Wednesday, November 25, 2009 to Thursday, November 26, 2009
Continuing down the cobblestone streets of Barcelona, Joan’s assistant introduces himself and tells me in a heavy Eastern European accent he’s from Slovakia. I think that’s great and remind myself of the numerous stories I’ve heard of women being trafficked through exactly those countries. The scene from “Taken” where the girl is dancing her way up the stripper pole while men bid on her plays constantly through my mind and I wonder exactly how dad will handle having to be Liam Nielson when he has to come save me and mom. He begins to tell me the outlay of the apartment and I say “It has Wi-Fi, correct?” No, he says. Wooh, hold up. That was the main reason I booked this place. So, now I am in Barcelona, on my way to an apartment with no Wi-Fi, no map and a guy who I don’t even know. Not exactly the way I was picturing Spain. I turn around and can see the fear in mom’s eyes.
We are now in the Baron district and he says “Here we are” as we take a right down an alleyway that is next to a pizza parlor and tattoo shop. I’m pretty sure mom has already had a heart attack at this point, but when he opens the door to a second story winding staircase her patience is shot. He offers to take the bags for us and when he comes back for the second one he’s already winded. After following him upstairs the apartment is modest, Spanish setting, but there are a few things missing that were supposed to be there. For instance, the Wi-Fi signal and the washer and dryer. He goes ahead and asks me for the remaining $170 Euros (I already Pay Paled a $100 Euro deposit) and I tell him that I arranged with Joan to Pay Pal the rest. Soon he’s on his cell phone, which only works while standing on one toe outside the balcony window, talking to Joan in broken Spanish and Slovak only to pass the phone to me, where a man hops on. Where’s Joan? Am I now having to pay to be a sex slave? This is like when I had to pay to volunteer in Ecuador. The guy on the phone tells me cash only and I tell him hell no, because it’s already past 11 at night and I am not getting mugged at the ATM. By now mom is on to their little scam and wants to know where the closest hotel is. Again, I have no map of Barcelona and tonight I would even pay for a Lonely Planet. After 30 minutes of words back and forth a woman finally hops on the phone, she tells me she’s not Joan (he’s busy taking care of her child), but that I have an “attitude” that needs to be changed. I tell her the only thing that needs to be changed is her description of the apartment b/c my mom is about to crawl through the phone and kick her ass. I ask mom what she wants us to do and she says maybe we’ll stay one night. I say “What if this guy comes back to get us” and she replies “Let him try.” I inform Slovak that we are heading out and to call Joan back b/c I want my $100 Euros. One toe and a cell phone signal later Joan tells me that Slovak doesn’t have access to their money and she’s not coming out at midnight to give it to me. I tell her she has 24 hours before I call Pay Pal on her scam; then mom and I lug our luggage back down the winding building and out into the alley. Bye bye.
On the streets mom enters the pizza parlor to use the restroom and I spot two Barcelona Police Officers, so I wave them down and see how far my Espanol will go in Catalan country. They are extremely helpful, but tell me the closest Internet café is 10 minutes away, then draw me a map to a hotel. They tell me it’s about 10 minutes away as well, so after mom comes back out I say we should hop in a cab. I can tell she’s tired, so I think I should maybe be a good daughter now that I have almost sold her to the sex trade. She tells me that’s the best idea I’ve had all day. We hop in a cab and after $3 Euros and a drive around the block, we are back where we started an hour ago when we first met Joan’s assistant. $120 Euros later we’re in a hotel that mom feels is clean enough, has Wi-Fi so she can talk to dad, and beds that roll. Each time I lean back the bed separates from the wall and I take a bench to place in between the end of the bed and the desk so I can prop myself up at night. It’s now past 1:00 AM and we hit the streets of Barcelona looking for food. Around the corner there’s a place called Wok to Walk, a fun little place that cooks it up in the wok and throws it in a to-go container for us. After heading back to the hotel we chow down, then fall asleep until 11:00 AM the next day. A very tiring night indeed.
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Barcelona, Spain
11:00 AM, we wake up and realize there’s only one hour left before check-out. There’s no way we will be able to get ready and pack our stuff in time to get out of the H10 Hotel we are now calling home. So, I go online to see they have a $69 Euro special; much cheaper than the $120 we were charged late last night. I call reservations and we are granted the deal. Since we missed breakfast, they take $10 Euros off our bill last night and we hop into the bathroom to prepare for the day. After getting as pretty as possible, the two of us set out on a walking tour of Barcelona. Down the street to Playa Catalunya we go, passing gothic cathedrals along the way and winding up near the fountains and parks that call Barcelona home. In the Playa Catlunya we meet two men traveling from the middle of nowhere Canada, right near the North Pole, who spend more time on holiday then me. But, I would too, if it was only ice fishing in my front yard. They have just come from Rome where they were robbed, but with $3,000 cameras strung around their necks they don’t need “TOURIST” strung up on their forehead. After chatting with them for a bit, we continue down the path of Las Ramblas. Filled with buskers and beggars alike, white tents also line the way, selling everything from flowers to key chains and we soon veer right into a small alleyway. A tiny shop selling empanadas calls our name and we buy into the three empanada and bebinada special; Happy Thanksgiving to us! Finding our way past the Barcelona Museum of Contemporary Art, there are skateboarders taking over the streets and down at the end we are met by the Naval Museum, along with a tall statue of Christopher Colombus. He is actually pointing East, not West. It’s amazing that someone actually discovered America. The port of Barcelona is right across the way and there are hundreds of sailboats bobbing up and down. The world trade center is across the bridge and as we walk across I stop to ask someone to take our picture. As she does an alarm starts to ring. It sounds like a car alarm, so I don’t really pay it any attention. Mom says “someone’s boat is getting stolen.” I keep shooting pics until I look around and realize we are the only people on the bridge and the Barcelona port worker is shooting me the evil eye, while a large boat moves closer to the bridge. Oh’, crap! We are standing on a drawbridge and about to go up in flames. Run, mom, run! As we get to the edge all the tourist are laughing at us…dumb Americans…. I laugh, too. What else am I supposed to do?
Continuing past the palm trees, Imax theater and some big ol’ submarine that used to float around Barcelona, we enter a cathedral so big that there is a pond inside, with swans squawking about. There is more gold here than pirates have on their ships and priests are holding open confession. Being a sinner myself, I am not sure if I would head to open confession so everyone could see the bad things I’ve done. It’s already hard enough to admit them to yourself.
At 7:00 PM we are back at the hotel and getting ready to meet my friends Ana and Piero. I met them last year on the tiny island of Playa Blanca, Colombia. Now they live in Barcelona and I am very excited to hang out! Down in the hotel lobby mom and I begin talking with another hotel guest, who introduces himself as Simon, originally from London, he begins cracking jokes and has us laughing before Ana and Piero show up. Once we are all there, the wine and beer glasses are raised to “Salud” and the night begins. After a quick drink at the hotel bar, we all head off to a local favorite tapas bar that Ana and Piero like in the Baron district. Past the flame, we head into a small restaurant where the tables are wooden and sit overlooking a balcony. Soon we are surrounded by bottles of wine and more tapas then we really need, but they are oh’, so good! The potatoes and salmon are definitely the best and as we all attempt to enjoy them we are constantly interrupted by the man selling roses. Simon tells him more than once to go away, but finally gives in and hands it to mom. As he hands the man some Euros the price suddenly goes up and a fun war of words ensues between the funny Brit and vendor. Eventually, we all return to our dinner and mom tells Simon how much she enjoys the movie “Love Actually,” to which he replies “That is the redheaded stepchild of films.” He’s also not too fond of Hugh Grant, which also disappoints mom, but we’ll move on. After dinner the five of us continue down the street to the bar section of the Baron district. There we find a nice little dive where shots are ordered and the night becomes very long very fast. From one bar to another the five of us wind up at one of Barcelona’s best dance clubs (I think anyway) and we order a big bottle of champagne. It comes with strawberries and soon the music begins flowing; we move to the dance floor where another bottle of champagne follows us. Piero says good night to us as he has to work early the next day, but since mom and I are on vacation, we continue hanging out with Ana and Simon. After several hours, I suddenly realize I can’t read my watch anymore and we all decide to head out. But not before I am encouraging everyone to continue somewhere else; thank God they said no. On the street Ana and I hug, then ask each other “Did you pay the bill?” A look of horror strikes our face as we believe we just walked out of the bar with a huge tab and I’m afraid the Espana policia will come running after me for walking out on my tab. It’s unclear as to if possibly Simon took care of the bill? He’s weaving up and down the cobblestone streets in front of us as well, not quite responding to the yelling we are doing after him. A few blocks away at the hotel Ana hugs us good night and promises to see us in the morning at 11:00 AM. Then we oh’, so gracefully stumble in to the H10 hotel Barcelona saying “Lo siento” as fast as possible to the front desk employee.
Friday, November 27, 2009
Barcelona, Spain
It’s 11:00 AM and I am not where I am supposed to be. I am supposed to be downstairs meeting Ana, but I am lying in bed, my head pounding and the Spanish hangover from hell. Mom has elected to take a shower first, giving me an extra hour of sleep. At 11:30 AM I hear the phone ring…Ana is downstairs. I send mom down to do my dirty work and tell her I am slightly hungover. Ana tells mom it was a struggle for her today, too. Thank God. I am getting too old for champagne nights out in Barcelona. At 11:45 I drag myself up and into the shower, where I lie there and let the water run over my body until I think I might have enough energy to make it downstairs; afterwards I gather every one of my clothing/vanity articles and toss them into my American Tourister. There is no organization about it. We can’t stay here again tonight b/c the hotel is booked. Of all the days. At a little past noon I head downstairs to seek out mom and Ana, but they aren’t in the lobby. Don’t tell me they actually had the energy to go to breakfast. My stomach churns at the thought. The front desk agent tells me they are on the roof. There is a roof in this hotel? I take the elevator to the 8th floor where I climb some stairs (again…) and find Ana lying on a white lounge chair enjoying the Barcelona view. I want to hug her, but I just can’t walk that far. I want to lie up here all day.
We head downstairs and even though the hotel we are moving to is 1 Kilometer away I say we are taking a taxi. There is no way my body is going to make the walk, plus hauling my luggage. After arriving at the new hotel I crawl into bed, sunglasses still on, and blow Ana a kiss. Ciao Bella; I must now go back to sleep. Mom grabs $21 Euros and tells me bye; she’s off to take the double decker bus tour. Please, don’t let me stop you. I am going to lie here for quite a while.
At 3:00 PM I wake up to find myself slightly better. I place my sunglasses back on my head and stumble down the elevator to the street. There is a Starbuck’s downstairs and I don’t care how much a European latte cost right now, it is going in my body. After grabbing a non-fat Hazelnut latte I begin to feel slightly better and run into mom, back from her first leg of the bus tour. Do I want to join her this afternoon? Oh’, I don’t know if I can stomach that. But, maybe the fresh air will do me good? I don’t want to buy a bus ticket, so when we get to the red machine, I tell the girl in Spanish that I left mine at the hotel and she promptly lets me on. I crawl into the very last seat to take in the view from the top. Soon, we are off and seeing Guadi’s houses, parks, Sports arenas, hospitals, etc. Barcelona is beautiful and I begin to feel better. After stopping for the Olympic Stadium, we elect to not get back off until the end where we head to Barcelona Crepes and I try my first food of the day. Strawberry and whipped cream, along with ham, mushrooms, and cheese. It all taste delicious, then we wonder back along Las Ramblas where Christmas lights have been strung up to invite visitors into the holiday season. Once we get back to the hotel, I opt for more sleep just to make sure.
Saturday, November 28, 2009
Barcelona, Spain to Madrid, Spain
This morning we checked out and headed back to the Barcelona creperie. Mom’s new favorite restaurant. I ordered a large chocolate crepe, covered in whipped cream and hazelnuts, accompanied by a café con leche. It was heaven in a cup. Then, we hopped on the Metro to Barcelona Sants to secure tickets on tonight’s overnight train to Madrid. At the train station I went to three different windows to buy a ticket before I was directed to a small machine dispensing numbers and realized I held number 339 and they were on 322. Time to sit and wait. When my turn came I asked the girls the difference in classes, looking for a bed so we didn’t sit up all night. Mom has some vision of Bing Crosby and Danny Kaye going with us to Madrid, but I thinking more of train bombings. Once the ticket differences are figured out, we elect to spend $10 more Euros so we’ll have a bed on the night train. Then, we hop back on the Metro and head to Sagrada de Familia, the house that Gaudi built. They give me the student price again and mom decides to get the headphones as well, then we pop inside the gates and begin to see the beautiful structure. Inside the church is full of construction and concrete mixtures, up above the windows are panes of blue and yellow, with light steaming on down. We walk around and Guadi’s tomb is inside before I see the white chiseled ceiling with flicks of gold. Down on the bottom we listen to a twenty minute video teaching us about how Gaudi was in the middle of building when he was killed by a Barcelona train in 1926. Leaving the structure we hop back on the Metro and over to the park, which is the closest Metro stop to Guadi’s museum. The tour ticket forgot to mention that we must haul ourselves far up a large hill. After the second set of hills the city of Barcelona has put in a set of escalators, which mom takes but I elect to work off the crepes and foot it up the stairs. Once reaching the park we are granted a spectacular view of the city and pathways leading to Gaudi’s lizard statues. There are hundreds of people in the park enjoying the nice day, playing Frisbee and listening to violin players.
With the sun winding down, we head back to the hotel to collect our bags. Ana joins us and we grab a few more tapas in Las Ramblas before catching the night train to Madrid. Once at the train station there is 20 minutes to spare as we open the doors to Cart 31 and are met by 50 other people attempting to haul their luggage in a hallway spaced 2 feet wide. No one is fitting. Passengers begin to step in and out of rooms, until we head all the way down to the opposite side of Cart 31 where we find beds 75 and 76…they are the top bunks. Each room is 6x6, with 6 bunk beds in each. Tighter than girl scout camp and both mom and I are at the top. Unfortunately, mom can not switch to the bottom because there is a little old lady, about 80, who holds the downstairs ticket. I am laughing as she speaks to me in Catalan and ramble back to her in Spanish. I have no clue what she’s saying, but I do know that all of this luggage and all of us are not going to fit inside this room. I pull the luggage inside and push the old woman down on her bunk. Otherwise, the line of people in the hallway is going to stay backed up. After placing our two bags in between the bottom two bunks, I use them as a ladder to step up on the actual ladder where I reach the top bunk. There is only room to lie down and I have mom hand me our two backpacks, which we can use as pillows, since the pillows provided are nothing more than a stack of Kleenex. Getting situated, we finally pull ourselves back down and decide to wonder through the train. There is the club car, the regular seats, and the room seats that face each other but don’t recline. The toilettes stink worse than port-o-potties, but they’ll have to do tonight. After grabbing a ham and cheese sandwich, we sit in an empty room to watch “Friends” on the laptop. Outside we pass through Spain and can see the country lit up. When we head back to the room a few hours later, the old woman is now playing Sudoku and the cart door is broken. After going on a hunt to find the train worker, he uses a tool to lock us in, so I hope there is no emergency during the night. It’s home sweet home on the top bunk for me. Good night; I will see you in Madrid.
Sunday, November 29, 2009
Trienta minutas! That’s what I heard the train conductor yelling as he came through the cart this morning waking everyone up. I stretched myself up after sleeping on the board that was called a bed and put my shoes on as I still lie flat down. Then, I crawled on down the ladder, where mom and I drug our suitcases down the corridor near the opening so we wouldn’t have to fight traffic once we stopped in Madrid. At the train stop I looked for signs pointing us to the Metro, but they led us instead to the street. It was dark, raining, and I had no map; so we jumped into a taxi and I gave him directions to a hotel I had found the night before. Mom wanted to be close to the airport for her flight out the next day, and when we arrived it was the only thing around. After offering us a room for $55 Euros they told us we could pay an extra $12 for all day Internet access and mom said “let’s go somewhere else.” There was one other place next door, the High Tech Hotel, for $75 Euros and we continued walking onwards. After traipsing around in the pouring down rain for over an hour I finally said “We’re getting on the Metro.” So, into the Metro we went and 17 stops later arrived at Calleo in the Madrid city center. After ducking in to a few hotels that were over $100 Euros per night, I stumbled upon the Hostal Besaya, a quaint hotel with clean beds, red comforters, and spotless showers. And, free Internet. We showered and got clean, then grabbed a map of Madrid and set out on foot to see the city. Along the path we came to Plaza Mayor, Santo Domingo and the Palacio Real. Everywhere we turned in Madrid there was another tall building looking down on us, the corners shaped to architecture perfection. I was looking for a restaurant I had read about in the Lonely Planet and when we finally did find it (way down an alley), they were just opening for the day and it was near 1:00 PM. Instead, we headed into a place that had a sign for breakfast out front, but upon sitting down and ordering the waiter told me “No mas desayuno.” Great. A bad lunch of tiny sandwiches followed and then we walked down to the park behind the Prado Museum to find a large lake and huge statues that looked like lions. In the afternoon we visited the Madrid Archaeological Museum and famous Prado where we saw Goya’s masterpieces. There was supposed to be a Rembrandt hanging around, but after climbing numerous stairs and working our way through the crowd, we were told it had been taken off display until December 3 for a temporary exhibit. Outside the night was lit up with Christmas lights and in the Del Sol square a tall green Christmas tree welcomed visitors and locals alike. Down the path near the Cortes Ingles was a movie premiere of some type and Disney characters bounced about while handing little kids balloon animals. Mom and I grabbed dinner at Museo del Jamon and had typical Spanish food, including ham and cheese sandwiches, while standing around the deli bar, then visited the candy shop next door where we filled up on honey and crème filled pastries. Mom grabbed some chocolate covered Euros for her kindergarteners and I grabbed more chocolate for myself, then we had one last look at the Opera house covered in purple lights under the night sky before walking down the famous Via Via, past the Broadway shoes and back to our hotel.
Monday, November 30, 2009
Madrid, Spain
5:00 AM I walked mom down to her airplane shuttle stop and made sure she was safe in the early darkness. After hugging goodbye, I made my way three blocks back to the Hostal Besaya, past the late night hookers and drunkards, crawling back into bed for some more rest. Near lunchtime I checked out and went out into the Madrid sunshine that had found its way to the city. I visited the inside gates and grounds of the Palacio Real, where the King of Spain holds State dinners, then took my time in the botanical gardens and stopped for café and chocolate at every store I passed.
In the afternoon I moved my luggage down the street to the United World Hostel, which charges $2 Euros for towel uses, but is four steps from the Metro stop so I go with it. You have to leave every day from 11-2 for cleaning time and the manager seems to have an attitude problem, but it does have the location I need, so I pay for one night and set up shop. I am joined by a group of Polish girls who are on their way to Morocco and a Belgium boy attempting to hike his way through Europe. After we all share a few stories, it’s night for all. There is no peace and quiet, though, as each bunk bed squeaks if you raise your arm. As I close out my laptop and shut the cover the bed squeaks; it’s going to be a long night.
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Madrid, Spain
For my last day in Europe I headed to the Senado building to see how business was conducted in Spain. After coming face to face with the Spanish equivalent of the “Red Hat Lady” society, I pass off my purse to the x-ray technician, then enter the grandiose building and see red draped walls and golden picture frames holding any leader that has ever saved Spain in a war. These tourists are rough and more than once an old lady elbows me out of her way. Finally, I bypass it all and make my way out the exit where I am handed a free bag of Senado goodies; a take home prize! It contains a wooden Senado box, with their logo, and a notebad and pens inside. I don’t even have a US Senate box and I worked there for three years.
Since I still haven’t seen a bullfight (apparently it’s off season), I take the Metro to the bull fighting ring and instead tour the bullfighting museum. They are setting up for a circus and next to the stuffed bulls are real lions and tigers roaming about. I try to take a photo of them in their cage but the security shoos me away. Inside the museum I learn every fact about every famous Spanish bull fighter that ever lived, including all their “moves” in case I am ever face to face with a bull and need to make nice. Their black ballet slippers are the best and I would like to tell them that they might want to invest in some cleats.
In the evening I meet up with the Polish girls and learn that one of them has lost her passport, money and all documents. She is a new girl that just arrived today and in the course of 5 hours seemed to doom and gloom her vacation. I help them find the Polish embassy online and suggest they go to the Police first. While she heads there, the other girls and I go off to meet a CouchSurfer who couldn’t host anyone this week, but wanted to meet while we’re in town. A large group of us all head to a random bar in the middle of Madrid where the wine and beer is $2 Euros each and after we all vow to visit each other’s countries, it’s back to the hostel we go. Each of us has to leave tomorrow and they’re off at 5 AM. Crawling in to my squeaky bed, I am looking forward to returning to the States. My time in Europe was fun, but it’s off to other adventures now; like ‘Home for the Holid
Wednesday, December 2, 2009
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Paris, France to Geneva, Switzerland to Barcelona, Spain
Monday, November 23, 2009
Paris, France to Geneva, Switzerland
Hopping up after only four hours sleep, I hugged Catherine goodbye and walked down Phillipe August to Nation and onward to the train station. Lugging my 36 pound luggage up and down the stairs of the Paris Metro did nothing to make my morning better. And, after entering the train station, I headed right to the kiosk to print out my ticket to Switzerland, only to have the credit card rejected since it wasn’t a Euro MasterCard. Two information booth stops later, I crawled into line with all the other English speakers and handed the woman a print out of my reservation, where she promptly printed out a new boarding pass and off I went. Grabbing a croissant and OJ, I waited for the platform to be announced and as soon as they lit up “21” I headed to the train. I hopped inside a carriage that I saw labeled on my ticket and assumed it was free for all seating, since I hadn’t noticed a seat number. I chose 46 b/c it was in the middle of the cart and had a table for me to work at. No sooner had I gotten myself comfortable then two men asked me in French to move over since apparently I was taking up their room. I pulled out my ticket and there was obviously a seat number on there that I had somehow missed as I was pulling me and my American Tourister roll-on up the stairs. Lucky me, I was only one seat off, and I scooted over. The train left the station right on time and I leaned back to catch a nap. After an hour or so I woke up to the French countryside and barrels of hay, just like in the movies. Small homes lined the route towards the Swiss border and I waited for someone to jump out singing and dancing just like Roger’s and Hammerstein.
After 3 hours, the train pulled up into Geneva where I de-boarded and followed everyone else, since I had no map of Switzerland and no clue where I was going. Right outside I was met by a friend and together we headed to the place I would be staying for the next two days. Upon arrival, I noticed all the banks lining the river. Now, I know that Switzerland is known for it’s banking business, but to see it in person left my mouth a gap. Once I was tightly tucked away in the comforts of home, I settled into some daily work before taking in a view of Geneva. Strolling along the river I was met by slight rainfall and a cool breeze, while the lights of the Rolex building and Deutsche bank glowed across the bank. Far up a high hill I continued to a small square containing large cannons and red glowing lights. Small children ran through and played as if they were toys. The cobblestone streets were small, only large enough for two mini-coopers to pass by with a few inches in between and in the middle of town I found a large square where a chocolate shop was lit up. Chocolate formed kettles filled the window, in every size imaginable. As eager as I was, they were already closed and I would have to wait until tomorrow to taste the devine dessert. Walking my way back across the bridge, I saw swans floating in the water…so big, I think they were on steroids. Even though it’s only 10:00 PM, there aren’t a lot of people on the street, so I head towards home and call it an early night.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Geneva, Switzerland
I rose early and took the train to the airport the greet mom. Visitors to Geneva ride public transportation FOR FREE the entire time they are in the city. What a deal! And, what a great way to promote public transit. Plus, the train only takes 6 minutes to get to and from the airport, so it was easy and fast. Arriving at the airport, I find mom waiting in baggage claim and back to town we go; of course, we just missed the 8:05 AM train and instead of waiting around for 30 minutes until the next one I say “let’s just take the bus.” Mom tells me she needs to go to the restroom, but inside it costs $1 Swiss Frank and all I have is a $50. On the bus I have no idea where we are going, just that eventually the bus will get us back to town. After riding for several stops, I figure it out and we get off near the train station. It’s raining again and mom stops to get out her umbrella. It is so big, I swear she is Mary Poppins and may float away. Storing her luggage, we head to breakfast where I enjoy a wide variety of Swiss and French cheeses, croissants, jellies, jams, and croissants. I am going to get fat on this trip, but as long as it’s on cheese and chocolate, I don’t care. Next stop, we walk along the river where the swans are back, along with their ducky friends. The trees are manicured into a fun cone-like shape and large silver decorations are placed on them for Christmas. There are river boat cruises you can take for only $23 Swiss Franks, which include all you can eat fondue; however, they stopped for the season a few weeks back and I am very sad. Continuing on, mom begins to tell me that her feet hurt from all the walking and I tell her “Welcome to Europe!” Far up a hill, that was not described on the map, I can finally see the UN building and the blue flag waiving in front. As I cross in front of the UNHCR, there are 20 or so armed military personnel guarding the gates and I keep on walking. Mom tells me “I don’t think we can pass” and I say “Just follow me” I keep walking through a hole in the fence and the security guard waves me through. Across the courtyard we see the flags and broken chair welcoming us to the UN and I head to cross the street. Mom takes off jaywalking and I yell out to her; then a UN military police officer begins to speak to her in French before I can get there and she tells me later she thought she was going to the UN jail. I say “if you’re going to jaywalk anywhere, I guess directly in front of the UN is the place.” In actuality, the guard was just asking her where she was trying to go, so I tell him we’re looking for the visitor entrance and he waves us around the corner. At the entrance it seems that they are about to close up for a two hour lunch, but the x-ray machine technician lets us through and soon I am presented with my very own UN visitor pass. It would look a little more official if I wasn’t so tired and had decided to put make up on today. Then, we head down the stairs where I tell the lady I am a student and she gives the discount; only $8 Swiss Franks instead of $10.
She tells us to head outside and look for building 39, but when I get outside all I see is building 17 and know that the UN is one place I don’t want to get lost. But, I take a chance and swing left where building 39 is right next to 17 and I wonder how matters of world peace are solved here, but not mathematics. The English-speaking tour starts right at noon and our guide takes us to a large board where the outlay of the UN is displayed. We see three conference rooms, but mostly hallways. I am told how the UN building was built…each UN country gave something to help build it, i.e. marble from Italy, ceiling decorations from Spain. I ask what the USA gave and am guided to a small wall with some pictures that look like photos, but are actually drawings. They depict the California coast. Seriously, that is all the USA could come up with? I learn about the money given to the UN and how countries are put on probation; what 6 official languages are spoken at the UN. I learn that Nicole Kidman was not actually here to film “The Interpreter.” That makes me sad. After an hour the tour is over and mom needs a nap. Jet lag is setting in, so we head back.
At night we spa it up and then I open a bottle of champagne. It’s vacation, we should celebrate! After an hour the bottle is gone and we are wondering the streets of Geneva. As we walk, Christmas lights are strung up in the air and locals meander in the streets. The jewels for sale sparkle even more in the dark and I wonder where my hidden Swiss bank account is to buy me all the pretty things I see. After seeing all that Geneva has to offer, we head back to the bar, where drinks in Switzerland are expensive. $24 Swiss Franks for martinis and margaritas, which is pretty much $24 US since the currency is about even right now. I keep it simple with wine and we close out the night enjoying the nightcap. Although nightlife in Geneva doesn’t seem to be a NYC or Vegas, at least they are changing the world here with decisions and world peace.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Geneva, Switzerland to Barcelona, Spain
Breakfast is magical as I lounge around and enjoy the fact that I am in Switzerland. Sipping on my coffee I wonder how in the hell I have been able to not hold a 9-5 job for almost two years, yet still live like a queen. It is good. After packing up and heading out, we spend the last day in Geneva roaming the streets. There is a beautiful church on top of the hill and what appears to be a temple of some sort where a funeral is going on. The river runs right through town and we stop near a merry-go-round to watch kids play and the daily farmers market take place. Crepes and kabobs are for sale as workers hurry in the streets, grabbing food, then perching themselves on a bench nearby. In the park the Christmas lights are going up with great care and I find a tree filled with gold clothing promoting the opera. On the main street mom and I visit the Martel chocolate shop where chocolate is $65 Swiss Franks per kilo. I only wonder how that compares to the going rate for cocaine these days. Which would you choose if given the opportunity? Inside the shop, mom uses all her Swiss Franks to buy chocolate and we devour the goodness before even pushing the door back open into the street. Good. Ness.
In late afternoon it’s time to head to the airport. At the airport the EasyJet kiosk won’t read my American MasterCard, so back into line I go. After printing our boarding passes, I hand the girl my luggage and we go off to security. There is some sign about 100mg of liquids, but since I don’t know how much that is, I throw my Evian in the plastic bin and tell mom to as well. While we are turning the corner a security man asks her in French how she enjoyed her trip to Switzerland. But, she thinks he’s telling her she has some forbidden object and gets a stricken look on her face before he speaks to her in English and we all bust out laughing. At the x-ray machine my water does not make it through, but the Swiss-TSA agent lets me drink it and keep the bottle. So nice of him. I search out Wi-Fi in the airport, but you have to have a Swiss phone number and a text sent to you with the code. Too much work. Although, I realize that I don’t have the phone number of the woman I am renting the apartment from in Barcelona. So, this non-Internet is a problem. I do have my friend Ana’s phone number though and head to the pay phone to call her. The phone dings a busy signal, so I’ll just have to wait until I get to Barcelona.
As we board I realize that this EasyJet is like the Southwest Air of Europe and we somehow end up in the back when I was off my guard. Living on four hours of sleep, I conk out at lift off, then am woken up by the lady in my row who decided to take up shop by the window. Both me, and the guy in the middle, were both asleep and she woke us up. Now, it’s only an hour flight, if you know you’re gonna have to pee then don’t sit by the window. After giving her an “I want to kill you” look, I think she gets the message. In Barcelona a guy two rows behind me pushes and shoves to get two rows ahead of me and is so rude that he knocks off the glasses of another person, then drops his luggage on their head. Out at baggage claim I immediately search for a telephone and am told there is only one, WAY FAR DOWN. I walk that way where it’s out of service, so I continue on to the RENFE station.
I had rented an apartment from someone named Joan. Joan had given me directions to the apartment, which was a few blocks away from my friends Ana and Piero. Ana gave me new directions and told me they were much easier. At RENFE we missed the train by 3 minutes, then sat around to catch the next one 30 minutes later. While waiting I approached various people asking to use their cell phones and they looked at me as though I was going to rip them off. At this point we are 45 minutes late to meet Ana and I still don’t have the phone number to Joan. I have no map of Barcelona and no clue where the hell I am going. As we load up on to the train mom tells me “I miss Daddy hauling my luggage” and think “Lucky Dad!” On the train we are forced to connect at Barcelona Sants and on the second RENFE there is a delay when we are only one station away. After a 20 minute delay we begin to head backwards on the tracks and I notice a guy with an I Phone. He lets me use it and I connect with Ana; she has been waiting over an hour for me. This is not going well. As I talk with her mom and I (and the I Phone guy) are moving swiftly through Barcelona Sants only to find the escalator out of order. Up the stairs we haul luggage as I talk on the I Phone, asking Ana to please call Joan and let her know I am in Barcelona and on my way to the apartment. Ana says she’ll try, but she’s not at home anymore; then advises me to just hop in a cab. This is a great idea, except I am plum out of Euros and must find a bank. Up the stairs and onto the street I spot a bank, hand back the I Phone and begin to feel like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s European Vacation. After collecting cash, mom and I hop into the taxi and he speeds away. We are there in a flash and now standing at another Metro station in the middle of Barcelona. I still have no map and no clue where the hell we are.
After approximately two minutes, a straggly looking fellow pulls up and asks if I am Jenifer. Yes, that’s me. He introduces himself and tells me to follow him. He tells me that Joan sent him. He will take me to the apartment. It is dark, I have no clue where I am, and as I begin to walk down the street, I feel like that movie “Taken.” There is an utter suspicion mom and I are about to be sold as sex slaves.
Paris, France to Geneva, Switzerland
Hopping up after only four hours sleep, I hugged Catherine goodbye and walked down Phillipe August to Nation and onward to the train station. Lugging my 36 pound luggage up and down the stairs of the Paris Metro did nothing to make my morning better. And, after entering the train station, I headed right to the kiosk to print out my ticket to Switzerland, only to have the credit card rejected since it wasn’t a Euro MasterCard. Two information booth stops later, I crawled into line with all the other English speakers and handed the woman a print out of my reservation, where she promptly printed out a new boarding pass and off I went. Grabbing a croissant and OJ, I waited for the platform to be announced and as soon as they lit up “21” I headed to the train. I hopped inside a carriage that I saw labeled on my ticket and assumed it was free for all seating, since I hadn’t noticed a seat number. I chose 46 b/c it was in the middle of the cart and had a table for me to work at. No sooner had I gotten myself comfortable then two men asked me in French to move over since apparently I was taking up their room. I pulled out my ticket and there was obviously a seat number on there that I had somehow missed as I was pulling me and my American Tourister roll-on up the stairs. Lucky me, I was only one seat off, and I scooted over. The train left the station right on time and I leaned back to catch a nap. After an hour or so I woke up to the French countryside and barrels of hay, just like in the movies. Small homes lined the route towards the Swiss border and I waited for someone to jump out singing and dancing just like Roger’s and Hammerstein.
After 3 hours, the train pulled up into Geneva where I de-boarded and followed everyone else, since I had no map of Switzerland and no clue where I was going. Right outside I was met by a friend and together we headed to the place I would be staying for the next two days. Upon arrival, I noticed all the banks lining the river. Now, I know that Switzerland is known for it’s banking business, but to see it in person left my mouth a gap. Once I was tightly tucked away in the comforts of home, I settled into some daily work before taking in a view of Geneva. Strolling along the river I was met by slight rainfall and a cool breeze, while the lights of the Rolex building and Deutsche bank glowed across the bank. Far up a high hill I continued to a small square containing large cannons and red glowing lights. Small children ran through and played as if they were toys. The cobblestone streets were small, only large enough for two mini-coopers to pass by with a few inches in between and in the middle of town I found a large square where a chocolate shop was lit up. Chocolate formed kettles filled the window, in every size imaginable. As eager as I was, they were already closed and I would have to wait until tomorrow to taste the devine dessert. Walking my way back across the bridge, I saw swans floating in the water…so big, I think they were on steroids. Even though it’s only 10:00 PM, there aren’t a lot of people on the street, so I head towards home and call it an early night.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Geneva, Switzerland
I rose early and took the train to the airport the greet mom. Visitors to Geneva ride public transportation FOR FREE the entire time they are in the city. What a deal! And, what a great way to promote public transit. Plus, the train only takes 6 minutes to get to and from the airport, so it was easy and fast. Arriving at the airport, I find mom waiting in baggage claim and back to town we go; of course, we just missed the 8:05 AM train and instead of waiting around for 30 minutes until the next one I say “let’s just take the bus.” Mom tells me she needs to go to the restroom, but inside it costs $1 Swiss Frank and all I have is a $50. On the bus I have no idea where we are going, just that eventually the bus will get us back to town. After riding for several stops, I figure it out and we get off near the train station. It’s raining again and mom stops to get out her umbrella. It is so big, I swear she is Mary Poppins and may float away. Storing her luggage, we head to breakfast where I enjoy a wide variety of Swiss and French cheeses, croissants, jellies, jams, and croissants. I am going to get fat on this trip, but as long as it’s on cheese and chocolate, I don’t care. Next stop, we walk along the river where the swans are back, along with their ducky friends. The trees are manicured into a fun cone-like shape and large silver decorations are placed on them for Christmas. There are river boat cruises you can take for only $23 Swiss Franks, which include all you can eat fondue; however, they stopped for the season a few weeks back and I am very sad. Continuing on, mom begins to tell me that her feet hurt from all the walking and I tell her “Welcome to Europe!” Far up a hill, that was not described on the map, I can finally see the UN building and the blue flag waiving in front. As I cross in front of the UNHCR, there are 20 or so armed military personnel guarding the gates and I keep on walking. Mom tells me “I don’t think we can pass” and I say “Just follow me” I keep walking through a hole in the fence and the security guard waves me through. Across the courtyard we see the flags and broken chair welcoming us to the UN and I head to cross the street. Mom takes off jaywalking and I yell out to her; then a UN military police officer begins to speak to her in French before I can get there and she tells me later she thought she was going to the UN jail. I say “if you’re going to jaywalk anywhere, I guess directly in front of the UN is the place.” In actuality, the guard was just asking her where she was trying to go, so I tell him we’re looking for the visitor entrance and he waves us around the corner. At the entrance it seems that they are about to close up for a two hour lunch, but the x-ray machine technician lets us through and soon I am presented with my very own UN visitor pass. It would look a little more official if I wasn’t so tired and had decided to put make up on today. Then, we head down the stairs where I tell the lady I am a student and she gives the discount; only $8 Swiss Franks instead of $10.
She tells us to head outside and look for building 39, but when I get outside all I see is building 17 and know that the UN is one place I don’t want to get lost. But, I take a chance and swing left where building 39 is right next to 17 and I wonder how matters of world peace are solved here, but not mathematics. The English-speaking tour starts right at noon and our guide takes us to a large board where the outlay of the UN is displayed. We see three conference rooms, but mostly hallways. I am told how the UN building was built…each UN country gave something to help build it, i.e. marble from Italy, ceiling decorations from Spain. I ask what the USA gave and am guided to a small wall with some pictures that look like photos, but are actually drawings. They depict the California coast. Seriously, that is all the USA could come up with? I learn about the money given to the UN and how countries are put on probation; what 6 official languages are spoken at the UN. I learn that Nicole Kidman was not actually here to film “The Interpreter.” That makes me sad. After an hour the tour is over and mom needs a nap. Jet lag is setting in, so we head back.
At night we spa it up and then I open a bottle of champagne. It’s vacation, we should celebrate! After an hour the bottle is gone and we are wondering the streets of Geneva. As we walk, Christmas lights are strung up in the air and locals meander in the streets. The jewels for sale sparkle even more in the dark and I wonder where my hidden Swiss bank account is to buy me all the pretty things I see. After seeing all that Geneva has to offer, we head back to the bar, where drinks in Switzerland are expensive. $24 Swiss Franks for martinis and margaritas, which is pretty much $24 US since the currency is about even right now. I keep it simple with wine and we close out the night enjoying the nightcap. Although nightlife in Geneva doesn’t seem to be a NYC or Vegas, at least they are changing the world here with decisions and world peace.
Wednesday, November 25, 2009
Geneva, Switzerland to Barcelona, Spain
Breakfast is magical as I lounge around and enjoy the fact that I am in Switzerland. Sipping on my coffee I wonder how in the hell I have been able to not hold a 9-5 job for almost two years, yet still live like a queen. It is good. After packing up and heading out, we spend the last day in Geneva roaming the streets. There is a beautiful church on top of the hill and what appears to be a temple of some sort where a funeral is going on. The river runs right through town and we stop near a merry-go-round to watch kids play and the daily farmers market take place. Crepes and kabobs are for sale as workers hurry in the streets, grabbing food, then perching themselves on a bench nearby. In the park the Christmas lights are going up with great care and I find a tree filled with gold clothing promoting the opera. On the main street mom and I visit the Martel chocolate shop where chocolate is $65 Swiss Franks per kilo. I only wonder how that compares to the going rate for cocaine these days. Which would you choose if given the opportunity? Inside the shop, mom uses all her Swiss Franks to buy chocolate and we devour the goodness before even pushing the door back open into the street. Good. Ness.
In late afternoon it’s time to head to the airport. At the airport the EasyJet kiosk won’t read my American MasterCard, so back into line I go. After printing our boarding passes, I hand the girl my luggage and we go off to security. There is some sign about 100mg of liquids, but since I don’t know how much that is, I throw my Evian in the plastic bin and tell mom to as well. While we are turning the corner a security man asks her in French how she enjoyed her trip to Switzerland. But, she thinks he’s telling her she has some forbidden object and gets a stricken look on her face before he speaks to her in English and we all bust out laughing. At the x-ray machine my water does not make it through, but the Swiss-TSA agent lets me drink it and keep the bottle. So nice of him. I search out Wi-Fi in the airport, but you have to have a Swiss phone number and a text sent to you with the code. Too much work. Although, I realize that I don’t have the phone number of the woman I am renting the apartment from in Barcelona. So, this non-Internet is a problem. I do have my friend Ana’s phone number though and head to the pay phone to call her. The phone dings a busy signal, so I’ll just have to wait until I get to Barcelona.
As we board I realize that this EasyJet is like the Southwest Air of Europe and we somehow end up in the back when I was off my guard. Living on four hours of sleep, I conk out at lift off, then am woken up by the lady in my row who decided to take up shop by the window. Both me, and the guy in the middle, were both asleep and she woke us up. Now, it’s only an hour flight, if you know you’re gonna have to pee then don’t sit by the window. After giving her an “I want to kill you” look, I think she gets the message. In Barcelona a guy two rows behind me pushes and shoves to get two rows ahead of me and is so rude that he knocks off the glasses of another person, then drops his luggage on their head. Out at baggage claim I immediately search for a telephone and am told there is only one, WAY FAR DOWN. I walk that way where it’s out of service, so I continue on to the RENFE station.
I had rented an apartment from someone named Joan. Joan had given me directions to the apartment, which was a few blocks away from my friends Ana and Piero. Ana gave me new directions and told me they were much easier. At RENFE we missed the train by 3 minutes, then sat around to catch the next one 30 minutes later. While waiting I approached various people asking to use their cell phones and they looked at me as though I was going to rip them off. At this point we are 45 minutes late to meet Ana and I still don’t have the phone number to Joan. I have no map of Barcelona and no clue where the hell I am going. As we load up on to the train mom tells me “I miss Daddy hauling my luggage” and think “Lucky Dad!” On the train we are forced to connect at Barcelona Sants and on the second RENFE there is a delay when we are only one station away. After a 20 minute delay we begin to head backwards on the tracks and I notice a guy with an I Phone. He lets me use it and I connect with Ana; she has been waiting over an hour for me. This is not going well. As I talk with her mom and I (and the I Phone guy) are moving swiftly through Barcelona Sants only to find the escalator out of order. Up the stairs we haul luggage as I talk on the I Phone, asking Ana to please call Joan and let her know I am in Barcelona and on my way to the apartment. Ana says she’ll try, but she’s not at home anymore; then advises me to just hop in a cab. This is a great idea, except I am plum out of Euros and must find a bank. Up the stairs and onto the street I spot a bank, hand back the I Phone and begin to feel like Chevy Chase in National Lampoon’s European Vacation. After collecting cash, mom and I hop into the taxi and he speeds away. We are there in a flash and now standing at another Metro station in the middle of Barcelona. I still have no map and no clue where the hell we are.
After approximately two minutes, a straggly looking fellow pulls up and asks if I am Jenifer. Yes, that’s me. He introduces himself and tells me to follow him. He tells me that Joan sent him. He will take me to the apartment. It is dark, I have no clue where I am, and as I begin to walk down the street, I feel like that movie “Taken.” There is an utter suspicion mom and I are about to be sold as sex slaves.
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