Paris: The Teaser

I'm still uploading pictures and figuring out how to write about Paris because -- surprise, surprise -- it rocked me to the very core, and once it got there, it chipped away at my cynicism. La.

I think it must have been something in the almond croissants.

Speaking of which, I've never eaten so much (or so well) in my life. Macaroons, crepes, croissants, quiche, you name it.

I was even brave enough to try frog legs (how Anthony Bourdain of me!) and escargot, the latter which Raya decided to record.

It's probably the funniest video of me that exists, right up there with the home video of me singing way off-key in the bathtub, circa 1993, with Seuss-like soap structures on my head.

But this is better, mostly because I'm fully-clothed. And because I'm struggling with a dead snail. I mean, seriously.

....

Also, I heard this song on the radio while I was there. It seems very post-appropriate, n'est pas?

De Viaje: Paris

(photo via Neely O'Hara)

"Have you been to Paris?"

"No."

"You -- you would love it there."

"I wish I could, but I can't right now. I can't afford it and my life is so..."

"You are making excuses."

"Err, no, it's just that..."

"Stop making excuses. Just buy a ticket and GO!"

He then told me that the last time he went to Paris he would wake up early, leave his hotel room and walk until he got lost. Armed with his camera, he walked, smelled and saw the real Paris, with all of its quarters and street vendors. He knew where his hotel was by just looking at the Eiffel Tower, so finding his way back wasn't so hard.

"I will never forget those mornings in Paris."

This week has been crazy, but as I desperately try to meet my deadline and juggle school and work, I find it comforting to know that I am thisclose to getting to Friday and someday, to Paris, where I too will get lost and find my way back again.

....

I wrote that on Feb. 12, 2008, back when I was a funny thing called a college student and "he" was my amazing film professor. It was a conversation I often replayed in my head during those long miserable nights and frantic last-minute trips to the library. Paris became my own personal promised land, which is why I can't believe I'm finally going... in a couple of hours.

I don't really have an itinerary but I do plan on ordering a croque monsieur (just because) and eating my body weight in crepes and macaroons. I'll walk it all off at the Louvre or Musee d'Orsay.

Please cross your fingers that all ze francais I learned au le lycee will retournee, or something like that because while I studied French for three years, it is comme ci, comme ça.

The weirdest two minutes of my life

Charlie and I were completely lost in conversation on the bus ride back to work. It was raining and God knows what we were talking about when all of a sudden a guy sitting ahead of us leapt to the empty seat on the left and spun around to face us.

"So what brings you to Spain?" he asked, with his elbow propped up on the seat and his hand behind his head. I think he was going for "suave" but it just came across as CREEPY. Before we could respond, he pointed at Charlie and said, "You're British." It was all so abrupt and strange that she didn't have the time to process and respond. "And you're American," he said, pointing at me.

The people around us stared. He obviously overheard us speaking English and thought it would be a good idea to introduce himself. I admire a man who takes the initiative but COME ON. There are ways to do this without making a girl feel uneasy (or reach for the pepper spray).

I gathered my wits and told him we taught English at a nearby elementary school (vague, but still an answer). He said he taught as well and that he was an exchange student. To be honest, I don't remember much of what he said after that because my internal thoughts were OMG THIS IS REALLY WEIRD.

Then the bus came to a stop, he quickly said goodbye and got off, leaving us completely stupefied.

It reminded me of the time I was chatting with Erin in a corner of a crowded El Mercado de San Miguel when a bartender walked up to us, asked if we were American and then offered us free drinks because he said he was bored (I kid you not).

Speaking English in Spain? It's sure to get you noticed.

(photo via Bears!)

Barcelona: It's not you, it's me

I loved Barcelona. I tried paella and cava for the first time, which is stronger than you would think or maybe I'm just a "very cheap date," like Sarah said.

The palm trees reminded me of LA.



I saw what I had to see. As expected, Gaudi blew me away.

I also had an awesome partner in crime tour guide who thought it would be a good idea to search for a movie theater in the middle of nowhere just so we could watch "New Moon" in English. After an hour of wandering around and asking for directions, we found it and laughed throughout the entire thing, earning the silent wrath of everyone around us. (Glittery vampires are funny. So is crap acting. End of story.)

The rooftop of Casa Batlló, my favorite Gaudi building.

Looking out to Passeig de Gràcia during the audio tour.

I haven't finished uploading all my pictures yet but here are a few.

I bet you if I had a Mini, I would never miss a flight.

I spent my last few hours in Barcelona at this place. It's in Barri Gòtic, the city's Gothic quarter (think dark, narrow and winding streets). Order the chai tea with Baileys. You'll thank me later.

We all need happy pills, every now and then.

I bought this Banksy tote bag in a store near Park Güell. CINCO EUROS, PEOPLE. I love me some cheap Banksy. I used it to carry all the stuff that didn't fit in my bag.

....

So Barcelona was great and I had a lot of fun BUT...

There's always a but.

I've spent the last couple of days formulating an opinion about Barcelona and I've come to the conclusion that it is a beautiful cosmopolitan city I could never live in.

Queeeeeee, you say? Estas loca! Maybe. But venturing up north was really eye-opening, in many ways. It made me realize just how traditional Madrid really is. I like traditional.

You know what else I like? I like it when waiters at restaurants reply to me in Spanish when I order in Spanish. (I'm looking at you, waiter at Les Quinze Nits who replied in English to my Spanish, repeatedly. SERIOUSLY? IS MY SPANISH NOT SPANISH ENOUGH FOR YOU? OR IS IT BECAUSE I DON'T SPEAK CATALAN? AND WHAT DO YOU MEAN THE KITCHEN CLOSES IN FIVE MINUTES SO WE HAVE TO ORDER NOW?)

Ahem, moving on.

There were moments when riding the metro that I felt like I had stepped into a dark, post-apocalyptic world. It didn't feel like I was in Spain.

As much as I loved it, I kept glancing at my watch on Sunday night. I was aching to get back to Madrid. When I was roused by the pilot who said we would be landing in 10 minutes, I was so happy. I was going home, to the non-scary metro!



The following day, I was waiting for the train home when a woman approached me. I took out my ear buds. She was lost and needed to get to Diego de Leon (Line 6). I told her how to get there from Line 1. As she walked away, I wondered why -- out of all the other people standing on the platform, not listening to music -- she asked me for directions.



I think it's starting to happen. I'm being mistaken for a Madrileña.

You had to be there

In a dark room in Vilafranca del Penedès. It is 1 a.m.

Stephanie: I'm cold.
Raisa: [Mumbles, shuffles out of bed and turns on the lights]

A minute passes.

Raisa appears at the foot of Stephanie's bed, struggling to unfold a thick Jacquard- woven fabric.

Stephanie: [squinting] That's a...curtain.

[There is a pause]

Raisa: [Blinks a couple of times]

[Uproarious laughter]

END SCENE.

Planes, trains and Gaudi

I missed my flight to Barcelona yesterday. It wasn't anyone's fault, really. I was on time but the metro ran late that morning. As it turns out, five minutes can make a huge difference. I arrived at the gate as the plane was pulling away.

It happens.

Out of the handful of people who also missed the 7 a.m. flight, I was the only one who didn't get hysterical or raise her voice. I think I just sighed, freaked out for a second and then asked, "When's the next flight?"

Being calm and polite worked wonders on the Vueling employees. They asked me where I was from ("your last name is SO Spanish!") and gave me tips on how to get to the airport for a morning flight (take a taxi). One of them even wrote my boarding pass, by hand.

While I waited for my flight, I took some pictures of Terminal 4 at Barajas.





As soon as I got there (30-minute flight!), Raya took me to the 9th floor of El Corte Ingles for lunch and the breathtaking panoramic view of the city.




Even with most of the morning lost, I saw Sagrada Familia, Casa Milà, Plaza Catalunya, Plaza España (all the pretty fountains!) and Casa Batlló.

Riding the lift was the best part.



Today? Park Güell and Las Ramblas.

De viaje: Barcelona

I'm spending the weekend in Barcelona. I haven't left Madrid since I got here so it will be nice to be a tourist again. I'm really looking forward to Gaudi, Las Ramblas, paella and the Mediterranean. I don't care how cold it is, I'm going in for a swim.

I'm also excited to see Raya! One of my oldest friends (4th grade, people!), she's the happiest, most sane person I know who gives me giggle fits. The kind where I can't breathe and someone better hold me or else I'M GOING DOWN.

I have 72 hours to see as much as I can. There won't be much sleeping but that's what caffeine is for, right?

p.s. It's going to be hard to walk around the city without at least humming this tune.

(photo via Movie of the Week)