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Venice Part 1: See Venice and Die.

CONTINUED... There are only two ways into Venice, by boat or by train. As our train moved quickly toward the station, we could see the island approaching in the window, just a bunch of buildings perched on top of the water. My first, "Ok, I'm in Venice" shock came a few minutes later when we left the station. As we walked out there was a large set of stairs that opened out to a great canal lined with piers and filled with boats.


My first reaction was that this was chaos. There weren't any signs really, but we knew we had to catch a boat to get to our hotel, but which one? Some boats were letting people off, some were picking them up, some were really big and some really small. So we thought, when in Rome- ergh, I mean in Venice- and jumped in a line like everyone else.


After buying the right tickets, we were pushed out onto a closed dock on the water where we waited with about a hundred other weary travelers. You couldn't help but get the feeling of pigs being sent to the slaughter as everyone waited anxiously to get some place but didn't know where. The boats were packed with people and it took two to come by before we finally pushed our way onto one. However, the suitcase I was dragging was getting caught up in the people behind me and had yet to make it onto the boat.

Also, there was a little girl between Sara and I who was holding onto her mom but getting crushed in the crowd and yelling for her dad who was still fighting to get on. It was totally a Titanic moment. All the women and children were on the boat while the men were left pleading with the boatman to let them on. I was trying to tell the little girl she would be alright but I think I scared her or something because she just screamed even louder.

In the end, my suitcase got on the boat, as well as the father. And as we continued down the canal, more and more people got off, relieving some of the pressure. But those first few minutes as I was standing in the boat, gasping for fresh air, I thought to myself, "What the hell are we doing here?" Shortly later we found ourselves resting along the side of the boat watching beautiful palaces and churches roll by and  seeing gondolas full of couples experiencing a romantic night ride on the canal. That was when my first thought of regret in Venice became my last.

When we finally landed at our stop the light had just disappeared and we knew we didn't have much time until all the restaurants would be closed. So we headed off in the direction we thought our hotel was. Now everything I had heard before this trip was that you will always get lost in Venice no matter what. So when we still couldn't find our hotel after the first 10 minutes I wasn't scared. What makes things tricky is that there aren't really signs. Sometimes a wall might post what piazza you're in, or in which direction certain areas are, but for the most part, you kind of have to find everything on your own.

We did eventually find the place with a little help, and we're met  there by Mario, one of the hotel owners. He showed us to our room and then decided to describe every little thing in it. It wasn't like this Venetian hotel was different than any other hotels, it was quite normal compared to the other ones we had already encountered, so we found it a bit odd when he showed us where the TV was (on the wall next to us), demonstrated how to use the hair dryer by blowing it in his face, and pointed out the shampoo and soap in the bathroom. That wasn't all. He spent several minutes showing us the air conditioning unit too. "See if you want it to go up press here. 25, 26, 27... and to go down press here...26, 25, 24, 23, 22... 22 is a bit cold. 23, 24."

Of course all of this was being explained in broken English, with several lapses in between where he seemed to just stare at us thinking of the word in English until one of us finally said it for him, "table..." The worst part isn't that he went through and pointed out every detail of the room, it was that he explained things more than once. There we were, starving, waiting for this guy to wrap it up and then he would go back again on how to use the TV or the air conditioning. Sara thought it was because he was drunk. I thought it was because he had short term memory loss. He would repeat the same damn thing he had said only minutes ago as if he were saying it for the first time.

Then when he found out we hadn't eaten yet, he said, "Well, it's getting late. Things close soon." I was fighting back the urge to scream, "We know that's why we want you to get out of our room!" because he was very kind. In fact, after he left he came back with some snacks and champagne to welcome us. But the pretzels and nuts were not enough and after some quick showers to wash off the sweat we accumulated in Verona, we went out for our first Venetian dinner together.

What a surprise, we had pizza. One reason we ate it so much was also because we would eat so late that the kitchens would be closed and that was all there was. After dinner we decided to walk a bit around Venice by night and see how close to everything we really were. We realized we were less than a 10 minute walk to San Marco Square, the biggest and most important square in Venice. To finish off the night we chose to have a drink at a nice 5-star hotel that sat on the main canal.

We first tried to enter the bar but the bouncer wouldn't let us in because it was a private party, so we sat out by the canal where we were greeted by a less-than hospitable waiter. It seemed like a really snobby place, but once we sat down we promised we wouldn't embarrass ourselves by leaving after seeing the drink prices. O how stubborn we are! Coffees and sodas were 8€ just to give you an idea. Most mixed drinks ran over 20€. We settled for 18€ fruity drinks that fortunately were strong enough to make us feel a little bit better about where our money went.

In front of our hotel   

It was a great feeling not to have to wake up early the next morning and pack up all our stuff. Venice is not the same at night as it is during the day. During the night the canals seem mysterious and eerie, but during the day, each one is a beautiful passageway to another aesthetic discovery. Our hotel happened to sit right on a canal, just a short walk to the Grand Canal.

We started the day by heading to Piazza San Marco, where the famous St. Mark's Cathedral, Doge's Palace, and bell tower can be found in a giant plaza surrounded by cafes on every side. We chose to start at Doge's Palace, which was a little less crowded than the church.

The palace is one gigantic architectural museum that faces the water and is intertwined with the cathedral. It was used for the Doge or Mayor of the city who was only the figure-head and really had no power at all. Now you can walk through its many rooms and find furniture and paintings that are centuries-old. The most notorious part of the palace is called the Bridge of Sighs (left), the final bridge that prisoners crossed before entering the palace dungeons. As they walked across the bridge they were granted one last view of Venice, and would sigh at its beauty, before being locked away forever.

After the palace we found a place to eat nearby that we thought would be a quick cheap alternative to sitting down at a nice restaurant. However, Italians are really good at hidden fees. They either have a sit down fee or service fee and may or may not tell you about either one. So when we sat down to what we thought would be a 12€ meal each, we were surprised to see that all the fees bumped our bill up to 40€.

St. Mark's Basilica

After eating we decided it was the perfect time to walk through St. Mark's while most people were still eating. Before even entering, the beauty of the Byzantine facade draws you towards it, but it doesn't even prepare you for what waits inside. From the first step your attention is immediately focused upward at the gold covered ceiling. Every square-inch is covered with gold mosaics including most of the walls. This is why the cathedral is nicknamed the Church of Gold.

Because I spent most of my time staring up at the ceiling I almost missed the beautifully tiled floor as well, which uses different types of colored-marble to create quilt-like patterns across it. Although the cathedral is free, it does have a few museums inside that you can pay to visit. At one of them we decided to cough up the money to see relics like Jesus' blood and milk from the Virgin. But when we entered there was just a small room with a bunch of things behind glass. We couldn't tell what anything really was and there were no signs. To make matters worse there was a bar across the middle of the floor so we couldn't get close enough to the glass to really see anything at all.

Since we had spent 3€ to get into this exciting museum, we kept asking the man working the desk where certain things were. So the first time I walked up and asked in broken Italian/Spanish, "Where is blood of Jesus?" he just said it was behind the glass over there and then pointed arbitrarily behind himself at the room filled with unidentifiable objects.

Still, we were uncertain exactly what we were looking at, so Sara walked up and asked where the Virgin's milk was. This time he pointed toward the ceiling and said upstairs, I assumed in another museum. We weren't about to let him off the hook so again I asked, where are the three rocks that killed St. Stephen. Again he pointed toward the glass case and said, everything interesting is in there.

So Sara and I walked up and stared in trying to guess what was what. You know, you hear that there is a rock that was used to stone a person to death, and that sounds pretty interesting, until you look at a pebble behind glass from five feet away. I don't even know if that was actually one of the stones at all. However, I will still claim I saw Jesus' blood if I'm ever in a situation where I need to brag about seeing old Christian relics.

Afterward we walked around the church where there was another place to spend money to see something. After our first experience I squashed the idea. But before leaving we paid another 4€ to visit the museum above the church. It has beautiful views and lets you walk along the top of the church, inside and out. But we still never found the Virgin's milk and since the entrance to the museum is free I felt a little robbed when we left 7€ lighter. Still, it is one of the most beautiful churches in the world, in fact it is Sara's favorite, and I would have paid the money just to go in and stare up at its golden sky.

Watching party boats go past

As the day started getting later we headed to a spot on the Grand Canal and watched all the boats passing by. However, now all the boats were covered in decoration and full of half-naked, half-drunk people heading in the same direction. That night was the celebration of the Festa del Redentore, a fun Venetian festival to commemorate the end of the plague. Every year boats fill up the canal and watch fireworks before partying all night. We didn't get a boat but we planned to be down by St. Mark's across the canal from where the fireworks were going to go off.

We watched boat after boat go by until we finally decided it was time to get ready for the night. Our first stop was to Harry's Bar, a pub that was made famous by Ernest Hemingway and Orson Welles. There is where the first true Bellini was created, so of course we had to go and partake. When we walked in there was only a little bar and about four tables, all of which were full of well-dressed people. While we did dress up for the occasion, we were sure that we wouldn't find a place to have a drink.

 

Unlike the snooty 5-star hotel, here a waiter came up and asked us what we needed. When we told him we wanted  to sit and get some drinks he made us follow him through a back door where there was a tall spiral staircase. He pointed us up so we followed his finger. By the time we got to the top, he was already waiting for us like some sort of Mary Poppins magic.


We were treated incredibly well the whole time and they even brought us some little grilled sandwiches, which I didn't see on anyone else's table. However it was the drink we came for, not the service, and we weren't let down. A Belini is a pink drink made from Italian sparkling wine and white peaches. It's sweet, fizzy, and delicious, and if you're ever in the neighborhood you should definitely try the original.


Later, after grabbing a bite to eat and picking up a bottle of champagne, we headed down to the piazza for the show, which started at 11:30. There were already thousands of people there, but we still made our way up close to the canal. We had a few more minutes before it began so I decided it was time to pop the champagne. Unfortunately, we didn't have an opportunity to refrigerate it and it was quite warm that evening. Still, after I took off the wrapping, I really wasn't expecting the cork to pop off and the champagne to start shooting out all over the ground. Thankfully I wasn't pointing the bottle at anyone, but I do wonder who was the lucky person sitting on the street when a cork suddenly fell onto their lap.

We had come to the plaza prepared with a plastic bag to sit on, but after the champagne incident the ground, the bag, my shoes, and the legs of most people around us were covered in champagne, so we enjoyed staying on our feet. Then the firework show began and it was amazing, the best I've ever seen. There weren't just a couple of small fireworks followed by a string of big ones. It was all the time giant fireworks exploding over our heads, usually four or five at a time too. The show went on non-stop for a good 30 minutes. Below is a sample of some of it.

Afterward we decided to follow the herd and head to the Church of Redentore even though our feet were killing us. Once a year there is a bridge that runs across the canal and connects one island to the church on the other side, and we didn't want to miss this once in a lifetime opportunity. So we made the same pilgrimage that every Doge had taken since the church was constructed in the sixteenth century and walked from the piazza all the way to the church.

However, it took us a bit longer than the average person because we really had no idea where it was. We kept asking and someone would point in one direction and then we would start walking, get lost, ask someone else, and they'd point us in a different direction. It took us almost two hours to finally get there, which of course included stopping to rest to help our feet, buying another bottle of wine to help our feet, and getting my third gelato of the day to help my craving.

We did finally manage to make it across the bridge and to the church (right), but after that there was the realization that we just went two hours in the opposite direction and now we need to head home. We made it back in just over an hour, completely exhausted, cramping and sore, but also appreciative that we were able to experience such a special Venetian tradition. One 19th-century developer and conservationist, Abbot Kinney, might have said it best: "See Venice and die." Although we felt halfway there (after spending the entire day seeing the best of the city by foot), we still had two more days in the beautiful, floating city of Venezia... TO BE CONTINUED

Verona: The City of Love

CONTINUED... We sat in the still train stuck somewhere between Brescia and Verona deciding in which direction we would run in case we were attacked by some movie-induced character. When it finally started moving again we went back to our game of cards. To pass the long journeys on bus, train and plane, we played War which required little thought, no skill and wasted a bunch of time. However, I will say that we had our share of epic battles along the way.

By the time we reached Verona it was already dark, so we headed straight for the hotel to check in so we could eat before everything closed. From first appearance the hotel seemed quite nice. It had a big lobby, a friendly Italian at the front desk, even little candies to snack on. The bedroom too seemed fine, but we found a surprise in the bathroom. When you enter there is a sink and behind the sink was a curtain, behind the curtain was a toilet, above the toilet was the shower head. Yes, that means that our shower and toilet were connected.

At first I was a little upset. I mean I'm not shelling out this much money to squat and shower at the same time. But the more I thought about it, I realized what a cool opportunity it really was. I mean how many times in your lifetime have you been in the shower and thought, "I wish there was a toilet in here..." or vice versa.

We left the shower and the hotel to get some grub before all the restaurants closed down for the night. We weren't located in the nicest little neighborhood in Verona, but we were only about a three minute walk from the center of town and the places of interest. On our little walk we came across a couple people peering into an ammunition store. It was the first time I saw one in Europe and it was interesting to see cammo-clad men gawking in delight at gas masks and crossbows. For one brief moment I felt like I was back in Texas.

Once in town we found a nice little pizzeria to eat at. Everyone knows that pizza is suppose to be good in Italy, but my taste buds weren't ready for this experience. It was one of the most wonderfully delicious food I have ever eaten. There is no comparison. I've had pizza in Texas, California, NYC, Boston, and about anywhere in between, but the best pizza in the world comes from Italy. I had at least one pizza everyday for the rest of the trip. And the fact that it was usually the cheapest thing on the menu made it even easier to order.

After finishing our slices of heaven, we decided to order a glass of grappa. Now all we knew about grappa was that it was a common grape-based Italian drink that was usually served after dinner to help with the digestive process. I was thinking that it was more of a port than anything else, so when the waiter brought each of us a glass and told us he brought the strongest one he had, I didn't think much of it.

This golden-colored liquid goes down about as smooth as everclear. In fact, we learned that grappa is not a port at all but a strong distilled brandy. It ignites every part of you from the tip of the tongue, down the esophagus, and through every corner of your stomach, and then branches out to your fingers and toes until your entire body is warm. And that's with just one sip.

After finishing a respectable amount amongst the laughs of the waiter, we left to explore a bit of the city by night. It was absolutely enchanting: a giant plaza lit by a string of cafes, a coliseum with the soft roars from an opera inside, narrow streets splashed in soft lights and designer stores. It was elegant and charming, but even more so by day.

The next morning, after taking advantage of the shower-toilet, we started the morning off with buying some plums from a fresh fruit market. Then we visited the amphitheatre, which is actually the second-largest one after the coliseum in Rome, and is still used for opera shows by night in summer. From there we walked down a boutique-laden promenade and wound up in a large plaza hosting a daily market.

We had found Piazza delle Erbe, the most important square in Verona. It is filled with architectural treasures: the houses surrounding the plaza are covered in flowers and frescoes, there are also a couple of monuments and fountains laid out across it, and there's a giant bell tower that overlooks the entire square.

This is also the first time we noticed a special Veronese architecture. Many of the buildings were red and white striped with brick and stone stacked in layers on top of each other. Most important buildings can be found near the Piazza as well. The first we came across was the house of the Montagues, where Romeo would have lived. For all the hype Juliet gets, its a real shame there isn't more for Romeo... he dies too you know? Still, his shabby red brick house stands with barely a mention, just a plaque with a quote from the play.

However, Juliet has a bit more of a following. Some time ago some people started The Juliet Club, which receives letters from people to Juliet and stores them away. I think there's a movie based on it now called, "Letter's to Juliet" or something like that... Sara and I visited their workshop, which sits next to Juliet's house, to take a peek around.

The walls were covered with letters. We found books strewn around the tables filled with scribbles from recent entries. Many were in English (or an attempt at it), some in Italian, and the rest in every other language. Some were sweet and romantic, and some were tragic. All either asking for help or giving their thanks. We each wrote an entry in a book in hopes that one day we will return to read what the other wrote.

At the house of Juliet and the Capulets you can find Juliet's balcony and even walk up and take a picture from it. Also, there is a bronze statue of Juliet out front that is suppose to give you luck in love if you grope her right breast. Needless to say, I think I already have all the luck in the world, so I skipped out on the tradition.

One tradition we did not miss was writing a love letter in the tunnel approaching Juliet's house. As you walk up, the walls are covered in pieces of paper with small messages devoted to loved ones. The messages are stacked on top of each other with anything that can be found in a normal woman's purse, for example with band-aids and gum. We made one note with the back of a water bottle wrapping and another with a sticky note.

Another cute thing we saw around Verona were locks. Couples would buy locks and then write their names on it with a love note, then lock them to some unmovable structure. There were many around town on things like bridges and gates.

Verona is also were I ate my favorite pasta dish. We found a great restaurant located in an alley that served amazing food. I ordered a fettuccine with shrimp in an olive oil sauce and Sara got some sort of penne bolognese dish.

After refueling we headed to the top of the bell tower where we had views over the entire city. We later took a stroll along the river around the town. At this point it was getting late and quite warm (it was over 40ºC/104ºF at one spot in the shade), so we decided it was time to go grab our bags and head for the train station to get to Venice. Of course we had problems with our travel plans again.

First off, we decided to get the earliest (cheapest) of two trains to Venice, but it was leaving shortly and no taxis would pick us up. So I grabbed all the bags and we made a quick-paced walk toward the station. Once sufficiently covered with sweat, we got our tickets with 5 minutes to go before the train left. We ran to the platform listed but the sign said it was going to Milan in the other direction. Panic.

We had three minutes and no idea where the train was. We realized it was on another platform so we ran to that one (remember we're carrying a week's worth of clothes for two people...). We jumped on it with a minute to spare but a minute later they kick us off it to tell us we have to change to the train back on the platform we were just at.

Frustrated, worn out, and now wearing a drenched, see-through shirt, we get on the other train to find it disgustingly hot. There's little to no air conditioning and it's delayed another fifteen minutes or so. I'm thinking, let's get on the other train that leaves five minutes after that. It gets us into Venice 30 minutes sooner, plus I would have time to rest and get some water. The fact that we had a completely different ticket wasn't really important because no one had checked our tickets to this point anyways. Also, our tickets didn't even show a train time. The only difference between them was the price listed, ours were about half the other.

So we jumped off and headed to the restroom back in the station. This is where I hit my next new surprise in Italy, paying for public restrooms. Suddenly, I was blocked entry by glass doors as if I were heading through airport security or something, and there was a little change slot to put in coins like the games at Dave & Buster's.

When I entered there was a lady janitor but that didn't stop me from peeling off my sweat-soaked shirt and wringing it in the sink. I tried to dry off myself and my shirt  in one of those air blowers, but the janitor stopped me and started talking to me all snooty in Italian. Now I have no idea what exactly she said but I'm pretty sure it went something like, "Hey, this isn't your personal bathroom." Which I replied with (in Spanish because that's all I could think of and it's close to Italian), "I paid 80 cents for this bathroom, so I'm going to use it!" She said she didn't care how much it cost and then started shouting at me until I finally left.

That was about the only trouble I had with an Italian on my trip, and the rest of the way to Venice went smoothly. Although we sat on the floor of the train most of the way because all the seats were taken, we made it to Venice without anyone checking our tickets... TO BE CONTINUED

Bergamo: Ambassador of Italy

As you could tell from my itinerary, just too many things happened in the past week to make one large blog of my Italian trip, so I'm going to cut it up by city to save everyone a little time.


So to begin, it wasn't the easiest plan to get to Italy. We booked a Ryanair flight, and if you know anything about Ryanair you know they are cheap but tax the hell out of you. They also seem to only fly to major cities or completely obscure ones. In our case, our flight was from Santander to Bergamo (near Milan).

Now anyone that really knows me knows I like to be in charge of the plans, figure out all the time frames of everything, map out where to go and when. I had a guide book of all of the places we were going with maps and a booklet filled with train/bus schedules and costs. And in the first five minutes of our trip my plans were already thrown off. Our bus was fully booked so we would have to catch the later one and then miss the second bus to the airport and instead replace it with a taxi (This became a constant theme in our trip).

Santander has the smallest, ugliest airport I have ever seen in my life. When we entered we found that a lot of the interior was under construction with wires showing and ceilings missing. To make matters worse, there was a giant painting over this terrifying zone that had images of a winged-demon, UFOs, volcanoes, and about a half-dozen other apocalyptic things.

Overall though, the flight experience was fine. The only things that really stuck out was the greeting Ryanair gives you when you finally land. It's something along the lines of: intro 'happy beat,' "Congratulations, you landed! You were on another successful Ryanair flight!" First off, the recording makes you think, "Hmmm, they seemed a little too happy and surprised that we landed." And secondly, what do they play on one of their unsuccessful flights? "Sorry guys, we tried our best. But we'll have better luck next time!"

After we landed I learned my first Italian lesson: Public transportation is free, kind of. We spent about 15 minutes trying to buy tickets for a bus from the airport to the city, but when the bus finally arrived, everyone just piled on without paying anything or showing a ticket. Luckily the bus dropped us off in front of our hotel because it was already past midnight and we were tired from traveling all day.

But like all of our hotels on this trip, we found a surprise when we entered. First we noticed our closet which wasn't actually a closet but a shower. Another interesting addition was a window in the ceiling that could be opened or closed with blinds that could do the same. We chose to have the blinds open which turned into a terrible idea at around 6am.

Bergamo is usually just a stopping or starting point because of Ryanair flights, but most people miss out on it in order to get to Milan or Venice. Since we already had to spend the night there, we decided to see what it was all about.

Bergamo is cool because it is two cities, one old part that sits on a mountain overlooking the more modern part. The old part is surrounded with a wall and is full of narrow streets, cafe terraces, and antique buildings. The loveliest of these was a cathedral that sits right in the middle of the town. Although the beautiful exterior of the chapel is what draws you to the church, it is the interior that keeps you there. Not one inch of it isn't covered with either a sculpture, painting, tapestry or fresco.

Another reason Bergamo will always stay special to me is because that is where I had my first bite of Italian food... and I wasn't disappointed. I ended up choosing a lasagna to kick things off. A safe bet, but for how cheap it was I was a little worried about the final product. Needless to say it was delicious. I finished off the meal with a mango popsicle covered in chocolate sauce.

After eating, we decided that if we were going to make the most of this trip and want to go back and look at these photos over and over again for years to come, I would have to cut my hair. So we found a little place where the hairdresser luckily spoke Spanish and we could explain more or less what I wanted. We also showed a picture of Brad Pitt to help give her a better idea. He seemed like the perfect model for me since we have the same facial structure and all.

With my new look we headed above the high town to a higher town that had a castle that overlooked the entire mountain. Surprisingly this spot appeared to be the place to hang out for athletic gay guys. They just climbed up the mountain, took off their shirts and checked each other out. I think I got caught in the crossfire once. But what do you expect? I was looking like a young Brad Pitt.

This is also the spot where I lost one of my guide books which I had highlighted through and would need for Lago di Como at the end of the trip. I was distraught to say the least.

Time was beginning to run out and we had to catch a train to Verona so we shuffled down the mountain to the train station but not before I experienced my first gelato. Now I realize why everyone in America is trying to open one of these shops. They are freaking delicious! I don't even know what flavors I chose. I just kind of pointed at some Italian words that stood in front of ice cream that appeared to contain chocolate. I didn't go another day without at least a cone and two scoops.

The distance between Bergamo and Verona is around two hours with a lay-over in some small town in between. Shortly after we changed trains, ours stopped. In the middle of a creepy field with almost nothing around. Sara translated an announcement that we would be stuck there for at least 20 minutes. While sitting there we recounted every terrible horror movie we could think of that included people sitting deserted in the middle of a field and thought, "So this is how those writers came up with that idea..."
TO BE CONTINUED

Italia itenerary

Tomorrow Sara and I leave for a week-long trip to Italia! We're flying Ryanair from Santander to Milan (Bergamo), where we will start our traveling. Since we only had a week, we decided to stay in the North of Italy and experience a more relaxing trip rather than a more touristic trip like to Rome or Florence.

So here is our itenerary for the next week so you can track us:
Wed, July 14:
   Leave Bilbao at 5:30p for Santander.
   Catch 10p flight from Santander to Bergamo
   Arrive just after midnight and spend the night there.

Thurs, July 15:
   Visit Bergamo before heading to Verona in the late afternoon.

Fri, July 16:
   Walk around Verona, the town of Romeo & Juliet.
   Leave for Venice in the early evening.
   Eat dinner along a canal.

Sat, July 17:
   See Venice during the day, enjoying the festivities of Festa del Redentore, celebrating the end of the plague.
   At night watch an hour-long fireworks display from the famous Basilica San Marco

Sun, July 18:
   Spend more time wandering the streets and canals of Venice... maybe even a gondola ride.

Mon, July 19:
   Enjoy the morning in Venice before heading to Lago di Como (Varenna) after lunch.
   Walk around the lovely town of Varenna before enjoying a meal by the lake.

Tues, July 20:
   Check out nearby villas and castles and take a ferry ride around the lake.

Wed, July 21:
   Spend the morning by the lake, go kayaking if the weather permits.
   Leave for Bergamo for our flight back to Santander in the late afternoon.
   Spend the night in Santander.

Thurs, July 22:
   Enjoy the morning laying out by the Playa del Sardinero before finally heading home to Bilbao.

We have no idea what we will actually be doing in each town so check back in next week to find out and see our pictures and videos.

World Cup celebration in Spain.

Last night I witnessed Spain's winning of the World Cup in Spain. I watched intently as Andres Iniesta's kick sailed pass the Dutch keeper. In fact, I watched almost every minute of Spain's run to the championship. 

They came into the World Cup as the favorites, but after an opening round loss to the Swiss, about the entire world turned their backs on them. Here they were again, the biggest chokers on the biggest stage. One of the best teams year, after year, after year, finding a way to lose, again. Spain had never even reached the semifinals of the World Cup before, so when Spain beat Portugal and then Paraguay, to meet the Germans on that stage, there was a collective sigh of relief. 

They had finally reached the plateau, but that was as far as they were expected to go. The Germans were the better team. They had dismantled opponents along the way for their quest of gold. This was Germany's redemption game after Spain beat them in the Euro Cup final just two years before. This was Germany's time to shine after beating Rooney's English team and Messi's Argentinean squad 4-1 and 4-0 respectively. But Spain prevailed. They played the best game they had played the entire tournament and controlled the Germans from the opening whistle. 

For once it seemed that the stars had aligned. It was finally their year. No Brazil or France or Italy standing in the way. Only the rough Dutch who showed they had the toughness and patience to play with anyone. At times it seemed during the Final match that The Netherlands would once again enforce their will and steal a victory. They had their opportunities, but in the end it was the resilience of the Spanish that overcame it all. 

After 60 years of World Cup play and misery, Spain was finally able to hoist the coveted golden trophy. This was more than just a soccer game. This was for a country that has been fighting, hoping, praying for notoriety. This was for its people, nearly 20% of which are unemployed. This was for every little town to feel just as significant as Madrid or Barcelona. This was about the octopus and about the kiss. This is what makes you realize how important sports really are to the world. 

There were celebrations last night oozing their way across Spain from Madrid. In Pamplona, one million drunken sanferminers just found another excuse to party the night away. This was epic. This was the single greatest moment in Spain's long sports history. It was their sport. It was their time. And they were finally able to celebrate as champions. 

Alas, I was not in Spain... I was in the Basque Country. When I left the bar after the game the streets were relatively quiet for what had just taken place. People were sticking their heads out their windows to see if it was alright to shout in celebration. There was hesitation, caution. It was so feeble; in fact, that we decided it was best to catch the last metro home than risk getting stranded downtown with nothing happening. 

Eventually a mass of over a thousand did show up in Bilbao, there were cars honking up and down the street, kids showed up blowing vuvuzelas and waving red and yellow flags. We even saw some fireworks. But already the flags are put safely away in the basement. The red and yellow shirts are being replaced with something a little less patriotic. This was a great win for Spain, but the Basque are afraid to join in on the celebration.

Running of the Fools

I have just returned from Pamplona and the week-long fiesta of San Fermín, known in the States as The Running of the Bulls. Although I only lasted two days, I learned to appreciate everything the fiesta stands for and offers... maybe too much.

Let me start by describing my schedule (in military time because that is the way Europeans write it):

Thursday, July 8

18:00- Left Bilbao

20:00- Arrived in Pamplona to discover everyone wearing red and white and already presumedly drunk.

20:15- Bought a red sash (faja) and bandana (pañuelito) in order to fit in.

20:30- Arrived at friend's apartment where we would be sleeping the next couple nights (if we were lucky). Three bedrooms, twelve people, you do the math.

21:00- Became official ambassador to Texas Hold'em while we pre-partied.

24:00- Headed to a concert of a famous Basque band in the middle of a park.

Friday, July 9

02:00- Left the concert to go to the old town to party.

04:00- Found a sandwich stall to grab some energy food.

04:15- Back in the clubs dancing.

06:00- Left the bars to find a place to sit and watch the actual running of the bulls.

06:30- Sara decided to take a nap and passes out from exhaustion in the middle of the stairs (to her defense, she only got three hours of sleep the night before because she had an exam).

08:00- The running finally took place.

08:00:12- It's already over... but it was so FREAKING AWESOME.

08:15- Decided it was the perfect time to do souvenir shopping.

08:30- Had breakfast from a world-famous bakery.

09:00- Began to head back to the apartment.

09:30- Finally crashed, covered in sweat and alcohol.

...Woke up and repeated.

So maybe the whole schedule thing was a bit tiring and drawn out, but then again, try experiencing it for yourself. The main thing I took away from San Fermín was that this wasn't really a tribute to the famous tradition of the Encierro (the running), it is just an excuse to party. Thanks to Ernest Hemingway, San Fermín has become one of the largest and most famous parties in the world!

However, the encierro still plays its part. And to the die-hards and curious who aren't either too tired or drunk to miss it, the running of the bulls is a fascinating spectacle that will leave you in awe and admiration.

Unfortunately some of those drunk and tired people decide to run as well. As the fiesta continues to grow in popularity, so do the casualties, as young men and (sometimes) women choose to run simply for the photo and bragging rights. But don't let that deter you from experiencing it for yourself. 

San Fermín was one of the most amazing experiences of my life. It's a 24/7 party, where you hang out with friends and make new ones from around the world, where every night starts with fireworks and concerts, the Spanish traditions of the encierro and bullfights can be experienced daily, water fights break out in front of a bar, and parades sporatically start in the streets. 

But it is one of those events that can never be completely shared through description. Hemingway tried in his book Fiesta, but even he can't give it the justice it deserves. Next July, like the rest of the party-world, try and make a trip to Spain based around this festival. You won't regret it!