Back...

Well I'm back in the States. It took more than 48 hours and I'm going to bitch to American Airlines until they give me a) flight vouchers or b) a LOT of cookies. So I'm going to go to sleep now, but I just wanted to let everyone know that I survived it. I'll write a more detailed post about Morocco and the trip as a whole when I get a chance. And of course post some pictures.

Heads up for anyone who wants to reach me -- I haven't turned my cell phone back on yet and I'm not sure that I will until around June 20 (although I haven't decided for sure). So if you want to reach me (and seriously, why *wouldn't* you?), you can call on my brother's home phone. I'm not posting his number on his blog (he gets enough calls he doesn't want, and in the end, he's bigger than me), so you can shoot me an e-mail if you need the number. For Samo guys, it's the same number I had in high school.

Madrid/Casablanca

Well we had to slaughter some shrimps, but we finally got the good paella that Nicole was hoping for. Apparently the paella varies throughout Spain -- the kind in Barcelona and Cadaques is different from the kind in Madrid. We went to a place that was recommended in my Let's Go book (thanks, Ben), but what Let's Go said was about 12 euros per person ended up being about 20. And eating the shrimp required cutting off the heads, etc., but once we got past the beady little eyes staring at us, it was really good.

The second day in Madrid we went to Museo Thyssen-Bornemisza, which has a really diverse mix of 19th and 20th century art (ranging from Spanish to Dutch to samplings of a few others), modern art, and impressionism post-impressionism. I mostly went to see the impressionism, since I've kinda gotten my fill of the rest for now. There was one room filled with Monet, Van Gogh and Pisarro, which was pretty awesome.

From there we went to Parque del Retiro and lay out in the sun by a waterfall at the lake for a while, and I finally convinced Nicole she wanted to rent a rowboat with me and row around in the lake (it was 4.50 euros for 45 minutes). I eventually got the thing floating along in the right direction, and it took about 15 minutes for me to realize that I was getting very seasick on the rowboat. We didn't stay out the whole 45 minutes out of fear of me throwing up. So I can't really do things like that.

Anyway, it was hot as hell there, and we ran out of energy before making it to the modern art museum, so we pretty much just chilled in a tapa bar and ate tapas until it was time to leave.

Casablanca

I still haven't completely processed that I'm in Africa -- it's pretty cool. One one hand, you have these women walking around dressed in djellabas and headscarves, but right next to them you have younger girls dressed in jeans and tee-shirts (although it's pretty standard that women keep their legs covered here). Apparently, cleavage is more socially acceptable than leg.

And the headscarves are optional. Girls decide as teenagers whether or not they're going to wear them, and girls who decide on the scarves never leave the house without one after that. It's a big life decision for them, I think. It's not a religious requirement or anything here; it just sends a message -- I'm a good girl. Any Moroccan girl who goes out at night is essentially considered a slut, and men whistle and make obscene comments at anyone who shows any skin. (this includes elbows and calves). But from what I can tell, they seem to respect the women wearing the djellabas.

It's really interesting being here though. Casablanca isn't a very touristy town (and certainly isn't a big American tourist destination), so the locals seem to automatically assume that we're French. I haven't really felt unsafe at all (although it certainly helps that we have Nicole's friend Emmy, who teaches English here, telling us where to go, etc.) -- it's just been a little frustrating hearing all the mating calls from the locals. They learn to say "hello" in like five languages, apparently in hope that one will be right and we'll, I dunno, have sex with them?

Today we went to this Moroccan marketplace, and had Emmy guide us around and tell us what everything is. She said it's more fun to go shopping in Marrakesh, because there are more options and you can haggle there. Tomorrow we're headed to Rabat, and then Marrakesh on Sunday.

But today was cool -- after the marketplaces we got lunch at an local place that Emmy's boyfriend recommended. Apparently Friday is Coos Coos Day, so we got coos coos. Then we went to Mosque Hassan II, or The Great Mosque, which is right up against the ocean and is really stunning. It's one of the biggest mosques in the world, either the second or third biggest depending on what book you look in. We couldn't go inside though, because they don't do tours on Fridays.

So yeah. Casablanca's been cool. I expected it to be a lot more touristy than it is, and we certainly saw some tourists on the ferry, but it's not a big American or Canadian destination, which is a nice change. The cabs are pretty awesome, too -- the cab drivers all play their own kind of music (as loud as they want), so we've listened to everything from authentic Moroccan music to LL Cool J. And apparently everyone here is obsessed with Celine Dion -- Emmy's Moroccan boyfriend was singing along to it in the restaurant last night.

Anyway I'll post again at some point... I can't believe this trip's almost over. We leave for Valencia on Monday and fly out from there.

Cadaques/Zaragoza/Madrid

So we got stranded in Zaragoza (or as Nicole's been calling it, Zoolander) for a night. We had to get a bus from Cadaques to Barcelona, and then were going to take a train from there to Madrid. So we got to the train station and were told that all the trains to Madrid were full, but that we could simply get a train to Zaragoza and then connect to Madrid from there.

"Can we make the reservation from Zaragoza to Madrid?" I asked in my best version of Spanish.

"No, regional train, regional train, regional train, can't make reservation here, regional train."

He also told me I wouldn't need a reservation with my rail pass, and that we would just have to wait in line for Nicole's ticket since she has no pass. He lied.

We got to Zaragoza, bought Nicole's ticket, and then I asked -- just to be sure -- if I needed a reservation with my rail pass. Not only did I need a reservation, this assclown said, but he also said he'd just given the last seat to Nicole. More lies.

There were more ordeals (like another ticket man telling me the only seat left on a train to Madrid was on a 10 p.m. train in first class), but long story medium-length, we ended up changing Nicole's ticket and crashing in Zaragoza for a night.

The man at the hostel there had a thick accent and instead of just speaking more slowly for me, he instead tried to speak some strange combination of English and Spanish and flustered himself to no end. At one point he asked if he could photocopy my meat. Took me a while to figure out he was talking about my passport, but I can see how one might get the two confused.

So, yeah. Apparently some month-long festival began in Madrid yesterday, and that's why everyone was going. In the end, we think, it all worked out for the best, because we assumed that the first night of a festival in Madrid would include costumed people, and Nicole is very, very afraid of costumed people.

But now we're in Madrid. And we already made our reservations to leave. We had to take a number at the train station, where there were 150 people ahead of us. But we're all set. And tonight we're going to drink sangria. Lots of sangria.

I spent most of today in the Prado, while Nicole went shopping, and tomorrow we're going to two more museums and then maybe renting a rowboat on the lake.

So that's it. One more day in Madrid and then we're headed to Morocco, where it's about 90 degrees but we're not allowed to wear shorts. But I'm excited.

Barcelona/Figueres

So Nicole and I have been together more than a full day and haven't killed each other yet, although I'm not sure we'll both make it through two weeks...

In Barcelona I convinced Nicole that she wanted to go to the zoo, but it ended up being not the best day ever because a) the cats were all sleeping, and I wasn't completely confident that all they weren't drugged, b) the food we got for lunch didn't appear to be very... cooked and c) the ice cream had peanuts, but mainly it was the cats sleeping. What was cool was they had a dolphin show, although when I understood absolutely nothing the dolphin trainer was saying I started to think my Spanish was even rustier than I thought. Then I realized they were probably speaking Galician, and I felt better.

At the very least we got to see baby dolphins, so the zoo wasn't all bad.

We also went to the Picasso Museum, which wasn't as good as the Musee Beggruen in Berlin, but was still interesting. We were going to go to this modern art museum after that, but got distracted by the zoo and then wanted to hit Parc Guell, which was all designed (but not all completed) by Gaudi, before it got dark.

Now we're stuck in Figueres until our bus leaves for Cadaques, and whatever Web site Nicole found that described this city as a "donkey's ass" was pretty right-on. But we've only got about another hour and a half, and the Dali Museum here in Figueres was worth the stopover -- despite the obnoxious Spanish kids who thought it was OK to repeated shove into me until I told them otherwise. I need to learn how to say Fuck Off in Spanish. Anyone?

Anyway, Cadaques should be cool tomorrow... I'm not planning on leaving the beach.

The French Riviera

So apparently, even though it was a bank holiday and the reception guy at the hostel called the museums for me to double-check that they were actually closed, the museums weren't actually closed. I know this because someone else in my rooms went to the two museums I wanted to go to that day, that day. And of course since the museums *were* actually closed on Tuesday, because they always are on Tuesdays, and those were my only two days for Nice, I didn't go.

But the weather did get sunny and I did take a day trip to Juan les Pins, which has beaches with actual sand instead of rocks that leave salty white marks all over you. That's not to say the beaches in Nice weren't pretty -- they were -- they're just not much to lay out in.

So I was at the beach in Juan les Pins with Deona (How do you spell your name? I'm guessing this ain't right), who is from Canada and was backpacking through France for three weeks and actually knows some French. We were in the water, not very deep at all, with the water just past our waists, maybe (it was damn cold) and all these little silver-colored fish were darting around by our feet.

Then Deona looked out into the distance and saw what looked like a ray of some sort swimming around pretty close to us. Of course, we weren't sure that it was a ray even though it was moving like one, because it seemed to be this aqua-blue color... but maybe that was just the water. So we were maneuvering around, trying to get close enough to see what it was but not so close so that it could attack us. Deona even threw a rock next to it to see how it would move, and it just floated about. Then she asked a woman in French what she thought it was, and the woman said she thought it would bite.

So after about 10 minutes, an Australian guy came into the water, and we asked him if he thought the creature was a ray. Without hesitation or warning, the Australian guy dove into the water and made a beeline for the creature, and we were immediately terrified that we'd be responsible for Australian Man Loses Hand to Amputation After Stingray Attack, American and Canadian Women Watch. But as abruptly as he'd dived in, the guy emerged from the water like a sea lion would (heavily creating waves all around him) and held something up in the air.

It was a light blue plastic shopping bag filled with sand.

And we had our "ray."

Juan les Pins and Nice were both pretty, but Deona said they could just as easily be beach towns in Florida, and I'm inclined to agree. There was nothing spectacular about either place, although Juan les Pins seemed somehow more authentic and less touristy, and I think it's a little weird that Nice somehow became the heart of the French Riviera when there are a million other towns with, well, sand.

I did end up lying on the rocks in Nice the first day, but the weather never got much better and I had to wear jeans and a windbreaker, both of which were covered in the aforementioned white salty spots by the day's end. Of course, there was a particularly helpful French guy who was very eager to brush me off while I was walking back to the hostel. I had to convey to him that I liked the white spots to make him stop, and I imagine he was thinking that I'd missed the point.

Now I'm at an Internet cafe across the street from the train station in Montpellier, where I have a two and a half hour layover (is that what they call it with trains? Maybe stopover?) en route to Barcelona. I'm pretty excited about going to a country where I know more of the language than hello, goodbye, please and thank you, although how much more remains to be seen. I did understand a surprisingly large amount of Italian while I was in Italy, just because of its similarity to Spanish, so maybe I'll surprise myself again.

On that note, I think I'll use the rest of this time to answer e-mails and read the New York Times.

Venice/Nice

OK, so I have the utmost respect for other cultures and all, but I'm getting a little tired of all these so-called "bank holidays" that screw with my trip. In Naples I would have had a hell of a time trying to get from the port to the train station with all the public transportation shut down because of one of these alleged holidays if it weren't for some Italian kids who walked me the two and a half miles from the tram stop I was waiting at (for nothing) to the station. Now I'm in Nice, and I only have two days, and one of their holidays has left everything, including the museums, shut down. And since the museums aren't open on Tuesdays, and this was supposed to be my museum day, well...

AND the weather's not quite shitty, but certainly not sunny.

So.

I don't want to seem like one of those typical American tourists who only likes thing that don't feel foreign, but Venice was amazing. I know it's got more tourists than residents, and I know that half of the conversations I heard around me were in English, but I liked it. And there's nothing you can do or say about it (although I imagine Aviva will bring up something about perpetuating stereotypes).

It's just such an interesting city since there are no cars or buses or anything, and the only way to get around is by walking or boat. Even the cops have their little police boats that they float around on. The taxi stands are boat docks, and people just row or motor along these canals from island to island. It's pretty awesome. And expensive as hell. If anyone would like to send me some money, they should feel free.

I went to a few art museums in Venice, but I'm hungry and don't feel like describing stuff, and anyway I think I left my journal in my other bag, so I won't. I will say the Peggy Guggenheim collection is cool, and you can even visit her and her dogs' graves. She had a lot of dogs.

I went to Palazzo Ducale, which used to be where Venetian government was carried out, and also has a prison, with this bridge called the Bridge of Sighs leading the way from the sentencing area (it's not a courtroom, so I'm going to stick with 'sentencing area') to the prison cells. People think it's this romantic thing because of Casanova, but it got the name because prisoners could get one last glimpse of freedom from the barred windows of the bridge before heading to their death. It was kind of interesting to walk across, but would have without question been better without the massive French tour group that kept getting in the way.

That said...

Nice
I just got into Nice this morning, but so far the people have been really surprisingly, well... nice. Maybe it's just Paris where people are mean to me.

I've even been trying to speak a little French with people who are helping me, like making looking up in my little phrasebook (thanks, UK Paul) how to say "aisle" when making my reservation to Barcelona or even just asking "Do you speak English?" in French instead of English. People seem to respond better to that, but maybe it's just because they're not from Paris.

I'd heard that Nice had rock beaches, but I was picturing more of a Paradise Cove-esque kind of pebbles (sorry, non-CA people)... instead they've got these big rocks that you really can't find a comfortable nook in (not that I've tried yet, though -- I've been wandering around all day under the overcast skies).

So that's about all I've got for Nice, partly because I've only been here a few hours and partly because everything's closed and I can't go where I want to go anyway.

Finally
As for Aviva's comment and the e-mails (OK, e-mail) about my not posting a lot, that's got something to do with lack of time, something to do with laziness in finding an Internet cafe, and something to do with my policy against spending more than 3 euros an hour on Internet. All over Venice it was 6 euros, and in Rome I was too busy chillin' with the Pope (we're so tight he has me calling him Benedict now).

Florence/Ischia/Rome

So you know how sometimes you're wandering around, looking for the Sistine Chapel, and all of a sudden you pass thousands of people crowding behind barricades and you hear the word 'Papa' every few seconds, and you realize that the Pope's about to give his weekly address? I like when that happens. It sorta like finding a $20 bill in the pocket of your winter jacket the first time you wear it that season.

So yeah. It was a pretty good time, although the Pope was so far away and there were so many people that I could barely even see the big screens they had up around the Vatican courtyard. I knew the Pope was supposed to be in his chair in front of this white tent-like thing, and I could hear him talking, but it seriously could have been a little white puppy in the chair instead and no one there would have noticed, as long as they showed some video of the Pope on the screens.

Anyway Rome's been pretty awesome. I got here Monday afternoon and have seen the Colosseum, the Pantheon, the Sistine Chapel (and Vatican Museums), St. Paul's Basilica and about a million other things. It's also really strange, because nuns are walking around everywhere. AND they're the worst line-cutters ever, because no one's gonna bitch out a nun for cutting in front of them in the hour-and-a-half line to St. Paul's Basilica.

There's something amazing about standing inside the Colosseum, looking down at it, and about standing in the Sistine Chapel, looking up at it. The Sistine Chapel experience is tainted a little by the masses of tourists pretending not to see all the signs and taking pictures of it. One poor security guy is in charge of trying to stop them, so he runs around yelling NO PHOTOS NO PICTURES in seven different languages (seriously, I counted) and pokes people who don't listen. A lot of them even take pictures with a flash, and then when Poor Security Man walks away after yelling at them they take another picture. People suck.

Oh, and I figured out the real end to the "When in Rome..." saying. It has nothing to do with doing as the Romans do. It's all about waiting in line. For the museums, the churches, everything. That's right. When in Rome, you wait in line. So now you know.

There's so much more to write about but I have to get going soon to see if this girl I met in Poland wants to meet up tonight. So I'll move on...

Ischia

I was walking around the streets of Florence a few days ago when I realized I was dead tired. Florence is this beautiful city but all I could think about was not walking around anymore. So I figured I'd put off Rome for another day and head to Ischia, this small resort island about an hour and a half into the bay of Naples. I figured I'd take a day, relax on the beach, read and generally do nothing, then be completely energized when I got to Rome.

The rain started about 10 minutes before the ferry docked. The downpour started when I got off the ferry and started walking to the bus stop, which was not, as the books would lead you to believe, right near the docks. And on a little island with no sidewalks, walking in the dark on the side of the road in a storm makes you very wet, very fast. I finally made it to the bus stop after about 10 or 15 minutes. It wasn't covered. The bus arrived about 5 minutes later, and I told the driver where I wanted to get off.

He knew no English and I know no Italian, but I think he liked me. I think this because he knew where I wanted to go, but still proceeded to keep me on the bus all the way to the end of the line, despite my repeated reminders ("Ostello Il Gabbiano? Soon? Pronto?") He just kept nodding and pointing forward.

Finally, after going the whole way there and turning around and going halfway back, he told me we'd arrived at my stop. All I could think was he wanted to drop me on the right side of the road.

It stormed well into the next day, but the sun came out around 1 p.m. so it wasn't a complete bust, although I'm not sure it was worth what amounted to a full-day trek to the island.

With a massive hangover.

Florence

That's because I capped my two and a half days in Florence with a bottle of wine while watching the sun set over the city from the Piazzalle Michaelangelo. My tolerance has gone down considerably on this trip, because for the last month and a half I've been much too tired to go out much at night after a full day of stuff.

I was feeling good after half the bottle of wine, but then I got to talking to this kid from Chicago (the one who made a comment on the last post, who despite what he wrote was very, very tired of hearing about cats by the end of the night), and over the course of the conversation I finished off the bottle. Then it was getting a little cool out, so we went for a nightcap at a bar, where I had two Guinnesses.

The sunset over the river was amazing, and the conversation was a good time, too (although I get the impression I did most of the talking), but the head hurtiness the next day was less fun. Much less fun.

And on that note, Jamie should be finishing with work now so I'm going to find a phone and give her a call.

Next stop is Venice, then Nice and maybe Cannes, and I meet with Nicole in Barcelona in a week. I can't believe that this trip is almost over.