Tuesday, 18 November 2008

Edinburgo

Settle in with some Spanish hot chocolate for this one, people:

I've never, ever experienced a city like Edinburgh - and that's pronounced Edinborough, for those of you, like myself, a bit out of practise with the Scottish brough. It's hard to describe the city, since it's really more of a collection of towns which kept bumping into each other rather than a a city with a consistent sense of identity. The most glaring example of this is the topographical complexity of it all, which is dominated by two ancient, volcanic mountains plopped down in the middle of everything. On one of them (Castle Rock) we find Edinburgh Castle, which, if I'm not mistaken, has it's roots in the 12th century. Today, it's picturesque, but not all that interesting - they use it as a military base. My friend Hannah, with whom I stayed while I was in the city, told me not to bother paying to go inside, so instead we climbed up the hill at night and had a spectacular view of the city. From that vantage point, we were in the middle of the original walled city, surrounded by the Flodden Wall built in the 16th century after city residents became paranoid about another English attack after the Battle of Flodden. Unfortunately for the Edinburgers (I just coined that - does that work?), the wall was only one mile by one-fourth of a mile, and absolutely no one wanted to live outside of it. This wasn't a big problem, until the city became one of the most populous in Europe in the 17th century. At that point, the residents started digging down, making a creepy "underground city" (more on that later), and building up, creating some of the first skyscrapers at around 14 stories. Thankfully at about the same time, the British were basically in control of everything anyway, so they built a bridge over the loch in the middle of the city and built the New Town just outside the wall, which looks a lot like London, and opened things up a bit.




Near to my friend's dorm is Arthur's Seat, a really, really big hill which is covered in lush, green golfing grass. It's the epitome of the craggy Scottish landscape, and offers great views over the city. It's name actually comes from the corruption of some Scottish gaelic construction, but it's fun to think that it refers to King Arthur. You can literally be in a Starbucks one minute, swing by the local H&M, and ten minutes later be hiking in the middle of this wind-ravaged, rocky, natural park. It used to belong to the royal family as the hunting grounds attached to Holyrood Palace, the Queen's official residence when she's in Scotland, but it's open now. The palace was pretty cool, too, as it was the former home of Mary Queen of Scots, and is now the site of the Queen's famous Garden Party. From the top of Arthur's Seat (which my friend and I were nearly blown off of - we've got a picture of us hanging on to our jackets, which are sticking out parallel to the ground while we were pelted by mist yet, strangely, didn't get wet - welcome to Scottish weather...) I could see the coastline and the seaport of Leith, still all part of Edinburgh. On the way down, we passed through Duddingston, an ancient little village in the heart of the city at the base of the former hunting grounds, with, they say, the oldest pub in Scotland. This is in the middle of a very modern city!






This is the famous café where JK Rowling started writing the Harry Potter books. I became a bit disillusioned with her when I saw the view out of the back of the place (see picture below), which spoke volumes as to the inspiration for much of her work. It's OK, though, I love the books anyway.


That's Edinburgh Castle in the background. Click on this guy.



I also made my way to Roslin, a little town in the country outside of the city made famous by the book The DaVinci Code and the recent movie adaptation with Tom Hanks. In it you'll find Rosslyn Chapel, which is without a doubt one of the most magical places I've ever been. It's a chapel that was constructed through a partnership between the Knights Templar (an ancient religious order) and (perhaps) the Freemasons in the middle of the 15th century, and every single surface in it is covered in exquisite carvings, codes, and secret meanings. There are, obviously, hundreds of legends to go with it all, but perhaps the most intriguing is that the Holy Grail, or perhaps the body/head of Christ, is hidden in the secret chamber under the chapel that they found with sonar but which no one can seem to find a way into. I was lucky enough to be late for the tour, so I had the whole outside of the chapel to myself while 500 tourists packed into the church, and got in there again when it was nearly empty. Afterwards, I wandered around the graveyard and countryside, down to the crumbling Roslin Castle, hidden in the woods near a brook. It was pretty surreal. They are not happy to let you take pictures inside the chapel, but here's one from Wikipedia:



Now, originally, I was supposed to travel to Edinburgh with three friends from my program and my friend Steve who's in Oxford for the year, but through a series of events, I ended up flying with only one friend of mine from the program here in Granada, who was also going to visit a friend studying in the city. We got off the plane, and since I had a hotel for that first night by myself, decided that we would all meet up later in the night. That was before I realized that neither of the cellphones I had with me would work, and that I had no way to call anyone. I ran into a Boots pharmacy, the only thing open at around 10:00 at night there, and asked to buy a phonecard. Thirty minutes and several renditions of "All I Want for Christmas" by Mariah Carey later, they had located one for me (apparently, in Edinburgh as in much of Europe without the benefit of Thanksgiving as a buffer, the Christmas decorations have been up since September, and the night that I stopped in was a special "VIP Shopping Evening," the only reason the store was open). Not that my phonecard helped me to call Julianne, because her phone didn't work either. Needless to say, that first night I had a beer and cheeseburger in a pub by myself, and I resigned myself to not seeing my friend for the weekend. However, after I toured the chapel and had walked around a while, I was hungry, and in need of a pub. I stopped at the only option in town, and was shocked while sitting at the bar to notice Julianne and her friend walk in the door. It was the one and only time I saw her that weekend, but the coincidence, the fact that we met up in a tiny pub in a tiny town outside of the city, was creepy.

What else happened that weekend? I saw the James Bond movie because it was released in the UK before anywhere else and, finally, was a movie that was not dubbed, but the script was bad and it was more like a Bourne Identity movie than a Bond flick. Worth seeing, but a little disappointing. We went on a ghost tour of some of the underground vaults beneath the city where plague victims were thrown and where the poor lived when the city became overpopulated. It was more informative than scary, except when we were in one room in particular, where there is said to lurk the "Southbridge Entity," and it was really, really cold. Spooky. Hannah and I cooked twice, the first time improvising with some chicken and herbs that I didn't eat much of because I was full from the pub but was still quite tasty, and the next morning a lovely tomato and cheese omlette with crumpets. I was impressed with our skills. I also discovered that I own a drug store in the city.




I think I enjoyed Edinburgh more than any other city I've visited in Europe on this trip. It's got an amazing combination of city and country, mountain and sea, creepy-spooky-scary-Halloweeny architecture and stories about body-snatchers, and lovely, warm people. It was a good time.

Monday, 10 November 2008

Barcelona

When I was younger, nothing excited me more than flying somewhere. It was really magical, going through the airport in a time when everything was less stressful, hopping on the plane with a backpack stuffed full of every CD I owned and several stuffed animals, a new pack of gum, and some cookies for snacks. In fact (strange tidbit about me), to this day I love the smell of diesel engines, because they remind me of the first airport shuttle bus I was ever on, which I still remember taking my mom and I from the parking lot to the terminal. The plane would start to take off, everything got incredibly loud, and I was thrust back into my seat to wait for that sinking feeling that meant we had left the ground. The window seat was always a necessity, and it always fascinated me that, a few hours after hopping on board in Hartford, we'd descend from above the clouds where it didn't even seem like we were moving, and be in Florida. In those days (I feel like I'm 50), the whole crew greeted you as you left the plane, and on more than one occasion I had a quick tour of the cockpit and got my plastic "wings." They still gave you blankets, pillows, peanuts, soda, and sometimes even meals. Included in the price! There was nothing I loved more than trips when we'd fly somewhere, and I'd obsess about them for months before and after.

Planes today are nothing more than enormous, uncomfortable, loud buses. By the time I return to the US in December, I will have flown on 12 separate planes since August, and I can say that almost every experience has been hellish. RyanAir is the the worst thing ever to happen to modern air travel, and it disgusts me that I make use of their services as often as I do. To have to endure seats that press my knees into my chest, blaring techno music, broadcast commercials for perfume and $9 sodas every four minutes, gargantuan British women shoving me into the plane's restroom to get ahead of me for the free-for-all seating, and the airports two hours outside of the cities they claim to serve ever so conveniently reached solely by buses which RyanAir owns somehow takes something away from the experience. This is to say nothing about the 10E per bag, the 10E I must pay for having only a US passport, and the ludicrous weight and size restrictions on carry-on luggage. I use it because it's cheap, but every time I "fly" with them, a little part of the wonder of travel inside of me shrivels and dies, and I become increasingly jaded to something which used to enchant me. I'm placing too much blame on RyanAir, of course - most airlines are similar to this today, with the exception of Korean Air, which was lovely - but they're the worst I've ever encountered.

Other than the fact that I made some painful realizations about yet another step on the road to cynical adulthood, Barcelona was great. The weather was lovely, I sat on the beach and ate lunch everyday overlooking the Mediterranean and the yachts pulling into the Olympic Port, and throughly enjoyed my hotel, which was stylish and in a great location. Until, of course, I realized (on the bus from hell briefly making a swing through Barcelona to transport me to Girona, the city not remotely connected with Barcelona that I was flying out of), that my iPod was missing from my backpack. Many of you know that I loved my iPod, and it had really become a travel companion for me on this trip, until (I think) it was taken out of my backpack while in the luggage storage room at my hotel. I called and emailed them, of course, but I'll never get it back. To compensate, I ate an entire package of crackers and an entire package of pistachios that I bought at the airport (thanks for passing that habit on to me, Dad) and woke up with a splitting headache, something which I have since dubbed a "salt hangover." I really had a lovely trip, went to a Brazilian jazz concert in the modernist/surrealist "Palace of Music," and spent a lot of time with my friend who lives there. Yesterday, though, just wasn't so great.

This week it's midterms, and on Thursday, Edinburgh.


Lunch spot at La Barcelonetta.


The beautiful interior of the Palace of Catalan Music, or the Palau de la Música Catalana in Catalan, the language spoken in Cataluña, the region of Spain where Barcelona is situated.

Wednesday, 5 November 2008

Granada Hoy

So I made my Spanish newspaper debut today, appearing in two photos with a group of friends at a local bar (OK, not a local bar - actually, an Irish pub, which are the only places that were willing to take in thousands of students last evening and put on CNN) where we watched the elections. I feel like I'm probably better informed about the election here than if I were still in the US, and today's paper demonstrated that. Not only were there the standard international articles about Obama, but Granada Hoy (Granada's local paper) wrote their own articles about US citizens living here and how they saw the elections. I simply provided the eye candy. It's really a strange day, reading about the huge crowds in Chicago and New York, reading people's comments online about how overjoyed they are, and seeing the European/Spanish reaction, which couldn't be more positive. Obama represents much, much more than just a president to many people - it's wonderful that an African American man is becoming president, and I think our country was long overdue for some change. The realist in me keeps me grounded, though, and I wonder if this overwhelmingly emotional reaction isn't indicative of some unrealistic hopes that people are pinning on just one man.

That's it, no more politics.

Not much has been going on here: normal classes, and gearing up for midterms. I'm headed to Barcelona this weekend to visit a friend from the city, and the weekend after that, I'm flying to Edinburgh. Airline flights costing only marginally more than a bus ticket are the best thing ever to happen to travel. I'll keep you posted.

Tuesday, 28 October 2008

Córdoba, Belalcázar, y Clases Particulares

Just a quick update to let you all know that I'm keeping busy (relatively), and that I'm back safe and sound from my trip to Córdoba. I had originally planned to visit the city with a professor from Bates who is on sabbatical for a year and lives in a nearby town, but because of some scheduling conflicts, I ended up visiting her at her pueblito. That town is called Belalcázar, and has stunning views over streams, olive orchards, and a convent (where I bought cookies from cloistered nuns!) and castle both built in the 15th century. The castle is totally in ruins on the inside, but it's that much cooler, because one is free to walk around and isn't bothered by hoards of tourists. These pictures don't do it justice.




I ended up staying in Córdoba a night by myself because I liked the city so much and hadn't gotten to do everything that I wanted to - I think it also helped that it was 75 and cloudless the whole time I was there, and that the city has parks with lots of green grass; I've still got to fault Granada for it's lack of grass! Córdoba is home to one of the most important cathedrals in Spain; this one happened to be a Visigoth church before being turned into a mosque which, for many years, rivaled Mecca as a pilgrimage site. It was taken over by the Christians (like so many things here), but its two most striking architectural features are the result of its Moorish roots: the bell tower, and the almost 900 arches inside the cathedral itself.




I also visited Córdoba's alcázar (which comes from Arabic and means "fortress," but it's basically the generic word used here for any fortress originally in use by the Moors), which housed the Catholic Kings while they plotted to reconquer Granada (my town). It's also worthy of note because it was the seat of the infamous Spanish Inquisition (and had a pretty extensive dungeon network), and because it's where Columbus asked the Kings permission to head over to "India." It was by far my favorite spot in the city. I couldn't get over the number of fountains, gardens, ponds (most of which were added in the 20th century), and the sculpting of the trees, all of which made me feel like I had stepped into a story by Lewis Carroll.




In other news, I've started tutoring two young kids in English, the boys of a friend of my "brother" who plays the violin in Granada's orchestra. The older one is thirteen, and while he's pretty good, he's not as good as he thinks. This afternoon I'm off to find the hardest English workbook I can, just to shut him up. The younger kid is eight, eager to learn, and just starting out with English. We get along pretty well. The only problem with the situation is that they live in a town about 30 minutes outside of the city, and I've got to catch a bus there, but, it does get me out of a town for a little bit, and gives me some pocket money (just not much!). Ah, yes, I finally got to an organ/choir concert at the cathedral here in Granada last night. Amazing setting and, wonderfully, free, even if the chorus needed to be about four times larger to be heard in there. Hope everybody's doing well!