For those of you who don't know me, I can be classified as someone with extremely limited wanderlust. My love and comfort with the U.S. knows no bounds. And as far as my wanderlust goes, it's mostly limited to traveling all across this great country of ours. Whether this is a result of my love for the U.S.; my comfort with only speaking in English; or my addiction to American television (conversely, aversion to foreign television), I don't have an exact reason for you. I moved out of my travel-box this year for two things: 1) I had a good friend in another country that had said that I could crash with her should I decide to get over my xenophobia and visit her. 2) A concert with a band that I liked in a foreign country.
This actually all started back in December of 2009. I had playfully taunted Joanna with information that the 2 Skinnee J's were playing an acoustic show at the Birchmere shortly after my birthday in February. She then commented that she needed to check to see if any bands she would like to go see would be touring anytime soon. I pointed out that I had learned that Vampire weekend would be playing in Spain at the end of February, as I had become frustrated at the fact that the closest they were playing to me was a series of shows in NYC in January that started on a Sunday. She was super-excited and as a result I got excited for her; and then it struck me. This might be enough for me to leave the safety and familiarity of my country for the untamed wilds of a gypsy-laden land. My solo trip across the Atlantic to a joint trip with our friend, Ryan, meeting us in Barcelona for the proposed show. At a Christmas get-together, the duo was joined by a third and our triumvirate of intrepid travellers was complete. The next few weeks were laden with e-mails including dates of possible arrivals and departures and where we would stay and what we would see (I had already done my part by notifying everyone of the show, and left the rest of the planning to those better suited). I purchased my tickets and expedited my passport; and before I knew it I was off!
The Flight:
I should preface this experience with the fact that I purchased my tickets with Iberia, which is like Spain's American Airlines. Unlike American Airlines, which is quick, easy, and efficient; Iberia is nearly the opposite. Tasks that should be easy enough for a retarded palsy victim, like online check-in, were made nearly insurmountable by a finicky website and 4 semesters of poorly received, unused Spanish. Once at Reagan, Iberia's affiliates, American Airlines, took care of checking me in for my flight to Boston, but warned me that I would have to deal with Iberia's clerks to check-in for my flight to Madrid. I can only imagine what difficulties would have come up if I had to check baggage. I must admit, Iberia's American clerks, while not terribly hospitable, efficiently handled my check-in for my flight to Madrid and the subsequent flight to Seville. The flight itself was uneventful except for the fact that I could not sleep on any of them.
Seville, Day 1:
Seville (Sevilla over there) was an incredible town. Kyle remarked early that it was so much quieter than other cities he'd visited. To his credit, it was much quieter, but I felt he exaggerated a bit much. We checked into our hostel and found that we were sharing a quad with an as yet unnamed room mate. We, of course, decided to name our imaginary room mate Hans. We would each take on some sort of Norse accent throughout the trip mimicking what Hans would be like when he met us and eventually joined our merry trio. We saw some sight in Seville, the outside of a big cathedral (Never got the name. Thanks, Jo), but having not eaten since the "meh" plane food, we were starving.
We ate lunch at a tapas bar called Duplex. It was phenomenal. As a staunch beer drinker and somewhat of a oenophobe (not really, but wines don't do it for me), I reluctantly agreed to share in a pitcher of Sangria with the other kids (hey, when in Rome, right?). The tapas themselves were incredible. Jo insisted we order croquettas which were these fried treats that were crunchy on the outside and creamy on the inside. They were in spinach and ham flavors, both of which I thorougly enjoyed although I think I preferred the spinach ones. There was some fried Cod which was cooked perfectly, a prawn omelet that was a table fave, some grilled pork which was alright, and this eggy mushroom thing that was easily the star of the show. Joanna and I also later indulged in a local beer, Cruzcampo, which tastes like Bud heavy that's been left outside for two months. When the rickety card table at which we were eating collapsed, we decided it was time to go.
We strolled by the river and checked more of the main drag watching some sort of band dressed in faux military garb (their commanding officer adorned with medals fashioned out of candy). We stopped in a local McDonald's because I just had to see how our menus differed. I can already tell you that they have way better sandwiches over there. Their desserts rule as well, on top of the additional cakes and doughnuts that are offered there, they have way more options for helado McFlurries, like Toblerone. Afterwards we stopped in a bar where we drank more Cruzcampo. I was astonished to see children with their parents as they smoked and drank in front of them. We headed back to the hostel to pregame and get ready for the rest of the night.
We picked up some 40's of Cruzcampo (you have to be classy in Europe) and retired to the rooftop area. But not before noticing that our beloved Hans had already come and gone, evidenced by the bed having been tousled and a random backpack that wasn't there before we had left. On the rooftop, our drunken revelry was only interrupted a few times by some of the meek occupants of the hostel making and having their dinner (one of which we thought was Hans). After my backup 40 was carelessly kicked to the ground, we decided it was time to head to the flamenco show.
The flamenco show was supposedly a "local act that was free" which translated into "dive bar tourist trap". I couldn't complain though, the music was good and the Agua de Sevilla was intoxicating (really, I dunno what's in it, but it's fantastic). Looking around we saw the guy we had assumed was Hans. A pretty Spanish girl was making eyes at me and I returned in kind but left it at that as she seemed to have a boyfriend; and I wasn't looking to become an international incident. I was looking for an opportunity to use this line, ¿Haaaaas conocido Kyle? (Have you met Kyle?) But alas it was not to be, as the only ones to sit next to us were Americans. We tried to encourage our young cohort to indulge, but he stayed stoic as ever. After the show we headed back to the hostel but not before running into the girl at the front desk of the hostel when we arrived and Jo's Spanish teach when she arrived in Spain. I peed in a doorway in an alley, thus accomplishing a really immature goal of publicly urinating in public place, (in all fairness they don't really take care of their stuff, there's graffiti everywhere, and also they stink). Not having slept in 48 hours I crashed out after noticing that Hans was still out probably partying the night away at some super-exclusive euro-orgy.
Stay tuned for more on my trip.
Las Tapas in Old Town, Alexandria has phenomenal croquettes, if you wanted to try them elsewhere. Their sangria is OK too, but I'm not much of a sangria person (if I want wine, I want it plain).
ReplyDeletesorry.. that last comment was by me (Lauren).
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