Barcelona, part II - La Seu continued

I was rereading my first Barcelona entry and it really makes me look rather bad now. I have no idea how I managed to remember so much and go into so much detail. I wish I could just say that this is another photo article because it sort of is. It's short, because the next entry has me going to another place and meeting some people, and I want to theme that instead of chopping it up as I have done for other entries.

Anyway - and writing all this makes me guilty, because now I have to add I remember in front of every sentence, instead of just plunging brazenly into the action - I remember wandering around Ciutat Vella (see, THIS is why I have to get them all out as soon as possible.!). I'm going to admit at this point that I had to go back and search for my itinerary to include some of the names of the places jog my bad memory, and when I found what I think I was looking for, I was rather surprised. Who knew that I've come such a long way in planning..! My later itineraries are methodological, standardised and chronologically ordered. This first itinerary, where it all started, was a hodge-podge to say the least. No wonder I couldn't find it. I've included some of it below, formatting and all. It's very colourful.

Ciutat Vella Barcelona's old town, including the pseudo-medieval Barri Gotic, La Rambla, El Raval, and El Born (also known as La Ribera):La Ribera:
1. Palace of Catalan Music (Palau de la Musica Catalana) (admission 15 euros) Metro: Lines 1 and 4. Urquinaona station - Buses: Lines 17, 19, 40 and 452. St. Mary of the Sea Cathedral (Iglesia de Santa Maria del Mar) (admission free) three minute walk from Jaume I Metro Station (Yellow Line)3. Carrer Montcada Metro: L4 stop Jaume I.| Bus: 17, 39, 45, 51, 120 and V17.4. Passeig del Born Bus: 17, 39, 45, 51, 120 and V17,  Metro: L4 Jaume IEl Raval:
1. La Rambla (plaça catalunya metro station), walk straight down to Placa Reial2. Drassanes metro Drassanes (M: L3), admission 5 eurosBarri Gotic:1. Cathedral of Santa Eulalia / La Seu (admission 5 euros) Line 4 of the Barcelona metro and get off at the Jaume I station. Bus routes include 17, 40, and 45.2. Palace Guell(might not be open)(admission 5 euros)  Liceu, line 3 metro, 14, 59, 91, 120 buses.Plaça Reial(next to La Rambla)

Actually, this has helped quite a bit, and I know where I'm standing now. The basic layout of Barcelona is that it's divided into 4 quarters: Ciutat Vella, the Gothic quarter (where we're located now), and where I spent most of my time. Then Eixample, the Modernist quarter, noted for its art nouveau buildings, most famous of which is the renowned Sagrada Familia. Then the Sants-Montjuïc, of which I most vividly remember the Castle Montjuic, Placa Espanya and Font Majica, and Gràcia, where my hostel was located, which was formerly an independent town that joined the city in the 20th century. Its description was "Narrow streets and a cosmopolitan and young atmosphere with not too many tourists."

Writing all of this has jogged quite a bit of my memory, and now I'm good to go. All right.

Well, I basically just wandered around Jaume I and Catalunya. The weather was scorchingly hot. Barcelona is nothing if not terrifically photogenic. Actually - and I don't know if this is nostalgia speaking, or the fact that it's been almost a year since I went - looking at these photos now, Barcelona seems to be a rather beautiful city. Certainly not as bad as I remember it. I like Gothic buildings, with their spindly spires and dark majesty.

Actually, yes I do think I remember what I didn't like - the weather, and the unbearable amount of tourists milling around. If Dresden, say, had been this hot, I probably wouldn't have liked it much either. O Dresden!

Still, these pictures recall the Mediterranean sultriness of Barcelona - the palm trees, the idyllic sun and blue skies, and yes the tourists.

I got around fairly easily thanks to my Hola BON card, and of course I have no idea what I ate for dinner when I got back, which I do remember was rather early since the sun was getting to me. I basically lived off unhealthy microwave dinners since the food in Barcelona was surprisingly and annoyingly expensive. I did eventually eat out with some of the roommates, but the restaurant tried to rip us off and as a result left me with a very bad impression of Iberian restaurants in general. I spent a LOT of time on the metro, which was my main means of transport. The Barcelonan metro names were all so beautiful, too - Lesseps, Passeig de Gracia, Catalunya. I mainly used the green line and, to a lesser extent, the red, blue and yellow line. The stations I visited most were - well, obviously Lesseps (where the hostel was), Passeig de Gracia, Catalunya, Liceu, Drassanes, Parallel and Espanya. I visited the Passeig de Gracia about 4 times a day because it was where I had to transfer for almost every place I wanted to go. It was huge and required lots of walking, and reminded me of the long slog I had to take at London's Green Park  station, whenever I wanted to change from Jubilee line to Picadilly. Urgh, doesn't really bear thinking about.

I have no idea why this picture was so fuzzy, but if it comes to metro stations they all looked the same, and I have a better picture of Sagrada Familia that I shall include later.

As for the rest, photos galore!

The Polish Sunrise

This is a quick sketch that Jake wrote, detailing - delineating? our last day and morning in Wroclaw. I have posted it here because it's nice to have the story through someone's eyes, sometimes. Special thanks to Jake for allowing me to include it here, and regards to his friend Harry for digging it out.
Disclaimer: I don't own this. Jake does, though I suppose he would give me the rights if I asked. I don't own any of the people in the story except myself. All events and places are real, unsurprisingly. Jake says he thinks its badly written, but of course he would say that.


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Four o'clock in the morning and I regret six cups of coffee plus vodka in the bathrooms. For the first time in too long, I couldn't sleep.

I was a fool in the nude to my dorm mates, and now five hours later sobriety was kicking in. But the caffeine was running strong.
The first time on the road that I couldn't sleep.

You've been moving for what feels like forever, and at a moment like this you get a chance to stop and process everything. It wakes you up. Don't expect to sleep. I got up and got more coffee.

Drunk and sober in the same day is not a pleasant experience. You don't forget much. I remember rolling around the halls makes, showering in the nude. I remember that Pavlov guy and his nice hairy arse during the striptease.

I remember Vera. I vaguely remember Viv, but she left too soon. Church bells are ringing, and most of all as the receptionist avoids eye contact with myself in the kitchen, I remember my dick on CCTV. Tomorrow - or today? - you are leaving. Never play truth or dare in Poland.

Coffee, coffee, coffee. I knew four words so far for coffee. Coffee. Kafija. Kafija. Something I couldn't spell, but it sounded like kafija. And café.

Wake yourself up and listen to the bells for a bit. Sleep in the first car that picks you up. Don't talk to the receptionist. He probably wants to kick you out. And shit man, clean up the glass in the bathroom. Why in God's name did we get drunk in a bathroom?

I shot up stairs to the lounge with my coffee. The whole place is vacant. Two hours or so until Polish sunrise. You'll read a book or play guitar or something.

Pay attention to those bells and you're finished. So don't. For the life of me, I had no idea what I was strumming that morning.

As a ground rule, I don't sleep much in hostels. Someone is always doing something in squalor like these. Sleeping outside by motorways, or in public parks is good fuel for paranoia and bad experiences, but in a nice comfy dorm room full of people and a kitchen stocked with coffee I tend to indulge.

But this was pushing a limit. These things happen. I let time slide. Viv woke up as I was brewing another. Something vague... she was leaving for Germany this morning. Berlin.

Shock and horror at someone else waking up for daylight, so offer her a damn coffee. She wants you to walk her to the coach. Carry her bag, that sort of shit. Very civil. Go for it man.

Yeah I will, and yeah I did. So I'm carrying something or other and we make a way to the station. Daylight has spread, but Wrocław is practically empty at this time. I'm trying to make some sort of discussion, so I tell her all the wild shit that happened after she left.

I guessed she missed out. Maybe she did, maybe she's not that sort of traveller. Everything's sort of fuzzy at the moment. Sunrise doesn't help. Bright light should though. Wait it out for the return to normalcy.

What do you talk about? Talk about yourself. "You're hitch-hiking? How much money do you have?"

No, I'm not homeless. Okay, maybe I might be. Technically. Home is just somewhere else at the moment.
Cue the next two questions. The same ones everyone will ask you. The same ones everyone has asked you for the entirety of eternity since the trip began*

If you're born twice, the earliest memory onward seems like infinity. "Aren't you scared?" Or something. "What do your parents think?" Or something along those lines.

I never answer these things properly. Sure, they're fine with it. Who knows what they think? Fuck knows why I'm doing it. Try telling me what there is to gain. At least I have the privilege of uncertainty.

Continental #4 wrapup

I was reading through some of my older entries, namely the Toulouse ones I wrote way back in June, and was rather struck by how much more detailed they were. I had planned to do something like that for each and every one of my entries, but somewhere along the way I forgot, and then it kind of faded into oblivion. What's more important than landmarks and remembering their names, I think, are the emotions and thoughts they inspired in you. That's why time is of the essence, and the reason I wanted to get it out on paper (so to speak, ha) as soon as possible; to remember the thoughts. Loads has happened since September, and in all honesty I really can't remember half the thoughts that should be put down, but instead have been consigned to oblivion. Instead I feel compelled to write about the LotR Appendices I was reading yesterday. Cirion and Eorl, and Eldacar, and then the 243-minutes long extended bluray version I watched last night with the family.

But wrapup.

First of all, this trip had always been in the cards, but the weeks leading up to it had been complete and utter chaos. I remember sitting in the graduate study room in New Hunt House library and booking my tickets about a month and a half beforehand: more as an incentive to actually get this trip off the ground than anything else, since I was being eaten alive by research and couldn't make myself do anything else, and I knew I'd hate myself forever if I didn't go. So I booked my tickets, and then went on with my dissertation, and didn't go anywhere near it again for the next five weeks or so. Started out planning after I'd finished my dissertation, then all plans were put on hold again because of things, and then between job-hunting, house-hunting, moving, planning where to leave my luggage and seeing people, I managed to shake out my travel itinerary. Was a bit upset because, as always, not enough time to see all the places I wanted - but it was certainly adequate, as I was pretty whipped by the time I reached Frankfurt, and quite glad to go back to London. I feel it's important to establish the process of preparation, since that was just as important, if not more, than the actual trip itself, for me at any rate.

After moving out from the student halls, I went to stay with Rene for a few days before catching that ridiculously early flight to Budapest. I still vividly remember us talking till 12, then me catching three hours sleep before waking up rather painfully again. I tiptoed out of her bedroom with my clothes and makeup bag, and showered and returned to her room. Whilst I went through my backpack, trying to be as quiet as I could, she woke up with a bit of a groan, and asked me how I was. - Yeah, I'm good, just need to finish this, go to the kitchen and have a cup of coffee in peace, then off I go. Sorry for waking you up. - No problem, I'll join you then. - No, you sleep, I said. She sighed - you sure? - Yes, I said. - Sorry about that; well, when you leave, tell me, she said.

Making coffee in her kitchen, using her square turquoise IKEA mug. Sitting at the small circular blue wooden table in the rather cramped kitchen - students in London, after all - and feeling that strange sense of serenity you feel before taking the plunge. Surprisingly enough I wasn't so nervous about the trip as I was about walking from her place to Hammersmith station for the bus. Although it was only a 10 minute walk, I still don't feel comfortable walking around alone in Europe after dark, especially not at 4 in the morning. No matter.

I finished my solitary coffee - I relish these alone moments before the storm, they're what I live for - told Rene I was leaving, and went to Hammersmith station. The bus was a bit late, but it didn't really matter since the streets were empty, and the nightbus swooped through the West End before stopping at Baker Street. I asked the driver diffidently if he knew where Gloucester Place was. - You're going to Stansted eh, he said. - Yes. - Walk down and turn right.

The shuttle I'd booked was an easybus, but apparently National Express takes easybus too. There was the huge welcoming white silhouette of a NE at the bus stop, and a driver smoking. I went up to him - Stansted Airport? - Yes. I showed him my ticket and went aboard, and sailed off to Stansted with a busful of other equally groggy passengers who had gotten cheap early flights like I had.

My favourite cities were magic Prague, Budapest and Salzburg. I liked Hallstatt a lot but it barely counts as a town, and I didn't spend enough time there, plus all the rushing (entirely my fault) was a bit annoying. I felt most at home in Vienna, though that was of course because Petra's house was so wonderful. Staying at home and watching Edge of Tomorrow with the boys whilst it poured outside was one of my fondest memories from this trip. I was really quite sorry to leave Vienna on Friday morning.

Germany was really not up my street, but I enjoyed Nuremberg a lot. Again the rain and the cold, the feeling of coming back to the hostel soaked to the skin and freezing, and then taking a piping hot bath, sitting down in my nice proper hotel bed with my tablet whilst it raged outside, was bliss.

Mild annoyances were when my flipflops kept breaking and I had to mend them, when I cut my toe in Wroclaw and worried about gangrene, when I tore my tights in Katowice and had to buy a new pair, and then when the Katowice hostel gave me the wrong directions for Auschwitz and I wasted almost an entire morning dashing to and fro from the Dworzec to the Glowny.

I'm also vaguely proud of myself of having covered more than sixteen cities and six countries within four weeks. And of the extremely complex itinerary I planned out - certainly much more loaded than any of the previous ones. Continental #1 is a contender, but I spent the first week in a hotel in Toulouse, and then another ten days at my friend's place in Maastricht, so I really only had to plan for a week that time. You wind down whenever you stay at other people's places - for me, the only time I got to relax was when I was at Petra's for three days. The rest was relentlessly, frenetically on the move.

As with all other trips, I either met people I loved, or didn't meet anyone at all. Sometimes I wonder about the footnotes - the people whose contact information I didn't get - and feel a passing tinge of regret. How are they doing now, and do they still remember who I am? Of course, the worst thing is having them on facebook and then basically never talking again, or the next worst thing - liking each other's drunk Friday night posts. What ifs are infinitely better than has beens.

Melancholy but clear conscienced. I think that concludes continental #4; now for continental #1. Back to the beginning, as they say.

Frankfurt, part IV - Goethe House

Last day on the continent. Only item on itinerary: Goethe House, home to the prolific Romantic writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. My flight was due to leave Frankfurt Hahn at 21:39, which still gave me an entire day in Frankfurt. I spent the morning at Goethehaus, and the afternoon... er, I hate to say it, but I was pretty whipped after an entire month of nonstop travelling, so I basically just chilled in the hostel before leaving at around 4 to get the bus to Hahn airport, which was a two hour journey from am Main.

Goethehaus. My favourite Goethe is his reworking of Marlowe's Faustus. Possibly cliche and probably predictable, but whatever. I liked that he made Faust redeemable by his insatiable desire for more knowledge, which falls in with the true Romantic spirit.

The house was located on Großer Hirschgraben, and this is what the street looked like.

Outside the Haus.

It had been converted into a museum that consisted of three sections: an exhibit, the actually living quarters and an art gallery.

The exhibit.

The living quarters - rather gloomy, I thought. If I had lived here in the eighteenth century, I too would have written about young and sorrowful men. And probably kept a few of my own, but I digresssssss.

The gallery, which I actually had many more pictures of, but since this entry's already pushing 23 pictures, I may have to save that for a "More Pictures" extra.

Grabbed some more wurst and sauerkraut when I came out.

 One last time, Frankfurt!

My last meal, yes at the Thai place. Thai red curry, my last meal on the continent.

As I mentioned, I caught the bus to Hahn airport, which, despite being named "Frankfurt Hahn," was more than two hours drive from the am Main and could under other circumstances be considered a scam for young and cheap tourists (yes, me). The drive however, stopping first at the more wellknown and real Frankfurt airport (the international one where I could actually catch a direct flight to Taipei) was incredibly enjoyable. It was rather magical, and I really enjoyed rolling through the gorgeous German countryside, the green hills and cottages and, ostensibly, lurking evergreen forests. You could imagine Hansel and Gretel, and The Devil With the Three Golden Hairs, and Jorinde and Joringel, all dwelling thither.

Hahn airport was small and rather shabby, and apparently used to serve as an American military base. Flight back was unremarkable, and as always I took an easyBus shuttle from Stansted to Baker Sreet. Then a straight ride via the Hammersmith and City line to Hammersmith, and home to Rene. And that was then, and we are in the now.

I shall do a wrapup later if I'm in the mood - this entry is already too long. Till next time - Bis wir uns wiedersehen!

Frankfurt, part III - the hostel

I enjoyed the value of the hostel so much - plus I took pics - so here goes. 15 euros per night, including dinner and breakfast, both all-you-can eat. Not exactly gourmet cuisine of course, but saves a ton of money, and fills you up.

The hostel as it usually looks.

Although I don't smoke, it is a nice touch, these balconies.

And BREKKERS.

And, well, that's basically it. Dinner wasn't worth snapping since it was basically just lumpy spaghetti, but still filled me up.

The rest of this entry shall be more photos taken from the first afternoon where I wandered around the city.

A few observations:

• Very multicultural. Possibly the most multicultural place I've seen in Germany, including Berlin.
• And as far as Berlin goes, Frankfurt looks and feels a lot more like the capital city. 
• Loads of Asians - south Asians, eastern Asians, southeastern Asians.
• The only Chinese supermarket I've seen so far! Actually, not one but about three of them. 
• The Thai place, YUM. I had already gotten to the point where I was already rather sick and tired of the local cuisine, aka wurst, and I just wanted to binge on noodles and rice.

The hostel.

Frankfurt, part II

Apparently this is still going to end up as loads of entries so might as well resign myself to that fact. Frankfurt is gorgeous and extremely photogenic, and was much more likeable than Fussen (in my opinion, anyway) but it got a bit bland after a while. Another photo entry.

I realise this is jarringly out of place, but I have to say this Thai place was like an oasis in the food desert. I came here for all my lunches - two, then.