Spain

Toledo by morning

~ mjparman ~ Leave a comment

There it was.
The Hapsburg double-headed eagle.

I have spent most of my life enraptured in the opulence and tragedy of the story of Marie Antoinette, and as I got older and my reading options expanded I started digging through the story of her family– the Hapsburg emperors.

The Hapsburg family was so large and powerful, there ended up being two ruling branches of it- the Spanish and the Austrian.

Toledo was my first adventure outside of Madrid with my study abroad program, ISA. There was the seal of the Hapsburgs, the double headed eagle, staring back at me from everywhere.

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The city had been the royal seat and the Spanish capital under the Hapsburg dynasty, and their seal is everywhere– now the city seal, the double headed eagle regally marks where you find yourself now.

I was awed, standing ahead of my group, having unknowingly come along to a place full of a history so dear to me.

Then there was the cathedral, San Juan de los Reyes.

I was enthralled with the patio, full of citrus trees, the columns and walls carved incredibly: unicorns, dragons, centaurs hidden amongst the stone vines.

I could have stayed in that passage way for hours, just finding all the little quirky carvings. I hope to someday be able to do just that.
This was the trip where my character introduction line (like Superman’s “Its a bird, its a plane!”) was begun: “¡Mirandita, venga!”

I lulled to the back of the group. I kept quiet. I soaked in the detail, lingering over art and architecture- running my fingers over mythical figures that had been carved before even the Spanish set foot in Texas- until the last member of my group exited the room, then scurried after.

That is the overarching feeling I have in/about Spain: I just want to stop and watch. I am not a quiet person, but when my attention has been caught, oh lord, let me watch.

 

Good, good Toledo.

 

The Time I Drove

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So, one of the, like, five times I missed something from home while abroad it was driving. Where I live in the US I commute back and forth to work 30 minutes everyday, and I miss public transportation (namely the metro) All The Time.
However, in Spain I just sort of craved getting behind the wheel sometimes. Some nights waiting for my line to come just took to long, or I wanted to dart somewhere real quick without seeing anyone, or just turn up the music real high and go exploring.

So, in February on a spontaneous trip to the Shangri La that is the island of Mallorca, my roommate Emma and I rented a Fiat 500 from the most casual rental place along the beach in the Arenal part of the island, and I got to live the fantasy of being a Fiat owner for a day. That’s a dream my friend, and I got to live it.

Now, if you had Emma tell about this day (namely, my driving) it would probably be a lot less rosy than my version, but stay with me here.
We took that sweet baby car and drove it up into the mountains through some of the twistiest roads I have ever driven on. I drove faster than my counterpart may have been comfortable with. ::Coughs:: It was like the most beautiful parts of New Mexico and Colorado, but warm and beyond the mountains– not plains but blue, a wild blue, the sea.
(If you want to see the wild blue https://www.instagram.com/p/zODwIxHIlG/?taken-by=neverneutral)

09 Terraced olive tree fields
In Mallorca, along the thin line of highway, they have terraced fields full of bright colored flowers, olive trees, and many of the villages on the highway up to this big look out point have citrus trees filling their back yards, all of which were in bloom… in February.

The scent filtering in through the air vents, a feeling not unlike lust starting to make my brain swim. Before I left to study abroad, so many people told me I’d fall in love in Spain, and I did– again and again, with Spain itself.

Driving through the itty bitty little ancient streets of Sóller, that were never intended for the unfathomable automobile, weaving through residentials peeking into tiny back yards so full of citrus trees it was like something made up in a writer’s fever dream.

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Getting stuck in a circle of one-way streets when all we needed was the high way, and then driving down a TERRIFYING glorified foot path of a street with a 40 foot drop to one side into a swiftly moving creek, up a steep incline: it was great.I took a picture of that teency road just in case we lived, to prove I had done it. Survive Sóller 2015 √

(the foot path here)

We took the big, major highway home: much straighter and punctuated by a very hot toll booth worker. I’ll take it.

We’ll have to do a recap of my whole trip to Mallorca sometime, it was pretty magical. I would say my best vacation ever.

Eat, drink, be Madrid

~ mjparman ~ 1 Comment

The kebab place near my friend Oda’s old apartment is this BOMB shwarma place. Hands down my favourite we came across, and we ate at A LOT of kebab places (you’ll notice pretty quickly they’re everywhere). This place was my group’s favourite because their spicy sauce was ACTUALLY spicy. For me and my fellow Texan in the group this was, taste-wise, a little trip home!! Woooo. However, we can’t for the life of us remember the name, but its in Malasaña! On one of the streets off Fuencarral. If you find the little shop that is literally just a room with vending machines (selling some pretty questionable items) it’s up the street, on the same side of the street as that little place. (I know my directions on this blog are bullshit, I’m sorry I am not even trying to make them better.)

El Infinito a coffee place a short jaunt from the Anton Martin metro stop, a rather local place where they don’t really give a damn if you’re served in a timely or convenient manner whatsoever, especially if they sense you’re American. Really, that’s the glory of it. They have a little section of books that you can take one/leave one, which isn’t revolutionary but I like very much. Their Irish coffee is stout and delicious.

La Bicicleta was a regular haunt for my friends and I in Madrid. We got coffee here all the time, occasionally a glass of wine, and studied, OR on a night where we were out a little early for Madrid, we’d have mojitos here. The staff deals with a lot of ex pats because its in the really trendy Malasaña neighbourhood, so they’re nice enough, wink.
Somewhere in the very close vicinity is a bodega that sells American style deodorant, which got a lot of business one tipsy evening from a group of very enthused Americans abroad.

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**My favourite bar in the city closed, so here is the part of this post where I ask you all to mourn with me**

Also, there seems to be a lot of trivia nights held as a sort of intercambio opportunity in bars across the city. This is brilliant, and I love it. If you are in town for a while, or want to rub elbows with locals while beating the shit out of them with your stupidly unnecessary knowledge of international currency, its fun.
I’d say go for a bar in La Latina, but that’s just because I’m partial to that neighbourhood and it seemed like some very interesting expats frequented the bars there.

Who Are You?

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The Caterpillar asked, puffing smoke into Alice’s face.

Living in Madrid, one of my main goals was to be a regular in places, in an attempt to be a part of the city’s landscape, or something pretentious like that.
Perhaps, after a while, so that there would be at least a handful of Madrid residents that knew me well enough not to revile me based on my nationality but for other, better-founded reasons.
(I jest… I think.)

The best place I’ve ever found to play The Caterpillar is Yambala, a little place owned by a Morraccan man where, if you take a good group, you can easily split the price of a hookah (the barkeep will write ‘xixa’ on your bill, and you’ll be charmed for months to come).

Yambala is tucked away on the same tiny side street off of Plaza Del Sol that the Cien Montaditos is on– the little street that ends in that fabulous churro place. If you don’t know the street #KeepExploring.

There are leather poufs and floor pillows and low carved wooden tables. A bunk bed of sorts you can sit up in and smoke & drink.
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(this image is from TripAdvisor, so I guess this place isn’t really a secret, but there were never any other Americans when we were there, but occasionally Brits, which isn’t a problem in my book)
This was the place where my friends & I showed up (like, probably eight of us) to smoke and chit chat, only to be told we needed to scoot over, there was going to be a show.
So some three-man-band sets up and plays in a wee room for what I imagine was 18-ish people. It was great, and definitely one of the more serendipitous things to have occurred in my time in Paradise.
It definitely has the American coffeehouse vibes, but not at all, because its way cooler because I can romanticize the hell out of it because its foreign, so I will, thanks.

Another time at Yambala (the same week, actually, perhaps even the next day– like I said, regulars) we ended up talking to an Australian couple for HOURS. I talked to the guy about Australian football alone for near an hour. I still get fussy when I think of how I should have asked for their contact information.
Note to readers: when you meet cool as heck strangers by chance on your adventures abroad, freaking get their contact info. If nothing else, they’ll be someone to appreciate a random as anything postcard from Houston, no?

The point of this all being: If you’re in Paradise on Earth (Madrid), go smoke shisha/xixa/hookah (might I suggest the mint flavour) at Yambala. Drink the cocktail called Hurucan. Chat up the bar tenders (they’re some of the easiest to get along with guys in the city). Enjoy the coolness of sitting on a floor cushion.

Missing Home

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I am not one to miss home.
Or even really people.
I am probably a little too good at stepping away from things and not thinking about them until they’re right in front of my face again.
That having been said, I miss weird things from home in little bursts sometimes.
For instance, in my time in Madrid I missed: pancakes, driving, open land, Mexican food, and little kids (I used to be a nanny– this isn’t weird, promise).

This post is about pancakes.
I know, that is weird.
I can’t explain to you why I missed IHOP and not my mom,
but I did.

o
(photo from Yelp 😄)

VIPS, my friends, is the easy answer I found.
It is, really, just like your local IHOP, but with a wall-size screen you can watch Fernando Torres score volleys on WHILE eating pancakes. They even have special seasonal flavours just like your favourite place to stumble in drunk or over-tired at 2am.

My favourite VIPS is at the Quevedo metro stop, across the street. Actually, some of my favourite little parts of the city can be found from Quevedo, but that’s another post.
There is also another VIPS on Gran Via somewhere in between Cibeles and the intersection with Calle Montera. This VIPS is quite a bit more narrow, and can get kind of awkwardly tight when its busy (and since its not a Spanish bar or tapas place, but rather a VERY Americanized riff on a diner, its neither charming nor fun).

So if you’re like me and miss weird, random shit like pancakes, there you have it: VIPS.

If anyone knows of a better pancakes place in Madrid, PLEASE I BEG OF THEE TELL ME!! This will be important information to have.