Friday, December 23, 2011

Oh, and By the Way...

When I was in Barcelona we came across this really cool guy who's an artist traveling across Europe / the world raising money for charity. I checked out his blog and was hooked as soon as I saw him describe "The Shadow of the Wind" by Carlos Ruiz Zafon (AKA - my favorite book of ALL TIME).

www.thelostphotographer.blogspot.com 
Check it out! If you can't donate, drop him a message to let him know how cool he is. During the holidays we all need to remember that it's not about the money but about the spirit. Keep it alive.

Happy holidays!

<3

Lindsay

The Holiday Season and Getting Ready for a Whirlwind (AKA - Allll byyyy myselllllffff!!!!)

Nah, just kidding. Not by myself. Although I assure you I will at some point this holiday season I will recreate this scene from Bridget Jones's Diary, boozing and bad pajamas included:



It’s December 23rd, and that means Christmas is only 2 days away. Where has the time gone? Have I really been here for 4 months already? I supposed with everyone BUT me leaving to go home for the holidays, I’ve become a little sentimental.  Having to say goodbye to some of your best friends is really, really hard, especially if they won’t be coming back for next semester. I’ve shed some tears over it—and I do not shed tears easily.

Lots of people have asked me how I feel about not going home for the holidays, specifically Christmas. It’s hard—that’s for sure. It’s especially difficult when I realized that I will likely be spending Christmas day alone, probably studying. However, in all honesty, I feel like I have nothing to complain about. I’m okay with being alone on Christmas, because I know I won’t be lonely on Christmas—I will Skype with my family, call some friends, and then spend the rest of the day reading a good book.  That’s what a lot of people don’t understand: there is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. Thankfully, I’m lucky enough to be the former.

Besides, I’ve got lots of cool things going for me. Yesterday I spent the day in Florence to visit a friend from UW-Madison who was there for a few days. Tomorrow, Christmas Eve, I will get my butt out of bed at some insane hour (like, 3:30 AM) to leave my house at 5 AM to be on a 6 AM train. That’s a lot of single digits followed by “AM”. Destination? Venice! I will be visiting the ever-so-lovely Hope Carmichael (a UW Badger through and through) and her parents for the day in the city I love so much. They are there for about a week and were nice enough to invite me to spend Christmas Eve with them. I’m so excited! Venice at Christmas? Yes, please!

View of Florence from Pizza di Michelangelo. Quite a hike but worth it!

Then, on December 27th at another ungodly hour, I will pay for an incredibly expensive cab ride to get to the airport for an incredibly expensive flight to go to the incredibly worth-it SCOTLAND! My friend, Jessica, invited me to spend a week with her at her family friends’ house in Glasgow. Although it took me awhile to figure out budgeting (forget about flying anywhere cheaply… or even reasonably… around the holidays), I eventually caved and jumped at the opportunity. We’ll spend 8 days in the beautiful country, and possibly make our way to Edinburgh for New Years, one of the most popular holidays there. Totally, completely worth it.

After I get back from my little whirlwind travel extravaganza, I will have to seriously hit the books. My last exams are on January 13th and 18th, both of which are for the same art history class. I must memorize an insane amount of information for over 500 images (only 10 will be on the test… eek!) and read a full-length (FULL-LENGTH) book on Mannerism. Yipee for me! No, I’m sure it will be fine. I’m always fine when it comes to these times. Nothing bad can happen if you put in the work… right? RIGHT?

Until  I next write, I hope you all a very happy holiday season no matter what you celebrate!

Baci,

L

Barcelona Part Three: Sagrada Familia, Beach, Nekked Man (AKA - Germans Be Chantin')

The next day, six of us (all the girls, the two boys were still passed out from their night on the town) got up bright and early and made our way to the Sagrada Familia, which is probably the most famous architectural feat in Barcelona and Gaudi’s greatest works.

Outside of the Sagrada Familia. Crazy, eh?
Check it out from behind! Looks like it's melting!!!
This place is amazing—easily one of the coolest buildings I’ve ever gotten to set foot into.  The outside is all gothic, but then when you step into the church, you feel like you’ve entered a fantasy land. There are beautiful stained glass windows and soaring columns that lead up to a roof made of crazy stucco and concrete designs. According to the guidebook, Gaudi was obsessed with the church for much of his later life—he even lived on the premises during construction—until he got smushed by a tram and died. Ouch. Naturally, they buried him in the Sagrada Familia crypt. RIP Gaudi.






After the Sagrada Familia, Sarah, Kyle, and I went rogue from the group and head to the nearby chocolate museum, which is actually pretty ho-hum if you ask me. It’s got nothing on the chocolate festival that came to Bologna, but it does get points for style: the entrance ticket was a bar of chocolate. So cute!

Once we got our sweet tooth on, we ate lunch at a small restaurant nearby before heading to the beach, which was beautiful. All the sailboats were in the marina, and the water was beautiful and warm-ish. We walked up and down a stretch of beach for a bit, and then were scared off by this man who was COMPLETELY NUDE. As in, He-is-so-ridiculously-naked-and-there-are-no-clothes-in-sight-and-it-specifically-states-that-this-is-not-a-nude-beach completely nude. It was gross and yet seriously funny. He was just chillin’, taking a stroll by the seaside buck naked. Whatever floats his boat I guess… no pun intended. Ew.

After avoiding nekked man, we wandered around the seaside for a bit, took in the sight of Montjuic, and meandered through a small antiques market before trekking back to the hostel to freshen up before taking a stroll through the gothic quarter and eventually finding food.

Our last meal in Barcelona was by far my favorite. We somehow stumbled across a small bar/restaurant in the gothic quarter that was mostly a local place. The awesome bartender made us all delicious drinks (Regular Mojito for Kyle, Mango Tango for Sarah, Passionfruit Mojito for me, although I ordered a regular), and we feasted on burritos, chicken tacos, and spicy beef tacos (surprisingly, the latter was mine. My gastronomic audacity is starting to pick up speed).
Mojito and Mango Tango made by Senor J... aka Senor Hayyyy.
When we returned back to the hostel around midnight, Kyle and I decided to catch a few (literally, 3) hours of shut eye before we had to wake up at 3:00 AM to catch our 5:00 AM bus back to Girona. Wandering through Barcelona at 4 AM is not nearly as cool as it would seem—there are a lot of drunk people around and questionable smells wafting through the air.

Overall, we spent a fantastic 3 days in one of Spain’s most iconic city. Now it’s back to reality—we have our history exam next week, and all of us are studying our terrified little heads off. Well, I’m not exactly studying. More like looking at my history book periodically while blogging about random things that don’t involve history whatsoever. Oh well. I think I’ll take a nap and then give it another go?

-L

Barcelona Part Two: I feel like I'm in Jurassic Park (AKA Germans be creepin')

Cut to the next morning when we wake up in our itty-bitty bunk beds and I oh-so-gracefully pirouette out of the top bunk with the lightness of a 5-year-old ballerina, we had an interesting bathroom experience. First of all, it was almost exactly like being back in the dorms: communal showers, no where to put your shiz, signs on the doors warning against theft of electronic items (okay, but seriously… who’d be stupid enough to leave electronic items charging in the bathroom overnight? Someone who has far too much trust in the morality of 18-26 year olds.). Then, as we were brushing our teeth, two shirtless German men cam waltzing into the bathroom like nothin’. Kyle and I sort of just stared at them for a second while they stood behind us, oddly rubbing their sternums and smiling weirdly.

“Gurls?” One asked us.
Me: Um, obviously.
Kyle: I think he meant the bathroom, not us…
Me: Still quite obvious that this is the ladies room…

After we convinced the shirtless Germans to go away, we finished getting ready and ran for our lives out of that hostel. Our plan? Go to Park Guell, another of Gaudi’s crazy ideas. Unknowingly, however, we took the Podunk “side entrance”, which involved us going up escalators randomly placed in the middle of nowhere. After trekking through some serious cacti-forests, we found the Gaudi part of Park Guell, which is super cool. Homeboy was crazyyyy.





The city from Park Guell... cool, eh?

After Park Guell, we mostly just walked around in search for food. After food, we went to the Palau de Musica Catalayna, which is this absolutely beautiful music hall—as in, one of the most beautiful things I have ever seen in my entire life. The entire experience was made even more interesting by the fact that Kyle and I could only buy tickets for the last tour of the day—which was in Spanish. Thankfully, we understood everything—apparently studying Italian does pay off.  The stained glass in this place was freakishly beautiful. It was simply amazing. I wish I could have taken some pictures, but that shiz was on lockdown. Copyright shmopyright.

Like bosses, we went back to Les Quits Nits for dinner. I had some sausage-mushroom dish, while Kyle enjoyed delicious salmon. Then we put our game faces on and headed to a Flamenco event at one of the local bars. Even though the bar was in a sketchy area, we bought tickets and got drinks (the strongest rum and coke in the history of man… he literally poured us a glass of rum and then gave us a small bottle of coke. I felt like I was doing a 5th grade science experiment trying to get that thing to taste good…) and sat ourselves down. We could not believe how many people showed up, and this bar was tiny—like, probably had a firecode of 100 people. There were over 200 of us in there, easily. It was not comfortable.

The music and dancing, however, was amazing! There was a singer, a guitar player, and “Magical Mustache Man” (AKA the percussionist and jazz flute player), who played some opening songs before a flamenco dancer came on stage. She danced her little heart out. Flamenco is actually a very angry dance, if you ask me. There’s a lot of foot stomping and leg-slapping. After a brief intermission, there was a second set, which was just as good—if not better—than the first, especially since a bunch of people left thinking the show was over. Naturally, Kyle and I stole their seats.


Flamencoooo!

That night we returned to Les Quitz Nitz for Round II of the day. The menu? Sangria and delicious desserts, of course! And then it was back to the hostel to meet up with my best friend Sarah (the one who came to Italy to visit me two months ago), whose flight got in at about 11 pm. She had an entire posse in tow—6 people in total, 3 of which were triplets. It was a full house in our hostel room to say the least…
Walnut cake. Walllnuuuttt Cakkkeee


Barcelona Part One: Who Recommended this Hostel Again? (AKA: Germans be boozin')

This weekend (ahem... i've been procrastinating on meaning to post this for a few weeks now... so, you know, more like 3 weekends ago)I went to Barcelona, and it was so. Much. fun.

The long weekend started on Thursday morning, when the lovely Kyle Frost and myself got to the Bologna Airport at 10 AM for our 11:30 flight. Let Ryan Air antics ensue. Ryan Air = super ghetto. Why do I say this? Let’s break it down.

First of all, in the two week period that has lapsed since we last to Ryan Air to Paris, Ryan Air check-in counters have transferred from being in the main part of the airport to “Terminal Est.” In order to get to “Terminal Est,” one must take an “Airport Shuttle Bus” to said terminal. This “Airport Shuttle Bus” is actually one of those fake train things that has a front section that is a  car disguised as a yellow train and then little carts attached behind it. It’s kinda cool… although it was probably rented/stolen/bought from an amusement park that went tragically out of business. This yellow train should probably only go about 30 miles an hour. Whoever was driving out managed to get it up to at LEAST 45, and ON THE HIGHWAY. Yep, that’s rights… this tiny little plastic not-a-train-but-a-“train” thing goes onto the Italian highway, where Kyle and I saw our life quickly flash before our eyes for about 30 seconds until it gets off the highway… and brings us to the SKETCHIEST LOOKING “TERMINAL” OF ALL TIME.

This place looks like some kind of farm/shed/storage facility and is surrounded (SURROUNDED) by fence topped with several layers of barbed wire. Naturally, Kyle and I get our boarding tickets signed and then get the heck out of Dodge and back on to the little train. It brings us to our actual terminal… all is well. Our flight even lands in Barcelona ON TIME, prompting a standing ovation from the crew and the blasting of some trumpet soundtrack for about 15 seconds. Woopee!

Since we landed in Girona, which is about an hour and 20 minutes outside of Barcelona, we had to take the Barcelona Bus into the city, where we got off at Estaciones Del Nord, and spent about an hour trying to find out hostel. I was pumped, ready for my first hostel experience…

Cut to us arriving at the hostel. It’s called Kabul Backpackers Hostel and is located in the Placa Real right off the main drag of Las Ramblas. It all seems pretty cool—good location, the front door seems legit, there are a lot of restaurants and bars around…

Yeah, turns out this hostel is a weird combination of a frat house, an on-campus bar, and a janky dormitory (for a better picture, all you Badgers imagine the Ratskeller at the Union meeting  Sellery Dormitory meeting a frat house… the image is probably spot on, I guarantee it.)

Placa Real, the location of our highly questionable hostel.

Kyle and I felt like we were entering a club. Biggie Smalls was blasting from the sound system when we entered the place at 3 pm, and there were already several fellow hostel-stayers on what looked to be there third or fourth pint of beer. We get our keys, ignore how creepy the staff seems to be, and head up to our 8-bed, maroon-colored room that has lockers of bank vault caliber. We stuff our crap in them in get out of that club… I mean bar… I mean hostel. Yes… hostel. That’s the one.

First of all, the weather in Barcelona was amazing. Kyle and I could not get over the fact that it was the 1st of December (!!!) and we were wearing light cardigans (!!!).  The sun was shining, leaves were falling and crunching beneath our feet, people were vending fresh fruits and smoothies… We were quite content.

Kyle is excited for cardigan weather...

I'm DOUBLE excited for cardigan weather.
The first night we mostly just meandered, stumbling upon some very cool things, like the Casa Batllo, which is this crazy house that was designed by Antoni Gaudi, one of Spain’s most famous architects. This house is insane—it’s like stepping into a fairytale land. We also spent the night “ooohing” and “aaahhhing” at the Christmas lights on the main streets and around the Placa Catalunya, where the trees were just beautiful.

Casa Bartllo

Casa Bartllo from below... that rhymes!


We went to dinner at a restaurant called Les Quints Nits, which was right by our hostel in the Placa Real. This place was THE BOMB. Not only was the place classy, but the menu was dirt cheap (#Winning). We’re talking less than 5 Euro for a half-liter of the house Sangria (#DoubleWinning), and only 8 Euro for a hefty serving of the best (ahem… only) paella I’d ever tasted. Chips with guacamole dip may or may not have been involved in this affair (hint: they were). It was simply delicious.

For as weird as it looks, it tastes hella good!
As we very slowly made our way back to the hostel, we got solicited by about 15 different club-representatives,  all trying to get us to go somewhere “bumping.” Instead, we returned to the hostel, which essentially was a club. What was more interesting than rowdy drunk Germans at 1 AM? The itsy-bitsy, practically non-existent ladder to my top bunk and how I looked like a graceful ballerina hauling myself into it.  Let’s not go there…

Thanksgiving In Bologna

Christmas Tree in Piazza Maggiore... looks like a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree during the day, but beautiful at night!!! 
The Asinelli Tower all lit up!
Thanksgiving has come and gone.

It feels weird even typing that. Time just seems to stand still here—not in a bad way, just in a hey-the-weather-isn’t-changing-and-nobody-celebrates-thanksgiving-here kind of way. It’s weird though, because it seems like the day after Thanksgiving the city just threw up all the Christmas lights. Are you SURE you don’t secretly celebrate the “doorway to Christmas” holiday?

BCSP arranged a dinner for us, which ended up being fantastic and relatively near my house. Since I was wearing heels for the first time since coming to Italy, this was a HUGE plus. On Wednesday, Professor Ricci sort of dropped the bomb that the restaurant was a “classy establishment”  and we had to dress nicely. Ergo, I had to go out and drop 40 Euro on a new pair of tights and a dress.



The dinner was so good! We opened with a pumpkin soup, then moved on to ceasar salad (is this normal for your Thanksgiving? I’ve never even heard of eating ceasar salad on any holiday), mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, turkey, and apple pie with a nutmeg sauce.  While the food was definitely “Thanksgiving-y”, it was more like Italians trying to do Thanksgiving food… delicious none the less. That and they just kept bringing wine. I will be going back to this so-called “classy establishment” soon. Ben even busted out in an acappella version of “Sometimes I Feel Like a Motherless Child”—which, granted, is not the best song to choose for a room of homesick 20-somethings—but he was amazing.

Afterwards, about 10 of us all went out. I’m still not quite sure what all happened between us leaving the restaurant and Dru and I getting home…  mostly because we were having so much fun (that and my heels hurt so bad I could barely focus when walking from apartment to apartment). I haven’t had that much fun in a while—the kind of fun when you’re thinking, “Damn, I need to remember every second of this” and then you get home and can’t recall a single thing as clearly as you would have liked to. It has nothing to do with wine or being stuffed with turkey… it’s all about the company.
Kyle, Me, and Brea --- Those two are among my favorite people here! Top of the list!

Thanksgiving was all-in-all amazing. Although I so wanted to be home with my family, eating fabulous food prepped by my mom and company, I was very happy to be right where I was, eating good food and enjoying the company of all the kids in the program. 

This week is promising to be one of the longest in history. I have an oral exam in my grammar class tomorrow, then a written grammar exam on Wednesday… a quiz in the hardest history class in history tomorrow, and lots of prepping to do for BARCELONA. I leave on Thursday and I am SO SO SO excited.

Thursday, December 8, 2011

Barcelona Part One: Who Recommended this Hostel Again? (AKA: Germans be boozin')

This weekend I went to Barcelona, and it was so. Much. fun.

The long weekend started on Thursday morning, when the lovely Kyle Frost and myself got to the Bologna Airport at 10 AM for our 11:30 flight. Let Ryan Air antics ensue. Ryan Air = super ghetto. Why do I say this? Let’s break it down.

First of all, in the two week period that has lapsed since we last to Ryan Air to Paris, Ryan Air check-in counters have transferred from being in the main part of the airport to “Terminal Est.” In order to get to “Terminal Est,” one must take an “Airport Shuttle Bus” to said terminal. This “Airport Shuttle Bus” is actually one of those fake train things that has a front section that is a  car disguised as a yellow train and then little carts attached behind it. It’s kinda cool… although it was probably rented/stolen/bought from an amusement park that went tragically out of business. This yellow train should probably only go about 30 miles an hour. Whoever was driving out managed to get it up to at LEAST 45, and ON THE HIGHWAY. Yep, that’s rights… this tiny little plastic not-a-train-but-a-“train” thing goes onto the Italian highway, where Kyle and I saw our life quickly flash before our eyes for about 30 seconds until it gets off the highway… and brings us to the SKETCHIEST LOOKING “TERMINAL” OF ALL TIME.

This place looks like some kind of farm/shed/storage facility and is surrounded (SURROUNDED) by fence topped with several layers of barbed wire. Naturally, Kyle and I get our boarding tickets signed and then get the heck out of Dodge and back on to the little train. It brings us to our actual terminal… all is well. Our flight even lands in Barcelona ON TIME, prompting a standing ovation from the crew and the blasting of some trumpet soundtrack for about 15 seconds. Woopee!

Since we landed in Girona, which is about an hour and 20 minutes outside of Barcelona, we had to take the Barcelona Bus into the city, where we got off at Estaciones Del Nord, and spent about an hour trying to find out hostel. I was pumped, ready for my first hostel experience…

Cut to us arriving at the hostel. It’s called Kabul Backpackers Hostel and is located in the Placa Real right off the main drag of Las Ramblas. It all seems pretty cool—good location, the front door seems legit, there are a lot of restaurants and bars around…

Yeah, turns out this hostel is a weird combination of a frat house, an on-campus bar, and a janky dormitory (for a better picture, all you Badgers imagine the Ratskeller at the Union meeting  Sellery Dormitory meeting a frat house… the image is probably spot on, I guarantee it.)

Kyle and I felt like we were entering a club. Biggie Smalls was blasting from the sound system when we entered the place at 3 pm, and there were already several fellow hostel-stayers on what looked to be there third or fourth pint of beer. We get our keys, ignore how creepy the staff seems to be, and head up to our 8-bed, maroon-colored room that has lockers of bank vault caliber. We stuff our crap in them in get out of that club… I mean bar… I mean hostel. Yes… hostel. That’s the one.

First of all, the weather in Barcelona was amazing. Kyle and I could not get over the fact that it was the 1st of December (!!!) and we were wearing light cardigans (!!!).  The sun was shining, leaves were falling and crunching beneath our feet, people were vending fresh fruits and smoothies… We were quite content.
The first night we mostly just meandered, stumbling upon some very cool things, like the Casa Batllo, which is this crazy house that was designed by Antoni Gaudi, one of Spain’s most famous architects. This house is insane—it’s like stepping into a fairytale land. We also spent the night “ooohing” and “aaahhhing” at the Christmas lights on the main streets and around the Placa Catalunya, where the trees were just beautiful.
We went to dinner at a restaurant called Les Quints Nits, which was right by our hostel in the Placa Real. This place was THE BOMB. Not only was the place classy, but the menu was dirt cheap (#Winning). We’re talking less than 5 Euro for a half-liter of the house Sangria (#DoubleWinning), and only 8 Euro for a hefty serving of the best (ahem… only) paella I’d ever tasted. Chips with guacamole dip may or may not have been involved in this affair (hint: they were). It was simply delicious.

As we very slowly made our way back to the hostel, we got solicited by about 15 different club-representatives,  all trying to get us to go somewhere “bumping.” Instead, we returned to the hostel, which essentially was a club. What was more interesting than rowdy drunk Germans at 1 AM? The itsy-bitsy ladder to my top bunk.  Let’s not go there…