**This is a great first step to understanding how to roll an 'r'. A 'tap' is sort of half a rolled 'r', and you can already make this sound. Say 'better.' The tap (also called 'flap') is what happens when you pronounce the 'tt'--your tongue taps that area on the roof of your mouth right behind your teeth.
***You can also roll the 'r,' but in the middle of words, especially considering this instance and the next sound, it's easier to tap.
I should really consider taking at least one linguistics course. Heather?
It's a little sad when I digress before I've even begun.
Yesterday, six of us peaced to Barthay (enter typing what I'm thinking) Barcelona. I don't know the best way to go about this post, considering I took around 200 pictures, of which only the ones that I need specifically will be uploaded to a picture roll, I think to conserve space (conserving space may not be necessary, and if it is, then I'll go with the 'I'm too lazy to upload and caption each picture' reason). I made the decision to go I think only one day before--maybe two--but it's tremendously difficult to remember what happened on which day, and I am forever grateful for both this blog and my organised-by-date pictures to help me remember. Did I mention the potabilizadon? I'll combine that with Tuesday or Wednesday's entry on that other place.
Since I took so many pictures, most of which are of really random things that looked impressive (and thus I am not able to identify them in the scholarly way that I prefer), I think that I will leave most of them up to the slideshow and give you a Meaghanesque glimpse of how we survived yesterday.
We rose at 0430 (this is Sunday) and I called everyone (Bri, Michelle, Kim, Lauren, Alejandro--I hope that I'm spelling these correctly) in order to make sure that we were all awake. We met at 0515 and took two cabs to the bus station, where we had our tickets printed and hopped on the bus. Then we slept. We awoke in an itsy-bitsy bus station outside the Sants Estació and took two cabs into the city. Alejandro, our token male, had been to the city five years ago, and another time shortly before that, and he enjoyed it so much that we was able to remember many parts of it. All in all, from making sure that we were all all right and generally protecting us to his knowledge of where we were and where we were going, not to mention his (and Michelle's) Spanish (albeit not Català) fluency, he proved an invaluable resource for which we were all quite grateful, except for that one part at the end of the night.
We walked down la Rambla and had a marvellously delicious breakfast. I had a fried egg and got oil all over my dress, which was only made worse by my efforts to clean it up. I blame the fact that I haven't eaten eggs in years. We continued walking down la Rambla, ducking into small side streets and squares along the way,
until we reached the port. Technically, now I have seen the Mediterranean--the middle of the earth--although I have not seen it in all its expansive beauty.
We crossed la rambla del mar there, and I knew, Nana, that were you here, I would most definitely have to run right out over the railing on the side and walk right along the drop to the bay, driving you mad with worry like all of those times at the Boardwalk as children. You would not have liked walking on that footbridge, la rambla del mar, as it swayed with traffick.
From there, we walked down another main drag and ducked into more of those side streets, where cathedrals appear out of nowhere.
We came to a square covered in pigeons and ducked as they started and flew overhead. I took some pictures in marvel at the awesome zoom capabilities of my camera.
We walked, and upon seeing some of his work, I think that Gaudí was inspired by what I conceive of how gnomes, elves, faeries, and other forest creatures live within trees and nature.
We continued walking to the fútbol stadium (but not inside--it is closed to the public, methinks), where I was unimpressed and took no pictures.
Commence our three-hour wanderings, first trying to get to the right bus (my super-clear picture of the map of the bus routes was much appreciated in later wanderings), and then trying to find our way to el poble espanyol. We had some help from locals along the way--one of whom actually joined us and led us for a while-and eventually we got there, but I really enjoyed the wandering. I know that people were tired and hungry, but I am always willing to walk to nowhere, taking in my surroundings as I go. I think Nature fills me up more than others, who need more food and rest. I am just too amazed by beauty sometimes, and I forget that it can't sustain others as it does me.
I give you Barcelona.
We reached el poble espanyol and, after paying the entrance fee, plopped down at the first restaurant that looked appetising. Here in Spain, most restaurants will have un menú del día, from which you can choose a first course, a second course, and desert--bread, water, and wine are usually included--for somewhere between 10 and 15€. Here, I had a caesar salad and a tortilla, with some kind of crème brûlée for dessert. We left the fútbol place around 1315 and when we sat down to eat, it was easily 1645. We hadn't eaten since 1115, and although we've somewhat used to eating much later in the afternoon by now, it was still too much after all the walking/wandering. Luckily, Spanish culture isn't about turning over tables as fast as possible and eating food that's entirely disconnected from its source and thus both unhealthy and unappetising (to those of us who appreciate food), so by the time we finished dinner, it was around 1830. Yay, food!
O, Spanish tortillas, how would I survive without you? Your diced or sliced potatoes rested in egg like quiche are not only appetising and filling, but at some times a saviour when I'm nervous at a tapas full of fish (although sometimes you have ham, and I cannot bear to see you in such a state, so I abstain). Once I wedge my fork into a corner of your yellow slice, I know that I'm about to eat something warm that will actually fill me up, and not leave me wishing for Turkey and food options. Sometimes, you are paired with peppers or onions, and I wish that I could order a whole tortilla and finish it in one sitting--taking my time to enjoy you, of course. I know you so well by now that I don't have to say even, 'lo siento, yo soy una vegetariana. ¿Qué está aquí sin los pescados o la carne?' in broken Spanish, but only to point to you and say, 'eso, por favor. Sí, uno. ¡Gracias!' before I am well on my way to maintaining my weight instead of losing some. I like that I do not have the option to smother you in ketchup, because you are something of a foreign cuisine, especially to my vegan palate, and I am able to enjoy you all the more without that ubiquitous temptation. I know that our time together will be short, tortillas, but you must know, before I go, that you have changed my experience here in Spain forever, and I will never forget you. I am eternally grateful, tortillas.
In el poble espanyol is created pavillions or parts of the small town representative of the different regions of Spain, and we spent some tie here looking around. I was particularly happy to agree, 'כן, זות יפה מאד' about some antique jewellery in one shoppe. I'm relatively certain that that was my one and only Hebrew-speaking opportunity on this trip, seeing as it is in Spain and Turkey, after all.
We had an issue waiting for the bus going down the hill, as we were not sure exactly where was down, and the maps and instructions were quite convoluted. We reached some square, and four walked back to la rambla del mar whilst Michelle and I took the subway,
because now I have taken the subway in Barcelona! We met the others with no problem, and I found a bathroom (you try to figure it out)
before wandering a bit.
There were local artists peddling their wares, and I was so in love with the colours and textures of this one set that I spent some time and language skills looking around. After determining that I would greatly regret missing the opportunity and that I'm all about local art, I invested in a beautiful little piece that can live in my new bedroom with its rich, warm colours. You'll have to see it in person for me to explain it to you.
After it, it was around 2115, and, as our bus was at 2215, we headed for cabs.
WARNING: DO NOT READ THE FOLLOWING PARAGRAPH IF YOU ARE INCLINED TO WORRY ABOUT ME, INTERNATIONAL TRAVEL, OR EXTREMELY CONVOLUTED DESCRIPTIONS OF MEAGHAN ORIGIN. IF YOU ARE EITHER MY MOTHER OR GRANDMOTHER, THEN YOU PROBABLY SHOULDN'T READ THIS AT ALL. Daddy, considering the fact that I didn't exhibit any of our shared stubborn traits that then put me in danger, you're probably fine.
O, Barcelona, how you almost completely ruined our day. When we arrived in Barcelona, as mentioned, we came to a small bus station outside a train station. We took note of our surroundings in order to return to this place on our tickets. Splitting up is scary anyways, as there always exists that uncertainty, but it is necessary at times in order to be efficient. From the cabs, Alejandro, Kim, and Lauren left first for the bus station, whilst Michelle, Bri, and I hailed another in a few minutes (rush hour is, apparently, around 2115 here in Spain). We three arrived at the bus station with the other nowhere in sight. Michelle and I read our tickets and went to platform 1 for the bus, but Bri hadn't gotten her return ticket that morning, so, after deciding to go inside instead of wait (it was now 2200, so only 15 minutes remained) we tried to get her ticket. Not knowing the proper broken Spanish, we waited for Michelle to get out of the bathroom before attempting this. As they were talking, I, worried, ran outside one more time to look for the other three, and was so focused on finding them that I didn't even notice when they walked right by me, but they saw me. Relieved, we ran inside the station to get their three tickets. We found that, for some unknown reason, the bus had dropped us of at this wrong station this morning, and the station that we needed was a 10 minute cab ride from where we were. We printed our tickets and got them changed to a 2230 bus, when Alejandro sent Lauren and Kim to hail cabs. A few minutes later, we realised that we had no idea where Lauren and Kim were. Michelle waited with a cabby whilst Alejandro ran to find Lauren and Kim. (Now, the bus station is pretty much the size of half of one platform at Norstation, with bus spaces coming off either side, the small ticket office and a bathroom at one end, and only a railing between the platform and a major thoroughfare on one side. Alejandro was running down the length.) Bri and I ran after him to tell him to wait, because more splitting up is not what we needed. All of a sudden, Lauren calls us from the back of a cab and the cab pulls to the side of the street. Alejandro puts Bri and I into it and tells us to go, and as he runs off I scream to him where, and he screams back. Sitting in this cab, I know the most Spanish, and that is not good. I tell the cabby (in Castilian Spanish) our destination, and luckily, he, Catalan, understands and starts driving. Soon, he asks me a question, but I have no idea what he is saying. Lauren and Bri think that he is asking where, or saying something about the destination, but I know that he is not. I just repeat 'Estacion de autobuses Barcelona Nord' and he repeats his question. I say, 'Lo siento, yo no tiendo. Barcelona Nord?' nd he, saying nothing drives. I ask him in a few minutes, 'Barcelona Nord, sí?' and he still does not reply. This, clearly, indicates that he is going to drive all around the city, kidnap us, and then do horrible things before our mangled bodies appear all over the news in the US. Also, last we knew, Kim was in a cab somewhere without either Spanish or Català fluency, and Alejandro was back to wherever Michelle was now with that other cab. I'm pretty sure not that I'm gong to throw up out of worry, but that everything from my oesophagus to my large intestine is going to spontaneously jump out my throat all over the place. Lauren and Bri stating the obvious that splitting up was the worst idea and that we have no clue where the other three are was not helping, and I pleaded with them not to worry about these things until we were certain that there was cause (to no avail). After more random side streets than I care to remember, we appeared to have arrived at Barcelona Nord. We deduce a platform and waited in worry, looking for the others. We decide that, obviously, we're not going anywhere without all six of us, missed bus or not. Tickets can change, and we'll buy new ones if we have to. Miraculously, the other three appear all together with only minutes to spare as most of the passengers on the bus have boarded. We breathe. The bus driver rips Bri's ticket as she steps onto the bus, but none other os us are allowed to board, as apparently we have the wrong bus. Michelle and Alejandro are almost screaming in Spanish, trying to convey our situation to the driver, who has no pity. We have to argue for Bri's ticket stub back as she climbs off the bus and we run through the station to find a ticket counter. I happen to notice on the big board that there is another 2230 bus to Zaragoza, and I yell to the others this fact. We run out a door and down the platforms, finding the bus and quickly asking the driver for permission to board. He scans our tickets, with the pen cross-outs and stamps from the ticket change at the first bus station, and agrees to let us on the bus. Sitting in the back of this nearly-empty bus and breathing, we still haven't confirmed that Zaragoza is the first stop, or, if like what we think is happening on the other bus, Madrid is illogically the first stop before Zaragoza. I stay up reading our textbook because I have too much adrenaline to sleep, and I watch the road signs in the dark to make sure that we're on our way. Buses have to stop every two hours in Spain to rest, so I waited up to make sure that poor Lauren and Alejandro could get off to go the bathroom when we did stop. By 0130, with only 100 kilometres left in the ride, I deduce that we're probably not stopping, and need to rest. We get to Zaragoza unscathed and drowsily take cabs back to our residences to sleep the five hours that we have left before leaving on our Monday trip.
All in all, the day was wonderful, although I would have liked to spend some time on the beach and on a gondola ride. The terrifying end to our trip worked out just fine, as I had an inclination that it would, and our bus got us back about 10 minutes earlier than the time on our tickets for our actual bus, which was great considering the fact that we pretty much politely hitch-hiked on the bus from Barcelona. I would like to go back next weekend, although I'm not sure if my budget would like me to, although that isn't really an issue. We'll see.
I must say that it made me a little sad for a moment upon arriving to Barcelona, as Julian had expressed interest in visiting, and I had every intention to orchestrate some elaborate scheme to get him time off from worked with bags packed and passport in hand to surprise him with a trip to Barcelona for a week or something. Money should be no object where living life is concerned.
Life goes on.
No comments:
Post a Comment