Long Live Barcelona

I have a new Spanish friend. Her name is Paula. We were set up through a program called “Tandem” through the University of Valencia. We meet one or two times a week and talk about anything and everything. Food and boyfriends... the usual girl talk. We speak in spanish for the first 30 minutes and then switch to english. Her english is much better than my spanish but she is very patient and helps me as much as she can. Over the past six weeks that I have been here in Spain, my spanish has improved but I am still not to the level that I would like to be at. On paper, I’m brilliant, but when it comes to speaking, I sound like a 7 year old with a speech impediment. I just can’t think that fast. I’m working on it though everyday. I don’t think I will be fluent by the end of this program; however, I will be much closer to reaching that eventual goal. When Paula and I first met, she was very surprised to find out that I was from the United States. Europe has this awesome program called, Erasmus, where collage students can study in another European country for a year for the same price of their home university. Just like many other people, she assumed I was from England, since many of them study in Spain through this program.

This past Valentines Day weekend our entire group of 15 headed to Barcelona and let me just say.. WOW. What an impressive and unique city. We took a 4 hour bus ride up the coast and entered the city around dinner time. The first night we faced Barcelona head on and went to one of their craziest discotecas on the beach, Opium. Normally this disco has a 20-40 euro cover fee, however, the sister of one of the girls on my program used to live in Barcelona and knows all the club promoters so we ended up getting into Opium and all the other discos for free. It was pretty clutch for a girl on a budget trying to get her dance on. 

The next morning we ventured to one of the most magnificent masterpieces I have ever seen — the Sagrada Familia. The architect who designed the catholic church was Antoni Gaudí. He began the cathedral in 1883 and spent the rest of his life devoted to the project until his death in 1926, when he was hit by a tram on the street after being lost in thought on his walk back from Sant Felip Neri church, where he did his daily prayer. At his death, the building was only a quarter of the way done and is still not supposed to be completed until 2026. The lengthy construction time is due to the amount of detail put into every inch of the building. Every curve and color inside and outside of the cathedral is symbolic of something, even down to the height of the final steeple, which is what I found most interesting. In 2026, when the cathedral is scheduled to be complete, the tallest steeple of the church will be three feet shorter than the surrounding mountains because Gaudí did not want human creation to overcome God’s creation. The three feet symbolize the holy trinity. 

While walking through the cathedral, I was completely overwhelmed by the level of intricate thought that went into this one building. His imagination and creativity is unreal, beyond anything my mind would be able to produce. The world needs more Antoni Gaudí’s to make life a more colorful and mind-blowing experience. His dreams are still being made a reality, almost 100 years after his death. Gaudí was limitless in his creations, a goal I strive for everyday when I sit down to write. 

Left: Nativity scene on front of church.
Right: Crucifixion scene on back of chruch.

Jesus' birth is on the front of the cathedral facing west, where the sun rises, and his death is on the other side facing east, where the sun sets. The nativity scene is filled with vibrant detail, showing all the creatures of the earth joyously celebrating Jesus’ birth. The crucifixion scene on the opposite facade is simple, with harsh, straight lines to represent oppression and sadness. 

The entire interior of the cathedral was meant to look like a forest. The ceiling signifies the canopy and the columns are the tree trunks. 

The Lord's Prayer in Catalan

 Due to the festivities of the night before, a long siesta was in demand that afternoon. Afterwards, we spent the rest of the night walking around La Rambla, a pedestrian street in the center of the city lined with bars and restaurants. Rumor has it this is pickpocket central, so I clung tight to my purse for the entirety of our stroll. 

Despite the constant possession anxiety, walking down La Rambla made me realize how international of a city Barcelona is. I was surrounded by a stew of languages coming from people of all shapes, sizes, and colors. For a city burdened by Franco’s oppression of the Catalan culture for 40 years, this city has thriving economy, almost entirely from the tourism industry. For this reason, almost everyone from the McDonald's worker to the flower kiosk owner, knows english. In some ways, this became slightly irritating because when ever I spoke to someone in spanish, they would automatically replay back to me in english, as if my entire demeanor screamed American. Although Barcelona was fun to see for a weekend, I became much more grateful to be studying in Valencia, where hardly anyone speaks english and I am delightfully forced to practice my spanish. 

Saturday morning we went to see another Gaudí creation, Casa Batllo. Remodeled in 1904, Gaudí transformed this seven-story house into a real-life fairytale. When walking through, I felt like I was in the movie Alice in Wonderland. Just like the Sagrada Familia, the building is full of symbolistic detail and energy. There are no straight lines throughout the entire house and everything is bright with enchanting colors, spiraling your senses into a whirlpool of imagination. I would love for my house to be like this one day. It would be impossible to be angry and upset when you are surrounded by such whimsical and extravagant creations. 

Interior of la casa.
Top left: Mushroom shaped fireplace
Top right: Living room
Bottom: Spiral ceiling 

Beautiful window pane, and my favorite colors too :)

My favorite part of the house, the roof. 

For lunch we browsed through Barcelona’s central market. Jam packed with people and fresh food, the place was a lively madhouse of exchange. I bought myself the most delicious pineapple and raspberry juice I have every tasted. 

So much deliciousness. My taste-buds were on fire. 

The afternoon was filled with my favorite activity of the weekend, a walking tour through the city. Our tour guide, an amusing woman named Jana, was filled with energy and life. She walked us around Barcelona for two and a half hours, telling us all the history of the city. What I liked most was that she told the history though short, personal stories of people or events. Stories that are never told in history classes but are much more interesting than memorizing dates or kings’ names. The true Cliff Roberts came out in me as I took notes throughout the entire tour, fascinated by every anecdote she told us. 

Huge banner encouraging people to vote for the 2014
referendum for independence from Spain.

A large majority of the tour revolved around the autonomous community of Catalonia, where Barcelona resides, and who have been trying to break away from Spain since the 19th century. Catalonia has a distinct culture and language from the rest of the country, and due to Spain’s lagging economy, the fight for independence is stronger than ever. Catalonia is the wealthiest region of Spain and they do not believe they should have to support the rest of the country, especially the bankrupt community of Andalusia. For this reason, the Catalonia flag hangs on almost every balcony of the city, as well as, banners encouraging people to join the fight. The last fight for independence from Spain was during the War of Spanish Succession 300 years ago. On September 11, 1714, Catalan troops surrendered to the Spanish ruler, King Phillip V. Afterwards, Philip V enacted very strict rules on the community to prevent any future uprising. For example, each household was only allowed to own one knife, which had to be tied to a string in the kitchen. Now September 11th (which was very ironic to me considering America’s history with that day) is a holiday in Catalonia, celebrating the lives of those who fell against Spain. This year in 2014, a referendum is to be voted on in November to decide whether or not Catalonia will become its own nation state.  

Catalonia flags.  

The scissors are a symbol of a protest against salary cuts. 

Monument for the fallen Catalan soldiers of the 1714 battle against Philip V.

We saw the Caller de les Dames, or the Street of the Ladies. Back in the 17th and 18th centuries women would line up on this street and wait for the men to come back from sea. Legend has it, the men would be so “lady-deprived” that they promised to marry the first women they saw when they got off the boat. Apparently there would be cat-fights on this street for a chance to get to the front of the line. Usually the women who came here where some of the more desperate type, but then again women will do whatever it takes the man they want. I guess some things never change. 

Other interesting places on the tour:

Church of Santa Maria del Mar

 

Catedral de Barcelona

Prison for "Ladies of the Night"

Monument of the oppressive General Prim who said that in order to
keep Barcelona in order it must be bombed every 50 years. Talk about crazy. 

Saturday we took on Barcelona’s nightlife again. We started out at a shot bar called Chipitos, which literally means “shot” in spanish. They had over 400 different kinds of shots to choose from, all with an extensive amount of detail and ingredients. How the bartenders are able to remember all of them, I have no idea. There was a shot called the “Georgia”, which, of course, we all had to try. The bartender literally lit my finger on fire, to which I stuck in my mouth and then took the shot. It was beyond anything I have ever done before. Another fun one was called the “Boy Scout”, where you roasted a marshmallow over the fire-blazing bar, ate the marshmallow, and then took the shot. That one was very tasty. Others ranged from the “Harry Potter” shot to a “Monica Lewinski” shot, involving details that are a little too PG-13 for this blog. After all the bars I have been to in Athens, Chipitos definitely takes the cake for most creative and entertaining. 

From there we carried on to Catwalk, a discoteca on the beach. I got face painted for free so I was feeling pretty fierce for the rest of the night. Before climbing into a taxi back to our hotel at 5am, there was no question that we had to go play on the beach. Splashing in the water and doing cheerleading stunts in the sand, as the sun was just coming back up over the horizon, I felt like a little kid again. Plus, we got some pretty funny pictures out of our late-night shenanigans. 

Spice Girls in action.

Before traveling back to Valencia on Sunday, we made a stop at yet another Gaudí creation, Park Güell. It is a beautiful garden and park that overlooks Barcelona, chock-full with more of Gaudí imaginative architecture.  

My time in Barcelona was amazing. The city was unlike anything I have seen before and the architecture, new and old, was breathtaking. I do feel more fortunate to be living in the city of Valencia, however. I’ve always been more attracted to the smaller cities, and Valencia definitely gives off that vibe. This city has formed a special place in my heart that I will never be able to shake out. 

Blondes in the Back

Bienvenido febrero! It has officially been a little over a month since I have been overseas. It has also been almost two weeks since I last posted so prepare yourself, this will probably be a long one. This past week was so exhausting. Every time I sat down to write, I would instantaneously fall asleep. It was like clockwork. I slept all of Sunday, however, so now I am rested and ready to tell about all my adventures of the past two weeks. 

Since I arrived in Spain 35 days ago, I have been to two continents, three countries, and seven cities. No me puedo quejar nada. This past weekend, I ventured to Africa for the first time, more specifically, Morocco. I have been to less-developed countries before. In high school I went to Guatemala where I was surrounded by all sorts of poverty; however, I have never been to a muslim country, which made this trip an exceptionally eye-opening experience. Not all of the women, but most of them wore headscarves. I went with four other girls and one boy so we made sure to dress very conservatively. This wasn’t hard considering it was still quite chilly outside, despite the fact we were in Africa. 

We flew to Morocco on Iberia Airlines on Thursday evening. When we walked up to the plane, everyone else in my group began to panic a little because the plane was much smaller than a commercial airline. (Dad skip over this part please...) The plane was indeed smaller than your average Delta or Airtran aircraft, but for me, this plane was much bigger than the ones I have been in and out of for the past year, since I started skydiving. Let’s just say Tori had to keep her eyes shut the whole time to keep from having an anxiety attack, while I couldn’t unglue mine from the windowsill the entire flight. We took off around 5pm and crossed into Africa at the pinnacle of sunset. The sky shown of pink and yellow just atop the peaks of snow-covered mountain ranges that were layered with puffy, white clouds. Moments like this are what make all the hassles and expenses of traveling worth wild. It was hard to even take in the scenery that lay 30,000 feet below me. When I pictured Africa in my head, all I ever thought of was a poverty stricken desert. In reality, though, it is a continent full of mountains, valleys, rivers, and bustling cities. To me, this is the true beauty of travel—stepping out of your comfort zone and seeing the world for how it really is. It’s not about fancy hotel rooms or dinky souvenirs, it’s about taking taking off those rose-colored glasses and experiencing reality, through all of its elegance and devastation.

View from the plane.
Top: Tangier, Morocco
Bottom: Málaga, Spain

 We finally landed in Casablanca around 8pm and made our way to the apartment we were renting out for the weekend. Our living arrangements could not have been more perfect. We rented a flat from a Moroccan couple in the center of Casablanca. It was pretty obvious they were wealthy (by Moroccan standards at least), but they were also extremely hospitable and kind about arranging taxi’s to the airport and train station, as well as, giving us advice about the city. The place was homey with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room. The building, itself, was very safe, patrolled by a security guard at all times. When speaking with the couple, however, we were once again faced with another language barrier. The two main languages in Morocco are french and arabic, neither of which any of us knew. I took french in elementary school, but I don’t remember much past “hello”, “goodbye”, and how to count to ten. Luckily, the couple spoke a little bit of spanish and english so our main form of communication was spanglish sprinkled with bits of french and then topped with some universal sign language.

Panoramic of our place. 

Before coming to Morocco, I was told multiple times by my parents, brother, friends, family, teachers, students, you name it, to be very careful with my personal belonging when in public areas. When we landed, my father’s worried voice was constantly ringing it my ears while walking through the airport and through the streets to our apartment. Despite all of the fuss, though, Morocco was not the purse-snatching war zone that I had pictured in my head. Everyone we talked to was very nice and helpful, even though the separate languages made conversations much more difficult. Of course we still took precautions when it came to guarding our money. In Casablanca I didn’t ever carry a purse, I just stuck my wallet down my pants, literally. I decided not to bring my dad’s expensive camera out with me, so I can’t take credit for any of these photos. They were all taken with my friends iPhones, which were small enough the hide away in the depths of our clothing as well. Overall, I never felt unsafe, mainly just out of place. Other than Tori, I think I saw one other blonde in all of Casablanca. Marrakech, where we went on Saturday, was more diverse because it is a much more touristy city. In the markets, most of the venders guessed Tori and I either to be either German or Swedish. For kicks and giggles we usually just went along with it and said we were sisters from Berlin studying spanish in Spain. Other than the constant stares and occasional cat calls, though, I never felt like I was in any serious danger. This was also thanks to Sam, the sole male on our trip, who served as the father, body guard, and protective boyfriend to all five of us girls for the weekend. Let’s just say he received a lot of congratulatory handshakes from local Moroccan men on the street.

On Friday morning we started the day at a local bakery around the corner from our flat. This is where I came to fruition about the worth of American money compared to the Moroccan currency, the dirham. Every 8 dirhams is about 1 dollar. That morning, I bought two pastries and a coffee for 10 dirhams. My breakfast, which would probably cost about $6-8 in the U.S., only cost me a little over a dollar. We learned quickly that the local cafes and restaurants were the place to be, super cheap and super delicious.

After breakfast we walked to the coast where we took a tour of the Hassan II Mosque. Towering over the Atlantic waterfront, it is the largest mosque in Africa, and the third largest mosque in the world. It is also the largest mosque that allows non-muslim people inside to view it. Over the past month I have visited many incredible catholic churches, but none of them compared to the detailed magnificence of this structure. The most surprising thing about it was that the entire building only took six years to make but cost a lump sum of about 585 million euros. The mosque was a 24-hour construction project between 1987 and 1993, with people working in 10-hour shifts. We arrived at the exact time that a prayers was ending. Since it was Friday, the Islamic day of worship, there was a flood of people coming out of the mosque, having just finished one of their five daily prayers. It was mostly men, but some women, all wearing very conservative head scarves. In the muslim culture everything is separated by gender. Even in the mosque, there was a separate area upstairs where the women worshiped. Our tour guide told us that the mosque has the capacity to hold 25,000 people— 20,000 men and 5,000 women. Inside, the mosque was full of bright colors and elaborate designs. The builders used specific metal and wood that resisted the erosion of the ocean so that it will stand for many centuries to come. The coolest part of the mosque was the ceiling that can be opened up to reveal the sky to serve as a closer connection to Allah, as well as, a way to cool the building in the summer since it does not have air conditioning. 

During my weekend in Morocco I gained a much larger sense of respect for Islamic people. Muslims pray five times a day—before sunrise, at noon, in the late afternoon, at sundown, and then before bed. At these times the prayer is played through an intercom at the mosque and people kneel down where ever they are for the daily ritual, which can anywhere from five minutes to an hour to complete. Everywhere we went we saw people on their knees praying, whether it be on the side of the road or waiting on the platform at the train station. I can hardly find time to go to church on Sunday, much less pray 5 times a day. 

After the mosque we went on a quest to find, “Bob Marrakech”, a which turned out to be a small, local food market. We never actually knew what Bob Marrakech was while we were looking for it. Some people just told us it was a good place to see. So on our way to our unknown destination we got slightly lost in the slums of Casablanca. Although these parts did make my hair stand on edge a little more, I loved seeing the way the locals lived. Children ran through the streets and men sat outside their shops chatting. The roads were narrow, with poor apartment buildings surrounding each side. The stares were fierce here, though, so we were happy to find the market and then head on our way. I will say that spending a lot of time in that market could have quickly convinced me to become a vegetarian. Every part of the animals are used, put on display to be sold raw. I saw literal brains and intestines hanging from the vendor's stands. It was definitely a stomach churning experience.  

So many spices!

Despite the nausea, we departed for lunch at a nice Moroccan restaurant, where I ate the most delicious stuffed peppers with vegetables. I am huge fan of spicy food which is unfortunately not common in spanish cuisine. It felt so good to get that tasty kick back in my mouth.

We then took a walk through the medina, which is the street market for clothes, jewelry, and other goods. I bought a Barcelona soccer jersey for 100 dirhams, which is only about $12. Unfortunately it is a tad small but I felt uncomfortable taking off my jacket to try it on in the tiny side-street shop. It will make a nice gift for someone, though.

Dinner was spent at the infamous, Rick’s Cafe, from the movie Casablanca. The songs from the film played in the background as we ate on white table cloths by candlelight. The restaurant was a bit too romantic for our rowdy bunch, but being Alexa’s favorite movie of all-time, it was a must-see attraction on the Morocco list. I was still full from lunch so all I ordered was wine and dessert, which to me is always an acceptable dinner. And let me tell you, my chocolate lava cake was probably one of the most delicious things I have ever put in my mouth. I was almost temped to lick my plate clean.

We then headed back to our homey apartment to rest up for our 6:30am train ride the next day to Marrakech. 

The morning came to soon and we all stumbled into the pre-arranged taxies to the train station way before the sun had even thought to rise. I had wanted to watch the scenery on the three hour train ride but being so early in the morning, I snugged up the best I could in my uncomfortable passenger chair and slept the entire way. 

Medina in Marrakech

When we arrived in Marrakech, it was obvious that this city was much more lively and tourist friendly than Casablanca. There were people walking around from all over the world and cheesy souvenir shops on every corner. We made our way to Marrakech’s medina in the center of the city. The medina was an open square full of people and street performers... and that is where I saw them. Slithering around the street to the sound of their master’s instrument, the pungi, all I could pay attention to was their little tongues creeping in and out of their mouths. Snakes. Everywhere I turned there were more. As much of an outdoor adventurer that I am, I have always been set back by this one fear. They haunt my nightmares weekly, yet I have never had any remarkably bad experiences with them. Anyways, Courtney and Alexa headed straight up to the charmers and to get a picture with snakes around their necks. I stayed back and watched cautiously from a distance. Seeing my friends touch those slimy creatures was plenty of a thrill for me. Along with the snakes there were MONKEYS, which I loved seeing, however, they were constricted at the neck by metal chains, which made my animal-loving heart ache for a moment. 

Alexa and Courtney with the snakes.

Like clockwork, there were people constantly coming up to us trying to sell us anything and everything. Women especially kept pestering us about henna tattoos. It only got worse when we entered into the market. To come off less American, we only spoke spanish to each other and the vendors. This gained us a little bit more respect in the bargaining business, but not much. It didn’t really matter for me anyways because after trying to haggle for the first bracelet I bought, I realized that I did not get my mother’s negotiation genes. I was absolutely horrible at it and probably ended up spending a little more than I should have. I improved as the day went on and bought some knock-off Ray Bans for under $5, a steal in my book. 

We ate lunch at a cute restaurant right on the edge of the medina. I had an amazing couscous dish with vegetables. Over the past year, couscous has been a regular meal for me in Athens, however, this meal was much more divine than any of the boxed couscous from Kroger.

After lunch we had one goal in mind—camel riding. When we first arrived in Marrakech, we met a man on the street who told us if we came back at 4pm, he would take us camel riding for about 200 dirhams each. On the way back to the designated meeting place, we deciphered a plan on how to negotiate the price down to 100 dirhams per person. Everyone had a part to play expect for Tori and I. “Blondes in the back,” Sam said, referring to our total lack of bartering skills. Dawdling behind the rest of the pack, we finally made it to the meeting place, however, the man was no where in sight and we were back to square one in our search for camels. Morgan, keen with camel desire, marched right up to the nearest police officer and asked where we could find such activity. Of course, he didn’t speak spanish or english, and she didn’t speak french or arabic, so despite the hand motions and facial expressions, the conversation lacked any form of comprehension. Eventually, she whipped out her iPhone and showed the policeman a camel emoticon so he could understand. He then yelled out, “Oh chameau!”, and pointed us down the road a ways. We walked and walked but there were no “chameaus” to be found. When we were about to lose all hope, I turned my head to the left and saw 8 camels sitting in a parking lot. Morgan screamed with joy and ran as fast as she could over to the poor animals, almost trampling over the owner in the process. We ended up riding the camels for 80 dirhams a person (a.k.a. $10), which was an incredible deal. Granted the ride was through a slightly polluted orchard and not through a desert, but it was a camel ride none the less. Tori and I shared a camel named Shakira. She was a trooper for carrying us both. In the end, everyone was happy, especially Morgan who remained in a state of ecstasy for the rest of the day, all thanks to a camel emoticon. 

We spent the rest of the afternoon walking around the city and then took a late train back to Casablanca. The next morning, we spend the rest of the dirhams we had on pastries at the local bakery and then headed back home to Valencia. Just like when we came back from London, the sound of spanish was sweet bliss in our ears. 

Exhausted in the airport

Of course, the one weekend we left the continent was the time that my professors decided to assign two presentations and two papers, all due on Monday. That Sunday night, I felt like I was back in Athens again, fueling up on caffeine and only getting an hour of sleep before class on Monday. I guess no matter what part of the world you are in, some things never change. 

The week continued with more school work and siestas to catch up on my lack of sleep. On Wednesday we went to the top of the Torres de Seranos, the old entrance to Valencia when the city was surrounded by a protective wall, back in medieval times. It is considered to be one of Valencia’s best conserved monuments and also played a large role in the Spanish Civil War back in the 1930’s. From the top of the tower, you can see for miles and the view is incredible. 

Living the life.

After two weekends in two different countries, it was time for a rest. I spent this past weekend in Valencia, however, on Saturday, we took a day-trip to Sagunto, a small town about 30 minutes outside the city by train. As far as the actual town of Sagunto, there is not much going on. We went to see the remains of the Castillo (castle) that stood up on the mountaintop overlooking the city. The castle and its surrounding walls were built back in the 5th century BC but have a lot of Moorish and Roman influence as well. For me this place was a playground. I’m not sure if I should have been doing this but I spent the day scaling up and down all of the ruins to see how high/close I could get to the edge of the tall monuments. I was back in my element—climbing. The view was amazing. In front of me lay the ocean, behind me the mountains, and below, the white rooftops of Sagunto. I was on top of the world.

Climbing on high stuff :)

Amazing views 

This weekend I head to the thriving city of Barcelona! It is the one excursion included in the program so it is already all planned out for us. I pinky promise to be more prompt with my posting next time.

Ciao for now!