Madrid, Community of Madrid, Spain
You may be asking yourself: Hannah, what's happened to you? Have you fallen off the face of the earth? Perhaps you've been trampled by a stampede of angry cows that didn't appreciate your love and affection?
Silly you, my cow friends would never reject my love and affection. How could you ever think such a thing? Alas, the true explanation is far less exciting. I am simply a busy gal who just finished a never-ending 3-month adventure (don't get me wrong, it was amazing, but also a bit exhausting) and am now working 40 hours a week while attempting to live a healthy lifestyle. Who knew it takes up like half your free time just to cook healthy meals, exercise, and spend time with the Lord every day? Anywho, I truly hope you will forgive me for the delay. Enjoy some fun new stories as I embark on the ominous task of playing catch-up-blog-writing for the entire 2nd half of my semester abroad. Wish me luck.
Sunday, March 24th
Now, on to the true Spring Break festivities. Rome was simply a deviant in our plan, put there for the purpose of making it to the Rome airport on time for our flight.
Transportation can be quite convoluted. The end goal was to get to Madrid, Spain from Florence, but to get there we booked a flight out of Rome Ciampino Airport. To get to Rome Ciampino Airport, we had to take a train from the center of Rome, and to get to the center of Rome, we had to take a train from Florence. We had only successfully fulfilled one of these steps so far.
Everything was going relatively smoothly until we arrived at the train station, only to find that our train was cancelled! What were we to do? I'll spare you the details of how we ran around the train station in search of an alternative method and skip to the part where we found a metro and a bus to take us there. With our luck, I'm quite surprised that we managed to find the right bus and arrive at the airport on time.
All is well once again! ...Or not. We waited in the RyanAir line for approximately 27 minutes to check in and get our boarding pass printed, only to find out upon arriving at the desk something that wrecked my entire world.
I handed my passport to the lady and showed her my boarding pass.
She squinted at it for a little too long before saying, "this flight is out of Rome Fiumicino".
"...What?"
"This is Rome Ciampino"
....
"This flight doesn't leave out of this airport, Rome Fiumicino is a 45-minute drive west"
8 seconds ticked by as my brain processed this information. We were at the wrong airport. The correct airport was 45 minutes away. We only had an hour before our flight left. We were going to miss our flight.
I shot a worried look at Morgan and her mom, who were about to walk up to the desk. I quickly hurried over and relayed the tragic news, and after a few seconds of mourning over our lack of organization and thinking to ourselves I can't believe we managed to go to the WRONG airport, we decided it was worth a shot to at least try to make it there and ran outside to find a taxi.
With the help of some lucky leprechauns (or maybe it was our crazy taxi driver), the drive ended up only taking about 23 minutes. Leprechauns or not, it meant hope! We sprinted inside as fast as we could while juggling our overwhelming amount of baggage and joined the check in line which looked thankfully much shorter. We found a RyanAir lady and told her about our dilemma, and after a decent amount of scampering around in an attempt to find the fastest way method, we made it through without too much delay and hurried on to security.
This airport was much bigger, but with that came increased efficiency and we found our way to our gate in no time at all. How did that happen? How did we go to the wrong airport which was 45 minutes away and still manage to make our flight?? I haven't a clue, I was just glad we weren't stuck in Rome for the whole week. Not that that would be the worst thing in the world, but it would mean lots of spent money lost and dreams crushed.
There ended up being a bunch of delays as we were waiting in line to board, so we probably would've made it even if Fiumicino had been 2 hours away. It always seems to happen that way, doesn't it?
In the midst of my waiting, I began pondering. Leaving my mind to wander is a dangerous thing and often results in some strange happenings. This time, I was hit with a flashback of the first time I wore earbuds. They were my grandma's and when she saw me eyeing them curiously, she offered for me to try them. It was an out of this world experience, it felt like the music was coming from all around me, wrapping me in a warm embrace of beautiful notes and melodies.
End random flashback moment. Back to reality.
The line began moving, and soon enough we were on the plane and then in Madrid!
I gazed out the window at the beautiful city and gardens as we rode our taxi into the city. We stopped on a cute little street where we hopped out and set eyes on the beautiful hostel we would be staying at for the next few days. After a few minutes of confusion about where to check in, we were led to our room which was so nice that I forgot it was a hostel! It seemed quite clean and was well decorated too.
For our first culinary experience, we had some delicious quesadilla and chicken tears at a cafe down the street.
We were so enamored by the beautiful park we had passed on the way here, so after discovering that it was not too far away, we began walking there for a chill evening in Parque de el Retiro. I wish we had gardens like this in the US. Green covered my vision every way I turned, and I found peaceful little dirt paths with benches framed by tall, curved trees at every corner.
A rustling in the brush interrupted my peaceful gazing. What could that be? A little cat! And another one! Everywhere we went, more cats started popping up and I spent probably a cumulative of 30 minutes photographing them. I sometimes feel bad for my travel buddies who must put up with me randomly stopping to take photos of miscellaneous things. We all have our things though.
The gardens buzzed with life, birds flitted and hopped this way and that. My eyes caught on a particular kind of bird I kept meeting, which I'd never seen before. They had a resemblance similar to that of penguins, which earned them the title of Penguin Birds in my mind. If my choice of airpods case is any indication, I have a particular affinity for penguins, which automatically boosted my love for these little birds. I kept trying to snap a picture, but they were always hopping about and would run away whenever I got closer. I managed to get a few decent photos but nothing out of this world. Props to bird photographers. I've grown a deep respect for you guys after this experience.
Soon, the quaint forresty garden morphed into a wide street teeming with tourists and locals alike. While somehow still managing to retain some of the greenery and feeling of nature, the central square was filled with popcorn venders, people laughing, children darting this way and that, and several various street performers. Faint whispers of accordion music wafted through the air from some mysterious location, and tourists paddled through the lake in their little touristy fake canoes.
Among the array of street performers was this weird guy interacting with one of the audience members. We attempted to figure out what he was doing for several minutes, but due to the language barrier and the strange nature of his performance, we were unable to ascertain any useful information. We came to the conclusion that it must have been some sort of hypnosis thing, but with a performance that strange, you really can't be certain.
Moving along down the street, we spotted some bronze statues depicting Mary Poppins and Bert. Wait, did those statues just move? Woah, they are people! I've been bamboozled. I guess that's kinda the point though, right? Great job, you fooled me! Could've fooled the president too, probably.
Another guy began performing little magic tricks with the crowd's money. All I could think of was the emo magician from When in Rome (that's a movie, if you don't know. if you haven't seen it, I'd 100% recommend. 10/10 for laughs and cinematic aesthetic).
As we continued meandering and weaving through the partiers, a dancing mickey mouse with his other animal friends caught my eye. It was a tad bit on the creepy side in my opinion, but the little toddlers seemed to really enjoy it, which was adorable to watch.
In our haste to run away from the slightly unnerving giant costume eyes staring through our souls, we almost ran into the Grinch! I would've usually been overjoyed by this happening, if not for him being in possibly the worst Grinch costume I've ever seen and harassing the passersby into paying attention to him in a very sadly un-grinch-like manner. Do better, Fake Grinch Man.
But wait, the wonders have yet to cease. And you thought it couldn't get an crazier. Not long after the Grinch incident, we were met with a strange group of people boxing by the fountain and a couple knife fighting. Yes, you read that right. I think he was trying to teach her self defense with a saber. From what I observed, I think it would be for the best if she just carried pepper spray like the rest of us. Although, props to her for attempting to wield a saber. I sometimes wish I possessed saber-wielding capabilities. Unfortunately, I wasn't able to capture any photos of the knife fighting, only the boxing. I guess you will just have to take my word for it and use your imagination.
I have a little game for you. In one of the following photos is a hidden gem which I found later while I was editing. So, I challenge you this: try to spot the man waving at my camera. If you find him, you get a gold star.
I was sad to leave my giant magical garden, but the next item on our itinerary was almost equally as interesting: the royal palace! Unfortunately, we couldn't go inside because it was closed, but the exterior was very beautiful.
Upon approaching the palace, we noticed a giant crowd had formed in the square, with some sick beats emanating from the center. Upon further inspection, I found this guy trying to garner some money, then, after a few minutes of guilting people into paying, they began setting up for some impending magnificent event. I decided to stick around for a little to see what the fuss was about. After several minutes of them endlessly hyping up the crowd, a group of people lined up in a crouched position while this other guy backed up into the crowd, seemingly preparing to jump. Sure enough, they did a count-down and he did a side flip over like 7 people! It was quite neat, and while I couldn't get close enough to get the amazing angles, I was able to take a burst of photos above the crowd and captured some pretty cool shots (if I do say so myself).
Amidst our wandering around the palace exterior, we began to hear some commotion in the street, this time from a different area. Everyone began flocking, so of course we had to follow the crowd like a bunch of sheep. It's ok, at this point I have accepted that whenever I go traveling, I become a sheepy tourist. The commotion turned out to be a spontaneous easter parade / procession thing. Quite cool. It probably wasn't that spontaneous in reality (we later learned that they planned and practiced for this every year) but it was spontaneous to us since we hadn't planned on seeing it.
Once the parade passed by, we decided to wait like an hour and a half for the sunset at an overlook area next to the palace. I held out hope for a while, but in the end, it was a complete let-down because grey smog was covered the whole thing, so there was not even a hint of color. I did get some cool blue hour photos, though, so at least there's that.
With the sun going down, we decided to get head back and grab some churros along the way from San Gines Chocolateria, which was The Place to Go for churros according to Morgan's extensive research. It indeed turned out to be the most popular place ever, with lines of people trailing out of their several locations which were all within a 20-meter vicinity. I sincerely could not tell if there were just a bunch of San Gines knockoff stores all bunched together, if the store had spontaneously decided to sprout legs and meander around producing offspring, or if they were all the same company somehow connected together by some mystical unifying love for churros. It was quite a confusing several minutes as we gaped around like lost children trying to figure out what to do. Are we supposed to get in that line over there? Or maybe this line here is the correct one. But it seems suspiciously shorter than the others, maybe we don't want that line. Maybe that one over there is for being seated in this one is for takeout orders? I guess we will never know the true interworkings of this mysterious chocolateria, but we managed to somehow purchase a few overpriced churros even amidst the chaos and calamity. By the time we found somewhere to sit down (because we did indeed join the to-go line) and enjoy our hard-earned churros, they had lost most of their heat but were still pretty good. I thoroughly enjoyed them, but I have to say, they were not the best considering how expensive and hyped-up they were. They didn't even have cinnamon sugar! Maybe that's just a California thing, and not the True Authentic Spanish way of making churros, but I think some cinnamon sugar could have added a lot to the experience. At least they gave us some warm chocolate to dip it in, which we took turns gulping down after we'd finished off the churros.
As we headed back to our nice little hostel, albeit a tad disappointed by the churros, I spotted a little tea shop on the side of the street. Just the thing to cheer me up! Bless Morgan and her mom for letting me pop inside even in their exhaustion and desperation for rest. After sampling and sniffing several different giant tins of loose-leaf tea (which all smelled wonderful), I grabbed some to bring back for a few of my tea-obsessed friends back at Grove City. Shhhh, don't tell them. They are supposed to last about 6 months, so hopefully they are really dedicated to their tea-obsession because the tea will probably be about 4-5 months into their shelf life by the time I'll get the chance to give it to them.
When we finally flopped onto our beds, we were abruptly awoken by loud banging on the ceiling. We shot a few curious looks back and forth before each returning to our solitary activities, thinking it would probably stop soon. After about 20 more minutes of pounding, we had had enough, and Morgan went upstairs to ask them to be quiet. When she came back down, she reported that the lady had told her "It's only 10 pm": a passive-aggressive way of saying "Chill out, it's not that late yet, we have the right to be noisy until official quiet hours at 11". Welp, surely, they can't keep this up all night. Right? Wrong. Ok, maybe it wasn't ALL night, but it definitely went way past 11 and was still going on by the time I finally fell asleep. No joke, it literally continued all the way until I fell asleep AND when I woke up at 7 in the morning!!! So much for finally getting a good night’s sleep.
Monday, March 25th
I've never before felt so at-one with the sardines. I think I finally understand how they must feel, all squished into that little can together. That's exactly what the metro is like here.
La Mallorquina, a quaint but not-so-quaint cafe established in 1894, was where we decided to dine. It was touristy, but supposedly one of those tourist hubs that was that way for good reason. Immediately upon entering, we were overtaken by the sweet scent of confectionary sugar wafting through the air. I thoroughly enjoyed it, tuning out the loud hubble and bubble created by the ever-present crowd. Lines of people spiraled around the limited open space, caged in by glass cases of mouth-wateringly delectable sweets.
Is that the line for takeout orders or to be seated upstairs? Perhaps that ticket-giver is meant for those seeking to dine. That sounds right. But is it one ticket per person or group? We went with the prior, but then a lady came and swapped our tickets under the guise that it was the latter. It turned out we had been right in the first place, but besides a little extra waiting, no harm was done, and we were eventually seated.
The brunch menu was rather limited, but when they brought out my ham and cheese croissant I no longer cared, because the instant I laid eyes on it, I wished to scarf it down immediately. After I had gobbled it down, I turned to the Milhoja (pronounced mee-low-hah. with a Spanish accent of course) I had ordered (supposedly a traditional Spanish dessert). At the first bite, I was delighted by the sweet marshmallowy filling and the flaky pastry exterior, but after several more I began to grow a bit sick from the sweetness. I managed to consume only half of it.
Can you guess what we did next? I bet you can't. I'll even give you a hint... It may or may not be my favorite pastime in Europe.
If you guessed that we sailed to the moon you would be... utterly and hopelessly incorrect. If you didn't guess that, but rather that we wandered around with only a remote idea of our intended destination, you are correct!
Well, whadyaknow, a fancy historic library! Which we stumbled upon spontaneously! That never happens (note the sarcasm here).
To be honest, there wasn't much of interest in said library, but it made for a couple of pretty pictures.
Now, back to the task at hand: aimlessly wandering through Madrid.
I have a confession to make. Our wandering wasn't as aimless as I had originally implied (but it was more fun to remember it that way). In reality, Morgan had been directing us to an indoor mall the entire time.
It was the grocery store of my dreams. While it did not house any goats, highland cattle, or fresh gelato, it had 2 whole stories (little moving ramp thing and all), and the cheapest strawberries I'd seen in all of Europe! And, I must say, they looked quite delicious. Just the thing to rejuvenate my poor, tired, soul.
The only other place of interest I could find was a little paper shop with beautiful cards and paper patterns. Balancing a carton of strawberries along with my other travel necessities while browsing through delicate paper creations proved to be no easy feat, but I managed, and also got some gorgeous cards out of the deal.
If you've never been to Madrid (or were in a hazy daze the entirety of your stay), I have a little tip for you. There is jamon everywhere. So, if you despise the sight of dead pigs hanging from every feasible inch of the space in a majority of restaurants, you'd better prepare yourself.
The hunger began to gnaw at our stomachs, and we began our hunt for something with which to satisfy the beasts inside of us. Bright neon lights peeked through an alcove barely noticeable from the street. I was drawn to them like a moth to the flame. At first, it was simply for the artistic photographic potential I was imagining, but the smell of the a\Asian street food market called to me in a way that I couldn't resist.
Maggie was all to blame. This was all her fault. I nearly jumped out of my skin in fright. If you see her from a distance, do me a favor and tackle her to the ground (but make sure not to injure her too badly, because she needs to dance the Frankenstein with me). Then say sorry cause that's a mean thing to do.
You may be wondering where all of this hostility is coming from. Well, let me enlighten you. I was peacefully and happily munching on my noodles when I got a call from none other than the infamous Margaret the Irish Dancer. With a mild (actually not so mild) panic in her voice, she questioned me about whether I had done my course registration, because something was horribly wrong and it wasn't working. Course registration? That can't be today. What could she possibly be referring to?
I'll have you know: I am not the kind of person to forget such an important thing as this. I plan out my schedule weeks in advance, meticulously entering all the details in my little spreadsheet. 10 minutes before, I sit at my desk, anxiously staring at the clock and watching the seconds tick by as I prepare myself for the most stressful half hour of my life (well I guess it can't be THE most stressful if it's happened several times already). Notice how this routine has absolutely NO mention of being called by a friend in panic out of the blue while eating noodles in an Asian street food market in Madrid.
I ran through all of the possibilities in my mind, desperately searching for some explanation for all of this besides the one I hoped beyond all hope not to be true. If it was true, then I had no chance of getting into any of my preferred classes. I couldn't very well search up all of the courses and sign up for them on my phone in the middle of a restaurant or whatever you would call this. I would just have to wait till I got back to my room and panic then. There was no other option. Maybe Maggie got the date wrong? I was sure I had put it in my calendar, and "course registration" was nowhere to be found on the docket for today. I reread the email we had been sent a bit ago by the GCC administrative people, which read that for seniors, course registration was indeed today. Did that mean current seniors or rising seniors? Why would current seniors need to register for classes? But why were freshmen on the list if the school registered for them? So, the mystery remains. I furiously messaged all of my fellow juniors back home and tapped my toes for about 7.34 minutes as I waited for the reply that would determine the entire course of my life. Ok, maybe that's a LITTLE dramatic.
"No, ours is in 2 weeks"
I cannot even describe the feeling of relief that washed over me when I read that message. Everything was going to be ok. Maggie, was just mistaken (as usual) and I had nothing to worry about. I turned my attention back to Maggie, reassuring her that our registration wasn't for another 2 weeks, and that's why it hadn't been working.
Crisis successfully averted.
Now that I had had a fun little 15-minute panic, it was time to head to the palace once again in hopes of finally gaining entry.
There was a super long line, wrapping all the way around the square. I would've immediately turned around and chosen something else to do if it weren't for the fact that I was with two other people who wanted to go in this palace enough that we had gone back to it like 3 times. So, I resigned myself to my new state of being and got in the line. At least there was a nice little street musician to keep us entertained.
After roughly 23 minutes of waiting in line (which actually moved faster than I thought it would), all of a sudden, the line began to move super fast. Like, faster than I'd seen a line move in my entire life. It was almost as if... it wasn't a line anymore. People dispersed from the line, heading in all directions, and we were left wondering what happened. Did everyone just decide they would rather eat a churro at that very moment? We walked up to the entrance, where a small crowd had formed, and found that while the palace didn't close for another 30 minutes, the last entry was at 5, so they weren't letting anyone else in. That would've been nice to know before we waited in line for an entire year.
Oh well. On to the next item on the agenda which is super exciting. You are never going to believe me when I tell you. You will jump for joy at the pure idea of it. You won't even know what to do with yourself it's so amazing. It's..... wait for it..... FLAMENCO!!!!
You seriously couldn't have thought I would leave Spain without going to see some flamenco first. If you did think that, I would reconsider how well you think you know me, because you don't know me at all.
Before the show, we were led to a place of amber warmth and gilded detailing to have some drinks while we waited. Unfortunately, they did not have milk.
When the time was right (a guy called us to follow him), we all traipsed down a winding staircase and into a cave. Yes, you read that right, a cave. It was a cool cave, though, and it apparently was there to create the most authentic flamenco experience.
The lights dimmed, and a relatively stoutly man hopped up on stage with a little map (for demonstration purposes). He gave us a little introduction, followed by a quick history lesson on Flamenco. I swear I paid attention, but all that's coming to mind now is that it came to Spain through people who were traveling from India, but the Spanish people thought that they were from Egypt. That was important for some reason, but I can't remember now.
According to the man, Flamenco was first just the voice, then came the beats, then the dancing, and then the music. The purpose of all of this is to express emotions.
Now, let the performance begin!
A soft tapping began from the cajon, slowly increasing in intensity and volume as the dancers began to stomp their feet to the beat. The guitarist joined in with a percussive melody, and finally the vocalist joined in as well.
As the music became more and more vigorous, the dancers slowly began moving their arms and bodies to the music. There was a controlled strength and intensity to their movements, which paired with the deep emotion displayed in their features that carried throughout their bodies lured me into their magical realm. I watched with pure wonder and awe as the two dancers connected and played off of each other in a way I had never seen. The raw emotion I felt through the dancers and each performer created an experience like no other.
I couldn't get enough, and I never wanted it to end. I alternated between taking videos and photos, fearing that I wouldn't be able to remember the moments and wanting to capture as much of it as possible while also being present in the moment.
There were several little acts throughout the hour-long performance. The dancers, vocalists, and musicians all started out together for the beginning, then everyone left, and a few people came out at a time for a solo or duet.
When everyone came back on for the finale, it was like nothing I'd ever seen, with rhythm pulsating in every breath, flick of the arm, and stomp of the foot. As the song reached its climactic end, I watched as the musicians looked to each other for cues and began improvising and playing off of each other. The dancers joined in, and the joy that they felt was written all over their faces, creating magic together and reveling in every perfectly timed surge or fall in the music that they sensed.
It was a wonderful experience and one I will never forget.
Click here to see some video clips of the performance and see below an array of photos I took throughout.
Tuesday, March 26th
We started the morning off at an adorable little cafe which I can't believe I didn't take any pictures of. Sorry, I guess you will just have to use your imagination for this one. Think boho meets modern meets artsy.
I ordered a cacio e pepe scrambled egg brioche sandwich and, I have to say: it was one of the best breakfast sandwiches I have ever had in all my 21 years of living on this earth. I'll have to try and recreate it some time.
Today's main event was a day trip to Toldeo, a cute little medieval-looking town about an hour from Madrid. Our train wasn't for a few hours so we decided to wander a bit.
The first gem we stumbled across: the most ginormous fabric store in all the land and possibly the universe as well! Every inch of every wall was filled with bolts of fabric, and as I walked through the store, each turn revealed more and more fabric. And, just when I thought there couldn't possibly be any more, I found some stairs to a whole other floor filled with more fabric! Morgan's mom loves fabric, so she was having a heyday in there. We practically had to drag her out so we could fit some other things into our day.
The one thing we all really wanted to try before leaving Madrid were the torrijas (pronounced toh-REE-has), a Spanish dessert that dates way way back to the 5th century. At least a version of it anyway. The torrijas made now are closer to recipes found in the 15th century, which is still pretty cool. Torrijas are basically like french toast on steroids (really fluffy and extra sugary).
A little history lesson about torrijas I learned from a google search:
They became popular when people started giving them to expectant mothers as well as after birth to restore their energy. It was also pretty simple and cheap to make since they are made with slightly stale bread (which apparently helps them soak up more moisture). Later in the Middle Ages, it became popular to eat torrijas during Lent and Holy week with wine to represent the body and blood of Christ. There are many different kinds of torrijas made now; for instance, they use white wine instead of milk in Seville.
In our search for this unique dessert, we stumbled upon Casa de Las Torrijas! What luck! A house just for torrijas!
And what torrijas they were; soft, creamy, delectable bits of bread smothered in cinnamon sugar and fried till the cows came home. Just the way I like it.
Now, off to Toledo!
On to the metro (serenaded by a singing lady), through the train station giant enough to be an airport with gates and everything, and down the ramp to our train (serenaded by the BTS music blasting out of the earphones of the teenage girl sitting next to me).
Toledo!
We immediately began our trek to the castle (pretty much the entire reason Toledo was chosen).
As soon as we began walking, the ancient homely ghosts of the castle must have seen us coming because we were attacked by big angry winds (the kind angry enough to blow you over if you aren't careful).
So, there I was, bravely stomping on through the wind, squinting against the dust and leaves being strewn about, when my stomach began to attack me as well. Great. Must have been those torrijas I had a few hours ago. I can't believe I was fooled into enjoying them with their creamy sugary goodness. I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I try some mysterious foreign dessert.
But I was determined to get to that castle, and I wasn't going to let some angry winds, debris, and vengeful digested torrijas get in my way.
Amidst my suffering, I was blessed with a beautiful castle view. I stopped to take a million pictures every few steps, which, when added to my lagging due to pain, put me even farther behind Morgan and her Mom. I was on my own now.
Just kidding, they stopped and waited for me a few times, but just enough to make sure I was in view. It must have been quite a sight to see. An out-of-breath young adult lady muscling against the wind, hair blowing every which way, eyes squinted against the sun and debris, and crippling over in pain every few minutes while intermittently perking up to stop and snap a photo of some little beauty.
When we got into the little old town area, the beauty increased, but so did my pain as the number of steps and stairs multiplied exponentially. Someday I hope to come back here so I can fully appreciate its quaint charm without the stabbing pain in my abdomen.
The castle was beautiful! If only we could actually explore it. Immediately upon entering, the lady told us it was closed for renovations, but, hey, we could still visit the castle museum! Well, I guess that's better than nothing.
As I poked around the exhibits, the pain only increased and soon reached the point pure agony, causing me to slide down to the floor with my head in my hands. Amidst my suffering, I could barely register the security guard man who had come up to me and was now telling me something I couldn't understand. Whatever he was saying didn't sound good and he was pointing somewhere, so I guessed he could only mean that I wasn't supposed to sit down here. So, I stood up and began walking, and - oh no - then came the tears. I used every muscle in my entire being to try and keep them in, but the only desire in my mind was to sit down so that at least some of the pain would subside, but there was nothing remotely sittable in the vicinity.
Morgan and her mom, having seen the undesirable encounter with the security guard man and the tears welling in my eyes, came over and asked if I was ok. You can probably see where this is going. As you know, whenever one asks a crying person if they are ok, the usual response is an uncontrollable increase in tears, which is exactly what happened to me in that moment.
At this point, my brain's only thoughts were: Have to get away. Have to sit. Have to hide. So, I ran away to find a bathroom. But I couldn't find a bathroom. More tears ensued. Why am I always crying in museums? Some kind museum workers found me and tried to help by giving me tissues and asking what was wrong (in Spanish) and all I could do was blubber all over them. I finally managed to get out the word "bathroom?", to which they quickly nodded and led me around the corner.
Locked in a tiny bathroom stall, I could finally cry in peace and pull myself back together. Once the tears had mostly dried up and I could look in the mirror and convince myself that I didn't look like I had just been crying for the last 43 minutes, I went out in search of a place to sit. Luckily, I found a wooden bench just outside the bathroom to sit and mope on until the pain subsided.
As I sat in suffering silence, I pulled out my phone and saw several messages and missed calls from Morgan asking if I was all right. Oh yeah, I completely forgot that I just ran off crying without explanation about 20 minutes ago. I shot her a quick text explaining that I was alright and that I would join them when I felt better which would probably be in about an hour.
I read my ebook as I waited the pain out, and finally, roughly 45 minutes later, I felt slightly better and set out to find Morgan and her mom.
I found a little terrace overlooking the Spanish countryside, and - what luck! -happened to find my travelling companions there as well.
After soaking up the beauty, we headed out to another museum. Let's just hope I don't start crying in this one too. Is that too much to ask?
Yay! Mission accomplished: no tears whatsoever. And, I even found a few gems. Enjoy this photograph of an extremely obtuse unicorn on the side of an ancient vase (note: please pronounce it "vahse" when you read it in your head. it's really important for the effect. just do it).
There were also a bunch of really pretty tiles, so I decided to make a little tile collage out of all of them.
Dinner time! We found a nice little restaurant which was great besides all of the weird meats on the menu. I got the potatoes au gratin and was very happy with my choice. I think I'll pass on the deer brains, thankyouverymuch. And the ice cream waffle was amazing as well. I was sufficiently stuffed by the end of the meal, desperately hoping that my stomached liked waffles more than it liked torrijas.
Fun factoid #24.5: in Spain they don't say CocaCola, they say ColaCola. How cute.
We had just a few hours before our train back, so we began wandering the streets of Toledo in the rain; me on a determined hunt for postcards, and the others running after me trying not to get soaked.
Success! I found some cute little black and white sketches of Toledo that made perfect additions to my collection.
I managed to convince the crew to stop by this absolutely gorgeous cathedral in town, so that's where we headed next.
Yeah, I think it's safe to say it was worth the extra few steps in the rain.
We spent just a little too long gazing at the beauty of the cathedral, which made for a blue-hour-tinted and slightly frazzled speed-walk back to the train station. I wasn't quite as convinced as the others that the rushed nature of our travels was completely necessary, so my travels were often interrupted by a quick stop to snap a photo, then scurrying along to catch up.
The one time that the crew did stop, I turned around to see what they were looking at (it must have been good if it warranted a stop from them) and was taken aback by this gorgeous view of cathedral.
About halfway through our journey back, it began to rain decently hard. At this point I was still lagging behind a bit, which led me to the place of skipping along past a castle during twilight with the bright streetlights flaring and the rain pouring down around me. What a poetic moment.
And now, for an assortment of miscellaneous photos taken somewhere in Spain:
Yup, you guessed it. You saw it coming a mile away. It is now that I must bid you adieu (don't you love the word "adieu"? I certainly dieu. Hehe, see what I did there?).
Now that I've given you but a morsel of entertainment, and perhaps some vicarious European memories, I shall retire to my evening affairs (mostly involving cheese).
Also, since my future postings will likely be quite sporadic, I think there's a way to turn on notifications so you can see when I post the next one.
