I am slowly growing sleepy...

Well, I didn't sleep really.

I had a catnap right after we set off, but the sun was beating down on me the entire time and there was a Greek guy across from me with the most obnoxious laugh, so it was a no go.

I tried after the sun went down again, but it went the opposite extreme. Between the moist air and the breeze over the deck, I was actually freezing, so I drifted in and out of consciousness for a bit.

I bet that if I tallied up the total number of hours I've slept in the past 5 weeks, it would boggle one's mind.

I'd wager a guess that it would average out to less than 5 hours a night.

Considering that many of my days couldn't really be considered sedentary (covering large cities on foot, scaling volcanoes and walking up thousands of stairs just for a great picture aren't my regular activities back in Canada amazingly), I'm actually pretty impressed with myself.

I suppose it is a little easier to wake up when your day consists of seeing some of the most beautiful places on the planet, sometimes followed by a refreshing dip in a blue-green sea.

I can't imagine why answering phones and filing paperwork doesn't illicit the same sort of enthusiasm from me.

So when I got off the bus from Athinios Port at Santorini's capital of Fira today, I didn't even hesitate to ask how much a PRIVATE room was from one of the many people offering rooms to let.

For 20 Euros a night I have hot water (oh, how I've missed you), a queen sized bed and central air in a cute room with a nice view on a beautiful island in a beautiful city.

Jealous yet?

Wait one second.. in my sleep deprived state I wrote just what I was feeling last night:

My definition of peace:

Watching the twinkling lights of beautiful little greek island towns greeting you across the water as you lounge on the deck of a ferry bound for your idea of heaven on earth accompanied by a paper, pen and good music on your MP3 player.

It's allowed to be a run-on sentence when it describes something that idyllic. It also didn't hurt to have a cute Aussie guy across from me.

Really. Mop up your drool.

Ferry Parties and Pseudo-Hangovers

Got on the ferry to Patras with only small issues.

I wasn't sure how to get into the port since the only entrance was manned by a surly looking armed guard, so I walked all the way around the port until I spotted a couple of Aussies speaking English. Turns out they were on their way to Patras, too, albeit on different boats from one another.

I got in, bought my ticket (on the deck, there was a HUGE difference between deck seats and 6 bed sleepers), and made my way up to the top to scope out my 'camping spot'.

It was empty since there were about 3 and a half hours until the boat departed, so I grabbed a Corona and a bottle of water from the deck bar and sat on a seat to people watch a read some of my book.

A few minutes later a couple sitting a few tables away from me asked where in Canada I was from, and I found out they were both going to school in London, Ontario, so we sat and started chatting. Ryan and Cheryl are both going to law school, and are taking a few weeks off to see the sights on southern Europe until cracking down and hitting the books this year.

Lisa, the Aussie girl I met outside the port, passed me about then, and said she was going to find a place to sleep and would be right back, so after she dropped her luggage and set up her bed, she sat down and the 4 of us started talking about everything under the sun.

The boat left at about 9:30 and we were already feeling pretty tipsy. Between me and an Aussie girl across the deck we drank the bar out of Coronas, so I switched to skunky German beer until Ryan suggested we go down to the bar on the next deck, so I dropped my luggage in their room for safe-keeping and he bought 2 rounds of Jaeger-Bombs and a few bottles of wine to get us started there.

Lisa had went to sleep, but since I was almost completely pissed by that point, I woke her up and convinced her to come join us.

The bar was almost completely empty except for us and a large group of what we speculated were either Aussies or Kiwis, so I approached them to find out and discovered they were Aussies and all together on a Contiki tour. As a former front desk agent from resort town, Alberta, I know Contiki is almost another word for "Tour full of Crazies who like to party" so I chatted them up and convinced them to start dancing with Cheryl and I despite the fact that there was really no dance floor and "Satisfaction" by the Rolling Stones can never really be considered a dance song.

Cheryl was starting to get a little tired so she went off to bed, I grabbed my luggage and stowed it beside Lisa's and we sent Ryan off to join Cheryl.

Started talking to one of the guest services guys and one of the bartenders from the bar, and the next thing you know we ended up in the (now completely abandoned bar) talking about relationships.

Guest Services guy kissed me and mentioned that he could give us a private room if we wanted one, but since I know that those things don't come without a 'price', I left and found the group of Contiki Aussies to hang out with.

Things get foggy at that point, but I think we spent most of the night drinking Screwdrivers since the bar was open all night, and ended up hanging on the back deck by where our camping spot was.

We docked at Corfu for about 1/2 an hour, and a guy named Clayton and I had a spitting contest to see who could actually hit Corfu.

I hit a truck destined for Corfu and since the rules of the contest weren't clearly defined, I was deemed the winner.

Watched the sun rise over the Ionian islands and realized that my chance to sleep was over, so I sucked it up and had a 20 minute nap in one of the Aussie dorm rooms in a tiny cramped little bed with Clayton.

Lisa woke up at around 8, so we got our swimsuits on and went for a swim in the ferry pool and then packed our bags and got ready to disembark.

I am 100% certain I was still completely drunk, so once we docked and established that there was a 2 hour wait for the train to Athens, Lisa and I opted to catch a bus at the station for 17 Euros.

Slept the entire way to Athens, and got there feeling the effects of the alcohol.

In retrospect, drinking and not sleeping enroute to Athens, of all places in the world was a poorly thought out decision, since Athenians can't even stand the summer heat in August. Imagine one exhausted, hungover Canadian girl wandering around the bus station in Athens with no idea of where her hostel is and you get a picture of what hell is like.

A really nice guy at the bus station ended up showing us almost the entire way to the hostel, and I am so thankful he did, because there's no way we could have navigated the streets and public transportation system in Athens without his help.

Made it, checked in, chatted to the guy named Scott from Vancouver who works there, showered and then decided to go check out the area and find an internet cafe.

We found a kebab place, grabbed a bite to eat and checked out the stadium where the first modern Olympics were held in 1896. Then we wandered down the street and took a few pictures of the Arch of Hadrian and Olympieion at night.

Went back to the hostel, talked to Scott and a girl named Kristen from Seattle, and went to grab some sleep.

Woke up at 8 this morning, hopped on a bus, and then another bus and then the Metro and finally found my way to Piraeus, where I bought my ticket to Santori.

I leave at 3 this afternoon and arrive at 6 tomorrow morning.

Here's to hoping I actually sleep on this boat.

Ciao, Roma

A quick note, because I forgot to mention it in my last post on Pompeii -- discovered yesterday that Sunday, the day we hiked up Vesuvius and toured Pompeii was actually the 1929th anniversary of the day Vesuvius buried Pompeii. Uncanny and completely unintentional but a hella cool story, nonetheless.

Anyway, onto current events:

The Vatican is seriously overwhelming.

I can't think of anything else to describe it.

The night before I went, I was at the hostel and not into getting up to trouble with the party crowd, so I hung out with the quiet stoners and chatted about life. About one or so, 2 girls from Ontario showed up, and one of them started talking to me about her trip to Rome, so far. We were talking about travelling, and she mentioned that she didn't know that she'd ever make it back to Rome with so many other places on her list.

I asked whether she had thrown her coin into the Trevi, and she gave me a blank look.

"Trevi?", she asked.

The newest Canadian guy to reside in the 'Canadian guy bed' (so named because it seems to always be occupied by fellow Canucks, obviously) gave her a look.

"The fountain?", he asked.

"You haven't been to the fountain yet? I've been here for half a day and I've already seen the fountain."

She looked a little embarrassed, and admitted she hadn't even heard of the Trevi Fountain.

And that is how we ended up walking across Rome to the Trevi fountain at 2 in the morning, and ending up lost until about 4.

It was, however, one of the best things I did in Rome. That fountain is awe-inspiring by day surrounded by hundreds of tourists. By night, it is the most romantic place on earth.

Needless to say, after getting lost in the eternal city until the wee hours, waking up at 7 for the Vatican took everything I had, but I made it, wandered around St. Peter's Basilica for a bit and then went into the square to make my way to the museum.

I passed a large group of people and a woman holding a sign that said "Free Tour" so I merged into the group and followed them for a much more informative tour of the Basilica and then into the museums, for a brief (2 hour) tour of the highlights of the museums and then into the Sistine Chapel.

I've been told by so many people that the Sistine underwhelmed them, and I can understand that if only because you spend several hours walking around seeing artifacts and exhibits that are amazing, beautiful and rare, and after the lavish display of the Catholic Church's vast riches, who cares about a ceiling, right?

I did, actually.

Michelangelo took 4 years out of his life, painting and fresco'd that ceiling by hand, and couldn't ever hold his head up correctly for the rest of his life.

I can appreciate that dedication, and I can appreciate how utterly magnificent that ceiling truly is.

Getting my funny tour guide's take on the secrets inside "The Last Judgement" and her information on the restoration work of the ceiling itself was fascinating, as well and really added to my experience.

We ended the tour by visiting the Vatican Grotto, and I was starving so I grabbed some souvenirs, some pizza and then made my way to the nearest Metro station.

I felt really ill and overheated by that point, but attributed it to having my first meal at 3 pm, so I found an internet cafe and by the time 1/2 an hour was up on my computer I was so ill I couldn't even sit up straight.

Went back to my hostel, had a cold shower and a lie down, and when I woke up with a headache, decided it was too ambitious to go celebrate my last night in Rome with Harriet, so prepared myself for a quiet night in.

It didn't really happen since all the people in my hostel were ready for night #5 of drunken debauchery and drinking card games, but Tito, the night guy, kicked them out at 11, and I had a nice chill glass of wine with a couple for Australia and went to bed so I could get up early this morning.

Caught my train just before 9 to Bari, the port where I will be crossing over to Greece. I will miss Rome, but I didn't have the love affair with it that I did Florence. Rome is just a very fun city.

Got off the train at Foggia for a stretch to go grab some food from a vending machine, but since they were all broken, I sucked it up and went to the lone fast food place in the small station -- McDonalds.

Ordered a Big Mac, which seemed to take FOREVER, almost missed the train (had one minute to spare and got on the wrong carriage just so I was on the train) and then on the train, discovered I was missing my pass and ticket.

Hyperventilated while frantically digging through all my luggage, while the nice conductor patiently waited and the 2 sweet Italian guys helped me look all through the carriage for it. One of them finally located it in the book I was reading, so crisis averted. My need for a cigarette was pretty strong though.

Damn stress.

In any case, I made it to Bari in one piece and am currently enroute to the Ferryport to reserve my seat for tonight at 8pm. I should be in Patras, Greece by afternoon tomorrow and if not, I'm at the bottom of the Adriatic.

If that should happen, burn the wooden box in my room without opening it and split my books and DVDs amongst yourselves.

At best, here's to hoping I don't get too seasick.

Cheers!

Pub Crawls, Fountains and Volcanoes

Rome is great fun.

I got in early Friday afternoon, found my hostel, introduced myself to my roommates and TRIED to have a nap. No dice.

Finally decided by 7 - after wandering around bleary eyed looking for a cash machine - that sleep was an impossibility, but a pub crawl was DEFINITELY in the cards.

After a quick shower and application of makeup, 4 of my roommates and I made our way on the Metro to the Spanish Steps for one of the bigger Roman pub crawls.

We established when we got there, that there were at least 200 people for the crawl, possibly as many as 300, so we crowded our way to the first bar, stood in line for what seemed like forever, watched half of the group wander off on a seperate pub crawl, then finally paid our twenty and made our way in to consume as much free alcohol as we could before going to the next bar and, ugh, paying for booze.

Became an official University of Toronto alum when a girl from the UofT group gave me an extra green VIP bracelet.

I'm still not clear what it entitled me to but I do know I was the only person there with both green and pink bracelets which makes me, by definition, awesome.

I may have bought a packet of cigarettes.

No, disappointingly I really did.

They were Lucky Strikes and they came with an awesome lighter shaped like a hockey puck. What Canadian could resist?

I did lose them at some point during the night and wasn't smoking the next morning, although I still claim ownership of the cooler-than-you-are lighter.

This does not mean that I am a smoker again.

The last bar of the night was on a boat, so Nathan from Fort Nelson (how random that I meet someone from my neck of the woods in Rome, Italy?) and I snagged a table at the top of the boat where I proceeded to get tanked on Malibu and Pineapple juice.

Harriet from England found a group of Irishmen to challenge to drinking competitions, and did our fair sex proud when she won hands down. We sat with them anyway, despite them being disappointing competitors, and I almost convinced one of them to jump in the (very polluted, very green) Tiber, but since all I had was €20 and my Mastercard, it was a no go. Sadly plastic still isn't accepted in dares, despite the year being 2008.

Was really growing concerned about one of the boys, as he kept looking like he might be in danger of nodding off. We kept him alert by handing him the camera to take pictures, but it turns out he was just saving his energy for the dance floor. He turned into a machine. I went into (long dormant) club kid mode, which I'm sure was terrifying and ran into a group of BC-ites I'd met in Florence at JJ Cathedral. The world grows smaller and smaller.

We left at some point, and after hearing the story of how Harriet went fountain diving with the 3 Aussie girls that preceeded me in the room, and knowing firsthand just how easy to convince she was ("Pompeii on a Saturday morning? But then you can't drink tonight! Go Sunday Instead."), I pointed out the fountain enroute to the Kebab shop (that we never actually located), and although there was no attempted swimming in the 3 inches of water, we did run through the jets of water, reminiscent of running through sprinklers as a child.

Great fun.

On the walk back to the hostel (which due to Nathan, we DID locate), I realized just how uncomfortable it is to walk around in wet, soggy slacks. So I did what any drunk person would do. I stripped them off and walked in only my t-shirt, which thankfully was only JUST long enough to be a decent dress. Barely. If one squinted while looking at me.

Drinking does tend to make you less discretionary about things like modesty and dress length.

Couldn't find my pants the next morning, which made me sad, and a little confused since I almost distinctly remembered putting them back on in the Metro stairwell across from the McDonalds (in case McDonalds has implemented some sort of 'no pants, no service' rule in Rome).

Turns out they were under Harriet's bed and my day instantly brightened.

After the McDonalds incident, I assume we made it back to the hostel, since I woke up in bed, and Nathan and I took off to go see the Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and the the Mausoleum of Hadrian. It was a relief to hand off the responsibilities of getting from A to C while stopping to check out B to someone else for a change. I do enjoy getting lost in cities, just not while tired and a bit hungover.

Got back to the hostel at about 4, and I had a wonderful nap until 6. Enjoyed the free pasta dinner at the hostel (Freestyle Hostel in Rome.. FREE DINNER!), and then Harriet, Nathan and I went to have a glass of sangria and checked out the night market on the river.

When we got back, I went to try to find an internet cafe/International Call Centre to upload some photos and to call mom, but I had no luck.

Rome is this really substantial city where almost nothing is open on Sunday, Monday or past 11. It's kind of surreal.

Walking back to the hostel, I was so frustrated with not getting to call home, and the dirty old men/sleazy groups of black men making comments and catcalls after the lone white girl wandering around after dark, that I ended up flipping one guy off after he kept following me asking where I was from. How dare he, right?

Let's just say that if you are a moderately attractive, young woman wandering the streets of Italy alone, you get a lot of it, and after the thousandth time in a week, you're bound to reach a breaking point.

I'm still not sure why Algerian/Italian/Moroccan/Tunisian/Whatever else I missed men seem to think catcalls, wolf whistles and pestering pretty girls is the best way to meet women, but they do.

God help us all.

Harriet, Nathan and I woke up really early yesterday morning and hopped on a train bound for Naples to see Pompeii and Mt. Vesuvius.

We weren't sitting together, so I was stuck with 4 Italian men who all looked up hopefully when I walked into our carriage.

Now I know what strippers must feel like when they walk into bachelor parties.

I put on my headphones so I wouldn't have to make awkward conversation, and tried my hardest to sleep all the way there.

We got the Vesuvio Express bus to the starting point of Mt Vesuvius, and while Nathan happily skipped his way to the top of the volcano, Harriet and I dragged ourselves with every last ounce of strength to the top, hating the fact that we had both given years of our lives to cigarettes.

Vesuvius is very cool, and well worth the (excruciatingly painfully steep and slippery) 15 minute walk. Good Times.

We had lunch, and then caught the Naples train to Pompeii where we took crap loads of pictures and stared at the erotic paintings on a brothel wall and giggled like little kids.

Tried to find a pizza place, since Napoli is the birthplace of the pizza, but again, no luck since almost everything seems to be closed on Sundays in Italy.

Instead we walked around a really sketchy area of town searching for the train station, avoiding massive piles of garbage and stray dogs, and trying desperately not to get mugged.

Happily, no mugging, dog attacks or plague outbreaks, but Naples is definitely not on my "Will Return To" list of cities. It is dirty, huge and really scary.

Made it back to the train station, and then resigned ourselves to Kebabs and beans for dinner. I think I'm more sad about not getting pizza in Naples than I am about missing the French Riviera, as a whole.

We were very worried that by the time we made it back to Rome, and then hostel at past 11, we would wake everyone up.

Turns out we were worried for nothing.. there was a massive party going on in our room, and so we drank cheap wine and stood around near a bar until about 2 this morning.

My liver hates me.

I'm off to the Colisseum today and the Vatican tomorrow because I am SERIOUSLY lacking culture.

Arrivederci, Florence.

I kind of feel like shedding a tear about that.

I really enjoyed Florence. I think it's funny that I've had my most active nightlife in a small city that offers almost no weekday nightlife (unlike the rest of Europe), but it has been a really good time.

FYI -- I ended up going for a walk with a cute boy.

Off to Rome.

Under the Tuscan Sun (and moon)

Went to Lucca yesterday which is this small city about 2 hours by train from Florence.

Was having a great time on the train listening to music (I think I listened to Metro Station's "Shake It" about 20 times.. it's like my new theme song after nights out), eating my lunch kebab, smiling like a moron, and smiling at the hot Italian guy across the aisle.

The hot Italian got off at a station about 20 minutes down the line, and was replaced by this other young guy that wasn't half as cute, but was twice as determined to make conversation.

If, of course, you can consider anything between an Algerian who speaks about 6 words of English, 30 words of French and a billion words of Italian, and me, a conversation.

I didn't. It took him almost an hour for him to get through to me that he is a house painter by trade. It took another 1/2 an hour for him to tell me that his parents and siblings were gunned down in Algeria when he was only a few years old, and then it took him another 15 minutes to ask me if I had a boyfriend or not, and if not, would I like to go for coffee.

By chance, I did have a boyfriend at that moment, because I can't imagine anything more painful than coffee with someone that I can't talk to, or what the conversation would consist of since the only thing I know about him is that he has a sad past and he smells a lot of paint fumes.

Lucca is pretty, but unfortunately, not special enough to have made the 2 hour train ride for.

There is, however, something sort of funny about walking down an ancient street of an old fortified town centre in Tuscany and hearing the strains of "Sweet Home Alabama" as someone practices on their acoustic. Not very authentic, but funny.

Got back to the hostel at about 6, had a shower and decided to have a nap.

Was just entering an R.E.M. cycle when a knock on my door woke me up. I waited for a second to see if anyone else was awake and coherent enough to get there quicker than me (all in vain since I was like six feet from the door, and my other roommates were in the loft upstairs) and figured I would suck it up and just answer the door.

There was this cute little blonde American girl standing there, and she asks if I'm Bridgit, and if so, if I'm still planning to go out tonight?

Since I'm half asleep still, I wasn't sure what she was talking about, or how she knew that I was planning to go out, so I probably swayed and stared for a minute or so to let everything process, and then remembered telling the girl at the front desk about my plans earlier in the day.

I am, if nothing else, the queen of wonderful first impressions.

Turns out it wasn't held against me. The American girl, Jackie, came in and we chatted candidly for 45 minutes or so, and then made plans to head out at about 11.

A few minutes later I had convinced my roommate from Argentina, Mary Sue, to put on her heels and to join us, and at about quarter to 11, I went to make sure Jackie was almost ready.

She wasn't, but then being that she's female and I am too, I understand, and she's forgiven.

We discovered that I am the worst tour guide in the world, since I only manage to navigate around Florence based on how far or how close I am to the Duomo or the river. With it being dark outside, I didn't really have either reference point to begin with, so we may have gone in the wrong direction for a bit, and we made it to the bar at about 11:30.

Neither of my Albanians were there (likely because I told them I would meet them at 11 if I was feeling up to it), but there was a group of much older, much uglier Albanians there that scared the crap out of Mary-Sue, so we walked her back to the hostel and then went looking for fun in Florence.

Again, it was a trial. We went in the direction of the train station, since one of the bouncers at the pub recommended it to us as a place that MIGHT be happening, but we were having a tough time finding it.

Resourceful Jackie decided to ask a newsagent where the nearest nightclub was.

"Right Here", he says, and cranks up his radio.

She dances and I try hard not to pee myself.

We were sort of being stalked by these 2 creepy guys, so we decided we'd pretend we spoke some really obscure, nonsensical language and nothing else, and came up with Icelandic because we couldn't remember Bjork ever making sense, and you rarely meet people from Iceland, so no one would know the difference. (If you are reading this and you are from Iceland, I truly am sorry)

We walked right past them as they started catcalling and following us, and talked gibberish for about 2 blocks, until I told her to stop so we could confront them.

Sure enough, as soon as we stopped they stopped, too, and tried to initiate conversation.

We looked confused and spoke back and forth, and then finally looked at them, shrugged and said, "No English".

It didn't really work, since I assume they figured we were hot enough that a language barrier was a non-issue, and they tried, but we just waved and walked away.

This guy, handing out flyers for a club of sorts, managed to convince us that it was happening place with food (Jackie hadn't had supper), so we followed him for what seemed like a millenia (especially when I was being pursued by an Italian who smelled like body odor and figured my grunting "Si" or "No" was a sign of interest) and when we finally arrived. We looked at the 6 people there, Jackie got a sandwich, I got the loo, we ate and then left.

I managed to get us horribly, horribly lost. I'm so used to cities being set up on an axis, that when I'm confronted with these confusing circular streets, well, I go in circles.

So we walked through a plaza 3 times before I discovered we were lost. Jackie pretended to have faith in my abilities, and I pretended to, as well.

It didn't work.

If I hear the words Regazza, Bellisima or Bella one more time from a guy over 40, I might end up in an Italian prison. At first I took it all in stride, but walking around in a micro mini with a pretty blonde girl at 2 in the morning means that every Italian man - be he fat, thin, young, old, pretty, ugly or pretty ugly - figured that gave him reason to catcall us last night as we wandered around lost, and pretending not to be.

We did, however find the pub again, and proceeded to discover that Iceland in Italian is "Islanda", and pretended to chatter back and forth in Icelandic with the excitement of our discovery, while also pretending not to know what a "beer" is.

There were a few cute boys there, but there was also enough undesirable interest from non-cute boys that we deemed it unworthwhile and headed back to the hostel.

I went to the Italian Giardino di Boboli this afternoon to blow a few hours, and enjoyed myself. Then I did laundry this afternoon, went and had a great dinner and now I'm debating what to do tonight.

I kind of feel like drinking a lot of red wine and dancing in the streets without shoes. I also feel like seeing a cute boy and going for a walk.

Sleep feels like a priority, too, but I'll be in Rome tomorrow night and can make it up there.

I guess we'll see where the night leads.

Florence: A city of Romance

Went out shopping and seeing the sights in Florence yesterday morning, and had an all around great day.

In the heat of the afternoon I hung out in my room with a beer and The Economist until my roommate, Ania got back from her sightseeing, and then we went and grabbed supper, gelato and walked around looking for the young people.

I'm not sure why we had so much trouble finding a good place to go out, but Florence is obviously not a city catering to the young club going crowd. So we wandered around in vain for a few hours, inobtrusively following young Italians who looked like they had someplace cool to be. No luck.

At about 10:30, Ania finally decided to take me back to the little Irish pub she was at a few nights ago and the moment we walked in the door, this big, blonde, friendly looking American guy envelopes her in a bear hug like a long lost sister, and we knew we had made the right decision.

Hung out with an Italian named Giuseppe who wanted to practice his english, and checked out the local fauna, and all the other hot tourists who came to what turned out to be, a local hotspot.

It's funny that in a city the size of Florence, the hotspot is smaller than most quiet Irish pubs back home, but we had a good time, the bartenders were funny, the drinks were strong and the conversation was flowing in Italian, English, drunken Australian and gibberish.

I left Ania talking to Giuseppe and an American and started chatting up these 2 very hot Albanian boys who had been checking me out for a good hour or so, and at about 2 or so, all 4 of us headed back to our hostel.

Ania met this group of 4 American boys while she was sitting on the curb out front of our hostel saying "Ciao" to everyone who walked past, and I left her happily chatting away to them, and went for a walk with the Albanians to check out Firenze by night.

I do really like this city.

Off to see the city of Lucca this afternoon, and then plans to meet up with the Albanian boys tonight at the pub again when I should probably be sleeping.

Holidays rock.

It's a Small World, After All...

It really is.

Got on the train heading to Pisa at about 1 yesterday afternoon.

Was making eyes at this one cute guy sitting behind me, but he was with a group of his buddies, so it's hard to approach someone in that situation. I mainly just listened to my MP3 player and updated my journal and map.

Coming into the first station in Pisa, I stood up to collect all my bags and to reorganize, and cute boy piped up and asked me in accented english if there was only one station in Pisa.

Never having been to Pisa, I wasn't sure, so we asked around until someone assured us that the Centrale, or Main, station in Pisa is the second stop.

They had been spying on me, and saw that I had been to Portugal, and since they were all from a small village in Northern Portugal, we started chatting about my thoughts on the country, and where I would go when I go back.

We all got off at the main station, and the 4 of us headed to the Leaning Tower to take the typical "Look Mom, I'm the only thing stopping the Tower of Pisa from becoming the Pile of Pisa" shot.

We decided to head into the shade, and as we were walking and talking I swore I heard someone call my name.

Realizing that I am, in fact, in Pisa, Italy, it seemed highly unlikely that anyone would know me, but I glanced around casually in case I recognized anyone, or saw anyone frantically waving at me, kind of like Johann was doing from his perch in the shade.

Since the last time I saw him was on the platform in Atocha Renfe, and the last email I got from him stated he was in Marseille, France, he was the last person I expected to see a week, and 2 countries later, but amazingly, there he was.

We hugged, dragged all his crap (some men are much worse overpackers than women) over to where the Portuguese boys were waiting and then caught up.

Like the Portuguese boys, he had a helluva time in France, which just made me feel a lot happier that I didn't make it to the French Riviera after all. Since I was planning to spend the weekend there, and they were all stuck there at the end of the weekend due to the large crowds who all had the same idea I did, I guess heading onto Torino, and taking a miss on Nice and Monte Carlo was really a stroke of genius.

Sent him back to Cinque Terre for the photo ops, and then the Portis and I hopped on a train heading for Florence, so they could catch their connection to Ancona (and then onto Greece) and so I could check into my hostel room before it got too late.

Got into Florence at about 7-ish, sent the Portis on their way with a quick exchange of contact details and kisses, and then found my hostel room in no time.

Checked in, chatted to the lovely Polish girl at the front desk for a bit, then met my friendly roommates, where we chatted about Cinque Terre (the South African in my room was at the same hostel in Biassa on my first night there), Florence and our travels, and then I found an internet cafe that was open late where I proceeded to spent almost 7 Euros on a phone call home to mom.

I think I'm really going to like Florence.

Cinque Terre

I got to La Spezia a few days back after leaving rainy Torino behind, and made my way to the hostel I had booked in Biassa, just on the outskirts.

Biassa is this cool little village nestled up in the hill above La Spezia, with an awesome view of the townsite. It's also the kind of place that has 2 competing pizzerias and not much else.

The group of 4 Aussie girls I had arrived with and I were floored to discover that the hostel has a lock-out period from 11-3 and being that it was shortly before 2, we settled in for a long rest in the hot sun outside the hostel doors waiting to get in.

Finally got in, settled in and I went over to the closest pizzeria for a late lunch, before heading to La Spezia for some wine and fruit for breakfast.

When I got back to the hostel, 2 of the Aussies were outside with another Aussie guy from Perth who was staying at the hostel, so we cracked the bottle of wine, and got a little tipsy before deciding to try the second pizza place on for size.

The first one was much better.

We bought a bottle of cheap red from the pizzeria, went for a little walk, and then ended up on the cathedral steps where we proceeded to drink and talk about odd topics ranging from bowel movements to strap-ons, until shortly before one, where we headed back to the hostel for a good night's sleep so we could attempt the hike through the 5 villages the next day.

The next morning, I groggily turned off my alarm at shortly past 8, hopped in the shower, downed a Red Bull and a banana and then went and met the Aussie guy at the bus stop. The 2 girls weren't feeling up to it, and I can't say that I blamed them considering how crap I felt, and how much I wouldn't be able to do anything without the aid of Taurine and Guarana.

We took the bus to La Spezia, and then the train to Riomaggiore, and then onto Monterosso, the last in the 5 Cinque Terre villages, and on the train met up with a group of Aussies that were heading in the same direction.

One guy convinced us to come hang out at the beach and go for a swim before we started the hike, so we went and played beach bums for about 3 hours.

The Aussie that I came with spotted this cave across the water, so he swam over to check it out, and then came back to drag me along, which was honestly, a terrifying experience for me.

I'm a decent swimmer, but I'm also a swimmer accustomed to the still waters of lakes and pools, so having waves crash over me as I swim across dark water, with heart palpitations, sure that any moment, sharp teeth are going to crunch my pale ass legs into shrapnel, was VERY unnerving. I made it though.

We explored the cave for a bit, and then I mustered enough courage to tentatively breaststroke all the way back to shore.

After playing in the water and laying in the sun for an hour, it was all we could do to muster the enthusiasm to start the hike, but we finally did at about 3pm.

Let me warn you in advance... The villages of Cinque Terre are breathtakingly beautiful and the photo ops are numerous. It's a terrific workout, and it's an experience I won't soon forget. I could happily never see another fucking stair in my life now.

There are literally about 1000 stairs going up the mountain from Monterosso, heading towards Vernazza (the second last village).

When I hear the word hiking, I think backcountry trails, pulling yourself up sharp inclines by holding trees and roots, and trying not to trip and fall on exposed rocks. I don't think 1000+ natural rock stairs jutting far up into the blue expanse of sky.

Stairs are MUCH harder than pulling yourself up inclines using tree branches. Much.

So by the time we got to Vernazza (a little over an hour after we started), we were starving, thirsty and ready for another swim. We grabbed a pizza to share, a huge bottle of water and 2 beers, and we headed over to the marina/beach to swim.

Aussie guy saw yet ANOTHER cave, and this time I decided to do sentry duty on the bags and play with the fish in the marina, thinking I had toyed enough with my life for one day.

Probably a smart idea, since he had trouble making it through, and there was a riptide that almost threatened to pull him out to sea. If that wasn't good enough, at some point he managed to kick a sea urchin, and limped out of the water 15 minutes later with tiny little black barbs stuck in his foot.

It's times like that, that I'm happy I'm cautious.

So we limped onto Corniglia, which took about another hour and a half. Stopped for some pictures of the sunset, and then headed onto the next village, Manarola.

By this point, it was pretty dark, but by the time we reached Manarola, we knew that the Via Dell'Amore, or Lover's Walk, is an easy walk of under a half hour, so we made our way to the first village, Riomaggiore, where we promptly found an Italian restaurant for some comforting carbs and beer.

We met up with the Aussies from earlier while we were grabbing gelato, and the group of us went and sat on the rocks at the marina, and chatted while the few of us heading back into Biassa waited for our bus.

Got back to Manarola, and we proceeded to feed the Aussie guy I spent the day with copious amounts of wine, and did surgery on all the little barbs in his foot while catching up on the Georgia/Russia situation, and the Olympics via BBC news. I heart the BBC.

You may think it's a little funny that I keep referring to everyone by their Nationality instead of their name, but the truth is, I felt like such an arse after asking for names (and then promptly) forgetting them, twice, that I didn't bother to ask again.

Off to Pisa, and then Firenze.

Torino

I've been hauling around this uber cool souvenir hoodie I bought in London on my 2nd day in Europe for almost 3 weeks now and doubted my wisdom every step of the way. Especially when it came to cramming everything into my (as it turns out MUCH smaller than everyone else's) pack. Space is dear to me, but I loved the shirt and it stayed.

Turns out, I might have actually been wise.. Torino/Turin, Italy is a really pretty city, but the climate currently is on par with a Northern BC spring -- rainy, windy and highs of about 15°C. Guess what I wore today?

So between the shirt with LONDON ENGLAND written across it in bright red letters and my newly acquired Maple Leaf pin (because I was a moron who thought the Canadian flag patch on the daypack I almost never wear during the day would be sufficient to warn everyone) I am now spoken to in English everywhere I go. Turns out in Italy, I might need that a little more than in Spain.

Although I seem to know about as much conversational Italian as I do Spanish after 2 weeks spent in Spain, I was optimistic about my chances of being understood (and thus treated better) in Italy.

I managed to fumble through a conversation with a gentleman at the ticket office today in pure Italian (well, and hand gesturing because I am NOT perfect), but I got a reality check when I went to the Porta Nuova station to buy my ticket to La Spezia tomorrow. I tried Italian, but when the ticket guy just smiled and started speaking in broken English, I sucked it up and stopped the authenticity. He was really nice, even drawing me a map of Cinque Terre, La Spezia and 2 other coastal towns he recommended, and I just assumed that all Italians were really nice, until he started stroking my hand, telling me I had beautiful eyes and asking if I was busy later.

He was a good looking guy, but I'm also not stupid enough to believe that his intentions are completely honorable when he asked me out after finding out that I'm a female solo Canadian traveller who knows no one in Torino.

Well, as we continued talking, and I told him thanks, but no, and arrivederci, he got more and more excited and nervous and started speaking in almost completely Italian which was very frustrating for me, because I wasn't even sure what we were talking about anymore.

I ended up just waving and saying Ciao, and hopefully I didn't offend too much, but if he's that forward with every attractive traveller that comes through his line, I don't think I'll be on his mind for much longer anyway.

I should probably stop being so candid with everyone.. even when you assume the questions are related to a professional transaction.

Anyway, off to La Spezia and Biassa, and then either tomorrow or Sunday, I plan to hike through the five villages of Cinque Terre and hang out on the beach again, because I really miss my Med.

Tonight I hung out in my room (which FYI, is a dorm room that I am solo in! SCORE!), did laundry and watched MTV because I am just that cool, and admittedly, you miss chilling out by yourself, painting your toenails and watching English TV, even if there are hot Italian men out there just ripe for the picking.

BCN

I love Barcelona. The nightlife, the architecture (Barcelona was the chosen home of renowned modernist architect Antoni Gaudí), the close proximity to the Med and amazing beaches.. yes, again, this is another place I could quite happily live in despite it's noted high cost of living.

I met up with an Australian girl named Maeve my first night here and we went out for dinner and cocktails and then down La Ramblas to check out the waterfront. They ended up closing the bridge back to Las Ramblas, so we walked around, and caught a nightbus to what we assumed was the direction of our hostel.

No such luck.

At about 3 am we finally sucked it up, hailed a taxi and made it back to the hostel where I fell into bed fully clothed and deeply asleep until the next morning.

We caught the metro over to check out Casa Batlló and La Pedrera, 2 of Gaudí´s more well-known structures (besides the Sagrada Familia, of course) and then up to Park Güell and spent the morning there taking pictures and generally playing tourist and then made the decision to head off to the beach for the afternoon.

Maeve picked a beautiful beach and so we spent the afternoon playing in the water (yes, again, I braved 'shark infested waters' for a swim), sun-tanning and even getting a €5 massage from a little Asian lady in the sand. In fact, I was so relaxed that I even sort of took off my top. But not really, since I was lying face down. I'm still not that brave.

Anyway, Hedonism at it's best. That, my friends, is what is generally known as The Good Life.

We picked up some veggies and fruits for dinner and generally just had a really laid back day.

Today on the other hand has been one cock-up after another. Woke up at 6:30 to head to the train station to book my ticket to Nice. Unfortunately that train is all full, and my only option is to catch 4 connections there and to arrive at near midnight tonight. Not all that bad if you can find a reasonably priced place to stay for the next few nights.

Unfortunately, I've thought through very little of this section of the trip and didn't realize how difficult it would be to book a hostel room in the French Riviera in mid August. Near impossible, in case you were wondering.

So I debated all morning, trying to decide where I should go instead. Maybe just on to Cannes? Or all the way to Italy?

Had breakfast with Maeve and made my decision... I'll be in Torino, Italy in the morning after spending over 70 Euros on a sleeper berth on the train leaving Barcelona tonight.

I'm only planning to spend a brief period of time there, and then onto La Spezia and the 5 villages of Cinque Terre as soon as possible.

I'm the TINIEST bit disappointed that I'm missing Southern France this trip, but I assume that my good paying career working as a multi-lingual design consultant in a architectural firm in Southern Spain will allow enough flexibility and money to do it in style in a few years time, anyway, so I can't be TOO sad.

Maybe I'll even have acquired a latin lover by that time. Ooh La La.

*sigh*

Back to reality.

Barcelona

I finally got out of Madrid.

Got the crappiest seat selection on the train getting to Barcelona. Normally I specifically ask for a window seat, but the guy that sold me my reservation was really cute, and mundane details like that slip my mind when I'm around cute boys.

Anyway, 3 seperate people got the window seat that I didn't ask for and so at Zaragoza, Lleida and Camp Tarragona I had to turn down my music, smile, pretend I understood Spanish (I am DEFINITELY taking Spanish lessons when I get home) and shuffle into the aisle so they could take the seat I coveted.

I ended up watching Alvin and the Chipmunks, which was on the on-train entertainment. Unlike my Madrid to Sevilla trip, this time it actually had English subtitles and so as long as I watched the TV and not the Spanish countryside whipping past at 300 Km/hr I got the gist of the movie.

I left Johann in Madrid. Actually, I left Johann standing on the platform at the Atocha Renfe metro station while the doors of the Metro train refused to open for me, and the 2 Boulder hippies just laughed about how I was fated to remain in Madrid forever.

He just shrugged and watched the train pull away while I wrestled with the door.

Bonne Chance, my South African friend!

(PS. Stop talking to yourself in Afrikaans, you silly boy.. the Scots in the dorm last night thought you were maybe a little soft in the head.)

The absolutely coolest thing about the train to Barcelona is that you're flying at this ridiculously fast land speed, and you come barrelling through a tunnel, exit, glance to your left and see whitewashed houses lining the shore of the Med and a dozen yachts floating around. Then another tunnel. Repeat.

It's such a tease, but my breath still caught a little everytime that it happened.

2 days here and then onto Nice, Cannes and Monte Carlo, Monaco. Now doesn't that sound like fun?

Too Slow and the Med

Johann really wasn't liking the confusion that is Granada, so he suggested we hit up a little beach town enroute to Valencia.

I agreed since it seemed like a good idea, and then we scanned a map of Andalucia trying to find a worthy destination. Since the only pretty beach town I knew of was Cadiz on the west coast, we asked the bartender at my hostel to give us a hand. She suggested Almería, and we made plans to catch a train the next day.

Almería is a really pretty little coastal town, but quite modern in terms of appearance. We lucked out and found a room at the only youth hostel in town, and then went to the beach for a few hours to swim in the Mediterranean and to sunbathe.

I swear, only in Southern Europe can you sunbathe at 7 pm and honestly expect results.

Anyway, we got back to the hostel that night and it was beyond sweltering. Since it was the lone room, we couldn't afford to be picky, but it was in direct sunlight all afternoon and the one window afforded no relief or air circulation.

I sucked it up, but I can't say I had a very relaxing, fullfilling or even remotely decent sleep since I clearly remember sitting in bed covered in sweat drinking orange juice for most of the night. Johann slept like the dead. At least, the dead that snore.

Got to the train station before 11 hoping to just hop the next train to Valencia (and under the assumption that this was an easy process) and were informed that it was impossible to get a train to Valencia on the day. We were told that our options were to stay in Almería until the next day to catch a train at about 7 in the morning

Sat across from a funny Italian couple and 2 hippie mountain climbers on their way to fly home to Boulder, Colorado and that made the train ride go by really quickly. The hippies gave me their copy of Siddhartha by Hermann Hesse when I noted that I'd just finished my book the night before, and I hope my life will be changed by it, like theirs was. We led them to our hostel in Madrid since they didn't have anything booked and that brings me to the present.

I'm kind of looking forward to getting out of Madrid.. even if our hostel is right across the street from a really upscale looking tattoo place, and I've had the craving for some new ink this entire trip.

Granada = The Easy Life

I had a really good day yesterday. I lazed about in the sunshine for an hour, chatted with an Italian guy who had the same idea and then hung out in my room with 2 guys from Argentina for an hour or so. Went downstairs to the hostel bar and chatted with the really friendly German bartender about everything under the sun while she fed me the best kiwi flavored cocktails I've ever had, and Johann showed up shortly before 9.

We went for tapas at a place near my hostel, had a few more drinks, grabbed some ice cream and then went walking across the Plaza Nueva so I could show him the Alhambra by night.

As we were walking across, we saw a street performer, a clown of some sort doing his performance. He spotted us and our ice cream and came charging up to me to demand that I let him try a taste. I ended up feeding almost the remainder of my bowl to him, which earned me a big wet sloppy kiss on my cheek.

He was brilliantly funny though, and we watched his entire performance along with close to 300 other people who stopped to check him out.

He did gags, pulled people out from the audience to assist him (which I think everyone enjoyed doing) and was a very talented gymnast.

I felt like crap that I only had about 70 cents to give him at the end. I can respect that. Granada is full of transients, hippies and homeless people who all beg or do crappy busking performances and here was one truly talented guy who entertained us for over 1/2 an hour, and all I had was less than a lousy dollar to give him.

We made it up to the Alhambra, and I showed him where my old hostel was since the view is sublime from there. He headed up solo to snap some pictures, and I hung out and waited. I can't imagine how awkward it would be to run into clique central on their turf, and admittedly started getting quite nervous the longer he was taking.

After he finished up on the hill, we headed back, and watched some street musicians. Johann snapped a few more shots while I made friends with some of the stray dogs running around the plaza, and tried to decide which of the motley looking mutts was in actuality, the cutest.

About midnight, Johann headed back to his hostel to get some sleep, so he could be up bright and early to queue to see the Alhambra this morning, and I went back to mine.

Met up with 3 med students from Malaysia there and we drank a bottle of wine on the roof terrace and discussed world politics for a few hours.

Why must I always talk politics when I'm drinking? Not that it wasn't really good fun, because it was, and I always enjoy intelligent conversation, but I always seem to pick the most volatile topics when I've had a few drinks.

Went to bed at around 2:30 and hauled myself up at 10. Minced around the room for a bit in my underwear looking for clothing, and trying not to wake one of the 3 guys that apparently came to bed after me. Had I known I was sharing my room with all men, I probably would have sucked it up and worn pajamas.

Anyway, I assume Johann made it into the Alhambra since I haven't heard anything from him all morning

We have plans this afternoon to catch the train to a beach town called Almeria along the eastern coast of Spain for a day, and then I plan to head to Valencia and Barcelona in the next few days.

I wish I had planned for more eventualities, I'm already at least 3 days behind schedule, and really more like 5 or 6 if I plan to stay more than a day in either Valencia or Barcelona. I had an offer to join a group crossing the ferry to Morocco and that would have been great fun, but I know I don't have the time, and already am trying to get heartless about what I can cut out of Italy, or if I even have time for Greece this run.

Oh, how I hate decisions.

Alhambra Stalkers

The clique followed me all the way to Alhambra. Actually, I'm sure they would argue that I followed them since they had mentioned it this night before. However, I was under the impression that Alhambra was even remotely easy to get into and view during the day, had planned as such, and was corrected by a very nice girl from Barcelona who invited me to join her on a night tour since it was the only way I could be guaranteed to see it on this trip.

Why else does one come to Granada (besides the good food, close proximity to the beach, beautiful weather and sublime sangria, of course)?

I went.

We stood in queue for an hour and 45 minutes to buy the tickets, and then again to get our tickets scanned and be released into the palace, and I was mucho disappointed to see them walk by gawking at me as if I was a tiger escaped from the zoo.

Honestly, some people are so incredibly disappointing in their lack of tact. If you don't enjoy meeting new people or making an effort at being social and polite to those around you, why the hell don't you just stay home and spare the world the agony of making your acquaintance?

Anyway, we had stood in line with an American girl married to an Australian guy from Sydney, so we toured around with them. I made the best out of the fact that they were there, and even smiled and made polite conversation with the guy from Boston (who was, to be fair, the only one not acting like a droid all night at the hostel).

The Alhambra by night is very beautiful, but the Alhambra under a foot of snow would be breathtaking. It is a little disappointing in the evenings because all the fountains are turned off and the lighting is dim in most of the palace's focal points (and flash photography, and lying on the ground to steady your camera are both VERY frowned upon), yet it is still just as wonderful as you could imagine.

The lions supporting the famous fountain in the Court of the Lions were being restored which was also a little sad.

I must stress again.. if you decide to come to Granada, Spain and would like to see the Alhambra.. MAKE RESERVATIONS!

Francesa, the girl from Barcelona, and I went out for Tapas and drinks afterwards and then met a few people from the hostel to talk until about 2 this morning.

I was supposed to meet her to go walk the gardens at the Alhambra this morning, but unfortunately slept in (evidently I needed the sleep since I didn't even stir).

Johann from South Africa is supposed to be in Granada this afternoon at some point, so if there's time, maybe I'll take him so he can take some photos.

As for me, I've had a blissful day solo. I grabbed a quick lunch (Shawarma de Pollo y Quesa, or a Chicken and cheese pita sandwich), then some homemade watermelon ice cream at a stand, and wandered around the souvenir shops buying gifts.

Now I think I'm going to go lay in the sun and read some of my book.

Sometimes you lose sight of what is important when you travel, thinking you need to experience something every waking minute of your day in order to maximize your experience. I'm starting to realize that taking time out to just enjoy the experience and bask in the warm Meditteranean sun is just as much a part of the experience as the tacky tourist bit.

Granada and Cliques

Remember cliques? Those annoyingly tight knit groups of people who are too insecure to be by themselves and fear rejection too much to allow but a few people to enter the group after it's established?

I hate cliques. I hated them in high school and I hate them more at almost 25. Maybe I always just figured I left them behind in the part of my life where I wore Lip Smackers lip gloss and super chunky platform shoes.

I got to Granada last night and found a hostel that is getting great reviews on Hostelworld. When I got there, they were full up, so I followed 2 Belgian guys who had been told to go to another hostel guesthouse farther up the hill.

Those who have never been to Granada can't possibly understand what a foolhardy proposition walking around lost here is with a backpack. Most of the city that I have seen so far is tiny little Arabic tea streets with lots of street vendors selling clothing and jewelry, so they are crowded and difficult to navigate.

We finally made it but I swore I could easily (and happily) have hurled my pack off a bridge and just lived out of a plastic bag with some shampoo, a toothbrush and a change of clothing for the rest of the trip.

The guesthouse was really cute. It was small and there was a terrace where everyone was drinking and smoking and having fun.

I hopped in the shower to freshen up, and came out to make pleasantries with everyone, but it was the oddest thing. It was probably the first hostel I've visited so far where no one bothered to ask your name or where you were from.

At first I thought everyone was just too drunk or too stoned to be interested in the world around them but then I realized that out of the 13 other guests (in addition to the Belgians and I), 10 of them were so far up their own asses that they couldn't have been bothered to even realize 3 new people had joined the group.

2 British girls and one guy from Boston were the only people that even bothered to make conversation with us for about the first 1/2 an hour we were there, and I discovered that the Brits were brand new there within the last hour or so, and later that night overheard 2 of the snotty Aussie girls (yes, I'm surprised, too, but they exist) making fun of the guy because he admitted something sort of personal earlier in the night, so realized we were all sort of outcasts in our own way.

I had heard about the hostel cliques and that with long term guests sometimes they can't be bothered to get to know anyone new since they are transient, but just pal around with those planning to stay for a long stretch themselves. I guess maybe I just assumed that this was the exception rather than the rule, and was even more surprised to discover that none of them had been there longer than a few days.

Anyway, I went out salsa dancing with a few members of the group since the guy from Boston asked me along, but it became clear very shortly after we arrived at the club that the Aussies and a British girl they were hanging out with were not going to have anything to do with me. When one of the other guys came over to ask me to dance, he was abruptly pulled away by one of the Aussies before I could even explain to him that I was waiting on my mojito.

So I left and went back to the hostel to talk to the 2 Brits and the remaining Belgian that wasn't asleep. Sleep wasn't much of an option since those who remained at the hostel went into party mode and played Daft Punk and Justice into the wee hours of the night.

And this morning I woke up, packed my bags and I got lost in Granada again on my way to the other hostel, which I am still looking for.

So yeah, cliques suck. I think my first night in Granada might have been better suited to paying 30 Euros a night for a crappy hotel room. Or maybe a park bench. I bet I could make tons of friends on one of those.

Catching Happiness

I know I've been doing a lot of complaining about the heat and the like a lot, and I don't want anyone to get the impression that I'm unhappy or ungrateful for this opportunity, because this is probably the happiest I've ever been in my life.

Last night my roommate from Argentina and I went out clubbing and met up with a friendly group of Italians who are working in Sevilla for the summer. We all went to a quiet lounge in the middle of a park that has beds instead of seats, and I was thinking to myself that it was harder for me to remember a time I felt more at peace with myself than on this trip.

I've been having a lot of really zen moments lately. Today I was sitting on a park bench overlooking the River Guadalquivir and I had the intense moment of clarity about something that has been bothering me lately. Suffice it to say that I feel a lot better about everything and everyone in my life now.

Tonight the Italians are taking us to a flamenco show, so I plan to do some sightseeing (with the aid of Red Bull.. we didn't get back to the hostel until late) and then have a nap for the latter half of the afternoon.

I do love this city. Sevilla is probably the prettiest, easiest, most peaceful city I've ever been to in my life. I could definitely live here, and the heat I assume I would grow accustomed to.

So yeah, happiness can be caught - I just had to chase it to Andalucía.

Sevilla

Why the hell can't I plan ahead?

I woke up late this morning, which wasn't really late, but was later than I'd planned to get up. Some moronic girls monopolized the laundry room until 2 this morning and since I desperately needed to do laundry I had to wait. So when the weird Korean guy in my room started banging around at 10 this morning I knew I had to get up and get on the road, but I certainly didn't want to.

Anyway, since I was already running late, I grabbed a quick breakfast with Johann and then finished packing up my stuff so I could run to the Atocha train station in Madrid. They're in the middle of doing service on the line directly from my hostel to Atocha right now so I had to take a really roundabout way on the Metro, which tacked on about 45 minutes to my journey.

When I got there, I was told there were no 2nd class seats left on the 11:30 am train to Cordoba but that there was at 12:30, so I was forced to sit and wait for an hour in the train station.

Atocha is sort of a bizarre station. It has an actual botanical garden in the lower floor right below the departures gates, and therefore it's absolutely sweltering hot and very muggy in the station.

I was in no mood to carry my pack in the heat, so I put it down and used it as a chair and waited for my train.

I'm just sitting there listening to my MP3 player, cooking like a lobster and trying to smooth my bedhead out when I notice this camera crew taping me. I am completely camera shy so I stopped screwing with my hair and adopted my best deer-in-the-headlights pose, which apparently prompted them to come over and ask me if they could ask me a few questions. I just stuttered "No Habla Español" and they moved on. I wonder, though, does that mean I'm going to be on Spanish TV even if I didn`t answer their questions? What were they going to ask?

The times I wish I were fluent in Spanish are starting to add up.

Anyway, I make it to Cordoba, but the tourist information booth isn't open because of Siesta and I'm thinking that Cordoba is pretty well on my way to Valencia when I'm done in the south of Spain anyway, so I bought another ticket to Sevilla and waited for that train instead of sticking around there.

I slept almost the entire trip, which being only an hour and a bit, wasn't a ton of sleep, but I shudder when I think of how tired I MIGHT be without it now.

I get off the train and it hits me. Yes, I know I've mentioned the heat all along, and as someone who spends her winters actually dogsledding, I think I have the right to, but Sevilla is literally the hottest place I've ever been in my life. I mean it.

It is currently 37 in the shade.

I found a tourist information booth and asked her for hostel recommendations or directions to an internet cafe, and she wasn't very helpful so I just grabbed a map and headed into the city myself to find one or the other.

I must stress that this is a dumb idea. Really, really dumb.

I found an internet cafe but it took me over 2 hours in the heat with a 30 lb pack on my back. 5 minutes before I found the cafe, I was almost unbearably tempted to climb into a questionable looking fountain, and the only saving grace is that Sevilla isn't the middle of a desert and there are supermarcado's here that are not mirages. I've finished 2 litres of lemonade and a can of Red Bull since I left the train station.

So if I have one piece of advice for those people looking to stay in the South of Spain.. book your bloody hostel in advance. Now I know.

Call me lazy but I'm totally catching a taxi to my hostel and then I'm going to sleep until the sun goes down.

There was Blood

Madrid is still really hot.

I did finally find my hostel, and I did have to find a taxi to take me to it. So much for being self sufficient.

I got settled in, had a shower and then went downstairs to meet up with the guide from a free walking tour around Madrid.

Madrid is a beautiful city abounding with history, and it's like nothing else I've ever seen. There is, however, the intense heat (picture standing in front of an open oven after baking a batch of cookies.. on a warm day in Canada, and you MIGHT be close to the heat here). At 38 in the shade, it is definitely not for the heat sensitive, and if you are opposed to sweating just from walking down the block, try someplace on the coast. Or Canada.

I sweated it out on the tour and REALLY enjoyed my sangria at the end.

Met up with a South African guy named Johann from my hostel on the tour, and he had suggested taking in a bullfight since Madrid holds them every Sunday at Las Ventas here in Madrid. There was a group of 2 German girls and an Australian guy they'd adopted along the way that were also going, so we tagged along.

I can´t really say I knew A LOT about what a bullfight entailed besides those horrifying 'sports blooper' videos or short clips on Youtube, so it really was a brand new experience for me.

I don't really care to go into detail, but if you decide to go, be prepared to grimace a lot and see a lot of blood. And gore. And death.

It's actually pretty disturbing, and although I'm glad I saw it and can say I've had the experience, I'm almost 100% certain I would never go again.

It's a pretty cruel and vicious sport, but the locals love it like Canadians love hockey. Go figure.

So after I finished watching cocky young Spanish matadors slay their nine ill-fated bulls, I really felt like a drink or 12.

We wandered the streets of Madrid for about an hour and a half at past midnight looking for cheap food and sangria, and had no luck, so Johann and I decided to head back to our hostel, and grab some food locally. We ended up finding a small place with good food and cheap wine, and that was nice.

Sent a package full of memorabilia (oh yes, I have collected a lot of it thus far) from the post office, and am again very proud of myself for navigating a postal outlet in a foreign city in a different language. Especially since I didn't learn this one in high school.

Also got a chance to call mom, and it was really great to hear the dogs squawking in the background. You don't realize how much you really miss those things until you're away.

I'm off to Cordoba and then Seville tomorrow, if things go well.

I tried to get a train reservation for tomorrow, but after standing in line waiting for 2 and a half hours and then realizing when I got called up that I had left my Eurail pass in the locker at the hostel, that was a no go. I got back to the hostel and decided to do laundry, but since the laundry only just became available at midnight, I'm still awake and trying to get it done so I can have clean clothes before I leave at about 8 tomorrow morning. Thus sort of a frustrating day, and I didn´t really do much unfortunately.

Sorry that I'm a little boring tonight. A combination of the heat and lack of sleep is probably to blame. Not the wine.

Madrid

I got into Madrid at about 9 this morning, and at a paltry 24 above (that's centigrade, folks.. I am Canadian, after all) I figured I'd better find an internet cafe so I can book a hostel and be home free when the sun reaches it's peak at mid-day.

I wandered in vain, finding 2 that were closed because surprise, surprise, I arrived in predominantly Catholic Madrid first thing on a Sunday morning.. what did I expect??

Just happened to wander into a Faborit cafe to get a fruit juice and croissant and noticed they have free 15 minutes of internet with every purchase at their kiosk. Score. So I finally booked a hostel, which I, as of yet, have not found yet.

Did find an internet cafe that was open so I can upload my photos, and then try my luck with finding a taxi to the hostel. I'm so sick of my bloody pack already. I almost do envy those people who packed suitcases instead. Initially I thought they were the most daft people alive, but now I realize I would trade places with them in an instant.

I had a great last night in Lisbon. Switched hostels since the Easy Hotel Lisbon (highly recommended, BTW, but only if you are looking for a good time!) was absolutely booked, and went to a place called the Golden Residence a little farther outside of the downtown district. At first I was a little unsure, since the area looked completely dodgy and it is actually set up illegally according to the nazi at the building´s front desk, but it was actually pretty cute. Sort of like staying with a rich relative in Lisbon. Not super secure though, since none of the room doors lock, and the lockers were only big enough to put my daypack in.

I met 3 really nice Serbian girls there who asked me along to a Afro-Beat concert/festival that some American guy had invited them to that night, so at about ten, the American, David, picked us up and we met up with his friends Luke and Basilio at the museum. We were late, so they wouldn´t allow us into the main auditorium, but we ended up with private booths up top which was even better.

After that, David went and bought some beer and we all sat in a park drinking and talking. Basilio brought his dog, Ari, a German Shepherd-Pitbull mix and the 4 of us girls played with her for most of the night. It was very relaxing and lowkey for my last night in Lisbon.

The next day, Sandra, one of the Serbian girls, and I took a train to Cascais and then a bus on to Cabo de Roca which we were both told was the westernmost point in Mainland Europe. According to Basilio, who is from Madrid, there is actually another point that is accurately farther west, but the views from Cabo de Roca were enough that we didn't care about the exact positioning. One word of advice.. if you ever decide to go here, don't be a fool like me and wear a skirt. I had a few Marilyn Monroe moments, but I didn't look half as pretty.

We got back to Cascais later than we expected, as the bus was running about 1/2 an hour behind, and grabbed lunch and a cocktail from a sidewalk cafe before hitting the beach. Sandra forgot her swimsuit, so she just walked through the surf and I went out in the water. Keeping in mind I have a severe shark phobia, I only went about waist-deep since I could still see my feet, but I did go under and look for seashells for a bit.

Sandra went back to watch the bags and to have a nap while an Italian guy and I snapped pictures of each other playing in the water and exchanged awkward Ital-English pleasantries. This means there was a lot of gesturing.

Got back to the hostel at about 9, and I grabbed a shower and packed my bags so I could make my train to Madrid at 10 last night.

Got in, find what I assumed was my sleeper berth, and settled in. 2 really hot twins from Cancun got into the bottom bunks and we chatted for a bit until the conductor came along and informed me I still had one coach to go before my sleeper cabin. Damn. Apparently most trains in the Eurail network don't allow men and women who are not related to sleep in the same cabin together, so I had to leave my hot twins behind and climb into a cabin with 2 annoying compulsive Korean girls and a shy Brit. I did get a bunch of information from the boys about things to do in Madrid, Barcelona and Valencia before I left though, including a hot club in Barcelona that I really want to hit up.

I wouldn't really recommend Lisbon as much to people for a vacation destination, since it does kind of develop a monotony. The food isn't anything special, the streets are narrow and steep, and the stores and cafes are all pretty well similar. It is, however, very inexpensive as a rule (more expensive in touristy areas, obviously), HOWEVER.. outlying areas like Sintra and Cascais are highly recommended. Spend a day or two in Lisbon to take on the nightlife in the Bairro Alto and to take in the sights in downtown Lisbon and Belim, and then look into B&Bs outside the city, especially heading right to Southern Portugal. Unfortunately I didn't make it that far, but it's rumored to be breathtaking.

Anyhow.. my time is almost up and I should find my hostel.

Fun in Portugal

It was such a beautiful day here yesterday - warm but with a really nice breeze, so I tagged along with my roommates from Australia, Jess and Andrew and 2 other people from the hostel, Matt and Anna and we went to Belim to go see the sights.

We stopped at a cathedral for the first stop and after the offending absolutely all the devout Portuguese Catholics with our skimpy western wear, we wandered over to look at the ocean which smelled strangely like sewage.

There was a drain cut into the side of the platform where we were standing and I was looking out at the bay and what I thought was a huge patch of seaweed, but upon closer inspection actually turned out to be a huge group of fish feeding on the waste coming out of the pipe.

If I ever needed a reason to justify my dislike for fish, that image will always come into my head.

At this point, and despite the experience with the fish, we were all famished so we decided to head back to the Chiado district, where we were staying.

We hopped back on the tram and found a little Portuguese place that was actually closed for a family lunch, but after standing examining the menu for a few minutes, the very gracious owner opened up and allowed us to order lunch.

I'm ever impressed by the hospitality the Portuguese people have shown me so far. Even those who don't speak English certainly try to understand it, and they are all very accomodating.

We bought stuff for dinner last night and all chilled out for the rest of the afternoon, getting ready for the pub crawl that the hostel was hosting and watching movies.

The pub crawl was amazing fun. We got free shots at a few bars and I got a massive pink mojito from one bar that pretty well did me in. One thing I'm still getting used to in Europe is that you can drink almost anywhere. You walk out of a club or a bar with your drink in hand and can walk all the way to your hostel with it with absolutely no hassles. Needless to say the Bairro Alto district in Lisbon probably has 5 or 6 of my partially finished drinks sitting in alleyways because when I tired of one or started gesturing wildly when telling a story, I simply bought another and left the first where it was.

I was having a lot of fun trying to chat with these 4 guys from Madrid, and then this cute little guy from Alabama named Erik came over and started chatting me up and I was drunk as all get out so I started flirting outrageously.

Jess and Anna left, and Erik and I had to find our way back to the hostel which probably wasn't the hottest idea I'd had all night. We ended up hopelessly lost, caught a cab, ran into the boys from Madrid, tottered along behind them, assumed we were still hopelessly lost and then got back about 5:30 am. It was a good night.