The Scottish Adventures of Lindsay and Jessica, Part Two: On My Way... Home

It’s my last day in Scotland and it seems like the perfect day to finish my Scotland blog… why? Well, this morning I woke up at 6 AM to gale-storm winds outside my window. The winds were SO STRONG that the power went out. It’s currently 1 PM and they are still out. While I’m super bummed we couldn’t go to St. Andrews as planned, I was secretly happy to crawl back into bed.

My time here has been SO AMAZING. I am so glad that I finally bought a ticket—it’s worth every penny.
 Our first day in town we went to Glasgow, which is about 20 minutes from Adeline and Alastair’s house. It was a beautiful town with really, really good shopping. As a matter of fact, we had to cut our day trip short since we had so much stuff to carry. We found all of our favorite American brands in the drugstore, so we bought tons of shampoo and face cream and makeup… all things that we didn’t really need but bought nonetheless (Exhibit A as to why I’m so poor). In the end, it was an amazing day—we got tea and breakfast at the Willow Tea Room and then did some shopping by running store-to-store since it would alternate between rain pouring from the sky and sunshine—classic Scottish weather that I’ve gotten to enjoy for 7 days. We then caught a bus back to Houston, the small village where Alastair and Adeline have their house. What was for dinner, you ask? Tacos, of course. What movies did we watch afterwards, you inquire? Avatar and Despicable Me, naturally.

The next day Adeline then took us on a mini road trip up to Loch Lomond, which is simply BEAUTIFUL. It was a 2 hour drive of nothing but rolling hills, snow-capped mountains, glassy lakes, and small, quaint villages. We stopped in Invernerey (SPELL CHECK ON AISLE THREE!) and went to the George Hotel for a nice cup of tea and coffee, stopped at an “Old Time Sweetie Shop” for some sweets and headed back. When we returned to the house, Alastair was cooking us a supper of Balmoral Chicken, which is chicken stuffed with haggis, wrapped in bacon, and smothered in cheese sauce. It was possibly one of the best meals in the history of my life. Simply put, we had an amazing day.

On Saturday, Jess and I made the trip down to Edinburgh for New Years Eve. It was about a 30 minute train ride through the gorgeous Scottish countryside before we arrived at what may be my favorite city to date. Edinburgh is amazing—the architecture is old and beautiful, there’s a castle on the hill, incredible views, and lots of Scottish pride. We first scaled the Royal Mile that leads up to the castle, had a look around, and then did some light shopping back down the Royal Mile, which connects the Edinburgh Castle to the Queen’s official Scottish residence, Hollyrood (SPELL CHECK ON AISLE SIX!) and has lots of shops along the way. We got to see people making tartans for kilts, do a bit of shopping for ourselves, and pop into a really old graveyard (I love graveyards… it’s a morbid fascination, I know.) For lunch we stumbled upon a pub called the Conan Doyle, where we enjoyed two pints of Deuchers beer and two plates of fish and chips (delicious!) before attempting to find the pick-up location for our bus back to Glasgow, which would leave at 1:40 AM after the New Year’s party on Princes Street. Thank goodness we had the sense to find it before we went to the party, because it took over an hour to find and—get this—we had to ask eight (8) different people for directions—EIGHT, and that’s not counting the people who were in pairs.

When we finally (FINALLY!) found Morrison Street, we were ready to get our party on. After grabbing some delicious burgers, fries, onion rings, and vanilla shakes (our last meal of the old year), we headed down to Princes Street and entered into the festivities…

As we would learn after, 80,000 people crammed into the street to enjoy a bevy of live stage performances, food booths, conversation, and light-to-heavy-to-borderline-ridiculous drinking (depending on each individual). Jess and I had a blast listening to the bands and drinking from out of pink and green “milkshake cups” that we’d picked up from “Poundland” (UK equivalent of the dollar store) while the rain poured down in 15-minute spurts. Sometime around 10:30 (after our 4th trip to the port-a-potties) we bonded with three nice English boys from London over spicy curry noodles. We spent the rest of the night just hanging out and having a few laughs with Rich, Duffy, and Simon. It was a good time. When the clock hit midnight, fireworks were set off from the castle—and it was so amazing to see.

Soon thereafter, we bid the boys goodnight and hit up the toilets for a 5th time before heading back to the dreaded Morrison Street. While waiting for the bus, we met a nice German boy whose name I cannot for the life of me remember—he went to St. Andrews and smoked heavily but was very nice. When Jess and I finally got on our bus, we more or less passed out cold from exauhstion after eating the Cadbury chocolate bar that Adeline had so kindly given us as “rations” in case anything went wrong. By the time we got back to the house it was closing in on 3 AM—we didn’t crawl into bed until closer to 5.

When we woke up the next morning (morning? HA! It was about 12:45 in the afternoon) we decided to have a “recovery day” which involved lots of sleeping and eating. 22 of Adeline’s family members came to the house to celebrate the New Year with lots of food and conversation. Alastair and Adeline had made goulash and chili, followed by more desserts than anyone should ever eat (Have you ever heard of “Pavlovian cake”? Absolutely “gorgeous” as the Scottish would say). When we finally went to bed, I’m pretty sure we all had food babies that were about 5-months along…

Monday marked Jess and my adventure to Stirling Castle, an absolutely beautiful castle south of Glasgow in a charming little town called Stirling (duh). When we arrived to the little town, our first stop was a heart-clogging but happy-making meal from McDonalds. Then, only after we were filled to the brim with Chicken Selects and greasy fries, we trekked up to the castle, and spent 2 hours pretending we were princesses in a far-a-way land. The castle was beautiful, massive, and had some actors and actresses dressed in period costumes. It was incredible, even though it was raining and windy—as per the usual. Stirling is such a sweet little town with some of the most beautiful, breathtaking views I have ever seen. I was sad to leave it—but we went back to Glasgow, which I think is equally as beautiful in its own way. Instead of becoming any more cultured, we decided to go to the movies to see New Years Eve (not nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be… Zac Efron, Ashton Kutcher, and Josh Duhmel in one movie? Yes, please!). The only downside of going to the cinema was that we missed the last bus to Houston, which meant we had to pay 32 pounds to take a taxi back to the house. Ridiculous. But when we got back, Alastair had made us ham-and-cheese pie (so, so, so, so good) and warmed us up a bit more chili from the previous day. We then enjoyed a few glasses of wine and a movie before hitting the sack.

Our last full day in Scotland was supposed to be spent taking a road trip up to St. Andrews—but the fact that there was 90-mile-an-our gale-force winds nixed that idea. As a matter of fact, I woke up periodically from 5 AM on because the storm was so loud—the power even cut out. We spent the day using up what precious battery life we still had left on all electronic devices before playing board games and reading by candlelight. Although I wish we could have gone to St. Andrews, I think it was a pretty good day despite the circumstances. We ended up going to a drive to assess the damage the storm had done—a number of trees (massive ones) had fallen, one neighbor’s roof was swept clear off by the wind, and a crapton of fences were MIA. Suddenly, lack of power seemed like the least of our worries. When the power company called to say the power wouldn’t be on until 6 PM the next day, we were a little disappointed but merely picked up our books and kept reading. Jess and I had to sleep in the living room because our rooms were too cold. I spent the night tossing and turning, more or less because Rocky (the dog) snores louder than anyone I know—including my dad (sorry, pops)—and Lady (other dog) kept putting her head on my stomach and whine, which woke me up a few times as well.

When we woke up this morning—the day Jess and I begrudgingly return to Bologna—the power was still out, which meant I had to wash my hair in the ice-cold water of the bathroom sink. We packed up our stuff, had a cup of tea, and were out of the house by 11:15 AM to get to the airport, which is where I am sitting right now—beside a “Top Putt” game in the arcade because I couldn’t find any other outlets to charge my computer.

Obviously, 2012 is going to be an amazing year.

The Scottish Adventures of Lindsay and Jessica, Part One: On My Way

Note: My trip to Scotland took place between December 27th and January 4th. However, despite what my father's Christmas letter insinuates, I do actually attend real, live university classes that have official things like tests and professors and shiz. I have had no time to update my blog! However, my father's Christmas letter got one thing right: Wineries in Tuscany better hire additional wine-stompers for when T&T come to Italy in April!!!


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Things I’ve learned so far on this trip: 
Nota bene: I left my house 20 minutes ago.

1. Never, no matter what time your flight leaves, get to the Gugliemo Marconi airport in Bologna before 4:30 AM. There is nothing to do, nowhere to sit, and creepy pictures of puppies that just seem to be staring at you.

2. When in Italian cabs, wear a seatbelt. While you should always wear a seatbelt, it is especially important when in Italian cars or with Italian drivers. My cabbie just ran several red lights in order to see “how fast he could get to the airport.” I thought I was going to die.

3. As a matter of fact, I may have died on the cab ride here. At least my heart stopped beating several times. If Gugliemo Marconi Airport is Heaven, God has a sick sense of humor. If it’s purgatory, it seems fairly legit (although then I don’t know what Dante was talking about…). If it’s Hell, I’d say the Bible mislead us for how bad it would be (it’s still bad, though).

4. 3:57 AM is way too late/early to be blogging.

5. I may get turned away at Security for having too much stuff. A backpack, an unsually large purse that should not actually count as a purse, several jackets, and another, more sensible purse. Thankfully I can fit all of this down to two items (wear the coats, shove sensible purse inside of backpack, carry Pursezilla). They still might think I’m some sort of terrorist… or maybe just high maintenance. I would like to think I’m neither.

Okay, so that last one wasn’t a learned fact—more of a light worry. While waiting for security to open, I just keep watching and re-watching the only thing being shown on the TV: the TSA check-list for carry-on baggage.

… And I just saw a flight attendant walking by with 4-inch heels on. Whatever happened to having a pair of sensible heels for work, Boo? I suppose if you’re feet are going to be in pain for 8 hours, you might as well let ‘em hurt in style.

....

Twelve Hours Later:


I got to Scotland safe and sound, even after a minor blip that had me running like mad through the Amsterdam airport and a more-than-minor flub at the UK Passport Check that had me spitting lies at the guy checking my passport (long story short: You need a specific “Going-to” address within the UK. If you don’t have it, you could possibly get denied entry into the country. I panicked and went the, “I’m meeting friends of my cousin and they never gave me an address. I have their home phone number, will that count?!” route.) Even though Jessica isn’t technically my cousin, and I technically had a cell phone number, both white lies worked well enough to get me into the country. Lindsay: 1, Scotland: 0.

Jessica’s family-friend Adeline and her 9-year-old daughter, Kaydi, were waiting for me when I passed through the gates. They are both absolutely lovely, and I knew I would feel right at home in their house even before I got there. Sure enough, Adeline was super nice and made me scrambled eggs with salmon and toast on the side when I said I could go for a “snack.” It was super delicious. I then spent 2 hours playing Harry Potter Clue with Kaydi and her 7-year-old brother, Rodden. Adeline then fed me a delicious lunch of home-made lentil soup and crackers with a variety of cheese spreads. She then told me to go take a nap, seeing as how I’d been up since 2:30 AM, which is actually 1:30 AM in Scotland-time. I happily obliged.

Adeline and I went to pick up Jessica after having a dinner of leftover curry takeout. So good. When Jessica got in, we ended up staying up until about 4 AM and having a few glasses of wine with Adeline and Alastair. Then it was back to bed for the both of us…

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…