Football Schmootball

Are you ready for some football? In the past week I have seen three football games, 13 goals and six English Premier teams play.

Starting with Saturday: I lucked out in picking up a Fulham vs Swansea ticket at Foundation house for 25 so Kuni, Seyi and I tubed our way down to Craven Cottage to see the action. It was also Ireland vs England in rugby along with being St. Patrick’s day, so it took longer to navigate through the swerving groups of Englishfolk who were hanging outside of the stadium. Although Fulham lost, I got to see American star Clint Dempsey as well as some great passing from the Welsh side Swansea. End result: 0-3 Swansea Swans.

The very next day, nine of us went out to see Chelsea play in the FA cup against championship side Leicester City. They advertised seats in the Daily Reader and we got a great deal—mid level seats for only 30. Highlights: Seeing Spanish star Fernando Torres score 2. He hadn’t scored in the last 25 hours of field time. Hearing the Chelsea fans and Leicester City fans go at each other with cheers. I will not repeat the cheers I heard. Getting a game scarf for only 5 after the game. It helps to know how to haggle. Seeing one of the greatest stadiums in Europe—Stamford Bridge. End result: 5-2 Chelsea.

Wednesday: Mark and I had gone by the Queen’s Park Rangers box office two weeks before to see if we could get tickets to see QPR play our favorite team—Liverpool. The very grumpy assistant told us that it would be impossible for us to get tickets. I had heard that it was occasionally possible to get tickets from scalpers outside of the stadium so an hour and a half before the match began, Mark and I went to QPR’s stadium--Loftus Road. It was absolutely packed with people. The stadium is right next to the BBC headquarters and there isn’t much room for fit 30,000+ people in the streets. Also, we had no idea about how to go about getting tickets. Since selling tickets to non-members is….frowned upon, those who have extra tickets don’t make a big deal out of it. We spent about twenty minutes walking up and down the mainstreet, looking for shifty characters who looked like they wanted to sell us something. Soon enough, a scruffy looking man wearing a worn army jacket came up next to us:

“You boys looking for some tickets?”

“Yeah, we are, but we don’t have much.”

“Well, Ive got two, how much you got?”

“35.”

“P*ss off!”

and then he scurried back into the crowd. As fans started filing into the stadium, we were approached by more of the same type, offering tickets ranging from 80-150. A man from Nevada said that he didn’t have two game tickets, but he could get us airplane tickets real cheap. We didn’t take him up on his offer. Eventually, the game began and Mark and I were left in a fairly empty street filled with trash, spilled beer and unhappy looking scalpers. One of them motioned to us to come behind a nearby chips stand. It was Mr. P*ss Off.

“You boys still need tickets?”

“Well, we are still outside of the stadium aren’t we?”

“Yeah, I see that. How much you got?”

“Still 35.”

“……..Fine. Follow me.”

We were wise enough not to give him the tickets until we had entered the stadium. 35 pounds for 50 pound face value tickets that were going for twice as much online sounded like a great deal to us. Mr. PO said that we were sitting in the main fan section and directed us towards our seats. Only 10 minutes of the actual game had gone by and we quickly found our seats. Two of the only open seats in the packed stadium. They were right behind the QPR goal and had a great view of the entire stadium. The only problem was that we were smack dab in the center of the hardcore QPR fan group. They were signing and swearing and throwing things at each other. They screamed at the Liverpool fans and made fun of the players. They even booed their own captain off of the field. These guys were scary. Liverpool scored first. I did well to not say anything as the entire QPR side erupted in anger towards the Liverpool side. Another Liverpool goal was soon added to the tally and it looked like a sure victory for the Reds. I let out a small cheer without thinking when the second goal was scored and quite a few QPR supporters turned around to stare at me.

QPR got a consolation goal with 15 minutes left and the home fans erupted. An old man told me to cheer more when he saw me standing there. I did cheer more and received a hug for my enthusiasm. 2-1 was still a win for Liverpool, I could put up with some fake cheering. Two minutes from time and a second QPR goal was scored. If the stadium wasn’t made of metal and concrete it would have collapsed, the noise was incredible. Fans were spilling out onto the field and screaming their heads off. QPR is a very small local team, nothing like Liverpool. For them to come back with only 15 minutes left was amazing. I tried to look on the bright side, at least I saw two Liverpool goals. A draw was better than a loss. Then Liverpool lost. With one minutes left, QPR dribbled through the entire defense and slotted a shot into the bottom corner, right in front of the home fans. The ref blew the whistle and the game was over. The QPR fans screamed, they cried, they hugged those around them. I joined them in these activities, but I was on a totally different side of the emotional scale. Thankfully, everyone looks the same in that state. End Result: QPR win 3-2. I did not buy a match scarf.

I will write about my trip to Paris later this week. Thanks for reading!

Aaron Go Braghless

Where Mark and I slept.
We thought that the fern garden looked like Jurassic Park.
Kiss dat stone.
In the main part of the dungeon.
In front of Blarney Castle.
Exploring the fort in Kinsale
Staring out to sea.
Up through the Hobbit hole.
Cow in a tree? Are the French in Ireland?
The Irish campus. Much more green than ours.

I have quite a bit of catching up to do. First of all I will briefly explain what I did in Cork.

After a five minute sprint to reach the 4:45 AM bus out of London, Mark, Rachel and I arrived at Stansted airport in time to take the 7:05 plane to Cork. All three of us slept on the plane, so the trip went smoothly. A quick taxi ride to the downtown area was where Julia’s apartment was. We unpacked our gear and Julia gave us a tour of the college campus and downtown Cork. We visited the English Market where I bought some soda bread and then stopped at Tesco for groceries. The rest of the day was spent relaxing, playing cards and cooking dinner (pasta.) We went to an Irish pub later that night so that we could truly experience Guinness. Not too bad, although very heavy. We ate a Chipsy King before we went home. Chipsy King is an abomination. It is a little hut squashed in-between two larger shops and sells ridiculous amounts of chips/fries covered in mayonnaise. I got a large funnel of chips coverd in beef chili and taco mayo for 3 euro. My stomach was up all night.

Saturday was spent in the seaside village of Kinsale. A 45 minute (and VERY swervy, sickening) bus ride was all it took to reach Kinsale. We spent the morning/afternoon exploring the various forts/shops/Trapist monasteries. A very late lunch was had at Sals (Shepards Pie for all three of us) and we wrapped up the trip by stopping by the local sweet shop. Fudge in Ireland is not the same as fudge from home. It has much less sugar. The three of us made dinner (chicken potato casserole) and we cleaned the living room a bit. Julia invited several of the other Ireland students up to her apartment and we spent the night talking about our traveling adventures.

Sunday was probably my favorite day in Ireland. Mark, Rachel and I went to Blarney Castle to see the Blarney Stone. I had just pictured a small castle in the middle of nowhere with a line to kiss a big stone, but there was quite a bit more. We explored the dungeons, at times almost crawling on our hands and knees to get through the tunnels. At first we were worried that we were going into a forbidden part of the dungeon, since it was suck a difficult trek, but we saw names carved along the wall so we couldn’t have been the first people to go that far. We climbed all the way to the top of the castle to lean over the edge and kiss the Blarney Stone. We toured the ‘poison garden’ that was outside of the castle (God knows why a main attraction at Blarney Castle would be a garden full of deadly plants) and visited the fern garden. Overall, it was a great trip and we got to see just how green Ireland really is. We took the bus back (only about a 15 minute drive) and went shopping for presents at the Ireland gift shop. I won’t say what I bought just so people reading this aren’t clued in too early regarding their gifts.

We called up a taxi to pick us up and take us to the airport at 5:20 Monday morning. One quick plane ride, bus ride, tube ride later and we walked into our 11:00 class with one minute to spare. Very nicely timed.

This week has been highlight filled.

Tuesday we went to see “Pitchfork Disney” for our theatre class. It was an off West End drug induced, dark humor play about two siblings trapped in a house. I thought I was going to absolutely hate it but it was the best show I have seen here so far.

Wednesday I went with ten of my other London peeps to see the Hunger Games European red carpet premier. I didn’t really have much interest in seeing the celebrities, I just wanted autographs to give out as gifts. Turns out that we picked one of the best spots in the house. I got Elizabeth Banks, Chris Hemsworth, Liam Hemsworth, Jennifer Lawrence, and Toby Jones. I also got some signatures from British Reality TV stars, but nobody cares about them much anyway. We stood next to a 16 year old girl who smoked like a chimney and had skipped grammar school to attend the show. We were interviewed for OK Magazine online and she freaked out because her teachers watched the online videos and they would probably see her. Oops.

Thursday we had our first cancelled class. We were left with three hours of unplanned time for eight of us went to Hyde park to play some soccer. While we were playing a helicopter kept flying over our head. Then the police showed up in mass force and began walking through the park .Was there a killer loose? Was there a bomb threat? No, the Queen was coming to Kensington Palace (we play soccer in the front yard of Kensington Palace) and they were getting ready for her arrival. Sure enough, a motorcade drove down the main lane and through the palace gates. I saw the Queen’s cuetip head as she got out of the car and walked into the palace. Check that one off of the list.

Half of the group is going to Scotland this weekend, but the other half bought tickets to go see Chelsea play on Sunday. I also lucked out and was offered a ticket to see Fulham play Swansea on Saturday, so this will be a football packed weekend! That’s it for me. Pictures will hopefully be put up (in some semblance of order) and I will update again soon.

Post #3--Nerja y Gibraltar

Who is this? Oh just our friend Harry Hinde.
Rachel with Africa in the background.
Lighthouse with storm clouds approaching.
Mosque with storm clouds approaching quickly.
Shrine with STORM CLOUDS ON TOP OF US!
Feeding some monkeys on Gibraltar.
La Linea=The worst place EVER!
The caves in Nerja
A Quaint town near Nerja. (Betcha can't say 'Near Nerja' ten times fast.)
Up the steep hill in the rickety old train.

Thursday: Lets go to NERJA! Nerja, Spain—On the sunny, breezy coast resides Nerja, where we went on Thursday. It is only 45 minutes by bus so we all woke up early to walk to the bus station. Well, I woke up later than everyone else. My iPod was still set to London time so instead of waking up at 8 I woke up at 9. Nobody felt the need to wake me up. Darn.

The bus trip was uneventful, except for the fact that someone put a dog in the undercarriage of the bus. It barked for the first 25 miles.

We arrived around noon and immediately found a gelato stand. Since man can’t live on gelato alone, we stopped at a local tapas stand (6 tapas for 5 euro)

The following is what I ate: Iberian Ham, Chicken Chutney, Smells cheese covered in sesame seeds, Spanish omelet, more smelly cheese (but this cheese wasn’t soft) slice of beef.

Now that we had all of these pleasant foods mixing around in our stomachs, we set off to tour the hillside city of Fideldergo, or Figerdelga, or Figerillo….it was something like that. We took a bus up into the mountains (it was only ten minutes away) and since we only had an hour to tour, we were convinced to experience The Famous Tram Ride! Picture one of the trains you see at state fairs or the zoo. Now take away the seatbelts, comfortable seats, and functioning breaks and you have our tram. The conductor was nice enough and promised that the tour would be in tres languages. So, we paid our four euros and set off up the nearest hill.

The conductor had a headset microphone that would only pickup half of what he said. From that half only a fourth was in English. From that fourth, an eighth of it was curse words and disgruntled mumbles each time the engine backfired. That left us with a very small fraction that was about and man was it informative. Apparently it was Europe largest paper (sneaker or plaster, the conductors accent was very thick) mill at one time. Also, the hills are populated by mountain ghosts. You can find their horns on the road occasionally. At one point, we had to wait for an old man to cross the street. Halfway across, he must have recognized the conductor, because he started waving his cane and yelling until the conductor let him ride shotgun.

After the tour, we explored the hills on our own until the bus took us back to Nerja. Maria, Rachel and I really wanted to see the caves that Nerja is famous for, but unfortunately we had missed the last bus that took visitors to the site. A local woman said that it was only 2 km and we could easily walk there. Turns out that 2km=5km in Nerja, because it took us 45 minutes to power walk there. We arrived with 45 minutes before the cave closed, but dang it if we weren’t going in! It was privately owned, so the prices were a little steep, but we saw the largest stalactite in the world as well as several large underground formations.

We managed to catch a city bus back and did some more walking before meeting up with the other half of the group for dinner. We lucked out on restaurants and we were able to get a three-course meal for 10 euro. A man with a guitar serenaded us for a bit before he realized that we had no money and he then left the restaurant. It took a little over two hours for our meal to finish so we ran to the city center to catch our bus back. A loverly day in Nerja.

Friday: LET’S GO TO GIBRALTAR!

Let me set the scene. I wake up to the sound of thunder. Rain is hitting the glass window that serves as my door and rain water is splashing through the cracks. I navigate the dark room, occasionally lit by flashes of lightning, to quickly dress and then wake up Rachel. It is 5:35. Time to go to Gibraltar.

We decide to catch the bus to the city center since it is pouring rain. There are a few students who are finally getting home from a club but other than that the hostel is silent. We run out into the street and wait under the dark, chilly bus station stall until the no 11 bus toodles on by. Unfortunately, there isn’t a bus that goes directly to the international bus station, so we had to run the 3/4^th mile to shelter. We arrived soaked and freezing, but made the bus before it left. We sat in the front row and the next three hours were spent drifting in and out of consciousness. We made multiple stops between Malaga and Gibraltar so that the driver could pick up more passengers and so that the ticket assistant could take smoke breaks. Each time we stopped, the driver would leave the door open so that the cold air and the rain would blow directly into my face. I am going to avoid taking long bus trips from now on.

The bus pulled up to the station and everyone unloaded.

“Is this it? Is this Gibraltar?” I didn’t know what to expect, but what I saw wasn’t very pleasing. A run down bus station next to an ancient looking McDonalds ate up the scenery and you had to be careful to keep your footing on the broken coble street. Rachel and I wound our way to the La Linea (that’s where it turned out we were. Not the same as Gibraltar) tourist office. It was one of the nicer buildings in the city but we had to be careful going in the front door. The glass in the door was spiderwebbed from bullets being shot into it…or it could have been rocks thrown into the door. Lets go with rocks for now.

We spoke to the woman in charge and she seemed genuinely confused as to why we were there. Apparently nobody ever visits La Linea. I wonder why there was a tourist office? It turns out that Gibraltar was only about a quarter mile away, we had actually walked past in on the way to the tourist office. It looks like one giant military base. It actually is one giant military base. Surrounded by barbed wire and men with guns, this was our destination. Anything to get out of the big ball o’ joy that was La Linea.

We ate a quick breakfast/lunch of chocolate doughnuts, French fries and chicken before setting off to cross the boarder between Spain and the last little chunk of England. We went through customs where the man said “hello” in English and I knew that I was home.

A pidgin then decided to shit on my clothes.

After spending fifteen minutes in the Gibraltar welcome center bathroom, we headed out to see what there was to see. We really only had two things on our “to do” list: monkeys and Africa. There was a quaint little city center where we stepped in to see a glass blowing demonstration and then we worked our way over towards the water to catch a cable car up to the Gibraltar Rock. Turns out that the cable cars were closed due to high winds. We decided to walk.

We headed towards the botanical gardens to look at the native flora. The woman in the gift shop was mean so we didn’t stay long. There was a wildlife preserve that was under construction right up the hill from where the gardens were. We could see that it was filled with monkey. We like monkeys. We had to get in. I asked one of the workers if we could step in to look at the monkeys. He said “sure, no problem.” ( I don’t think he cared much for his job) He was busy chopping up a huge amount of fruit. I assumed it was for the animals so I asked, “Hey, is there anyplace nearby where we could buy some food to feed the animals?” He took the bait and tossed me a huge bag of white grapes “on the house.” We spent the next half hour feeding the monkeys and chatting with the construction workers and tourists watched from the outside.

Out the wildlife preserve and further up the hill, we hit a brief clearing where we could look out to see. What ho? What be that land across the sea? Africa! We have seen Africa! Our “to do” list now complete, we sat down and took a 5 minutes breather, not knowing what to do next. We heard that there was a great lighthouse nearby so we kept trekking up the hill. Around the rock we walked, seeing a gorgeous European shrine, a mosque and finally the lighthouse. By then the sky was looking pretty darn cloudy and it began to rain. We took shelter in a bus station by the lighthouse and waited. While we were waiting and snacking on mixed nuts that had been in my pocket for several days, a little balding man wearing all black, darted out from the nearby mosque and joined us under the stop shelter.

He began to make small talk with us and long story short—he is a “published” named Harry Hinde. He had recently finished a book called 666: The Divine Harmony and he was very interested in our travels. Not having much of a choice (pouring rain with the nearest shop being several miles away vs staying dry but in the presence of a true nutter) we decided to cut our losses and put up with his constant chatter. During the 30 minutes it took for the bus to arrive, Rachel and I learned all about “lay lines” the mapping of the cosmos, the interrelation between hell and the subconscious (?) world and several other incredibly confusing topics. FINALLY the bus pulled up. But wait, who is this now? Another figure, sprinting through the rain, wrenching open the bus doors as it pulls up. Its another bus driver, completely soaked to the bone and he is screaming at the current bus driver. The screaming was in Spanish so we didn’t know what exactly was going on, something about the current bus driver taking the best driving shifts. Fifteen minutes passed and we were finally let on, with the wet bus driver sulking in the back. The entire way back Harry kept talking. We were invited out for drinks, (we politely declined) he offered to walk us to the bus station (we politely declined) we even tried getting off the bus several stops early, but he insisted on showing us a shortcut to the bus station. Thankfully we were surrounded by people. So, Harry led the way, a bizarre mix between Mary Poppins and Willy Wonka with his large black umbrella and maniacal grin. I managed to snap a quick picture before we made our escape. We hid in a nearby candy shop to make sure that Harry wasn’t following us, then we made our way back to the bus stop.

Our bus was not supposed to arrive for another 30 minutes (We thought it was better to wait in La Linea. Maybe Harry wasn’t allowed there.) but there was one bus that was sitting, idling in the deserted bus station. The driver saw us and ran out to greet us.

“Where are you going?” he asked.

“Malaga, but our bus won’t be here for 30 minutes.”

“Ah, Malaga! I will take you now.”

Looking back, it was probably a poor decision to follow a strange man onto a strange bus in a strange country, but upon entering we met another American named Adam who was in the same situation. We both double checked with the driver that yes, he was going to Malaga. He just kept nodding his head as he shut the doors and sped off into the night. That was the end of that.

Turns out, the bus driver was true to his word. Not only did we arrive safely in Malaga, but we got there an hour and a half before schedule. Very nice! It was Friday and so a Stations of the Cross procession led towards the nearby church. Rachel and I followed for a bit before heading back to the hostel to pass out on the beds. It was definitely a trip of highs and lows.

Saturday: We were kicked out of our hostel at 11:30. Thankfully we were a block from the beach. We stayed there until 4, then got ice cream and headed to the airport. We arrived safely back. Yeah!

Well, that’s the end of that. Finally! Now off to Cork, Ireland tomorrow. More adventures to come. Thanks for reading!

Can't Spell Fiesta Without Siesta (Part 2)

(For some odd reason I cannot cut and paste these pictures, so they are in an odd order. I will put some captions with them so that they go with the post.)

Here are two of our new Spanish friends that we met at the game. They wanted us to have the Spanish flag in our picture.

Here are some advertisements for the protest that happened the same day as the game.
The match!
Spanish football fans? No, just Socialists. (But can you be both? Hmmmmm)
Cat on a hot stone wall!
Gilbrafaro Castle
Life's a beach.
One of the many public gardens.
Right outside of our front door.

Part 2: The Adventure Continues

Well, for being such a warm country, it certainly gets cold at night in Spain. The sound of chattering teeth mixed well with the blaring Spanish television that the night workers kept on all night. My bed was right by a sliding glass door that functioned as the fourth wall to my group’s room. Both the enticing smell of the sea (as well as the freezing sea breeze) wafted under the two-inch crack in the door/wall.

All who stayed in the hostel got free breakfast each morning (bread, coffee, cereal, fruit) and I usually tried to take enough so that breakfast could gradually turn into lunch. On the first day we spent the morning on the beach. We threw on our suits and laid out in the sun all morning. Well, I only lasted about an hour and a half. I knew I was going to get burnt so I put on my running shoes for a quick jog around the city. The beach stretches for a little over a mile and ends in a huge port where cruise ships and barges can dock for the night. I ran along a sandy trail to get a closer look at the ships and discovered a large lighthouse that was tucked out of view from where we were staying. The sky was a clear blue and I didn’t see a single cloud. A nice change from London weather.

Several of us went grocery shopping later in the day. We adventured in the city center and enjoyed several of the public parks that Malaga has to offer. The Melting Pot cooks traditional Spanish dinner each night for those who want to take part, so we all chipped in to buy some paella. It was seafood paella so I tried mussels and clams for the first time. Not bad.

One downside to living by the beach is that sand gets EVERYWHERE! It moves from your shoes to your socks to your bed until it feels like you are sleeping in a gigantic sandbox.

Monday: Quick breakfast then off to the supermercado to buy food for a picnic lunch on the beach. Some of us then went to check out the Pablo Picasso museum downtown. Turns out it was closed. Dang. BUT we did get to see several old churches, some ancient ruins of a castle and a cat stuck on a wall. So not a bad day. I lucked out in buying two tickets to see Spain play Venezuela and the group stayed out late playing hearts on the patio.

Tuesday: Decided to visit Gibralfaro Castle. It overlooks all of Malaga and is supposed to be the best view in the city. Got to the top of the hill where the castle is, guess what? Its closed. Let me just say something about how things are run here in Spain—it is the most confusing/frustrating thing ever to try to figure out when things are open here. Since the Spanish always partake in siesta (roughly 2-4 pm) it is always a gamble when you are trying to find something to do in the afternoon. Some shop owners may take an early siesta and not reopen their store/restaurant until 8pm. Some take a late siesta and reopen at 10pm. Some places (like the stupid supermercado) refuse to post daily hours and close and open at random. Out of the seven times that I tried to shop there, it was only open three times. But back to Gibralfaro.

We were still able to get a great view of the city and there was a steep stone path that led from the castle to the city center that was very scenic. I saw a little lizard.

The rest of the day was spent running about the city trying to find a restaurant that was open. We looked from 5-730 with no luck. Eventually (and to my complete embarrassment) we ended up at the one place that was still open—Taco Bell. That’s right, I ate Taco Bell in Spain. I felt awful.

Wednesday: Rachel and I woke up early to go get bus tickets for Nerja and Gibraltar. The bus station was about 45 minutes away if you were to walk, so we enjoyed a nice walk along the beach to the station. We knew that we were too hungry to make it back to the hostel, so we stopped at the Plaza Del Toros for lunch. There was a small restaurant right by Malaga’s bullfighting ring (no fights were happening while we were there. I don’t think I would have done anyway.) and I ordered pork chops with an egg. The pork in Spain in delicious. Iberian ham in the thing to eat down there. We walked back home for a much needed siesta since we would be up late that night.

The day before, I had asked one of the men working (Miguel) if he knew where I could rent a fishing rod. It turns out that he had one that he rarely used and he offered it to me for the day. So after our siesta, Rachel and I trooped out to the beach to try to catch dinner. We didn’t have much luck. That could be because we were using a deep sea fishing rod on a beach or it could be due to the fact that we didn’t have any bait. Well, we did have some bait, but the fish didn’t seem to be interested in wafer thin ham and orange peel. Still, it was a great experience.

That night was the night of the Spain game, so Rachel and I left at 8:30 to get to the stadium( a 50 minute walk from the hostel.) In about 15 minutes we were in the heart of the city center and we began to see massive mobs of people parading through the streets and chanting in Spanish. Being such a huge game, we thought that they were all Spain supporters. Several were waving Spanish flags, so we fell in line with the marching. Rachel then noticed that many of the people looked upset. Why would they be upset to go to a football match? Wait a minute, are those protest signs? Why are those people in the back carrying signs that say “Sociales and Laborales?” Turns out that we were in the middle of one of the largest Socialist/Labor party protests to happen in Spain in a good long while. Looking back, we had seen these signs advertising the protest all over the city, I just didn’t put two and two together until we were at the front of the protests. We thought that the police were there as a typical game day crowd control force, turns out that they were arresting people. Yikes.

We quickly made our way out of the protest and forwards towards the stadium. We didn’t join any large groups until the stadium was in sight. It was gorgeous. Lit up by floodlights, swarms of Spanish supporters were chanting in the streets and waving flags. We went to the wrong end of the stadium and barely made it in before the national anthem played. Our seats were right behind the home side goal and we had an excellent view of the entire playing field.

I have never seen players as amazing as the Spanish team. By the end of the first half it was 2-0 but should have easily been 4-0. The game ended 5-0 with almost all of the starters being subbed out. I almost felt bad for Venezuela. That night was probably one of the highlights of my trip. PART 3 COMING SOON!

You Can't Spell "Siesta" Without "Fiesta!"

Well here I am back in London! We arrived back to the flat at 1:45 after dealing with a delayed flight and a missed bus. My adventures in Spain will come in several parts since there is quite a bit to say and I am going to need a nap in about 30 minutes.

I caught a bus from Liverpool station Saturday morning. I was originally planning on taking a train since I was traveling by myself but the train cost about 20 pounds more. The English countryside was in top form as I rode to the airport and I enjoyed seeing how things outside of London worked. I flew out of Stansted airport and arrived about an hour and a half before my plane took off. I decided that I would get security out of the way first so I could just read my book in the lobby and wait for my gate to be announced. The worst part about Ryanair ( the cheapest service in Europe) is that they only pay to have a gate access for 30 minutes. They announce the gate half an hour before the departure time and if you aren’t watching then you will be at the end of the line to board. So whenever you see a mob of people running through the airport, you know that Ryanair just announced a gate location.

I ran into a small snag while going through security. Apparently my contact case looked dangerous so they selected my bag to be searched. This wasn’t a huge problem since my plane didn’t leave for another ninety minutes, and there were three Italian boys who also were getting their bags searched. The four of us stood in a line behind a table while four security workers went through our individual bags. I wasn’t paying close attention while the woman searched the outside pockets of my bag, I was searching for free wifi on my iPod, but the woman conducting the search soon demanded my attention:

“Sir, what is this”

“Oh that? Uh, it’s a block of cheese…does that count as a gel?”

“Why do you have a block of cheese in the pocket of your bag?”

“Well, I am running low on money and was planning on having a small picnic lunch in the terminal. I have crackers in the other pocket, to go with the cheese.”

The woman sent the cheese back through the scanner and opened the main section of the backpack.

“And these. Are these yours?” The woman was holding up a bright pink pair of running shorts. The Italian boys began to snicker.

“No. Those aren’t mine. Those are my girlfriends.”

“Why do you have them?”

“ I’m meeting her in Spain. She asked me to bring them. It looks like my cheese is back from being scanned.”

“Well, enjoy your picnic. And Spain.”

My flight went smoothly and I got a train ticket that would take me into the city. Unfortunately, I used up all of my change on the train ticket and realized that I would need change for the bus into the city center. There were several vending machines along the back wall of the train station but only one of them accepted bills. It was filled entirely with cans of “Aquarius.” Not having any other option, I bought one can so that I would have change for the bus system. Aquarius is actually pretty good. It tastes like uncarbonated sprite mixed with lemonade. It also has 35% of your daily sugar so I was awake for several more hours. I successfully navigated my way through nighttime Malaga to find our hostel, “The Melting Pot.”

The hostel was only a block away from the beach, so after I unloaded all of my gear, the others took me to see where they had spent the day. It was a gorgeous night with the temperature in the low 50s. Unfortunately, to get to the beach you need to pass through what we called, “The Wall of Stink.” We never found the source of the stink, it seemed to come from all directions, but it formed a one-foot thick wall in front of the beach. We think the city of Malaga wanted tourists to earn their place at the beach.

I stepped in the Mediterranean Sea and then walked back to sleep. A nice first night in Malaga. SO ENDS PART ONE OF MY JOURNEY!

The Sun in Spain

Well, in about twelve hours I will be getting ready to depart for Spain! I still have to pack but that shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. I also have to get a train ticket to the airport, but hopefully that won’t take too long. Come to think of it…I really have no idea how to get to my hostel after I land in Malaga. I should figure that out. Most everyone has already left for his or her spring break destinations. Italy, Spain and France are the three most popular with Ireland and Wales bring up the rear. I am traveling by myself until I get to the hostel, then I am meeting up with five other people.

So I will be gone for exactly one week and will not have a computer with me. I will bring my ipod so that I can check my emails every day but other than that I will only have my backpack. We do not have any solid plans laid out yet since we do not know the prices for any of the side trips but here are several of the things that we would like to do:

Travel to Morocco- I have always wanted to go to Africa and apparently it is only a 35 minutes ferry ride from Malaga.

Travel to the Straight of Gibraltar- Heard good things about it.

Go and see the Spanish National Team play Venezuela. Should be exciting.

Step into the sea- Might be a little chilly to swim.

Rent a Vespa and ride along the coast- They only cost 25 Euros for the day.

Relax on the beach and enjoy not being in a huge, crowded city.

I will be sure to prepare a very long blog for when I get back. Until then, wish me luck in figuring out the Spanish bus system by myself!

Happy Pancake Day!

I thought that the grocery stores just had a massive backlog of syrup and pancake batter, but apparently they were gearing up for one of the biggest breakfast days in February. Today is Pancake Day, also knows as Shrove Tuesday aka Fat Tuesday. Instead of eating all the fatty foods that they can find like I do back in the states, they instead focus on pancakes since they are made out of fat, butter and eggs. The holiday is celebrated by having Pancake races around the city. Two of the most popular races are the Parliament race and the Burrough Market race. The Parliament race features several high-profile MP's and their assistants as well as several of the big news anchors in London. We opted for the Burrough Market race since it is one of the oldest races. There were several pancake stands (also, pancakes=crepes here) so Rachel and I both got one to celebrate. Here is the first heat of the race that took place: