Wanderlust Wednesday: Budapest

If you don't like the cold and grey climate at home, why not try it somewhere else? This photo of Budapest, with the Hungarian Parliament in the background, has been making its way around Pinterest. It looks magical. And while it would likely be colder than Vancouver, it would also be drier.

And in case the snow doesn't entice you, here is the same view of the Budapest funicular in warmer months:)

(photo by Farkas Márton via Pinterest)

Wanderlust Wavelength

Maybe it's the fact that short and grey February, being so close to spring and then summer, gives everyone the travel bug, but I felt on the same wavelength as Joanna when I checked Cup of Jo today. Above is a photo of Saint Jean Cap Ferrat by Laure Joliet.

When I arrived in France to teach English I basically didn't know anyone. My family, having come to Canada some 350 years ago, means I have no French relatives. Whereas when my best friend Anna moved to Oxfordshire after high school for a gap year and had relatives all over the UK, I didn't have many familiar faces to plan to visit. (Though I did have my friends Kristen in Belgium and Dominic in London). Instead I used my generous French vacation time to travel a little all over Europe.

The closest I had to family to visit in Europe was my dear friend and mentor Jacqui's sister who has a home-away-from-home in Cap Ferrat. Jacqui tried to connect us to orchestrate a visit, but unfortunately health concerns prevented her sister and brother-in-law from welcoming me.

Laure's photos make me wonder what a trip to Cap Ferrat might be like. Especially that delicious-looking green been and tomato salad, and those blue beach chairs.

More wanderlust if you're in the mood. Or Cup of Jo has really great travel daydreams to get lost in too.

(photo by Laure Joliet via Cup of Jo)

Winter Wanderlust

Paris is one of those perhaps few places where there really is no bad time of year to go. Autumn in Paris. Paris in the spring. It all sounds romantic. Except for Paris at the height of tourist season in the summer when waits for the museums and galleries can stretch for hours.

Ever since visiting Belgium and having my breath taken away by the beautiful autumn colours, I'm a convert to off-season travel. When Peter came visit me in France just before Christmas 2010, we spent a few days in Paris before he left. We went to the Louvre late one afternoon thinking it as the day they were open into the evening. We were mistaken and instead had just under an hour to visit. As the museum was only open for another 45 minutes, we didn't have a wait to buy tickets and were actually able to see the Mona Lisa and nearby paintings, Winged Victory, Venus de Milo, as well as a few of the other essential pieces. It was actually a great visit, and being that we got lost trying to exit the basement, we got a cool tour of the medieval foundations of the palace.

How dreamy does the view looking out from Napoleon's apartments look? My friend Amanda, whom I met while teaching English in France, took this photo and had it as her desktop. It's truly one of my favourites so I'll leave you to get lost in a daydream in it. Or in one of her other photos from her Old Pictures.

More off-season travel.

(photo by Amanda)

First Flower

This little iris bloomed Saturday.

Last year I bought a bunch of 4-inch springtime flowers: hyacinths, crocuses, tulips, daffodils and irises. I mentioned to my mum how lovely I thought the muscari I saw at the florists were and she gave me a bunch to plant. I also planted geraniums and marigolds in some other baskets we had. I planted nasturtiums before I went to Spain. When I got back they had sprouted leaves, but never bloomed. I continued to water them, but soon lost interest and instead tended to my potted herbs.

In January I noticed little green leaves starting to push back up through the dirt. I watered them diligently and patiently waited to see what they would turn out to be. On Saturday morning, I noticed that the first flower had bloomed, an iris.

Encouraged by this, and the fact that my mom mentioned that when she was over last week that it seemed that two of my geraniums had survived the winter, I bought myself a pair of gardening gloves. The gloves gave me the courage to weed out the dead, alien-looking stems that I didn't want to pull bare-handed because I'm a wuss. I also bought parsley to add to my herb garden and romaine lettuce seeds. I was at a backyard barbecue last summer and a guy had a salad from his balcony garden. He said that if you just pick the outer-leaves, the lettuce will continue to yield leaves all summer.

In the next few weeks I'd like to get a few long window boxes to hang off the side of my balcony. I think part of the reason my nasturtiums didn't do so well is because of lack of prolonged direct sunlight.

I'm excited to see my garden grow!

Happy Valentine's Day

When I was living in France, my friend Jacqui sent me a bunch of postcards of Vancouver views. After receiving about two dozen such postcards, I got the idea to use them as teaching aids for my students. I would give each student a postcard and have them tell a brief story pretending they were on vacation a nd writing home to a friend about the location pictured on their postcard.

I happened to give this lesson to a class of mine on the morning of February 14th. Just before leaving for school that morning I had been surprised by Peter who had roses delivered to my apartment door.

The student who got this postcard had raised an eyebrow. I explained that it was a picture of the SeaBus--the most awesome form of transit in Vancouver--and that it was a particularly dear card to me because I would take it in order to go visit my boyfriend. The girls in the class let out a big AWWW and asked me if my amoureux and I were doing anything for Valentine's Day. I blushed and I don't know what I said because I was too overcome with shyness to share that I'd received three dozen roses.

I still love taking the SeaBus although it has lost some of its specialness in having become a twice-daily occurrence as I commute back and forth from what has now become our place.

Happy Valentine's Day!

PS: Valentine's stories from last year and two years ago in case you missed them.

(SeaBus postcard photo by Bob Herger)

De vrais mensonges

When I was living in France, I had seen ads for De vrais mensonges (Beautiful Lies) on the side of trams and at bus stops, but I didn't see it in cinema. As Peter was in Portland for a friend's bachelor party this weekend, I took the opportunity to watch this French film I've been wanting to see on Netflix.

Set in lovely Sète--a town I've only known as a stop on the way to Toulouse--De vrais mensonges is a comedy both charming and witty, the type only French cinema can pull off. When Émilie (Audrey Tautou) receives an anonymous love letter she re-addresses and sends it to her depressed mom (Nathalie Baye) to cheer her up. What at first like a harmless gesture quickly turns complicated as Émilie tries to stage manage a fake relationship for her mum.

What is your favourite French film? Have you seen any foreign language films you recommend? (I always raise an eyebrow at this designation in Canada as French is an official language.)

Juice Cleanse

This past weekend I did my first ever juice cleanse.

As I mentioned previously, I had been thinking about doing a juice cleanse since about September as a way to break my taste for salt, sugar and processed foods and feel bien dans ma peau. I had looked into them but got a bit of sticker shock at first glance. So I got a hold of the juicer my mom's friend had given my sister and tried my hand at making my own juice. Just making one green juice was enough to convince me that $195 and no hassle with clean up was worth it (it also equates to about $9 per juice). Then winter settled and I didn't think the season of rich, warm foods and hibernating was conducive to doing a juice cleanse.

Then, with the new year and spring on its way, I found found renewed resolve to make changes to my eating habits. And why not kick it all off with a juice cleanse?

So how was it? A lot easier than I though it would be.

Day 1 (Friday). I woke up, had some hot water and lemon and my first juice. Mid-morning I noticed I had a low-grade headache. Either this was a coincidence, or I am more addicted to coffee than I had thought. I don't have it every day and don't find I "need it," so this was a bit surprising. I packed some celery as a snack in case I got hangry while at work, but I didn't need them. Peter had a rehearsal so he didn't eat dinner at home. I had forgotten about his rehearsal so I hadn't planned anything and instead dozed in and out of an okay movie on Netflix.

Day 2 (Saturday). I slept in a bit and awoke to sunshine. I had my first juice and went to the karma yoga class at the studio down the block. Later that afternoon we packed my juices in a cooler and headed to Commercial to check out Pasture to Plate. Then came my first: we visited a friend and I had to turn down chips and salsa (one of my favourite foods) and yummy looking endive leaves and dip. I started later in the morning so I was drinking juice until 1AM.

Day 3 (Sunday). My second juice was a pink strawberry-kiwi-apple-lemon blend, a welcome change from all four green-toned juices I'd been having each day. Sunday was also the super bowl. I thought about bringing those celery sticks I hadn't eaten on Friday, but Peter challenged me not to. To be honest, I wasn't even tempted by the Doritos, Lays or Sun Chips. I thought about how gross those would make me feel.

By the end of Day 3, I felt like I could have easily done another two days of juice cleansing. I thought I'd be hungry, but I found the juices actually quite filling. I wasn't more hungry between juices that I would be between meals. I didn't feel tempted and I don't even think it was because I had a particularly strong willpower. I think it's just that when you decide you're going to drink six juices and a protein milk per day the decision on what you're having is made for you. I could see the allure of drinking smoothies instead of meals. But I was looking forward to my first breakfast as I was gulping down the last Sleep Tonic.

Weight loss isn't the goal of this cleanse, but I do feel smaller (I don't know that I actually lost weight as I don't own a scale). This morning I woke up and felt reinvigorated. While I didn't need coffee, I did accompany my coworkers on their coffee break for the walk. I think the juice cleanse was a good idea before embarking on a Whole30 because even thought I saw all the pastries on offer, I didn't actually consider them an option.

I did the Juice Truck juice cleanse. For anyone considering it, I would encourage them to go for it. It was a good way to reset in time for spring.

Se sentir bien dan sa peau

(suh sawn-teer byeh(n) da(n) sa po): to feel comfortable in your own skin

The idiom in French, as in English, is most often used to describe one's self-esteem or mood, but is equally applicable to descriptions of one's physical well-being. The two are, after all, linked, right?

 

Me, soaking up the glorious springtime sunshine at the théâtre antique d'Arles in March 2011. I had just bought this skirt and felt oh-so-glamourous in it so I struck this pose in a few photos. (Photo by my friend and travel-buddy Emily, read her account of our trip to Arles here.)







 

When I got back from France almost two years ago, I realised that I didn't feel bien dans ma peau. I surprisingly didn't totally gorge myself on all the delicious cheese, bread and pastries.  I don't think it was until January that I bought a baguette and chèvre for dinner one Friday. For this reason, I don't think it was due to overindulging in France (although it would have been strange to come back from France without a few extra pounds), but rather different factors that had accumulated for almost a year at that point.

Caesars

The Caesar is a Canadian cocktail similar to the Bloody Mary. I actually didn't realise it was Canadian until Peter and I took a roadtrip to San Francisco and found them missing from the menus. Both Calgary and Edmonton lay claim to having invented the Caesar, but that may just be intercity rivalry. The main difference between the Caesar and Bloody Mary is the clam juice. That may not sound tasty, but the clam in clamato is a subtle taste--that noticeably lacks from a Bloody Mary.

Homemade Caesars are one of Peter's specialties. Usually we just buy Clamato, mix it with vodka, touch up the spices, and garnish with spicy beans. Lately, however, Peter's been tossing around the idea of making our own clamato from scratch. Tonight we tried just that.

To make the clamato shake together:

• 2 14oz. cans of claim juice
• 28 oz. tomato juice
• 1/4 cup lemon juice
• 5 dashes each celery salt, garlic powder, crushed red chili powder
• 2 "medium drops" of your favourite hot sauce (we used red El Yucateca Picante Habanero)

To make the Caesars:

• Rim a tall glass with celery salt
• Pour 1 oz. vodka (or to strength) over ice
• 2 drops "more than you feel comfortable with" of Worcestershire sauce
• Fill glass with clamato
• Tabasco sauce to taste
• Sprinkle 2 dashes garlic powder, and freshly ground black pepper (Montreal Steak Spice is also a good addition at this point)
• Garnish with spicy pickled beans 
• Remember to stir

These Caesars are a lot fresher tasting than using the store-bought mix that is chock full of salty seasonings and unpronounceable ingredients. Reading the label of the store-bought mix, you could add molasses or sugar to get an ever so slight sweetness. Making Caesars from scratch is more expensive, but considering the fourth ingredient is MSG, I think the few extra dollars you spent is worth it. Ultimately the Caesar is a drink you can adapt to suit your taste for spicy, Worcestershire-saucy, etc. I think for us the next step might be crazier garnishes.

Cheers!

Carte postale d'Athens

Shortly after I received Kathleen's postcard from Reims, Emily's from Athens, Georgia arrived in my mailbox. Loving travel trivia, I was delighted to receive this postcard about the Tree that Owns Itself. I meant to share it sooner, but instead it sat propped up against a teapot on a shelf in my kitchen. In the spirit of out with the old, in with the new, I am sharing it now.

According to the caption on the reverse, the Tree that Owns Itself is a "White Oak at the corner of Dearing and Finley Streets, the Tree was owned by the University of Georgia Professor William H. Jackson, who deeded it (and the surrounding 8 feet) to itself sometime before 1835."

Emily adds:

Alas, this postcard was the best Athens has to offer--no pretty cathedrals or striking monuments here:) The caption is actually a bit false--the original tree died 70 years ago, so this is theoretically one of its offspring.

How quirky!:)

Hiver optimiste

Funny how the turn of a calendar page can make such a difference. It's January, and I am filled with optimism for the year to come. I think it's because as soon as December transforms in into January, I get into spring mode. Or spring-is-coming mode. In spite of all the complaining remarking about the rain, Vancouver has the mildest winters in the country. It tends to lack snow, so once Christmas has gone, it doesn't feel wintery anymore. Above is a photo of white hyacinths that I instagrammed 51 weeks ago.

Out with the Old/In with the New

Better late than never? "Head of a skeleton with a burning cigarette," postcard from the Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam.



I have neglected to post anything for months. Suffices to say that I became side tracked. But with the close of one year and the beginning of a new one I am feeling reflective.

The last year went by at an unbelievably fast pace. Like a snowball rolling downhill, it ended bigger and better than I could have thought (kick-ass New Year's Eve party included). I hope this momentum continues.

Highlights of 2012 included:

• A visit from my friend Jacky, with whom I taught English in France;
• A trip back to Europe, to Madrid, Barcelona, and Amsterdam;
• See Helen and John get married;
• Leaving the job I got when I got back from France for one I absolutely LOVE and is related to my degree(!)

I more or less kept to my 2012 resolution to exercise. I fell in love with ballet barre, ran outside (in preparation for a non-competitive 5km race), did Saturday morning yoga occasionally, and had a gym membership that I at times got in the routine of using. The gym kind of fell by the wayside when I got stressed out just before switching to my new job and when another personal project that swallowed me whole.

Blogging also seemed to cease around that time, and as a result I never finished sorting through my photos or posting about my trip. I've thought resuming those posts, but I'm not sure I will. I think Kathleen worded it best when she described a similar situation regarding her trek through Eastern Europe:

I just have too many demands on my time and am too excited about sharing what's happening right now to dedicate a chunk of time to retelling a story that's already happened.

Except I didn't continue to share anything on this blog.

My resolutions for 2013 are still swirling around in my head, coalescing. Some of these are probably not worthy of being "year" resolutions, but in 2013 I would like to:

• Finally get a handle on stress management;
• Be more gracious and grateful;
• Make a Black Forest cake from scratch with the kirsche syrup David gave me when I hosted him for Helen and John's wedding;
• Do a 3-day juice cleanse and transition to either a fully paleo, or at least mostly wheat free diet.

Happy New Year!

Guest Post: Germany 4 Ways

A while back, when I was fretting that I had no idea when it came to Germany, I got the idea to ask my friend Helen to write a guest post. Helen was lovely enough to indulge me and share her experiences of Germany, the country she now calls home. Reading her post, I think I understand why for me, no one monument comes to mind as symbolizing all of Germany: because it is such a diverse country. This past weekend I also had the honour of witnessing her wedding to her husband, whom she met in Germany.

Germany has a population in the neighbourhood of 85 million people packed into a country which, land-wise, could fit into British Columbia three times. Anyone who has ever travelled in British Columbia, or just to different areas within Canada knows that where you are is different than where you come from or where you have been before. What I am saying with that is that Germany, as is Canada, can be a very different place depending on where you are. 

I grew up knowing that my German heritage was a big part of my life but I never imagined that I would be sitting here age twenty-two living in Germany, and at that, not really the Germany I grew up with – which was my grandparents’ very small hometown in Western Germany – but in Berlin, the symbol of both German unity and German disunity. In order to explain how I got here, I need to recount a bit of experience, which started sort of when I was eleven and visited Germany for the first time, but really when I came to Germany for my first time alone when I was sixteen. 

Sixteen in Koblenz. When I was sixteen I took part in an organized exchange programme which first had my German host sister, Eva, come and live with my family and me for three months, followed by me flying to Germany – alone – to live with her family in Koblenz for two months. This was my first “real” German experience. Koblenz, located at the junction of the Rhein and Mosel Rivers in Western Germany, is a gorgeous small city characterized by the intersecting rivers, a 2000 year history, and beautiful castles lining the rivers in every direction. I spent two months going to school, drinking beer on the river banks with new friends, visiting the neighbouring castles, and learning next to no German. I was sixteen, it wasn’t as important to me as Currywurst and beer. I am sure it is a bit of nostalgia speaking, but to me, Koblenz has always felt like a bit of a fairy tale town. 

Flash forward two years. I found myself taking part in a language immersion course in Kassel, a grey, cement – read: industrial until it was bombed to pieces and rebuilt in the 50s entirely of concrete - city smack in the middle of Germany, famous for a giant statue of Hercules on the hills around the town, a modern art festival, and a large Turkish population. I was living with a new host family, a lovely couple in their 70s who spoke next to no word of English and yelled at me once for using the wrong bathroom towel. Other than that, lovely people, had my Musli and coffee on the table for me every morning before I went to class, hosted my friends over for “Grilling” aka BBQing where the beer (Radeberger of course) was plentiful, along with the shots of mystery Schnapps. This Germany could not have been more different than Koblenz, which I also visited during my two month stay in Kassel. There was German speaking, Doener Kebab eating, and concrete, lots of ugly concrete buildings, which really reflected in the attitude of the people. 

In the late summer of 2009 I found myself on a plane again, this time to Freiburg and this time for a year. Armed with my university exchange acceptance and a scholarship to go with it, I landed in the small medieval city on the border of both France and Switzerland. Despite being bombed to the ground, the city rebuilt itself in its former glory (unlike some aforementioned cities) - albeit with wider streets to allow the Strassenbahn to run through it, but keeping its quaint charm of Fachwerkhaeuser and the little streams (read: mini ditches) which ran along the streets threatening (promising?) that if you fell into one of them, you would be doomed (blessed?) to marry someone from the region. I found that more than any other city I had been to, Freiburg had a deep sense of regional pride. The city belongs to Baden, they speak their form of Baeddisch (dialect) which is all very different from the neighbouring region of Wuerttemburg where they speak (gasp) Schwaebbisch, which, legitimately, no soul not born there could ever understand. Freiburg is known for its leftist political stance with hippies roaming the streets with dreadlocks and bare feet. In a protest against the new 500euro/semester tuition fee though, the hippies took to the university with all their power and occupied the largest lecture hall. For a month. Until Christmas came when they all went home.       

I suppose at this point a bit of a disclaimer is necessary. While in Kassel I met a wonderful man (a Canadian on my programme). By the time I made it to Freiburg he had made it to Berlin to study for a master’s and we started dating in early 2010. This made it quite difficult to leave Freiburg and I did so with the intention of finishing my own studies and coming back to be with him. 

So, nine months after going back to Canada I was packing up (almost) all of my early belongings to move to Berlin. Berlin is a city so far in kind and culture from any other city in which I have spent significant amounts of time. As I said earlier, it is a city where Germany’s unity and disunity meet; it is a city full of misfits, outcasts, and expats joining the flourishing tech start up scene and running from wherever they came from. It is a massive city with an even more massive past. It is a city which encompasses the term: Vergangenheitsbewaeltigung, literally: coming to terms with the past, a term coined in the post-war years originally for Germans coming to terms with the Nazi past. Now, it can be seen on every corner, east and west in this city. Look left and you see new growth, a recent building, and a young couple with a child. Look right and you see buildings falling down with remnants of bullets and shelling, a dark corner, and an old man – homeless.  

Berlin is nothing like Koblenz where I first experienced the magical Rheinland. Berlin is nothing like Kassel, despite the common history and large Turkish populations. Berlin is nothing like Freiburg, which was the essence of quaint. Berlin is nothing like the little village where my grandparents grew up, where I still find myself every few months for weddings and funerals, where the people are still puttering along in a fashion I imagine to be similar to the stories I heard in my childhood. But this is Germany. Every corner of Germany has its history, its stories, its charm, and is little like the next town down the street (especially if you ask the citizens of any of those towns).

(Photos from Helen)

Flamenco

While in Madrid, Peter and I caught a flamenco show. Despite knowing little about the genre or specific themes of flamenco, it exuded an undeniably compelling passion and was mesmerizing. The women dancers' skirts were absolutely beautiful and amazing to watch as their steps would crescendo into an almost firecracker-like explosion of steps. The male dancer was fascinating as well as you could clearly see all his footwork that the women's skirts obscured. The other thoughts I had during the performance was that the dancers had great physical endurance and sturdy shoes.

The Grouse Grind

You know the saying, you're never a tourist in your own town? As a response to this, nearly every summer I make a mental list of Vancouver things to do that I haven't ever done. I usually don't get around to the list due to other commitments, but this past Wednesday I did a big one:

My fellow hikers: Katie, Stefan and Honza.

The Grouse Grind is a hiking trail up Grouse Mountain. Nicknamed "Mother Nature's Stairmaster," the trail is 2.9km, during which you climb 853m in elevation. I consider myself to be in fairly good physical shape, but the grind was much tougher than I expected; this surprised me a bit because, well, don't tourists do it?

I was lulled into a false sense that the Grind would be easy because everyone always says that the Grouse Grind is "just a bunch of stairs." Essentially they're right, but the steps are not evenly spaced like a staircase, and it's actually pretty rugged including rocks, small boulders, and tree roots. I'm about average height (5'4"), but some points had me taking steps that were up to my hips.

I think we started out pretty fast; for the first third of the hike I got a massive head rush which left me feeling pretty dizzy. Reaching the markers, however, was super encouraging and gave me a rush of adrenaline to continue on. My head rush subsided by the half-way mark, and the trail seemed to actually get easier as we went.

Our time was 74 minutes--pretty good for a first time, I think. It was challenging, but I liked it way better than doing an elliptical or stairmaster at the gym. Though my quads burned while I was climbing it, my legs didn't ache at all the next day. I'd love to give it another try and see if I can shave some time off.

The Grouse Grind is one of those things all good Vancouverites should do at least once. The Grind might be a little more physically demanding than the average tourist bargained for, so in light of that, I wouldn't recommend this as a tourist attraction. You can still get to the top of Grouse via the Gondola. If you're visiting Vancouver and into hiking, or just in good physical shape, I would say go for it as you'll be rewarded by a stunning view of the city below once you reach the top and can get a celebratory drink.

Spanish Cuisine

After what seemed like a particularly wet June, summer has finally arrived in Vancouver. The warm, sunny weather has been wonderful, but it has had a negative effect on this little blog of mine. After spending eight-or-so hours in front of a computer at my office at work, the last thing I want to do is sit inside in front of a computer some more.

Before arriving in Spain, I knew very little about Spanish cuisine except for paella. Excited about trying new things (like octopus and sardines!), of my favourite dishes I tried (way less adventurous than the previous two), was melon with Iberian ham.

Peter and I tried this dish in Barcelona after checking out Gaudí's La Sagrada Familia and Casa Battló. The weather in Spain was hot (but fortunately not humid), so the cool melon was refreshing and I liked the combination of sweet, but not overly sugary, with the savoury ham.

As the weather in Vancouver in similarly sunny and hot, I thought I'd recreate the dish as part of dinner. The melon in Spain wasn't one I recognized, but tasted like a cross between cantaloupe and honeydew; this time I chose the former. Then I substituted the Iberian ham for Canadian prosciutto. Maybe not authentic, but delicious!

Madrid

Before leaving, I had trouble visualizing what our vacation in Spain would be like. While there may not be any one architectural feature that has come to symbolize the city, Lonely Planet travel writer Anthony Ham suggests that Plaza Mayor may be "the one image that was unmistakably Madrid."*

When we arrived at Plaza Mayor at mid-day on our first day, however, we were immediately stunned at how empty one of Madrid's premier plazas felt. At first we thought it was because of lunch. Then, the next day we went to the Prado, and even though we had bought tickets online in advance, there was no wait with other advance ticket holders. The following day we went to the Museo Reina Sofia, which houses Picasso's Guernica, and we just walked in. In fact, the whole museum was pretty tranquil; granted Guernica is many times larger than the Mona Lisa, but there was no Louvre-style crowd pushing to the front for a glimpse of the canvas. There was a primary school group sitting cross-legged in front of the painting, but otherwise the roomful of visitors was easy to navigate and I could study Picasso's work for as long as I wanted.

On our second night we decided to eat at this restaurant, La Pizarra, that looked nice and had a clever sign. We arrived about 9 o'clock. Knowing that the Spanish eat dinner later, we thought that we were early. Nevertheless, we ordered a regional wine and a few dishes to share. The cuisine was Spanish fusion and delicious. We ordered guacamole with plantain and yucca chips, curried octopus with green beans, and black rice risotto, and shared a Spanish dessert--tarta tres quesos--which is cheese cake, but not cheesecake. At the end of our meal, the chef offered us shots. We chose two Spanish herb-based liqueurs; mine tasted like anise, and Peter's tasted really like dandelion and was really strong.

We were still nearly the only ones (except one or two single people having drinks at the bar) when we were finished. As we settled, we chatted with the chef. He said that despite the worrisome economic situation in Spain, the sun still shines.

The sense of emptiness was a bit eerie, but at the same time it was cool to feel like we had the city to ourselves. I wondered if maybe I shouldn't be comparing Madrid tourism to Paris. Maybe their tourism numbers were drastically different. Paris is, after all, the number one tourist destination in the world--15.6 million people visited the city of lights last year. But Spain is the fourth most visited country by international tourist arrivals, and my superficial research suggests that Madrid is the most visited city in Spain. In the end, we concluded that thesense of emptiness was likely due to the current global economic situation.


*Anthony Ham, Lonely Planet Madrid Encounter, 44.

Madrid: A Vibrant City

Arriving in a new city under the cover of darkness always adds a flair of mystery. And such was my arrival in Madrid after nearly 24 hours of travelling (which included a nearly nine-hour layover in Amsterdam). The benefit of such an arrival is the discovery the next morning when everything is awash in daylight.

This cross marked what was once the edge of the city wall.

  

We enjoyed 1 euro cervezas on the patio of the cerveceria one languid afternoon.

Madrid's vibrant hues, and my enchantment with them, reminded me a lot of Rome. And indeed, Madrid had a certain ambiance.

Hola!

I arrive home late yesterday afternoon. I can't wait to sort through all the pictures I took and share the highlights of my trip with you!

I seem to have contracted a sore throat from the canned air on the plane though, so I've had chicken soup for lunch and downing peppermint tea and my go-to when I'm sick, Bolthouse C-Boost juice, which was 1200% your daily vitamin C per serving!

Adios!

The weather forecast for Madrid and Barcelona. The current forecast for Amsterdam seems like it might dash my plans to picnic in Vondelpark.

Thanks to everyone who played the postcard challenge. I can't wait to share some of the interesting clues and tidbits of trivia you submitted. If you played, keep your eye on your mailbox!

Tonight I'm off to meet my bestie to celebrate her 25th birthday (it's actually tomorrow, and I'm leaving the country, what a terrible friend I am, right?). Tomorrow, I'm meeting my mum for lunch before heading over to the airport.

I'll be back in two weeks. Feel free to read back if you want :)

(images via The Weather Network)