Lisboa

So I'm sitting on the couch, wearing too-tight pants and eating yet ANOTHER slice of cake (the former is completely unrelated to the latter, for the record), thinking, as people tend to do in such circumstances, about better times; times when sitting on the couch and wearing too-tight pants signified that my friends and I had, once again, gone to Cafe York and had chocolate con churros (because why in the world would anyone NOT want to fry strips of dough and dunk them in a cup of melted hot chocolate?) or too many claras at some bar... and such times lead to thinking about other times, like that one wonderful weekend spent in Lisbon, a gem of a city that no one can NOT love.

Wow, what an awkward segue. That really is how I got to thinking about Lisbon, though.

Erin, Steph and I had been talking about going to Lisbon since the very beginning of our travels together. So after we'd all returned from our Semana Santa trips, we sat down and booked the damn thing. We probably paid around 2 euro for the flight and celebrated with a similarly-priced bottle of wine. Then, I made matzoh ball soup and we had an Easter Egg hunt.

A few weeks later, we found ourselves, as usual, in a new place for the weekend. The air was warmer, the colors more vivid than usual, and the people spoke in Russian. No, not really... But the Portuguese accent does have an Eastern-European flavor to it... and a bit of French. and Spanish. Some weird hybrid. I don't believe it's actually connected to the Latin family, at all. Someone has made a mistake. Fix it, linguists.

Our three-day weekend was jam-packed, so I will only relay the most entertaining bits. Our hostel offered a free walking tour (it was so great we went on it twice! [by mistake]) during which we got to walk through the oldest of Lisbon's neighbourhoods, the Alfama, and our tour guide recounted the following fascinating story:

The year was 1755. It was a Saturday morning on the first of a new month, November. All Saints' Day. People were in church, lighting candles.

Suddenly, the ground began to shake.

EARTHQUAAAAAAAKE!!!

Yes. It was an earthquake. A horrendous earthquake of an unprecedented 9.0 magnitude. And it lasted 9. whole. minutes. Needless to say, the damage was extensive. Somehow, a lot of people survived those 9 minutes and proceeded to run down the hills of Lisbon to an open space, where they would not get hit by the still-falling debris. Unfortunately, that open space was the main square, down by the water... so what happened next should not come as a surprise.

TSUNAAAAAAAMI!!!

So a huge ginormous wave swallowed up whatever the earthquake had failed to destroy.

But wait. The story's not over yet! Up on the hills which the tsunami had not reached, a flame started burning... it was All Saints' Day, and candles had been lit...

FIIIIIIIIIIIIIRE!

A huge fire broke out. It lasted four whole days.

So, to recap:
1) Earthquake;
2) Tsunami;
3) Fire.

Bye, Lisbon.

On that note... let's leave the city for a minute and discuss the Sunday portion of our Portuguese adventure. We bought train tickets to Sintra, a town recommended to us by a staff member of our wonderful hostel. Sintra is the stuff fairy tales are made of. It is home to four huge, incredibly impressive castles. We went to two of them, but the most awesome one by far was Palacio de Pena. This striking structure rises from the top of a hill which we had to climb painstakingly in order to avoid the 5 euro tram fee (when you're paying an average of 15eur per flight, your perception of what transportation should cost becomes greatly distorted). Everything about the palace was magical. It looked like it was made out of Lego... Lego from the Middle Ages. We spent a magical afternoon on that hill, but time was passing quickly, and like all fairy tales, this one had to end... so that we could take the bus to our next destination: Cascais (pronounced Kash-kigh-sh), a fishermen's town with beautiful beaches, sailboats, and a light house we didn't get to see because we'd spent 30 minutes dipping our feet in the water before we all became ravenous (or, as Erin once called it when expressing her hunger: 'I'm ravishing!', haaa.) and made our way to a seaside restaurant where we had cod souffle, a mouthwatering and filling Portuguese dish.

Sintra and Cascais ended up being sensational additions to our trip, but Lisbon truly made an impression on me. I was mesmerized by the buildings... who knew tiling the outer walls of a house with ceramic/bathroom tiles could yield such a charming, colorful result? The city has a sense of grandeur and decay, illustrating the fact that Lisbon had to be rebuilt from its ashes (literally) and the current state of economic crisis Portugal faces... the narrow streets are beautiful, and the yellow, art deco trams add to Lisbon's eclectic vibe. And Portuguese food could not be any more exquisite or fresh.





A view of Lisbon and its orange rooftops, and a bit of that blue sea


Bathroom tiles! Why not?



The main square, where people ran to escape the earthquake, right into the mouth of the Tsunami


Torre de Belem, my favorite monument in Lisbon... conveniently situated near a bakery that sells Belem pastries, the most delectable little creations known to mouthkind


Total medieval Lego castle, amirite?




Cascais and its pretty sailboats and sparkling water

How I Came To Love Soria

Well, I've been back home for almost 2 full weeks now [note by Future Smadar: it has now been 5 weeks, but when I wrote this post it had been 2] - feels like much longer. I haven't posted here since Paris, but I went to many more incredible places in the months that followed - my utmost favorite being Lisbon. But mostly, in that time span, I grew to loooove Soria (the city where I lived). What did I love about it, you ask?

> The old people, who easily made up 80% of the Sorian population - sure, it meant that there were barely any people my age - but I don't think I'll ever again live in a place with so much cotton candy hair, or purple hair (only the most hip grandparents sport this trendy colour!), until my potential future kids stick me in a home (I can't WAIT to have a legitimate excuse to sit on the couch all day without being judged for it). They made me feel so young! When I yearned for human contact, they always came through for me, shoving me in the streets (those people will NOT take the extra few steps necessary to walk around another human who is standing in their direct path);

> The smallness of Soria - I don't think going to big cities would have been as exciting if I weren't coming from a such a small one! If I had been placed in Madrid, or Barcelona, would I have even traveled half as much? Would I have gotten to know the world of airports as well as I did? Sure, I've grown a lot as a person this past year - yes, I mean physically - but I feel as though the most significant aspect of my emotional growth came from airport experiences. I truly learned to stop caring about anything material at all! Ah, the Madrid airport; where I first lost a new, €60 coat on my way to Valencia; and where I later lost my suitcase and all that was in it to a drug-dealing gypsy thief because of the most inefficient airline crews known to mankind (BRITISH AIRWAYS AND IBERIA YOU SUCK SO MUCH). Yes, the airport became a source of great emotional growth for me. NOTHING will make you appreciate not being homeless like having to spend the night wrapped up in your winter coat, spread out on three tiny wooden chairs in an attempt to recreate a bed-like setting in a cold and deserted terminal. And looks, and vanity? I never cared about them less than in those moments I spent running frantically through terminals, about to miss a flight, waving my arms like a turbine (SOME PEOPLE NEED TO DO THAT, for balance), my tangled hair stuck in my mouth, the straps of my over-packed bag slipping off of my shoulders (like those seven year old kids you see go to school in their oversized backpacks), my pants falling off because I had unbuttoned them on the long bus ride to the airport and obviously forgot to re-button them, my heart beating fast, so very fast, reminding me that the sole source of exercise in my life was, in fact, that monthly jog through airports...

In all seriousness, Soria turned out to be pretty fantastic - notwithstanding a shaky week following a weekend trip to Sevilla that showed us how unbelievably exciting a Spanish city could truly be, full of oranges, flamenco, PEOPLE UNDER THE AGE OF 90, and even cheaper, more delicious food than we'd come to know (honey-roasted eggplant! goat cheese and berry jam on toasted crackers!) - and another trip to Mallorca that made us crave island life, with its heavenly ocean air and delectable seafood. The weekend fiestas in May leading up to THE fiestas of the year (las fiestas de San Juan en Soria, about which I hope to have the energy and commitment to write a post in the near future) were so much fun, as long as you did not show up to them already hungover (lesson learned)... In my day-to-day life, I worked (so very hard) a few hours a day, came home, cooked with Erin and ate, then ate some more, watched so much TV, and learned the joys of living in a city where I could walk anywhere if I had the ganas to leave the house. The hardest adjustment since being back in Montreal has been accepting that everything is a (ridiculously overpriced) bus and metro ride away. I can no longer walk to my favourite pasteleria and order my "coffee with milk with ice" for 1.20, gulp it down, then get hungry with my friends and walk another 30 seconds to my favourite bar and order "patatas bravas" and a "beer with lemon", and another "beer with lemon"... and then, because we can, walk another minute down the Collado (the main street) and get the BEST. TAPAS. EVER. at bar Poli... and then finish off the night with the usual walk back, past the lit-up palace and sleeping storks and, most importantly for some, sleeping pigeons that cannot poop on your head for the forth time in under 3 months...

What a year.





The Collado, which is the main pedestrian street



The old people.


The Palace, which I walked by every day, and where I went to court


The STORKS

Je suis allée à Paris... et j'ai gangé 4 kilos

Faithful blog followers, hello (to all 4 of you)!

A lot of trips have happened since the one highlighted in my previous post - a loooot. But as it turns out, I'm too lazy to write about my adventures consistently. But you know what's kind of worth blogging about? PARIS.

I went to Paris with my friend Steph. A month or so before the trip took place, I went to France for the first time ever - to Grenoble, to visit my aunt, Rony - and discovered firsthand that the stereotype pertaining to the French's preference for black clothing is not a myth. So I asked Steph: "Hey, when we go to Paris, do you wanna wear all-black so that we look Parisian?". Steph's typical reply? "Sure!". It was a deal. Fortunately for Steph, 90% of her wardrobe is black. Unfortunately for me, 90% of mine is... beige. If I ever want to go on a safari, I am soooo set! So I bought a black coat and a black purse (left the tags on, planning to return them post-trip... hilarity ensued when multiple people stopped me in the streets of Paris to point out the tags - and instead of pretending to be embarrassed and thanking them, I nodded my head and said "Je sais"...), borrowed Erin's black boots, slapped on some red lipstick, and voilà! I was ready for France! But my predominantly beige closet was not the only obstacle to Parisian success... As I might have mentioned previously, Soria is small. And isolated. And somewhat backwards in certain areas of societal existence. Example: completely awful bus schedule. The buses to Madrid are always full and always in demand, so why are there so few of them?? We were planning on taking the 3:30am bus, which would have gotten us to the airport at 6am, giving us barely enough time to transfer terminals and make our flight. Too stressful! After a lengthy discussion full of indecisiveness, we flipped a coin and decided to take the 8:30pm bus the night before. Sleepover at the airport! FUN TIMES FOR ALL. Especially poor Steph, who was suffering from an unfortunate multitude of self-diagnosed conditions, such as tonsillitis and bronchitis.

We made it to Paris and proceeded to explore the historical amazingness everywhere: l'Arc de Triomphe, the Champs Élysées (where we witnessed a steet fight amongst a group of gypsy women! hysterical), the Place de la Concorde (fun fact: that's where Marie-Antoinette and hubby were decapitated), and the gardens by the Louvre. We ended the day at the Musée d'Orsay, a beautiful train station that now houses a fantastic collection of impressionist and post-impressionist art. That was just the first day... we pretty much saw every important monument and neighborhood in Paris over the next 3 days. I could go on and on and oooon about all the stunning monuments, but frankly, everyone is familiar with the Eiffel Tower and the Louvre and Notre-Dame, so I'll simply try to provide you with some tips from what I've learned in this historically and museumically rich city:

Go to Paris. Have some croissants for breakfast. Skip the coffee if you take it with milk, because it costs 5 euro. Bring your own bottle of water, because all beverages cost upwards of 5 euros. Eat crepes with Nutella. Eat more crepes with Nutella. If you feel as though your body requires food that is not purely made up of sugar (what is the matter with you???), you may take a break from the crepes and croissants and feast upon a quiche lorraine, or the confit of a duck. If you do so, make sure you do not go to Versailles and sit by the lake in the glorious gardens, because the ducks that inhabit it will be cute and you will feel very guilty. Stop by Paris's ancient and colorful Jewish quarter for some of the best falafel on the planet. To end your trip, stock up on pastries at a local patisserie before heading to the airport, to get you through the 10 hour trip back to Soria. If you lack self-control, eat those pastries on the 20-minute metro ride to the airport.




The Egyptian Obelisk in the Place de la Concorde, wherein I practice my history-teaching skills by demonstrating the practice of guillotining that took place on this very spot


At the artists' square, Place du Tertre, in the quartier Montmartre, where the beautiful Basilique du Sacre Coeur is. You can spot it in the background!



A view from the back of the gothic and incredibly impressive, majestic, and creepy Notre-Dame


The Seine and the Eiffel tower


Requisite shot in front of the Eiffel tower, which definitely deserves its title as the most famous monument in the world because it is freaking COOL


At the Palais Garnier, which houses the Opera de Paris. Stunning. Posh. Luxurious. Home to the incredible chandelier from the Phantom of the Opera.


MACARONS. If you have ever seen these somewhere, perhaps in an upscale bakery or a restaurant, and have had doubts or reservations: GET THEM. EAT THEM. EXPERIENCE THEM, for they will delight your palate and soul. Forever.