“Arriving at each new city, the traveler finds again a past of his that he did now know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in wait for you in foreign, unpossessed places.” – Italo Calvino

My adventure to Portugal, Spain, and Morocco
21 October- 1 November
Travel Buddy: Janelle (the roomie)

4 planes, 2 trains, 1 bus, 1 really long car ride, and plenty of metro rides
Miles Travelled: ~6,700 km (~4,200 miles)



21-22 Oct 2011 Off to Portugal! Bags are packed, passports in our pockets, and we're itching to go! We've already overcome our first obstacle at the beginning of our 11 day break from "school", the typical Italian train strikes. Instead of the quick ride to the airport, we hopped on a bus to get to Pisa. Nothing is gonna stop us from hitting the road! Goodbye pasta and wine. Hello wine and...well who knows what's in store for us, we'll find out!
So I'll start off by saying that it's true when they say Italians don't know what lines are. As we patiently waited to board our plane, we lined up pretty early to get a good seat. Ryan Air is like the Southwest of Europe, great for budget travelers, and you have your choice of seats. The line started out just a few people, those of us who were confident to get the best spot and ready to start our travels. Then it happened. The line grew, not longer, but wider instead… like an ameboa, slowly expanding and becoming more and more dense. Everyone just casually inched closer and closer to the gate in hopes to be the first on. Eventually everyone pushed their way on the plane and we were on our way.

Let's find some beautiful place to get lost
Sitting at the "Majestic" Caffè in Porto, enjoying tea and people watching on the main street. Old men are strolling by arm-in-arm in their golf hats, each of them mesmerized by the antique photos in the shop next door of their beloved city and reminiscing about the past.



Porto-dise
Oh, Porto, where the utterly confusing maze of narrow, cobblestone roads connect, somehow to make up this characteristic city that seems to be frozen in time.
The streets are like this: The buildings in Porto are covered in Azulejos, hand-painted tiles decorating the outsides of nearly everywhere.



Buildings are ornate, gothic, and charmingly dilapidated. This city is rough around the edges, not worried about being polished for the visitors there to taste the wine. This city reflects the life. The city seems to have such a strong connection to the past; a city frozen in time with an old world feel.

Raw.

Genuine.

Authentic.

Embracing.

Distinctive.

Women lean out their windows, hanging their clothes on the line. Boys kick a soccer ball through the alleys. Cats peering around the corners. Venders sell roasted chestnuts on the sidewalk. It was very easy to get a feel for the city, wandering the tangle of intertwined streets. From the charming Lello Bookstore (One of the oldest in Portugal) down to the river we were hypnotized by this place. Tiles covering the city. Janelle probably has about 800 photos of every individual tile that decorated the buildings.

On the waterfront the little tiled houses, with intricate railings and old rusted doors, seem to be piled on top of each other and ready to tumble down to the riverbank. The old gothic churches poke up behind them. The bridge connecting the colorful and raw side of town to the wine tasting side. (Better to be on this side, to admire the city with glasses full of Port). Everywhere you look tiles cover the surfaces in every kind of pattern and color, from the buildings to the streets, giving the city a character of its own.

Just one more taste...
One of the main reasons we have come to Porto is to taste the wine of course. Portugal is best known as the only true producer of Port, which is wine that has been fortified with brandy. How did Port come to be? So glad you asked. When England was unable to obtain wine from France, the Portuguese said they could supply it. They tried to bring the wine over on boats, but it spoiled during the long trip. Someone found that if the wine was covered with a layer of the fortification spirit known as aguardente it would stop the fermentation process, keeping it from spoiling. However, as one would imagine, the wine and layer of the other spirit got mixed during the trip across the sea, which left residual sugar in the wine. But no worries, now it was a great desert wine and the alcohol content was boosted too (around 25%). To be called "Port" the grapes and entire process must take place in Portugal's Duoro valley. Established in 1756, the port wine producing Douro region is the third oldest protected wine region in the world after one established in Hungary in 1730, and our very own Chianti, in 1716. (This is all according to wikipedia, so don't quote me on this stuff).
On our search for wine, a combination of the distraction of tiles and our thirst for Port clouded our navigational skills (if you can call them that) and we ended up a little out of the way. Somehow we found the wineries and we were welcomed by a lady that, not surprisingly, spoke multiple languages. Throughout our travels we haven't really had any language barrier problems either. It seems that most people speak English. In Italy, this is one of the most frustrating things since I'm trying to only speak Italian. But everywhere else I have been very grateful for the education of others.

We finally sat down and happily sipped away. After our wine, cheese, and chocolate smorgasburg we made our way to the riverside. While Janelle sketched, I took in the city one last time before we moved on to our next.

Lisbon, Portugal
After hopping off the train from Porto, we grabbed our bags and headed to catch the metro to find our hostel. Apparently we looked like we had no idea what we were doing because a nice guy helped us figure out how to use the self service ticket machine. It turns out he was headed in the same direction as us. After some chit-chat he asked Janelle and me to grab some food. We hadn't had much food that evening besides our granola bars and crackers, so we dropped off our stuff after he helped us find our hostel and hit the streets. Now I know you are probably thinking, "Uhhh, isn't that a little foolish?!" Two girls. Traveling alone. At night. Meeting some strange guy. But stop worrying. We asked him if he was going to take us. Really, we did. After he got a call and started talking in Portuguese, maybe telling his buddy where to come with the van, we told him we were on to him. Turns out he was a really nice guy who just wanted to show us his town and practice his english. He even showed us the "best" gelato in the world. Now, I'm not too sure about that, being in Italy has spoiled me and I am definitely biased to Jon Paul's gelato, which really is the best. This place did have avocado gelato though. (Chels you would of course love it!) It tasted just like avocados in gelato form.



23 Oct 2011 North is whichever way I'm facing
On our way to the Guggenheim Museum, which is filled with over 5,00 years of history. Paintings, sculptures, furniture, textile, a little of everything from everywhere. It was all donated by a wealthy Armenian oil tycoon who was granted refuge by Portugal during World War II. He really must have been pretty wealthy to have a collection of over 6,000 pieces, which included paintings by Monet, Rembrandt, Renoir, and Dégas. Before seeing all this, though, we had to find the place. Janelle and I realized by now that when we decide to go one direction, we should probably just turn around and go the other way to get where we want to go. Wandering is better than trying to figure out the "right" way, it both eliminates the need for a map and as long as we're faced the general direction, we'll get there eventually.
After our morning of art-awe, we explored the hilly neighborhood of Baixa-Chaido. Lisbon is quite different than Porto, more polished and modernized. There was an earthquake followed by an even more devastating tsunami and fires in 1755 that completely destroyed the city. The city, by now, has been rebuilt. It was a bit deceiving, not knowing if the building we were looking at was an original, or recently rebuilt.



What I did love was the yellow street trolleys that connect the different parts of Lisbon together, winding through criss-crossed streets and up the hills. That, and the roasted chestnuts! We saw them everywhere, in Porto too. I finally had to stop and get some after seeing them on every corner. Venders sell a bag full of steaming, charred chestnuts from a cart on the street. Peel away the ashy skins, which split in the heat, to reveal the big ol' nut, who's texture is soft, warmed by the coals, and the flavor is sweet, nutty and smokey, with the occasional hit of raw salt sprinkled on. The overall street atmosphere of Lisbon in autumn is enhanced by the constant wafting of charcoaly chestnutty yumminess.



Another staple of Lisbon we had to try was Ginja: a sour cherry infused liquor, like a cherry brandy. It was very sweet! They take sour cherries and fill a bottle with them, then they pour in brandy and let it soak. The drink was first formulated by a Friar and it was advertised to drink 6 a day for good health.



24 Oct 2011 I LOVE TRAVELING
After letting the rain dry, we explored The Alfama neighborhood with our roommate who's from Brazil and with no difficulty at all convinced us we had to visit her there. She scuba dives too and gave some great advice of where to go. So fun to share scuba stories! I'm pretty sure I dreamt about swimming with the fishies all night.
We strolled through the streets, up and down on the narrow little sidewalks, stopping to admire the views. I did find myself comparing Lisbon to Porto, and found it lacked the charm of the other. Rick (as in Rick Steve) said that this part of town is one of the most photogenic neighborhoods of Europe. I'm not sure what camera he was looking through, but this is the one time I'd have to disagree with his travel suggestions.
The rain forced us back to our hostel where we took some time to actually stop moving for a bit and relax.



A good motto while traveling is "Even though you will be a foreigner, eat like a local". This might seem kinda obvious, but it's a good reminder to stray away from what is comfortable and to not miss out on the local food delights. We walked to the nearest supermarket to see what kind of things we could throw together in the kitchen at our hostel. The choices were slim. It was either slabs of salted cod piled in the middle of the aisle or hotdogs in a can. We decided this was the one time we could settle for some sandwiches. After emerging from picnicking in our hostel (hey, we're on a budget here) we got to know some of the other backpackers in the hostel.


Yummy little pastry snacks


"Where there's a will, there's a way" ~Janelle
Janelle and I both have this really bad bug… or maybe its the best kind of bug there is. The travel bug. Its pretty much all we talk about. How great it is, what a thrill it is, where we'll go next, remember the places we went, how we hope this bug is contagious because we want everyone to travel. If there is an obstacle, then its not the end of the idea, but only the beginning of a new challenge that could potentially open up new possibilities of growth within a person. There may not always be a way to do something, but if there isn't yet a way, then make one of your own.
It really is great to be able to meet people from all over, and the hostel is the perfect place for that. During our trip I kept myself entertained and wrote down where people were from after we met them. At the end of our travels my list was made up of people from 6 continents and 23 countries (plus 7 states). The most common were Aussies, Kiwis (from New Zealand), and British. Its lovely that the passion for exploring new places brings people, who never would have met otherwise, together. It is also a time to inspire others to travel where you have been and to be inspired to continue exploring the world. We found that with every place we went, though one place was crossed off the list, 10 more were added after hearing about the possibilities for the next adventure.
"And, when you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it."
— Paulo Coelho (The Alchemist)

"They did not know it was impossible...so they did it"


“He who would travel happily must travel light.” – Antoine de Saint Exupéry
25-27 Oct 2011 Madrid is the capital and the largest city in Spain. It is a city filled with culture, history, business, gastronomy and nightlife....on every street you can find a fabulous tapas restaurant. Upon our arrival, we were super tired. After mastering the metro system in Portugal, we figured we'd take it easy and treat ourselves to a cab ride from the airport. The Madrid metro map seemed a bit intimidating. But man, do we wish we would have sucked it up! Our cab driver was really nice, giving what I assume was really great information about Madrid. He was speaking fast and I'm sorry to all my past Spanish teachers, but I would've disappointed you for sure. After saying adios and him speeding away, we look around for the hostel, ready to drop our stuff off and get some grub, Janelle more so than me with her big ol' bag. Turns out, though, we were somehow on the wrong side of the metropolis. We were able to get a map from a hotel nearby. After a nice unexpected walking tour to the other side of the city (good thing I packed lightly, sorry Janelle!), it was time for a siesta! I'd also like to mention that we were getting pretty good at navigating new cities. Either that, or it was helpful to have an actual map and not one scribbled by Rick Steve.



Feeling refreshed, we're ready to hit the streets and get a taste of Spain, and the tapas too! So far, Janelle and I both agree that we'd prefer the smaller cities. Not only is it more enjoyable to walk around on the narrow little streets rather than bustling boulevards, but its easier to get the feel for the city on a short schedule. Madrid had lots to see! We started out with the Prado museum, once again overwhelmed and amazed at the things artists are able to create.
Next we strolled over to Retiro Park. Lots of windy little paths, lined with fall trees, leading to a lake in the middle with paddle boaters. The path surrounding the water was a mosaic of runners, strollers, couples, musicians, all enjoying the afternoon.



After cruising around the city, we grabbed some lunch at the central market, Mercado San Miguel. There they had all sorts of little tastes of snacks. After scoping out the place, I settled on some seafood!


On the food topic, the Spanish tapas where yummy too! Our hostel was cool enough to have a "tapas crawl" where they took us to a few different tapas bars. It would've been hard to choose which ones to go to without them. Lots of little snacks with cheese, meats, and breads. My favorite were little roasted jalapenos. At the restaurants it was a little strange to see a leg of an animal, still with its hoof, with the ankle clamped down for the butcher to shave meat off. Though it did taste great! We also had sangria, cinder and something called Clara con lìmon, which was beer with lots of lemon. It was refreshing!

On the tapas crawl we got to know some girls from Finland. It is then that we learned about the absolute necessity to know how to understand celsius! Apparently it gets to be -15 to -25 degrees celsius. I thought, wow that sounds cold, not really knowing what that even meant in fahrenheit. Until now, celsius meant nearly nothing to me. And this isn't the first time someone has said the temperature and we weren't sure whether that means to wear an eskimo suit or a sunhat and sandles. We've recently gotten frustrated with being out of the loop and not knowing this thing that the rest of the world understands. Someone would say, "Oh, that day it was 30 degrees…but wait, that means nothing to you". But now it does. Here's a formula for figuring it out: multiply the degree in celsius (when its above zero) by 1.8 (or 2 is easier to just estimate), then add 32. Now that we got that settled, next up is figuring out the whole meter thing!
And speaking of ridiculous weather, our Aussie roomie in the hostel went to Morocco this summer and said the temperature was 52 degrees. Celsius! That is 125 degrees fahrenheit! Her hands and feet weren't covered and they were literally boiling, like a roast in the oven! Good thing we're not planning on going into the desert in the middle of summer...

Also organized by our hostel was a flamenco show! For me, one of the highlights of our time in Madrid. We were led to this little bar, and down to the basement, where there was a little stage and just a handful of seats, an intimate show.
Ending our time in Madrid, which was lovely, with churros and hot chocolate, Janelle and I felt an itch, an anxiousness, to move to a more exotic atmosphere. Be careful what you wish for! Morocco will guarantee it!

“Traveling is a brutality. It forces you to trust strangers and to lose sight of all that familiar comfort of home and friends. You are constantly off balance. Nothing is yours except the essential things – air, sleep, dreams, the sea, the sky – all things tending towards the eternal or what we imagine of it.” – Cesare Pavese