Tasty Tapas

Sept 8: I woke up in some serious pain this morning, so I staggered down the street to McDonald's (seriously where else do people eat after going out? It's the only logical choice) to rehash the night with some friends from the night before. I met up with Mr. Zimbabwe (I really wanted to call him Cady (Lindsay Lohan's character in Mean Girls, who also grew up in Africa) but I don't think he would find it as funny as I did so I refrained) in the afternoon, and we wandered over to Plaza De Espana and the cathedral (the biggest Gothic Cathedral in the world), although it was so hot we weren't too enthusiastic about anything. The Plaza was really beautiful--it reminded me a lot of the palace in Vienna, except red. One thing I will never get sick of is all the palm trees. Canada, get with the program! You have everything else, heat included. Rule No. 76: No excuses! Play like a champion! I also made my way over to the train station to book my trip to Alicante for the next day.

One problem (among many) with a Eurail pass: - You need reservations for a lot of the trains, which requires you to plan further ahead than you'd maybe like. - Reservations cost extra (on top of the 393 Euros I paid for the pass) - You can't book them online, as there's no aggregated system for the different rail lines Eurail is valid for. Result: Spanglish disaster.

Anyone who says the French are snobbiest when it comes to people not speaking their language have clearly never been to Spain. Coincidentally, I never realized how little Spanish I knew until I arrived. The problem is that unlike every other country I've been to so far, Spanish people don't speak English, and refuse to make things easy for you. There is no slow, simple sentences reserved for foreigners. If you don't speak like they do, tough luck. Now try to imagine explaining the parameters of the Eurail pass you'd like to buy, and that was my afternoon. I start with the customary "Ola! Como estas?" So far so good. I smile apologetically and continue with "No habla Espanol." The ticket cashier stares at me and replies, straight-faced, "No habla Ingles." Okay then. This should be fun. I wanted to book a train to Alicante, which required a change at a certain station. I feel like a senior citizen when I'm booking these tickets, because I'll hear the entire sentence, yet comprehend every seventh word, so it's like putting madlibs together: Train ____ _____ _____ ______ Alicante _____ _____ ____ __ ________ change _____ _____ _____ No ____ _____ _____ Reserva.

Okay. Let me get this straight. You can book me a train to Alicante, but I have to change and you can't reserve me a seat? Good to see my Eurail pass is just teeming with value--I've already spent at least 50 Euros on reservations, on top of the 393 I already paid for the pass. So ridiculous.

That evening, Zimbabwe and I decide to meet up and try some local tapas--our hostel was doing a tapas tour, but after our experience with Raphael we decided we'd try to find better value for our money elsewhere. We settled on a little place called La Mata, which was empty but looked nice inside, and boy am I glad we did.

Easily the best meal I've had my entire trip--I'm so mad I didn't bring my camera with me! For anyone who doesn't know (hopefully none of you), tapas is like little plates of food in really interesting combinations of flavours, designed for sharing. It's really cheap, and really good. It's like building your own tasting menu (which normally costs a fortune).We tried: - Chicken tulips - Mussel tempura - Salmon tartare - Iberian pork shoulder with orange chocolate sauce - Grilled prawns with taboulet (couscous) - Grilled fois gras medallion with caramel sauce - Gin and tonic sorbet - Spanish wine Guess how much that all cost us? A whopping 35 euros. Each of those plates was so expertly put together that it would have easily cost 30 PER PLATE at home in a city like Toronto. The flavor profiles were just incredible. I was so impressed. If that's what the food is like in Spain, I'm never leaving.

After that, I headed back to the hostel to pack because my train left at 7:15 the next morning. Not that my attempt at an early night mattered one bit, as I was staying in a room with 6 other French girls who had no respect for the other six people who were also there. (It seems logical that if the lights are off and it's after midnight, you try to be quiet when entering your room. Mais NON!--lights were flicked on, drunken shouting ensued, as if the rest of us weren't even there. Mind-boggling. I wanted to throw a bottle at their head but I didn't. No pending assault charges, unless the cops can read my mind.) It's been a good time in Seville, but I can't wait to see what Alicante is like!

I'm really glad I went down to Seville, because I'm going to get a taste of three very different Spanish cities. Seville is typical Andalucia; Alicante is a coastal university town, and Barcelona is Barcelona.

So today, I get to Ciudad Real, the city I have to change trains in, and check at the information desk. Through my Spanglish I discover the clerk in Seville did not book me a reservation all the way through, but only to Ciudad Real. Real helpful, buddy. Good thing I checked, or I would've been ticketless on this train--the last thing I need is to be forcibly removed and dumped in a city in the middle of nowhere. Crisis avoided, though, and am on my way to Alicante.

Pub Crawls and Spanglish

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Monument to Christopher Columbus Sept 7: get up, take advantage of the free breakfast, head to walking tour organized by the hostel at 11:15. Tour takes about 3 hours; we are dying of heat by the end of it--Seville is HOT if you didn't know. The thermometer read 43 degrees--at 9 am. Tour was interesting, learned a lot of history of the town, but our guide kept telling us how hungover he was and looking at his notes, so he only got 5 Euros from me at the end. Was about 3:30 by the time we got back, so I just walked around town for a bit by the hostel.

Now, in Spain, for a Canadian like me, ordering food is a process; it's a bit like putting a blindfold on and pointing at the menu, since I have no idea what anything means. Every meal is a surprise! Good thing I'm into this whole food adventure, otherwise I could be in for quite a shock (I hear they eat sheep's brains here, no joke--note to self: I should probably learn what that is in Spanish). I tend to just point at whatever I want to have, since I don't know the sentences required for simple tasks like ordering food or buying train tickets. Anyway, I am on the hunt for salad at all times after being deprived of vegetables for two months in Asia, so I stop at a cafe on my way back from the tour. Just my luck, Spain is not big on salad. But they do have Pinchos. Whatever that is. I take a gamble and order one. They sound like a baguette sandwich from what I can decipher. I'm ravenous at this point--I can't wait to tuck into a hearty lunch. It arrives, and it turns out a Pincho is a SLICE of baguette toast with cheese and one lonely anchovy. That's it. (And no salad in sight). I guess that's why it was only 2 euros on the menu...

I took advantage of the meal at the hostel, which was a plate of Mexican food and sangria for 4 euros--not bad! Our hostel was running a pub crawl for 10 Euros and you got four shots included. It sounded like a good deal and lots of people were going, so I decided to do it. Besides, I hadn't been on a pub crawl yet so I thought it would be a good way to meet people. I was right; I met some Australians, a couple of German girls, a Seattle native living in Prague, and a big group from Belgium. Seattle and I decided to teach everyone how to play flip cup, and so began our pub crawl evening. How can you not play flip cup in Spain? You start by singing Ole, Ole Ole Ole for goodness' sake!

The guy leading the pub crawl is the tour guide from this morning...Raphael--and get this--he's a sculptor. I'm not making this up. He put his best Spanish moves on me but I wasn't buying it. ("I'm an artist...maybe I'll show you my work sometime.." I saw Vicky Cristina Barcelona, Raphael. I know exactly what you're up to.)

We headed out at about 11:30 and the crawl was average at best. The first place we went to was empty except for our group; the second place had litre mojitos for 5 Euros, so we ordered, but they took about half an hour to make them and they were the grossest thing I've ever tasted. As a bartender I was offended someone would serve that! (He didn't even muddle the mint leaves...in a MOJITO!) At the next bar I realized, to my dismay, they hadn't given me the proper change at the last place, so to add insult to injury, not only did I have a litre of sugar water, but it cost me about 40 Euros. Not good. The last place we went to, we were told, was a dance club. We get there, and it's a reggae club. People are smoking everywhere inside, and it's just generally sketchy. We decide to peace and walk home. I met an Australian who grew up in Zimbabwe and was full of great stories, so at least the night ended on a good note--until I looked at the clock and realized it was 6:30 am. We literally saw people opening their cafes for breakfast on our way back to the hostel.

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Me at the Plaza de Espana

Katy

QUICK FACTS:

26 / only child / Canadian

21 Countries & counting

5 Continents

English Bulldog named Meatball

FAVOURITES:

Food – Sushi

City – London

Country –  Nepal

Season – Summer

Experience – paragliding over Pokhara

The Train in Spain is Mainly a Pain

(Spain Day 1) See what I did there? Enough with the My Fair Lady references...we are in the land of Carmen! Fun fact: The plot of the opera came from Seville, where a Christian soldier was dating the most beautiful girl in town (Carmen) who dumped him for a bullfighter (way more badass, I'd do the same thing). He went crazy and killed her and her family, felt bad, and killed himself. Typical man...so dramatic. Holding a boom box above his head would have conveyed the same emotion. If you want to get acquainted with the story, Beyonce made a hip-hopera for your viewing pleasure. Youtube it..

I flew from Cairo to Madrid, almost dying of dehydration on the plane (did you know the air in the cabin has less water in its oxygen than the desert? I love the sips of water they ration you every two hours because you can't bring liquids on the plane, like that's going to do anything in this environment...) get to Madrid, still not sure if want to stay or go to the south. After a lengthy conversation with a Spanish couple on the plane, I decide to go to Seville, but need to get to the train station. (Seville, the home of a certain Barber, if you're familiar).

I take a bus from airport and make my way to the ticket counter to buy a Eurail pass. I priced it out and I will end up saving quite a lot by having this pass. I can buy it for only the countries I need, so it costs less than a global pass, and will be much cheaper than buying individual tickets.

I wait in the ticket line only to be told I can't buy a Eurail pass at this train station. I have to take the metro to another station. I manage to navigate this, then decide to take the last train to Sevilla at 21:30. Have been up since 5 am. Get to Seville at 12:05. Haven't booked anything so I head to the first place in my guidebook (side note: Lonely Planet is not the best book for the budget traveler. Their hostel suggestions are lacking--just a general observation. Let's Go is much better, but they don't have as many books).

The taxi driver doesn't know where it is so he drops me in a downtown square saying it's close and points vaguely in one direction--I think he just wanted to get rid of me. Thanks for being concerned about my safety! I wander around for a bit and am not having any luck. I'm going to have to take up residence under a bridge! Finally, I ask some people I overhear speaking English, who take me through dark alleys to an unmarked door I would never have found on my own. Success! Just kidding. I get inside and they're booked. Crap. But he calls their other property and find me a bed there, so I haul my stuff ten mins down the street to the Oasis Palace. Cheesy name but at 1:30 am I just want a flat space to pass out on. Exhausted after a 20 hr travel day, I've made it; I'm in Europe!