I've Moved!

Hello my loyal readers:

I've moved! I have a new blog, for reasons which I explain here:
Pulpo en un Garaje: Personal Struggles and Spanish Government Troubles...

It's a new blog for a new adventure. I've changed the tone, and therefore feel like it's appropriate to start a whole new blog, especially now that I've wrapped this one up nicely. This one is just old and dated, and the title just doesn't even really make sense any more ("I am going to go to Spain"-really??). Anyway, I've appreciated your readership (always thought that was a weird word) more than I can say, so if you'd like to keep up with my adventures, I have SO many ways for me to spam you, which include:

My new blog: Pulpo en un Garaje link here: enungaraje.blogspot.com
Instagram name: SpaniSherri
Twitter handle: SpaniSherri
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/sherri.dill1
YouTube Channel: DillLikeThePickle link here: https://www.youtube.com/user/DillLikeThePickle
Second YouTube Channel: TwoGirlsOneShow link here: https://www.youtube.com/user/TwoGirlsOneShow  Videos to come!
Tumblr (though it has nothing to do with my Spain adventures, you should follow it anyway): stuffmydogsitson.tumblr.com  #SMDSO
And if you've got my phone number and a smart phone, you can of course, "get at me"via Viber, What'sApp, SnapChat.
I don't have a vine, but what do you think? Should I get one?

Alright, that's all, everybody. I hope you guys enjoy my shameless self promotion as much as I do. I'd love it if you'd join me on the next leg of my adventures, because my blog may have ended, but my adventures will (hopefully) be forever. ¡Ciao!

London, Part 2

Thursday morning, Noah and I woke up somewhat early. He had to work in the early afternoon, and I needed to head back to London for my very last weekend in Europe. He walked me to the train station and we arrived just as the train to London pulled in. "Is that mine?" I asked as we walked down to the platform. "Yeah...maybe run?" Noah replied. And I hitched my backpack tighter around my shoulders and awkwardly shuffled to my train, and I was off to London yet again.

That afternoon, I went to meet William, someone I had met through couchsurfing. I had already decided that hostels were no longer an option (during the summer in London-an already expensive city-AND during the olympics, the price of accommodation was unbelievable), so I searched on Couch Surfing for someone to host me. I noticed William right away because with all his friends, positive reviews, pictures, and helpful information, he definitely stuck out from the rest.
 

William met me at the train station with his bike. My first impression was that he is extremely outgoing, very in his element talking to people and making new friends, and was certainly no stranger to couch surfing. We walked to find some rental bikes and all the while William chatted to me as if we were old friends. He’s really into bike riding-he actually owns, like, three bikes, but I’m much more comfortable with both feet on the ground. I’m uncoordinated at the best of times, but put me on a REALLY heavy bike with 10 extra pounds on my back and before you know it, I’m on the ground at the edge of a really busy London intersection pressed between the pavement and the previously mentioned really heavy bike. Several people ran over to check if I was okay while William stood at his bike looking amused. They picked me up and dusted me off and I (bravely) got back on my bike and followed William home (about 50 meters behind, sweating) through Hyde Park. “You know for a city with famously shit weather, there are a lot of parks,” William observed.

When we got back to his apartment in Nottingham Hill, he graciously took me in his tiny blue car to a nearby grocery store, where I bought one packet of instant noodles for each of my remaining days in Europe (I call it the “poor traveler’s diet”) and he bought things like hummus and carrots and cucumbers and other various healthy type foods and laughed at my dietary choices. I assure you, William, it was more a monetary choice than a dietary one.

ANYWHO, William politely accepted me into his home and, much like many British people I’ve known, offered me a cup of tea before doing anything else. We chatted for a while, long after the sun had set, until he asked if I wanted to take a walk through city.

It was nice to walk around with someone who had lived there for a long time. It made the city of London, which before had seemed too impossibly large to navigate, appear more manageable, more familiar, if only marginally. Much like New York City, the very center of London didn’t seem to slow down at night at all, in fact with the Olympics in town, it seemed to come alive with all the décor and pretty lights around, not to mention all the patriotically dressed tourists from all over the world. We walked and talked for a long time, just enjoying the city before heading back to his apartment.

I woke up the next morning and went to the British library and walked around for hours. It’s a cool looking building, but what attracted me was the knowledge that the very first drafts of JK Rowling’s Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone were being preserved here, in all their spiral bound, hand-written glory. Along with a lot of other interesting drafts, like the Hobbit, Beowulf, and Jane Eyre.

At the end of my self-guided tour around the exhibit, I bought a book in the gift shop and found a coffee shop to sit at and read (and be sad at my quickly waning trip). It would have been a serene yet nostalgic moment if it weren’t for the cloudy chill and the persistent drizzling that drove me back inside.

When I returned to William's apartment, we watched the opening ceremony together. William is quite the night owl (even more so than myself), and afterwards we watched a movie. And then had some tea and chatted into the wee hours.

The next day, Scottish Steve returned to London. It was a surprisingly nice day, and I went to meet him in front of Buckingham Palace. We walked for a long while before deciding to check out St. Paul's Cathedral, which is too impressive for words. We decided to go up into the dome, and despite my brief episode of claustrophobia in the tiny winding stair case (a good way of getting over your claustrophobia is the knowledge that you can't go back down the way you came up), it was really cool at the top. St. Paul's Cathedral: Do it.

Later on we went to a pub in Victoria where the Olympic games were airing (though really I think you'd have had a harder time finding a place that wasn't airing the games). This is where I discovered that Smirnoff vodka is seen as bottom shelf liquor in the UK after both the bartender and Steve gave me a look after I ordered a drink.  Who knew?

I had to get back to William's in Nottingham Hill before the trains stopped running, so Steve went back to his hotel and I went back to couch surfing. William and I, in true night owl form, went back out so he could show me a bit of his part of London. We walked around quite a lot, and when he drove us back he parked in front of his building but didn't take his hand off the gear shift. "I kinda wanna keep driving. I don't really wanna go in just yet." He said. "Me either, really..." I said. Like a puppy with its head out the window, I love car rides. We continued to drive for another half hour or 45 minutes or so, looking at the lights, talking about life, and counting all the effing round-abouts we passed.

The next morning, my time with William was up. I thanked him for all the tea and the nighttime rides around the city, and went to go check into the Clink hostel for one last night. After all, I couldn't have asked for a better first couch surfing experience, or a better person to host me.

I met Steve a little after midday and together we went to a pub to watch the Rangers game. A note to Steve, if you're reading this: I'm going to butcher this story and I apologize. I'm not going to fact check any of this, so feel free to correct me or yell at me in Scottish expletives. See, the Rangers are not so much a Scottish soccer ("football") team from Glasgow as much as a Glaswegian religion. I couldn't tell you why, but for whatever reason they hadn't played in a long time. I think they were suspended. Or something. I don't know. Anyway, this was their first game since. We met an Australian guy of Scottish descent named Luke, and he and Steve spoke circles around me. I was happy to stand there while they chatted away with fervent conviction that the Rangers were the greatest thing to grace our Planet Earth, because they didn't even notice when they skipped over me in buying rounds of drinks. That is to say, Luke bought a round for all three of us, then Steve, then in their excitement to continue drinking and watching a game with someone just as thrilled about it all, Luke bought another round without even realizing there was a third person present who might have contributed.

So anyway, the good news is that the Rangers won. In my limited knowledge of soccer, it was all just a blur of screaming, drunk Scots heavily squished into a pub. This happened a year ago, but I still remember the very random and unintelligible breaking out into song, like a crowd of pre-teen girls at an N*Sync concert. But boy are there lots of songs about this one soccer team.

It was good that they won because if not, Steve would have probably been a bummer. Instead he pranced happily through the otherwise depressing, cloudy rain on our way to the next bar. I was going to meet my English friend Leon for my very last night in London, and indeed Europe, and Steve needed to get his flight back to Scotland that night. In the meantime, of course, we went for another drink.

We chatted for a long time before I realized I really should be sober enough to go have dinner with Leon. After a subdued cab ride and a sentimental goodbye, Steve disappeared into the London Underground at King's Cross station. I didn't have time to be sad, however, because it was off to meet with my favorite person in the world: Leon.

Leon is a London native so he knew exactly where to go: Nando's. Nando's is a magical place and if you're ever in the UK (or wherever else Nando's may be, really), you should definitely go. I can't explain it with any justice, so I'm going to leave it to Jack Whitehall:

(It's worth a watch, I promise)
(Edit: I did not mean for Mr. Whitehall to make it sound like a date, but after watching this I felt like I needed to clarify that it wasn't) 

We chatted for a while before going to Oxford street, where we stopped in to a very touristy-looking shop. "Pick something out," Leon said simply. I picked up a tiny little red phone booth on a key chain, and Leon took it from me and without a word, without asking or insisting, bought it for me (I mean it was only, like, a pound or two, but still very sweet). I had it on my keys for a long time afterwards until months and months later I noticed it had broken off.

I didn't want the night to end, nor did I want to go back to my hostel to be alone just yet, so we went to one of Leon's regular bars. We talked for a long time about our travels and our respective hopes to return to the other's country. I know how much Leon misses the US, but hopefully he'll return at a time when our paths can cross.

Eventually, we realized how late it was, and it was unavoidably time to part ways. Leon walked me back to my hostel like a gentleman, insisting that I couldn't walk alone. He, like Benny before, had explicitly told me how uncomfortable I would make him if I cried, and he looked very sincere. I promised him I would be good, but when I saw that we were only a few short blocks from my hostel, I felt that familiar lump in my throat and I knew resistance would be futile. I hate to sound like I spent much of my time in Europe as an emotional nuisance, but it was the culmination of my amazing summer coming to a close, having met some awesome new friends, seen and consequently said goodbye to so many of my existing friends, and the knowledge that I will never have an adventure quite like this one again. Sad because it was over, and extremely happy and thankful and humble that I even had the opportunity to do everything and see everything I had. Leon was simply the unlucky one that happened to be with me when all this came to mind.

I stood in the doorway of my hostel as quiet tears streaked my face, not wanting to go inside. Leon was visibly uncomfortable and unable to quite meet my eye (which is stupid because I wasn't even really crying, just teary eyed, and anyway boys shouldn't pretend they don't have emotions), and it just became funny watching him squirm. Feeling a little better, I hugged him and we promised each other we'd meet again, and he turned and walked away.

So there it is. My adventures as an undergrad wandering around in Spain and much of western Europe. I'm not going to try and get all deep, because I know how much you guys hate that, but I will say this: I did not come back to the United States the same person who left it. It was Noah who said to me on my first night in Brighton, "You spend so much money while you're travelling, you'll go broke. But the wealth that you gain from your experiences is so much more.........innit?"




"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."

Scotland: Adventures in Drinking

It's entirely possible that I spent the duration of my weekend in Scotland in a state of mild tipsiness. It's been far too long since my visit to write in any amount of detail about what I did there (although I do have fond memories of spending much of my time drinking beer and peeing), and when I expressed this concern to my friend Scottish Steve, his remarks were: "Well 90% of Scotland is drinking, to be fair."

Fair enough, Steve. Fair enough.

I met Steve in the Clink hostel in London. We chatted for a good long while and exchanged phone numbers. I was finding myself with a lot of free time and not knowing how to fill it. I was alone, and quite small in a big new country, and I found myself really timid to even make a move, so I was understandably excited to make a new friend, especially one who was willing to show me around in Scotland.

I got myself a flight from London to Edinburgh on a Friday night. I arrived at the hostel and settled in.

The next morning I got a train to Glasgow, where Steve lives. He met me at the train station, and then we set off for a walking tour of his home town. Beginning, I believe in George Square.**

He gave me a sort of "west end" tour, mostly, he says, because the "east end" is too dangerous and warned me to never ever go there because I'll immediately get stabbed. I'm paraphrasing here, but you get the gist.

On our walking tour, Steve showed me a whole lot of things, including but not limited to: the University of Glasgow, some unnamed art galleries, the Riverside museum, and some quirky Glasgow-type things, like some TARDIS sightings:

How magical is that? These little beauties are scattered around Glasgow & Edinburgh.

Also there is a statue of the Duke of Wellington that, for whatever reason, always has a cone on its head. Steve told me about this, and I almost didn't believe him. But as we were walking past, the statue was surrounded by authority figures in an effort to remove the cone from his head.

This is such a common occurrence that it inspired this little vinyl sticker:

Now, I've said this before quite frequently, but stick with me: You get a little something extra when you visit a friend in his/her hometown. You see things with a familiarity that you don't get when you're on your own. Suddenly a nondescript ice cream shop on the corner has meaning because you know that's where your friend spent her days after school, or perhaps you see a park where she had her first kiss. These landmarks were different with Steve. Walking with Steve, it was more like, "There's a really good pub, this is some park, that's a good bar, there's another good bar, check out that thing over there, my friends and I go to that bar all the time, that over there is my favorite pub, this is another of my favorite drinking spots..." And it went on like that for a while.

We continued walking, never stopping, past the Finnieston Crane, which is completely useless, but I suppose is meant to represent the engineering "heritage" of Glasgow. We walked past the Clyde Auditorium (which I had to google just now), and then past BBC Scotland headquarters. As we did, a man jogged by. When he was out of earshot, Steve revealed to me that the man was a Scottish actor. I'll present that as a major cultural difference between the United States' celebrity obsessed mindset and Scotland's apparent apathy to people they see on TV. Any American, myself included (....probably), would jump at the chance to meet or get a photo of a celebrity-ones we're not even familiar with or even hate.

So after all the walking, you might be able to guess that when we were on our third museum, Steve decided it was time to call it a day, and we went for a drink. We hadn't eaten anything all day, and I had it in my head that I had to try something authentically Scottish: haggis. I've not heard mixed reviews on haggis. The popular opinion is that it's vomit-inducing, but I didn't mind it. Probably because it was drowning in cheese on a pizza...But still, Steve waited until I was done eating to tell me what haggis is. Go on. Google it. I'll wait here.

We bar hopped for a short time, Steve having me to try some of his favorite drinks. After the sun had set, we took a train back to Edinburgh. It was only about 11:00 when we got back to the hostel, but Steve is quite old, you see (24 at the time-yikes!), so we called it a night.

The next day we were up early to walk around the city. We walked the Royal Mile, a string of streets in what's called "Old Town" of Edinburgh. All very picturesque. Along the way, Steve thought it was necessary for me to try Irn-Bru (pronounced iron brew). It's a Scottish soda fondly referred to as Scotland's "other national drink." It tasted like really sugary bubble gum to me.


Then, almost on a whim, we bought tickets to something called Mary King's Close. We had to wait for the next tour, so we decided to walk around outside, when, serendipitously, we came upon a street performer. He was a tall and just generally large shirtless Scottish man with a black bowler hat, who did things like swallow swords and fire and lay on a bed of nails. The sword thing was particularly nauseating.

Since I don't seem to have a travel tip from this experience, I'll give you this one:
Always tip those guys when you stop to watch them. Don't be a dick.

Mary King's Close was really cool and a little bit terrifying. It's a sort of underground (and I don't mean that in a hipster sense, I mean literally underground) tourist attraction that displays a "historically accurate example of life in Edinburgh between the sixteenth and nineteenth centuries," at least according to its Wikipedia page. It's not the ideal place for someone who is afraid of the dark or enclosed spaces, but it was interesting from the historical point of view anyway. The tour guide, whether or not he was lying, told us that there had been a woman to go on the tour many years back who actually knew someone (perhaps a grandfather or something) who had lived in the close as a really young child. Who knows if it's true, but how cool would that be?

The Fringe Festival happened to be on during my little visit. Steve tells me there are festivals quite frequently in Edinburgh. I was extremely confused, but excited by all the commotion. I couldn't really see any coherent theme for the festival, but there were lots of people wearing kilts and bright red wigs. (Update: I just looked up the Edinburgh Fringe Festival on Wikipedia, and it says that it is "with no selection committee, and therefore any type of performance may participate." So I guess that explains that.)

After we were through sight-seeing, we began drinking (of course). Steve insisted I try Scotch whisky. He bought me some and returned to our table with a small glass of water in tow. Apparently if you can't handle it, as Steve anticipated I could not, you're meant to add water to dilute it for the desired strength. And oh, was it strong. I powered through and finished it, though. Like a champ.

A little before sunset, Steve had to make his way back to Glasgow, as he had work the next day. It felt sort of unfortunate to hug him goodbye and to watch him leave for the train station, and strangely lonely to go back to the hostel on my own. I qualify "strangely" because you'd think I'd be used to it after spending so many nights on my own in hostels in the weeks prior. But though my euro-trip was coming to a close, I knew I still had a lot left to look forward to.

My only regrets about my trip are that we never made it to that café where JK Rowling got the inspiration for Harry Potter (though I did get to see the castle that started it all-*squeal!*). Also I didn't really take many photos...I can attribute this to being taken around town by Steve, who was a cool and collected local, and I suppose I felt silly snapping photos of someone's hometown...

I had my flight back to England the next morning, where I returned to Brighton for a few days to see Noah, and then it was time for London for the very last nostalgic leg of my trip.

"El mundo es un libro y quienes no viajan solo leen una página."

Brighton, Parts 1 & 2

So remember that time I had a blog? No? Well, I don't blame you. It has been a little over a whole YEAR since I went to Brighton, and here I am, writing about it for the first time.

In the spirit of being proactive, which I have lots of motivation to do when it comes to traveling (but not so much other stuff), I have decided to finally return to this blog, so that I might actually finish something I started for once in my life. Besides, I'll need to finish it so that it'll free me up to write about all my upcoming adventures later on this year.

So Brighton, how was that, you ask? Brighton was lovely, but unlike my trip to London, where I was a shameless photo-snapping, video-taking tourist, I felt like I was more of a visiting local in Brighton because I was there to see a friend of mine. Noah was another one of those exchange students I had met the previous semester at UNCW.

Part 1

Noah had recently come back to Brighton to live for the summer before returning to school in London in the fall. And as such a poor college student living away from home for the summer, he was working. A lot. No complaints, of course. It was great of him to let me stay, use his water, and eat his food.

Once I said my goodbyes to Benny at Waterloo station in London that Wednesday, I bought my ticket to Lewes and was on my way. Lewes is a small town right outside of Brighton, where Noah's mother lived and where he worked. I arrived with just a backpack, and stepped outside just as the drizzle turned to rain. Noah had given me directions to find him at work, and despite my complete inability to follow directions, I found him. I walked into the Pelham House, a fancy hotel, and asked the man at the front if Noah was working. He pointed to what looked like a dining room, and I walked through the door.

There was Noah, back to me, taking a table's order. I stood in the doorway and waited patiently. At one point, he must have seen me out of the corner of his eye, because he looked over quickly, then returned to his work. I then saw the image of myself standing in the doorway actually register in his head, and he did a fantastic double take, face lit up, and said through a big smile, "Oh, my days!"

We both stood at the bar, where his boss gave me a (FREE!) half pint, and caught up ("Your accent sounds so out of place here").

When he was finished with work around 11pm, we took a train to Brighton, where he showed me around a little bit. I've said this before, but going to visit a friend in a new city has a certain intimacy that you don't get when you just go visit a new city. Noah showed me where he used to hang out as a school-aged kid, which place has the best burgers, and then possibly one of my favorite spots in Europe, a regular hang out among him and the rest of the youths in Brighton. It's a row of benches along a pedestrian street outside a local theater,  affectionately dubbed "The Benches." It was a Wednesday night, and even during the summer, not many people were about, but we stopped by a  corner store ("Isn't it nice how corner stores have the decency to always be located on a corner?" There'll be a lot of these-Noah said lots of quotable quotes over the course of my week in Brighton) to buy some beer.

Even though it was late, we spent a while on the benches chatting, catching up on each other's lives, sharing some wine straight from the bottle. Despite the lack of people out, it was obvious this was a well frequented place. A few girls were sitting a few yards to our right and were being harassed/annoyed by what appeared to be a homeless man. A guy walked by and asked for a light, but he said "Have you got a light?" instead of "Do you have a light?". It all felt thoroughly British.

We then went back to his apartment, which I don't think words will suffice in describing to you, but I will try. It was dirty. Messy. Beyond disgusting. And normally this would bother me, but it was just so repulsive that it had a certain cinematic quality to it...Like, it was so dirty it couldn't even be real. We stepped around the empty beer bottles, plates of partially eaten food, and carelessly discarded sweaters, up to his bedroom and attempted to watch a movie, but fell asleep.

The next day, Noah had to work somewhat early (and by "early" I mean at like 2pm, which is early when you go to bed at 5am), so we left his place and he gave me an extremely quick walking tour of Brighton, just to allow me to get my bearings. Here's the pavilion, here's some famous hotel, here's the pier, that's Churchill square.

That afternoon, which was a Thursday afternoon, while Noah was working, I was planning my weekend trip to Scotland. I met him later at his work, from where we both walked to his mom's house. That night, Noah showed me how to make some noodles and a watered down can of tomato paste last for several meals, before we settled in for the night with some amazing British reality TV: Embarrassing Bodies. Seriously, that shit is thoroughly good. If you haven't seen it yet, I highly recommend it.

The next day I left for Scotland. I wasn't sure of my plan, and I certainly didn't want to overstay my welcome or assume that I was allowed to stay longer than I was, so when Noah expressed disappointment that I wouldn't be around for the weekend to go out to some of the clubs in Brighton, I suggested the idea of coming back after Scotland. Noah seemed excited enough about the idea, so it was settled. After Scotland, it was back to Brighton, not London.

Part 2

For that Monday, Noah had given me directions to get back to his mom's house in Lewes, where I met his mom and younger sister, Lois. His mom was awesome and very hospitable. She, like every other British person I've known, offered me copious amounts of tea, asked me about my family, and said things like "Nice one."

Noah got back from work a little later, and together we scraped some left-overs together and fashioned ourselves a make-shift meal of marmite (If you want my advice, stay far, far away from marmite or any other spread that ends in "mite"), rice cakes, and all that remained in several different bottles of wine. After a quick episode of Embarrassing Bodies, this time about genital deformities and reproductive diseases, it was off to bed.

The next morning, Noah's mom offered me another cup of tea. And you don't just say no when a British person offers you tea. After a little while, Noah had to go to work, and I went to meet his mom and Lois at a public pool. The problem is that my complete lack of a sense of direction or indeed any type of spatial intelligence has contributed to an extremely low level of confidence in my ability to find anything at all in the geographical sense, and I end up doubting myself ("Is this a slight right? This doesn't look like a slight right. I'll just walk on to the next one." "Is that the red sign he was talking about? That looks more orange....") and thus: the complete inability to follow instructions I mentioned earlier. Anyway, I got lost on my way to this public pool I was headed to. The lucky thing is that I may not know where my destination is, but I always leave a trail of mental bread crumbs. So while I had no clue where this public pool was, I did know where I was. And it just happened to be a lovely summer day! That was lucky. Imagine walking around all afternoon looking for a pool you doubt even exists, all in the rain that is so typical of England.

So after a while I gave up and decided just to head back to the Pelham House to find Noah, and as luck would have it, Noah's mom and Lois as well. Turns out there'd been a massive line outside the pool, and when I never showed up, they got slightly worried. Noah's mom felt so bad that I'd gotten lost (though it was entirely my fault), she bought me a pint. Don't you just love other peoples' parents?

While I was there, another UNCW veteran came to meet me. Lucky is originally from London and while Noah still had a few hours to work, he and I took a train to Brighton to eat and then to see the Dark Knight. The Duke of York theater is the most adorable hipster hang out. It's an old theater refurbished into a cinema. After the movie, Noah met us and we all revisited the corner store to get beer ("This one says it's 6 pounds for 6 beers...So if we each get 2, then it'll be 6 pounds or 1 pound each..." Good math, Noah. Good math).

The next day, Noah had work off, and the three of us hung out all day. Unfortunately it's been entirely too long since this has happened and I have no idea what we might have done on this day. That night Noah was eager to show us the nightlife ("There are some good clubs in Brighton innit?"). We went to a place called Digital, located by the pier almost right on the shore, and it was exactly how it sounds. Loud dubstep played in a massive dark room (save for the flashing colored lights) while people danced or stood around the nonsensical and non-utilitarian furniture. I'm not one much for clubs, but I will say this: on the whole, I think English boys are better dancers than American boys. 

Oh, travel tip:

Though, in my opinion, breaking up a drunken fight between your friend and a guy wearing a muscle shirt with the word "RIPPED" across the chest is the right thing to do, it may result in a punch to the face. And those hurt. 

The next morning, Lucky left early to go back to London. We slept in for a really long time, but after a while I felt recovered enough to get on a train. I had no sense of urgency, but eventually Noah had to work. He walked me to the train station and with one last hug and a "thanks for letting me crash and eat your food," I waved goodbye out the train window as we bustled away all cinematically, and was on my way back to London. 

London, Part 1

My flight from Seville (holy god in heaven that feels like ages ago) left at about 9:00 at night, and didn't arrive in London until about 11:00. The flight was relatively painless as flights go, but there was still the grueling matter of getting into the country. Here are a few tips on how to enter a country smoothly; please learn from my mistakes:

• If you're visiting for any amount of time longer than a week or so, bring proof with you that you're actually leaving the country at some point. A confirmation email of your flight home, perhaps. 
• On your immigration card, do not round up when it asks you how long you plan to stay. Border control likes to hear an exact number of days. 
• Do NOT mention a lack of money. When they ask you how you're funding your trip, and they will, tell them that you have tons and tons of money saved up and you're totally not worried at all about running out and having to find a job in order to keep eating. 
• When they ask about where you're staying, cite only one specific hostel, because the geniuses at border control don't like any uncertainty. They also don't understand the idea of couch surfing, because staying with friends can only mean one thing: you're poor and want to stay in England illegally and take their jobs.

Admittedly, I made all or most of the mistakes I just listed. Luckily I was, however reluctantly, allowed entrance. I found my bus and began the 45 minute trip to London.

And FYI for those of you who don't know, you can fly into London Stansted or Gatwick for cheaper than flying directly into Heathrow, but it's a 45 minute and ~£9 bus ride to the city.

I found myself on Liverpool Street at about midnight, where I stupidly expected taxis to drive by quite frequently. It was a while before I saw one available drive past, and I felt every minute of the wait with the surprisingly cold air and rain. Also, don't forget that they drive on the other side of the road in your haste to get to the first available taxi and almost die getting hit by a car in the process.

Another travel tip: if you're traveling by taxi in London, try to avoid the black ones, as they're more expensive.

So not long after, I arrived at my hostel, Clink 78. It's bigger and not as personal, but the common areas are better than any other hostel I've been in. It also has a bar with really nice staff. Internet is £2 per hour, so forget contacting friends and family while you're there. Also a major plus is that reception is open until 4am, meaning if you're like me and opt for the 11pm flight because it's dirt cheap, you can still check into the hostel. And having a place to sleep is just tops.

The next morning I woke up relatively early and approached reception to get a map and perhaps some advice on what a lone traveler should do on her first day in London. A girl working the front desk gave me a map and pointed out a few museums that were free. I refused to heed her advice to take the underground instead of attempting to walk everywhere, which worked perfectly well for me in Santander, Salamanca, Madrid, Paris, Amsterdam, Brussels, Antwerp, and so many other places so why wouldn't London be the same? In case you couldn't see where this was going, London is not the same. After walking for what felt like an hour, I checked myself on my map and I was only about halfway to my destination. Where in Madrid it took a really short time to walk what looked like a really long distance on a map, it was the opposite in London. I have admit more than once that I was spoiled by Spain (the beautiful sunny weather, the close proximity of everything, how cheap everything was...), so maybe it wasn't as bad as it seemed at first. What looked like it may take 10 or 15 minutes to walk took about an hour. If your destination is only one underground stop away, I would definitely recommend walking. And I'm always an advocate of the less lazy path to take, but if it's more than two stops away, take the freaking tube.

So if you couldn't already guess, and you should have, my first stop was king's cross station to try and sneak my way onto platform 9 3/4. After I was successful accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my next stop was the British Museum. This is a classic tourist destination because not only is it free, it's also freaking huge. I spent 4 or more hours there. Being a student partial to linguistics, my favorite part was seeing the Rosetta Stone. Like, you know, THE Rosetta Stone.

Then I spent about 40 minutes walking in the wrong direction, until I finally realized my mistake and walked 40 minutes back in the right direction. Luckily I had left my rain jacket back in sunny Madrid, because it was only slightly pouring down buckets.

Despite my best efforts that night (and by "best efforts," I mean, "sitting in a common space of the hostel next to an outlet staring at my iPod"), I had little success meeting new friends. No matter, I slept soundly that night and I woke early the next day.

This particular hostel had a big kitchen and free breakfast, so I went and got breakfast and used some internets before starting my day. I went to the same desk receptionist I talked to the day before to ask her again where she recommended a lone traveler go, and waited for the two people in front of to be done talking to her. While I stood there, the boy of the two turned to me and asked if I was alone. I said, of course, "Yes, I am." But inside I was like, "PLEASE BE MY FRIEND."

He then said that I could join them, if I wanted, because he had just met his companion, a girl who looked about my age, and they were both lone travelers who had decided to spend their day together.

A 27 year old musician from Canada, Steve was traveling around before moving to Australia to play music. 21 like me, Erin was a nursing student living and studying in Nottingham and taking a weekend holiday in London. The three of us set off with no real goals in mind. We walked through Hyde Park first, where there were a lot of events on in honor of the Olympic season. Then we saw Buckingham Palace, and somehow got lucky enough to arrive in time to see the changing of the guards! That felt surreal after hearing about it and only having seen it in movies and what not. It almost felt like they were characters and didn't really exist in real life. 

We headed toward the River Thames then, and saw Westminster Abbey, the Houses of Parliament, Big Ben, and the London Eye. And some other things that I'm sure I'm forgetting. Every wonderful historical attraction had one thing in common: They were all bloody expensive. Westminster Abbey, it turns out, has a discount for students, a whopping 2 pounds off from the original 18 pounds. The houses of Parliament are 16 pound entry, and who knows about Big Ben, because I didn't even try. We did, however, get tickets to go on the London Eye, for a steal: only 18.50!

After buying our tickets, we had to wait a while before going on, so we went to the Natural History museum, which is free (really strange range of pricing here in London, isn't it? Most museums are free or ask for a donation of between 2 and 5 pounds, and everything else demands your life savings before letting you enter). It's really hands on and probably targeted for a younger demographic, but we still had fun. They had a really cool-looking exhibit on with inside-out animals, but it was 9 pounds to get in, so we skipped it. It was about sun set at this point, and we were lucky enough to have a break from the rain, so we made our way back to the eye.

I recommend the London Eye, simply because there's nothing else quite like it (Yeah, Sherri, except the Valencia Eye, the Brighton Eye, the Manchester Eye, and any other eyes that you may not be aware of). It's an interesting ~40 minute trip. There's such a crowd around the base, where you begin, as one of many there at the bottom. As you slowly climb your way to the top, higher and higher above all the rest, you become separated and sort of above them in more ways than one, seeing all the things they can't. They all seem so insignificant, as small as ants. And then you're there, at the very top, where you're higher than anything else (okay, except the Shard), and you can see for miles: all of the important landmarks you're too cheap to go see in person. And from there you slowly descend back down, rejoining the people below, seeing what they see, becoming a tiny ant, one of many yet again.

So yeah, spend the 18.50. It's worth it.

After that, we were starving. But if you're looking for cheap food in London, here's a tip: Just give up eating. Life will be much, much less expensive for you.

But seriously, South Bank is NOT the place to eat cheaply. We walked and walked and were getting ever nearer to our hostel without finding a single place to eat for less than 12 pounds or so. Finally we found a pub one street over from our hostel. This was where I had my very first Strongbow, as suggested to me by Erin. The first of many a cider in London.

Upon returning to the hostel, we decided to take a breather and reunite later on in the hostel bar, called the Clash. Or something. It's not important.

I went to meet up with the others later on and found Steve chatting to two boys: Another Steve and Robert. This is when Steve became Canadian Steve and Steve became Scottish Steve. Anyway, hours of drinking and chatting later, we all went our separate ways to bed. I know that sounds like a totally inconsequential story, but it'll be important later on.

The next day, I met Erin and one of the girls from her hostel room to go out for the day. It was Erin's last day in London, so we did our best to cater to what she wanted to do. We planned our day in a nearby Starbucks, but it seemed like everything was either booked up for the day or totally and completely out of price range. At one point, we split off so that Erin could go visit the Florence Nightingale museum while Sam and I visited the London Zoo. Oh yeah, Sam. She's a 19 year old from Perth. I gather that she's taking a year off to travel before going back to school, as many Australians seem to do. It's a shame I couldn't find her on FaceBook, but if you've looked through my pictures and wondered who the random ginger girl was, that's her.

ANYWAY, the zoo in London costs about as much as my left arm, so we decided to skip it. Instead we walked through Regent's Park, where it was mostly cloudy and in the mid-sixties, so that meant that all the English people were out and about, in T-shirts and shorts, jogging, playing soccer, throwing a frisbee back and forth, walking their dogs. Just about any outdoor activity you can think of; a stark contrast to what you'd see at, say, Umstead Park during similar conditions here in North Carolina. "A cloud? Nope. Back in my sweat pants; I'm staying in today."

Eventually we made it to Madame Tussaud's, which was so. so. so. touristy. I don't recommend it, unless you're really into spending 30 quid to see statues of famous people. But it was fun all the same. I liked hanging out with Sam, and a bonus? She wanted to eat cheaply like me! It seems that everyone on vacation or traveling around goes out to eat for just about every meal. For people who are traveling for longer than a few days, we know that this just isn't plausible. So Sam and I went to a corner store to buy instant noodles and other cheap and awful foods. We did the exact same thing I had done the previous night: met in the hostel bar, drank too much, and chatted to Scottish boys. Sam was a huge fan of Scotland, and thus the Scottish boys were huge fans of her.

The next day, I happened upon another Canadian (who knew there was more than one?). In his late 20s and a self proclaimed "pot head," Tim was a math teacher in China, but this particular summer he was on vacation traveling around Europe before returning to his teaching post without ever visiting home. We walked around quite a bit, not doing anything in particular while we made our way to Tower Bridge. I was pleasantly surprised at how big the Tower of London was. It was 17 or so pounds to get in (concessions for students; and they didn't even ask to see an ID!!) and we spent about four hours there. I really recommend it.  The crown jewels are there, and also you get to see the guards and the GIGANTIC ravens. Yes, the rumors are true; the ravens are HUGE. And vicious. Also there was a small exhibit on Sir Walter Raleigh, something that hit close to home. Haha, get it? Raleigh? Close to home?

Anyway, after the Tower of London, we walked along the Tower Bridge. This is the one with the Olympic Rings you've probably seen in so many pictures. We decided to skip the Tower Bridge exhibit, because how exciting could that be, really? Instead we went to a nearby pub, tried different kinds of cider, and chatted until we walked back to the hostel before it got dark. That night we met some French boys in the hostel bar. We joined as a team in the bar's trivia game, and wouldn't you know it? We won! And I'm happy to say that I contributed to that win. Our trophy, a free pitcher of beer, and a few games of pool later, we all went to bed.

The next day it was time for me to check out of the hostel. Having felt slightly sad the day before, I was ready and eager at this point to leave and see some familiar faces. Tim helped me carry my bags to King's Cross, where I said goodbye and went to meet up with a very special friend of mine at Waterloo station. By the way, here's a mini travel tip for you: If you're meeting a friend at Waterloo station, find out if you're meeting at the train station or at the tube station. It'll save you a lot of frantic searching.

Anyway, I met up with Katie and Benny, an English girl and Australian boy I'd met through international student orientation this past semester. Both of them did an exchange at UNCW, but now Katie had returned home for the summer before going back to school, and Benny, well, who knows. He's temporarily moved to England to live with family, presumably to postpone making any decisions about getting a 'real' job or entering the 'real' world. The three of us walked around quite a while, visiting Buckingham Palace yet again, taking silly pictures with the guards, chatting and catching up, before making our way to Oxford street to meet up with another UNCW veteran, Leon, who, admittedly, is probably my favorite person of the three. And probably in the whole world. Sorry guys.

Our first destination was to get a pint, as suggested by who else but our resident Aussie. It was the standard drinking and catching up and laughing at old stories until Leon had to leave, and Katie and Benny and I went on our way.

Katie goes to school in London but lives elsewhere (sorry, I'm not a good enough friend to know where), so she arranged for us all to stay with a school friend of hers while all of us were in London. Brook's roommate was out of town for a while, so she had a spare bedroom she graciously let us sleep in. She even let me have a shower! It's the little things you begin to appreciate once daily luxuries are no longer daily.

That night, they took me to a magical new land called Wetherspoons. I had no idea what I was in for, but let me tell you, it was spectacular. An entire meal, with alcoholic drink included, was less than 7 pounds. I stared at the menu blankly, confused, until someone asked me what was wrong. "I just feel like I'm being tricked. Is this a joke?" I asked.

It wasn't a joke. Later a friend told me, "The trick is to not ask where they get their meat." Sound advice, friend. Sound advice.

So anyway, I think we drank their bar dry that night, simply because it was all so cheap. We saw a deal on their menu that offered two pitchers of a mixed drink for 10 pounds. There were four of us, so that meant that for 5 pounds, we could each get our own pitcher. It's simple alcoholic math, really.

After the first pitcher was made, the woman at the bar set it down, asking, "How many glasses?"

"None," Katie replied with a smile, throwing a single straw into the pitcher, picking it up, and walking back to our table. Good girl.

So after one pitcher each, and several jager bombs and who can remember what else, we called it a night and walked back to Brook's. Even though it was "proper student housing," and Brook told us horror stories about rats in the attic and foxes in the woods outside, I was more than happy to be sleeping in a bed that was not affixed to 9 others to maximize the number of strangers to fit in one room. I'm a dream guest for my poor student friends because after hostel after hostel after disgusting hostel, it doesn't take much to please me. I would have been impressed with a cupboard under the stairs. "Wow, you get all this to yourself?" I'd say.

The next morning we slept in, which sounds like a waste of the day, but it was a welcome break from waking up at 7 or 8 every morning in time to catch free breakfast in the hostel and going out to spend the whole day sight seeing.

I spent the first while planning a trip to Scotland. This is where that seemingly inconsequential story about meeting a Scottish Steve comes back. That night in the bar in London, Steve and I exchanged numbers. I had considered making an impromptu trip to Scotland, and being excited about my new Scottish friend, I asked his advice of where I should go and what I should see. After having dropped several hints with little response (boys are hopeless, aren't they?), I finally asked outright, "If I go to Scotland, would you like to meet up?" Fortunately, Steve said yes. And that is how I planned a trip to Scotland two days before going to Scotland.

Our schedules allowing for only one more afternoon together, Katie drove Benny and I to get lunch. Afterward we walked around a little, and Katie showed us some famous art in the streets-the fallen red phone booths in a domino sort of formation.

All too soon, it was time for all three of us to go. Katie had a three hour drive home to get back to work, Benny had to return to his aunt and uncle, and I was on my way to Brighton. Katie dropped the two of us off at the train station and we said our goodbyes. Assuring each other that we would see each other again, we hugged and promised a stolid-faced Benny that we wouldn't cry.

Benny and I then made our 15 minute trip back to Waterloo station, where we would go our separate ways. Walking to our different platforms, it happened: Despite my best efforts for Benny's sake, I cried. I mean, okay, I wasn't crying, really, but as soon as I was struck by the thought that I didn't know when or if I'd ever see these two people again, my eyes got watery and my throat grew tight. I sucked it up, however, put on a smile and hugged Benny goodbye before watching him descend the escalator to be swallowed up by the Waterloo underground.

The experiences you put under your belt while traveling pale in comparison to the friends you make. No, you'll never forget seeing the Eiffel Tower or the Spanish Steps for the first time, but it's the friends you make that add meaning to your time away. I'm thankful for the opportunity to meet them while they were abroad here at UNCW, but even more so that we remained friends while I was away from home. To Benny and Katie, I'll certainly not forget you any time soon, and I expect to see you any time you may find yourselves in the States.

A Week in Cadiz

On my third morning in Madrid, I packed away my things, said goodbye to my roommates, and walked down the street to Atocha train station. Traveling by train is so different from traveling by plane, which is what I'm more used to. With planes, you plan so far in advance and comparison shop to get the best price, and you arrive two hours early all prepared. But with trains, you just show up when you wanna leave, slap some amount of cash down on the counter, and say, the next train to Seville please. And then they give you preferred seating so they can charge you more because you're a foreigner and they know you won't be able to tell the difference. It's that easy!

But seriously though make sure you're getting the seat you want. I spent 2 hours and 45 minutes feeling like a complete dunce with my big comfy chair and all my unnecessary leg room, all the while resenting the attendant who kept offering me coffee. I don't want coffee, I want my 40€, dammit!!!

Anyhoo, I arrived at the Seville train station and for the life of me could not find the bus stop. If you're ever looking for it, it's across the street. Keep walking, you'll find it. Instead I caught a cab, and 9€ later I was at the beautiful plaza nueva.

There really isn't much to be said for my time in Seville, as it was mostly spent alone. Later in the evening, I was met by my australian friends Mel and Noni, two girls who studied at my university last semester on exchange. With them was their friend Alex.

The next day we headed to our intended destination: Cadiz. I somehow directed us to the wrong street (imagine that...me, getting lost), but luckily Cadiz is separated by the Old town and the New town, each on their own is very walkable. After checking into our hostel, the first order of business was to head to the beach. There are two beaches in Cadiz, one is much smaller and the other is very long. I didn't have the pleasure of visiting the former because I was ill for the last 2 1/2 days of our trip, but I hear good things.

The following day, we went on a free walking tour offered by the hostel. In the lobby we met our adorable little guide, Pepe. A Spanish hippie that spoke about as many words in English as I do in Chinese, he was really sweet and showed us a good place for cheap tapas, as well as where to get good ice cream. He showed us around old town, where our hostel was located, but the tapas were too good a distraction and we didn't make it to new town.

That night, we went on a pub crawl, hosted by a man who deliciously resembled Antonio Banderas, and joined by Pepe, who came along to take pictures. As far as pub crawls go, it was quite nice. At the second bar, Mel and I got to team up and destroy Alex and Noni at beer pong. It was a good pub crawl, yes, but I get the feeling night life isn't huge in Cadiz. Perhaps I didn't see enough of it because I only went out the one night, but I get the feeling it's very like a small city in Florida where grandparents retire and families go to have a beach vacation.

The day after the next, we went on an excursion sponsored by the hostel. We hired a driver (along with our roommate Glen, a new zealander) and he took us to Tarifa. Tarifa is the lowest point on peninsular Spain, and the closest point to Africa on all of continental Europe. I had no idea it was only 20km away! You could see it across the water, just right there, Africa! I've always wanted to go to morocco, and that's one thing I regret. There was an excursion you could go on through the hostel where you could hop on a ferry for a day trip to morocco, and how cool would that be? Ah well, next time I suppose.

Anyway, we spent some time at Tarifa, where you could swim in the Mediterranean OR the Atlantic. Either side had the most beautiful clear blue water I've ever seen. I could see my feet standing at the bottom, which is something I've never been able to do in any ocean I've been in before.

After Tarifa, we hopped back in the van and went to Bolonia, another beautiful beach in Spain, and a popular tourist spot not only for the equally beautiful clear water, but for the ancient roman ruins that are still preserved right off the beach! They used to preserve fish in these huge vats of salt, and you could still see where they kept them.

Unfortunately, as we were heading back to the van to begin the drive back to the hostel, I felt that pain in your throat that seems to mock you and say, "you're going to be sick and there's nothing you can do about it." I decided to skip the pub crawl that night and went to bed early.

The next day I stayed in bed. All day. Seriously.

The following day, I felt reasonably well enough to join the girls for breakfast and another day on the beach. At two, we met Pepe for lunch. He took us to a little fish market for fresh fried fish, including shark, which I'd never tried before.

After eating on a random spot by the sea, Pepe said he was going to take us to jump off of a bridge. Alex was so excited she couldn't contain it, I was perfectly willing, Mel seemed to be on the fence, and Noni refused to even put her swim suit on. As luck would have it, the tide was low and it wasn't possible to jump, but instead we went back to Pepe's apartment to meet his fat cat, which he'd told us about the day we first met him. He's a Ginger cat named Susanito, which comes from Susana, but in finding out that Susana was a boy, he became Susanito. And anyway, he wasn't that fat.

It was our last night, so we exchanged facebook information and hugged Pepe goodbye forever.

That night, our last in Cadiz, we went back to the tapas bar that Pepe showed us our first day. we popped open a bottle of white wine and I popped open my bottle of aleve because I was still feeling quite a bit of sinus pressure in my head from my sickness.

The next day, we caught our train to Seville quite early. And when I say quite, I mean like 9:30, so really just early by Spain's standards.

Back in Seville, we took a siesta at the hostel, then went out to walk around the city and have lunch. We picked a thoroughly Spanish restaurant, where I developed a miniature crush on our server. Not for any other reason other than he wasn't bad looking and he encouraged me to speak Spanish. When we first came in, I spoke a little bit to him asking for a table for four and to tell him that we were missing a seat. Then when he came to take our orders, everyone spoke to him in English, so when I began to do the same he said, "what?" and kept saying, "what? I don't understand you" (in Spanish, mind you) and I got the hint. It was really endearing and refreshing for someone to encourage me to speak Spanish rather than hearing that I'm a foreigner and responding to me in English. Anytime I thought about it for the following hour or so, I would feel flattered anew and my cheeks would grow pink.

After lunch, we went back to the hostel to do housekeeping type things like print boarding passes and book bus tickets.

At 6:00, we went to meet a group for a walking tour of the city. Our guide, not as cute as Pepe and not nearly as fun, showed us around for 2 hours.

They were so smart when designing the city. They made it a law that in a square the buildings had to be white so that it wouldn't be so hot. In the middle of the squares it's common to find a fountain, which also apparently cools the area down. Also, all the buildings stand really close to each other to maximize shade. There was one particularly narrow alley between two buildings, and it's called something like the kiss of death, because people allegedly would try to kiss each other through their windows leaning over the alley below. And I guess some people got injured and some died as a result.

Our guide also took us to the highest point in Seville, an excrutiatin climb up to the top in the heat, at a towering 10 meters above sea level.

At the end of the tour, he showed us a building that was only half finished. I'd been to Seville twice before this, and I'd never noticed it! Apparently there's a Spanish idiom that says, "Mañana, mañana," which means "tomorrow, tomorrow." I've often been told by spaniards that Americans live to work and Spanish people work to live. Basically what the saying means is that whatever it is, you can worry about it tomorrow. Not exactly true in this architect's case, as he put the project off for so long that he died before it was ever finished. And now it remains the "classic side" and the "simple side."

Lastly, he showed us that there's a little tunnel between plaza nueva and the one on the other side, and according to legend, if you walk through it, you'll be married within the next 7 years. And for those of you who are wondering, yes I walked through it. Oh, please let it be Antonio Banderas look-alike from the hostel pub crawl in Cadiz, please?? *crosses fingers*

That evening we found another cheap tapas bar and celebrated the last night with a mojito. And after we treated ourselves by going to a super nice and super expensive Italian restaurant for desert and coffee and political discussion.

The next day, I spent alone in Seville (the girls had to catch a flight much earlier than mine) until about 6 when I headed to the airport.

So that was the last time I was in Spain, and it pains me to say I don't know when I'll be back. If I'm to be in any other country, I would want it to be Spain. There's no other place I feel so at home when I'm not actually at home. So here's to Spain, and to hopefully going back someday. Maybe when they have some jobs.

El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.

Que Viva España: Madrid!!

I arrived in Madrid a little after 8pm. I was a little nervous, because I had never truly traveled alone, at least not with someone to pick me up on the other side (really makes me appreciate my dad all those times). Once arrived at the airport, I was to take three different metro lines, which sounded quite daunting, and the Madrid metro is only slightly less of a maze than the Barcelona system, but guess what readers!! I had NO problems and I made it in one piece without getting lost. The worst that happened was that once I left the metro I started down the street going the wrong direction, but I quickly realized my mistake and turned around.

When I did successfully locate my hostel, it turned out that their system had crashed that day and my bed was given to someone else, so they upgraded me from a 10 bed dorm to a 4 bed dorm! It was fantastic! I went to my room and guess what, more good news: not only was my room right next to the toilet, but we had our own private shower right there in the room! That was really nice. I put my stuff down, grabbed my iPod, and went downstairs to use the Internet and socialize. Being alone, I was really trying to be in the common areas as much as possible so as to maximize the possibility of making friends. Hostels are perfect for that, by the way. I think they have a bad reputation for being dirty or dangerous, but as a young traveler I prefer them to hotels. Also, if you're going to be in Madrid, I really really recommend No Name City hostel, where I stayed. It's got a great location, free wifi and four computers you don't have to pay to use (amazing, right?) and it was super clean and they had air conditioning! That, my friends, is a rare find. I paid 50€ to stay there for three nights. So that's my informal travel tip.

Anyway, the common area closed at midnight before I could really meet people, but no matter. I went to bed and promised myself to be more outgoing the next day.

Though I was in a room with four beds, only two of them were booked. The other belonged to another lone traveler, a French Canadian girl (from "the french part," she said after I looked confused when she told me she was from Canada) who was staying Madrid for ten whole days. We got up around the same time the next morning, so we went to breakfast together. I really had no plans for the day other than to get a map and go to the first monument that seemed the slightest bit interesting, so when Julia (that was her name) said she was going to the Reina Sofia museum and that I could join her if I wanted, I thought it sounded like a great idea. It was also 10am on Sunday, and I saw online that entrance was free from 10:00 to 2:00 on Sundays ('nother informal travel tip).

It was a short walk from the hostel, and I think Julia might have gotten mixed up, because she led us to the Prado. But no matter-although the Prado does NOT offer free entrance from 10:00-2:00 on Sundays, they DO offer free entrance with valid student ID, so that was a nice surprise. As if Madrid wasn't already a classic tourist destination, another reason to go is that they love to offer student discounts.

The Prado's temporary exhibit was called La Última Raphael, which I guess you might translate as 'the last of Raphael'. It was quite a bit smaller than I would have hoped, but it was really interesting. It was about a radiography study of Raphael's paintings. With that they were able to see the whole process underneath the finished work. They could see the different "drafts," essentially. Gee I hope I'm explaining this well...You could see that he gave a man a beard, but later decided to paint over it and take it away, and also that he changed one woman's facial expression fifteen times. Also, they learned that he always painted his subjects naked first and then "dressed" them later on. Anyway, I thought it was interesting.

We walked through nearly the whole museum, but after two and a half hours, I was feeling pretty done with it. We walked around and found a nice tapas place to eat. After, we went to the botanical gardens (which also has a discount for students). It was so, so beautiful. So beautiful, in fact, that I wish I had the lexical skills necessary to describe it to you, because it just so happened that I didn't bring the right memory card for my camera. I did get one single picture, however, of the inside of the greenhouse, which made me feel like I was in the movie Jurassic Park.

After that we were both feeling quite tired, so we went back to the hostel for a siesta. A while later, we headed out to find a spot to watch the big fútbol game.

We found a good pedestrian street and encountered a great many people trying to get us to go to their bars, but really all places are going to show the game and offer the same beer. You pick a spot for its atmosphere. So we went into a loud place with lots of people and sat down.

If you didn't see the game, you probably live under a rock, but Spain was on fire. They were unstoppable and the people were loving it. 4-0 was the final score, certainly something to be proud of, though an Italian girl I met (what an awful time to be Italian in Madrid, huh?) said that no one really expected Italy to win. But in any case, the Spanish were celebrating and no one, no one knows how to celebrate like the Spanish. We didn't really know what to do after they won, so we headed down the street in search of a bar, but after a while we found ourselves following a large group of people dressed in red and yellow down a long street and into one of the main plazas.

Obviously people plan ahead for these kinds of things, knowing there's a possibility that they could win. However I had no idea they would plan for such a large celebration. There were police barriers blocking the street that led to the giant plaza where everyone was gathered, and street venders were already out with their coolers of cervezas and their giant Spanish flags or red and yellow scarves. They were ready, they were.

Anyway, the square was so filled with people you could hardly walk around. It was impossible not to enjoy yourself in that atmosphere, unless maybe you were Italian, but after just a short time I was ready to head back to the hostel. It was the sort of thing you can't really stay and enjoy if you're on your own. I would say that this Madrid night could have easily surpassed the Ibiza night in fun-levels had I only been with the same friends. Yes, it was that fun.

So, we headed back to the hostel fairly early. I woke up slightly earlier than my French Canadian roommate and went downstairs to use the Internet, where I met three Australians, a boy from Sydney and two girls from Perth. They're doing something I'd never heard of...and now I'm forgetting the name, but there are several buses running the same course. So there's a western tour that does several cities in France, all over Spain, and Portugal. Or something like that. Also a northern tour and an eastern one. Anyway, it sounds like a really good idea, because you can get off at any city you choose, spend as long as you want there, and get back on at any day you choose and go to the next place.

Anyway, I had no plans for the day so I happily accepted their invitation to go out with the three of them. The first stop was Puerta del Sol, which is a really big plaza right in the center of Madrid. If you're a lone traveler and don't really know what to do, Puerta del Sol is a good place to start. There are tons of good shops around and any street you go down, you will most certainly find a monument or church. A little informal travel tip, don't let Madrid's enormous map intimidate you. The city center is where most everything is, and it's actually very walkable. I walked with my new Aussie friends from one side of the city to the other and back easily without even realizing how far we'd gone. Also, don't be so quick to use the metros. I found this to be true with most cities, but the distances look so much longer than they feel while you're walking them in real life. Also you see so much more and you get your bearings better when you walk. And the euros you save, not to mention the extra calories from the cervezas and gelato you burn are added bonuses.

So yeah back to my day. We headed toward the Palacio Real, passing by the mayor's house and the Ayuntamiento de Madrid (city hall) in the process. Then after brief walk along the Parque del Campo del Moro, we ate lunch at a cafe, where I got to feel important and play translator for everyone.

Then we headed to Templo de Deblod (which, side note, sounds really hilarious when spoken in a Sydney accent), where there is a small museum situated in a park with a great view. It houses some ancient Egyptian gold or something. Unfortunately I never got to find out for sure because they'd closed for the day 10 minutes before we got there. So if you're ever in Madrid and the Templo de Deblod sounds like something that'll tickle your fancy, just FYI, it closes at 2:00 pm.

So we were on our way, back through Puerta del Sol, past the Paseo del Prado, and through Plaza Independencia and the Puerta de Alcalá, which im sure holds some sort of historical significance (hey I never said this was going to be a history lesson) and finally into the gigantic and famous Parque del Buen Retiro. Beautiful and buzzing with activity (and best of all-FREE), this should easily be at the top of your list of places to visit. There are always tons of people out and about on a sunny day, and there's a really pretty "estanque," or um, well I don't know what the translation is for that and I can't be bothered to look it up, but it's a little man made lake in front of an impressive monument to Alfonso XII. Then we took a leisurely stroll back to the hostel, passing by the Plaza de Cibeles, where we could see barricades at the ready and a stage set up all in preparation for the night's parade and celebration. From there we walked past the Fuente de Neptuno, which was especially fun because someone had jumped the fence, dove into the fountain, and climbed up the statue to tie a big Spanish flag round Neptune's neck as a cape. Brilliant. Just genius. I wish I'd thought of that.

After this we regrouped at the hostel, looking at things to do for that night. There was a flamenco show that sounded interesting, so we agreed to meet later on.

I went upstairs for a little siesta, and I found I had a new roommate. Another Australian (geez they're everywhere, aren't they?), her name was Marquita or something complicated like that. She was really sweet, so I feel bad not remembering her name. It's the least I could have done.

That night, a flamenco show didn't end up working out so I went out with my newest Aussie roommate to get dinner. We had a nice, culturally rich discussion in which she told me about all the places I should visit in Australia, and all about our respective travels and future travels, and all the differences between the united states and ausland.

After dinner she suggested, "Shall we go for a wandah?" (wandah is Australian for wander, by the way) So we headed down the street in the same direction I had gone the night before, only this time there were somehow, previously thought impossible, more people. Families, big groups of teenagers, old people; it seemed everyone in Madrid was there. It would have been impossible to get to the center, but they had set up large screens throughout so everyone could see what was going on.

I had been told earlier that day that the players were to come to Madrid the following day, riding in on a big roofless bus in a big parade, but it turns out, they came a day early! They must've heard that I was leaving the same day they were coming and decided to come a day early. Wasn't that sweet of them?

Again the energy was tangible. All of Madrid seemed to be there, and everyone was in a good mood. Good is an understatement. Fantastic. At one point I saw on the large screens a bird's eye view of the plaza and the neighboring streets, and it occurred to me that I was in there, that screaming sea of red and yellow, and this was probably THE biggest party on earth that night. I can't imagine that anywhere, there was a bigger group of people celebrating. Being a part of moments in history like this reminds me of why I travel.

Anyway, after a while we went back to the hostel. After the high wore off, we realized that we couldn't understand anything the MC was saying and that my Australian roommate was still fighting a cold, and me catching an early train the next day, we thought a good night's sleep was a good idea.

So I leave you not with a travel tip, but many small informal ones. If you've not been to Madrid, you absolutely must go. If you have been to Madrid, find a reason to go back. What was originally nothing more than a pit stop between being with B in Holland and meeting my friends on the beaches of Cádiz ended up being one of my favorite memories. To sum up, my time in Madrid was exhilarating and unforgettable, and most certainly better than the last time.

El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina.