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- travel - + europe grad trip - [Note by Mr. Ham and Mr. Fish: And Zero Hamsters :(] 30 May  After a bowl of cornflakes at the hostel, we lugged our belongings to the train station and dumped them into the paid lockers (generously sized, 3.50 Euros for 24 hours. Returned to the Camp Nou area, where We bought two baguettes on the cheap at a supermarket for lunch, where a helpful employee not only estimated that we would need twenty slices of ham, and furthermore cut our bread for us. The lunch [1], taken in a nearby small plaza, was one of the best so far. Got our tickets for the Camp Nou museum/stadium tour (stadium alone not an option), but in retrospect the museum was worth the price of admission. The stadium came first, and after a short 3D Virtual tour we continued with the dressing rooms (which had a jacuzzi [2]) and worked our way upwards to the dugouts [3] and pitch (not allowed to step on it, though), then the stands, and finally the press boxes hanging at the very top.  I Nou U Un AhThe museum was next, and the very comprehensive exhibition was centered about the life of founder Joan Gamper [4], and interwove his history and the club's with the development of modern sport in Europe. Left in the evening after viewing the Champions League trophy (and wondering what might have been), walked along the Ramblas one last time (where I discovered additional pet shops with even more exotic animals [5] - perhaps they were closed the first evening), and then went back to the Travel Bar for a Spanish Cooking lesson (18 Euros each). The lesson itself wasn't in-depth (as would be expected from such a short one). The tapas course consisted of rubbing tomatoes and garlic on slices of cut bread, then topping it off with a couple of choices of meat and a tortilla, for instance. Sangria was basically throwing cut fruit into a jug of brandy, mixing it up and adding ice and sugar, while topping it off with wine and fruit juice. Neither was really to my taste, and I let my share stand after several sips, in contrast to alvin who polished off several glasses. It was the company that stood out, and we had the good fortune to be seated with two guys from Mexico and a quite vivacious black gal from Kenya, who signed up for the class after going on the bar's walking tour. Although I say Kenya, we were never quite sure, since she had lived in Australia for much of her life, and New Zealand for eight years on top of that. She was quite the traveller, having quit her job as a pharmacist to globetrot for a year, and in addition to North America (San Francisco highly rated), Africa (with the advice not to hold out anything remotely valuable in less reputable areas, or it will be snatched right out of one's hand) and assorted countries in Europe (she was incredulous when we said that we had ditched France for England), she had also made a tour of South-east Asia, where she stressed the importance of driving a hard bargain (other than in Singapore, of course). Supposedly, good rooms were to be had for like five US dollars a night, and there was a street of tailors in Vietnam that would make just about any outfit requested in hours for just US$30. On Singapore (where she began her tour of the region), her major impression was that it appeared "very controlled", and of course relatively expensive, though the shopping was good. The Mexicans were quite disbelieving on hearing that we banned chewing gum. Another observation was that Singaporeans dislike walking and the sun, preferring elevators, escalators and covered walkways (which I hadn't realised). On the plus side, Singapore was rated very safe, with the best food in the region along with Thailand. The Mexicans were only slightly less gregarious, and one of them was a fellow Computer Science graduate, who had been living and working in the States for some time (including Iowa, which he emphatically said, "had absolutely nothing" - with a pig passing by the most interesting thing he encountered there). The other was a Barca fan (with the jersey to prove it) working for a power company. They talked about their homeland for a bit too, and supposedly nearly everyone speaks Spanish there, with dialects only used in the smaller settlements in the jungled south (which they admitted they hadn't visited). They extended an invitation to the Kenyan gal to take her around if she were to visit Mexico in the future. Oh, and they revealed one of the perks of being a Mexican now - just pretend to speak Mexican into your handphone in a crowded area, and a path is automatically cleared.  Who's Who?(photo taken with sel's dim-light-specialist camera) The mood was further boosted when paella was served, even if none of us had been paying too much attention to the preparation [6], and we concluded a quite delightful evening with a group photograph. With our time in Barcelona coming to an end, we rushed down to see at least one of Gaudi's architectural works before leaving. The Sangra Familia was just a few stops away by metro, and we were duly impressed by our first sighting of it - only to discover that we were looking at the back. The Spanish appear quite relaxed about this particular construction, as it's still ongoing after over half a century. Nothing out of the ordinary for cathedrals, it has to be said. Moments after being awed by its size, I remembered that most modern skyscrapers are far taller (and even the block of flats I live in may be comparable), if less intricate. All the more reason to recognize the unheralded achievements of man, then. 31 May  Having discovered that there were no affordable overnight train bunks to be had when we checked yesterday (where I happened to be asked for directions by a Chinese lady tourist), and without accommodations for the night, a bit of improvisation was in order. A train ride to Barcelona's airport cost about two Euros each, where we commandeered a row of seats for the night. Unfortunately, the arm handles precluded lying down and the lights were perpetually on, making it a distinctly uncomfortable experience even after we lay on the floor [1]. I could only look forward to dozing off on the six-hour Barcelona-Sevilla train ride later. Ate a ham and bacon breakfast [2] [Mr. Ham: AHHHHHHHHH] at the train station's McDonald's, while stocking up on one Euro burgers for lunch. Didn't feel as tired as I feared, and after a few hours I rewatched Kung Fu Panda on the overhead TVs [3], before playing yet more Big 2 (high point: a royal flush in clubs). Checked in at the Hostel Nuevo Suizo, where we took beds six to eight in their nine-man dorm. We would miss their free flamenco show (wrong day) and free international calls (Singapore not included), but the wifi was passable, and their free coffee (and hot chocolate) was a boon. Popped by the Alcázar, which didn't seem all too impressive until we realised that the courtyard [4] was not the much-touted gardens, which were rather larger (including a hedge maze). It's a good visit if one likes intricate tile patterns [5, example from the hostel's walls], carvings and huge tapestries. Took the opportunity to call home [6] from a neighbourhood calling service centre, at fifteen cents a minute (alvin spent rather longer). Having saved on our lodgings last night, we felt able to splurge a little, and patronized the La Mia Tana pizzeria. Felt a need to try some lasagna bologna [7] (thanks to Garfield?), and also ate a couple of slices of pizza [8] that the others ordered. Went to the supermarket as the Catedral [9] was already closed to visitors for the day, though that didn't stop the birds from wheeling crazily about. I happily discovered that I had become more acclimatized to Europe, as my chapped lips recovered, and I got the hang of walking on cobblestones and nearly non-existent sidewalks. I also noticed little things that made me feel more at home, such as the generic white floor mats from Ikea that graced the toilets, and the MSI Wind netbook that a fellow Asian hostel guest was using in the lobby (he had a white case, though). There was even an English copy of Book Three of Jordan's The Wheel of Time series on the hostel's bookshelf, the sight of which was welcome by itself since I otherwise saw only Spanish translations of popular evergreen titles (including The Joy Luck Club and The Little Prince) in the bookstores.  Top: Barcelona. Bottom: SevillaAnd it seems like graffiti is an accepted way to publicize one's blog over here. Perhaps I should go down this route for free permanent advertising? 1 June  More personalities entered our lives, as dorm living worked its magic. After the usual sliced bread for breakfast, we met Amir, a Malaysian from Kuala Lumpur (who happened to be a Liverpool fan). We walked together to the Plaza de España, where we got separated as the three of us were beset by a group of girls holding clipboards purporting to record donations for "The Society For The Deaf And Blind". Being in a charitable (or perhaps careless) mood, I felt, why not, although on hindsight the circumstances pointed towards it being a Big Mistake. I rummaged about for some spare change from my Velcro-ed thigh pocket, and became slightly suspicious when they tried to convey that the minimum donation was 10 Euros; my reservations were, alas, substantiated when one of the waifs surreptitiously got a hand into that pocket and extracted a 50 Euro note, which would have disappeared had I not quickly snatched it back. If that were not enough, they began squabbling over the small denomination note I handed over to be rid of them, making it unlikely in the least that any unfortunate blind or deaf souls would be on the receiving end of any donations they received. Initially, I was angered by their ruse of preying upon kindness (instead of relying upon pure skill in pickpocketing), which would make it harder for legitimate charity volunteers to solicit donations in the future. However, on second thought, seeing that as a couple of them looked like they were pregnant, and the girl who tried to lift the fifty Euros was rather bad at it, I figured they probably could use the cash, and hopefully they were driven to it by need instead of choice. On further thought, the small-scale personalized human touch of their little scam is much preferable to huge impersonal ones like the old NKF, not to mention Ren Ci or Youth Challenge. Or the compulsory donations levied by schools and other organizations (i.e. you can refuse, just be prepared to be asked a lot a lot of questions). It really ain't that bad. Hopefully, the day when one can no longer reasonably believe in one's fellow man will never come. After that, we went on to the Catedral, passing by the Fabrica de Tabacos [1], where Bizet's Carmen was set, and policemen on horseback [2]. While the Catedral is the world's largest Gothic church, with the largest altarpiece, and third largest cathedral, I have to admit that it gets old after awhile (no pun intended). Stained glass, arches [3], statues, uh-huh, very good. The connected Giralda tower was something else, and it takes 34 flights of slopes to get to the top, where bells without whistles [4] and scenic views [5] await. We trekked along the river after that, passing by the bullfighting arena cum museum, Plaza de Toros [6], and ended up crossing three of the bridges [7]. Our intended destination was the Monastery of La Cartuja, which now also houses contemporary art, but unfortunately we did not realise that it was closed on Mondays - cerrado. Rested and headed back to the hostel, where we met Daniel, a South Carolinan finance student and ex-competitive swimmer from Clemson, who looked a bit older than his twenty years. He had been on exchange in Barcelona for some time (and is a Barca/Liverpool/Inter Milan fan), and did he have some stories to tell. We went out for tapas and ordered a 7-in-1 plate [8,9], where he spoke of his experience of being tear-gassed and shot at with rubber bullets in the wild celebrations after the Champions League final win in the streets of Barcelona, and also about how one of his professors is an announcer for the team. Not only that, he recounted how one of his friends had been pickpocketed twice in Barcelona, and mugged with a brick when drunk at 4 a.m. for good measure; how he once (barely) got into a group fight after celebrating a Super Bowl win; and why he arrived late at the hostel (because an old lady hit her head on the bus after the driver slammed on the brakes). Excellent company, though he stood us up for watching a flamenco dance, instead going for a smoke and a drink with a Frenchman (self-styled "God") on the rooftop terrace. We set off instead with a 26 year-old South Korean called Peter, who had studied English as his major in the USA. We once again failed to catch our planned attraction, as the bar had closed for the night, but the interaction made it all worthwhile. Peter even gave us a small bottle of Chinese Plum extract as a parting gift, which should go very well with the instant noodles we bought at the local Chinese supermarket. Next: Pearl Among Emeralds
C.Wenhoo said... u cfb u think we stupid ah anyone can see your photo is dated 2006 u think i dunno u still in singapore
gilbert said... u didn't know European time is three years behind Singapore time?
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