Island in the Sun

After every trip I've taken thus far, I've been at peace with saying goodbye. I've seen all the sites, walked myself ragged, eaten enough bad food, lost enough sleep, and I'm just itching to get back to my residencia, stop spending money, and start espinning. This was not the case with Palma de Mallorca. I was ready to spend the next week there, soaking up the sun on the quiet beaches of Portals Nous and dancing the night away in the clubs along Maritimo. Two and a half days was not enough time, especially after yet another stressful experience with good ol' Ryanair.

I spent the night at Raelene's in order to take the metro to the bus station where we were going to catch either the 5:30am or 5:45am bus to Girona airport in order to be there at 7:00am for out 8:25am flight. Only the 5:30am and 5:45am buses were mysteriously cancelled (perhaps because of the día de Sant Jordi holiday), much to the chagrin of the huddles of angry foreigners wondering how in the hell they were going to catch their flights. Naturally, the bus company was in no way actually affiliated with Ryanair, so it had very little sympathy for the only option it left us with: a 150 € cab ride. Thank God for Sofia, whose brilliant idea to take the 6:00am Renfe train to Figueres left us with exactly 30 minutes to get the metro to Sants, buy tickets, and hop on the train before it left us completely out of options. In Girona city by 7:15am, we hailed a cab for the 15-minute ride to the airport. With time to spare before our flight started boarding, we sat at the McDonald's outside our gate waiting for them to call our flight. Except that they never did. And as soon as it appeared on the departure monitor we were staring at while scarfing down breakfast, our flight was making its "Last Call." Are you serious? We could have missed our flight simply because they never called us to board. I'm just relieved to know that I will never have to take Ryanair again. I lost ten years off of my life dealing with this mess. I woke up at 4:30am for an 8:25am flight and I almost missed it And to those of you who have yet to study abroad, take heed. Ryanair's cheap flights (and don't forget the sneaky extra charges plus the bus trip) are NOT worth the stress. Good riddance.

As you can imagine, the snazzy hotel that our IQS friends from Mallorca hooked us up with was a welcome retreat after a classic morning in Ryanair hell. Somehow we managed balcony rooms, complimentary breakfast and buffet dinner, spa and pool access, and walking-distance to the beach for 27,50 € per night. There was absolutely nothing hostel-esque about this place. We were in paradise. After a quick visit to check out the pool, we grabbed some lunch at The Ship, a very Irish, very English-speaking locale that boasted cheap sandwiches, loaded baked potatoes and beer. Fabulous. After a little more sun and some serious spa time, I turned in for the night to catch up on the sleep I had been missing.

Saturday we woke up, stuffed ourselves with a hearty breakfast, grabbed some refreshments from the grocery store, and headed to the beach. The beach was really small and private, almost like a little cove. It had its fair share of topless tanners to be sure, but I was too distracted by the cerulean water to even pay attention. I'm not sure I've ever seen water like that in Mallorca; you would have thought it was filled with diamonds the way the sun made it sparkle. I concluded that I must live near water. The sense of tranquility it brings is unrivaled. If it weren't for the sun compromising the health/color of my skin, I could have taken a nap out there. But instead I headed back to the hotel to cool off.







That night we joined our Mallorcan hosts for some traditional Mallorcan cuisine - frito mallorquín, pan de tomate, caracoles, and hierbas de Mallorca, an anise-flavored drink made from cacti indigenous to the island. Then we headed to el Maritimo to see what botellón was truly all about. Botellón is Spain's "pre-gaming." In Mallorca, hoards of people park all along the boulevard facing the water, grab their drinks of choice, and pass the time until the clubs across the street start hopping. We ended up at a club that had the most unbelievable mix of American favorites - everything from Lou Bega's "Mambo #5" to Gaga's "Paparazzi." So, yeah. That was pretty much amazing.



Finally, we headed to the city center to snag some Mallorcan pearls and check out the cathedral. I wasn't ready to leave, but getting back was much easier than arriving. All in all, I hope I get the chance to go back. Perfect weather, beaches, and nightlife? I'm not sure I could say no.

Sidra House Rules

Kaixo! I've just returned from in Pais Vasco, yet another one of Spain's 7 autonomous regions, after a weekend with an old childhood friend Jehan and her generous flatmates who let me crash for a few days. Arriving in Bilbao, I took a 1-hour bus ride to San Sebastian (or Donostia, its Basque name). Immediately, the city's quiet and quaint ambience was undeniable. The streets were alive with families enjoying a stroll along the beach and seniors gossiping on benches in the town's main boulevard. San Sebastian has a small town feel, with manicured gardens of colorful tulips and pansies, a town center that hosts community Basque dancing on Sundays, and a family-oriented vibe. We were constantly running into familiar faces throughout the weekend, a contrast to Barcelona's highly populated streets and metros, and a walk around the entire city took less than an hour.

I came for San Sebastian's first weekend of truly great weather, so everyone had spring fever and the beaches were alive with topless tanners, all of whom were tragically over the age of 50. After a commemorative toast of mimosas on the beach, Jehan and I met her friends for a night at a sidreria, or sagardotegi in Basque. It's basically a cross between a steakhouse and a cider house, serving all-you-can-eat plates of meat and all-you-can-drink cups of cider. Most Basque cider contains 4-6% alcohol and is served directly from the barrel. The cider basically comes shooting out of the barrel and you have to catch it in your cup. As with most alcohol, though, there is an art to drinking cider. The more foam the better, so a gentle tilt of the cup, and then you drink it in one gulp before it goes flat. Needless to say, the 4-6% alcohol will go right through you if you hang out near the barrel long enough. Lots of fish, meat, bread, cheese, and apple preserves later, I left literally stuffed full with Basque culture. Great start to the weekend.



Saturday we took the funicular up to the top of San Sebastian for the most spectacular views of Playa de La Concha. After a quick bite to eat, we headed down to the beach and then to the grocery store to pick up some fajita fixings for dinner. I contributed my mom's famous avocado, strawberry, and mango fruit salad in lime and Tabasco vinaigrette. It was a hit. Obviously. Then Jehan and I met her friends in Parte Vieja, San Sebastian's "old town," which boasts more bars per square meter than any other place in the world.







Sunday we went for a steep hike up to see Jesus, the statue that overlooks Parte Vieja, before lunch at a popular burger joint that also serves chicken and cooked egg sandwiches. Why I never thought to put a fried egg on a sandwich is beyond me. Adding this sandwich to the list of things to make when I'm on my own this summer.





Monday I hugged Jehan goodbye and then headed to Bilbao before my flight that evening. Of course I didn't have the foresight to realize that the Guggenheim would be closed, but the outside is the thing to see. In fact, I hadn't heard much to make me really look forward to touring the industrial city, so I was shocked to see how truly beautiful Bilbao was. It seemed a city of fantastic modern architecture - all buildings were vast, complex, and multi-dimensional. The Guggenheim Museo Bilbao took my breath away. I'm not sure I've seen anything up to this point that I enjoyed more architecturally than that building. My pictures don't even do it justice. If you ever get the chance to see it in person, go.



Three days back, Raelene turned 21, and we're off to Palma de Mallorca tomorrow. Pray for good weather! Otherwise, I fear I'll just be seeing a lot of my hotel room.

Agur.

<3

Week in Review

It's been awhile since my last post, and I like to write somewhat frequently if only to record for myself what I spent my numbered days in Barcelona actually doing. Thanks for all the love and support after my last post. I'm feeling worlds better after a concerted effort to get out and do things (read: eat elsewhere), but a large part of that is thanks to this medium in which I could share my feelings and feel less alone. Mission Accomplished.

Anyway, as soon as I was back in the swing of things, a weekend of 70-degree weather and bright sun sent me running for the beaches of Barcelona. My friend Raelene and I met for a meal at Organic and then spent Friday, Saturday and Sunday doing what we've been waiting to do since arriving in Barcelona: tanning. Well she tanned because she's half-Puerto Rican and I got a little pink because my skin hadn't seen the light of day in quite some time. It was the perfect beach weather. Warm enough to lay out in a bathing suit, but not uncomfortable. I could feel the sun blanketing my body in warmth, and then a breeze would come rushing beneath the blanket before the heat could truly settle onto my skin. So, basically, perfection.



A Saturday BBQ at Eddie's apartment to celebrate his birthday offered a welcome change to my usual dinner routine. I had a grilled chicken and mozzarella sandwich on a toasted baguette. (The sandwich on baguette panini concept is something I'll be bringing back to the States. Along with Nutella and manchego.) Then it was off to watch El Clasico, the Real Madrid v. FC Barcelona game. Rivalry is an understatement. When Barcelona won (obviously), riots broke out. (See my "Barca! Barca! Baaaaaaaarca!" for a refresher on the importance of football in Spain.)

Monday brought rain on my parade (literally), which was fine since I had a lot of catching up to do on the homework I hadn't touched on account of the sun. So I've been shut-in writing a few papers and throwing together a few presentations since then. This weekend will be a wonderful break from school as I venture northward to Bilbao and San Sebastian, where I'll be staying with an old childhood friend of mine with whom a reunion is long overdue.

Be on the lookout for pictures!!

<3

Homesickkkkkkkkkkkkk

I had been waiting for it and waiting for it and waiting for it to come. That sinking, hopeless, empty, impossibly lonely feeling in which everything is different, nobody understands, and your only option is to get outta there as quickly as possible. But after 3 months, I figured I'd gotten over my history of chronic homesickness and finally found that streak of independence that I pride myself on.

Well, sometime between Ryan's 4:30am airport drop-off and my 1am bout of severe nausea, I felt it. I had washed down half of a muscle milk light bar with a bottle of Coca-Cola Light, bid farewell to my main squeeze without shedding nary a tear, hopped in a cab to my residencia, and crashed for a few hours before waking up around 10am, just in time for breakfast. Not feeling all that inspired by the caf's offerings after a week in gastronomic paradise, I went with my standby: cereal, skim milk, kiwis, and OJ.

And just like that I spent the next 15 hours cowered in my bed, clutching my stomach, and recognizing my very sudden and very apparent loneliness until my 1am wakeup call, when I ran to the toilet and vomited my guts out for the first time in 11 years. (Dead serious about that. Not sure why, but I just don't throw up. Well, up until now.) To add insult to injury, gray skies and thunderstorms provided quite a dramatic contrast to the 5 days of sun and delicious food I had just enjoyed. My roommate and other peers weren't due back until Monday night, staffing had been stripped down to the bare essentials for the holiday, and my Skype buddy was flying back to NYC for the next 8 hours. So it was just me and my upset stomach and the rain.

Well I don't know if it was the sickness or the homesickness, but I completely lost my appetite and hadn't the energy to walk upstairs, not to mention follow up with my regular work outs. I had slept maybe 40 hours in 3 days, though the slightest effort had me yawning and spacing out almost immediately. When Tuesday finally arrived, after a less-than-pleasant confrontation with the head honcho at my residencia, I opted for stretching my legs a bit and headed to my friend Raelene's apartment to hear all about her spring break in Italy and Greece. Just getting there left me winded, so I took the next cab for the hospital, where I spent 2 hours waiting to be seen before I came to the conclusion that it wasn't the stomach bug that was making me feel this way, but the homesickness. So I peaced out, scarfed down a slice on my way back to Sarria, and spent the next few hours developing a coping strategy for the next 7 weeks.

I'm feeling better now, thanks to the sweet words of a few dear friends and a little perspective. The weather's getting brighter, I've got a few projects underway for school, and I'm looking forward to a string of weekend excursions coming up. I'm still wary of food and haven't had an appetite for my go-to Coca-Cola Light since Sunday (I know. I AM sick.), but I'm back in the gym after a few easy goes at the elliptical.

I'm reminding myself every day that as soon as I return to NYC, I'll wish I were back in Barcelona. And on days when NYC seems far, I say to myself "7 weeks. You can do anything for 7 weeks." So while I miss you all at home, don't let me miss you too much. I have less than 2 months to get enough Spain in for the next several years.

<3

"I think it's the pâté."

If it seems like I've been slightly absent from the online world this past week, it's because I have. I spent La Semana Santa galavanting around Barcelona with Ryan, who came to visit me over his holiday break. Fortunately, Ryan had already spent a few days in Barcelona seeing the sights last spring, and we share a passion for eating good food, so we basically just scheduled our excursions according to our food needs/wants. The rules are simple: 1. Each of us must order something different. 2. Each of us must try something new. 3. Dessert is always an option.

So Tuesday, after we found our hotel and got our bearings, we went hunting for some food near the Arc de Triomf area. We happened upon this very dignified-looking institution with white tablecloths and glass stemware called Harrison Restaurant. I got a veggie pizza and Ryan went for the duck, as usual. Everything seemed pretty legit, until Ryan shrewdly observed the restaurant's artwork, which was nothing short of a shrine to Harrison Ford. Needless to say, the place met our culinary needs but its name lost it a lot of cool points.

That night, Ryan humored me and my vegan alterego for dinner as we headed to my favorite place in El Raval, Organic. I feasted on the salad bar buffet of greens, couscous, hard boiled eggs, marinated veggies, beets, pasta salads, hummus dips, whole grain bread, pumpkin and sunflower seeds, and fresh vinaigrettes while Ryan tried the Oriental Wok, a stir-fry of veggies and tofu with sides of rice, salad, hummus, and pita. The "Mediterranean" cocktail of fresh squeezed OJ with mixed with cava definitely earned the prize for the day. For dessert I feasted on some York Peppermint Patties my mom sent me from home - no surprise there - and we watched Ave Ventura: Pet Detective, the most Spanish movie I could think of.

On Wednesday, we ventured further towards the city center and bumped into a nice Italian place. The food was good, though fairly nondescript - I mean, let's be honest, he's from Queens and we live in the Bronx so our expectations were fair. For dinner, we ironically went for a cuisine that hails from my home state: Mexican. But I already knew about the succulent offerings of the Rosa Negra, that authentic Mexican dig I spoke of early in regard to their daily €3.50 mojitoes, which truly can't be beat. We started with some chicken flautas and then I dove into my grilled shrimp salad while Ryan went with my suggestion of spicy pork soft tacos with sweet marinated onions.

Thursday I took Ryan to the place that saved me in my first week here as I was growing accustomed to a diet of ham, cheese, and potato omelette: Al Jaima, a Lebanese restaurant in the heart of L'Eixample. We shared the menu for two, which came with enough food for 6 people and included: hummus, babba ganoush, tabouli, lentils, falafel, spanakopita, croquettes, samosas, tomato and feta salad, tahini sauce, basmati rice and, of course, pita. YUM.

(Side note: on the way to lunch we crossed paths with a 64 year-old man riding a bicycle butt naked. I'm not sure what to say about it, I'm just letting you know that it happened.)

Also on the way to lunch, Ryan had noticed a marquee for Slava's SnowShow, a remarkably charming clown curio that began in Russia in the early 1990s. Ryan had seen it two years ago and was very disappointed when it hadn't returned to NYC for this past winter. The tickets were cheap enough, we decided that we'd splurge for a night at the theatre in Barcelona - best decision ever. The show was sweet and heartening, whimsical and avant-garde. These clowns were exactly what clowns should be, playful with a sort of tragic undertone, and the interactive element of the show made it fun for all ages. If you ever happen upon it, go.





After Slava's SnowShow, we scurried down the street to Tapas, 24, a new concept from Carles Abellan of the very popular Comerç 24. Since the menu really didn't translate, we just relied on the recommendations of others and decided to go with what sounded good: (1) grilled mozzarella, ham and truffle sandwiches, (2) fried artichokes, (3) curried lamb skewers, (4) the McFoie burger, (5) potato, egg, chorizo omelette, (6) fresh berry cheesecake, (7) chocolate fudge with sea salt, olive oil, and crouton chips. Needless to say, this was my best night in Barcelona by far, if only because of the fine company.

A very beautiful Good Friday found us both returning to La Fonda, a Barri Gotic staple that always has a line out the door. I had gazpacho and a salad of bacon, parmesan, mushrooms, raisins, and a light mushroom vinaigrette while Ryan opted for the La Fonda sampler and codfish and roasted red peppers in goat cheese sauce. It goes with out saying that we always share, so I learned that I love both codfish the fried baby squid on his sampler very much. See, for what I teach Ryan in the way of Organic hippie food, he teaches me about truly delicious seafood.

Speaking of which, I really wanted paella for dinner, so we returned to my favorite Organic for some vegetable paella, which I think is perhaps the best paella I've had yet. Then we ruined our nice nutritious dinner with some flan-flavored gelato, where we ran into the Good Friday parade, this disturbingly somber demonstration of the Passion that evidently creeps through the dark side streets of Barri Gotic every year. Finally, we headed to Rosa Negra for yet more of my favorite cocktail on Earth - this time I had a Raspberry Mojito - and some chips and guacamole at Rosa Negra, where we accidentally bumped into a few of my friends from both IQS and Fordham. Small world.



Finally, we woke up to a warm and sunny Holy Saturday and headed to Barceloneta for the week's grand finale: lunch at Torre d'Alta Mar, a restaurant 246 ft above ground on the Torre de Sant Sebastián, one of the three towers that serves the port-crossing, tourist-carrying cable car. The views were spectacular, though I probably spent more time gazing at the gastronomic landscape on the table. To start, the chef sent us an amuse bouche of some split-pea soup cream with foie gras powder on top and a spoonful of cockle with in cream cheese. All I know is that it was delicious, and that I owe everything I know about the term "amuse bouche" to Top Chef. We then shared vegetable toast with goat cheese and summer truffle. As entrees, I tried sea bass with zucchini 'ravioli,' mushrooms and mussel in a mustard cream sauce and Ryan went for broke with the wild pigeon over a mushroom rice risotto. Then we each ordered dessert: Greek yogurt mousse with Muesli and fresh strawberries, and spice rum bread with crème brulée ice cream. I licked the bowl clean, and then we died and went to heaven.







Actually, we just spent hours sunbathing/people-watching along the water. Then we went home, packed up, and headed out to the airport, where I left Ryan at 5am this morning until my return to the States. I'm the worst about goodbyes, but knowing that not a moment was wasted made the whole ordeal a bit easier as we gave thanks for Spain, spring and soul mates. (Note the food for thought.)

<3

P.S. - Happy Easter!