Carnaval De Aguilas

     When I heard "Carnaval', I pictured the Rio de Janeiro Carnival in Brazil. Something I never knew much about aside from mental images of giant feathered costumes with ornate beading from head to toe, which made Carnival seem like a more opulent and less morbid Halloween. I expected to watch children dressed in bright costumes parade on floats led by their parents while I watched from the side of a crowded sidewalk. ESN (erasmus student network) organizes international student excursions from Murcia, and they were offering a trip to 'Carnaval en Aguilas' for 10euros. Why not take spend the day somewhere new, it's not like I needed to commit to the extent of dressing in full costume. Just 10 euros, a tupperware of spaghetti and a couple hours on the bus later we were in Aguilas, our bus passed by the shoreline and I beheld a magnificent sight: grown men dressed in tights.

Abbi and I getting some street food

   


     After momentary confusion and disbelief I realized this man wasn't a victim of a poorly wagered bet since all of his friends were dressed in neon colored wigs and sailor costumes. Women's costumes to be more descriptive. If there's one obvious rationale for this phenomenon, it's that Carnaval is not to be taken lightly. This isn't the place to be underdressed or unsure of whether or not painting your face and wearing fiber wings will be an eyesore. Every person I saw, aside from our three busloads of half-hearted costume wearers, was donning something outrageous. It was just getting dark when we drove through the streets, with just enough glow to make out some of the painted faces and bright colored clothing.

   Our passengers poured out from each of the three buses and created a swarming pool of costume clad tourists in the otherwise vacant lot. In a mass exodus we moved form the lot down the street towards the city center. People spilled into the streets and barricaded the sidewalks until we made it to the shoreline and paused for a group picture. After that, we darted in every direction with no real place to go, attracted by the flashing lights of the carnival rides and the smell of street food.

Frightening

   We pulled out some drinks from our bags and prepared for the 15 hour marathon. To say there were a lot of people would be a gross miscalculation, as the night went on, more and more people started swelling up within the narrow streets and outside the shops. There was an alley of street vendors where we promptly found the places that sold potatoes, cheeseburgers and churros. After a refuel, we were back on the streets dancing through the crowd and taking pictures of all the other costumes. A few Happy Meal's made appearance along with a very haunting trio of three masked in dark deserted back alley style black cloaks who thought it was funny to keep lurking behind me- and freaking me out.

    The most impressionable aspect of the entire ritual was the energy that I felt just being there. Everyone was laughing, singing, dancing, yes drinking, and genuinely loving life. If only for a day, it was completely acceptable to believe there wasn't a care and the world and to act like there never would be. It's clear to see why Carnival is so popular and celebrated so strongly- I wish I could live every day like this. Of course, then I would be absolutely non productive, it's probably for the best it's only for one day.

Hot dogs!

Fries and a few Happy Meals :)

Capitan America

Alguilas at sunset

Patatas 

Baked Potato Time

Rob-a-bye Stephy

    I have never lived in a big city, or a small city for that matter. My life experience is limited to small rural towns, being a regular at the local ice cream shop and having the check-out woman at Wal-Mart ask me how my Shakespeare exam went. So living in Murcia was a humbling experience in the ways of self-reliance, resourcefulness and self-awareness. Of course everyone's heard the same cautionary bits of advice from parents and adults: "Don't put your drink down", "Only carry as much money that you need, nothing more", "Always keep your bag on your person". In extreme cases like my parents, some may suggest you get an ever fashionable fanny-pack.

   To my own credit, I survived the first five months without any major incidents or catastrophic accidents. There was a small ankle injury involving me trying to walk in heeled boots through the unintended cobble-stone streets, but aside from that accident free. I made my own list of precautionary rules, especially when going out for a night. 1. Never put your drink down (even if that means doing the finger point with one hand all night) 2. Keep your bag on your shoulder at all times 3. bla bla. For five months, these rules were absolutely foolproof, until unfortunately, one night they weren't.

   I was back in Murcia after going home for Christmas and traveling around Europe for ten days, so I was ready to be back in my home away from home. After almost half a year in the city I developed a definite sense of security and complacency to my own avail. It was the first night we all went out to the local international bar, and I was elated to be back with my friends and my Murcian haunts. As I'm holding my drink, doing the finger point, and keeping my bag on my shoulder, unbeknownst to me, someone was hatching a nefarious plan to rid me of my wallet. Maybe I was too comfortable at good ole' Badulake after being at this same place on a regular basis, or perhaps I suffer from a terminal case of bad luck. Regardless of the reason, someone reached into my bag and took my wallet. After I realized it was gone I did the sensible thing anyone would do- told my roommate, we started walking home and I cried my eyes out uncontrollably. She was kind enough to buy me a consolation kebab and listen to me rant about how there's no decency left in the world.

   Once we were home I mustered some self-control and skyped my parents to tell them the tragedy that occurred, to cancel all credit cards and ask for advice on what to do next. Then I filed a report with the local police, which turned out to be a bright side to the whole fiasco considering every policeman in Murcia could be on the cover of GQ. After I had done everything within my power,  I bid a somber farewell to my wallet and it's precious contents and tried to learn from the incident. Turns out becoming acclimated to a routine or a few regular bars and restaurants doesn't lend to greater security, in contrast, it becomes a detriment. After my time in the city I somehow rationalized I had safely escaped the window of vulnerability, which is clearly never the case. From now on, I'll be more conscientious, especially in the places I feel most comfortable. In addition, I'll be keeping one hand on my wallet at all times, like an overprotective mama bear coddling her cub.

Try to steal my wallet now. 

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.