25 June 2006
My time in Córdoba has been a bit longer than I'd originally planned. Originally, I thought I'd be leaving Sunday morning. now the plan is Monday night. As it turns out, all the overnight trains to Barcelona are booked in advance. Way in advance. The first option I'd have would be to leave Córdoba at 10AM and get to Barcelona at 9pm. A whole day in a train. Sounds like fun.
Option 2 was to go to Madrid tonight and leave for Barcelona tomorrow morning. Except not; the earliest train for Madrid that had available seats leaves at 4:30 and gets in a 9pm. Sounds like slightly more fun, but would require me finding accommodation in Madrid tonight. And that did not sound like fun. Going to Madrid in the morning from Córdoba was not an option for cheap. Thus I had two choices: spending the whole day on train, getting to Barcelona on Monday night, or taking the overnight train tomorrow night (Monday night). The prospect of looking for a place on Monday night did not apeal to me, and coupled with the fact that a whole day on a train sounded like it would completely suck, I opted to stay in Córdoba an extra day and treat myself to a Moorish bath.
A re-creation of what a 14th century Arab bath might look like, complete with candles, music and the lot, Hamman Baths was definitely worth the 27€, even though it included 10 loudmouthed middle-aged Spaniards. You had three baths - hot cold, and lukewarm. You weren't supposed to stay in the hot or cold for very long - which I happily adhered to for the cold - but I spent most of my time in the hot. The lukewarm was for sitting and relaxing in. The Spanish spend most of their time there, and it was anything but relaxing with their constant laughter and banter. Violating the rule of silence in the baths, none of them could resist remarking how unbelievably hot the hot baths were. For a country that's renowned for its hot summers, Andaluces seem to be particularly bothered by heat. The expression usually used outside is "¡joé, qué caló!" (joder que calor) which translated roughly as "Fuck, it's hot!"
Whether it's actually hot or not is debatable. In Cádiz last week, I heard an older woman mutter 'joé qué caló' when it was 65 degrees and the wind was blowing softly.
In any case, Hamman baths was a winner. They even threw in a 5 minute massage in the middle of your three hour bath time.
24 June 2006
Día numero uno: Córdoba
So far, so good. Got a place - the youth hostel - for €18 that has its own shower, toilet and everything. I'm very pleased. Also, I found the Mezquita quite easily and my dining establishment as well. The Altarea is an organic/veggie place that attracted me with its offer of specialty beer. There I was, seated with a cordobésa couple and tried my best to make myself innocuous or to not bother them. Nonetheless, they made polite conversation.
Two hours later, I was stumbling home, piss drunk, calling Becka a you-know-what for not being able to talk to me (I think she was at a movie or something). This morning, I woke up and my phone was gone. Crap. Two days into the trip and I've already lost my camera and my phone. Phone will be a bit bigger problem, not so much for the phone, but for the financial situation. I had planned to use it to keep track of all my purchases and thus get an idea how much I was spending on food, accommodation, entertainment and the like. Now I was without it.
Turns out I had gone out with the Cordoban couple after dinner and some of their friends and downed a few more beers at some trendy upscale bar (beers were still the affordable 1€ price, despite the swankiness). Then I blabbered to Becka in the hallway, considerately not wanting to awake my roommate, a Mexican. Apparently my phone did not follow me to bed, but luckily the cleaning folk discovered it the next morning and I was able to claim it at the front desk.
And thus begins my Great European Adventure Tour.
Two hours later, I was stumbling home, piss drunk, calling Becka a you-know-what for not being able to talk to me (I think she was at a movie or something). This morning, I woke up and my phone was gone. Crap. Two days into the trip and I've already lost my camera and my phone. Phone will be a bit bigger problem, not so much for the phone, but for the financial situation. I had planned to use it to keep track of all my purchases and thus get an idea how much I was spending on food, accommodation, entertainment and the like. Now I was without it.
Turns out I had gone out with the Cordoban couple after dinner and some of their friends and downed a few more beers at some trendy upscale bar (beers were still the affordable 1€ price, despite the swankiness). Then I blabbered to Becka in the hallway, considerately not wanting to awake my roommate, a Mexican. Apparently my phone did not follow me to bed, but luckily the cleaning folk discovered it the next morning and I was able to claim it at the front desk.
And thus begins my Great European Adventure Tour.
Adios, Cádiz, Hola Europa
After eschewing the 7:50AM train option for the more reasonable 4:10pm one, I set a departure time of 3:30. I left at 3:33, thereby going against my genes as the Brown family always leaves significantly after their intended DT, often by margins of hours.
I think I'm quite practiced at leaving now. I feel like I've done it so many times that it doesn't really seem that hard anymore. I remember leaving for college the first time just being excruciating. I cried for a good part of the day I left and felt hollow for a few days afterwards. Now, I sort of see it like this: if we're going to see each other again, we will. If not, then so be it. It's sort of a laissex faire attitude but it seems to protect me from the gushing tears that Becka can't seem to avoid.
I had a short moment when I said goodbye to Phil, Sara, and Alex last night, but it was dulled b/c I'd see Sara the next day and Alex in England. Plus I've promised to invite all of them to my wedding.
In the end, I've enjoyed my time in Cádiz. I'm not sure how helpful résumé-wise this year was, and I'm not sure if it would have been better to travel for the whole year, not buy the Moroccan rugs, but we'll never know. I've made some good friends but not as many as I would've liked, and with the exception of Alex, probably not as close as I would have hoped either. Part of that was the language barrier: i wanted to hang out with Spanish people to practice my spanish but didn't because I couldn't really connect with them and it was so forced. Towards the end, I really started just giving up on it and hanging out with Alex more, which ended up being more meaningful. Still, I probably could have put more effort into my original goal - become fluent in Spanish. But at this point, no use crying over spilt milk...
I think I'm quite practiced at leaving now. I feel like I've done it so many times that it doesn't really seem that hard anymore. I remember leaving for college the first time just being excruciating. I cried for a good part of the day I left and felt hollow for a few days afterwards. Now, I sort of see it like this: if we're going to see each other again, we will. If not, then so be it. It's sort of a laissex faire attitude but it seems to protect me from the gushing tears that Becka can't seem to avoid.
I had a short moment when I said goodbye to Phil, Sara, and Alex last night, but it was dulled b/c I'd see Sara the next day and Alex in England. Plus I've promised to invite all of them to my wedding.
In the end, I've enjoyed my time in Cádiz. I'm not sure how helpful résumé-wise this year was, and I'm not sure if it would have been better to travel for the whole year, not buy the Moroccan rugs, but we'll never know. I've made some good friends but not as many as I would've liked, and with the exception of Alex, probably not as close as I would have hoped either. Part of that was the language barrier: i wanted to hang out with Spanish people to practice my spanish but didn't because I couldn't really connect with them and it was so forced. Towards the end, I really started just giving up on it and hanging out with Alex more, which ended up being more meaningful. Still, I probably could have put more effort into my original goal - become fluent in Spanish. But at this point, no use crying over spilt milk...
30 May 2006
££££ondon
You think New York's expensive? Some Londoners fly to New York once a year to buy their new wardrobe. It's cheaper to buy them in the States, even when you add in the plane ticket.
Upset at the latest T fare-hike in Boston to $1.25 for a one-way ride? Try out the £4 one-way ticket on the Tube (~$7.80).
London is prohibitively expensive. My best friend here in Spain, Alex, told me he had two equal 'vacation budgets.' One was for 6 months of day-trips to Spanish towns, carnivals, fairs, bullfights, and accompanying friends to Morocco to buy rugs. The other was for 1 week in London.
British pounds themselves don't travel far in London. American dollars might as well be 1932 German Marks - you'd need a wheelbarrow to buy anything with 'em. Becka paid $12 for £4 at the airport despite my warnings not to exchange money there (in her defense, apparently Heathrow Airport has neglected to put in ATMs). That's a $3 to £1 exchange rate for those of you keeping score at home. That's incredibly ridiculous.
A weak dollar is one thing. The dollar's weaker than the Euro, but in places like Spain, the prices are adjusted accordingly. A beer might cost €1.20 here. That's still less than $2 for a 12-oz Bud light. But having the quantity of currency demanded be the same will just about ruin you. What costs $1 for me often costs £1 in London, effectively halving my money.
An example to illustrate. A regular french fry at a Burger King (something I regrettably had to order while waiting for Becka to arrive via the tube) might cost me $1.25 in the states. It cost £1.25 here. So I paid about $2.40 for my fries. And that's the way it is with most products. You're paying the same number, but it costs twice as much to you.
This, of course, means one of two things. Either you don't do anything in London, or you hemmorhage cash. We chose the latter.
Not without some resistance, however. We stayed in a cheap hotel, sacrificing en suite toilets and showers (meaning we had to phone reception to ask for towels and an unlocking of a shower stall, not quite the quaint bed-and-breakfast experience) for location (quite literally in Picaddilly Circus) and price (although I'd hate to see the $60/night rooms...). And I managed to nail 4 of the quite famous (and fully free) museums, seeing the Rosetta Stone (British Musuem), some Picasso/Dalí modern art (Tate Modern), fake dinosaur bones at the Natural Science Museum (seriously - a huge letdown), and a portrait gallery of all the monarchs/famous people of English history.
Some of the bleeding was expected. £15 to see the Tower of London, £10 to see Westminster Abbey, and £15 to see Coriolanus at Shakespeare's Globe theatre were all planned expenditures. But some of it was not. Like the $17 bagels we bought on our way out.
That's right. $17 for two plain bagels with cream cheese. If you took me to the best Jewish bagel shop in NY and told me that they're the most expensive bagels in the world, I'd guess they might be about $5 a pop. $10 total. And maybe I would've paid it, just to try the "best bagels in the world."
But what we had surely were not at the top of any Zagat survey or Michelin guide. I even think the place we went to was a chain. Becka was starving and ornery and we just thought we'd stop at the bagel/donut shop right outside our hotel. I remember noting that the donuts were £1.50 and I thought that was a bit high, but well within the range of acceptably inflated London prices.
Becka and I both decided we'd do bagels and cream cheese instead, figuring they'd be about the same. When we noticed she wasn't reaching into the big basket of fresh bagels and tub of smooth cream cheese, we started to be concerned. She grabbed for a bagel from the display shelf that was fully made up with cream cheese and lettuce. I gathered that we would be getting that, sans lettuce. But I was slightly confused why they didn't have fresh bagels and cream cheese when they advertised it outside.
Becka was similarly dazed and forgot to mention she didn't want hers toasted. When they came back in cheap wax paper bags, I admit I hadn't thought through what they could cost. If the donuts were £1.50, it should have been conceivable that the bagels were £2.50 or even £3. Then I would have been thinking that £5 was too much and might have refused them. When she proudly announced £9.90, a full $10 over what I could even think of overpaying, I could have said, "I'm sorry, I didn't ask for a dozen, just one bagel" and left rather dramatically in protest over the high price. Instead what I did was more or less say, "Ok, thanks. Here's your money. Shall I drop my pants and grab my ankles too?"
Truth be told, London was a great time and seeing Becka was worth whatever expenses we incurred. We did a much better mix of touristy things (mentioned before) and spending time together than we did in Paris or Venice, which were maybe a little too amped up with tourist destinations and checklists. Slowly, I'm learning how I need to travel, one little trip at a time. Soon it will be time to put it all into use, as I leave in a little more than three weeks for the Grand Finale.
Well, I should go to make sure I still have money in my bank accounts after the hit I took in London. Hopefully, I'll have enough cash saved up for the seven week trip. Or a week in London.
Upset at the latest T fare-hike in Boston to $1.25 for a one-way ride? Try out the £4 one-way ticket on the Tube (~$7.80).
British pounds themselves don't travel far in London. American dollars might as well be 1932 German Marks - you'd need a wheelbarrow to buy anything with 'em. Becka paid $12 for £4 at the airport despite my warnings not to exchange money there (in her defense, apparently Heathrow Airport has neglected to put in ATMs). That's a $3 to £1 exchange rate for those of you keeping score at home. That's incredibly ridiculous.
A weak dollar is one thing. The dollar's weaker than the Euro, but in places like Spain, the prices are adjusted accordingly. A beer might cost €1.20 here. That's still less than $2 for a 12-oz Bud light. But having the quantity of currency demanded be the same will just about ruin you. What costs $1 for me often costs £1 in London, effectively halving my money.
An example to illustrate. A regular french fry at a Burger King (something I regrettably had to order while waiting for Becka to arrive via the tube) might cost me $1.25 in the states. It cost £1.25 here. So I paid about $2.40 for my fries. And that's the way it is with most products. You're paying the same number, but it costs twice as much to you.
This, of course, means one of two things. Either you don't do anything in London, or you hemmorhage cash. We chose the latter.
| Our hotel was just down the mini-times square ads on the left |
Some of the bleeding was expected. £15 to see the Tower of London, £10 to see Westminster Abbey, and £15 to see Coriolanus at Shakespeare's Globe theatre were all planned expenditures. But some of it was not. Like the $17 bagels we bought on our way out.
That's right. $17 for two plain bagels with cream cheese. If you took me to the best Jewish bagel shop in NY and told me that they're the most expensive bagels in the world, I'd guess they might be about $5 a pop. $10 total. And maybe I would've paid it, just to try the "best bagels in the world."
But what we had surely were not at the top of any Zagat survey or Michelin guide. I even think the place we went to was a chain. Becka was starving and ornery and we just thought we'd stop at the bagel/donut shop right outside our hotel. I remember noting that the donuts were £1.50 and I thought that was a bit high, but well within the range of acceptably inflated London prices.
Becka and I both decided we'd do bagels and cream cheese instead, figuring they'd be about the same. When we noticed she wasn't reaching into the big basket of fresh bagels and tub of smooth cream cheese, we started to be concerned. She grabbed for a bagel from the display shelf that was fully made up with cream cheese and lettuce. I gathered that we would be getting that, sans lettuce. But I was slightly confused why they didn't have fresh bagels and cream cheese when they advertised it outside.
Becka was similarly dazed and forgot to mention she didn't want hers toasted. When they came back in cheap wax paper bags, I admit I hadn't thought through what they could cost. If the donuts were £1.50, it should have been conceivable that the bagels were £2.50 or even £3. Then I would have been thinking that £5 was too much and might have refused them. When she proudly announced £9.90, a full $10 over what I could even think of overpaying, I could have said, "I'm sorry, I didn't ask for a dozen, just one bagel" and left rather dramatically in protest over the high price. Instead what I did was more or less say, "Ok, thanks. Here's your money. Shall I drop my pants and grab my ankles too?"
Truth be told, London was a great time and seeing Becka was worth whatever expenses we incurred. We did a much better mix of touristy things (mentioned before) and spending time together than we did in Paris or Venice, which were maybe a little too amped up with tourist destinations and checklists. Slowly, I'm learning how I need to travel, one little trip at a time. Soon it will be time to put it all into use, as I leave in a little more than three weeks for the Grand Finale.
Well, I should go to make sure I still have money in my bank accounts after the hit I took in London. Hopefully, I'll have enough cash saved up for the seven week trip. Or a week in London.
Grand Finale update

Here I will be listing the plan, as it is formulated, revised, and ultimately accomplished, of the Grand Finale of the Great European Adventure.
The plan is to make two circles of the continent, the first going west through Switzerland and Austria and circling through Germany to Paris, and the second going through the south of France through Italy and up though Belgium and the Netherlands to England, Scotland, and Ireland.
Time frame:
June 22 until early August 11
Destinations:
definites
Spain
France
Italy
Switzerland
Austria
Germany
Czech Republic
England
Scotland
Ireland
Belgium
Netherlands
Day to Day Plans
date doing what during the day
Thu, Jun 22
Fri, Jun 23 last day in Cadiz
Sat, Jun 24 Cordoba
Sun, Jun 25 Toledo
Mon, Jun 26 Toledo, train to Barca
Tue, Jun 27 Barca
Wed, Jun 28 Barca
Thu, Jun 29 Barca
Fri, Jun 30 Interlaken, canyoning
Sat, Jul 01 Luzern
Sun, Jul 02
Mon, Jul 03 float down Cesky Krumlov river
Tue, Jul 04 Cesky Krumlov, train to Prague, Prague
Wed, Jul 05 Prague
Thu, Jul 06 Prague
Fri, Jul 07 Berlin
Sat, Jul 08 Berlin
Sun, Jul 09 Berlin
Mon, Jul 10 Louvre, Notre Dame. Café du Pax, Opera at night (8:00)
Tue, Jul 11 Orsay, Mt St Michel
Wed, Jul 12 Mt St Michel, Paris Plage?, Louvre until 9:45
Thu, Jul 13 Versaille on bikes, nice dinner
Fri, Jul 14 Avignon
Sat, Jul 15 train to beach, beach
Sun, Jul 16 beach, other things
Mon, Jul 17 Monaco (car museum, aquarium, casino)
Tue, Jul 18 train to Cinque Terre, one or two villages
Wed, Jul 19 Cinque Terre, train to Pisa at night
Thu, Jul 20 Pisa, train to Florence
Fri, Jul 21 Florence
Sat, Jul 22 Florence
Sun, Jul 23 train to Roma, Roma
Mon, Jul 24 Roma: Vatican and Coloseum
Tue, Jul 25 Roma
Wed, Jul 26 Salzburg (Staier & Faust 7:30pm)
Thu, Jul 27 Hallstatt salt mines, ice caves
Fri, Jul 28 Amsterdam
Sat, Jul 29 Amsterdam
Sun, Jul 30 Brugges
Mon, Jul 31 get to London, tidy up things in London
Tue, Aug 01 Stonehenge
Wed, Aug 02 Bath
Thu, Aug 03 Shakespeare's home
Fri, Aug 04 Oxford
Sat, Aug 05 fly to Glasgow, Glasgow
Sun, Aug 06 Stirling (Braveheart battle scene)
Mon, Aug 07 Edinburgh Fringe Arts Festival
Tue, Aug 08 Edinburgh
Wed, Aug 09 St. Andrews
Thu, Aug 10 fly from Glasgow to Dublin
Fri, Aug 11 Dublin to JFK
Top 10 Chokes
1. Purchasing $6500 worth of rugs from a Moroccan bazaar
2. Not showing my girlfriend the top 2 sights in my hometown during the three days she was here
3. Forgetting everything I read about pickpocketers and trying to push and kick the distraction (who was pulling on my dad's pants' legs) instead of holding onto wallets.
4. Paying $17 for two bagels with plain cream cheese in London
2. Not showing my girlfriend the top 2 sights in my hometown during the three days she was here
3. Forgetting everything I read about pickpocketers and trying to push and kick the distraction (who was pulling on my dad's pants' legs) instead of holding onto wallets.
4. Paying $17 for two bagels with plain cream cheese in London
25 May 2006
London, part 2 of 3
Of all the cities I'll visit during this whimsical year of travel, London has got to be the one I visit most. I've flown in or out of London 14 times already, but that's hardly a reasonable measure of my time spent here. Which is currently a total of two afternoons and one evening.
All of my connecting flights to the states have been through London save one, and I've even made London a connection between Andalusia and Venice (check your europe maps to see if that makes sense). But I've only visited London for one day before today. I went to visit Elisabeth from my teaching English course in Brighton and we made it up to London for a day, but didn't do much other than meet a myriad of friends of hers and spend the day searching for a costume for a dress up party where you had to dress up as something ending in '-st.' (for the record, I eschewed the typical artist/buddhist/florist routine for 'hidden cost').
So this is my first real London as a destination. And I likely won't see much. Despite what seemed to be a short flight (3 hrs + the hour saved when you go back in time), I wasn't able to set out on the tourist trail until 4:20 and didn't get to my destination, the Natural History Museum, until 4:40. Since Becka and I have decided we won't be doing museums (she doesn't like them enough and I don't want to be burdened by someone who doesn't like them enough), and London's chock full of great museums, I tried to fit them all in today.
I saw two. And one sucked. The Natural History Musuem had a number of great, well done exhibits, particularly on dinosaurs. But they used fake casts instead of real fossils (which are all in NY. And many of their facts were wrong (I did, after all, receive a citation and an 'A' in a class called Dinosaurs! at an Ivy League school). So that dampened the thrill. But I made up for it in the National Portrait Gallery, a symposium (not sure if I'm using that word correctly and don't have time to look it up to be sure although I did have time to write that whole sentence explaining such) of portraits (some famous) of many Britons (all famous) throughout the years with accompanying explanations as to who they were and why they were famous. Great consolidation of my British royal history. Enjoyable.
Which brings me to the three lessons I learned today:
1. Trust your guidebook. It said the Natural History Museum should be skipped, and it was right. It said that the National Portrait Gallery would be good and it was.
2. Don't fret about missing connections or, in general, the little things. My taxi driver told me that the only thing you should really worry about is dying. B/c then, you've really lost. But when you miss a bus/train/plane (the first was my mishap today), it's not the end of the world. Besides, I had a great conversation with a taxi driver as a result. I learned that his whole family's military and one of them works in top secret chemicals for the americans. And he told me how to keep your windows from fogging up in your car (wipe them with water-less soap) and water from sticking when it rains on the outside (wipe a potato on it).
3. I can't remember and I have 2 minutes left on internet, so I'll write it later
Obviously if it didn't come back to me in three days, it probably wasn't that important...
All of my connecting flights to the states have been through London save one, and I've even made London a connection between Andalusia and Venice (check your europe maps to see if that makes sense). But I've only visited London for one day before today. I went to visit Elisabeth from my teaching English course in Brighton and we made it up to London for a day, but didn't do much other than meet a myriad of friends of hers and spend the day searching for a costume for a dress up party where you had to dress up as something ending in '-st.' (for the record, I eschewed the typical artist/buddhist/florist routine for 'hidden cost').
So this is my first real London as a destination. And I likely won't see much. Despite what seemed to be a short flight (3 hrs + the hour saved when you go back in time), I wasn't able to set out on the tourist trail until 4:20 and didn't get to my destination, the Natural History Museum, until 4:40. Since Becka and I have decided we won't be doing museums (she doesn't like them enough and I don't want to be burdened by someone who doesn't like them enough), and London's chock full of great museums, I tried to fit them all in today.
I saw two. And one sucked. The Natural History Musuem had a number of great, well done exhibits, particularly on dinosaurs. But they used fake casts instead of real fossils (which are all in NY. And many of their facts were wrong (I did, after all, receive a citation and an 'A' in a class called Dinosaurs! at an Ivy League school). So that dampened the thrill. But I made up for it in the National Portrait Gallery, a symposium (not sure if I'm using that word correctly and don't have time to look it up to be sure although I did have time to write that whole sentence explaining such) of portraits (some famous) of many Britons (all famous) throughout the years with accompanying explanations as to who they were and why they were famous. Great consolidation of my British royal history. Enjoyable.
Which brings me to the three lessons I learned today:
1. Trust your guidebook. It said the Natural History Museum should be skipped, and it was right. It said that the National Portrait Gallery would be good and it was.
2. Don't fret about missing connections or, in general, the little things. My taxi driver told me that the only thing you should really worry about is dying. B/c then, you've really lost. But when you miss a bus/train/plane (the first was my mishap today), it's not the end of the world. Besides, I had a great conversation with a taxi driver as a result. I learned that his whole family's military and one of them works in top secret chemicals for the americans. And he told me how to keep your windows from fogging up in your car (wipe them with water-less soap) and water from sticking when it rains on the outside (wipe a potato on it).
3. I can't remember and I have 2 minutes left on internet, so I'll write it later
Obviously if it didn't come back to me in three days, it probably wasn't that important...
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