Tag Archives: traveling

The Rain in Sevilla

Our trip to Sevilla got off to a rainy start. After checking into our hotel after an unsuccessful attempt to visit the dentist (another story altogether!), night had already fallen. Another thing falling? The rain, of course.

My first view of La Giralda

Luckily, Sevilla is still pretty, even amidst the drizzle. The Christmas lights were lit, and it was hard to feel discontent with the whole city wishing us Felices Fiestas (Happy Holidays).

Everything in Sevilla seemed so cozy

One of my favorite parts was seeing the juxtaposition of an orange tree with Christmas lights. Thus is Sevilla.

Luminous

Our friend from a town near Sevilla had recommended La Carbonería to us. La Carbonería, according to Tertulia Andaluza, was “the meeting point for the vanguard of Seville, a space for independent and alternative thought.” In the past, the site was a coal warehouse, thus the name, which in English would be “The Coalyard.” In 1975, Paco Lira converted it into the place it is today, a venue to hear and see flamenco, for ideas, for art of all kinds.

We saw a flamenco show and ate food off paper towels. It was an intriguing show. What’s more, it was packed. Good thing we got there early.

I found the female dancer especially intriguing. There was something there in her face, impossible to articulate but powerful nonetheless. She may not have been famous, but her whole self radiated the spirit of flamenco.

The next day we got up, and after a quick visit to the dentist who confused me with his sevillano pronunciation, we had some breakfast. Mario took his Cola Cao with extra sugar.

I had a tostada con jamón along with a café con leche.

Mario chose to go with a recommendation from our waitress, the pringá. Pringá comes from the verb pringar, meaning to dip or to dunk in this case, is made up of the ingredients from the traditional Spanish cocido, known as puchero in many places. The meat portion, which consists of things like morcilla (blood sausage), chorizo, and tocino (fat), is cooked along with the rest of the stew, and then made into a spread to eat with bread. Yum! Actually, it was quite good, we both agreed, although perhaps a bit more fuerte than the typical Spanish breakfast.

Next on the docket was a bit of sightseeing. Of course, you can’t go to Sevilla without seeing the cathedral and la Giralda.

La Giralda is a former minaret that the Christians made into a bell tower for Sevilla’s cathedral. It stands high above the Patio de los Naranjos (Orange Tree Courtyard). The area of the courtyard is supposedly the area the old mosque occupied, as two of the courtyard’s exterior walls belonged to. During the time of the Muslim occupation of Spain, the area served as the space for the Muslims’ activities, including cemetery and cultural events.

Seen from above, as we climbed the Giralda

Besides seeing the sites, we also wandered around a bit. Getting “lost” (is it possible to get lost with a smart phone nowadays?) is one of my favorite ways to see a city.

We had lunch at Bar Alfalfa, another recommendation from our Sevillana friend. A real winner! We really enjoyed the food we had, and with the prices in Sevilla, you can’t go wrong.

After a bit more wandering, we headed over to the Plaza de España, where it was already starting to get dark. Unlike most Spanish plazas, this one is not centuries old. It was built in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition (often referred to simply “la expo” by Spaniards), which was held in 1929. Along its walls there are tiled alcoves, each of which represents a Spanish province, from Álava to Zaragoza.

It has also been used as a film set: in Lawrence of Arabia, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace,and Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones.

Our day in Sevilla ended with—you guessed it!—more tapas at a popular local bar, Los Coloniales, located in the town center. These tapas included, of course, the typical Sevillan picos, a type of small crunchy breadsticks. They usually accompany ham/chorizo/cheese, but we found them to come with almost anything! Yum!

Have you ever been to Sevilla?

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Not Just a Flyover

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Esta entrada va dirigida a aquellos españoles que siguen mi blog, y, por eso, escribo en castellano. Además, nunca viene mal escribir en el idioma que quieres perfeccionar.

Como he trabajado con muchas personas de todas las edades aquí en España, creo que puedo decir con confianaza que la mayoría de vosotros querría visitar los EEUU algún día. Pues me alegro de que lo estiméis un buen sitio para visitar. Pero la verdad es que no me alegro de que sólo queráis visitar Nueva York. Nueva York no tiene nada de malo, pero… quiero animaros a visitar otros sitios, otros estados, precisamente sitios que no se encuentren en las costas.

¿Por qué? Os lo voy a explicar.

Soy de Indiana y, si lees mi blog, pues, a lo mejor ya os habréis familiarizado con mi estado (lo conoceréis por el nombre y no porque hayáis estado. Sólo Mario habrá estado, supongo.) Pero cuando me presento a la gente, no suele saber ni dónde está. Tengo que decirles que cerca de Chicago. Y lo entiendo. No es Nueva York, no es California y no tenemos famosos ni el Empire State Building ni Times Square ni la Statue of Liberty. No somos tan interesantes y no nos consideramos tan interesantes.

Mario piensa que somos interesantes, sin embargo

Pero EEUU es más que Nueva York. Es más que California. Somos un gran país, lleno de maravillas, naturaleza y gente maja. Tenemos de todo: playas, montañas, géiseres, grandes llanuras, atracciones turísticas estrafalarias (Wall Drug), la Ruta 66, el Gran Cañón del Colorado… y no he hecho mas que empezar.

Insisto en que el Midwest, como lo llamamos nosotros, no es una zona flyover (el término flyover se refiere a las regiones de EEUU entre la coste este y la costa oeste. Normalmente se usa en un sentido peyorativo, cuando uno quiere referirse a las regiones sobre las que se vuela en los vuelos transcontinentales.) Como he dicho, soy Hoosier (término que se refiere a la gente de Indiana). En mi estado no existen muchos sitios turísticios, pero, si alguien va a estudiar a una zona como Indiana, yo diría que qué bien, porque esa persona va a aprender cómo es la gente normal de EEUU, va a poder ver la vida diaria, va a conectar con la gente. De hecho, si va a cualquier estado del famoso Medio Oeste, también podría decir lo mismo.

Disfrutando de Chicago

En fin, a lo mejor un día vas a Nueva York. Y lo disfrutarás, seguro. Pero si tienes una oportunidad para volver, vete a otro sitio. Vete a recorrer la Ruta 66, como hicieron mis (nuevos) primos este verano. Vete a ver Yellowstone y las preciosidades naturales que alberga. Vete a las montañas de Colorado o Tennessee. No te decepcionarán.

A lo mejor podrás ver un mogollón de autobuses como Mario

Scenes from Ávila

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Another check mark on my list of cities to see in Castilla y León: Ávila. It seems Mario has family en todas partes, and thus our visit to his aunt and uncle’s house did not go by without a visit to the famous muralla de Ávila (wall of Ávila).

Ávila is known for its wall (seen above), as well as where Saint Teresa of Ávila was born. Santa Teresa de Jesús is the patron saint of headache sufferers (apparently), so if you’re suffering from a headache, she’s your woman!

Ávila Wall2

This guy popped his head out. What a weirdo.

Picture of Mario’s family (L-R): Mario’s godfather Alberto, his godfather’s children Sergio and Sara, his brother Víctor, his uncle Jesús, Alberto’s wife Lola, and his father Jesús.

Ávila Wall6

A lion statue in front of the cathedral

But Ávila’s real claim to fame is that its famous sweet, Yemas de Santa Teresa (egg yolk cakes), are actually too sweet for Mario.

Who knew such a thing was possible?

Have you ever been to Ávila?

Seven Super Shots

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Why yes, I am a follower? Why do you ask? Liz tagged me in her post, so I couldn’t resist; besides, I’ve loved all the other ones I’ve read.

My 7 Super Shots are not all superb photos; instead, they reflect a super moment, one that took my breath away or brought me to tears or causes me endless nostalgia to this day. Here goes …

1. A photo that … takes my breath away.

This photo was taken in Lisbon, Portugal, in February 2008. I was studying abroad in Toledo, Spain, and this was my first international trip. I was so excited, as I had always wanted to go to Portugal. Seeing the bridge, the 25 de Abril Bridge, reminded of another bridge, a bridge I’ve yet to visit, the Golden Gate bridge. It was twilight, serene, and utterly beautiful. To this day, I find it hard to fathom such a picture-perfect moment.

2. A photo that … makes me laugh or smile.

Back in the fall of 2010, I took a day trip with Mario’s family to Puebla de Sanabria, a quaint little village just a stone’s throw from Portugal. We went with his cousin, his cousin’s wife, and their children. Here’s little María, who kept us constantly entertained with her stories. Here she is, telling one I can no longer recall, but looking at this photo still causes me to smile.

3. A photo that … makes me dream.

This photo was also taken on that trip to Sanabria. The rain had just started to fall when we settled in for a nice café. After a short while, the rain let up, and the sun came out from behind the clouds. Naturally, a rainbow (un arco iris) soon emerged, leaving us in awe of its magnitude. I honestly have never seen a rainbow almost touch the ground like this one.

4. A photo that … makes me think.

This photo was taken in April 2011, during Zamora’s Semana Santa (Holy Week). The ones down in Andalucía get all the press, but Zamoranos take pride in theirs and think—naturally—that theirs is worth visiting as well. It is. Even Italians know about it. It makes me think about tradition, and family, and pride in one’s home, something I don’t always see a lot of in Spain. I love seeing the Zamoranos excited about their town, proud of its beauty and heritage, eager to show the world.

5. A photo that … makes my mouth water.

This photo, taken during Zamora’s Renaissance Fair in 2010, literally does make my mouth water. I love cheese, especially the cured kind that’s so common in Spain. This stuff isn’t cheap, though, so I relish the opportunity to eat it—especially if someone else is buying.

6. A photo that … tells a story.

Toledo is a place I’ll always remember and love. It was my first home in Spain, the place I first got to hear the castellano accent of which I’ve grown so fond, the place I felt desperately homesick, the place I remember as where I learned not only about the outside world but about myself, the place I cried and laughed and was sad to leave.

This photo was taken during my first few days in Toledo. It was warm and sunny and I was enchanted—the typical honeymoon phase, but I didn’t care. We stopped in every shop, browsed through every shelf, talked to strangers easily and willing (if in halting Spanish). This man’s shop was found on a small Toledano side street (and aren’t they all side streets in Toledo?). He explained to us what he was doing, known as damascene (in Spanish: damasquino), the art of “interlacing gold on iron or steel to produce beautiful decorative designs.” (Source) He asked us—time and again—”¿Entendéis?”, hoping that we did understand and could fully appreciate his work.

7. A photo that … I am most proud of (aka my worthy of National Geographic shot).

I shared this photo in my post about Castilla y León, but I love it. It was taken during my parents’ visit to Spain in April 2011. This is in Segovia, atop the castle, looking out onto the road below. Here I see ancient meeting modern—if you look hard enough, you’ll see a small car winding its way around the hills. To Spaniards (and many Europeans in general), this juxtaposition is nothing new; to me, however, it’s fascinating, beautiful. I love the ancient feel of Spain, the way I can walk the cobblestone roads just like Cervantes, the way the buildings still cast cool shadows onto the hot streets in summertime, the Plaza Mayor of every city teeming with people to this day, the feeling that you are connected with the past and that, someday, the future will be connected to you.

The Worst Part of Traveling is Traveling

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I like traveling. I also hate it.

Now, before you write me off as completely crazy (I take it for granted you already regard me as slightly), let me explain.

I like traveling. I like this part:

You know, doing something you’ve only seen in movies. For me, this involved, yes, getting my picture taken inside a red phone booth. Forgive me, I lose all fear of being a cliched traveler when confronted by such things. Mario is fascinated by other sorts of things. See:

Yes, yellow school buses. For us, they are ubiquitous and not particularly noteworthy. For him, they ~~are~~ were something he had only seen in movies.

Also, this:

You know, finding myself in places I had only seen in photos. The Arc de Triomphe, the glass pyramid at the Louvre, the Eiffel Tower, La Sagrada Familia, Parc Guell, etc.

I love learning new languages, eating new foods, soaking up the culture. My mom experienced a fried calamari sandwich in Madrid. I’ve eaten steak tartare in France, jamón serrano in Spain, and super fresh prawns in Lisbon.

You may be thinking, Um, Kaley, it really seems as though you do like traveling. All of it. What gives?

What gives, my friend? I’ll tell you what gives: I hate the part in which I actually have to get from place. I don’t particularly love buses, airpots, and impatient tourists waiting in long lines. I could deal without Ryan Air’s famous “customer service.” I really don’t care for jet lag.

(Side note: this graphic is so true!)

In about a week (October 25th, to be exact), Mario will be packing his bags into a car, then a bus, and finally a plane to cross the Atlantic. Once he has done all that, he’ll arrive 8 hours later, only to pack his bags into yet another vehicle and drive 3 more hours. He’ll finally arrive at my house, something like 18 hours after he started. And he’s lucky. It’s a direct flight.

I’ve mentioned on occasion that I wouldn’t mind teleportation being invented. Any day now.

Seriously.

Two Years Ago

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Two years ago…

I got on a plane in Chicago, IL.

I played a game of basketball on a warm Saturday afternoon in September. (My team won.)

I asked a boy for his number.

We met at 10 o’clock “debajo del reloj,” the place in Salamanca where everybody meets.

We drank a glass of wine at an Irish “pub,” Molly Malone’s.

I spilled said wine all over the table. He told me, “No pasa nada,” the first in a long line of No pasa nadas.

He texted me the next day to go get coffee. I was taking a siesta and my reply was delayed. But when I did get the message, I hopped out of bed and got there as fast as my legs would carry me.

We took a trip to the top of the Salamanca cathedrals. This was the first photo he ever took of me.

A few days later, after numerous late night meetings, we decided we were a we. Since that date, October 1, 2009, it’s always been about him and me, me and him, us.

Silly

Culinarily inclined

Travelers (in so many senses of the word)

Natural

With a future so bright, we gotta wear shades. Or at least I do.

Two of a kind

Inseparable

True to one another. Good to the last drop.

Happy two years, mi amor.

P.S. See you so soon!

Detainee!

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I’ll try not to be terribly cliché here, but you know that saying, “When life hands you lemons, make lemonade”? (Of course you do.) Well, life definitely handed me some lemons, but lemonade just ain’t gonna cut it here, folks. I’m making margaritas because I. need. a. drink.

I had it all in Spain: job prospects, a temporary place to live, an amazing boyfriend, and then I just go and throw it away. Oops, I mean the Spanish government did that for me. Or rather, my former bosses. But I digress. Upon attempting to enter the glorious country known as España to the locals, the passport control officer looked at me strangely. “You live in Salamanca?” he asked me, only in Spanish. (You see, I’m translating. Aren’t I nice?) “Yes,” I answered – honestly. It turns out that I no longer did, according to them, anyway. I’m making light of a scary situation, but keep in mind that I am a 23 year-old girl who just wanted to see her boyfriend – a boyfriend who was waiting at the gate with her favorite cookies in his pocket. That kind of boyfriend. Sigh.

Oh, sorry, this isn’t a sappy love letter. Back to business. So yes, I was detained for 1.5 days, kept in some underground bunker with my fellow detainees. Now, I wasn’t eager to make friends with any of them, but even if I had wanted to, it would have been rather impossible, seeing as they all seemed to speak Portuguese. One guy only “spoke” Arabic and English. I put spoke in quotes because I asked him simple questions and he stared at me blankly as though I were speaking, hmmm, Mandarin Chinese. Nevertheless, I used my time well there, speaking on the phone with M (my lovely Spanish novio) for several hours, stealing my own cell phone from my confiscated carry on luggage they were keeping in a separate room, eating disgusting airline food, and working as a translator. Yes, you read that right. I was working for them, though I’m still waiting on my check. Spanish police usually (okay, never) know how to speak more than a few words of English (hail to the queen!). To give you an example, while M and I were on the phone, he asked me if, in the U.S., police also were the type who “don’t like to study.” Personally, I hate stereotyping, so of course I quickly answered YES. It made me feel so much better to say these terrible, awful, no good mean things to my boyfriend, who of course was nodding at my every word. At least I assume he was nodding – he better have been! M, are you reading this? Call me later. We gotta talk.

Oh yes, back to translating. Well, I translated from Spanish into English for the Arabic guy who barely spoke English. Complicated enough for ya? No? Sorry, I got nothing. After my translation of the phrase, “Your flight leaves tomorrow at 4,” the guard asked me what, exactly, tomorrow meant, proving that Spanish police hate studying. You see, it is generally a requirement that all children study English from an early age. Tomorrow is generally a word one would know even if one’s skills are limited to the most basic.

However, my favorite part of the whole experience was how most people (except the guards) seemed to think it was very, very strange that I was there. The Nicaraguan sisters questioned me intensely as to exactly why the Spanish police wouldn’t let an American in…I explained to them my evil intentions of seeing the boy with whom I was in love, and they asked if he wouldn’t help me. If only they knew how M was calling every person he had ever met since the age of 2, then they would understand. The flight crew on my way home laughed and laughed, telling me I’d soon be back. My lawyer advised me to lose my passport so I could get back sooner. Everyone, it seemed, thought I should be allowed in, except the law. The law is cruel and unforgiving and hates love. It has never had a girlfriend, so it’s understandable. We need to get it laid. (I kid, I kid.)

So, as for now, I’m in good old Crawtucky, Indiana, applying to be a substitute teacher and spending my time on Skype. Skype is a wonderful tool and I wish to personally kiss the feet of the person who invented it. I take that back, actually, as I have this fear that, somewhere, the inventor is actually reading this (highly unlikely, but possible) and will soon be calling me up. I wish to avoid such situations. It’s only prudent. I ask only that you continue reading and that you do not tell me if you feel asleep reading this post. I’m sensitive.

Kaley…& Más