Bookends

I filled my last few days in Granada wandering around with a trembling lip and a painful lump in my throat. Then, on my walk home on my last night, Simon and Garfunkel's "Bookends" came on my iPod and I lost it, weeping like a crazy lady. If you know the song, you know where I'm coming from. Mr. Simon, you sir, have a way of pulling at my heart strings.

My life in Granada has come to an end and I couldn't be more sad. Time went much too quickly.

I spent my last night walking through the city. There are some cities that just completely come to life at night. Granada is one of them. It has that certain warm, golden glow to it that only big cities have, alive and sparkling and intoxicating. It buzzes, pulsates, with its own life and you can't look away even if you wanted to. You just have to stare everywhere all at once to remember, to take it all in. It is completely bewildering and completely wonderful. I wandered through the city's many crowded, bustling plazas, through Christmas festivals filled with happy little children running at my feet and overwhelmed parents chasing after them. I walked slowly, listening to the street musicians and the Spanish I can now understand. It was the perfect way to end my time there, seeing the city at night, at its best.

I am going to miss Granada and its quiet, overwhelming grandeur. I'll miss the food. I'll miss my host family, with whom my goodbye was painfully bittersweet. There aren't words for the gratitude I feel for their infallible kindness. Mostly, I'll miss the amazing friends I made. We'll never all be there together again.

I knew I'd have to leave, that my time there was short. And I know that one day this will not feel as important - as monumental - as it feels today. In fact, I hope that my time in Granada is far from the coolest thing I do with myself. I hope it is just first in a long list of really impressive things. Nonetheless, it has changed me.

I don't think it has made me into a seasoned world traveler or a wine connoisseur or a fluent Spanish speaker or whatever else, but it has made me feel damn good to be alive. I know now that I continue to exist outside my realm of comfort. I know now that I can do things like this, that I want to do things like this. I am standing here at the very beginning of my life and I am looking forward to whatever is next.

I am home now, and I am so glad that I was there.

Thanks for reading.

A weekend of Gluttony

I believe that post-it notes are a much underrated simple pleasure of life. If I go anywhere remotely cool, and most places are, I buy a good guide book (Thanks Rough Guide to Spain!) and a pack of post-its. Then, I post-it note every inch of that book. A few weeks ago, I was looking at my Spain guide book and I realized that the only post-it note left was Basque country. So, of course, my friends Eddie, Jess and I went.

I wanted to go there for one because I thought I should see the north of Spain and two because it sounded really, really awesome. Basque occupies the northern corner of Spain, right along the French border and it has it's own language and an entirely different culture than the rest of Spain. The origin of the Basque people is unknown - their language is unrelated to any other and they managed to avoid being conquered by the Romans, the Muslims and the Christians. You could say they are hearty. In recent years, they have become more famous for the ETA terrorist group, which is very unfortunately fighting for independence by blowing people up. It is a shame really that Basque has become synonymous with this violence.

Twelve hours and two bus rides later, we arrived in Basque country, which is so forested and green that it looked technicolor to us, coming from the arid landscapes of the south. Bilbao, our first stop, is a gritty place but really charming at the same time. Once there, we went straight to the city's main attraction: the Guggenheim museum, which is just as spectacular in person as it is in photographs. It is said to look like a blossoming flower or a fish jumping out of water - I for one thought it looked like a silver, curvy building. Perhaps I lack that poetic instinct?



The inside was quite the experience as well. A lot of really eccentric modern art. One room was filled with towering seashell-like sculptures that you could walk through. Another section showed independent films, one of which was exhibited in a plywood tunnel and showed an obese woman kneading pizza dough.

We spent our night in Bilbao wandering through the winding streets of the old town, pintxo-hopping. A word about pintxos. They are the Basque version of tapas and also God's gift to the people of Earth. Basque is Spain's self-proclaimed food capital and they are not kidding. Over the course of the two days we were in Basque, I had tempura fried vegetables with curry sauce, various goat cheese concoctions, omelettes, mushroom risotto...dear lord my mouth is watering.

Whew.

Back to Bilbao. While leaving one bar, we came across a crowd singing in the street. We asked an old couple what it was about, and they answered with tears in their eyes, that it was National Basque day. I have to admit I got a little verklempt.

Our next stop was San Sebastian. This city was without doubt my favorite city that I visited in Spain. It is a beautiful and scenic beach town built along a harbor with narrow, old streets and buildings impressive enough to match the landscape. We spent the day here exploring an old castle built on top of a mountain on the harbor. Castle exploring might just be one of my favorite pastimes.



That night we again went out to explore the glorious world of Basque cuisine. San Sebastian has the most bars per square meter in the world and we got a bit more than tipsy just so we could keep eating.


After a few confusing train changes and a brief lunch in the ambiguous border city of Hendaye (I still don't know what country it is in), we arrived in Bordeaux, France. Now, if anyone is planning on ever visiting this city, I should warn you now that the area around the train station is more than a little seedy. Sex shops. Creepy people. Did I mention sex shops? But once we dropped off our bags at our creepy, straight out of The Shining hotel, Bordeaux completely won us over. We treated ourselves to a nice dinner where we all cleaned our plates in happy silence and wandered around the city. Bordeaux is perfect for wandering and just so french. In the morning, we had Cafe Au Lait and Pan Du Chocolat underneath the ancient city gates.



Our last city was Toulouse. It may have been because it was our last day of vacation or because we were there on a Sunday night, but while we there, I felt tired and numb to the city. We did however get to experience a Christmas festival, which filled an impressive plaza with glowing stalls selling all kinds of wonderful things. After the festival, we again wandered through the city and looking back, I can see how charming it is.



It was a weekend of wandering through amazing places and eating amazing food with really great people. You really can't ask for much more in a vacation and I think it was a great trip to end my study abroad on.

I go home tomorrow.

Expect an emotional last blog post from me very soon.

Family Reunion

On the Saturday before Thanksgiving, I went to the airport to pick up my family. I was nervous and excited and I ended up at the airport about two hours early, pacing and fidgeting. It was so great to see their faces again, to be with people who really, really know me and still like me in spite of that.

Showing them around Granada was surreal. This city has been my place for so long that I felt possessive and self-conscious about it. I wanted everything to go perfectly, to be so smooth that they just had to shuffle dumbly from one awe-inspiring place to the next. If I could have arranged for them to be escorted around in golden carriages, being fanned with palm fronds, I absolutely would have. I wanted them to love it here as much as I do. So, with the bar set that high, I did spend a good amount of time feeling inadequate. But let's be honest - who doesn't feel inadequate most of the time anyway? Despite all my nerves, I think they all really liked it here.

On Saturday, my mom, dad and sister Beth arrived. I took them out for an absurdly huge lunch first, and then we visited the royal chapel and the cathedral - a good introduction to the humbling grandeur of this city.



On that Sunday, my brother Andrew and his girlfriend Robin arrived. While my dad went to the airport, Beth, my mom and I wandered over to the Archaeological museum - but not without stopping at a church to buy some chocolate-covered, coconut-filled balls of heaven (literally) from the cloistered nuns. This experience is best described as a candy shop mixed with a confessional mixed with a lazy susan. You don't know whether to kneel down and pour your heart out, or start arranging hors d'oeuvres.

When we were all finally together, I took everyone on a walk through the Albaicin, the ancient Muslim neighborhood, frantically trying to repeat everything I could remember from my Islam class. We finished the day at a cozy wine bar by my school. My favorite people in the world, a heaping pile of honey-drenched, spicy chorizo, creamy goat cheese, and several bottles of great wine - all the good things in life.



Monday was mostly a day of classes for me and a day at the Alhambra for them. Although I think they all really enjoyed it, I also think it may have sucked the energy out of them. The place is huge and I didn't warn them. I made it up to them later though by taking them for hot chocolate and churros - which just might fix all of life's problems if you eat them enough.

Tuesday, the world of my Spanish family collided with the world of my American family, but not in some sort of strange epic battle. Paqui had them over for lunch and, naturally, cooked a ridiculous amount of very impressive food. I served as a translator for the meal, but it really wasn't necessary. You can tell a lot about a person even without language. Well, not me personally, I just eat everyone's soup... but you get the idea. In the end, Paqui and my mom were gushing over each other and Andrew was bonding with Jesus and Antonio over Real Madrid. It went well.

That night we made the drive to Marbella, the Costa Del Sol resort town where we stayed for the rest of the trip. On Wednesday, we drove to Gibraltar for the day. Most people are aware that Gibraltar is an English colony, but what people don't know is that it is also a weird parallel universe version of Britain with palm trees, an over-abundance of native Spanish-speakers and apes. Yes, apes. Unnervingly large apes, to be exact. It is confusing to be in a place where at one point you're eating fish and chips in a pub, and the next, you are on top of a mountain watching your brother scold a monkey for trying to steal his shopping bag. No, monkey, NO.



The next day we went to Ronda. After a terrifying, white-knuckled drive through the foggy mountains, we made it to the town. Ronda is a traditional Andalusian pueblo, with white-washed buildings that would make anything charming, but this one, to top it off, was built on the edges of a cliff. One and a half football fields straight down. Ronda also offers a cave complete with prehistoric paintings, Spain's oldest bull ring and countless opportunities for jokes about Rhonda's massive gorge.





That night was Thanksgiving night. We didn't have turkey or stuffing or anything traditional, but we did make an insane amount of really delicious food and I did feel significantly worse about myself by the time it was done, so I would say we had a pretty normal Thanksgiving. It was wonderful just to be able to be with my family.

The last day trip was to Tangier, Morocco, but my mom and I opted out. Instead, we spent the day wandering around Marbella's old town while my dad, Andrew, Beth and Robin experienced Morocco and the carpet-selling schemes of its guided tours. After that, we had one more day in Granada and then they were off to the real world.


It was amazing to have my family here and there's really no way to describe that. I have always been the kid in the family who stays close to home. I am loving my own adventure - and to have them be a part of it, even for such a short time, was more than I could ask for.

Barriers, Hurdles, Brick Walls

Language fluency is an interesting thing to ponder. In English, I can hear meaning behind the choice of words that someone uses. I can hear sarcasm, in all its splendor. In Spanish, it is always a struggle to hear more than what is said. I doubt I will ever truly be fluent. I am always concentrating intensely on what people are saying but sometimes the meaning still slips by me. For instance, Cristina came home two nights ago flustered and out of breath. From what I could gather, and it was little, a homeless man outside our building threw his shoe at her and chased her down the street. I am still not quite sure if this is right, but needless to say, I decided to stay in that night.

Or, take last night for example. I come home from school and Jesus tells me there is stew in the fridge for me. Nice. Paqui's lentil stew. It is great and and I am starving. So I proceed to dish myself an embarrassingly huge serving. There was enough in the container for two people, I am thinking, three thin people. When I am done, there is maybe a half bowl left.

So I gorge and I enjoy it thoroughly. That lentil soup is the stuff of gods. As I am happily wiping up the last remaining drops from my bowl with a huge chunk of crusty, delicious, carb-filled french bread, the rest of the family comes home. Paqui opens the fridge and frowns, confused. Where is all the soup, she asks.

Well, shoot.

And now here I am, sitting in silence and shame, as five people split the pathetic portion I left. I sat there wishing I had a hole to die in.

Now, in English this never would have happened. I am sure there was something in Jesus' voice that should have communicated that the stew was for everyone. I am sure he said, " Meg, our family dinner, to be enjoyed by all of us together whilst holding hands, is waiting in the fridge. Please, do help yourself to a reasonably sized portion of it." What I got was: "Stew in fridge for you. Eat."

It is a small thing, I know, and no one ever said a word about it to me. But it is things like that that make me think I have a long way to go with this language. It looks like I should expect to be doing a lot of really inappropriate, uncomfortable things. But, at least I won't be hungry.

Collectivism

I am surprised it took this long.

Today, I finally stepped in dog poo. The streets of Granada, while being extremely charming and mostly very agreeable, are also spotted with the bowel movements of many a canine. The sidewalks must be completely blanketed in a thin film of excrement. Normally on my walks to and from school, I take note of these deliberate, steaming piles and slide around them. Occasionally I see the remnants of someone else's misfortune - a smooshed slid-through pile. The poster child of a really bad day.

Well, today it was me. But this wasn't just any old pile. This dog got into something. Chili cheese dog? Indian food? Laxatives? God and dog only know.

Walking home with the festering stench of feces sticking to me was the kicker. I have become disenchanted with this place. I have now fully realized and acknowledged that there are things that I do not like about Granada. I do not like that dinner is always after ten - at which I promptly emerge from my room, pale and shaking with hunger. I don't like that the people here lack a certain spatial awareness that does not appeal to my Midwestern, German sentiments. I think Paella, with all its shells and bones, is more difficult than it is delicious.

I don't want to use this to complain, although that is exactly what I am doing. It is just that no one includes this part in the obligatory, and mostly cliche study abroad blog. Whatever anyone tells you, wherever they studied is not the perfect place. It is not a lush, magical valley where fairies dance above your head and the rivers run with beer or chocolate or both. There are problems everywhere and there will always be something you don't like.

I have moved past complete and idiotic delight to an understanding that Granada is not perfect. It is a city like any other. This realization is very similar to that first time you hear a boyfriend fart. Ah, they are human. So that is what I mean to say: Granada is... human.

But today, after grumpily wiping off my shoe, I decided in an unexpected surge of optimism not to linger on the bad but to focus on the good. This doesn't often happen to me, so enjoy this rare moment of poignancy.

There are a lot of things that I like about Granada, and I could spend hours (well, minutes) listing them here. There is one particular thing, however, that stands out for me and I am not even sure what to call it. At first I couldn't put my finger on exactly what it was, but the small things began to add up.

Once, I got caught in a rainstorm on my way home - a rare event in Granada. All of us who had the misfortune of being on the street gazed up at the sky, dazed and confused, and collectively shuffled under an awning to wait for it to let up. No one had an ipod in or a cell phone to their ear. Instead, we talked to each other. Just a collection of people meeting briefly to discuss the weather. It struck me as strange and wonderful and I spent the rest of my walk home feeling as if I had witnessed a rare moment in the history of humanity.

Often when I ride the bus, the person sitting beside me will strike up a conversation with me. One older man dedicated the ride to telling me about his time in France and ended it by giving me advice on my own travels. Enjoy yourself while you are here because you'll never get to do it again. It's not like I haven't heard that before, but it felt much more fateful and significant coming from a complete stranger.

There is a bar by my apartment that is diligent about showing soccer games. Whenever a game is on, the bar fills and tables spill out onto the street. When the tables fill, people stand - a crowd huddled in the street, flooded with light from the bar. The amount of people there always surprises me. Watching the game alone is not a possibility or even a fleeting thought. You watch together.

The only word that comes to mind is collectivism, although even that is not quite right. Whatever it is, it is something I will miss when I leave. I am not trying to say that this is not the case at home. But it seems to me that in the U.S., where individualism reigns proudly, it is easier to fall behind.

I am fortunate at home to have all the people that I have and, of course, it is true you can find yourself alone anywhere. But here falling through the cracks appears to be more difficult. People are more inclined to catch you. They always say hello to each other. Children aren't rushed out into the world at eighteen. Neighbors know each other by more than name. There will always be someone around. I like that.

A Weekend in Portugal

After seeing several shows on the Travel Channel (one of which involved Anthony Bourdain, who I would follow anywhere), I knew that I would love Portugal. It just looked so relaxed, so scenic, so cool. You could practically feel the sea salt dance across your lips through the television, taste the freshly fried fish. I made a point to go. It is after all, Spain's little neighbor and I'll never be this close again. And so I went.

Before arriving there, however, we spent an excruciatingly long night in the Madrid airport. This is something I would never recommend. Icy, hard floors and fluorescent lighting don't exactly lull you into a deep, slack-jawed slumber, or really any sort of sleep. My friends Frank, Emily and I passed the time discussing a wide variety of topics. What would you have for your last dinner on Earth? Why, I would have Cincinnati Chili, thanks for asking.

We arrived in Lisbon after this sleepless night to meet the others: Emily, Andrea, Eddie, and Jess. From here, we decided to first see Belem, where there seemed to us to be a notable concentration of a lot of really old, important stuff. We visited the Torre de Belem, an imposing 16th century fortress and prison, built to commemorate Vasco da Gama's historical voyage to India in 1497. We then saw the Mosteiro Dos Jeronimos, where Gama is buried in a disappointingly modest tomb. This monastery is also where Gama spent the night praying before he set sail for India. Sounds like me before a plane ride.

After a brief stint in the Age of Discovery, Emily, Jess and I spent the rest of the day exploring the city. It was then that I decided that Lisbon and I would get along nicely. The city retains an old-world feel, cobble stoned streets hugging steep hills, cramped along the banks of an impressive river. Every street looked like a scene from a postcard: impossibly bright buildings, mosaics walls, and red shingled roofs. The atmosphere in Lisbon was calm and relaxed, as if no one had anything better to do but amble. And really, nothing beats ambling.

The next day, we took a day trip to Sintra, a small town forty-five minutes outside of Lisbon. Sintra was small and charming, with a foreboding castle looming above the town. It is also the home of a particular Almond pastry that won my heart over with its gooey perfection.

We spent most of the day at La Quinta Da Regaleira, not to be confused with La Quinta Inn of budget hotel fame. This Quinta is a palace once owned by a millionaire who really knew how to spend his money. The estate grounds are filled with lush gardens and ponds with stepping stones and castle towers to climb. There were interconnecting, labyrinthine caves leading to the bottoms of wells. It was everything you could ever hope for in a palace. My guidebook said the owner was "eccentric," but I think the man was a genius.

After we returned to Lisbon, we decided to eat the three-course, three-drink meal provided by our hostel, all for a very reasonable eight euro. The meal was, strangely, a traditional Uzbekistan feast and, even stranger, really good. We went out that night in the Barrio Alto, a hilly neighborhood that was buzzing with throngs of people cramped into tiny, dimly lit and casually trendy bars.

The next day, it was back to Granada, but now with a new found respect for Portugal. I had heard it was cool. I had seen the travel channels shows, but now I really understood. Portugal is awesome. If you can find the time and the means, this is not a place to miss.

In lieu of my camera, I have included below some ridiculously scenic pictures of Lisbon, courtesy of Google images. You can pretend I took them if you'd like.

Matt and Meg do Europe.

My boyfriend Matt came for fall break. Mainly, I believe, so he could earn a place on this spectacular and groundbreaking blog of mine.

Meet Matt:



He arrived in Madrid early on the morning of the 17th, a Saturday, and we both left Munich on Sunday, the 25th. In between, we visited Madrid, Granada, Barcelona, Fussen and Munich. Adventures ensued, amongst other things.

Because I refused to completely fork over artistic control of this post, you are going to get an account from both of our perspectives. I guess I've become a bit of a diva with this blog.

So here goes.

Arrival

Meg: This topic is really just so that Matt can write about how excited he was to visit the grand country of Spain. I, on the other hand, have lived here for months and am a well-seasoned traveler. Nothing excites me anymore.

Matt: Spain is a wonderful far away land where fairies dance in the streets and unicorns fly through the air. That was the preview I got from Meg...it was definitely not true. Spain was however a great place with some really nice weather and (generally) warm inviting people. I liked it! I was also surprised and impressed with myself because I remember enough Spanish to order food and understand when people on the street were making fun of me.

Madrid

Meg: This could absolutely be in retrospect (more on this later), but I found Madrid to be relatively unimpressive. I say relatively because I have set the bar for European cities absurdly high. For example, did Madrid beat Gary, Indiana? Yes I do believe it did. However, to me, the city was big and crowded and drab. It lacked personality.

The closest thing we found to a quirk was El Rastro, an impressive and enormous Sunday flea market. Vendors flooded the streets selling everything from cheap knock-off soccer jerseys to zebra hides. It was weird, disorienting, chaotic, and great. It was Madrid's gritty underbelly. A city's market is where you'll find its heart.

Matt: Madrid is a loud, noisy, European city. It was founded in the 9th century, which is quite a long time ago, but it didn't really have much historical significance until Fernando and Isabel united Spain in the late 15th century. This meant a couple things, 1) For a city its age, Madrid is actually lacking quite a bit in history. It was a backwards out-of-the-way city in the middle of "Spain" for hundreds of years. 2) It was also the biggest city we visited and consequently didn't seem to have as much charm as some of the other places. Oh well, the people there spoke Spanish without an accent so it was fairly easy to understand them.

Real Madrid



Meg: I tell people that I grew up playing soccer. When I say this, I actually mean that I was the slightly chubby kid who chose to play goalie so that they could sit between the posts, lazily picking at the grass. Occasionally I would find four leaf clovers.

I never played soccer the way they play it in Spain. The speed and fluidity of the game was outstanding. The ball curves seamlessly from one player to the next as if everyone was hovering just above the grass...which in reality would probably be a little unnerving. The game, despite the headers, which just look painful and unnecessary, is really very graceful. But it wasn't just the players that struck me. The fans too were different. I expected a drunken party, utter chaos, but what we got instead was silent, intense concentration. I guess if anyone takes soccer seriously, it's the Spanish.


Matt: One of the things that I was most looking forward to on this trip was the opportunity to go see some Spanish futbol. I like soccer and I also wanted to see how Europeans treat big time sports. It's one of those things that I never really thought about much, but in the U.S., there are a lot of big sports all the time and its really easy to get into something. If you like football, sweet! If you don't, you can choose to enjoy basketball, hockey, baseball, volleyball, whatever. However in most other countries, this discussion starts and ends with soccer. Soccer = sports, soccer = life.

Needless to say I was expecting to see a lot of really charged up people. When Meg informed me that the tickets she was able to get were way up in the top of the stadium, I was considering buying a bulletproof vest and bringing a knife. And I sure as hell was going to make sure to wear white (Meg made this easy by getting me a sweet Real Madrid jersey for my birthday, thanks Meg!). I had seen some crazy things on YouTube and spent a portion of my fall reading about soccer disasters on Wikipedia.

The game was nothing like any of this. It was very different from an afternoon at Camp Randall (which was what I was expecting) and it was wonderful. All 80,000 people that packed Estadio Santiago Bernabeu were there for one reason, to watch the game. While the ball was in play, 80,000 pairs of eyes followed it. No one talked, no one moved, everyone watched with a quiet intensity that I envied. It was awesome.

Goodbye Things

Meg: Enough about soccer and grace, Monday morning was when I officially decided that Madrid is not for me. We were at the Madrid bus station on our way to Granada and, long story short, I got all my stuff stolen. Okay, not everything - just my purse, which happened to hold virtually everything valuable I had with me. Camera, passport, ipod, wallet, credit cards, glasses, all-bran granola bars: gone. Yes, I know that they are just things. They are all replaceable and I have already mourned their sudden and unexpected deaths.

Mostly, I am sad for all the stamps in my passport. They were tiny tokens from each far away place, miniature greetings and farewells smeared in ink across the pages. Now it is like I've never been to those places. Now I have no proof! I guess I will just have to retrace the steps of my passport. Sigh. What a pain that will be.

Matt: This was definitely the low point of the trip. Some assholes decided that the way they were going to "make" a living was to take other people's stuff. I hope Meg's camera exploded when they turned it on. On a side note, with areas that are frequented by thieves (nearly everyone we talked to after this said this particular bus station was notorious for thievery), why the hell don't you put some sort of security peeps around? It would take like two people and everyone would get on their buses and go and have a nice time on the rest of their trips. Hey, at least we got to see what the inside of a U.S. Embassy looks like!

Granada



Meg: The familiarity of Granada was a welcome change after spending the whole day in the U.S. Embassy in Madrid. The embassy turned out to be one of the more depressing places I've been - defeated Americans and hopeful Spaniards waiting together in anticipatory silence. It was a glorified DMV, finished off with a generous helping of Ellis-Island-style desperation.

I tried my best to show Matt a slice of my life here, but mainly I rambled and felt self-conscious, worrying that the place I've been fanatically raving about for two months was not as great as I've thought. But watching Matt as we walked around town and the Alhambra, well, I think he liked it. I suppose I'll have to read his part of the blog to be sure.

Matt: This place was cool. I'm glad that Meg was there to show me around because the small windy streets would have been impossible for me to navigate. Granada was so much different from Madrid and is much more endearing. There was a multitude of fun looking shops, restaurants, and bars on every street and I wanted to visit them all. Our hostel was really nice and had a sweet name (Funky Backpackers). All in all, a great place and it only got better when we went to the Alhambra. That place is cool. Check out pictures and go, it is a really really cool place.

Ryan Air

Meg: Ryan Air, in addition to being an airline, is hilarious. The gate was announced about five minutes before departure and we all subsequently frenzied without any hint of order out the door and to the plane. It looked more like we were all drunkenly waiting for brats at a Badger game, rather than doing something fairly serious. Although, I suppose I should acknowledge that for some people boarding a plane isn't serious at all. I, however, prefer to board planes in a death march, preparing for an imminent and fiery end to my existence. The flight itself was unnervingly casual, but refreshing as well. Why not relax while careening 40,000 feet over the planet? Halfway through, the pilot came on the air to announce that the weather in Barcelona was...the same. Thanks for the laughs, Ryan Air.

Matt: This was probably the most ridiculous experience we had on the trip. Ryan Air announces boarding for their flights something like this, "The flight is leaving in 20 minutes, everybody get on the damn plane." And then there is a stampede of people trying to get the most desirable seats on the plane (don't know exactly where those are). Seriously, the people getting on these flights would bowl over their own grandmother if it meant they would get an aisle seat near one of the exit doors. The weather report was awesome, as was the scene that unfolded after the plane landed. When a Ryan air flight lands on time, they play this little song over the speakers in the cabin and everybody (or at least everybody who has been on one of these flights before), as if on cue, bursts out into a rousing round of applause. I sat there with my mouth agape for like 20 seconds and then burst out laughing because this was one of the funniest things I've ever been apart of.

Barcelona





Meg: If Madrid is one thing, Barcelona seems to be its complete opposite. Barcelona is young, flirty and full of life. There is an palpable exuberance in the air. After a tour of the FC Barcelona stadium, which ended up being surprisingly moving, we spent the day wandering, which is exactly what you should do in this city. We rambled down Las Ramblas (couldn't resist), passing what seemed to be the whole of humanity, side by side. Street vendors, human statues, a sea of oddities and eccentricities. It was enough to make someone want to buy a can of gold spray paint and stand very still on a street corner...

Matt: Barcelona was cool! Fun city to walk around in! Nice place to be! We went to a nice dinner (complete with paella served out of a pan that had to have been half the size of our table) and generally enjoyed ourselves. I'd like to go back sometime.

Fussen





Meg: Ah, the motherland. I'd like to begin by saying that my first meal in Germany was something listed on the menu as "a pair of wieners and a pretzel." All you Schumachers and Braunschweigs out there, I do believe I made you proud. After this lunch of champions, we visited the castles of mad King Ludwig: the famous Neuschwanstein and the not-so-famous Hohenschwangau (lesser known, I believe, due to its unfortunate name).

Disney's Cinderella's Castle is modeled after Neuschwanstein, which says a thing or two about its extravagance. Ludwig had a taste for unrestrained glitz. The fact that he only lived there a few months before mysteriously showing up dead in a nearby lake gives the place a demented feel - and who doesn't like that in a castle?

Matt: This was my favorite place on the trip. It was a serene town in the Bavarian alps and when we were there the weather was crisp (as it should be in mid-October) and the sun was shining. I also got to have some fun at the expense of Meg (who is terrified of nearly everything)*. When we pulled into the train station and walked to our hostel, it was apparent that we were a little late for our check-in time, no worries, however, as the directions I had said to just call this number from a phone that would be outside the door of the place. So, I did. And the guy I talked to was very nice and said that the room we had reserved was not at the location we were standing at, but on the other side of town. He then offered us a ride there if we wanted. Being that it was a cold night and I was sick of walking around with all my worldly possessions on my back, I took him up on the offer.

Meg was less than enthused at this and preceded to tell me about it for about 10 minutes until the guy showed up in a sketchy white van. At this point she was positive that this guy was going to take us somewhere up into the mountains, chop us up and no one would ever hear from us again. I figured we had enough bad luck already that such a thing couldn't happen. Turns out I was right, the guy couldn't have been nicer (although he did look like a character out of a low-budget horror film) and the room we had reserved was quite nice. Humanity owed us one and everything worked out.

The next day we hiked (errr walked along a nicely paved path) to the fun castles of King Ludwig. They were really cool and even more picturesque than I was expecting. If you're ever in Bavaria, you really should check them out.

* Editor's note: Although I would like to be able to defend myself here, I am, in fact, terrified of nearly everything. I make Woody Allen look like a Valium spokesman. However, the man who picked us up was absolutely in the last Die Hard and may have opted not to kill us because of how angry I looked.


Munich



Meg: To begin the day appropriately, we went straight to the BMW museum, which for all its glamor turned out to be a bit disappointing. Too many airplane engines and motorcycles, not nearly enough cars. I did, however, find my dream car: the 1984 M5. If anyone is feeling particularly generous, I'd gladly accept this as a graduation present.

We also went to see the Glockenspiel perform its daily dance. What a strange snippet of culture this is. Life-size dolls spinning atop a tower, with throngs of tourists below, craning their necks. The show is delightful, if bizarre.

And last but most certainly not least: the Hofbrauhaus. The only way to end the trip. After downing a heaping pile of cheesy Spaetzle for dinner, we made our way to the famed beer hall. This place is ridiculous in the best way possible. Rows upon rows of festive tables filled with rosy cheeked, loud and jolly crowds. Polka music! Giant pretzels! Enormous, delicious beers! If you don't have fun here, there's something wrong with you.

And so ended the trip. A good one, I'd say. One for the scrapbooks.


Matt: Munich was the type of European city that I really enjoy. It has lots of history (BMW was started here! Olympics! Bier!) and is super nice and clean. It was a good place to wander around for a day and another of those places I wish I would've had more time in. Meg has most of the highlights above and I don't want to hijack her blog anymore since I know its the only thing that gives her life meaning these days. All in all, great trip, gotta take the highs with the lows, and so on. Thanks for reading!

** A special thanks to Matt for all the pictures provided for this post. R.I.P. camera