Barcelona, part IV - Castle Montjuic, Espanya and Font Magica

I wrote the first portion of this entry about two months ago I should think. I am losing myself and I think I need to go back to Europe and fast. It's been more than a year since these entries happened, shame on me! I must finish it, I absolutely must.

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To anyone who follows this on a regular basis, sorry for the long overdue update. Real life shit and all. To top this all off like the pretentious lit student I am, I'm going to share one of my favourite Dickens quotes here, which really sums up my feelings quite well about my current state:

"It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us."

(Though not going to lie, right now I'm having a bit of trouble seeing the best and lightness part.)

I have been having lots of thoughts recently. I've had quite a bit of time to reflect on myself and various paths and possibilities, and to contextualise them. Contextualising is the best and worst part. I always imagine the very worst scenarios. Looking at these pictures though, I can remember vividly everything I was thinking at the time. I remember walking down Espanya and looking for a nice restaurant, since I was sick of disgusting Billa microwave meals. I found a Thai restaurant (yes, very original Viv) but by then I was so damn hungry I was past caring. Anyway, I remember sitting in the restaurant waiting for my food and reading one of the books I'd stored on my tablet, and watching the restaurant TV, which was playing weird Spanish MVs. But I'm getting slightly ahead of myself here. I need to follow up on what happened after Barceloneta.

Nadja and I wanted to go to Castle Montjuic since we hadn't been yet (Yuta had left for a train to France halfway through the meal), but Henri and Piia had already been, but we did want to hang out together some more whilst also making the most out of sightseeing, so we decided to split up and meet together that night at Espanya to watch the Font Magica show, which only performed on Sundays and lucky us, it was Sunday that day. Castle Monjuic was a bit boring and slightly remote, since it was on a mountaintop after all. We had to take the metro to the stop "Parc de Montjuic, first of all, then take a rather expensive cable car up to the Montjuic castle itself. And that was only the beginning,

The cable car.

Nadja and I did a lot of talking, but at that time I didn't know that she would become one of my closest friends that I couldn't see on a frequent basis. We talked about anything and everything, trusting each other in that strange implicit way that we reserve for strangers. We're honest with people we don't know, in a strange roundabout way, because we know that we won't see them again and that they won't judge us. We talked about generic stuff, like where we were going and where we'd come from, then as the conversation progressed, we started talking about life values and views on relationships and friendships.

We arrived at the Castle, and since it was Sunday afternoon, admission was free. It was funny though because we actually witnessed the ticket woman trying to scam two Chinese tourists out of their money, and they were telling them that they had to pay. When they saw Nadja and myself, though, they changed their song - "Free admission on Sunday afternoon!" and let us in. The Chinese tourists began to complain very loudly to them, and the ticket lady had to let them in as well. Even thinking about this, makes me laugh. Oh Europe, how I do long for you! #onlyinSpain

The castle itself was sort of boring and Nadja and I kind of wandered around it, engrossed in talking.

We did get a rather nice view of Barcelona's port though, but the weather and cloudy skies...bleh.

Found a rather nice array of rocks to sit down upon, which gave us a rather unattractive bird's eye view of the city. She told me about her relationships and I told her about mine.

Time flies, though, and it was soon nearing dusk, so we decided to proceed slowly to Espanya, where the Font Magica was located. We got slightly lost at one point, and followed my GPS. It was funny, because I remember how Nadja baulked at first at the idea of using GPS - she likes the good ole map-reading - but at that point we were just so hopelessly lost that GPS was all we had. Nadja is about 5 years older than me, but she comes from a (thankfully) slightly less digitalised generation than I do, so she abhors the idea of too much cybernetics in her life. Also another hotpoint for discussion.

There was a lovely building at Espanya, and I have no idea what this place was or what it was called, but it really floored us. Again too bad about the #cloudyskies.

We then found the Font and waited around for Henri and Piia to show up.

Then the show started, opening with Disney's theme songs. It was rather magical, the four of us sitting together and watching and enjoying the music, the warm summer breeze, and the relaxed companionship that can only exist between strangers thrown together in a space and time, serendipitous individuals who wouldn't have met otherwise.

After the show, though, we bumped into Pedro and Luis, and we gasped and giggled and shrieked with delight. The hostel bunch - us five - unanimously decided to go for a drink. Nadja hovered somewhere near the fringe - unsure and slightly shy - and came up to me and told me that she wanted to go back to the hotel. I immediately agreed, since it made sense as the five of us were staying at the same place after all, whilst she was staying... somewhere else, and it was already dark there. I told her to message me, gave her my Facebook, and she said bye to us before leaving.

The five of us then made our way to a bar on the Espanya. Luis spoke fluent Spanish and evidently knew his way around, and we let him take the lead. We sat down and ordered loads of beer, and an Iberian staple tapas dish called patatas bravas - a gorgeous light-ish dish of roasted spicy potatoes. It took me all my willpower not to order a second dish, it was that good.

Another night of talking, or soul-discoursing and serendipity. I miss this and I miss you all. I miss Europe, and #1b tells me that Europe misses me. #oneday

Prologue to continental#1; France, part I – the Cite de Carcassonne

(2014/07/12 A/N: Am still migrating the contents of my old blog over to this one, and the server at blog.com is so ghastly it's not even funny any more. I have not been able to login to my account ever since I got back from Poland. Everytime I try that a huge "502 Bad Gateway/nginx/1.0.15" shows up, or the page doesn't load. I find it difficult to believe that such a bad server host could exist in today's world. I can't even get into my account to announce that I've moved over here. Wow. This world's insane.)



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This entry has been woefully late in coming. My first trip to Europe started on the 12th of May, and now it’s the 24th..of June. (A/N: Well, it WAS, when I was writing this..!)
The first few parts of this entry were written before I went to Romania, and I’ve noticed a slight discrepancy between my writing then and now. I’ve become more flippant, I think. And, of course, since it’s already been more than a month and loads has happened since then, I’ll have forgotten lots of things, but I still have the pictures, at least.

Before I go any further, I’d like to talk about what this initial trip to the Continent meant to me. I’d been abroad before on my own (that’s actually what I’m doing right now with my degree and London) and I am the sort of person who likes to spend lots of quality alone time, which means plenty of solo trips out and about. This, however, was very much different to anything I’d ever done. I was going to countries I’d never been before, where I didn’t speak the language, and I’d never planned out a proper itinerary for myself like this one (the first of many to come!). It was fantastic, tailoring a whole trip for myself, but it was also an extremely daunting and time consuming task. And to be honest, I had no idea what to expect – I wasn’t really thinking about travel dangers, not speaking the language and other things. What I did was plan my trip meticulously, right down to the last detail. I booked ALL of my tickets, be they train/bus/coach/sightseeing hotspots – online and beforehand, and printed them all out. I downloaded the offline google maps of all the places I was planning to visit – we live in the 21st century and GPS is a godsend for the intrepid hopelessly naive first-time traveller. I also took out an annual travel insurance that covers the whole of the Schengen area. It’s a long, torturous procedure, but it’s incredibly rewarding, and this whole experience has been a life-changing one, although again it’s not something I can fully express in words, but I’ll try my best, as I relive my journey through these entries.

A quick overview of my itinerary – 19 days in total, which I started off by spending 4 days in France (Toulouse and Carcassonne), 5 days in Barcelona, 3 days in Portugal, then it was over to Maastricht (a Dutch town on the Belgic/German border), which I used as a base to make day trips to Belgium (Bruges and Ghent), Germany (Aix-la-Chapelle) and Luxembourg (Luxembourg City and Vianden). I spent an average of 16 euros a day (this sum includes tickets, living expenses and so on).

So, without any further ado, I give you..the entry I wrote two weeks prior.

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My travels so far have consisted of endless castles and gothic cathedrals which are fine and dandy but somehow all end up looking the same.

My masters life is one where I go through cans and cans of fizzy drinks. If I were the drinking type of person I would probably drink a lot. But yes, lots and lots of soft drinks, cans, and meeting beautiful boys in Europe who want to have a serious relationship with me, whatever that means. This is the life.

My dad was in Toulouse for a summit, which was the sole reason I decided to make it my first destination. The cheapest way of getting there from London was to fly to Carcassonne (15 pounds) and take a train from there (12 euros). I decided to make a bit of time for CCF, since there was apparently a lovely fortress there that I really wanted to see. I touched down in Carcassonne, France on Monday afternoon. Bit of a bumpy ride, but the incredibly hot flight attendant named Carlos more than made up for it. If heaven existed, all angels would look like him. I think he caught me staring at him on more than one occasion. He’s wasted as a flight attendant. He should become a male supermodel, or go into acting. I’ve never seen anyone as perfect as him. Unfortunately, I didn’t manage to get a picture of him. The plane was a tiny 737 model.

I don’t like flying, which is odd, because when I was little I loved it. Then again, there is a considerable difference between short flights and long haul flights. The 737 plane kept shaking, the seat was unadjustable and the table was wobbly. I kept wondering if the plane would lose all structural integrity halfway across the Bay of Biscay.

Anyway, I arrived in Carcassonne airport, and took the shuttle from the airport to the train station. The driver was a very jovial man who spoke splendid English.

A view from the Gare de Carcassonne

I thought Carcassonne was a very picturesque little town, with narrow streets which are typical of European towns, though I didn’t realize this until I’d reached my third city.

Carcassonne’s claim to fame is the Cite de Carcassonne, which features a rather splendid medieval citadel (an UNESCO World Heritage site), with a lovely little bridge.

The bridge

After I’d crossed the bridge, it was a rather steep climb. A rather nice panoramic view of the city could be seen, but of all the city panoramas I’ve seen on this trip (Barcelona, Luxembourg, Lisbon), the best one belongs to Lisbon, with Luxembourg coming a very close second. But that’s a detail for another entry.

The Cite

The Cite de Carcassonne, best viewed from one of the bridges. I really wish I’d gotten blue skies; cloudy days make for awful pictures. Going into the citadel was free, but it was not that impressive. I did like the conical towers, though.

Construction work being done. Again.

A chapel within the Cite.

There was too much construction work going on, which spoiled my pictures. The weather at this point had gotten kind of blustery, which is typical. It did that too in loads of other places I went to on this trip, such as Belgium, which was such a shame, because Belgium was – is – gorgeous.

Well, I reached Toulouse within an hour (the train ride was very pleasant), and met my dad, which was fantastic. One thing about travelling is that you pick up bits and pieces of their languages. Gare for train station in France, for instance, which proved to be surprisingly useful.

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(A/N: This is the ‘present’ (well, the /6/24) me speaking, now. I am starving. Why oh why am I so perpetually HUNGRY?)

I didn’t do much after I arrived in Toulouse from CCF- had a nice soak in the tub, cooked some ramen, and went on facebook. And I think that this is quite enough for a prologue, so I’ll stop here with a teaser of Toulouse’s city square. In retrospect, this was one of my favourite Continental cities. Till then, adieu!

 

The Rue Lafayette

Part VIII - Last few in Gdansk and and the airport as my hotel

Just witnessed our World Cup hosts being wiped off by Germany like bugs on a windshield. Whew. That was a match and a half..and it’s not even over yet. Emotions running high. Neymar and Silva are sorely missed.

(A/N: 0:7. This is surreal.)

(A/N: Half an hour later. Germany’s in the finals, 1:7. Am looking forward to seeing all the bad memes tomorrow morning when I wake up.)

Watching Germany hammering Brazil to bits was one huge emotional rollercoaster, accompanied by the whooping shouts of the other spectators in the halls, and my roomie’s quips on the horrified/elated expressions of the audience in the arena. Oh gosh golly. Will attempt to focus on the task at hand.

As mentioned in the previous entry, I took the 15:28 bus back to Gdansk central station. And what do you know, they have wind turbines here, exactly the same as the ones in Scandinavia.

When I got back to the city centre, walked around ul. Dluga for a bit, and bought some of their soft ice cones - which are the best I’ve ever tasted in my life. This country never fails to surprise me, and I am of the staunch opinion that one’s life is not complete if one has not tasted a Polish ice cream.

 YUM! I didn’t take a picture of the ice cream since my hands were too full, so had to make to with the big plastic uneatable one outside the shop.

The ice creams are incredibly cheap as always, 5 zloty for a medium sized one and 6.5 for a large one.

Found a fairly nice place to have dinner, and these are some of the best potatoes I’ve ever had in my life.

Took bus no 210 from Gdansk Glowny to the airport after dinner, which cost 1.50 zloty (again, LOVE the cheap transport) and took around 40 minutes. My flight back to London was at 6am the next day, and I figured that I’d just kip in the airport, since the timing was just too bad. I don’t like being outside after a certain hour.

I’ve never actually had to wait in an airport overnight for a flight, and for a first timer, this one wasn’t half bad, and I do see myself doing this again in the near future. Gdansk airport was very nice, and the wireless was free, although negligible, and not provided by the airport itself, but by one of its shops/sponsors/clients. You just have to keep clicking till you find one that works for you - in this case, ING. I found a seat next to a power outlet, and used my tablet for about four hours whilst waiting for it to charge.

I have a love-hate relationship with these flight announcement boards - I’m always hurrying to some boarding gate or terminal when I’m looking at them, but when I see the names of all these cities and destinations, just waiting for me, my heart floats away.

The lights in the airport began to darken, and since it was 12, I decided to get some sleep. I found a VERY comfortable spot in a coffee shop.

The sofa was made out of plush white leather and it was one of the most comfortable surfaces I’ve ever had the pleasure of lying on. I actually managed to get in about 4 hours of real sleep here (a lot more than I did when I was flying to Copenhagen), complete with my earplugs and eye mask.

No one told me that Poland could get this cold in July though, and I woke up at about 4, shivering. When I got on the flight at 6, my breath formed a white mist. That's how cold it was. 
The airport had begun to fill up at this point, since the check-in desks were opening. I looked up, and saw that my flight was ready for check in, so I bade adieu to my freezing sofa and went off.

Goodbye, Gdansk airport!

And that was pretty much it - I got on the flight at 6, arrived back in London after two hours, took a shuttle back to central London, and was back in my room before 10am, safe and sound.

Poland’s probably my favourite country so far. Sometimes it’s so hard to judge places, because they’re so different, but if I’m going to go with the “feel-good” factor per se here, then Poland takes the crown and cherry. Everything about it was just so right, from the food and the people and the scenery to the transport and the hostel. You name it, they nailed it. Poland completely and utterly surpassed my wildest expectations, and I highly recommend this lovely, severely underrated country to the intrepid explorer. I know I’m certainly going back.

Abject apologies if this entry comes across as somewhat vague - am still reeling in the aftermath of Germany’s resounding victory, and for some reason I’ve been feeling really lethargic recently. That coffee earlier on in the evening worked, but not as well as I hoped. Am probably experiencing post-holiday, pre-dissertation blues. I want to go back to the Continent ASAP.

Will be moving my old stuff over during the next few days/weeks, but it’s really time to focus on my dissertation, so will have to hold off Europe entries for the time being. Do expect to see posts on England, though, since I plan on visiting Stonehenge and Warwick Castle in the next month or so, at the very least! And now, if you will excuse me, am off to read some biting reviews of the Brazilian side’s crushing defeat. They’re going to be talking about this one for years to come. The funny thing is that these pundits probably can’t kick a ball to save their lives, but that’s okay, because they build their happiness money on the torment of others Brazilians.