Ok...Semana Santa. I traveled with some of the most wonderful people on my program, including Andrew, Ethan, Callie, Lara, and Kate. Andrew, Ethan, and I flew into Milan, and on the bus from the airport to the train station where I would hop on a train to Bologna. Unfortunately, I left my money bag on the bus, which contained my passport, money, credit cards, and my soul. That first night in the train station, with the help of Katie, the Tufts girl that Ethan and Andrew were staying with, I was able to get some information about the bus company. She was also sweet enough to let me sleep at her apartment in Milan for the next two nights. During the day, I called the bus company, which was completely unhelpful, and went to the US Consulate in Milan, which could see my desperation clearly in the tears that inched down my cheeks. But they were sweet if not confused (they asked me nearly a dozen times for a form of identification, to which I replied, each time they asked, “I have NOTHING.”). My mom in the States was an angel; she wired me emergency money, which I got the same day in Milan.
But for all of the inconvenience, for all of my absent-mindedness, I never lost it. I stayed calm and made a list of things to do, did them all, and wasn’t afraid to ask for help, which I did many times, sometimes in broken Italian/Spanish. I was proud of myself for handling something so awful so quickly, and was especially grateful to my friends for being so supportive, and most of all my mom, who got up at 3:00am her time to help her son a million miles away until she had to go to work at 8:00am.
I had my emergency passport, money, and my friends to support me. So we celebrated our last night in Milan by going to a discoteca and dancing the night away.
The next day, Saturday, we hopped on a train to Venice, where Andrew and I split off to check in at our hostel, which was about 35 minutes outside the city, through an industrialized lagoon and across the ugliest part of Italy I had seen (aside from Milan, which was also surprisingly unimpressive). But Camping Fusina Hostel was good enough, and Andrew and I bused to the main city, where we met up with our Milan girls and promptly got lost in the labyrinthine streets of the ancient, sinking port. We spent three days there, lost in the twisting allies and breathtaking bridges over teal canal water (which I fell into…just my luck, right?), taking a few seconds to drink a spritz in a piazza, or watch a street performer fall off of his tight rope. By Sunday, we had joined up with Lara and Kate.
Highlights from Venice include:
1. Meeting Turkish tourists at our bus stop and indulging their drunkenness with tall tales.
2. Finding a glassblowing shop and watching an old Italian woman create something out of small rods of glass. Turned out to be miniature glass elephants, and being the Jumbos we are, we bought all four pink elephants we saw her make.
3. Our bargaining with gondoliers, salesmen, and others over prices which were mostly negotiable.
4. Gelato, especially when it was out first meal of the day.
Monday night, we hopped on a plane to Paris, where Emma met us at our bus stop. I was again housed in Le Petit Amercaine, Emma’s refuge next to Bastille. The next morning, we met early to go to the Louvre, which was closed on Tuesdays, so instead, we were led by Callie, who had gotten to Paris earlier than us, down through the Champs Elysee to the Arc d’Triomphe, getting crepes with Nutella along the wayy. Then, we got a call from Katherine, who met us under the Eiffel Tower. We sat down in a park next to the gigantic triangle of brown iron, referred to by many Parisians as the eyesore of the city. Katherine took us to Montmartre and showed us a gorgeous view of the city from the hill, then treated us to a French baguette before we went to the Fondue Refuge. There were two pots in front of us, one filled with melted cheese, and the other with boiling oil. We used bread to soak up the cheese and put raw beef into the oil to fry. And there were unlimited baby bottles of red wine. HEAVEN. Then we went to a club until the wee hours of the morning.
The next day in Paris we museum hopped, from the Picasso museum to Notre Dame to the Louvre, never forgetting our crepes. At the Louvre, we met up with Emma and Lori, two familiar and welcome faces. That night, we had to get to the train station to catch an overnight train back to Spain. But, having lost my credit cards, I was not allowed to retrieve my ticket. Katherine was with me, and, being my sister, argued with the train station officials in French, until the conductor allowed me to sneak onto the train into the sitting area, warning me to avoid any train officials, since I didn’t have actual ticket. I felt like I was in a Hitchcock film, like Cary Grant in “North by Northwest,” sneaking onto a train and running into bathrooms to avoid the police.
But we made it back to Spain safely, and with signs in a familiar language, we felt more at ease. By this time, the group had dwindled down to just Andrew, Kate, Callie, and I. We arrived in San Sebastian, in País Vasco, early on Thursday morning, with the sun shining its orange dawn light. We sat outside a café next to the Cantabrian Sea, eating the traditional Semana Santa breakfast of torrijas, basically a caramel French toast, with familiar café con leche. The weather was the best we had seen all week, and we spent the day walking the peninsula of the city, sunbathing at the beach, and renting bikes. That night, we went out for pintxos, Vasco tapas. These were much more ornate than the tapas I am accustomed to in Alcalá (sandwiches of ham and tortilla mostly), complete with different shrimps and anchovies and all other marine life. We ended the day with a walk on the beach at midnight.
The next day it rained all day long, so we decided to go the aquarium to keep dry. It had exhibits about San Sebastian’s port history, which goes back for centuries, and many touch tanks. The rest of the day we stayed inside, except for the short visit to the cathedral. Our day in the hostel was a bonding experience over personal stories from high school days past, and a viewing of new episodes of Lost and The Office.
The next morning, Callie, Andrew, and I caught a bus to Santander in Cantabria, the region in the north next to País Vasco. We went on a great hunt for paella, and found some after a lengthy search, and we were lucky to avoid the heavy rainfall and hail. Our friend from Alcalá, Estela, and her boyfriend, Norberto, were visiting family in Santander, so we called her. She and Norberto showed up with three of their Spanish girlfriends, who drove us to the sights of the costal city, including the lighthouses and the castle. That night, they took us out to bars where we met other Spaniards, then accompanied them to the Santander discotecas, where we danced until 5:00am, when we went to the bus stop to catch a bus to the airport. We got our flight back to Madrid, then took the train to Alcalá at about 11:00am on Sunday morning, running on a half hour of sleep.
It was an adventure, with definite ups and downs, but now, I have traveled through Western Europe. And I did things I would never do otherwise, including sleeping in bus stations, eating ice cream for breakfast, falling into Venetian canals, and sneaking onto trains. And I don’t regret any of it.
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