9 posts from May 2007

We left Nice newly laden with clothes and a new bag, and headed for Villa Velleron, a small B&B recommended by one of my former coworkers in the Provencal countryside. We arrived in Avignon and were nervous about our rental car – we weren’t sure what we were going to get. As it turns out, our fears were unwarranted, and we left with a bangin’ Peugeot convertible Wes christened Napoleon. He was small, silver, and AWESOME. Within seconds the top was

down, and Wes was wedging himself into the drivers seat. It’s a good thing the top came down because there was no way Wes’s head was going to fit under the roof.

We had a few hours to spare before check in, so we decided to get lost. It

was the best decision we could have made. Within minutes of leaving the city, we encountered fields sprinkled with bright red poppies, open skies, and the sharp smell of freshly cut grass. The birds were singing, and the vistas were absolutely spectacular. There were periods where all you could see for miles and miles were grape vines and olive trees, and there were cherry farms with green trees stretching for acres as we zoomed by in our little French conqueror.

At that point we didn’t think things could get much better, but we were proven wrong when we pulled into the tiny village of Velleron. Not only was Villa Velleron the most beautiful place I have ever stayed, it was absolutely PERFECT. The owners, Christian and Claudia (originally from Germany) welcomed us into their home with the kind of open arms that I have only experienced in my immediate family. After a

quick dip in the sparkling water of the pool, we dressed for dinner. We learned that Claudia goes to the Velleron market every day at 6pm and buys the fresh ingredients for that night’s dinner straight from the local farmers. Every night is like a four star dining experience, and we were absolutely blown away. I don’t usually take photos of my food but this seemed like the time to make an exception.

The next day we drove to the Pont du Gard, which is a Roman aqueduct built in 17 BC by Agrippa. It is one of the most well-preserved examples in the world, and its scale is massive. Towering over the river, it is a three-tiered structure that took 15 years to build. It used to carry water from the Gard river all the way to Nimes, which is a thirty minute drive south west. We spread our blanket downstream and spent most of the afternoon wading in the river and enjoying the beautiful day. Groups of kayakers kept passing by, laughing and singing, and it was hard not to get caught up in the jovial atmosphere of the site.  

This was the first day I had the honor of experience the Wes Breakdown. This is a singular event whereby Wesley Cosgriff breaks out in sweat and becomes dehydrated and irritable. To vent his frustration he normally throws an

empty water bottle onto the floor and makes a face much like one made by a three year old who knows he’s done something wrong. Like clockwork, this display was staged every day around 3pm while we were in Provence. It was HILARIOUS. Clearly, hot temperatures and humidity don’t agree with W. I’m not sure WHAT he’s going to do in Italy in July…

Anyway, we decided to check out Nimes that night and take in the Champion’s League final (Milano vs. Liverpool) in an Irish pub we found in our guide. We arrived and found out that we had picked a great time to visit – it was the Nimes Feria, where bullflights are held every day for 5 days and there are parades, tons of food stands, crowds of people, and general merriment. It was tons of fun. We had kebabs on the street and checked out some of the other Roman structures still standing in the city – the arena (which is still in use and was hosting the bullfight while we were there) and the temple. The Champion’s League game ended in my favor and you all will be graced with a photo of Wes kissing a statue in Paris, since he’s the loser of our little bet. Also, this may not come as a surprise, but the French are not too keen on the Italians at the moment…I was the only supporter in the bar.

I woke up the next morning a year older, and looked forward to a fabulous birthday. Claudia and Christian had bought

me a little cake for breakfast and put a candle on top, alongside a soccer goal, Mikey Mouse kicking a ball, and a little Italian flag on a toothpick. It was absolutely adorable, and it was borrowed from their 10 year old son, Vincent. Gotta love it.

We left for the day with a hand drawn map from Christian and no real plans in mind. Christian suggested we drive to the top of the highest mountain in the area, which from afar seemed to be snowcapped.  En route, we passed endless fields of poppy, and lavender fields that weren’t purple yet (that won’t happen until late July, unfortunately).  We stopped at a tiny town for lunch, which was full of cyclists who were planning to climb to the top of the very mountain we were heading towards.

As we climbed, we began to realize that the mountain was not covered in snow as we had originally thought. It was simply covered near the top by millions of cream-colored rocks, coloring the tip so as to seem frosty! Though it was a bit cooler at the top, we probably didn’t need our heavy-duty rain gear. Oh

well! Instead I bought an entire loaf of bread and some homemade cookies, which I inhaled far too quickly. During the ensuing stomachache, I was sure to point out about 435234 times that I was 24 years old and sang many strange French songs out loud, which I’m sure Wes enjoyed thoroughly.

Each town we drove through was more beautiful than the last, and I couldn’t help feeling like I had stepped into a movie. And things only became more surreal as we returned home and Claudia had prepared a special birthday dinner for me. We dined outside again, but this time our table was covered in rose petals and a huge bouquet of local flowers. Halfway through the meal, I was surprised by an unmarked envelope which held a note from Team CBM (my coworkers!!) and a gift, which will be put to use replacing all my stuff that had been stolen. I was FLOORED. Christian only hinted at the amount of planning that had to be done to pull that off, but I really can’t even imagine what they had to do. Did I mention I have the best (former) coworkers EVER?

The next day we had to leave, which we were very sad to have to do. After saying goodbye to Villa Velleron (which was VERY hard), we dropped Napoleon off and enjoyed a night in Avignon. We checked out the Popes’ Palace, where 8 popes ruled during the great schism (Unfortunate Series of Events, anyone?). I am writing this on the train to Paris, where we’ll be meeting Wes’s parents. I couldn’t be more excited!

Check out the photos here:

So, as I hinted in my last post, Nice did not get off to a very good start. Wes and I got on the train at 8pm, and weren’t due to arrive in Nice until 11:30pm. Our bags are rather large, and couldn’t fit in the luggage racks above our head. I assured Wes that leaving our bags in the luggage compartment between the train cars would be fine, and that no one would bother them there. Well, I was wrong. When we arrived in Nice, Wes’s bag was there, but mine was gone. Four months worth of clothes, shoes, toiletries and souvenirs that have absolutely no value to anyone but myself were gone.  The dress I bought on the street in Barcelona, my Ronaldinho jersey, the lavender soap Wes bought for his mom…these are the kinds of things that I mourn. The rest is just stuff, and it can be replaced, but

things like that can’t. People can be so thoughtless and disgusting.

Anyway, a police report and ride to the hotel in a police car later (at 2am, mind you), we attempted to pull ourselves together and get some sleep. I badly needed a shower and a change of clothes, but of COURSE, the next day was a Sunday and ALL THE STORES IN NICE WERE CLOSED.  In the words of the nice people at the hostel we checked into the next day, “Sunday is not a good day to get all your stuff taken.” Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind for next time.

Thankfully, after a full day of searching, Wes and I got lucky and found a few small places open in the touristy part of town. I got the bare essentials and we made plans to head out early the next morning for a half-day shopping spree. I would need a new backpack, and some clothes other than my jeans with holes in them and my slightly smelly flip flops. Shampoo and a toothbrush would also be nice.

Luckily, we did pretty well and I’m feeling 100 times better about things. But for now, Wes and I have a new mantra. Harry Potter fans will appreciate: CONSTANT VIGILANCE. I’m a little scared, actually, because Wes’s inherent paranoia has finally been given free reign and anything could happen. ;)

We now have 3 new bike locks, backpacks that will fit above our heads on the trains we will have to take, and I have the clothes and supplies I need to get me to Paris. I’m sure once I get there and we meet up with Wes’s parents I’ll have ample opportunity to get fun clothes that will replace the ones I had. Life goes on…I guess it’s a part of the travel experience!

Our shopping trip was so successful on Monday that we actually had enough time to head to Monaco for dinner! We hopped on the train and 20 minutes later found ourselves in another country. Can’t beat that! The Monaco Grand Prix starts this Thursday, so everything was set up for the first class race. Barriers were set up on all the roads, grandstands were erected all over the city, and the curbs even had white and red striped rubber to faciliate the racers’ fast turns. It felt like we had accidentally stepped into Grand Turismo, the Playstation 3 video game. It was surreal. Also, since it was still a bit hazy, there was no one on the beach besides us and a few other stragglers. Our dinner on the sand felt like a private meal for two!

The city/country itself felt like another world. Ritzy doesn’t even do the place justice. By the end of our little excursion, the Ferrari count was 10, the Bentley count 4, and the Mercedes/Lexus count somewhere around 70. It was insane.  The yachts docked in the harbor were about twice as large as my parents’ house, and their navigation systems alone could probably give the Harvard astronomy department a run for their money. We even tried to check out the famous Monte Carlo casino but balked at the entrance fee and minimum bet amount. Wes even entertained the fantasy for about five minutes that he was going to win enough money to cancel out the thousands of dollars I lost when my bag was stolen.

I am sorry that we didn’t really get to experience Nice to a satisfactory degree since so much of our time there had to be taken up by dealing with the loss of my bag, but there was little to be done. Perhaps next time I come to this city I’ll be able to create fonder memories of the place.

Photos!

Pronounced “ex” en Provence, this was exactly what I had imagined a Provencal town would be.  Fresh local food at

the open air markets, sunlight shimmering through green leaves, and well-to-do country ladies and gents perusing the small shops and cafes while old men play Boulé in the park...it was perfect.  

Our hotel was out of the city center, so right away we discussed renting a scooter or bikes so that we could explore the city without having to rely on the local buses.  A few hours after arriving in the city for the first time, we found ourselves the proud owners of two bikes for twenty-four hours. It was the ideal way to explore the city, and I’m so glad we did it. Anyway, that first day was spent ducking in and out of delicious-looking pastry shops and magical plazas that seemed like scenes from impressionist paintings. We bought fresh lavender soap for Wes’s mom from one of the

stands at the market, and decided to check out a small homey restaurant that was recommended in our guidebook.

At the restaurant, my shoddy French was put to the test and it ended up being even more fun since our food was a bit of a surprise. The waiter must have sensed our weakness, because Wes was warned that his beef was raw ahead of time. But he was encouraged by our adorable waiter to try it, since he was “In FRANCE!” Though I don’t think Wes will be ordering up raw meat anytime soon, he ate it all, and I was in love with my mouth-watering meal of

artichoke pate with spicy tomato sauce and a flaky quiche chock full of delicious vegetables.  The rest of that day was spent exploring the town on our bikes, taking in the sights while simultaneously whizzing through traffic like locals. I loved it.

The next day we headed to the Saturday market and stocked up on fresh bread, sausage (encrusted in Herbs de Provence of course…NYC girls, remember Chez le Chef!?), fresh olive spread and delicious cheese, and then headed over to the park for a picnic. Though we had to watch a mean French kid hit his dog several times (so awful), it was a picture-perfect day. That night I changed into my new Boston College Law School shirt (thanks, Wes!), and ratty jeans and got ready for the train ride to Nice. What happens that night is NOT so nice. More to come.

Pics!

Upon alighting the train in Barcelona headed for our first French town, the medieval city of Carcassonne, Wes and I were pathetically unprepared. I’m not talking about a lack of supplies or lodging.  No my friends, it was in the language department that we were sorely lacking. Neither of us can speak a lick of French, and when we switched trains at the border and the very polite conductor asked us for our tickets, the two of us looked at each other in a moment of sheer panic as we realized we had no idea what she just said. Thankfully, Wes had brought a Western Europe phrasebook,

which I studied for the duration of our trip (like the huge nerd that I am). We are clearly nowhere near conversational, but at least I can figure out what’s going on and attempt to communicate using hand gestures and facial expressions. When all else fails, I say the Italian or Spanish word for something with a French accent. You’d be surprised how often that actually works! Wes, in classic fashion, has learned two very useful phrases, which he has been inserting in every possible conversation. "Je suis perdieu" and "Ou e la biblioteque?" (I am lost and where is the library?)

Oh, and let’s not forget he can also count to ten. We’re all set.

We arrived in the city and (shock of all shocks) the information desk was closed. Without a map and a clue about where our hotel could be, we decided to hop in a cab. To add to the drama, the weather was cooperating by dumping buckets of water on our heads while the wind whipped our hair and clothes around. The next day, Sarah was due to meet up with us so we waited to do our exploring. Once she arrived, we decided to check out the medieval walled city. En route, we made friends with Nikki, a fabulous girl from Australia who was also doing the backpacking thing before she heads off with friend to do a Pilgrimage across the whole of Spain (!!!). The four of us crossed the moat into the double-walled city, and dodged the wind and rain as we explored the area. It was awesome, and even

the bad weather served to add to the ambience of the place. We imagined ourselves as one of the townspeople who survived the three-year siege of the city hundreds of years ago. I probably wouldn’t have lasted 2 days without an iPod or tv.

After all the sightseeing, we retired to a café where Wes had his FIRST CUP OF COFFEE EVER! And it was an espresso no less! We all got to know each other a little better and decided to head out for dinner for a change. We went to a fun restaurant and shared stories and politics over a few bottles of wine (including one that Wes and I had lugged all the way from Barcelona). On the way back home, around 9pm, we heard cheesy 70s music pulsating from a bar up the street. We looked inside, and it was packed full of people dancing on chairs and tables, and decided we clearly belonged inside.

We promptly ordered four beers and began to enjoy ourselves. A few minutes in, I was giving Wes a hard time because his collar wasn’t popped like all the French kids’ collars, and I popped the “collar” of his fleece up. All of a sudden a hilarious French guy (who is in the French air force and lives in Carcassonne) came over and rearranged Wes’s collar for him, and promptly scolded us for drinking beer in France (“When you are in France you must drink white wine!”). He bought us a bottle and just like that two groups of rowdy friends met. It was a night for the history books, including Ally McBeal references (apparently that is what French people think of when you say you’re from Boston), table dancing and twenty minutes trying to convince them that Wes was NOT in the NBA. What a great time!

Pictures below…

Ahhhh!! Barcelona! What can I say? From the start it was destined for greatness. Wes was meeting me, we were staying in an apartment the whole time, both Bec and Sarah were meeting up with us, and we had entire week in the city. I had high hopes when flying in, and not once did lovely Barcelona disappoint.

First, the apartment. Wow. Wow. Wow. It was a stunner. Things seemed a little shaky at first when Sarah and I were loaded down with all of our bags and met up with the girl who was opening the apartment for us. After getting lost, waiting for her for 15 mins, and climbing five flights to the top of the building, we were stymied for a full half hour when the keys would NOT open the door. Not when the girl tried, not when I tried, and not the first six times Sarah tried, either. It was only after the “lock guy” was on his way to break down the door if necessary that our lovely little door relented and decided to let us in. But even that experience couldn’t possibly ruin the greatness within. It was magnificent. All the way at the top of the building, it featured not one but TWO terraces overlooking the city, a full kitchen, a tv, futon, WASHING MACHINE, a brand new bathroom and a lofted bedroom. It was beautiful, and within seconds truly felt like home.

Picking up Wes from the airport ended up being a highly entertaining affair, as he managed to somehow bypass customs, security and the baggage claim without a single person noticing. He had no idea how it happened but ended up having to leave 3 minutes into our reunion so that he could go through the security line again to be able to get back to baggage claim to pick up his bag. Classic.

The first day we met Bec and Sarah and the four of us visited Montjuic, the hill overlooking the city, complete with a

fortress/castle thing and a ride in an old fashioned funicular (kind of like an enclosed ski lift but less fancy). We rode the funicular over the port to the beach, and walked its length all the way to the port built for the Olympics in ‘92. We were even able to walk back through the Parc de la Ciutadella and rented a rowboat long enough to spot tons of baby ducklings and scare all the other animals (and tourists) with our erratic maneuvers and loud conversation.

That night we made a rookie mistake and ate at a tourist trap because we were drawn in by the 9 Euro price tag.  We should have known better but in the end it provided for a great story. The sangria tasted like 7up, greasy French fries were served with everything, and the “ice cream” we had for desert came in a little plastic cup (like in grade school) with the LID STILL ON.  Never again. The good thing is, our subsequent food experiences in Barcelona were so fabulous that they completely nullified the hilariously bad experience on the first night.

The next day, I went on my own to stand in line for FC Barcelona tickets (that would be the soccer team) for a full hour. I had been calling every day since I arrived in the city, and every day the person I talked to told me that they didn’t have any tickets but that I should call back again because sometimes they release them. Finally, I couldn’t take

it anymore and decided to go straight to the source. Good thing I did! We ended up with two tickets for the game vs. Real Betis that Sunday. I finally met up with the others and we did a Gaudi tour and visited the Casa Guell, which he designed to look like St. Jordi and the dragon. AMAZING. After the house, we checked out the famous Sagrada Familia church, which began construction 100 years ago and is still nowhere near complete. It was absolutely awe-inspiring and unlike anything else I had ever seen. Definitely the coolest church ever. That night I cooked for everyone, and whipped up a Cuban feast since both girls had no idea what Cuban food was like. Clearly this was something they must learn firsthand! Wes was very helpful, and stirred the beans. All in all we had a fantastic time discussing life over Spanish wine.

The next morning, Bec was gone for London, and Wes, Sarah and I took a day trip back to Valencia for the day. Wes’s uncle put us in touch with a friend of his who was racing on the Spanish team in the America’s Cup! Tony was awesome, and gave us a behind the scenes tour of the Spanish team base. Not only did he show us around, he also explained a ton about the sport and about the America’s Cup in general. We spent the rest of the day absorbing the atmosphere and relaxing in the sun.

Sarah left the next morning, so Wes and I headed out for some cafe con leche (none for Wes, obviously) and took a leisurely stroll around El Born, which is the trendy Soho-like district south west of the Gothic Quarter. We ducked in and out of cool looking shops, and I bought a magazine that came with a free DVD of Amelie - dubbed in Spanish! We

looked around for a shirt for Wes, since he wanted to get one that would remind him of Barcelona. Of course, we couldn't find anything worthy until right before lunch we stepped into a secondhand store and Wes decided to purchase a grey and red striped shirt with an Ace Hardware patch on the left chest and an embroidered name on the right. "Al"'s shirt became the running joke of our trip, and Wes has already worn it several times.

After a huge lunch and a siesta, we started getting ready for the event of the day - the Barca match v. Real Betis! We joined droves of other fans on the subway and I tried not to feel like an idiot for being the only person over 6 that was wearing a Barca jersey. Thankfully, as we got closer to the stadium I met more of my own kind and we all walked together in a sea of red and blue stripes. The game was AMAZING. In the first few minutes of the match, Ronaldinho scored on a penalty kick and Barca took the lead. There were a ton of chances in the first half and we even watched Eto'o perform a KILLER bicycle kick on a cross from Deco that JUST missed the crossbar by a hair. As great as the game was, nothing beat the crazy Spanish grandpa sitting next to me with his grandson who kept cursing and throwing his hands up in disgust after every failed Barca attempt at scoring. He would yell, get up in his seat, look around and the crowd behind him as if looking for someone to share in his contempt and then sit back down, grumbling as his grandson blushed with shame. It was perfect. With only a few minutes left in the game, Betis ended up evening the score with a sneaky goal off a set peice before the whistle was even blown. The boos froom 100,000 fans made my head ring. All in all, an amazing experience that even Wes said was "as good as some Yankee games he's been to."

Monday was spent walking around the northern part of the city and visiting Gaudi's park, Parc Guell which he designed on his own. We spent some quality time with the park's famous tiled iguana and hung out on the benches while people watching for hours. That morning there was a market in the Rambla de Raval (the long open promenade just down the street from our apartment) and I had bought a dress from a young woman who designed them herself. I loved it and I couldn't wait for the chance to wear it. We spent the afternoon walking around the Gothic Quarter where I found a pair of sandals I bought to phase out my ratty Harvard flip flops. The day was capped with a fabulous dinner at home where we cleaned out our fridge and finished the last of the wine.

Our train to Carcassonne, in France, didn't leave until 4pm so Wes and I decided to drop off our luggage and head down to the beach for lunch. We dined at a restaurant that served us while reclining on beds while overlooking the beach - it was AWESOME.

I was so sad to leave the city. I had seven days there and I could have easily stayed for seven more. Barcelona is by far my favorite city thus far.

Photos!

First of all, sorry this post is so late - I've been having technical difficulties with the blog site. Anyway, better late than never!

There are many who think of Mallorca as a haven for pasty Brits and Germans on packaged minibreaks. Those people have not been to the Mallorca we saw...Northern coast. There are no wide sandy beaches here - only craggy

mountains and beautiful water where the greenery meets the sea. The roads wind through the mountains and there are moments where you feel like you could float forever through the mists and emerge on the other side of each rocky valley.

Sarah and I flew in to Palma from Valencia and missed the ONLY bus to Deia that day by a mere 8 minutes (ahhh, fate). It turned out that we had to take a different bus to a nearby town and then take a cab to our B&B. For a while there things were shaky, since there were no cabs in sight and the only tourist office was closed because it was Saturday (which makes perfect sense, right?). We ended up asking a shopkeeper for help, and calling three different cab companies before someone offered to pick us up and bring us the final 30 kilometers to our final destination.

Deia, the tiny village that was to be our home for the next two nights, was one of the most beautiful places I have ever seen (Thanks, Alisha Fernandez)! The town is perched on a small hilltop a short walk away from a surreal cove that hides the town's crown jewel - the Cala Deia (the beach). Our B&B was near the top of the mountains surrounding the town, and our view was unreal.

Not only could we see the whole town from our lush patio, we could also see the sparkling blue sea beyond while listening to the waterfall (no joke) right out front. Falling asleep at night was like something out a film - softly rushing water and crickets serenaded us (when the owner’s dogs stopped yapping, that is).

We had envisioned renting vespas and exploring the island but after arriving via the narrow and winding roads that hug the mountains (which feature flimsy metal railings about 30% of the time - the other 70% there's nothing but you and the sea below), we decided against it. Neither of us was too keen on falling off a cliff the first time we ride a scooter.

Instead, we took a bus to the next town over and rented the COOLEST car to ever exist. A tiny, fluorescent yellow Peugeot we aptly named Budgie. He was subsequently known by many other names, but I'll spare you all for now. He was a zippy little fellow, and we both grew quite fond of him.

The first day we had Budgie we decided to drive the winding roads up to the northernmost part of the island - the imposing peninsula called the Cap de Formentor. We stopped at a few beaches and about 30 lookout points on the way, and each hairpin turn afforded us another gorgeous view of the island and the sea below.

We spent the rest of the day driving the northern edge of the island and getting lost a few times along the way. We even picked up a woman who was trying to explain directions but who realized it would be easier if she just showed us the way herself (Her name was Rosario. She was awesome).

The next day we continued down the northern coast to the island’s northwestern point (which is also kind of south if that makes any sense). Though that area was much more touristy, we did enjoy ourselves on the beautiful beach before miraculously finding our way to Palma. We had no idea where we were going and didn’t have a detailed map whatsoever. We ended up calling Wes, who was still in Boston at that point, to ask him to look things up on mapquest. Somehow we figured out where to go based on the bus stops on the main street we found ourselves on. Makes no sense, I realize, but hey, somehow it worked.

I don't even know how to explain all of the things we saw and did in our four days, and I’m leaving a lot out. There was just so much beauty - it was hard to process. We had our share of fun, too, as the series of car photos can attest. I even ended our trip with blisters on my hand from having to maneuver the car through so many tight turns! Obviously it was all worth it.

Here are the rest of the photos!

After an eight hour train ride from Sevilla which involved a really nice old Spanish man with the worst breath I have ever encountered in my 23+ years on the planet, I arrived in Valencia. I only had one and a half days in the city, which proved to be a shame since it was one of my favorite in Spain.

The America's Cup was in Valencia, which is the first time in modern history that the prestigious yacht racing competition has been held in Europe, and much of the city was devoted to the promotion of the events down by the port. I immediately met two fabulous travellers at my hostel, and introduced them to Sarah when she arrived on Friday. One was Scott, from BC in Canada (yay, Sy! We talked about you for a while), and Roberto from Italy. Of course, Roberto was a supremely stereotypical Italian guy who was now living in London and was the perfect source of entertainment for our day in Valencia. Not only did he have more stories to tell than the Brothers Grimm, he also was hilariously self-defacing and outgoing enough to approach several groups of unsuspecting Spanish girls so as to procure their phone numbers. It was perfect. This is the person who had his father ship his 1978 classic Vespa to London so that he can drive around the city and inevitably become known as that Italian guy who drives the wrong way around roundabouts.

Anyway, we first headed down to the beach near the America's cup so that we could sample the dish which was born in Valencia - Paella. Of course because we wasted about an hour trying to find a bike rental place which (of course) was closed because of siesta, and we didn't get to the beach until after 4pm, so everything was closed. We thankfully found one lone restaurant that was willing to serve us and we dined on a fabulous meal of unidentified squishy seafood and traditional Valencian

paella with Rose (I can't find an accent on my keyboard, but there's supposed to be one over the 'e') with generous helpings of Iberian Jamon. Fabulous.

We then entered the America's Cup complex after a bit of a kerfuffle at the entrance because Sarah had forgotten she had a full sized kitchen knife in her backpack. That definitely required a bit of explanation (No, we are NOT crazy serial killers, I promise...try saying that in broken Spanish). But the America's Cup area itself was amazing. We must have explored the area for three hours (including the obvious stop at the Estrella bar). All the different teams have their own warehouse-sized bases equipped with high-tech facilities for training and recreation.

On the way back to our hostel we stopped at the Ciudad de Artes y Sciencas, a futuristic complex of architectural masterpieces designed by a famous Catalonian architect whose name I can't remember. It was amazing. I took way too many pictures, but sometimes that happens.

The next morning Sarah and I flew to Mallorca! I don't have time to post about that yet, but I will.

In the meantime, check out the photos from Valencia below.

My next stop was an interesting one, mainly because I only had two days in the city to begin with. But things were foreshortened further due to a typhoon-like rain on the second day we were there. So, even though I was able to meet up with Bec again, we really only had one day of sightseeing.

That first day, we met soon after I arrived and decided to check out the Cathedral. Apparently it's the third largest in the world, after St. Peter's in Rome and St. James's in London. We spent a good amount of time walking around inside, but I can't lie to you all - I was a little underwhelmed. Yes, it's a big church. But that's about it. Anyway, there were some interesting views to be had out of the large tower we climbed (even though there were bars on all the platforms and you had to wait for someone to move before you could climb up to see out of the tower), and I enjoyed making a fool out of myself posing in front of Christopher Columbus's tomb. After our visit we were both taken with an overwhelming feeling of "meh".

So to overcome it we decided to make our way to the Plaza de Espana, a huge semicircular plaza built for the 1929 world exhibition that is supposed to display the many different architectural styles of Spain. A canal encircles the plaza (though it was dry for some reason when we were there) and tiles adorn all of the bridges and paths. A small, tiled nook is devoted to each major city in Spain, along with a map to show where they all are. It was defnitely a strange space, since the buildings appeared to be deserted and the place had an overall air of disuse. Furthermore, I was shocked to find "Native Americans" in full regalia playing for the tourists in the plaza. Come on, people. Later, we

walked around the main city park for a bit and then slowly made our way back home.

The next day, it was POURING and we had already planned to meet in the square. By the time we both arrived we were soaked through to the bone. We tried to go visit the Alcazaba but the torrential downpour coupled with the fact that they wouldn't give us student discounts dissuaded us. Instead we went back to my hostel (which, by the way, had a roof terrace with a small pool!) and watched movies for the rest of the day. While hanging out in the kitchen, I slipped on the wet marble and landed hard on my ankle. I twisted it (but not horribly) and spent the rest of the day icing it, then hanging out with it bandaged in a nice guy from Florida's old T-shirt.

Pictures below!

Ahh the Mediterranean. Mare Nostrum. Ok well I'm not part of the "us" implied in that statement but I can still appreciate its beauty. And I felt that it was the blue water of the Mediterranean Sea which impressed me most about

the city. Malaga was the most important port city when the Moors had control of most of Andalusia. Nowadays it remains an important gateway to Southern Spain and its busy port proves it.

I arrived on a bus from Granada after sitting next to a very nice guy who told me that my Spanish was very good (yes!) and that my accent doesn't give me away as a foreigner (woohoo!). Anyway, he also told me a bit about the city which proved useful - for example, it's Picasso's birthplace, it's three times as large as Granada and the best beaches are actually far down the coast oustide the city, but you can take a public bus to get to them.

I met up with Bec (the Australian girl I met in Granada) and we walked around a bit exploring before we decided to climb to the Alcazaba (fort) on the hill overlooking the city. There was actually a fort and a palace but we decided to check out the palace first since it was further down the mountain. After the palace we checked out the Picasso Museum, which had a lot of unfinished works and sketches. Interesting, but I doubt they would be on display if it wasn't "Picasso the Genius" and his work. Regarless, there were a lot of really interesting works in the collection

and we had a great time looking around.

That night we had the fabulous idea of using the kitchen at Bec's place to cook some dinner and save a bit of money. We picked up a bottle of wine and made a feast of pasta and a huge salad (with leafy greens, finally). After perusing a cheesy UK celebrity magazine I proceeded to take the longest possible route back to my hostel (not on purpose) while holding a plate of leftover spaghetti covered in a plastic bag. As you can probably imagine, I got several confused looks.

The next day we decided to head to the beach to take advantage of the beautiful day. Josh was an American guy studying in Granada who was down for the night, and was staying at Bec's hostel. We invited him to join us and our party grew to three. The beach was awesome for as long as the sunshine lasted and I had my first dip in the cool blue water on this trip! If it weren't for the bedbug bites all over my legs I may have been more inclined to play the bathing beauty but instead we decided to throw the American football around. For someone who has never thrown one, Bec sure has a mean spiral. I was impressed.

As the clouds rolled in we decided to head back to the Alcazaba and go to the top of the mountain to see the fort. The views were fabulous, and even though there's no comparing to the Alhambra in Granada, the city looked beautiful in the fading light.

Photos below!