Finally, pictures!

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to post these, but I am planning to move into my new house next week, and haven't had time.

But, here are the rest of them...

Barcelona

Paris

There we go.
If you click on those, you can view them, as well as view the other albums on my picasa accound.

Comment if you've been reading, and thank you!

We´ve come full circle

Vwalah! we are back in Madrid, just like that. We are staying at a new hostel here, Way hostel, and we´ve ran into two people from Lisbon. Is it just me, or is Europe smaller than it looks on a map?

I could not post pictures in Paris, due to the fact that internet cafes are pricy, but we saw everything there was to see. We proved some rumors to be false as well:
Parisians are not at all rude to English speakers. In fact, they are always pleasantly surprised to hear a parlay voo ingles?
And you don´t really have to pay for toilettes. This learned fact proved to be true with copious amounts of relief.

I will post all of the pictures Tuesday, when I return to America.

We also did some funny/fancy things in Paris that were a bit out of the ordinary. We stumbled across a bar that served juice and cocktails in baby bottles. It´s all kind of ridiculous, because they make you draw out your beverage, and they have cartoon names for everything. The place was called Zero de conduite, and we played board games while suckin´on baby bottles. Oh what a city. I guess it´s trendy to regress a decade!

But ohh, it feels nice to be back in Madrid. We connected with Wall street Nick last night, who is now starting up a business that is sort of top secret so I can´t put the URL up, but when it is full throttle you bet I´ll promote it. This business apparently involves 20 minute conference calls that turn into 2 hour conference calls when we´re waiting on him. Nick, for a business man, you surely have bad timing. Though, I´m surprised how much he´s got going for him here in Madrid now that we´ve returned. He´s in meetup groups, gone on a few dates, and has this business. If I wanted to work for wallstreet, I´ve acquired the appropriate connectionis. Ew, business.

So, we met up with Nick last night and went to one of our favorite Tapas places, El Tigre, and enjoyed some of our last munchin´ food of Madrid. Nik was teaching us that Notorious BIG´s TEN CRACK COMMANDMENTS apply to the business world. I won´t go into details, but I think he should do a thesis. Hmmm?

Now, I am fully ready to return. I will enjoy this last day in Madrid and go to the Retiro. I will probably see Nik for the last time, and I will walk the paths I did when I first wrote in this blog. Anything I decide to do, I will in fact do so by seizing it and enjoying it in the best way possible.

You can still expect more from this blog. On Tuesday I will be posting all of the pictures and explaining them. But thanks for reading! It has been nice to document this hoping someone will be inspired to take a trip of their own, because it is something that should not be avoided.

Adios! and as a true Madrid Spaniard would say: Vale! Vale! Vale!

Death Day, and other observations

****DISCLAIMER: French keyboards are weird. This post is abridged*****


Yesterday was our first full day in Paris, and we found ourselves trying to become situated with our surroundings. We ventured to Père Lachaise, the burial ground of Jim Morrison, Oscar Wilde, Proust, and a bunch of other rich guys with sculptures of themselves. Tre bien! We then proceeded to the Catacombs and walked among the dead once more, seeing thousands of bones. We took pictures, don't worry. Then an inexorable force led us to see the Lars Von Trier film, Antichrist. Im trying to think of what to write about it, but haven't even deciphered it myself.

Why we did so many things related to death, I'm not certain, but to clean the palate, we viewed the Eiffel Tower.

Today we went to the Louvre, and in front of the Mona Lisa Danny said, and I quote: "I'm not sure what makes this any better than any copy of it." Everybody turned and gasped. But in all fairness, I wasn't enchanted by the Louvre as most. I loved walking through the building, but you can only see so many paintings of women breastfeeding.

I simply cannot type another letter on this damned thing.

*Notre Dame
*Shakespeare & Company
GOOGLE IT.

Decadence Day

I have declared this day, for myself, a holiday. Decadence Day: a day of lounging on the beach, swimming occasionally, and gaining a scorching second sunburn. I even took the 5€ massage bait, and had myself a suprisingly good 15 minute massage. Danny watched.

We have mostly been relaxing in Barcelona. There´s an awful smell in the hostel (somewhat like formaldehyde and pork grinds). Today was our last day, so we went to our favorite place, the beach of course. There were a lot of interesting people out and about. One man carried at least 30 donuts on a platter on top of his head and sang la bamba with the words: Me gusta la playa. I snapped a picture at the perfect time while he was shaking a man´s hand. I will post when I can. The beach was covered with people, and their skin kind of blended in with the sand at some point. I felt like Jimmy Buffet today, because I was clearly on island time. We approached the beach around 11, and left at 6 thinking it was 3 in the afternoon. This is the point in my life where I need to buy dolphin earrings.

Le tomorrow we are going to Le Paris. We at least knew, or could understand the languages in the cities thus far, but Pairs. Oh no no no. Although, I tend to enjoy socially awkward situations, because when I get back to America everything will be so easy. Now, I don´t think I could feel weird about buying the weirdest things in English, like a sequined bra or something. Not that I would want a sequined bra.

I am extremely excited and ready to absorb Paris. It is our last city before we return to Madrid, and there are so many interesting things to see.

As a tribute to my stay in Spain and Lisbon, I will document the power ballad that Danny and I wrote about pigeons. Ideally, we would like Kurt Cobain to play it, but imagination will do.

Don´t feed the rats
Don´t feed the rats old woman
they travel in packs
and don´t need no snacks
Don´t feed those dirty old rats

It needs some work, but it´ll do.

So Paris, Paris, here I come. Paris Je´taime (great movie by the way, I recommend it with no reservations).
It is time to embark.

I don't like sand. It's coarse and rough and irritating and it gets everywhere. Not like here. Here everything is soft and smooth.

What a fine quote that Danny recited to me when we were walking on the sandy beach. I like the beach in Barcelona, and because of that. I look like a strawberry.

The first day we got here, we had both fallen ill. We slept for 13 hours and used the hostel bed sheets to sweat the poison out. We´re fine now, though. Thank you for asking. I love the beach, and the one here goes on for a long stretch of land. One of my favorite aspects of the Barcelona beach is the plethora of asian massage therapists willing to give out massages for 5€.

Today we visited La Sagrada Familia, the work in progress church that Gaudi planned. The structure was so ornate, and had the word Sacrum all over it. While were sitting and looking up at it, a tour bus stopped in front, and tens of thousands of old women heaved out hankerin´for a cig. I am glad we opted out of using tour buses to guide our adventures.

After we scaled the church, we walked 600 meters up an incredibly steep hill toward Gaudi´s Guel Park. The park had a great view of the city, which I will post a picture of at some juncture. The park was apparently built for the upper class to come and hang out, which was the center of some of our walking jokes, which one of, I will write on this blog.

We noticed a moat sort of thing following the side of the path, and decided it was filled with wine so when the upper class folks became thirsty and in need of some of that 1974 Merlot, they wouldn´t need to travel far. Dip and Swig.

Who is this Gaudi guy? and why did he know how to map out some of the craziest places? The church won´t be completed for another 75 years. I think I would be far too impatient to even think about working on a building that ornate.

So, traveling back from our sight-seeing day, we decided (Danny decided) to buy a pizza cone for lunch. This inexpensive, little treat is an ice-cream shaped bread cone filled with cheeze, mushrooms, and pizza sauce. Danny still claims the cone is a cullinary masterpiece!

So, then we proceeded to nap. Well, after hearing mating noises all night long, how could we not be tired? And this transition, my friends, is how I tell a true horror story. I thought of leaving it out, to spare the graphic details, but tales like these need to be told.

First, Kabul is the WORST hostel in the entire globe. This is truly how I feel. I am sitting in it right now, and I feel like throwing up. Danny and I go to bed fairly early (11 maybe 12) because we like to do things during the day when we travel. Doesn´t everyone? No. The past two nights lame British girls, and people making fun of America have been having absinthe parties in our room, while we´re attempting to sleep. Now, I don´t want to sound like I´m complaining. I like a good time, and I enjoy meeting people, but where do we draw the line? We don´t! Last night, a man from Atlanta and one of the lovley Brits, proceeded to ¨mate¨in the bed next to us... FOR THREE HOURS. What? Twice. I´m not kidding. We were the only people in the room, and they chose our corner to do their love dance. I was not pleased, and am even thinking of going to some hostel that is known for its peace oasis. If the sex wasn´t enough, the guy spilled wine all over the place, it was really nasty on an entirely different level. Ew Ew Ew.

So, please, do not stay in Kabul under any circumstances. I don´t care what anyone says, it is awful. TERRIBLE. The free dinner even sucks, and IT IS FREE. I´m sorry for the use of caps, but my god people! Those Brits and Canadians are worse than even some of the lamest Americans I know.

But it´s Barcelona man! We gotta live it up! Gotta drink that absinthe and be promiscusous!!!!!

I think Danny and I are destined to be asian tourists, polite and soft spoken.

Lisbon, it's not you it's me. I swear!

I leave for Barcelona tomorrow, and I'm not the least bit excited.

I love Lisbon, so much so that I am even considering studying here in a year or two. Unlike Madrid, I want to stay and stay and stay (I'm considering "accidentally" turning my alarm clock off.

Jokes aside, Lisbon was beautiful. I haven't written in a few days, and so much has happened. On Saturday Danny and I went to a market called "The Market of Thieves!" It was pouring rain, but Danny had to get a backpack with a kitten on it. His backpack has a little black kitten, with a bell on the collar. He thought the dread locked woman he bought it from said 13 euros, but it was in fact 30.

WHEN IN ROME.

The market sits on top of a hill a good tram ride away from where we are staying, and while we were waiting for the tram, we noticed there were billions of middle aged tourists waiting. We decided to put our cameras down, and go on a TRAM RACE. We gave the tram a head start up the hill, and we still beat it! Although, we had nothing to prove besides the 2.80 we saved. It all went toward the backpack I suppose.

On Sunday we relaxed, and oh was it nice. We wandered by the river and kicked pigeons. I did not actually kick a pigeon, but I tried very hard. I feel bad for the birds, but they are nothing compared to the Finch. The Finch is the best bird in the world, and here are my reasons for believing this.
1.They are really small.
2.They look like they are extremely fuzzy
3.They don't breed abnormally *I have seen far too many albino pigeons*
4.I'm fairly certain they can fit in the palm of my hand.

The hostel we're staying at is great. The staff is so helpful, and I believe they are my friends not to earn money, but I could be wrong. I don't think hostels offer commission.
Jual and Miguel, if you read this, I will miss you both entirely too much.
Miguel with his kitten merchandise and Jual with our wedding vows, I cannot fathom traveling without you. But I must-Le sigh.

The staff here loves to recommend lovely places to visit *I should not have bought a guide book.* In light of these suggestions, we ventured to Belem today, an area 15 minutes West of the city center. We ate "the best custard tarts in Lisboa!" Pasteis de belem really knows how to make a tart with heart-har har har.


I wish all of you in the states could experience a delicious custard tart. But you can't. So I will eat yours, thank you.

We also visited a museum of Modern Art in Belem, filled with paintings, building outlines, sculptures, and videos OF ONE MAN. There were a few other exhibitions, but Pancho Guedes was apparently the main attraction. I'm a fan! If I do in fact become an architect, I will build one of his many building outlines.


I have consumed the rest of my night with Seinfeld. Jual called Jerry a "Banana," which I guess means a nerd or something. If Jerry visited the museum with us earlier, this is what his joke would sound like:
So, What's the deal with modern art museums showing a 12 minute and 33 second video clip of garbage floating around? You think I wanna watch your garbage?

Baaaaaaarceeeeloooooooonnnnaaa, is a great song by Rufus Wainwright, who I am hoping to see in Paris. Also, hey! wouldn't you know? It's the city I'm visiting next.

Wait for me Lisbon, it's not over yet. I promise I'll make it up to you. Don't take it personally.

Fear and loathing in Cascais

******* DISCLAIMER: I am writing this tale overtly dramatized, the only way this horror tale should be told. It does not, in any way, reflect my attitude against Cascais. Yesterday was more of an adventure than a horror novel, but, in light of the situation, I have decided this dramatized version is the only way this tale should be written.*********

We hopped a train. Danny and I had been wanting to go to the beach. I even wore my swimsuit under my clothing, so that I could peel my jeans off and step into the salt water. We spoke the only Portuguese we knew, and bought a ticket to Cascais, a small beach area West of Lisbon. "Perfect," we thought, but little could we imagine the tracks that lay ahead. On the semi-peaceful train ride, filled with accordion players and gypsies, we tried to get a grip. Though, the hold seemed too far away to grasp. It started with the lightning, and followed with tiny drops of rain. Each drop of water seemed to push our swimming hopes further out into the sea, until they were swimming with the unclassified species of fish and eels. It was hopeless. We could get off at the next stop, and turn around with no tan mark on our body displaying no sign of soaked up enjoyment. But no, twenty minutes had passed, and we weren't about to turn around. "We aren't cowards," we said to ourselves, and decided to bare the remainder of the trip.

The train came to a halt, with a loud screech from the water laying on the tracks. Heading to what we thought was our beach, we were directed into a large mall-complex similar to the ones in the United States. We both screamed out in contempt. We didn't come to Portugal to eat greasy pizza and play tennis games in game stop, but we thought this could be different. We thought we could find salvation. On the side of the building we read "Fascismo" and "fascista" scribbled in grafiti type. These words acted as reminders of what we were entering: a commercialized resort inferno. There were more than nine levels to this hell, and we had merely scratched the first. The mall was filled with Game Stops and overly fancy McDonalds. We even thought we could save ourselves with a movie at the cinema, but our choices were limited to Scary Movie and Night at the Museum 2. What horrors! The mall even ruined Kabops for us. "How is this possible?" we thought. Our precious saucy love, left us with a bitter cucumber sauce aftertaste for hours and hours after the meal. "We have to get out of here," I heard Danny whisper. At this point in our journey, he couldn't find the energy to talk. A six story fascisma mart takes a lot out of a tired tourist.

We needed fresh air, a place to forget about the mall. We needed our beach. Walking along, we could only see resturaunts and hotels in the shape of boats. We were out of our element. We couldn't afford a 30 euro pizza. We wouldn't pay for a 30 dollar pizza. The beach was five paces to the east, and twenty north we thought, but we walked for hours. Almost simultaneously, in fatigued voices, we gasped: "Where is the infamous Cascais beach filled with free bike rides and wind surfing?" but we got no answer from the place around us. We only found a cold indifference to our bewilderment. We found it, after heaving and sweating. It was a small strip, hardly worth our time. The sand was soggy from the earlier storm, and there wasn't a single person under the tiny umbrellas. This was the KO in the match against Cascais. They had won battle. We couldn't even stand up enough from the last punch to look for the bike stand. We crawled back to the train with a look of sheer embarrassment on our faces.

I am dedicating this story to Cascais and it's people. You win. I might go back to you on the sunniest of days, and try again, but I will come more prepared. I will pack the punches with bagged lunches and pre-read weather forcasts lodged into my temples. I will retaliate, and when I do. You'll be sorry.