2014 New Year Resolution
– WRITE! To the people who I promised this to – sorry for the
wait. Procrastination is a self-proclaimed weakness. Better late than never.
I have been desperately trying to gather the energy to get
back into writing. It is one of among my favorite releases, and I am the
(absolute!) worst when it comes to updating people of my life and adventures.
When asked about any of the places/events I travel/attend, my answers tend to
go no further than, “Oh, it was cool” unless poked and prodded for more
information. I realize, much to my dismay, that many of the places I’ve seen
and experienced are all now only in my head (and thankfully, due to my
undeniable Asian roots, a plethora of photos) so I have promised to ensure my
memories stand the test of time by jotting them down. My likes, my dislikes, my
feelings, my learnings about the places, the locals and (hopefully) myself… all
of it. You never know when that ole dementia train will hit.
While
I was in Spain, I wrote a grand total of maybe five sentences: 10/28/13 - It is my third day in Barcelona.
The only way I know how to travel is to pack as many things into my day as
possible. Naturally, I'm exhausted. I'm on the line to pay a ridiculous amount
of money to venture inside the Basilica de la Sagrada Familia, Antoni Gaudi's
unfinished masterpiece that began construction in the 1880's. One thing is
for sure- Barcelonians know how to rip you off. Every attraction is, give or
take, 20 euros. Given the US dollar value and my insatiable desire to see it
all, I'm fairly certain I'll be broke in a few days. B is working- I get
to explore for myself today and tomorrow. This is both a blessing and a curse.
A blessing because I can do everything to my heart's content without consulting
another, and a curse because I'll be forced to take numerous selfies...
Barcelona is hot. It is the end of October and I am under the Spanish sun in a
white crop top and gray skirt sweating like a whore in church. It is with great
dismay and self-awareness that I realize I, myself, am in line to go into a
church…
Back to real time - This city is known for its incredible
architecture. Gaudi, aforementioned, has his style stamped all across the city,
from his house in Parc Guell, which, in all seriousness, looks like a
decorative birthday cake, to La Pedrera, a wavy building (to sound absolutely
ignorant) with a rooftop that boasts happy little phallic objects for no
visible reason, to the Sagrada Familia, a church that has been under
construction since the late 1800s due to obstacles in funding and natural disasters that would inevitably slow down the building process. All three have been deemed as UNESCO World Heritage sites, along with
four of Gaudi’s other works.
To any traveler, Gaudi defines Barcelona. His work is undeniably his own, which
he had once described as “collaborating with the Creator” in such that he uses
no straight lines or sharp corners within it since there are neither in
nature itself. This ideology of building upon nature is especially
evident in Parc Guell. Located on the outskirts of the city, the park contains
numerous areas of retreat with large curved stone pillars resembling the trees
in the park itself. As aforementioned, Gaudi’s house in which he lived from
1906-1926 still stands in its full very pink glory, but the most definitive
feature of the park is the main terrace, surrounded by benches in the form of a
sea serpent decorated by mosaics so colorful they look like candy. During
sunset, the terrace provides its visitors a beautiful panorama of the city,
complemented with pink swirls of clouds as the sun settles in for the night if
you’re lucky. (Quick tip – you can see the terrace for free after 6pm.) Just
underneath the terrace is the Brad Pitt of Parc Guell himself, the lizard. He’s
cool. It is damn near impossible to get a good photo of him without including
the young Asian boy giving you the shadiest side-eye, but alas, tourism is a
bitch. The lizard greets its visitors atop a fountain. Both of which are
mosaics in the entryway of the park that is fittingly comprised of a mosaic
pavilion, mosaic walls, and more mosaic benches. The mosaics even have mosaics.
Sorry, enough with the mosaics.
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| Parc Guell |
Just kidding. Gaudi also uses this mosaic style in Casa Batllo, located in the
heart of the city on Passeig de Gracia, one of the main roads that divide the
city in half. Just a few blocks away is La Pedrera, also known as Casa Mila,
which employs the same wavy architectural fashion as the serpentine benches in
Parc Guell. I only made it inside La Pedrera, but Casa Batllo’s incredibly
decorated façade is definitely worth the short walk over, preferably at nighttime.
And then there is the Sagrada Familia. Although Gaudi dedicated forty years of
his life to the design and construction of this monstrous basilica, it is yet
unfinished. My internet research estimates that it will take another 15-30 years
before the church is finally complete, but don’t hold me to that. At first
glance, due to the construction, the only impressive feature of the building is
its sheer size. It spans an entire city block, half of which is lined by
tourists waiting to snap the perfect selfie in front of Barcelona’s most
distinctive building. Upon studying features of the Sagrada Familia, however,
its magic comes alive. The Nativity façade on the back of the building is an
incredible work of painstaking detail, telling the story of the birth of
Christ. Angels peer down from the heavens in celebration while Mary cradles her
newborn in her arms as Joseph, the three wise men, & co. all look on in
admiration. Here, there is not one area that does not include some sort of ornamental
detail, I assume to give off the energy of new life, much like confetti. The
Passion façade, on the opposite side of the building, is much less detailed.
Conversely, it portrays the death of Christ as he is on the cross whilst
numerous faces surrounding the crucifix are stoic and indisputably sad.
It was not until I entered the Sagrada Familia that I really formed an
understanding of its impressive beauty. My jaw literally dropped as I stepped
inside. In front of me was the likes of which I had never seen before – a vast
and hollowed room full of light and color reflecting off numerous stained glass
windows and a cavernous nave lined with gray stone columns that seemed to go on
forever. These columns seamlessly met the ceiling, almost in a way that the
earth meets the sky – you can’t really tell where one ends or the other begins.
Unfortunately, if I attempted to describe its awe-inspiring beauty, I would
fail horribly, but I invite you to ask about my pictures.
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| Sagrada Familia |
My final note about la Sagrada – ladies, if you are wearing a
skirt while visiting, stay clear of walking on top of the vents surrounding the
basilica. You may find yourself showing your goods as a metro runs swiftly 20
meters below your feet. If you are too impatient to walk on the concrete, make
sure to wear cute undies. The backpackers behind you will be forever grateful.
Speaking of backpackers, casual bar-goers start the night off at
an assuming rustic shots bar called Espit Chupitos. There are four of these in
the city; I imagine each one is about the size of my bedroom cramped with 100
or so sweaty young locals and tourists from ages 18-30 on a weekend. We went on
a casual Tuesday, and immediately became best friends with the bartender, who
was all too excited to serve us eight shots each. Did I mention that this bar
has more than 200 shots, each of which are 2 euros? (Ask about the Monica
Lewinsky.) My favorite part of the night was meeting two German boys. I say
boys because they were nineteen. NINETEEN. One of them called B old and
the other (who resembled a more-built cuter Avicii – and yes, he was wearing
plaid) told me “yo sueno en espanol,” a comment I just had absolutely no
response for aside from a startled eyebrow raise. For the record, the
bartender’s name is Edwin and he now follows me on Instagram and Facebook.
Sidenote – when did FB start allowing followers?!
Nightlife (and cover fees) in Barcelona rivals that of New York
City Meatpacking District. The most popular clubs in the city line the
Barceloneta beach on a small strip of boardwalk. One can walk from club to club
(if one so desires to spend 20 euros on each entry fee) or just hang out on the
sand listening to the four on the floor beats permeating from each of these
classy establishments. Our high heels and high hems brought us to three of
these hotspots, all bumping house music like only Europeans can. A VIP bottle
of champagne, the best lamb gyro I have EVER had, and a new crush on a house
music DJ later, we were back on our way to the hostel promising ourselves
another chance to do it all over again.
Speaking of the beach, the best thing about it is the sound of water breaking
on the sand. Close your eyes and feel the breeze on your face, and there is an
instant feeling of perfect peace and familiarity that accompanies a good
sit-down at a beach. In Barceloneta, the Mediterranean touches the Spanish
coast just as the Atlantic kisses New Jersey’s shore. It has a feeling of home.
Every beach does to me. The sand may be whiter, the water may be bluer, and I
may be 3000 miles away, but I always feel both at home and at one with nature
looking out into the horizon listening to the ebb and flow of the water. Add
dinner and sangria to the equation and you pretty much have a slice of heaven.
Aside from the architecture, the south of Spain is highly regarded for its art.
Although the one and only Pablo Picasso lived most of his adult life in France,
the Museo Picasso, housing hundreds of his donated works, is located somewhere
hidden in the center of Barcelona. I know because I was lost for a good half
hour in the rain before I found it. Here’s the thing – everyone knows Picasso
presumably via their elementary school art classes. He debatably and
single-handedly changed the art of …art. Here’s the other thing – as a young
student, I never really understood cubism or the blue period or why the people
in his later paintings never had noses where they should have been located.
Yes, I appreciated the colors, the lines, strokes, and the veneration my art
teachers exhibited towards this man, but I cannot honestly say I understood his
genius prior to this trip. It is a different type of feeling to walk out of a
museum finally seeing the works of art you once saw only in textbooks and at
last comprehending an idea you’ve pondered your entire life. The feeling of
utmost respect would come later in my trip in Madrid at the Reina Sofia museum,
in which Picasso’s Guernica is displayed. Portraying the artist’s take on the
Spanish Civil War, the painting is rightfully the sole piece of artwork on
display in the room. Its sheer size is impressive alone, but I found the use of
color (or lack thereof) much more striking. Picasso used only blacks and grays
to paint his masterpiece, and it evokes certain feelings of desperation, anger,
and depth that moved me. I am still in awe.
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| The City of Arts and Sciences |
Following Barcelona, we moved on to the lovely and picturesque Valencia. The
third largest city in Spain after Madrid and Barcelona, I was interested only
in satisfying my inner foodie (read: fat ass) by traversing to the land of
paella. We found more than we bargained for in La Ciudad de Arte y Ciencias, an
entertainment-based architectural complex on the outskirts of the city. The
“city” was designed and constructed in the 90’s, so the buildings are very
contemporary, and in keeping with the name of the setting, artistic. The park is uniquely modern, beautiful, and
also completely random in comparison to downtown Valencia, which is
traditionally European, for lack of a better word. We only planned one night in
the city, but after conversing with a couple of locals, we discovered that
paella is usually only served during lunchtime because it is such a heavy dish. Consequentially,
as la paella valenciana was the main driver for this leg of the trip, we felt
it absolutely necessary to change our schedule in order to accommodate this
much-awaited meal. Served with a sweet sangria, the meal was heavenly. And yes,
it was worth it.
Madrid – the New York City of Spain. Contemporary, stylish, with
just a little edge. Our hostel was located right in the heart of the city,
about four blocks east of la Puerta del Sol, comparable to Times Square in that
Hello Kitty greeted me at every passing turn. (Or was that just because it was
Halloween?) The major “must-see” list for Madrid is comprised of large museums
and parks, which reminded me immediately of Museum Mile and Central Park. (You
can take the girl out of NYC, but you can’t take the NYC out of the girl.) It
is a very walkable city, but the metro system is extremely efficient. I seem to
be having trouble remembering all we did because of the sheer volume of
activities, but my favorites are outlined below:
-
La Guernica – As aforementioned, this painting took my breath
away. As a child, I often went to museums on class field trips, and I was lucky
enough to take Art History courses in college in NYC. After said classes, I
would take a short subway ride to go to the museum of interest at which I saw
the piece of artwork my professor had just covered in class. This was both a
blessing and a curse. A blessing because in all honesty, not many art students
can say that they were able to witness the beauty of the Unicorn tapestries
right after learning about its history in a Renaissance Art Class, and a curse
because you were expected to learn A LOT about these damn Unicorn tapestries. I
digress not because I want to advocate going to college in New York City
(although, hell yea – it’s a great friggin time) but because I want to iterate
both my appreciation of art and the education that has helped to foster that. However,
nothing prepared me for what my eyes would see at La Reina Sofia, one of the
museums on Madrid’s “museum mile.” After having just spent half a day at El
Museo Picasso in Barcelona, I was expecting to see something familiar at La
Reina. No. Not. At. All. The piece not only took my breath away, but it
rendered me motionless as I stood there in complete awe and wonder at its
immensity, its rawness, its immaculate beauty. I had no words. I still have no
words. Go. And see it. That is all.
-
Coffee and Jazz at Parque del Retiro. At this point, B and I had
been traveling for nine days. We had already blacked out on only our second
night, found a half-drunk bottle of wine neither of us had any recollection of
opening n our hotel room fridge, traveled from beach to beach in search of the best paella, and
legitimately saw EVERYTHING on our very very VERY packed itinerary across four
cities. You can understand our need for a strong cup of coffee. We would find
it during a walk to Parque del Retiro, one of the items on said itinerary. We
strolled through the park early Saturday morning through foliage of rich reds,
yellows, and oranges in search of Estanque, the pond in the center of the park.
Once we found it, we ordered espresso with condensed milk at a café facing the
pond while a saxophonist and guitarist accompanied our view of one of Madrid’s
most iconic images – el Monumento a Alfonso XII. I can tell you squat about
Alfonso. But I can tell you that the moment of peace in front of the pond as I
watched the park come to life while the musicians played classic jazz was
exactly what I needed at that precise moment. There was something about all of
these factors – the view, the music, the aromatic taste of my second favorite
beverage, the company of my very best friend for 80% of my life – that
resonated in me. It whispered to my little heart – “YOU ARE DOING IT! Don’t
fuck up.”
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| La Plaza de Cibeles |
-
This leads me to my next favorite (although not in any particular
order) on the list. Music. Reader - you know how in any movie that takes place
in Europe, there is inevitably a random surge of brass instruments that remind
you that, yes, you are still watching a movie that takes place in Europe? It
happens in real life, too. One minute you are strolling through the park
snapping photos, and the next minute, a saxophone fills your ears and you are
reminded, yet again, that yes – you are in Europe. It is no secret that one of
my biggest passions is music, so I felt a sense of belonging. Not only does
music foster the romance that Europe is primarily known for (I know because I
looked at my lonely hand a few too many times to count, wondering why it wasn’t
entwined with my soul mate’s), but it inspires movement of the spirit. A
feeling of lightness. My last point on this? America should employ this way of
life. Romance and class are not exactly its forte.
-
As a dancer, one of the highlights of my trip was the opportunity
to finally see my first flamenco performance in its country of origin. This
genre of dance developed from the Andalusian and Romani music and dance styles
of Spain. It is usually associated with the Romani people known as Gitanos. My
research brought me to its etymology; “the Spanish word flamenco can mean
"flamingo" – referring to the bird – but also "Flemish."
The (predominantly Flemish) courtiers of Charles V of the Holy Roman Empire
were known for their colorful dresses and exaggerated displays of courtesy, but
also for their generally arrogant and boisterous behavior… which then may have
come to be applied to the Gitano players and performers.” Ladies and gentlemen
– Wikipedia. The dancers perform larger than life hand motions with the
accompaniment of guitar and vocals. Each segment of the performance ends with
“Ole!” and the dancers looking down at the audience with a look I translate as
“Let me see you try to do better.” It is basically “You Got Served” in bright
yellow dresses. The passion these dancers exude while onstage and the resolute
intricacy of the footwork is remarkable. Highly recommended.
-
Halloween in Madrid – because it’s cool to dress up. But to
dress up in a foreign country and to not
be naked for Halloween is infinitely cooler.
Onto my favorite stop of the tour – Toledo! I had reached out to the numerous people I knew who had recently visited Spain and picked their brains on the good, the bad, the ugly. My ex West Village roomie, who had most recently done a post-NYC Bar trip in Europe, visited Spain for a few days. (She passed, btw.) Her recommendations stopped short at Toledo, a quaint town located thirty minutes southwest of Madrid by RENFE train (hands-down the easiest, quickest, and most economical way to get around the country). It didn’t take me long to be convinced, and thus we integrated a daytrip into our already packed itinerary. When the time came, we showed up to the train station with not a damn clue about how we were to navigate completely unknown territory. Our first priority was to find a bookstore that carried tour guides for Toledo. Funny thing about books in Spain - they’re in Spanish. Though not ideal, our knowledge in the language was thankfully sufficient, and upon arriving into town, we already had a game plan. The strategy? See everything as humanly possible.
Toledo is one of the most historic places I have traveled. It was once the capital city of the country after the fall of the Roman Empire and is known for its extensive history comprised of Christian, Judiasm, and Islam influences. In the span of 4.5 hours, I crossed paths with a cathedral, a convent, a mosque, and temple. Although the majority of our time in the town was spent looking for a good place to eat, taking photos of the beautiful landscapes, and finding the perfect churros con chocolate, it was exactly how I wanted to spend a day in Toledo. I recommend trying the local Domus Regia beer, arguably my second favorite beer ever. It comes second to the Almogaver Clasica, an incredible locally-brewed amber ale we found in Barcelona. I am in serious search for it. Anyone who has connections with the brewing world should hook a girl UP!
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| Toledo |
Whether you are in the mood for mind-blowing architecture,
knee-melting cheese, or landscapes that you only thought imaginable in the
movies, Spain offers the best of these worlds. Highly recommended. Cannot wait
for round two.
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