Basque Country: The sort-of-Spain region

The Basque country. Ever heard of it? Don´t feel bad. How about ETA? The separatist terrorist group from the north of Spain (AKA the Basque region)? Unfortunately, this is the first thing a lot people they think of when they head to Basque country, even though only about 5% of the country has even the desire for the region to become an autonomous country, and far less that contribute to the ETA´s vandalistic and violent tactics, not to mention that these events are very rare anyway. Clearly, you should throw away any preconceived notions you have about Northern Spain (as if you had any, unless you studied abroad in Spain) and adopt all my thoughts and conclusions on everything Basque.

Natalie, Allie and I arrived to Bilbao airport (with our 45 euro return flight! WIN) and immediately took a bus to go to San Sebastian, a popular beachfront city an hour from Bilbao. I had never heard of San Sebastian until a year previous, when my friend, Justin, studied abroad there. You know the feeling when you first find out about something, and after that you continually hear about it? Yeah. That happened.  Everyone in Spain has been telling me for months “Hay que ir a San Sebastian.” One very important thing I have learned while being my own travel agent is: if everyone talks about a site or a city, it truly is worth visiting and NO, you are not hip/special/a trailblazer/etc. if you avoid the touristy places; you are simply missing out on something awesome. I digress.

On the drive from Bilbao to San Sebastian

Basically any spaniard will agree the food in Northern Spain is the best in the country. In a country where cooking and eating are a way of life, this region best exemplifies the importance of spending a night over a good set of tapas (which they call pinxtos), friends, and a glass of wine.

“San Sebastian is food town” -Anthony Bourdain

If the god of food doesn´t convince you, maybe the pictures will.

Fried Calamari

Mushroom Risotto. Deliciousness can't really be explained in words.

Roasted goat-cheese with fig compote. One of the best things I have ever eaten

Roasted beef cheek. SO GOOD.

Carmelized onion, sun dried tomato and brie on a sesame tostada

Delicious thick clam stew of sorts 

Ham, shrimp, anchovies, peppers manchego cheese, etc.

Tomatoes, shrimp, baby eels, etc.

Oh right, dessert.

We broke up the eating with a funicular ride to the top of Mount Urgull, enjoying sand between our toes, and a hike up the Jesus statue in old town. In all honesty, eating is the most important thing to do in this town, so we quickly went back to that.

On top of Mont Urgull

Natalie being offensive.

Natalie and Allie on La Concha beach

San Sebastian. Kind of beautiful

At night we met up with another girl from our program, Deidre, who happened to be in San Sebastian as well. We gossiped for hours then met some Germans and talked about more legitimate things. The alcohol killed any filter Natalie and I may have had originally and we started talking to two of the Germans about that topic nobody will let go. Yup, that whole thing Hitler thing. One of their grandfathers was in the SS during WWII and the other´s wasn´t old enough to serve, so he was an active member of the Hitler Youth. Having these uncomfortable conversations with people almost directly connected to the history reminded me that I do, in fact, like studying political science. Also, although  technically could have had this conversation in America, it reminded me how grateful I am for having the option of going abroad for a year. 

People are serious about the whole eating/socializing thing here

Natalie, Allie and Deidre with the famous Cidra of San Sebastian

The next day we decided we should eat some more… and we did. We broke up the eating with a trip to the aquarium and a nap on the beach.

The old town of San Sebastian

Octopus that they let you touch!

Aquarium of San Sebastian

We took the bus to Bilbao that night (and I DIDN´T throw my ticket in the locked trash just before getting on the bus this time! Not that I didn't do that two days before…), and our settled into our hostel that was deceptively far from the only area of interest in Bilbao, the Guggenheim. Fail. Nonetheless, I made Natalie and Allie walk to the museum the next day because I am an evil dictator/felt like we should all do a little more walking than usual since we had just eaten a lifetime’s worth of food the past two days.

The museum (more so the outside than the outside) was AMAZING and there was a free audio-guide! Always exciting. After getting in a big dose of culture, we walked to the old-town to get some delicious, cheap seafood.

The "heart" of the Guggenheim in Bilbao

Yes, this IS real.

I hate to knock Bilbao, but… the Guggenheim is all it has going for it (keep in mind that the Guggenheim is SOOOO COOL). It’s a fairly ugly city and the insane amount of yearly rainfall does not make for favourable touring conditions. That, mixed with our previous days in San Sebastian gave Bilbao quote an unfair disadvantage in my judgement. It is certainly worth a side trip, but nothing more. All in all, I was so happy to visit an area of Spain I had heard about so much and it definitely met all my high expectations. 

The Home-stay post

I moved to a different home-stay on Tuesday. You may or may not know this is a pretty big deal when it comes to abroad-stuff. If you want the gory details, read the following epic and enjoy 10-15 minutes of procrastination.

Valencianos... pyromaniacs

Every year in March, a festival called Las Fallas (pronounced lahs fah-yahs), takes place in Valencia, Spain. The festival lasts one week and is the culmination of an entire year of construction by Valencianos, young and old.  What is a Falla? Falla means fire in valenciano (yes, yet ANOTHER form of the language). During the fallas festival, ninots (translated as puppets or dolls) are burned. The ninots are basically your typical parade float, minus the typical part. The ninots are funny, political and intricate, among other adjectives. During the week, there are daily parades bringing the structures to dfferent areas of the city and fireworks displays every night. While all of this is happening, kids (well, mostly kids) are lighting off fireworks of all sizes in the streets. The week is punctuated with sounds of snap, crackle, and pop at least every 30 seconds. The last night of the festival, all of the ninots are burned in an exciting (and very hot) spectacle. If you have heard of San Fermin (the festival in Pamplona with the running of the Bulls), this is comparable.

Big ninot

Pretty much all of them are this inappropriate

I never expected to attend any of the events, because Natalie’s family was visiting on Las Fallas weekend and I felt bad going without her, but constantly seeing signs that promoted day trips there costing 25 euro made it difficult to contain myself.

And here is why Spain pisses me off.

I tried for at least a week to get tickets. Registering online didn’t work so I emailed the main guy for help and they sent me to Caixabanco, which is a bank-type-place where you can do a transfer and get a ticket for an event (re: a really inefficient system very typical of Spain) The machine didn’t work. Unfortunately the bank is only open about 3 hours a day (an only four days a week) and when normal people work and go to class, so I couldn’t go inside for help either. I decided to try to go with a different group, la UAM (my university) Erasmus (European for Study Abroad) network. I emailed them a couple days before and asked to save a spot because their one-hour-a-day open office hours did not match up well with my schedule. When I finally could go to the office, they told me tickets were sold out. I then received an official looking email from the original company telling me what bus I was on. I sent them an email back saying I hadn’t paid, but I would like to be on the bus. They emailed back apologizing for the error and told me that I, in fact, do NOT have a seat. I sent back a very angry email saying I am entitled to a spot, since I have been trying to work with this company for at least a week. They finally obliged. Mind you, all these exchanges (via email and in person) occur in Spanish, and while I can speak this language, it is blaringly obvious I am not fluent, so trying to express myself perfectly causes extra duress.  When I went to the meeting point, the Metro stop of Universidad Complutense, I found LITERALLY at least 60 buses. It took 45 minutes to find mine, the whole time worrying it would have left already. No worries. This is Spain. The bus left an hour late.

I arrived to Valencia after a 4 hour bus ride at 2PM and met Deidre and Adrian, two people from my program and we did a little touring, finding ninots in every corner of the city. Then, we took a nap in preparation for the night’s festivities- completely necessary considering I had to leave at 6AM and had no hostel.

Women making bañuelos (pumpkin donuts) from scratch

We found a kitty

Cross-dressing disney princesses

Obama, Chávez, etc. make an appearance

We woke up, snuck into a hostel, socialized a bit, managed to see some of the final parade, and set off the fireworks that Deidre and I bought for a euro. We found AMAZING gelato to eat for dinner, then I saw a grilled vegetable sandwich (THERE IS BARELY SUCH A THING AS A GRILLED VEGETABLE IN SPAIN), died of happiness, started to eat it, then died of happiness again. I am so very deprived of healthy food. Then, we accidentally found a perfect spot to see a small and a large collection of ninots burn. We didn’t want to give up the spot, so we stayed there for literally 4 hours. I had my vinto tinto to keep me warm, so all was well.

Burning of the small ninots

The little falla burned on time (re: 20 minutes after the scheduled time), but the large unfortunately was 2 hours late. The waiting was totally worth it though. This festival could turn anyone into a pyromaniac/arsonist. It wouldn’t be Spanish unless something went awry. So, after all the fireworks next to the large ninot went off and the ninot has burned burned, a cleaner kicked the fireworks boxes into the last of the flames. It turned out not all the fireworks were finished going off and they started to rocket left and right into the crowds. Shockingly, no one was hurt, but it didn’t change how the terror I felt at seeing a legitimate firework (we are not talking sparklers and roman candles here) zoom into a crowd.

Now Imagine these going into a crowd...

SO tired at this point. Time: 2AM

Falla burnin falla burnin. Theme some of the night

After the flames died down, Deidre snuck me into her hostel, but her German roommates were sleeping and the kitchen was closed (YES it closed even on the last night of the festival) so we hung out in Starbucks until it closed at 4AM. I made Deidre go to sleep because I felt keeping her awake for so long already and I walked around the city for 2 hours, trying to not get killed. I didn’t! Yay!

Of course the bus arrived a half hour late and, by that time, I was very cold and unhappy. My extreme fatigue aided in the best bus-sleep I have ever experienced. When I arrived back to Madrid at 10AM, I was due to hang out with my friend (and summer roommate) Sam, who was visiting from London. I was incredibly tired but feigned energetic-tour-guide-Shelagh, which I do pretty well if I do say so myself. I was so excited to see Sam and meet her friends that as the day went on, I stopped faking it and enjoyed showing off my city, reminding myself that I actually do love it. Sam unfortunately had to leave that night, so we said our said good-byes on the metro, assuring each other it would only be four months until we reunite again in Boston.

Casual protest near Atocha

Introducing the magic of Magnum to more Americans

Sam and I in some quintessential-looking Madridleña streets

Paris

Yes, again.

I arrived to Charles de Gaulle on a Friday in March and took the RER train to Jacque’s stop with my post-it directions to her apartment.  It was a crisp morning, maybe 50 degrees Farenheit. I think if I went to Paris in the summer when the weather was perfect, the beauty would be too overwhelming and I might go crazy, so I prefer the colder temperatures in order to stay sane. Jacque’s apartment is a former maid´s quarters, so it isn´t big, but it does not matter at all because it is across from the Luxembourg Gardens in the 6^th arrondisment. Holy location. Jacque had to go to class, so I dropped off my bag, we got a crepe in the Luxembourg gardens, and she set me free to roam the 6^th arrondisment while she was in class.

Jackie's Apartment!

Lovely host

I went to the Luxembourg palace and did some people watching, then went to the Pantheon to do some dead-people watching. The Pantheon is where people like Voltaire, Marie Curie, Jean-Jacques Rousseau, and a bunch of other famous people are buried. I was very pleased to get in for free with my Spanish residency card (after all the hassle of getting the thing, THIS was the first time I have gotten anything from it). I walked to Notre Dame after that and met Jacque and her friends there. We walked around inside, glanced at the incredibly long line to get to the top, and decided to go to the Paris crypt of Notre Dame, which dates back to Pre-roman times. It was pretty cheesy (with lights you can change yourself by pressing a button), but free to get in. I was lucky to have Jacque and her knowledgeable friends with me, since the explanations left a lot to be desired, but if you go to Paris alone, I would skip this place.

Luxembourg Gardens

Pantheon

Rousseau's grave. Kind of a big deal

Also a big deal

The woman we all aspired to be when we first learned what science was.

For lunch, we went to L’aus de Falafel in the Jewish Quarter, which happened to be the exact place my friend Lara had recommended to me the last time I was in Paris. I unfortunately wasn’t able to go because the line was about an hour long. This time, the area was relatively empty and we only had to wait about 45 seconds to enjoy some falafel-y goodness. I have to admit it wasn’t the best falafel I have ever had (I have been to Israel), but it was pretty delicious. After we finished our falafel, an Austrian girl with a camera crew came up to us and asked if we could answer some questions on camera about prison. Being hams, we obliged, but we didn’t know she was going to ask us about men getting raped and the new construction of a transsexual prison in Italy. We laughed nervously and made complete fools of ourselves, creating yet another video to prove that Americans are a bunch of hooligans. Sorry.

After that, Jacque and I had our first French macaroon; it was more delicious than I expected.

Jackie, me and Notre Dame 

First macaroon. No words.

I don’t think I could go to Paris without stopping by the Eiffel Tower, so we headed there for some jumping pictures then to L’Hotel national des Invalides (where Napoleon Bonaparte is buried). We capped off our sight-seeing day with the Louvre (a famous art museum where this painting called The Mona Lisa is held), which was having what I can only describe as a contemporary dance exhibit all throughout the museum. It was basically like So You Think You Can Dance next to Winged Victory of Samothrace, so I was pleased.

Post jump

In front of Invalides

Random performances in the Louvre

Jacque and I enjoyed a lovely pre-fixe 16Euro dinner in the Latin Quarter, then drank the wine I brought from Spain, and met up with her friend from school. Jacque’s friend coincidentally had someone visiting from home, goes to UNH and knew most of my friends there (I think it is a rule that every other trip I go on I have to meet someone connected to me in some way). On the metro, we met some lovely French people who accompanied us to club Rex and taught us some French swears (Shelagh fact: I love learning foreign-swears words).

Here is how French clubs work: People who want to walk by you do not walk AROUND YOU, they walk INTO you, taking the most direct A to B route. While I respect the efficiency of this method, I didn’t enjoy feeling like a rag doll for 4 hours. Also, the men in clubs pretty much never EVER, throughout the whole night, understand when a piece of prey is not interested in submitting to “dancing” (quotes are necessary) with them. While I respect the tenacity, I don’t enjoy when said persistence is directed at my friends and myself. Another thing clubs in Paris like to do is charge 4 Euros for a smaller-than-normal shot. If you think I bought a shot, you know absolutely nothing about me. You might think this annoying club culture might have lessened my love for Paris slightly, but my feelings toward this guy Paris are pretty much unshakeable.

Snails!

Apprehensive about escargot even though its delicious

Jacque had never been up the Arc de Triomphe so we headed there the next morning. It may not be as popular as the Eiffel Tower because you have to walk up to the top, but the view and the serenity are totally worth it. We didn’t have to wait at all and there were only about 15 other people on top, two things that are probably never true about the Eiffel Tower. We walked down the Champs Elysees to get some macaroons at the famous La Duree and they were absolutely worth the 15-minute long line. The best part of the wait was I got to translate for a Spanish family that could not speak any English or French! Yay for my foreign language being necessary and useful!

Breakfast. Thank god I am not studying in Paris. Literally would come back obese.

I will never love anything like I love Paris

MACAROONS ALL UP IN MY MOUTH

As if we had not had enough crap to eat, we went to Angelina (famous for its visitors like Audrey Hepburn) for some well-known super thick hot chocolate. Honestly, I would have appreciated it with some churros al lado.

We went to the Tuileries Gardens next, a bit of a tease, it being just before blooming season, but l’Orangerie, made everything better. This museum, Monet’s last project before his death, is now one of my most favorite art museums (nothing could beat the Musée d´Orsay).

l'Orangerie, courtesy of Claude Monet

We went to Cosi for dinner, which, if you have heard of the chain in America (I hadn’t, but Jacque was pretty obsessed with it), is the original Sandwich cafe that inspired the concept. The food and the bread were so delicious and fresh and the guy who worked at the counter was so sweet and nice. I kept waiting for him to get creepy, but he never did. Go Cosi!

We went to Montmarte and Sacre Coeur, since last time I was there, I was incredibly rushed and I couldn’t get my camera to focus. We got to see the inside of the church (where we couldn’t take photos), and walk around the charming area. We went to the not-so-charming sex shop area to check out the Moulin Rouge then headed back to Jacque’s apartment to regroup.

Back of Sacré Coeur

*Song plays in your head*

It was at this point when I realized the earliest RER train left at 6am, not at 5am like I had thought. My flight was at 7am. You can see the problem. The only option for the morning was a 45euro taxi. Not only would I never pay for a cab ride that expensive, but my roundtrip plane ticket was 55euro and I am imprisoned by own fiscal principles. Jacque and I had just enough time at that point to walk through the Latin Quarter, get a ham and cheese crepe, head to Gare du Nord station, and get me on the last train to Charles de Gaulle Airport. I successfully arrived to the almost deserted airport at midnight, ready to spend the next 7 hours attempting to sleep. Efforts were unsuccessful, but it didn’t matter because my second trip to Paris had just ended and nothing could make me unhappy.

The city of love and light is still my absolute favorite in the whole world. Even one month later, I’m already craving Paris again.