extended our stay for a night, and started thinking about what the next few days were going to entail. We had already decided to can the trip to the desert, so our next stop was to be Fez by train. The thought of sitting on a Moroccan train for 8 hours only to arrive in another hot, stinky, crowded city where we couldn't trust the food was too much to bear for us in our condition at that point, so instead we bought two easyJet tickets to Madrid and flew back to Spain. We spent the night there on Wednesday and then trained to Seville on Thursday. We've been in bed pretty much ever since. Finally made it out to a pharmacy today for some low-level antibiotics. If they don't kick this, then a trip to the hospital is probably in order.
Hopefully the pills work - we've got reservations in Portugal on Monday night.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
Sunday, July 25, 2010
Stay tuned
Ok. We realize that we've been slacking on the blog, but it's been an epic week. I can't promise anything in the next five days, but then KA-BLAM! First stop in Portugal, 4 days of beaching and bloging.
Tuesday, July 20, 2010
A scene from Toledo aka I still got it!
J and I are standing with the backpacks waiting for a taxi to take us up the hill to Toledo. A taxi pulls up and an old man approaches the car from my right. Ever the gracious traveler, I make the universal sign for "go ahead. The taxi is all yours." the old man turns to me, "gracias, Bonita." he takes a step to the car, then turns around. He stops, reaches into his pocket and produces two hard candies. He places one in my hand and one in J's hand. "tu es guapa," he says and gets in the car.
Sunday, July 18, 2010
Back to the Future . . . . Sorta
Let's go, Marty!! Sadly, I think we're in BttF 3 since we actually went back to the past, but I'm going to quit while I'm ahead and stop with this metaphor. (J is the expert on BttF, not I). I am exhausted (jet and/or travel lag?) and the computer I am on thinks that every word I type is misspelled so this post will be . . . . interesting to say the least.
Ok, last i left off we were on our way to Toledo - the old walled city. The whole city is, in fact, a historic monument, ie the government forbids the residents to change exteriors, buildings, etc and i'm sure every contractor has more than one anger-squeezey toy hiding in his or her office. It was like walking into the past. Cobblestones and metal, but not cheap metal, like built-to-last and defend hard core steel. You don't travel in Toledo, you get lost in Toledo. (only 1 more super cheesy part, i promise.) You wander the labyrinthine corridors in hopes that you will eventually get wherever it is you are going. Eventually. I have a sinking suspicion that compasses wouldn't even work in there, it's just that kerfuffled. But in those wanderings, that old world is revealed. A time waaay before anything at all resembling our world existed. Before cars, before pens, before private baths. As with everything in southern spain, it is a mix of ancient roman, jewish, moorish and christian worlds. The whispers of more dead languages than I'm sure even I can imagine chased me down the streets. The government has worked so hard to keep the anachromisms away thankfully. It was fun to just let my imagination run wild in a meager attempt to see their world as it was (at each point in history). I wonder where those girls speaking those dead languages stole kisses from their young boyfriends. And did those kisses lead to weddings or beheadings ( ok 2 more). And if so, where was the wedding reception held? Or Where was the deadman buried. What was it like to live inside a walled city when that walled city was all there was. When the whole world was a few hundred people and kilometers. And as always when traveling in Europe I am constantly blown away by the /oldness/ of everything. Our world is so new. And disposable. Everything in Toledo was so solid. And heavy. I understand why it was harder to change your mind back then.
And that doesn't even begin to describe the actual history we saw (as J mentioned). The Cathedral was just incredible. I love love love gothic architecture. I just get lost in the show, in the glitz and glamour. The sheer ingenuity and man power is awe-inspiring. Not to mention the dedication. When was the last time anyone started a project in our country (in our century?) with the knowledge that it would not be finished for hundreds of (like 400 or more) years? And stand for even longer? Dare I say, our country itself. The last (and only) great american collaboration. Historians cannot total the number of buliders, architects, etc because there were so many. Not to mention, it was the dark ages, so how the hell did anything that impressive actually get done?!?! Seriously. But all that aside, staring up a gigantic arched ceiling, light, bending thru the rose windows, reflecting off an pile of gold as big as a house, I see the majesty. I understand how they see god in that. And truth be told, I would be more than happy to sit thru a couple hours of babble every week if I was in that building. It is not only a celebration of god, but a celebration of man. It's not my god, and they ain't my saints, and I should sure as shit be angry for what the did to the jewish people in that town (not to mention the natives in south america) but all that just melts away. I just can't care. All I can do is gape. And feel admiration. I stand in awe of the hundreds of men whose blood, sweat and tears physically built that monument, and tap into the collective prayers. It doesn't matter whose god it is, or if I even call it that, it all goes up and finds a home in that glorious ceiling.
The sinogogas were inspiring, but more for historical reasons. They had an illuminated Torah -- which blows my mind a little. I am utterly fascinated by illuminated manuscripts, and cannot wait to learn more. They had a menorah that actually looked like the one from the /original/ channukah story (nine little oil cups). And ancient , imperfect coins ( which I love for the fact of their imperfection).
Two Final notes about anachronisms.
1) one thing that has improved. Food. J and I had a Michelin-rated meal that was out of this world. Gazapacho that was smack you in the face tomato-y up front, with a spiced, garlicky finish. The famous Toledo-style "prediz" (pheasant) that the resturant takes it name after. A roast suckling pig with perfect crispy skin atop melt-in-your-mouth meat. And one of the best, most delicilous desserts I have ever had in my entire life (seriously): fig soup with dates and almond ice cream (which I remembered while eating was similar to the other dessert I cooked for mister Bourdain). It was so fantastic I was making little involuntary moans with every bite. Mmmm. I'm moaning just thinking about it.
2) clocktowers. At 10:04pm, j and I were standing under the clock tower in a plaza at the center of the city. That clock sure wasn't there in 1200, but i doubt the scene itself has changed. I'm sure the air was comfortably warm then as it is now, not a cloud in the deep azul sky. The square still a-bustle, people eating and drinking, friends and families gathered together. That clock tower may be out of time, but it was not out of place. it was wholly Toledo (as promised).
Ok, last i left off we were on our way to Toledo - the old walled city. The whole city is, in fact, a historic monument, ie the government forbids the residents to change exteriors, buildings, etc and i'm sure every contractor has more than one anger-squeezey toy hiding in his or her office. It was like walking into the past. Cobblestones and metal, but not cheap metal, like built-to-last and defend hard core steel. You don't travel in Toledo, you get lost in Toledo. (only 1 more super cheesy part, i promise.) You wander the labyrinthine corridors in hopes that you will eventually get wherever it is you are going. Eventually. I have a sinking suspicion that compasses wouldn't even work in there, it's just that kerfuffled. But in those wanderings, that old world is revealed. A time waaay before anything at all resembling our world existed. Before cars, before pens, before private baths. As with everything in southern spain, it is a mix of ancient roman, jewish, moorish and christian worlds. The whispers of more dead languages than I'm sure even I can imagine chased me down the streets. The government has worked so hard to keep the anachromisms away thankfully. It was fun to just let my imagination run wild in a meager attempt to see their world as it was (at each point in history). I wonder where those girls speaking those dead languages stole kisses from their young boyfriends. And did those kisses lead to weddings or beheadings ( ok 2 more). And if so, where was the wedding reception held? Or Where was the deadman buried. What was it like to live inside a walled city when that walled city was all there was. When the whole world was a few hundred people and kilometers. And as always when traveling in Europe I am constantly blown away by the /oldness/ of everything. Our world is so new. And disposable. Everything in Toledo was so solid. And heavy. I understand why it was harder to change your mind back then.
And that doesn't even begin to describe the actual history we saw (as J mentioned). The Cathedral was just incredible. I love love love gothic architecture. I just get lost in the show, in the glitz and glamour. The sheer ingenuity and man power is awe-inspiring. Not to mention the dedication. When was the last time anyone started a project in our country (in our century?) with the knowledge that it would not be finished for hundreds of (like 400 or more) years? And stand for even longer? Dare I say, our country itself. The last (and only) great american collaboration. Historians cannot total the number of buliders, architects, etc because there were so many. Not to mention, it was the dark ages, so how the hell did anything that impressive actually get done?!?! Seriously. But all that aside, staring up a gigantic arched ceiling, light, bending thru the rose windows, reflecting off an pile of gold as big as a house, I see the majesty. I understand how they see god in that. And truth be told, I would be more than happy to sit thru a couple hours of babble every week if I was in that building. It is not only a celebration of god, but a celebration of man. It's not my god, and they ain't my saints, and I should sure as shit be angry for what the did to the jewish people in that town (not to mention the natives in south america) but all that just melts away. I just can't care. All I can do is gape. And feel admiration. I stand in awe of the hundreds of men whose blood, sweat and tears physically built that monument, and tap into the collective prayers. It doesn't matter whose god it is, or if I even call it that, it all goes up and finds a home in that glorious ceiling.
The sinogogas were inspiring, but more for historical reasons. They had an illuminated Torah -- which blows my mind a little. I am utterly fascinated by illuminated manuscripts, and cannot wait to learn more. They had a menorah that actually looked like the one from the /original/ channukah story (nine little oil cups). And ancient , imperfect coins ( which I love for the fact of their imperfection).
Two Final notes about anachronisms.
1) one thing that has improved. Food. J and I had a Michelin-rated meal that was out of this world. Gazapacho that was smack you in the face tomato-y up front, with a spiced, garlicky finish. The famous Toledo-style "prediz" (pheasant) that the resturant takes it name after. A roast suckling pig with perfect crispy skin atop melt-in-your-mouth meat. And one of the best, most delicilous desserts I have ever had in my entire life (seriously): fig soup with dates and almond ice cream (which I remembered while eating was similar to the other dessert I cooked for mister Bourdain). It was so fantastic I was making little involuntary moans with every bite. Mmmm. I'm moaning just thinking about it.
2) clocktowers. At 10:04pm, j and I were standing under the clock tower in a plaza at the center of the city. That clock sure wasn't there in 1200, but i doubt the scene itself has changed. I'm sure the air was comfortably warm then as it is now, not a cloud in the deep azul sky. The square still a-bustle, people eating and drinking, friends and families gathered together. That clock tower may be out of time, but it was not out of place. it was wholly Toledo (as promised).
Friday, July 16, 2010
Yes, *that* Final Countdown
This and that and the other thing (AKA tidbits I've loved so far):
1) Flag capes - The day we arrived, as you know by now, we attended the World Cup celebration. Sea of red, swimming through a blood stream, blah blah blah. But what I haven't mentioned yet is that every 4th Madrileño looked like they'd just done a turn in a phone booth and turned themselves into Superhombre, with a Spanish flag tied around their shoulders like a cape. Flag factory owners made a killing unseen since the days after 9/11. (Too soon? Nah.)
2) Final Countdown - Yes that Final Countdown, blaring out at us at the World Cup celebration.
3) Fanaticism - In all our hours at the WC celebration, we saw exactly one port-o-pottie. One. Which speaks either to the organizers' complete A) incompetence or B) belief that no true believer would dare tear their gaze away long enough to answer nature's call.
4) "Friend chicken balls" - Apparently available at your friendly neighborhood Madrid eatery.
5) Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - Over 1,000 pages long, and I've barely been able to put it down since we arrived. Absolutely amazing.
6) Roller blading - Whereas we Americans abandoned this "sport" years ago (the associated gear being far too dorky for our tastes), the Spanish have taken it up with zeal. We stumbled across what looked like training (cones, slalom course, individualized instruction) in the midst of Retiro Park. Hard as it may be to believe, we saw nearly 100 people rocking kneepads, helmets, and the finest day-glo available.
7) Museum of Ham - No, seriously. I ate there twice: museodeljamon.com
8) Aquarius - I joygasmed when I saw this lurking on the bottom shelf of a Madrid supermercado. Oh how I've missed thee!
1) Flag capes - The day we arrived, as you know by now, we attended the World Cup celebration. Sea of red, swimming through a blood stream, blah blah blah. But what I haven't mentioned yet is that every 4th Madrileño looked like they'd just done a turn in a phone booth and turned themselves into Superhombre, with a Spanish flag tied around their shoulders like a cape. Flag factory owners made a killing unseen since the days after 9/11. (Too soon? Nah.)
2) Final Countdown - Yes that Final Countdown, blaring out at us at the World Cup celebration.
3) Fanaticism - In all our hours at the WC celebration, we saw exactly one port-o-pottie. One. Which speaks either to the organizers' complete A) incompetence or B) belief that no true believer would dare tear their gaze away long enough to answer nature's call.
4) "Friend chicken balls" - Apparently available at your friendly neighborhood Madrid eatery.
5) Jonathan Strange and Mr. Norrell - Over 1,000 pages long, and I've barely been able to put it down since we arrived. Absolutely amazing.
6) Roller blading - Whereas we Americans abandoned this "sport" years ago (the associated gear being far too dorky for our tastes), the Spanish have taken it up with zeal. We stumbled across what looked like training (cones, slalom course, individualized instruction) in the midst of Retiro Park. Hard as it may be to believe, we saw nearly 100 people rocking kneepads, helmets, and the finest day-glo available.
7) Museum of Ham - No, seriously. I ate there twice: museodeljamon.com
8) Aquarius - I joygasmed when I saw this lurking on the bottom shelf of a Madrid supermercado. Oh how I've missed thee!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
Sometimes it sucks being a history teacher
Madrid was all fun and games.
"Welcome to Spain! Would you like to celebrate the World Cup we just won? Wonderful! It's our first in the 80 years, and we are absolutely freaking out about it. We will blow vuvuzelas until your ears bleed and the sun will melt your face off. After you've had your fill of being crushed by hundreds of thousands of our people, please enjoy our amazing nightlife - have a beer! Have some tapas! Do you like octopus? Excellent - we can prepare it 274 different ways. Here's the best damn pastry you've ever tasted in your life. Here, eat it in this unbelievably vibrant square that is filled with people well past midnight on a weekday. Coffee? Tea? Sunsets? Sunrises? Fresh squeezed orange juice? Chorizo sandwiches? Just say the word, and it will all be yours."
I really, really loved Madrid. It put me in the mindset of viewing Spain as a modern, cosmopolitan city. The public green spaces were huge - we spent hours wandering around the Parque National, and didn't even see half of it. The museums were unbelievable - we were in the Prado for half a day, and were completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of masterpieces it contained. (No less an authority than Rick Steves claims it has the best collection of paintings in all of Europe.) Madrid was 21st century Spain at its finest.
Toledo, however, is a different story.
When Jeff and I were traveling together in South America in 2003, he got to the point where he refused to go into cathedrals with us. The history of Spanish involvement in the region overwhelmed him whenever he was in a Catholic house of worship to the point that he felt physically revolted by the imagery. To be completely honest, it was not a point of view that I could fully understand as a 23-year-old.
However, I now know where he was coming from.
Toledo is an amazing place - don't get me wrong. From the moment we arrived yesterday, I've walked around with my jaw hanging open in astonishment. It is like stepping back in time to the 17th century: the wall around the city, the immaculately preserved buildings, the cathedral (oh my god the cathedral - I never thought I would see a church that would match what I saw in Britain, but Toledo qualifies), the sleepy atmosphere, the swords in every shop window. But I got to a point today where the history and its implications finally got to me.
It started slowly - seeing the implements where they hung heretics on the walls of a church. The advertisements for the "Implements of Torture" exhibit at one of the museums here. The extravagance of the cathedral - as mind blowing as it was, I couldn't shake thoughts of where the money came from the Spain used to build the place. Sometimes it sucks being a history teacher - you can't just look at some of the most amazing religious imagery you've ever seen without thinking of enslaved Incas in Bolivian silver mines.
What finally got me, though, was when were in the Sinagoga del Transito - the synagogue in Toledo that has been turned into the museum for Spanish Jewish history. Struggling my way through a Spanish description of the 100 years of torture and murder the Jews underwent during the Inquisition (between 1391 and 1492, 1/3 killed, 1/3 forced to convert, and 1/3 moved), I found myself looking at a map showing where they fled to. Unbidden, I thought, "Those poor bastards who ended up in Alemania had no idea what their descendants were in for an even worse time of it." And that is when I had to get out of there. The crushing weight of a thousand years of Jewish persecution finally got to me.
Again, this isn't to say I don't love being here. Toledo is fantastic. However, you're going to get some of the bad with the good on this blog. Welcome to Iberrhea :)
"Welcome to Spain! Would you like to celebrate the World Cup we just won? Wonderful! It's our first in the 80 years, and we are absolutely freaking out about it. We will blow vuvuzelas until your ears bleed and the sun will melt your face off. After you've had your fill of being crushed by hundreds of thousands of our people, please enjoy our amazing nightlife - have a beer! Have some tapas! Do you like octopus? Excellent - we can prepare it 274 different ways. Here's the best damn pastry you've ever tasted in your life. Here, eat it in this unbelievably vibrant square that is filled with people well past midnight on a weekday. Coffee? Tea? Sunsets? Sunrises? Fresh squeezed orange juice? Chorizo sandwiches? Just say the word, and it will all be yours."
I really, really loved Madrid. It put me in the mindset of viewing Spain as a modern, cosmopolitan city. The public green spaces were huge - we spent hours wandering around the Parque National, and didn't even see half of it. The museums were unbelievable - we were in the Prado for half a day, and were completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of masterpieces it contained. (No less an authority than Rick Steves claims it has the best collection of paintings in all of Europe.) Madrid was 21st century Spain at its finest.
Toledo, however, is a different story.
When Jeff and I were traveling together in South America in 2003, he got to the point where he refused to go into cathedrals with us. The history of Spanish involvement in the region overwhelmed him whenever he was in a Catholic house of worship to the point that he felt physically revolted by the imagery. To be completely honest, it was not a point of view that I could fully understand as a 23-year-old.
However, I now know where he was coming from.
Toledo is an amazing place - don't get me wrong. From the moment we arrived yesterday, I've walked around with my jaw hanging open in astonishment. It is like stepping back in time to the 17th century: the wall around the city, the immaculately preserved buildings, the cathedral (oh my god the cathedral - I never thought I would see a church that would match what I saw in Britain, but Toledo qualifies), the sleepy atmosphere, the swords in every shop window. But I got to a point today where the history and its implications finally got to me.
It started slowly - seeing the implements where they hung heretics on the walls of a church. The advertisements for the "Implements of Torture" exhibit at one of the museums here. The extravagance of the cathedral - as mind blowing as it was, I couldn't shake thoughts of where the money came from the Spain used to build the place. Sometimes it sucks being a history teacher - you can't just look at some of the most amazing religious imagery you've ever seen without thinking of enslaved Incas in Bolivian silver mines.
What finally got me, though, was when were in the Sinagoga del Transito - the synagogue in Toledo that has been turned into the museum for Spanish Jewish history. Struggling my way through a Spanish description of the 100 years of torture and murder the Jews underwent during the Inquisition (between 1391 and 1492, 1/3 killed, 1/3 forced to convert, and 1/3 moved), I found myself looking at a map showing where they fled to. Unbidden, I thought, "Those poor bastards who ended up in Alemania had no idea what their descendants were in for an even worse time of it." And that is when I had to get out of there. The crushing weight of a thousand years of Jewish persecution finally got to me.
Again, this isn't to say I don't love being here. Toledo is fantastic. However, you're going to get some of the bad with the good on this blog. Welcome to Iberrhea :)
Lady Liberty de Espana
If the statue of liberty were stationed in Spain, the inscription would read:
Give me your sexy, your tanned,
Your well-chiseled masses yearning to get drunk.
At least, it would have if the sculpture had attended that celebratory concert (see J´s previous post). Seriously, 250,000 of the most beautiful people I have ever seen were jumping around, singing, chanting and sipping off 69 cent boxes of wine. There was red everywhere. It was like swimming through a blood stream. We arrived early, found seats on a small hill towards the back of the arena, and watched thousands upon thousands of red dots flood into the concert area. J and I felt a little guilty, hiding our faces behind red baseball caps (victorious schwag) and sunglasses. It was not our victory, but when 249,998 people around you are singing "we are the champions" (yes, by queen), even the jetlag could not stop us from singing along. We chanted, we danced, we celebrated. Eventually after 3 hours of roasting in the sun (our hill was sadly out of the spray zone), still hours before the futbol-lers actually arrived onstage, we fought our way upstream and back to the hotel. I wonder if this is what it was like when the conquisidors returned home, or old fashioned celebrations for the king and queen. In our modern era, when war is a four letter word, domination on the international futbol field deserves the hero´s welcome. Spain was a rich and powerful country for hundreds of years; that celebration seemed like a grab at the glory of the old days. A chance for the modern era to say to the history that overshadows it, to sing from the riverfront, "we are champions AGAIN."
Next, J and Kali go Back to the Future!
Give me your sexy, your tanned,
Your well-chiseled masses yearning to get drunk.
At least, it would have if the sculpture had attended that celebratory concert (see J´s previous post). Seriously, 250,000 of the most beautiful people I have ever seen were jumping around, singing, chanting and sipping off 69 cent boxes of wine. There was red everywhere. It was like swimming through a blood stream. We arrived early, found seats on a small hill towards the back of the arena, and watched thousands upon thousands of red dots flood into the concert area. J and I felt a little guilty, hiding our faces behind red baseball caps (victorious schwag) and sunglasses. It was not our victory, but when 249,998 people around you are singing "we are the champions" (yes, by queen), even the jetlag could not stop us from singing along. We chanted, we danced, we celebrated. Eventually after 3 hours of roasting in the sun (our hill was sadly out of the spray zone), still hours before the futbol-lers actually arrived onstage, we fought our way upstream and back to the hotel. I wonder if this is what it was like when the conquisidors returned home, or old fashioned celebrations for the king and queen. In our modern era, when war is a four letter word, domination on the international futbol field deserves the hero´s welcome. Spain was a rich and powerful country for hundreds of years; that celebration seemed like a grab at the glory of the old days. A chance for the modern era to say to the history that overshadows it, to sing from the riverfront, "we are champions AGAIN."
Next, J and Kali go Back to the Future!
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Viva la Furia Roja!
My research for this trip consisted drinking a bottle of red wine with a substitute with cerebral palsy and a propensity to drop rhymes. I think my preparation has paid off in spades considering that A) we're still alive, and B) well... we're still alive.
Day 1 was mostly notable for the fact that we helped Madrid celebrate Spain's first ever World Cup victory. Y'know, us and TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND others.
Observe: http://www.poder360.com/article_detail.php?id_article=4510
Day 1 was mostly notable for the fact that we helped Madrid celebrate Spain's first ever World Cup victory. Y'know, us and TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY THOUSAND others.
Observe: http://www.poder360.com/article_detail.php?id_article=4510
¿Do you believe in signs?
Generally speaking, I would say that I do. And after our first few hours in Madrid, I would absolutely like to. J and I are standing in the baggage claim, moments after landing in Spain. I turn around and see a tall, white haired man grabbing a large, bright orange piece of luggage from the NYC arrival belt. Lo and behold, Antony Bourdain is in Spain! I gawk for a moment, then poke J. How is this a sign, you may ask? Well the first time I met Anthony Bourdain, he was eating in my Cafe. The theme del dia that day . . . . Spain. That´s right, Kalimocho Cakes with Marcona Almond Toffee. An aucious beginning I´d say. I think this means we´ll eat well this trip. From there we make our way to the metro. Walking into the metro tube, the first thing we see is a 15 foot poster of Rudy Fernandez (selling "justice for everyone" - I´m not sure why). I´m not entirely sure what this means - except that people may actually be able to locate Oregon on the map.
More soon.
More soon.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
More writing, less editing
I would like to apologize in advance for the gaffs, misplaced punctuation and spelling errors. In an attempt to cover as much as possible, I am going to focus more on just getting down the memories et al and less on perfecting the posts for publication. We are sitting in Eric and Cmo's apartment around 5am on Sunday waiting for the car to arrive and take us stress-free to the airport (thanks holly!). We began our whirlwind vacation with four days in San Francisco. I was reminded this weekend what I love about this city and what I don't miss. It was a weekend full of over-eating and over-drinking, general hilarity and mayhem. All in all, the best. Farolito at 2:30am still tastes sweet. Bloody marys + sunshine = heaven on earth. Visiting my home away from home was the perfect warm up round. It was easy to purchase the last minute items that were left or forgotten in Portland; and I even got to practice my Spanish.
Warning: cheesy roads ahead.
I was thinking yesterday about why people travel and the changes it brings about. I know that the woman who steps off the plane in six weeks will not be the same as the one about to step on a plane, but will it be more than just my skin tone? I fear my 21-year-old rose colored traveling goggles have faded. I am venturing to new territories, but the novelty of the travel itself has begun to wear. Is that good, bad or just an is? Does Rick Steves feel butterflies every time his plane touches ground? Do Lonely Planet Staffers still excitedly pack their suitcases daring fortune to test them?
The exhaustion is winning the battle with adrenaline. Next post, distant time zone.
Warning: cheesy roads ahead.
I was thinking yesterday about why people travel and the changes it brings about. I know that the woman who steps off the plane in six weeks will not be the same as the one about to step on a plane, but will it be more than just my skin tone? I fear my 21-year-old rose colored traveling goggles have faded. I am venturing to new territories, but the novelty of the travel itself has begun to wear. Is that good, bad or just an is? Does Rick Steves feel butterflies every time his plane touches ground? Do Lonely Planet Staffers still excitedly pack their suitcases daring fortune to test them?
The exhaustion is winning the battle with adrenaline. Next post, distant time zone.
Friday, July 2, 2010
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