Triumphant Return

Ryan Air Nightmare - The Sequel.  At 4:45am on Tuesday, LB and I roused ourselves from a restless slumber to catch a bus to Memmingen airport to fly to Edinburgh.  Just another charming feature with Ryan Air - they never land in major cities as would be convenient; they use smaller airports in neighboring towns.  Our flight ended up being delayed by several hours because the plane coming from Edinburgh was unable to take off.  It was literally sitting and waiting for the temperature to rise from -16 degrees to -14 so the de-icing fluid would work.  Can you imagine if Canadians couldn't travel in weather colder than -14?!  (I don't mean to imply that the Scots are not as stout and hardy a folk as Mel Gibson has led you to believe.  In most cases, the Scots are enduring the same temperatures indoors as they are outdoors due to the lack of central heating.)  At any rate, the sun finally came out to warm Scotland up the necessary 2 degrees and our plane made it to Memmingen.  That's when Ryan Air really won my heart.  Through security and passport control and sitting at our gate, which was just a plain room without even a vending machine in sight, the gate agent handed out vouchers for 5 euro to spend at the airport of issue... on the OTHER side of security and passport control.  Just before boarding?  Are you kidding me?  "Here's some money, but you can't spend it! Ha ha. We are so generous and kind.  You're welcome."  Whatever.  I'm over it.  I'm done with Ryan Air and, after all, I'm in Scotland again at last!

There have been some changes in my beloved Edinburgh over the last 2 years.  Construction on the tram line down Princes Street seems to be completed, although I have yet to see a tram.  Some new stores and pubs are open that I don't recognize.  And everything is covered with snow.  For the most part though, it's the same old Edinburgh and I am pleased as punch to be back.  To make things even better, Emy arrived to join us Thursday afternoon!  Since then, the three of us have had steak and ale pie (some of us have had more of these than others), beef stew, haggis, hob nobs, magners, cider black shortbread, and cranachan.  What more can I ask from life?  I guess since I'm feeling greedy, I'd ask for more cranachan and a butterbeer.

Flam and I also went to see HPATDHP1- Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows Part 1.  HP is NOT as cool over here as it is at home.  Weird.  Maybe Margaret Lawrence and Farley Mowat are cool over here...

Um, obviously kirsch means cherry... Didn't you know that?

Besides the transportation hassles that have plagued us regardless of where we are, Germany has treated us well.  I think I would be less enamoured if it was February right now, but in December it is the next best thing to visiting Santa's Workshop.  The food has really won me over- Flammanator and I have tried to pick up a few words of Spanish, Portuguese and German along the way.  However, a reflection of our acquired German vocabulary has revealed a particular tendency.  We only know German words for food: kirsch, dampfnudel, currywurst, gluhwein, kartoffelsuppe, lebkuchen, rittersport... Speaking of rittersport, there has been a coup d'etat in the flavour rankings.  Hazelnuss has been dethroned by Nuss in Nougatcreme.  I know.  I know.  No one thought this was possible, but it's new on the scene and it's making headlines.  Another surprise for us was discovering the existence of a Christmas Market food that is not delicious.  It's some kind of sauerkraut/noodle dish, which I disliked for the sauerkraut and Larissa disliked for the noodles.  In the tasty beverage category, kinderpunsch now has apfelpunsch to keep it company.  And we also sampled the beer favoured by the current pope, Edelstoff.  I think it would be very refreshing after a long, hard day of pope-ing.

I'll leave food and the Xmas markets aside (just for the moment) to look at Munich itself: A+ for intrigue.  It has historical sites and museums which make it as interesting as Berlin, without being as cold.  Munich was particularly significant in the time leading up to and during the Second World War.  It is the city where Hitler first came to power in the Nazi party, and the location of events such as the Beer Hall Putsch and several assassination attempts.  Larissa and I took a tour to Dachau one day - having been to Auschwitz before, it was really interesting to see the difference between a death camp and a work camp.  Although choosing to see Dachau meant that we were not able to make it to Neuschwanstein Castle, I think LB and I made the right decision... even if our tour guide was from Minnesota and preferred to speak to the two of us in a Newfie accent.

Our stay in Munich also presents an excellent example of the highs and lows of traveling.  We've found that things seem to either go wrong all day, or all right.  The day of the yogurt explosion was an All Wrong day: for the first time so far, we slept in and missed breakfast and the walking tour we wanted to be on.  It poured all day long, soaking and freezing our feet and causing us to cut out, for the first time ever, on the walking tour we did catch.  That tour was terrible anyway.  To complete the afternoon, LB and I missed the last entry to the Residenz by 10 measly minutes.  The Residenz was Megan's top recommendation and the one thing I really wanted to see.  Finally, there was a hearstopping hour when we thought there was no possible way to get to the Memmingen airport as early as we needed to be there - luckily that one turned out to be an error.  We paid our dues though, and the next day couldn't be more different.  This was Dachau Day, and we caught every bus and train we aimed for, were handed free crepes at a grocery store, found a bank right when we needed one, had an excellent tour in the glorious sunshine, and feasted on the Pope's beer and sausages at the Augustina Brewhouse.

We definitely ran out of time in Munich.  I guess that just leaves something for my next trip!

The Great Explosion

Really, I’m very surprised that we haven’t had any yogurt related incidences before now.  The Flammanator and I play fast and loose with the laws of yogurt refrigeration.  Don’t judge us- that’s just how it goes when you stay in hostels without a kitchen in countries with such scrumptious flavours of yogurt.  And we do what we can to keep them by windows.  Coconut is my favourite, but even over here it’s as rare as a four leaf clover.  Larissa really goes for a nice peach and passion fruit.  Anyway, the disaster had nothing to do with our failure to follow proper chilling etiquette and everything to do with the fact that we carry these flimsy containers in our bags which get a bit tossed around.  YOGURT EVERYWHERE!!!  It was one of the little guys with the foil lids that work excellently as a makeshift spoon but not so well as an impenetrable barrier against the stem of an apple.  It was, ironically, apple cinnamon yogurt that ended up all over the contents of Flam’s bag.  Although, a stroke of luck kept her camera safe from harm.  If you think this misfortune is going to convince us to change our ways, you are incorrect.  The worst part was the waste of a perfectly good yogurt.

It's Not Always the Journey That Counts

Getting to Augsberg was certainly an adventure!  I’m really quite surprised that we made it – 4 hours late, but we made it.  The obstacles began popping up in Berlin, where we waited for a half hour for the bus that should come every 5 minutes.  I assumed the Germans were better prepared for snow.  We thought it was a stroke of luck then that our train was delayed, so we caught it even though we were late… But the train was full, so we made our own seats out of our baggage: 

and the toilets didn’t work so everyone was kicked off the train at Leipzig with no further instructions.  We found the platform for another train to Munich until the destination board changed abruptly and people started running around wildly.  After nearly losing 3 of my favourite toes to frostbite standing in the cold, we did get on a train and bullied our way into two open seats.  I cannot even begin to describe how glad I was to have a real seat once the German girl beside me translated one of the announcements: a tree had fallen over the tracks so the train had to take the long way around.  I’m pretty sure the condructor was making up the route as he went along because everyone seemed surprised each time the next station was announced.  The one fantastic thing about this arduous journey was how helpful some of the other travelers were.  They tried to explain all the delays the changes to us and made sure we got off at the right stop.  And in Augsberg itself, a local girl saw us looking lost outside the station, took us along with her on the tram and dropped us off right at the hostel door.  After a long and hectic day, that was a fantastic way to renew my faith in Germany.

*I realize that I’ve been complaining about train travel a lot.  I still generally like them, and even on a day like today, German trains kick French trains in the head.

Badass Berlin

Germany takes credit for creating one of the greatest chocolate bars in history: Ritter Sport.  I’m always surprised when I come across someone who hasn’t experienced the joy of a Ritter Sport for themselves, because everyone really should!  We get these in Canada, but only in a fraction of the flavour spectrum available in Germany.  Obviously, LB and I willingly traded valuable museum time (and museums in Berlin are seriously The Business) to make 3 visits to the Schokowelt.  Here you can learn all about Ritter Sport, create your own flavour, drink melted RS hot chocolate, and buy stacks of chocolate bars to help insulate against the chill of Berlin in late November.  It was mostly the glorious marzipan hot chocolate that had us under its spell.  I also have the Berlin Christmas Markets to thank for bringing Kinderpunsch into my life.  Hot alcoholic bevs are all the rage around here and I do not care for them.  The fumes coming off a steaming mug of gluhwein are like a boozy slap across the face.  Kinderpunsch is just what it sounds like: kid's punch.  But I suspect that it is stirred with a magic wand, because it is like drinking a rainbow.

Luckily, we did the 3 hour walking tour on one of the early days before the temperature plummeted and the snow swept in.  After this, it required solid mental prep to work up the motivation to venture outdoors.  Our new Australian friend, Jess, had never seen snow before or experienced sub-zero temperatures – she liked it for about 3 minutes before the novelty wore off.  We decided to break form in Berlin and talked to some outsiders (I KNOW!), and ended up forming a little Commonwealth Club.  It was quite nice except for the moments when it was terrifying.  For example, anytime Lady Scot opened her mouth, LB, Jess and I froze in horror with the potential for what was about to come tumbling out.  I’m trying really hard to forget a few particular memories.

Now, it is true that I have skin so fluorescently white that it may cause severe retinal damage when viewed in direct sunlight.  But before meeting Ross and Mike, no one had ever asked me if, without a shirt, it was possible to see my organs through my skin.  Through the record: no, but it is such a comfort to know what people are thinking when they first meet me.

Summary

Favourite Food: Mustafa’s Durums

Favourite Museum: Jewish History

Favourite Ritter Sport (so far): Hazelsnuss

Worst Activity in Cold Weather: East Side Gallery

Biggest Regret: Not making it to the Currywurst Museum

Biggest Regret (Subcategory- Food): Not getting pumpkin soup when I had the chance

It Doesn't Get Much Better Than Amsterdam

Spotted: The Madrid Trio, Reunited in Racy Amsterdam.

To all parentals, rest easy.  If you know me at all, then you’re aware that I am as close to being an 89 year old man with a walker and rheumatism as a 24 year old girl can be.  Nothing was destined to get out of control with me anchoring the party.  There was no time anyway- Amsterdam is chock-a-block full of A+ museums, restaurants, history and endless canals to explore.  LB and I arrived in the city the night before Steven, and we started things off by veering a bit off script.  From the central station, we had directions to take a tram and then walk to our hostel.  We found the right tram and Larissa, looking something like this:





steps up, trying her best not to take out any small children or the elderly.  The second Larissa is on the tram, the doors slams shut and rolls off down the line, leaving me behind.  Problem #1: Since meeting up in Paris, Larissa and I have hardly been out of each other’s line of sight.  I immediately started suffering from separation anxiety.  Problem #2: I had the directions and wasn’t sure that Larissa had any idea where she was going.  And Problem #3: Larissa hadn’t seemed to notice that I wasn’t on the tram with her.  Solution: I go hustling after the tram with my pack swinging merrily, looking ridiculous and laughing like an idiot.  Obviously I didn’t catch up, but LB did see me and realized what was going on, and it all turned out just fine.  Unlike my own, Larissa’s memory is not a black hole where information disappears into never to be heard from again – She remembered the directions, having read them aloud to me to write down, and soon we were together again.

Before Steven arrived the next morning, LB and I laid the groundwork by discovering the greatest hidden deal in Amsterdam.  There were ads everywhere for the “I Amsterdam” card, but we ended up getting the much lesser known, but way sweeter Museumkaart.  This baby is an annual pass for all of the museums in the Netherlands and paid for itself several times over for us.  Admission costs here are steeeeep.  When Steven arrived at the hostel, he was allowed a brief rest period before we took him out to be introduced to the glories of the Christmas Market.  (Not quite as awesome outside of Germany, but better than a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.)  After an afternoon of acing the children’s treasure hunt at the Van Gogh Museum and touring the Heineken Experience, I think it’s safe to say that all three of us were smitten with the Dutch.  These people know that they’re the bombdiggity and are enthusiastic about sharing their splendour with visitors.  In my opinion, the French could use a good strong dose of Dutch.

Day 2 – The early bird got the worm.  At the Anne Frank House for opening, we waltzed right in and avoided the 1.5 hour wait that is exists during the day.  We went straight from the museum to the free walking tour, and then had a quick warm up at the hostel before seeing the Rijksmuseum.  Larissa and Steven barely survived the 3 hours of the tour out in the “dreadful cold.”  Larissa has gone soft after 9 months in the African sun, and Steven’s coat was more for fashion than warmth.  Our dinner that night was an epic quest to find stumpot.  With something like 170 different nationalities living in Amsterdam, it is easy to find any type of food you like, other than Dutch.  But we did find it, and for Larissa’s feet it was not a moment too soon.  The stumpot that I tried was called Hotchpotch.  It is a bounty of carrots, potatoes, sausages, meatballs and pickles.  Best of all, the featured ingredient in mine was not sauerkraut.

Our last day, we toured the Jewish Historical Museum and were given directions by the most helpful woman I have ever met to a good place to eat pancakes.  The only thing that I demanded happen in Amsterdam was a pancake feast.  I had the 3 greatest pancakes of my life in Amsterdam with Rachel.  Collectively, they hold 4^th place on my “Top 5 Greatest Things to Happen in 2009.”  There are no words to describe my disappointment with both the pancake I was served, and the grouchy B1 who served it to me this time.  (This hag must have a touch of French Flu- she’s the only grumpy Dutchman we came across.)  At home, my pancake would have been just fine, but in a city where everything else is spectacular, good becomes subpar.

Before we knew it, it was time for LB and me to get on the train to Berlin and for Steven to return to the UK.

How Much is Too Much?

Life crisis resolved!  I have decided what I am going to do with my life.  If I can't be a pilot, and the Edmonton branch of the Museo de Jamon doesn't pan out, I am going to make candy and chocolate.  Mostly, I want to make the little hard candies with tiny shapes of fruit in the cross sections.  I figure this is the safest because I don't really like to eat those, which would reduce the chance of me getting enormously fat.  Doesn't this look like fun?!  (Don't bother with sound.)

That is not really what's important though.  I've reached Germany and it's November.  That means one thing, and one thing only: Christmas Markets.  In Cologne, only 4 of the 7 markets have opened now, but that is enough for all of the other attractions in Europe to have lost their appeal.  I don't care if the Dom in Cologne has the largest free-swinging bell in the world.  All I want to do is sing along with christmas carols, eat a currywurst and have the Angel of Neumarkt sprinkle fairy dust in my hair.  I want to go from booth to booth sampling breads, cookies, stews and sausages. I want to try on wooly hats and look at cookies cutters, ornaments and gnomes.  We spent our first day (market opening day) going from market to market and it was a rare moment when I wasn't stuffing some sort of delectable into my gob.  I think the only place on earth that could possibly be more magical is Hogwarts itself.  If I was the ruler of the world, I would declare Christmas all year long and move to Germany. 

I was able to tear myself away from the markets to visit the Schokoladenmuseum.  This was okay, although it was disappointing as I had been lead to believe that it was Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory brought to life.  There was a serious lack of schokolad gratis happening.  After the museum, we made our way to the Cathedral because this is a big deal in Cologne and it was our duty as tourists to see it, even though there is nothing to eat there.  I did not climb the 502 steps to see St. Peter's bell - that was asking too much.  502 is a lot of steps after eating my own weight in chocolate and brats.  I get the feeling that Cologne wouldn't have a lot to offer for the other 11 months of the year, but from November 22 until December 25, it's pretty hard to beat.  Cologne has laid down the gauntlet for the rest of Germany. 

Which market will reign supreme?  I intend to find out.

Now I remember why none of my pants fit the last time I got home from Europe... Worth it.

Brussels - Don't Blow it This Time

Brussels was the last stop on my European adventure 2 years ago with Rachel.  We did not get along.  I believe I dubbed the city "The Toilet of Europe."  Needless to say, I was somewhat apprehensive at the prospect of returning.  I am doing my best to take Steven's advice and am going into it with a positive attitude, but Brussels is just not a city that is easy to love.  First, there was the odyssey of getting from Charlesroi airport to Brussels itself late at night.  Then, riffling through our pockets for ages at the metro stration for coins that the ticket machine liked the taste of.  The hostel itself was a bit of a gamble, as my conversation with the lady at reception to book our beds went like this:

Hostel Broad: Name please?
Allie: Allie Pellatt.  A-L-L-I-E P-E-L-L-A-T-T
HB: <mumble mumble> L-L-E-T?
Allie: No, P-E-L-L-A-T-T
HB: <mumble mumble french mumblings>?
Allie: Sure.

Result - In Bohdan Somchinsky's History 100 class, I was Aylee Plat.  At the Oops Hostel in Paris, they called me Balice.  Here in Brussels, I am Tellatt.  So, we did have a room when we arrived, once they looked for my reservation under T instead of P.  This might be one of the weirdest hostels I've stayed at.  Some highlights... There is a a sort of loft area in our room with beds on platforms, ourlets stuck to walls with nothing else going on behind them, a bathroom door which neither shuts entirely nor locks, and a shower with no curtain.  My favourite was when we left our room in the morning to go to the main building for breakfast and ended up locked out of our room for an hour in our pjs because someone had left a key in the inside of the lock.  It was beginning to seem like Brussels had a vendetta against me.

Then it happened.  The Chocolate Square.  I don't even love chocolate as much as I should, what with McCaskill blood running through my veins.  But this turned things around in a big way.  Imagine Cote D'Or, Leonidas, Neuhaus, Marcolini, Godiva and Wittamer all clustered in one square for your sampling pleasure.  larissa and I did a round through all of them once and then went back for seconds at our favourites.  After the chocolate tasting, we dove head first into Belgian frites and waffles.  I think maybe Brussels and I will come to an understanding after all.  I've even managed to try a couple of beers here and live to tell the tale.  We've moved from the wine region to beer mecca and I figure it's worth the risk.

Now, step into my time machine and let's look back at the outfit Mannekin Pis was rocking in June 2009 and compare it to his present duds:



June 2009



November 2010



Personally, I prefer the first hat but the second outfit.

Chaotic Nightmare

Dear Ryan Air,

I recently flew with your airline from Seville to Brussels and I wanted to thank you for taking what I cherish most in the world and crushing it under the heel of your boot like a cigarette butt.  Nowhere else have I found such a bizarre combination of strict rules and guidelines (ie: baggage restrictions) and total anarchy (ie: everything else). 

Let's begin with the cattle run you refer to as "boarding the plane."  How much of a bother could it be for you to assign each passenger to a seat?  I was horrified by the blocking techniques I found myself using against the ladies trying to budge past me in line!  My friend and I finally elbowed our way onto the plane and got two seats together.  I plopped into my seat with reflief - with most airlines, this is when the tension of air travel releases and you can settle in.  Not so with Ryan Air.  Europeans seem to like using hard suitcases, and to avoid paying for checked luggage, they try to stuff these things in spaces where they just don't fit.  I sweat that by the time the carry-on luggage situation was sorted out, the man across the aisle from me had grown a full beard.  Next, I experienced something for the very first time in my life.  A flight attendant read out a list of ten names; people who were supposed to be on a flight to Paris but were suspected to actually be on our plane.  Please explain to me how this could possibly have happened!  Step 1) Check baggage at ticket counter for flight to Paris.  Step 2) General Security  Step 3) Proceed to gate for flight to Paris.  Step 4) Gate agent checks boarding pass and id as you pass through gate for flight to Paris.  Step 5) Board flight to Brussels.  30 minutes dragged by while these idiots were sorted out.

Finally, on to the flight itself.  How comforting it is to spend two and a half hours with a stranger's thigh pressed up against my own!  I don't give a rat's ass if her hard suitcase is too large for the overhead bin and is now taking up all her available leg room.  She can't have mine.  I paid for an entire seat; I would like to have it all.  And I understand that you're a budget airlie and make most of your profits via additional costs, but I am never going to buy the Ryan Air Flight Attendant's 2010-2011 Calendar.  Please stop making announcements every 15 minutes trying to sell it to me.

How very different the last few years of my life would have been if I'd grown up flying Ryan Air.  I'll give you this: the price is right.  But did we really just conclude the journey by playing a fanfare and self-congratulatory announcement for arriving at our destination on time?  I was surprised that we landed at the correct destination at all.

Keep up the good work,

Allie

Seville – Olé!

Sadly, we couldn’t stay in Lagos forever.  Larissa and I had to make iour way to Seville in time for a flight we’d booked to Brussels.  There are no trains that run along that routs, so we took what felt like an endless bus ride back to Spain.  Our activities in Seville mostly involved eating tapas and wandering aimlessly through the streets.  Along with one Australian boy and our guide, Alejandra, we made up the party for the free walking tour one afternoon.   By far, the least official tour so far, but we had a fun time.  The bull fighting season is already over in Spain and I’m not sure I would have wanted to go to a fight anyway, but we saw the bull fighting ring.  We also saw the 3^rd largest cathedral in Europe, which is also the home of Columbus’ remains.  Due to the steep cost of admission, we chose not to pay our respects to Colon, although I think I did that back with my grade 9 posse.  There is a building in Seville that was used as the setting for Naboo in Star Wars – pretty awesome!  (Arrival on Naboo)  Much went unseen, however, because Larissa and I had a very slow moving second day, although for different reasons.  I’m still operating at about 65% (I’ve decided somehow France is to blame) and Larissa was feeling the effects of a late night with our roommates.

It was an unexpected surprise when our Australian friends from Madrid popped up again at our hostel.  While Larissa and I were in Portugal, they’d ventured into Morocco.  Of all the travelers I’ve met so far, they are definitely my favourite because they A) are friendly B) are quiet at night C) are not super weird and D) shared their milkduds with me one night in Madrid after Steven and Larissa fell asleep.  Instant friendship, obviously.

Staying Over at Momma's House

When Sean traveled 2 years ago, he ended up staying for several months in Lagos and worked at the Rising Cock hostel.  With time to visit one more town in Portugal on my way to Seville, the obvious choice was Lagos.  Larissa and I had been spoiled by the Yes Hostel, so the Rising Cock was going to have to be something really special to impress us – and it delivered.  For starters, it is the only hostel I have ever stayed at with double sized bunk beds.  Small and cozy, staying here is kind of like sleeping over with your long lost Portuguese family.  Each day begins with Momma’s crepe and lemon tea paradise in the kitchen.  I don’t mean that a batch of crepes is made when breakfast starts at 9 and you eat them cold when you get there, like at most hostels.  Heavens no!  As each guest gets up, Momma bustles in to make crepes as you eat them so each one is fresh and hot.

The common room is a living room with an enormous couch lining the walls – it is an excellent place to spend an afternoon napping or watching movies.  I can see why Sean got trapped here!  Larissa and I didn’t spend the entirety of our stay in Lagos in the hostel, although I very easily could have.  (Did I mention that Momma brought out a batch of hot homemade donuts one afternoon?  Donuts are the key to my heart.)  We did venture through the town to investigate the festival that was going on.  I don’t know what they were celebrating, but they were doing it by dancing in traditional costumes and serving delicious things to eat.  And one night we managed to drag ourselves all of 10 steps across the street to Nahnahbah, where Sean also worked, for dinner.  I had a monster of a toucan burger.

Momma is closing the hostel this Christmas for the first time in about 8 years to take a holiday to Australia.  I hope she enjoys Australia as much as I’ve enjoyed Portugal!  I wish I was back at the Rising Cock right now!

Me and Momma

When I Say Yes Hostel, You Say YES!

My favourite part about traveling is the actual travel itself.  I love to be in cars, on trains and trams and especially on planes.  Not buses so much.  Europe is great because I don't have the opportunity to take the train anywhere at home (the lrt doesn't count) and I really love to ride those rails.  Know what I don't love?  Train bathrooms.  Windy rail lines provide some really thrilling trips to the WC, but "thrilling" is not something that I have ever felt to be missing with that particular activity.

Madrid to Lisbon provided me with my first overnight train experience!  No beefy men allowed on that journey!  Yikes, we sure were packed into a very small space.  It turned out to be surprisingly pleasant and I even had a decent sleep thanks to a combination of factors: a bed that didn't cave in the middle, a lack of noisy Italians/Americans, and the rocking of the train which I think kept Larissa up.  It was still not quite the same as spending the night in a real bed though, and we were not looking forward to spending the entire day on our feet before being able to check into our hostel in Lisbon.  However, the Yes hostel took us by surprise from the start and the delights kept rolling for the duration of our stay.  We were let into our rooms at 8am and then welcomed to join the free breakfast right away, helpful Pedro gave us endless suggestions for what to do, see and eat in Lisbon, and then we met Isabella...  Sweet, sweet Isabella.  This kitchen sorceress comes to the hostel every night to cook a feast for the guests who sign up- and you'd be a fool not to sign up.  The first night we dined on vegetable and leek soup, puri puri chicken, and a sort of whipped cream dessert.  The second night was roasted chestnuts, chestnut soup, bacalhau (a traditional cod dish) and cheesecake.  I don't even like cod, and I was scraping the plate clean.  Maybe it has something to do with the fish being cooked in whipping cream... 

Not Impressed



Custard Tarts = Bombdiggity



As for Lisbon itself, part of our time in the city involved convincing our young, eager traveling tag-along, Will, to purchase a second pair of pants before we made our escape from his company.  This fellow is about 2 days away from being accompanied by a dirt cloud that would rival Pig-Pen's.  We also had an entertaining ride on one of the city's historic trams; more of a rollercoaster ride really, thanks to the steep hills and quick turns.  At one point, we rounded a corner to face a car followed by a tram headed straight for us on the same line.  After a good deal of yelling in Portuguese back and forth and (I assume) swearing, we backed our tram up a ways until we could let the other pass.  One day, we took a tram to Belem to see a monastery and a tower, which were two of the only things that I've recognized in Spain and Portugal from my last trip.  More importantly, Belem is where we tried custard tarts.  If I was staying longer in Lisbon, I would get fat on these custard tarts.  As it is, my fattening up will be left to my old standards: magnums, hob nobs, fanta and anything baked.  Anyway, Lisbon was a good enough city, turned into a great one thanks to amazing food and an A+ hostel.

The High and Mighty Fall Hard in Madrid

My immune system has served me exceedingly well in my 24 years and I am quite proud of it.  I am very rarely sick, and when I am it is not for long.  Well, lo and behold my surprise in Madrid when I was taken down and taken down hard.  Day one in Madrid, Larissa and I met up with Steven, had tapas for dinner and hung out with some of the other travers at the hostel.  (Seany- I've even been talking to the occasional stranger!)  By noon on day two in Madrid, I was a little bit convinced that I was dying.  Now I love a good walking tour, but when I realized that I was nearly lying down on the ground of the Plaza Mayor 20 minutes into our tour, I decided it was a no go and went back to the hostel for a nap with one of my worst headaches on record.  Even after some additional symptoms joined in for the party on day three, I was still able to have a nice time in the city.  I would insist on tagging along to the various sites, and then Steven and Larissa would drop me back off at the hostel when I couldn't drag my body any farther.  I'm sure I missed quite a lot, as it is difficult to really take in a museum when you are sitting in one of the guard's chairs with your eyes closed, but it was better than nothing.  Thanks to my travel pals for taking such good care of me and for not complaining about all my complaining.

One evening that I really enjoyed was the night of the flamenco show.  Larissa and I went to a show in Barcelona, but this was much smaller and we could actually see the dancers' feet and expressions.  Even though it was so hot in there that I felt like my eyeballs were on fire, the dancing was spectacular.  We also spent one of our days in Madrid on a day trip to Toledo.  In the ninth grade, Toledo was the city of my dreams.  I couldn't tell you now what made Toledo so special then and would be hard pressed to even picture it at all, but I was eager to return.  Sadly, the magic was lost.  It was cold, windy and a bit rainy, and I think we were all relieved when it was time to catch the bus back to Madrid.  Besides seeing the cathedral (my favourite so far), the highlight of the day was when we opted to take a short cut back to the bus station.  Our choices to get to the bottom of a relatively steep will were A) to zig zag our way down along the road or B) to cut directly down the hill through a bit of wilderness.  Decision well made!  Taking the hill was great entertainment and also a time saver!

If I was going to take a guess at everyone's favourite part of our stay in Madrid, mine would be the cable car ride over the city, Larissa probably most enjoyed the sangria at the flamenco show, and I am quite confident that Steven is truely in love with the Museo de Jamon.  This place is something that you should really see for yourself.  Hundreds of ham haunches hang along the walls, each costing about 400 euro.  The best hocks have black hooves (oh, they all still have hooves) because they were fed a pure acorn diet.  After the alluring decor, the real draw is the prices and the food itself.  1 euro for a beer and 1 euro for a dlicious ham croissant.  I'm not sure there was a day in Madrid when Steven didn't pay a visit to the Ham Museum.  But I also don't think that anyone who has been to the Museo de Jamon themself would blame him.

*Update: now I'm stuffed up.  What a baby!  This is ridiculous.

Madrid - Introducing the Tenacious Trio

One of these things is not like the other ones…

The Players: 2 Breses and a spare ginger

Larissa Brese

My constant companion at all times for my traveling adventures this time around.  We went to the same high school, but didn’t really become friends until my last year of university.  I don’t know why on earth we waited so long!  Loves dancing - anytime, any place – and trying the local libations of choice, and can fall asleep faster than anyone on the planet.  Seriously, what’s your record?  Because you won’t beat her.  My measurements are quite scientific as the moment she falls asleep is marked by the kick-off of her nocturnal symphony.  I am incredibly jealous of Larissa’s skills in the art of slumber.  Like me, Larissa has a degree in psych, but her minor is in art history, which makes her a fountain of knowledge in many of the museums we go to.  My minor (classical studies) doesn’t seem to be bringing much to the table, although I am pretty excellent at picking out good resting points.  In addition, this tall blonde beauty is supremely photogenic! 

Steven Brese

Larissa’s older and only brother is perhaps the most curious person I have ever met and also the friendliest, second only to Fargey.  This Curious George is excellent to travel with as he will ask all the questions you were wondering about but are too lazy/shy/tired to ask yourself.  Steven appeared in Madrid to meet us bearing a bounty of gifts- mostly food, which is my favourite kind of surprise.  Knowing of my dislike for seafood, he had also prepared for me a list of Spanish words for different things to avoid on menus.  Steven would have had a very successful career as a 15^th century cartographer exploring the New World.  He very handily steered us through the streets of Madrid and, by the end of our week there, could direct you from any point in the city to the Museo de Jamon (translation: The Ham Museum) with his eyes closed.  At any given time, we had at least 27 different maps on the go between the three of us, each marked with a different piece of critical information, but Stevie kept us straight.  However, our Magellan is not the best at time estimates...  I experienced some of the longest 5 minutes of my life in Madrid, mostly while hoofing it up steep hills.

Allie Pellatt

While lacking the tallness and blondness of the Brese duo, I have learned that I am able to subsist for extended periods of time on very little food.  First in Paris, experiencing the effects of jet lag on my appetite, and then in Madrid, as my body went into a full scale rebellion against life.  Normally, I have quite a healthy appetite and, in particular, am very fond of snacking.  I hate to stand still and will ferret out any available place to sit in museums, cathedrals and metros.  I also tend to avoid the sun’s poisonous rays like they are lasers beams and, as a result, have skin that borders on fluorescence.  I hear everything bump in the night and have probably slept half as many cumulative hours in my life as most people my age.

Valencia - the oranges alone will make you want to stay here forever

Our Spanish high continued on in Valencia- what a delightful town! Sean recommended a hostel and I am so glad we listened to him on this one. Anyone going to Valencia, stay at the Home Backpackers Hostel. My favourite features were the rooftop terrace (and in Valencia in November, it is warm enough to use!) and the enormous kitchen.

Valencia used to have a river flowing right through the middle of the city, but in the sixties(?) the water was redirected and the riverbed was tranformed into an enormous park area with soccer fields, playgrounds- the works. We arrived early enough to spend the afternoon walking through the park and reading our books in the sun. While we were there, I finished "Water for Elephants." If you have not yet read this book, I suggest that you do. I didn't realize that a novel about a traveling circus set in depression era America could be so riveting! For dinner we went on a quest to find non-seafood paella. As you know, there are certain foods that I do my best to keep from ever crossing my palate, and all seafood belongs on that list. Result: chicken and rabbit paella and it was good! I am now on board with Spanish cuisine.

This is where I happened to be for Katie's birthday and I celebrated by going to the science centre. Best decision ever. Everything was interactive and Larissa and I were like children in there, trying everything out and hogging all the best games. My favourite was the mind race. Larissa and I sat at opposite ends of a table with our foreheads resting on bars. The objective was to use your mind to push a ball on the table toward your opponent's end by clearing it of all thoughts. Now, I don't want to brag, but this is something that I am particularly good at. would never in my life bet on my intellectual prowess, but I can think of nothing like a pro. I spend most of every day thinking about nothing. If you have ever seen me deep in thought, you were quite mistaken. That raki guru I saw last year commented on my skill at deep meditation, and all I was doing then was looking at my shoes. Poor Larissa and her busy brain didn't stand a chance. We didn't realize the centre had closed until all of the displays stopped working and we suddenly realized that we were the only people left in the building. We capped off the day the best way I could imagine- eating almond Magnums and watching the Real Madrid game at the hostel.

Joyous News

Whispers began to float upon the wind early in France: Emily was thinking about joining up with our merry little traveling party when we reached Scotland. She was going to look at flights and see about getting the time off work. Rumors started to solidify in Marseilles and flights were looking good. I figured Emily would wait to find out about getting her shifts covered, but I forgot who we were dealing with here. This gal likes to go right on ahead and do just what she likes, whether or not it pleases anyone else. In this particular case, it sure pleases me! The flights are booked! E assures me that the work matter is a minor detail since she's coming anyway. She will fly into Edinburgh the day after Larissa and me, and flies home from London on the same day that I do. Here's my favourite part: On Dec 20th, Emily will see my plane off from Heathrow and then be home herself int time to welcome my arrival to Edmonton. Oh right- because I was too cheap to fly direct.

Be ready for haggis, cranachan and mags, pal!

Barcelona

It’s nearly impossible for Spain to disappoint me after France, but bravo Espania! Way to kick France in the head. I am pleased as punch to be in Barcelona. We took Auntie Marlene’s advice and got a 3 day pass for the hop on/hop off bus tour. It worked out really well because we were a little worn out from our bus adventure from Montpellier and not keen to try to see all the sights on foot. There was a group of English ladies on the bus for a while who, I am pretty sure, were carrying the entire contents of their hotel mini bar - complete with mixers - in their purses. After passing the Olympic stadium and a few other sites, our first hop off was at Camp Nou, the FC Barcelona stadium, and I was able to convince Larissa to do the tour. there was a game that night, but the tickets were sadly too steep for our budget. (Sean- you and I will come back to Barcelona once we’ve made our millions to see a game.) I could have stayed at Camp Nou for the rest of the day, but Larissa looked like she was ready to drop so we got back on our bus. We saw some of Gaudi’s sites from the bus, but we didn’t get off again until we were back int he city centre near our hostel. Mediocre dinner before a thrilling evening doing laundry. Not as bad as it sounds - the Barcelona-Seville game was on tv in the common room at the hostel, so I watched Barca beat Seville 5-0. The game didn’t even start until 10pm! The Spaniards sure love to party late.



Day 2 was spent doing the second route of the bus tour: the beaches, Sagrada Familia, Parc Guell, Tibidabo, Gaudi again, and back to the city centre. We got off at the Sagrada Familia and Gaudi’s apartments but didn’t go in any… deterred by admission costs and long lines. After the fastest visit through the Museu Picasso of all time (we spent longer waiting in line than we did in the museum) and a very sketchy burger in a very shady “restaurant,” we hustled over to the Palau de la Musica for a flamenco performance. These dancers are not messing around. Michael Flatley could learn a thing or two from them about what “feet of flames” really means.

Our final day in Barcelona has been a success, if for no reason other than that I got the time right and didn’t wake Larissa up an hour too early. We have been in separate rooms at this hostel, so we’ve arranged times to meet for breakfast in the mornings. This first morning, I was an hour early because I’d set my alarm wrong in the dark the night before. My bad. The next morning, I was fooled by daylight savings - not for the first or last time, I’m sure. The days was a success for many other (and better) reasons as well. We took the metro up to the Park Guell to get a better look. It was fantastic! The park was designed by Gaudi and has a great view of the city. Then we spent a while meandering through the Gothic area and had tapas for lunch. I can’t really say that I care for the prevalence of seafood here… We capped of the day wandering along La Rambla and the beach until the sun went down and it got a bit chilly. I could spend several more days in Barcelona, but tomorrow morning we relocate to Valencia. Sorry, Uncle Mike. We didn’t get to the zoo- I blame France for that.



Happy Halloween!

Why Can't I Leave This Country - The Montpellier Edition

Marseilles was supposed to lead to Barcelona. We checked at the train station Wednesday night and were assured that our train was running. Boy was I ready to leave France in the dust - had you noticed? - so we trooped off with our packs on Thursday morning in good spirits. No problems getting to Montpellier, where we were to change trains. Once in Montpellier… BIG problem. How is it possible that we have come this far and no one has mentioned to us before now that there have been no trains from France to Barcelona for the last 3 weeks?!!! Result: stuck in yet another French town until a bus leaves for Barcelona the next night. Positive: It was sunny while we toured around, enjoying the revival of the bakeries and crepe stands that I sorely missed in Dumpsville. Negative: Our hostel had atrocious facilities, and the front desk guy believed that telling us anything about the hostel was like telling us his most personal secrets. Positive: Fantastic meal at L’Arthur (duck breast in an orange sauce and grapefruit tiramisu). Negative: after dinner, we had to return to the hostel. I woke up at 6am and couldn’t get back to sleep because I was afraid the toilet was going to overflow and follow the course of gravity, which would lead it straight to my room. Believe me, my fear was not unfounded.


We got the heck out of there first thing in the morning and then faced the challenge of filling a second full day in Montpellier. We walked every street in the city centre 3 or 4 times and browsed every shop that was open- that took us to 11am. Then we sat in the Quick Burger for a while to use their wifi… wandered the streets some more… ate a few beignets… saw the American in English with French subtitles. Larissa had to fill me in on the lines that were in Italian. Crepes for dinner and at LAST picked up our bags and took a packed tram to the bus station.

9:05pm - On our way to Barcelona for real! I thought this moment would never come. The bus pulls out with not a seat to spare; mostly occupied by a noisy french high school group.

9:15pm - France has one last joke to play. The driver pulls into a rest stop and announces that we will be having a 1/2 hour dinner break and everyone must leave the bus. I was not amused. Will we be stopping every 15 minutes? I wouldn’t be surprised.

2:45am - The bus pulls into Barcelona. I am free! Au Revoir France, we will not be meeting again soon. You can mail me beignets and pain au chocolat until I decide to forgive you.

Marseilles is Actually a City Made Entirely out of Garbage

People were not exaggerating! The streets of Marseilles are piled with incredible amounts of garbage in stacks that have grown much taller than I am. You’d better watch your step and some streets have been closed entirely. Oh the smell! I kind of get the feeling that I wouldn’t care for Marseilles even in good times, but I am certain I don’t care for it now. For one thing, where did all the crepe stands go?! And the delicious bakeries?! Not awesome. I will give Marsilles credit for 2 things: Notre Dame Cathedral (apparently every city in France has a Notre Dame) and the dinner I had on our last night. It was a bit of a hike to get up to the Cathedral, but once we were up there, the view was worth it. And from that high, you can’t even see the filth stewing in the streets! The cathedral itself was also brighter and more colourful than the ones we’ve seen so far. And this dinner! We asked at our hostel for a recommendation because Larissa wanted to try Bouillabaisse. I have no interest in fishy soups, so I ordered a steak and what a steak it was! Accompanied by a baked potato that actually blew my mind, some sort of quiche, and a salad. Marseilles, way to redeem yourself from being declared the worst city I have ever been to. Intead, that title continues to be held by Regina. Maybe it’s a tie. Difficult to say.


Chateau D'If (Count of Monte Cristo)

Champagne - Cheers!

I’m not much of a drinker, but when in Rome! L + I took a tour of the G. H. Martel champagne house here in Reims, complete with a tasting of 3 of their champagnes. Larissa was in heaven. Fun fact about the making of champagne: once the yeast dies and forms a sediment, the bottles are inverted so the sediment pools in the neck. It is then frozed, the cap is removed and the pressure inside pops the frozen crud right out. Top off the bottle and it’s ready for corking!

Beneath the city, there are endless tunnels which had been dug out originally by the Romans for building supplies. During the First World War, Reims was almost completely destroyed and the people moved into the tunnels. Emerging to rebuild the city, the tunnels have been used to store champagne ever since. Reims fared better in WWII because the Nazis were too fond of taking champagne back to Germany. They couldn’t shut down production!

Reims is also the site where the Germans first signed a surrender to the Allied powers at the end of WWII. We visited the little museum with the map room where the surrender took place and Eisenhower gave a victory speech. All in all, Reims is quite a nice town and I’m glad we came here. Too bad we have been here for a few days too many…

Solidarity

Before leaving home, a few people asked me if I was concerned about the strike situation in France. Of course I wasn’t and I didn’t even bother finding out anything more about it. Silly, naive Allie. What a fool I was. Little did I know… Tuesday, after a full day of sightseeing in Paris, we returned to our hostel to find our street chock-a-block full of protesters, literally parading right past our window. It had apparently been going on all afternoon. But it seemed peaceful and the mess was cleaned up immediately after, so it still didn’t register as a problem. We had smooth sailing getting from Paris to Reims, our stop in the Champage region, and it is only now that we have been stuck in Reims for 5 days that we are beginning to understand just what is going. As far as we can tell, the government would like the French people to work for 2 more years before retiring. Obviously, this is outrageous! The country MUST grind to a halt while they fight tooth and nail against this atrocity. We had intended to spend a few days in Reims to tour a champagne house before moving on to Nice on the southern coast. No such luck. Stuck for much longer in Reims, with a ticket booked to Marseilles and our fingers crossed that the train will be running. (No guarantee there.) Only after booking this ticket, did we discover that Marseilles is rumored to have some of the worst rioting in the country and the city is piled high with garbage as the garbage collectors are also striking. Please keep your fingers crossed that we are able to both get in and out of Marseilles.

Dear France, Please stop being so lazy and get back to work. You are being greedy. Are you really okay with losing 200-40 million euro every day?! I am very grateful that Larissa speaks French so that we can deal with the people at the train stations. On my own, France would have been a nightmare.

Paris - I like you

I don’t love Paris like Kathryn loves Paris, but I like it pretty well. We hit the ground running - no time for jet lag. There is too much to see: Up the Eiffel Tower, the Champs Elysees/Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, Musee D’Orsay, Sacre Coeur, Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame… and not enough time to eat all the baguettes and crepes! I don’t know a thing about art, but seeing art museums with Larissa was like having my own guide. They aren’t kidding when they say it would take 9 months to see everything in the Louvre. At one point, we were a bit lost and had trouble finding our way out. The Eiffel Tower lit up at night is amazing- Dad could get some Christmas light ideas. We were also able to spend some time with a girl who Larissa and I both know from way back and who Larissa ran into when she first arrived in Paris. Larissa went to junior high with Claire, and I played soccer with her. The highlight of Paris for me was going for a Vietnamese dinner and eating chocolate and banana crepes with Claire and Larissa while we waited for the lights of the Eiffel Tower to come on. There was still plenty of things to see, and we could have stayed for several more days, but decided it was time to explore a smaller town in France.

Europe Fall 2010

I am back in Europe. I jumped at the chance to meet my friend from school, Larissa, to travel for 2 months. Larissa was volunteering at a girl’s school in a small town in Ghana since January, and then traveled through Italy and Turkey on her own before we met in Paris. It was difficult to work out any plans while we were on different continents, but we are hoping to see France, Spain, Belgium, the Netherlands, Germany and the UK, ending in London for my flight home on December 20- just in time for Christmas. I have already learned a few valuable lessons. #1- Loosen the purse strings and spend a little more for a direct flight when it’s available. It is not worth it to suffer through a 4 hour layover in Minneapolis and a 7 hour layover in London. #2- I am going to have to learn how to become a better sleeper now, or not sleep again until I’m home. Larissa falls asleep very quickly and then snores like a jack hammer. Note to self- keep the ipod charged.