My first Rugby Game... In Spain?

Rugby in Spain?

   

    One of my erasmus friends, Ed, here in Murcia plays for the Murcia rugby team (still un-confirmed whether Aaron plays or not- no evidence to the affirmative). From what I understand it's extremely popular in England which made a match here in Murcia even more appealing. Though at first thought, rugby doesn't seem like the most culturally relevant spanish experience, it was a great experience none the less.

 Not one part of this description would be possible without Annie imparting her bits of rugby knowledge onto me. Not even Wikipedia, and yes, I tried. My friend Annie and I showed up at the second half and marched our way across the track surrounding the field to get a front row seat. Proximity was my only weapon against my crippling sense of confusion about how a rugby game works.

Thumbs up for rugby love

Annie posing with Ed somewhere out there!

      For those of you, much like myself, that have heard of american football's strange second cousin that people only ask vague questions about because they really have no idea what's going on with that situation, let me enlighten you. There's two 45 minute halves but the game moves at such a quick pace it doesn't seem to take that long. It's a mash up between football (soccer!) and american football with less padding and far fewer whistles. Also, picture that someone's mom or adoring fan on the sidelines took a video of the game, you borrowed it, and watched it in reverse. That about sums it up. 

The Scrum: Trying to get possession of the ball

Ed setting up for a lineout (don't ask me what that is)

    I may not quite understand the intricacies or really much about the game, but it was exciting to see a new sport. Maybe it wasn't the most spanish excursion possible, but I felt more like a true Murcian being there than visiting the Cathedral or photographing tourist sights. Kudos to Ed for playing rugby in Spain, almost as impressive as me going to one and playing photographer :) 

   Although I may have just given the world's most inadequate description of a sports game, here's a more accurate and descriptive link. 

http://www.dummies.com/how-to/content/rugby-for-dummies-cheat-sheet.html

   

The Backpacking Chronicles- 'Ello London!

Black Cab + Double Decker Bus

     I skipped my stint on London in the face of pure excitement over my nine course french meal but I have to say a few great things about my time in London. I've never been to England although I've met a bunch of really nice english folks here in Murcia, like my awesome roommates (you da best Jess & Jess). Although they sent me to England with a few sites to see (look kids! Big Ben, Parliament!), they informed me of some unofficial things (Nandos, kebabs) that an American tourist in England must do and some I made up all on my own.

Elephant & Castle Hostel

    Hostelworld found Elephant & Castle Hostel, a nice place for us to crash for the night since our stint in London would only be for a night, and we threw down our stuff finally happy to be off our feet after the long layover in Iceland- and no sleep. Of course, being in a new country and hearing all my english friends rave about the quality of english kebabs, I had to have one. So we walked around the area outside our hostel in the valiant quest for a kebab. I was informed, only after returning to Murcia, from my friend Reanne that Elephant & Castle happens to be a, 'proper dodgy bit of London', which in hindsight, explains why I felt like I was walking through little Jamaica and having no luck with kebabs. Finally we found the promise land of garlic mayo and chicken wraps, refueled, and crashed for the night.

Royal Guard

   First thing I saw after getting off the metro was my first double decker bus- I would like to point out that it was a constant battle to restrain myself from the countless Harry Potter references continuously about to be blurted out. I took my picture in a red telephone booth and saw the infamous black London cabs. Then we were fortunate to walk by the royal stables right when the royal calvary were starting a procession. Unfortunately the queen's guard was otherwise occupied escorting her to tea or something similarly royal and english, so no changing of the guards that day. Buckingham palace was absolutely gorgeous. Although I was expecting torrential downpours, it was just overcast and a little soggy all the time. Perfect for pictures!

     I am not really a fan of eating anything that comes from the ocean, but of course I needed to try some proper london fish & chips. My conclusion is that anything slathered in batter, deep fried, served with a lemon wedge and a cup of tartar sauce could never be anything but downright delicious. More food commentary, it seems every dish in england is deconstructed. I ordered the chicken dish next to the fish & chips picture, and it really just seemed like a deconstructed chicken pot pie. The kebabs? Deconstructed on a plate. Maybe it's an excuse to not go outside in the cold and the wet if you have to spend a little more time constructing your meal. I don't hate the idea.

typical english pub!

typical english pint!

typical english chicken dish!

the most typical english fish & chips

     One of the highlights for me was seeing Shakespeare's Globe theatre. Since I study literature back home, given the amount of times I've read about The Globe, I had to see it on principle. I had another fish and chips at the restaurant outside the Globe, extra tartar, then had some cocktails by the river and watched the london eye illuminate the skyline.

Outside of Shakespeare's Globe Theatre

    London was busting with people everywhere you go, there's plenty of good places to eat and relax, and it has a lot of interesting sites to spend the day meandering to and fro. Two days definitely wasn't enough time to take in all the sights and history but it was enough of a tease to convince me this wouldn't be my last time in the city.

Lost in English Translation

    Coming to Spain I knew the language barrier would be hard. Trying to communicate ideas when words just don't seem to match the sentiment behind them. Instead, I've relied on hand gestures and vague metaphors to try to get the point across. Don't despair, this translation problem didn't stop me from making good friends, it actually made it a lot more interesting. What also made it more interesting was the fact that the language barrier I'm talking about is between all my english speaking friends...

Jess me and Jessie :)

    The english and the irish to be exact. Since two of my roommates are from England, I was thrown into this boiling vat of semantic and lexical confusion from the get go. Picture me just off the 18 hour journey from Boston, lost my first apartment, and now I'm moving in to an entirely new place that very night. My spanish landlord takes me to meet the tenants, "Only two of them are there now, they're from England I think", he says as he opens the front door. I'm thinking, 'This is freaking awesome! It's gonna be like living with Hermione Granger!', says the Harry Potter freak in me thinking all english people sound thee same. We do our introductions. Jess, Jessie and I and I proceed to ask for the wifi password. And this is where it all started...

Me and Jess

Jessie, Rachel, Me, Jess

Annie me and Abbi

 






       
       Although one may not think an english to american language barrier exists, I can assure you- it does. From the first 'zed' instead of z in the wifi code to how to correctly pronounce aluminum (this one we've settled- a simple spelling difference), it was beyond hilarious. I learned some charming colloquial derby sayings from Jessie, 'Aye up me duck!' and 'Alright youth?', combined with my atrocious mockery of an english accent. Jess adopted some american slang, calling it class instead of uni (aka university), she tries not to admit that one. Abbi greets everyone with an, 'Alrigh' pal?'. We're also still battling the hair style war, they insist the hair cut shorter above your eyebrows is called fringe, I informed them they're called bangs. I don't see a peaceful resolution to this one. Annie and Abbi join in on the fringe-bangs debate as well. They also have mystical things I've never heard before- like chavs, slags, Nandos and Bisto gravy.

Niamh, Me, Annie and Leah

    So once I had most of the english sayings mastered I thought I was clear. Then I met the irish. After 4 months every now and then someone will say something and I have absolutely no idea what they mean. Poor Niamh has to translate Geordie Shore for me so I know what the dim witted scantily clad reality stars are saying. They've also got cool names like- Naoise, Cian and Niamh- good luck trying to pronounce those ones. There is a strange dislike for the 'th' sound in Ireland, some kind of phonetic conspiracy- three becomes tree, thirty becomes tirty. It's phoneticide. One day, I was hanging around with Niamh and Annie. Niamh had been calling me a tart all day. Seems weird, it's not a bad insult- it's a dessert. Finally I looked at her and said, 'I don't know why you keep calling me a tart, it doesn't offend me, it's a delicious pastry'. After she recovered from laughing hysterically she had enough composure to tell me she'd been calling me a tard all day.

Niamh and Annie

I blame her accent for that one. Shortly after the tart incident we were sitting around playing Naimh's favorite game, 'Do you have ____ in America?'. This one was the kicker though, she looks at me with the most earnest expression and asks, "Are hillybillys real?". I almost died. Hillbillys Niamh (she'll never live that one down). Leah hails from  Donegal, pretty up north there in ireland, and has the greatest accent in the world. If only words could express the way she pronounces my name, alas I can't do it justice. Don't ask any irish person for a flash drive, you'll die before you see your file saved. Try asking for a usb, then suddenly everything makes sense.

    It's funny, the number of words and sayings that none of us share but entertaining at the same time. It definitely wouldn't have been the same experience if I hadn't looked like the silly american for the majority of the time I spent with my english and irish friends. They do really great things like....

make funny faces....

wear funny fishing hats...

hug trees...

drink christmas pints...

eat kebabs... 

and are so photogenic.. 

The Backpacking Chronicles- 9 Courses of French Heaven

      Stop number three after Iceland and England led me to Paris, France. I took a bus from Victoria Station in England, drove the bus onto a ferry, and cruised my way to France. There was a couple sitting near me on the bus who were living in paris- the man was American and the woman was Bulgarian. We swapped war stories about the functionality of iPads and they told us the must see sights in the city.
   After a few stops on the metro I was finally at my Paris home- a flat right off the Rue Lamarck stop. Instead of staying at a hostel I found a flat on airbnb.com, where people rent out their flats or rooms in their flats for travelers. Best idea ever, check it out. It turned out to be around 45 euros a night but the feeling of a real plush bed and a balcony to see the stucco sides of the buildings around me was invaluable.

 

 
Talk about a nice place for 50 euros a night!

     The remainder of my account of Paris will be focused entirely on the food. Once you see it, you'll understand how every meal had the power to almost outshine the eiffel tower lights in pure darkness. I had a fantastic meal the first night. Start off with a fresh french onion soup and a roasted tomato appetizer and finish with a filet of steak covered in a rich brown sauce and sauteed vegetables. I could lick the photographs.

 

don't forget the vino 

        After starting off the trip this well, how could it get any better? Nine courses, that's how. Nine courses of decadence and bliss all rolled into one New Years feast. It was sheer luck mind you, that I was even able to sit somewhere and each bread on New Years without a reservation. But I found a little restaurant by chance, just walking by, and went in to see if they had any availability. Gods be good they did. Granted, the fact that they were three weeks old and had availability on New Years didn't lend to the notion they retained a quality culinary reputation, but beggars cannot be choosers so 9:30 dinner at La Rallonge was set. 

Boy was I surprised. 

       It was a small but modern kind of joint, a long raised bar where I ate my meal, and maybe 3 or four tables around the room. It was apparent the owners and chefs weren't rookies at all, they utilized every inch of their small alcove of a kitchen, you really couldn't call it much else, to concoct the most delicious creations. The head chef was young woman in her mid twenties, I was informed by a woman sitting next to me during dinner, whom it turns out, is dating the sous chef. She explained each dish to us in english and watched excitedly as we sampled each new flavour. 

 

    So here's where I take you down nine paths of the food pilgrimage. The names of each dish are in French, so while google translator may be helpful, it is not infallible. Where words fail to capture the smells and presentations, pictures more than cover the slack. 

Course 1: Seafood tartare in infusion of daikon on a bed of perfumed salad.

Course 2: Foie gras with pineapple

Course 3: Raviolis of perdreaux, simmered vegetables and capers in a white wine sauce
number 2 favorite!

Course 4: Ham and cheese croquettes 

Course 5: Saint-Jeaques seared scallops on a bed of celery and butter, truffle sauce
Absolute favorite. 

Course 6: Poultry medallion wrapped with foie gras, served with vegetables

Course 7: Frozen lychee fruit and pears with yogurt whip cream

Course 8: Le Mont Blanc (The White Mount), typical chestnut, chantilly and merengue french dessert

Course 9: Chocolate sphere filled with chocolate mouse, and ice cream garnished with gold leafing

Course 9: Hot chocolate sauce is poured over the sphere to created a decadent melted chocolate dessert

     France, you have outdone yourself. After seeing the Eiffel Tower at all hours, viewing the entire city from the Sacred Heart and battling my way in the Louvre to see the Mona Lisa, the part of Paris that caught my heart was undoubtedly the food. If there's one way to truly experience the richness of a culture. Eat. Eat. Eat! On that note, I'm hungry. 

    

   

The Backpacking Chronicles- Best Use of A Layover

    In true college aged european style I decided to go on a backpacking trip across europe. Lucky for me I went with a friend from home who has not only done this before, but has a surmountable amount of common sense and internal navigational skills in comparison to myself. So I went backpacking. Which in my mind, had been romanticized to hitching rides in the back of dusty pick ups with transient polish workers and spending nights with people I just met who now became my best friends. Really I just flew Ryanair and stayed in cheap hostels. But backpacking none the less!

Here's a map to show the route I took across europe. And to highlight my (lack of) photo editing skillz.

     The first leg of the journey was from Boston Logan to Keflavik, the airport in Iceland. Which was actually just an extremely long layover, but what fun is sitting in an airport for 10 hours? Instead of drinking bad airport coffee for hours I went to a geothermal hot spring. Absolutely the best way to spend an outrageously long layover. 

Sun rising over volcanic rock, Iceland

    The name of the hot spring I went to was Blue Lagoon. It was about a 20 minute bus ride straight from the airport. Simply smack around 8,000 króna (about 60 usd) to buy the tickets at the information desk which includes the bus to and fro the lagoon and the admittance in. They couldn't make it easier, clearly this is something a lot of people do on layovers so they make it as simple as possible. 

    Not only was the staff friendly and helpful but when your dropping 1,200 króna on a drink you feel like a boss. Even when you have to rent your own 5,000 icelandic dollar towel. Just ignore the conversion rates.

    The sun creeping from behind the volcanic hills lent an almost alien aura to the landscape. If I hadn't known better I would have sided with Jeffrey Russell and the other middle ages stiffs who were convinced the world was flat. I felt like I was the first person seeing the sun's light across the world. Like I was standing on the precipice at the edge of Iceland- at the edge of the planet.

    So the steaming water may be the offspring of molten lava and volcanic activity but the wind chill ensured everything not submerged- ears, shoulders, noses- was frostbitten. That was an extremely weird feeling. Half my body was on fire, while the other half was red and chapped from the freezing wind. There was even about a foot of chop in the lagoon- enough to spew salty hot water into an eye or two. But still awesome. One of the really interesting things in the lagoon itself were the sandy-mud like mineral deposits that are apparently extremely good for the skin. So taking my zealous blonde icelandic guide's advice, I slathered on a healthy portion all over my face. It feels a little strange to be walking around in a mud mask from the floor of the lagoon but when everyone's doing it no one really sticks out. Grabbed a glass of wine from the bar in the lagoon and found a spot right near the inflow of hot water and floated for a few hours.

 

    Of all my travels this one topped the list. Granted it doesn't have the flash or excitement of the big cosmopolitan cities but there was something about Iceland that made me want to come back. Made me want to spend time exploring the landscape and it's cultures- like there wouldn't be enough time to really understand what it was that appealed to me so much. That's what made it unforgettable. If ever you find yourself facing a painstakingly long layover, abandon feelings of dread and make it worth the time. Venture outside the airport and explore what's around. Especially if that layover happens to be in Keflavik ;)