pictures at a later time

I’m back! From Spain! And I loved it. I love Spain. Why have I never eaten at Don Quioxote, the only Spanish restaurant in Indiana? I don’t know. Add that to my list of life mistakes that will now be taken back.

I don’t even know where to start! But I guess the beginning is a good place? Well before I even went to Spain, I took a quick trip to Grenoble to visit my friend Erica. I couldn’t stop looking at the Alps. I just kept thinking to myself, “These are the Alps! The most famous mountains in the world! The Von Trapp children crossed them!” I’m such a sucker for singing Austrian children. Yeah so most of my Grenoble trip involved me staring at the Alps and talking incessantly to Erica. It was worth it.

And then I went to Spain. I’ll try recount some highlights, even though the entire trip was like one big block of time highlighted by a highlighter. Aka it was all fabulous. I had planned to fly into Sevilla with my friend Marcus. So I get to the Angers train station early Wednesday morning... no Marcus. I assume... he’s on his way. I get on the train. I continue to assume he’s on his way. At the Paris train station, on the metro, outside the airport, standing in line for security... I keep hoping he’s just about to show up. Finally, at the airport, I receive a text message from him that says, “Just wolf up now!” At first I thought that was some kind of motivational message... like “Be tough, little wolf!” or something... but then I figured out he meant to write “Just woke up now!” So Marcus missed the flight, and Lisa descended into Spain, alone and terrified. For some reason, despite the fact I was flying out of France, everything was in Spanish, and my entire plane was full of Spanish (and non-French, non-English speaking) people. At one point, the woman next to me said something and walked away, handing me her Spanish baby. I don’t know how that happened.

But it’s not like Marcus was a help when he showed up either. For example, during one of our train rides, some Spanish lady came up to me and started waving her hands and yelling. I thought she was excited to sit by me, so I smiled and nodded. She kept yelling, the conductor got involved, and Marcus just sat and laughed. Apparently, my Spanish lady friend was yelling at me to get out of her seat and making derogatory remarks about how I couldn’t speak Spanish. And I was just being all friendly and happy. And Marcus was just laughing, that Spanish speaking bastard. In the end, her tirade was completely unfounded because it was my seat. Apparently she came back and told me “we were cool,” but once again, I never knew there had been a problem.

We started off our trip in Sevilla, during the Feria de Sevilla. So every woman in town was wearing her best flamenco dress... it was awesome, they were all so gorgeous. I really wanted to by my own, but they were 500 euro, so I just bought a flower and put it in my hair. At night, boys would ride around the town on horses, carrying their chosen senoritas to the fair. Bahhh it was so cool. One night we went to the Feria and ended up dancing with three random Spanish women. My friends Marcus and Greg left for a minute, leaving me with the women... they only spoke Spanish, save for one who knew a little English. We’re just dancing when all of a sudden they just start sprinting away, leaving me alone and confused. Then they ran back and dragged me away from the tent, yelling a little hysterically in Spanish. Eventually, the English-y one managed to explain that a knife fight had erupted close to where we were dancing, which apparently happens a lot, and sometimes people die, and if they don’t die, there is a lot of blood. So the Feria of Sevilla also has a dark side.

After Sevilla, we went to Malaga, the home of Picasso and a large, warm beach. We met a lot of French people in our hostel, and one night, they asked if we wanted to go to a bar someone had recommended to them. So we get to the bar – it is in a back alley, has no windows, and a bright, red door. That part is telling. We get inside, and its a completely Spanish bar... it seemed pretty exclusive, and we definitely stuck out, being a huge group of French-American peoples. But after awhile we talked to people, it was good. I met this Brazillian man who enjoys surfing in Thailand and teaching capeoira, and then some lady like parted the crowd to address me. She spoke a little English, but didn’t seem very confident in it, and she kind of shakily asked if I was American. I said yes and she started talking about the Spanish Republica, and how today was the anniversary of the Spanish republica, and Spain should return to communism, and then she gave me the flag of the Republica, which has purple on the bottom instead of red, and asked me to tell everyone in America that Spain should become a communist state. SO THAT WAS COOL!!! And now I have a free Spanish communist flag. The Brazillian man laughed and told me to keep the flag in my purse or I might run into trouble on the Spanish streets. So I did. So I guess we were in a communist bar.

After Malaga, I decided to embark on a short, solo trip to Barcelona. Everyone had told me to go there, and my friend Beth was passing through the next day for about 12 hours, so I thought, what the hell! I’ll go to Barcelona, I have a rail pass. So I did. And I LOVED it. The first night, I met some random cool people in my hostel and hung out with them... and since I’d never really met many people from Portugal, Argentina, or Scotland, they all single-handedly made me have high opinions of those countries. I also decided I’m going to South America. But the next day, I got up early and decided to walk to this big park in Barcelona, Mont Juic. So I did, it was really far away, but it was lovely. And I randomly visited this museum about ethnic cultures of the world. Ha, I forgot about that until just now. Then I tried to find the Castle, or “castillon” as I discovered when I tried asking for directions, and ended up freaking climbing a mountain without knowing where I was going. Luckily it was the right way. And at the top, I found the castle, and the coastline, and the ocean, and an amazing view of the city and the mountains and the water. I took a nap at the top. It was nice.

Beth came later that night, and we did the hang out with random kids at the hostel thing again, which I love. We had an adventure getting lost in the city, but we were with about 12 people so it wasn’t necessarily dangerous. We had a lot of adventures that night, and that morning, because Barcelona is the city that never sleeps. So I didn’t really sleep that night. Which is a mistake for me, but oh well.

So we finished off our trip in Madrid, even Barcelona had pretty much taken all of my energy. My friend Rachel and I visited Toledo, because I mean, it’s right there! And that’s where the Notre Dame kids study, so we had our own personal tour guide. I loved Toledo too. It’s a city built inside a wall, and it was gorgeous, and hilly, with little crooked streets. And plus, we took this little tour tram, with an automated recording to explain the sites in British-English. I love Spanish history. Like, “This is the bridge of the decapitated lovers! There once was an Arab princess who fell in love with a Spanish prince, but the king condemned their love. They were decapitated in this very spot!” or “This is the bridge of the baths! Everyone takes baths here. Another Arab princess took her last bath here, when she jumped off of the bridge in order to kill herself.” It’s ridiculous to hear translated Spanish folklore with a British accent. I loved it.

We managed to go to Kapital (with a K!) one night in Madrid, which is this giant, 7-story club... it has a movie theater, a lounge floor, a salsa floor (my favorite, obviously), an “American music” floor (ha), and various other floors. Namely a techno floor with a machine that BLASTS people with cold fog about every 7 minutes, but who can tell when it will hit when there’s a strobe light going and people are raving around you. I didn’t really like that floor. Fricking fog machine. Scared the crap out of me every time it went off. Blinded me for the 10 seconds it would blast. But on the whole, the club was very cool, and when it was all over, Danny and I made a friend who gave us free water.

My last night in Madrid, with the fatigue of 10 days and especially the previous night on my shoulders, I hung out with my friend Jon, who is studying in Madrid. Unfortunately, I was pretty lame and just wanted to sleep... but Jon still made me dinner and entertained me until I passed out. We visited a Picasso exhibit too, which was good – because I had skipped the Picasso museum in Malaga, and the one in Barcelona, and I never saw the one in Paris, and Picasso... he just seems so Spanish. So I’m glad I got to do that before the vacation was over. Picasso was crazy. I love him.

So, in conclusion, I loved Spain. There were orange trees and flowers, people wore bright colors and talked loudly in the streets, there was good music. I love the way of love I had a chance to embrace, namely staying out until about 3 or 4, getting up for to a hoard my daily free hostel breakfast at about 9, going back to sleep, getting up to do something at about noon, returning for the country-wide mandatory siesta from about 4-8, having a late dinner, then going out again and starting all over. It was a good and much needed vacation. Thank you Spain. Thank you.