Prague

We get off our tram at Náměstí Republiky and walk down the road towards our Hostel.  I met Carolyn, my almost next door neighbor back in Coventry, at the airport making a big scene with hugs and loud hello's but that's besides the point.  The area we were in was boarded by gothic/baroque looking buildings and streets that were covered in tracks for the trollies to navigate on.  Above the streets were black wires crisscrossing and connecting to buildings.  The sky was bright blue and not even stained with a puffy white cloud.  We made our way down to street Soukenická where we were supposed to be staying in the Art Hole Hostel (one of the best reviewed and cheapest hostels in the city).  We arrived at the building which looked quite decrepit.  The windows were dusty and there were card board cutouts of letters that spelled out "Art Ho" leaning against the window.  We looked inside to see an empty room: No doors inside, no furniture, dust, tools, and debris...Thinking they were just doing construction even though the construction looked untouched for 40 years, we tried to open the doors to only find out they were locked.  Scammed.  We walked down to the Police Station down the road but unfortunately it closed at 4pm and it was currently 6.  We walked over to a telephone to call the number on supplied to us...we were all in shock.  I inserted my euro and the phone went dead.  The lit up numbers disappeared and it became unresponsive...welcome to Central Europe.  Then from above we saw someone open up a window.  In a quick bolt of hope we went over to the building and noticed a hidden green door to the side.  We buzzed in and were let in. NOT scammed.  We walked up the decaying stairwell to the main entrance greeted by a Czech 20 year old.  He opened the door and we entered a colorful kitchen with new furniture and a clean environment.  We crossed over into the reception and noticed new computers, couches, books, green walls, modern lighting and murals.  We found the right place. We got our beds (mine was at the head of the about to puke man painted on the wall) and then headed out; happy and relieved. 


By this time it was getting dark out as we navigated the city.  We wondered into a huge plaza with a green statue covered in people and a Gothic cathedral in the background.  The buildings were adorned with statues and faces and so many details it was almost impossible to keep track of. It felt as if I stepped back into the 1500s.  Carolyn, her roomate and I walked around the plaza having a photoshoot and then sat on a bench to soak it all in.  Prague is definitely European but it has a unique feel to it.  The perfect cross between East and West. The language is pretty bizarre to be honest, but that just adds to the feel of everything.  I can feel the Soviet history and see the amazing architecture and let me tell you...Prague is definitely the most beautiful place I have visited in Europe.  Ok, I have to go.  We are catching the train to go to Terezin to visit a Nazi Death Camp.  It's a little distance from the city and kind of hard to get to, but I hear it's not a tourist hub like Auschwitz but still has the same effect.  Wish us luck!  

Birthday Day number 5! London Part 2

            First off, I should probably start this blog entry with a disclaimer…DISCLAIMER:  I do, actually, in all reality, truly have school work here.  I promise.  I know it seems like I am always traveling and going out, but that to me is the fun part of my trip and that is the only part I write about in my blogs.  If you have been noticing the long gaps in entries it is for that reason; my life is now filled with homework and essays.  For an update on my academic achievements, I got ranked the fourth best essay by my Lingüística Aplicada class! The professor told me how interesting she found my work about the intercultural mediation of Moroccan students in the sphere of the Andalucian educational system! (This was the 20 page essay, 1.5 spacing, size 10 font).  Then later in class she pointed me out in front of everyone to say how well written it was and that it was obvious that I was American because of my “well structured and factual essay.  Americans know how to write academic pieces really well”.  I’m really happy that everything is falling into place and that I’ve received amazing feedback so far!

            Now, back to the fun stuff!  I went to London again last weekend: happy birthday to me!  It was absolutely lovely.  I stayed at the same friend’s house, but this time he had to work so I got to explore the city by myself. I had so much fun that I lost track of time and ended up spending 13 hours walking, shopping, eating, and taking pictures.  I saw the sun set over Big Ben, I sat on the banks of the river, I explored Chinatown and ordered a coconut bubble tea.  It was a trip set to my own rhythm with complete freedom to do what I wanted, when I wanted.  I was alone but not lonely.  MUCH better than the Seville trip.  After an amazing day, I met back up with Adam at his apartment to watch TV and eat trifle.  I’d say my weekend was a success! Next stop: Prague! 2 days!!       

"Art"

The gate opens and someone from above stabs me with a spear.  I run out into a ring away from the man and see three men around the perimeter, I’m trapped.  I run at one man but he jumps between a crack in the wood… too small for me to fit.  I see another man and try to get to him but he disappears as well.  From the corner of my eye, I see the gate open again but this time more men are coming out.  Two this time on tall horses.  The horses wear a thick padding over their body, hiding their legs and vulnerable belly.  Their eyes are blindfolded, probably because the sight of me would frighten them.  The men on the horses carry large sticks and position themselves around the ring, waiting for me to come.  Everyone else is gone now except for the two horses so I charge at one.  I attack it with my horns and try to puncture the thick padding but it doesn’t work.  I try to tip the horse to attack the man on top but the horse is too heavy.  A spear jabs through my back.  I bleed.  Another stab.  Cheers from the crowd above cut through the air.  I run away in pain.  The horses walk out through the gate and I see the three men again. 

            A fourth man comes into the ring now with two large sticks in his hand.  He is unprotected from his cape so I charge at him.  He charges at me.  He jumps at the last second and stabs the sticks into my back.  He runs away before I can get him.  I bleed some more. 

            He runs at me again. He hooks the spears into my back again.  Thick hooks pull at my muscles and tear at my skin.  He does it again as more and more blood pour out of my wounds.  The men disappear from the stadium and the crowd goes silent.  A man comes out now with a red cape.  He stands there in his skin tight suit and throws his hat on the ground.  His shirt sparkles in the sunlight as he looks at his cheering audience.  I charge at him and he waves his cape at me.  I try to gore it, but he pulls it away too fast.  His body disappears and all I can see is the movement of the cape.  I charge and I miss, I charge and I miss.  I get tired.

            Music plays in the distance.  Horns screech in the air with the pounding of the drums and crashing of syllables.  I continue trying to attach and continue missing. I tire out so much that I just stop.  The music stops as well.  The cape moves closer and closer but I have no energy left.  I see the man take out a sword and point it at me.  He runs and stabs me through the back. 

            It pierces my skin and tears through my muscle and my organs.  I run at him but the movement cuts my innards and tears my muscles beyond repair.  I paralyze myself as my insides get torn apart by the sword stuck inside of me.  I fall to the ground and look up at the man.  He comes closer with a dagger.  He stabs at my neck until I bleed some more.  He stabs again and again as I twitch and kick. Stabs again and I’m dead.  The crowd cheers as they wave white handkerchiefs and look down at my dead body.  The man cuts off my ear as the crowd shouts “OTRA OTRA OTRA!!” He turns over my heavy head and cuts off the other one.  He holds them up for the crowd and they cheer even louder.  A standing ovation. He throws them into the crowd and walks away to people throwing hats and flowers and wine at his feet as two men attach chains to my lifeless body and three horses charge away dragging my bloody corpse against the dirt, out of the ring to be disposed of…The next five bulls suffer the same fate.      

Feria

I get on the train bound for a Jerez de la Frontera; 3,30€.  I find a spot and open up my book and start reading so I could get a jump on some homework.  More and more people come in; groups of teenagers, groups of canis, loud, yelling, clapping their hands at a quick flamenco tempo: obnoxious.  More people walk past.  A group of girls in their twenties walk up the aisle in skin tight dresses that flow down into giant ruffles that hide their high heels.  One is in neon green and the other is in red with giant white polka dots.  They both wear stringy shawls over their shoulders and enormous plastic earrings to match their other plastic jewelry.  They both have their hair done up in a bun with a huge flower sticking up out of the top: Flamenco.  The Spanish stereotypes decided to sit a row up from me just as the train sped off.  Estadio, Cortadura, Valdelagrana.  More and more people get on at every stop until everyone is squeezed together on the 50 minute long commuter train.  I become corned by Polo-España models, women in flamenco dresses, and bob-haircuts all yelling to each other in their small circles of friends that seem to grow and diminish every couple of minutes.  Everyone knows everyone in Spain. 

I get off the crowded train and make my way outside only to bump into Bahar, my Turkish/German friend. We talked for a bit but then Fernando, a friend of a friend passed me going on a train and told me that Javi just pulled up.  I gave a kiss to Bahar and her friends and then jumped in the car with Javi and Yeyo.  We drove to Feria which reminded me of the Washington county fair.  Bare yellow dirt roads lined by stalls and buildings selling food and drinks with a different theme per tent.  Horses walked by pulling carts or carrying people in vests and wide brimmed hats.  Women and girls of all ages from 4 to 80 were dressed up in tight fitting beautiful flamenco dresses, walking in groups to the casetas (stalls) or to socialize with people on the streets.  Some casetas blasted flamenco music and many girls were dancing the sevillana twisting and twirling their hands in the air, and others were clapping their hands to the fast beat rhythm.  This was the most stereotypical Spanish thing I have ever seen in my life.  The typical drink of Feria is rebuito which is a mix of fino wine –which is a really dry sherry from Jerez- and Sprite…but since I am not of legal age in the US, I did not partake in any consumption of alcoholic beverages.  That being said, Yeyo and I hung out together for a bit talking with friends that would pass by while Javi took pictures for la humilidad a caseta that hired him as their photographer.  We met up with Edu and Seío after Javi was done and then went to Edu’s house to waste some time before the night and to get ready.

His house was gorgeous!  Two stories, huge plasma TV, big living room, big kitchen, in ground pool, a yard, and even a shed!  We got ready, listened to some Rihanna, Alexandra Stan, and other dance songs on his lawn while showing off with a punching bag (yeah…these are guys guys if I forgot to mention).  They are the epitome of Spanish men: beep at girls, catcall them, dance together, and have so much swagger you wonder if you have any at all.  When it got dark we left Edu’s house and walked back into the Feria in the bolletón area: an area designated for publically drinking among friends which usually causes the ground to change from dirt to plastic bags and empty bottles (think Carnaval).  I met a whole bunch of Spanish people and then we all made our way to the casetas which had turned into mini clubs.  We danced the night away while socializing in the street.  Of course no Spanish party is complete without public urination.  Girls and guys dropping their pants to pee on a wall was a common site that now fails to surprise me.  Girls, guys; they have no shame. 

The colorful lights lit up the yellow sand and dotted the black sky.  Club music blasted through the air as girls in flamenco dresses with large flowers in their hair walk pass.  Tubos and liter cups filled with rebuito fill the hands of most.  The gentle smell of roasted nuts and horse poop wisp through the air.  The loud Spanish conversations cut through the air.  Feria was absolutely amazing. 

English and Comfort food

            England: About as close to America as you can get in Europe.  I binged on all the possible non-Spanish foods that I could get my hands on: Indian for the supper my first night, French the second, English the third, Italian the fourth, Chinese before I left, pancakes and syrup for breakfast, tortilla chips and salsa in between, Middle eastern, etc etc.  I was in food heaven.  The best meal that I had though would have to be duck.  I went to London and stayed with Adam.  He rents and apartment, 12^th floor, right over the Thames River in London. He grew up in Broadstairs by the sea and now works as a paid intern in IBM managing many many people.  Going back to the duck, since he has a kitchen in his apartment, we went to Tesco because he was going to cook me crispy duck in a plum sauce (which sounded absolutely spectacular to me).  Ingredients: 5cm of ginger, 3 red chilies, 450g victoria plums, 150g sugar, 30ml balsamic vinegar, 2 duck breasts, 25g butter, 250g spinach, and 2 sweet potatoes.  After removing the seed and chopping the chilies until your fingers start burning, grate the ginger (after pretending it is a mummified finger), “stone and quarter” the plums (or take out pit and cut into 4 pieces), add it all to a saucepan with the sugar and balsamic and cook at medium heat.  Once it starts bubbling keep it bubbling for 20 minutes until the plums start to dissolve and the sauce is syrupy and burns like napalm and then place in a blender.  For  the duck we scored the top fat, seasoned it, let the pan get really hot and then seared the duck (fat side down) for 5 minutes, turned it over and cooked for 5 more minutes (nice and crispy and not fatty at all!!).  Then we wilted the spinach in the butter, cooked the sweet potatoes and mashed them with more butter and maple syrup and voilà! Crispy pan seared duck in a spiced plum sauce with wilted spinach and a sweet potato mash.  Best meal of the trip.

            Second best meal: Fish and chips.  Adam took me to his home back in Broadstairs to experience real fish and chips.  It’s a cute little town right on the English coast with old buildings, beautiful churches tucked in between, and a charm that just won’t quit.  We stopped in a shop for some really thick milkshakes (don’t exist in Spain) and walked along the coast for a bit.  After going back to his house I met his family who are all absolutely hilarious.  It reminded me of an Italian family: constantly arguing, joking around, all together in the same room, talking loud, hilarious, but most of all you knew right away that they love each other more than you can possibly imagine.  We got sent out to find dinner and we stumbled across the winner for best fish and chips 2009.  It looked packed with both old and young people and people were walking in and out with take away: a good sign.  I got a half of a cod that hardly fit on the plate with a half kilo of fries (haha), Heinz ketchup, and malt vinegar.  To be totally honest Rhode Island’s fish and chips taste exactly the same.  That’s good though because I LOVE fish and chips. 

            We did a little picnic under St. Paul’s cathedral the next day, explored the city, saw the crown jewels, bought some snacks in Chinatown, and had a lemonade in Greenwhich market (we will have to eat there when I go back because the food looked amazing and the vendors around them sell all types of things from books to old metal signs and beer bottle clocks).  We explored the Tower of London, walked over Tower Bridge, had a few half priced drinks at Tiger Tiger (non-alcoholic of course), explored the Underground and public transportation system of London, and of course we shopped!!  Can’t really get any better than that!  All in all my time in London was good therapy.  I needed a break from Spanish food and Spanish culture.  I felt back at home with people walking fast past me, quiet eye-avoidance on the subway, and everyone’s on a mission to get somewhere.  I felt weird being surrounded by English, but then again it felt nice.  I felt normal again being surrounded by diversity: African, Asian, European, Latin, black, white, brown, yellow, caramel.  Though England is nothing like America (I definitely figured that one out fast), it has a lot of things in common with it which gave me a little dose of the things I missed.  I am all filled up now to make it through the next month!