Viva la vida en Mallorca

Webster’s Online Dictionary defines déjà vu as “the illusion of remembering scenes and events when experienced for the first time” or “a feeling that one has seen or heard something before,” and when literally translated from French, déjà vu means “already seen.”

I had a surprising déjà vu experience this weekend when I arrived at one of the various beaches-- Arenal, to be precise -- of Mallorca. Several times this weekend, I had to shake my head to get rid of the déjà vu feeling when I thought I was at home in Panama City Beach, Florida (one of several "hometowns" that I like to claim). The tacky tourist shops, restaurants, bars, and mini-golf courses lining the beach-front road seems all too familiar after all my days spent in the US’s #1 Spring Break destination. However, I got over that feeling with a simple turn of the head. Several miles past Arenal’s beach, I could make out the profile of Palma’s cathedral, set against the backdrop of the sierras (the mountains)… which we definitely don’t have in Sunny Florida. Seeing several topless women (of all ages) also reminded me that I was not at the beach that I grew up on! Oh, European beaches. You never know what you may come across.

SK, Ida, and I arrived on the island Friday afternoon. We spent a couple of hours in the sand and the sun. Ida and I did get in the water, but opted not to submerge ourselves because it was a bit chilly. We got some sun while still remaining considerably more clothed than others!

Mallorca, the largest of Spain’s Balearic Islands, has become the vacation destination for the Germans and the British. Ever since the tourist industry took over the island’s economic prosperity, Mallorcans cater to these two groups specifically (in addition to the Spanish, of course). I heard more English this weekend (British-English, that is) than I’ve heard since I was back in the states. Our hostel--Hostel Terramar--was actually run by Brits. Hearing English was a refreshing travel experience, but to see so much of the German culture prevalent in what’s supposed to be Spanish territory was somewhat disorienting. What’s even more confusing is that Catalan shares with Spanish the title of official language(s) of the Balearic Islands. Our bus stops were announced first in Spanish and then in Catalan, and signs were often written in Catalan. Spanish, Catalan, German, and English… talk about identity crisis. As much as I would have loved to live on that Mediterranean island this year, I think I’ve dealt with enough identity issues of my own that living in a place with the same problem would be disastrous.

Palma de Mallorca is really the only city on the island. The main artery of the city begins at the Plaça de España and flows downhill towards the waterfront cathedral. A curvy series of narrow, pedestrian-only streets guide the flow of people, a living tide that moves between the tiny capillaries of shops and eateries before reconvening to animate the pulsating pathways once more. Ida, SK, and I enjoyed our share of “I’m-at-the-beach-and-on-vacation” food while walking around town: pizza-on-the-go and gelato.

We shopped out at a favorite European store called Stradivarius, whose confusing insignia inspired Ida to rename it Squiggles.

The cathedral in Palma is the main attraction. We happened to arrive at the cathedral at the same time as dozens of cruise-disembarkees who had just arrived in port and were taking their cruise excursions onto land. Yippee. Other than throwing a few elbows inside God’s House, I really enjoyed our tour of the cathedral. I’ve seen a lot of cathedrals in my day, especially in the past six months, and this one was made unique through a touch of Gaudi, that famous architect who has brought much notoriety to Barcelona. In the midst of this spacious Gothic cathedral, Gaudi created a modern masterpiece, devoting a small chapel to the sea and its spiritual roll in Mallorcan life (see pic on right).

Mallorca has a lovely diversity of terrain. Sandy beaches. Rugged mountains. Steep sea-cliffs. Quiet coves. Underground caves. Olive groves. Sheep pastures. ¡Casi hay de todo allí! Since the weather wasn’t so bueno on Saturday and we had already passed through the majority of Palma’s circulatory system, SK, Ida, and I hopped on a bus to explore the town of Valldemossa in the mountains. A soft blanket of grey mist gently hung over the mountains, as if billowed by the distant sea breeze, and slowly settled lower into the valley. Rooster crows and sheep bleats were about the only sounds we heard while ambling through the cobblestone streets. My experience in Valldemossa can be summed up in one word: tranquil.

In actuality, Mallorca isn’t like PCB, Florida, and my déjà vu experience was quickly righted to reality after a few discoveries mentioned above. Yet, I was relentlessly assaulted by a reoccurrence that I couldn’t escape. Although I never saw it, I heard Coldplay’s latest hit, Viva la vida, at least once every day during my weekend in Mallorca. But that was when I ruled the world…

Unexpected delights: Marseille and Cassis

Edmund Dantes—the protagonist in Alexandre Dumas’ The Count of Monte Cristo—certainly achieved a great feat in escaping from Chateau d’If, the dense fortress that sits menacingly on the tiny desolate island of rock just off the shore of Marseille. Believe me… I saw it this past weekend.

We didn’t have school on Thursday the 19th of March because of a holiday combing some saint’s day and Spain’s Father’s Day. SK, Shenning, and I took advantage of the extra day-off and cheap Ryanair flights, and we flew to Marseille, France. Marseille is France’s 2nd largest city, and it actually covers more landmass than Paris. Unfortunately, it has little of Paris’ grandiose-ness . In fact, Marseille is a pretty dirty city with remnants of prior greatness lying under a layer of port-city grime. With that said, Marseille is still a force to be reckoned with. It’s one of the oldest cities and the largest port on the Mediterranean Sea. The Phoenicians and the Romans set up shop here thousands of years ago. It’s no seaside resort, but I thought it was an interesting place to visit for the weekend, because it’s so different from Madrid.

On the surface and based on first impressions, Marseille would have been a rather dull, dingy, and insignificant place to explore. Yet, what Marseille lacked in looks and luster was made up through the amazingly friendly people we encountered, which erased any sour feelings towards our random destination choice. The best example came from asking our hostel staff for dinner recommendations on Thursday night. We were directed to Longchamp Palace, a unique local café/bar/restaurant with loads of charm that was tucked away off the beaten track in an obscure neighborhood. Just before 7 PM, we were welcomed inside by a black Canadian dude named Martin, who was wearing a black beret and a tight fitting shirt and who spoke—to our great relief—superb American-English. When we told him we wanted to eat dinner there, in fluent French he called out to a large man with a gold hoop earring in his left ear (we presume he was the owner) to announce our arrival and our hungry stomachs. We were a little early to be ringing the dinner bell, and a small French girl with short dark hair went to fetch the blackboard, on which we could see the menu. With a little help from Martin, the owner stood next to us and explained each item on the menu for the day: pork, veal, fish, steak, and a Moroccan dish. It all sounded delicious, but both Sarahs chose the veal and pasta dish while I opted for the fish. While we waited for the kitchen to start up, we sipped on complimentary cocktails of the house and sat in the outdoor patio before moving to an indoor table. We were quite content and our taste buds were equally as happy to be in France once our meals arrived. Little by little, the locals drifted in until the place was packed with chattering, youthful French men and women. Our dining experience was so enjoyable that we decided to return on Friday night to have a drink next to the bar and say “salut” to Martin and the owner. They seemed happy to have us return, too. Should I ever return to Marseille, I know where I’ll be dining!

We spent Friday wandering around several different districts of Marseille. We started our city tour with a walk through the Vieux Port (Old Port), and we wound up at the large cathedral that is situated at the port’s edge just as it was opening for the day. Marseille has a nice harbor, and we enjoyed walking past the dozens of sailboats and wooden fishing boats during our time in the city. Two intimidating stone fortresses guard the entrance to the harbor, sharply contrasting with the swanky restaurants that line the harbor docks. 482 feet about the harbor, Marseille’s famous beacon of protection stands tall: the Notre Dame de la Garde. This Romanesque-Byzantine styled basilica is crowned with a gilded statue of the Virgin Mary, who keeps a watchful eye on all the sailors out at sea. From this elevation, we could see everything, including the ominously dark rain clouds heading our way. We descended from the mountain and took shelter from the rain in a classic French café, and we ate crepes to warm up our bodies and boost our energy. Again, French food is just so good. Why can’t the Spanish take a few hints?

One of our adventures from this past weekend came in an unlikely place—our hostel kitchen. Traveling on a budget requires willingness to do some cooking of your own, and we had gone to the nearby grocery store Friday morning to get foodstuffs for dinner that night. We planned to make a simple pasta and veggies dish, but we didn’t realize that our hostel kitchen was lacking a stove until after we bought our groceries. Undeterred, we figured out how to cook our pasta dinner via microwave and I’d say it was rather successful. In fact, we made it again on Saturday, with a few modifications to our recipe. Oh, hostel-living… priceless.

Saturday was a very special day. Thanks to SK’s preliminary research, we had plans to take a day-trip to Cassis, one of the small coastal towns near Marseille. But we had to figure out how to get there first… and our search for the bus to Cassis turned out to be the most comical event of the weekend. I asked many a person in my best French where the bus would turn up, and we were politely pointed in various directions depending on who I talked to. Just as we were resigning to go by train, Shenning yelled, “Hey! Hey, there’s the bus!” Sure enough, the Cassis bus was moving towards us and then drove off down a side street. We chased the bus in a full-out sprint for a couple of blocks until we caught up with it parked on another street. It turned out that the driver was picking up his dry cleaning before starting his daily route. Our driver was a young guy whose name might have been Clément (it sounded something like that), and he was dressed in a light pink button down shirt and wearing designer sunglasses. He turned up the radio so that the American jams blared throughout the entire bus… it was definitely a party bus.

After listening to some great tunes and seeing some incredible views, we got off our bus just a few minutes from the center of Cassis. I’ll let the pictures do most of the talking, because as you can see, this town was a perfectly picturesque representation of what a small Mediterranean town on the French Riviera should be like. The tiny little harbor was full of colorful sea vessels.

Almost every chair was taken in the outdoor seating of the dozen of tempting restaurants, and the flow of people mirrored the flow of the tide. Lush vegetation overflowed from window flowerboxes. Blue, green, and pink shudders added a particular charm to the meandering backstreets.

In this part of the world, land meets water in a drastic and impressive collision. Steep, rugged limestone cliffs plunge into the turquoise waters. The Calanques, as they are called, are a series of inlets and coves that stretch along the French coast, and everyone from hikers, climbers, divers, kayakers, and sailors find a way to enjoy their marvelous beauty. Sans hiking gear or scuba tanks, SK, Shenning, and I chose to investigate these natural wonders by taking an hour boat tour.

Cassis is such a beautiful beach town and unlike any other that I have ever visited. We enjoyed our afternoon basking in the Mediterranean sun while trying to stay warm against in the brisk sea-breeze.

My weekend excursion to France was certainly full of unexpected surprises. I didn’t know too much about Marseille before arriving, and although I can’t say that the sights were super-memorable, the people blew me away. Discovering the beauty of Cassis and the Calanques was incredibly enjoyable and also unexpected. And that, my friends, is the beauty of traveling.

The Irish Invaded Spain!

My school--Ciudad de Roma--chose to celebrate Saint Patrick's Day this year as part of the Bilingual Program. Over the past couple of weeks, the hall corridors have gradually been covered with hundreds of green, orange, and white flags, shamrocks, pots of gold, rainbows and leprechauns. We have been singing songs, learning vocabulary, and learning stories about all of the above, too. The 17th of March was a big day for us...

Glad to have a reason to change things up, I wore a green dress and knee-highs with slippers, my attempt to represent the Irish-Riverdancer-look. However, I botched that attempt with my flashing shamrock earrings and shamrock headband. Kids and teachers alike marveled at my costume all bought at Big Lots back at Christmas-time. Thank you, Corporate America. In addition to dress and accessories, I also took the liberty of having a shamrock drawn on my face with green eye pencil. Consequently, I was obliged to draw one on every second grader's face. That's me in the picture above with my second graders before the parade, and yes, Sergio is strangling Javier.

Singing to the tune of "I'm a little teapot," I taught my 2nd graders this festive and catchy song: I'm a little leprechaun, dressed in green, the tiniest man that you have seen. If you ever catch me, so it's told, I'll give you my pot of gold!

All the school gathered outside on the patio for the big celebration, choreographed and orchestrated by the music teacher, David. He played the bagpipe to lead the parade of pre-school children, which was pretty hilarious. 1st through 4th graders danced their Irish jig (see video) and 5th and 6th graders played their recorders and sang the modern Irish tune of "Molly Malone." It was quite a spectacle, and I had a blast doing some dancing and skipping of my own.

Fernado and Belen also have a special St. Patrick's Day message for their pen-pals, Anna Beth and Quinton. After watching this, maybe you can see why I love these two kids so much!

An Irish Blessing: May the road rise up to meet you. May the wind always be at your back. May the sun shine warm upon your face,and rains fall soft upon your fields. And until we meet again, May God hold you in the palm of His hand.

All for one and one for all

On Saturday, the 7th of March, I happily welcomed two of my best amigas to Spain. With the arrival of Gillian and Erin, the Three Musketeers were once again reunited and it was a joyful occasion. They travelled all the way to Europe to spend their 8-night Spring Break vacations with me, and we had a great time together.

We began our adventures in Retiro Park (of course), and we rented a row boat and set off on a rotic (that’s romantic without the man) cruise of the park’s man-made lake. With so many people out enjoying the fine spring weather, at times I thought we were in bumper boats, not row boats! Gillian had some issues rowing, but we took turns navigating our way around the lake until the setting sun and sea breeze cooled us off enough to turn in the oars.

Sundays are probably my favourite days in Madrid, and my Sunday with G and E was no exception. We all went to the Community Church of Madrid, and I was glad they could see my source for weekly Christian fellowship; plus, I couldn’t let them leave Spain without meeting Pastora Cathy! Through my mom’s generosity, we enjoyed a fabulous lunch at one of my favourite restaurants, La Finca de Susana. Shenning came into town and joined us for lunch and the rest of the day. Not only did we share a great meal to celebrate being reunited safely in Spain, but also we celebrated Gillian’s recent engagement and Shenning’s 23rd birthday! After our fine-dining experience, we strolled around the heart of the city, passing through parks, plazas, and palaces. Since we were in the area, we grabbed some seats at Madrid’s most famous churrería, San Gines, and had a supper of churros con chocolate. It was a lovely day.

As I have tried to stress before, I do actually work here in Madrid, and last week was no exception. Since Mondays are now 9:00-9:00 workdays, I sent Gillian and Erin off to Toledo for the day. We caught up with one another at their hostel later on that night when I brought them dinner. (Sometimes, I felt like I was their mother.) On Tuesday, G and E got to get a taste of what my jobs are like. They came to school with me and sat in on a 3rd and 2nd grade class. 3rd grade was preoccupied with preparing for St. Patrick’s Day, and there was little interaction between my guests and the kids… although, the girls were put in charge of the stapler for a time. During 2nd grade, I felt like I was at show-and-tell. My teacher, Cristina, and I made G & E stand up in front of the class and answer the questions each child asked. I thought this was a brilliant and convenient strategy to help the kids practice for their upcoming Trinity College exams, and it was really cute and funny to hear what they asked the girls. Gillian’s name transformed to Julian and then she became just Julie. The kids couldn’t really say Erin’s name very well at all. And this is why I thought it would be a good idea to go by Laura when I first came to Spain six months ago.

We ducked out of school at 12:30 and crossed town to get a taste of typical Spanish food from the north. We went to Casa Mingo (previously mentioned in entries involving Justin and Edward) and shared a tasty meal of cider-soaked chicken and sausages, salad, bread, and natural cider. They keep it simple at this Asturias cider house. With time to kill and food to digest, we experienced another common Spanish practice: we lied down on the grassy lawn of a park and took a nap. Refreshed and Vitamin-D induced, we crossed town in order to go to two of my private classes--my classes with the twins and my class with Fer and Belen. Unfortunately, Marcos and Aitor (who turned 4 the day before) were quite shy and played with their new birthday toys in their room. However, their mom, Marisa, talked with us and offered us birthday cake, cokes, and chips. I split my time between having a mini-teaparty on the living room floor and playing with toy cars in the boy´s room. Next we went to class with Fernando and Belén, where we practiced English conversation through get-to-know-you questions and then played Uno. We ended our Day in the Life Laura-Hailey at a cool café near my apartment and their hostel.

Gillian and Erin went to El Escorial on Wednesday, and I met up with them at 8:00 after I finished work and after they visited the Prado Museum. I had planned for us to meet up with my Madrid friends in order to see a flamenco show, but we were all disappointed to find it closed for "algunas días por obras." Thus, we settled on talking over glasses of wine at another bar, sans flamenco. Thursday was a different story, and we were not disappointed. After the girls toured the Reina Sofa, the modern art museum, they visited Shenning in Alcalá de Henares. All three came back into Madrid that night, and we met the crew at one of Madrid´s best tapas bars—El Tigre. There, G & E got a real taste of how tapas should be done--drinking vino tinto, eating Spanish specialties, and throwing elbows in order to have room to breathe (much less stand). We ended up sharing a table with two Spanish guys who, fortunately for the girls, spoke decent broken-English. Next, we moved on to another one of my favourite Madrid hangouts, Sol Y Sombra, the bar-club that plays a lot of fun American music. SK and Yadira joined us, and we had a blast taking over the dance floor. We were out just long enough to catch one of the last metro trains home.

Erin, Gillian, Shenning, and I spent Friday and Saturday in Salamanca. Having been there before, I took them to the more memorable bars to enjoy the delicious tapas of that part of Spain. We spent many hours wandering through the sunny streets and sandstone buildings. This time around, Salamanca was crowded with loads of people; from local high school students to university students to families and tourists, the streets were packed with people. We did a lot of people watching, particularly in Plaza Mayor. We didn’t do much touring, and we only went through the cathedral museum and the Casa Lis-Art Deco Museum. The girls did some shopping, and we are all now proud owners of Salamanca's unique jewelry called filigrana charra.

We came back to Madrid on Saturday evening. All four of us ate dinner at mine and Shenning’s absolutely favorite place in Madrid: Maoz—the vegetarian falafel version of Moe’s. The Three Musketeers wandered through Madrid’s city center one last time, stopped at La Soberbia (another regular spot of my crew) for one last glass of vino tinto and some recapping conversation, and then we all spent the night together in their hostel. Early Sunday morning, I walked the girls to the metro stop and said goodbye.

I had a marvelous time with Gillian and Erin here in Spain, and I am so thankful for the chance to celebrate our friendship together in such a memorable way.

In love with Lisboa

A week ago, I saw the sun rise over the blue waters along the Portuguese coast. Yet, in the dark hours before that beautiful vision from my Iberia plane window, I was waiting for the 5:10 night bus in Madrid’s Plaza Cibeles with Kate, SK, Shenning, Yadira, and Ida. We made it to the Barajas airport with plenty of time to spare until we boarded the plane around 7:30. At roughly 7:45, we arrived in Lisbon, Portugal (No, the flight wasn’t 15 minutes long. We changed time zones.), a little bleary-eyed but excited about venturing into a new country, city, culture, language, etc.

In Lisbon, we stayed at the Rossio Hostel, located just off Praça do Rossio. Rossio (the plaza and our hostel) is more or less smack dab in the heart of the old historic district and just a 7 minute walk to the harbor… the prime location for visitors who only have a weekend to get acquainted with Portugal’s capital city. As if the location wasn’t great enough, staying at Rossio Hostel was the best hostel experience I’ve ever had. The staff was super friendly, extremely helpful, and impressively multi-lingual. Additionally, they served us breakfast in the mornings: hot crepes accompanied by a portion of nutella. Mmmm… Heaven on a plate. The common room and kitchen were really cool, super chic, spacious and comfortable, and very clean, which can be said for the rest of the hostel. The six of us had our own room where we slept on three sets of plush bunk beds. The cherry on top to this great accommodation experience is that all this goodness was quite inexpensive, and when traveling on a budget, this is an essential factor when rating your hostel choice. When I return to Lisbon, I know where I'll be staying!

Friday was a beautiful day, and after we found our hostel and checked in, we went out to explore some of Lisbon’s sights. We wandered through the historic district, marveling at the most striking architectural features that Lisbon is noted for—the azulejos or colored-tiles—which come in every shape, design, and color. The Portuguese have excelled in ceramics and tile-making for centuries, and Lisbon displays their expert craftsmanship in an unpretentious, yet not-so-subtle manner, adorning entire building facades with beautiful tile patterns. Lisbon (Lisboa in Portuguese) is a port city situated at the large mouth of the Tejo River. Seagulls congregate in the plazas and perch on the numerous statues and fountains found throughout the city, commemorating important Portuguese politicians, explorers, poets and the like.

Actually, Lisbon somewhat reminds me of Charleston, South Carolina. While Lisbon has been an important city since the time of the Roman Empire and Charleston has only been in existence since the mid-17th century, I think that the two cities have a similar atmosphere and share some commonalities. The commonalities come from Lisbon’s more recent history. In 1755, Lisbon was rocked by a catastrophic earthquake and further devastated by the ensuing tidal wave and massive fire outbreaks. The city and surrounding areas were more or less flattened, and the “historic district” (as I am calling it) that we see today is the product of post-1755 reconstruction efforts. Thus, old-town Charleston and lower Lisbon have an architectural style that reflects the same time period. Of course, this is the theory I invented in order to explain my observations… so, don’t take these ideas to be fact.

Yet, there are many things that set Lisbon apart from Charleston…
· Old rickety streetcars, or trams, clank through the cobblestone streets; their network of metal cables hangs not too far from pedestrian heads.
· In good weather (so, most of the year), streets are full of tables and chairs, and locals and tourists enjoy their Portuguese pastries, rich meals of seafood (like bacalhau), or beverages at a variety of outdoor cafés.
· Portuguese is the spoken and written language of Lisbon. I have fallen in love with this language that seems like a strange mix of Spanish and French.
· Lisbon is a city of little hills, which helps in distinguishing when you’ve left one neighborhood and entered another, and each has its own personality.
· There is a very special Portuguese (or maybe just Lisbon?) occurrence that reflects the curious personality of these people. On any given street, you are likely to see an old woman or an old man or both peering out of their balcony window, nonchalantly watching the passers-by and partially hidden behind the cloth curtain of hanging laundry.
· Some buildings survived the 1755 earthquake, and every now and then, a giant cathedral or some other ancient architectural marvel pops up when you turn the corner.
· You can find ancient Roman ruins… as we discovered on Friday at the Roman Theater Museum
· There is a large castle—El Castelo St. Jorge—on one of the highest hills that overlook the port.

We lingered on top of the castle lookout for a couple of hours Friday afternoon, admiring the amazing views of the city and the water. Finally our hunger and tired bodies caught up with us, and after a good fish sandwich or two, we happily tucked ourselves in our Rossio bunk beds to get some rest and take a nap. Unfortunately, Kate had become very sick ever since we arrived at the Madrid airport, and even after visiting a nearby pharmacy once we got to Lisbon, she wasn’t getting any better. Kate decided that she had to go to the hospital to see a doctor in order to get more medical aid that the pharmacists could offer sans prescription. Friday evening, we walked Kate to the hospital and Ida stayed with her that night. While it was a major bummer to have Kate sick, Yadira, SK, Shenning, and I honored her request to go out and enjoy our time in Lisbon. We spent the evening talking over bottles of wine, eating good seafood, and hanging out in the plazas. Don’t judge us for being bad friends.

On Saturday, we took a day-trip to the mystical town of Sintra, just a 45 minute train ride away. The small, quaint village, which was tucked away in a lush valley that resembled an Indian rainforest, was right out of a fairy-tale. The small houses were nestled along the hillsides, their garden walls unable to contain the copious amounts of vegetation from spilling out. Wild flowers and blossoming trees caught the eye with their exciting splashes of color and tickled the nose with their sweet perfume. Birdsong filled the fresh, moist air. Through the mist rose a tree-covered mountain, crowned with the remains of an ancient castle.

We moseyed through gardens and followed the winding road into the old town center. Some of us took a tour of the Palácio Nacional de Sintra, which was possibly one of the most pleasant palaces I have visited. We snacked on delicious pastries and then caught the 434 Bus to take us up the mountain. We didn’t know that we were going to have the chance to relive Toad’s Wild Ride (a classic Disneyworld ride), and we were all very thankful to exit the bus at the pinnacle. We roamed the ancient ruins of the Castelo dos Mouros (the Moorish Castle), clambering on top of crumbling stones and summiting castle turrets. The mist was so thick we could only see the cloudy grey droplets of water swirling around us (whereas on a clear day, you can see for dozens of miles). The mist was awesome, because it created an eerie atmosphere and made it easy to imagine the scene 1000 years ago. Although our hair was soaked and our clothes were wet, our spirits could not be dampened by the inclement weather.

Kate was still ill, and she and Ida decided to head back to Lisbon. I stayed with Yadira and the two Sarah’s to make one last tourist stop in the Parque da Pena, only a few hundred meters from the Moorish Castle. The four of us navigated our way through the park paths and reached our goal, also at the zenith of the mountain, Palácio da Pena. This palace is absolutely ridiculous, on the inside and out. Constructed at the end of the 19th century, the lavish interior decorations were very reminiscent of the Biltmore home in Asheville. Extravagant. Over the top. Absurd. Way cool. Google it and then you can get a clear picture of how nuts this place is.Back in Lisbon, we went to a small mom-and-pop restaurant called Fado Maior that our hostel recommended. A young couple also staying at our hostel joined us (they teach at an international school in Dakar, Africa), and we all enjoyed our time at the small, smoke-free, local hot-spot to get good food and a good show. Shenning and I split a meal of fresh bacalhau (cod… what Portugal is famous for), shrimp, onions, potatoes, and peppers, all of which came in a copper pot and soaking in a simmering sauce. Oh, how I love good seafood. Portugal’s unique musical tradition is called fado, soulful folk music accompanied by twelve-string guitars. Throughout our meal, the lights dimmed for a few minutes as the owners, a waiter, and even some of the regulars got up to sing their favorite fado tunes. Here’s a sample.

Some of Lisbon’s most recognizable monuments are located in the Belém District, the last bit of land where the river meets the ocean. On Sunday, we visited the Pradrão dos Descobrimentos (Discovery Monument) and the Torre de Belém (see below). We got drenched by a quick but heavy rain shower as we left the monuments in search of food. We ate lunch at Pão Pão Queijo Queijo and got refueled by our falafel, pita, fries, and caffeinated beverages. Next, we roamed through the prestigious Mosteiro dos Jerónimos (Jeronimos Monastery), constructed to commemorate Vasco da Gama’s successful voyage to India. The cathedral was beautiful, but the cloister was divine—beautiful, serene, and pleasant. Before we left Belém, we picked up a box of their famous custard tarts from the Pasteis de Belém café. We took them back to our hostel, where munched on them while sitting on the floor pillows.

And that was the long and short of my trip to Lisbon! Unfortunately, our flight was delayed an hour, and I didn’t get back to my apartment until after 1:00 AM. Needless to say, I was pooped all day on Monday… but I survived and managed to teach a little English. I better get used to it, because think I’m going to have many more Mondays like that in the coming weeks. ;-)

Now, I'm on my way to the airport again. Yet, instead of leaving Madrid this afternoon, I'm picking up two new arrivals: Gillian and Erin!