Kitchen peculiarities, travelling and being an Ugly American spectacle
Alright, so this weekend was a bit of a waste. Friday night was incredibly fun though. We enjoyed ourselves at the Residencia, and then went to this cool jazz club called Jazzy Man. However, there was no seating available (very small place) so the majority of us were in the back near their iTunes playlist. Good stuff, we approve of their music selection. We did not approve of the lack of relaxation available to us there, however, so most of us decided to continue on in a quest for Placa John Lennon. The Beatles were truly a national phenomenon.
So we wandered, eventually finding our way to Gracia (no thanks to Dan Long Name, my friend from NU who claimed he knew where he was going) and then to this little hole-in-the-wall plaza with a little playground in it, closed off by a fence. But that would never stop us from regressing. We found our way in and proceeded to see-saw, swing and surf on the fulcrum of various unbalanced playthings. At some point I decided it was a good idea to climb on top of the swing set, on the bar where the swings are hanging. My agility surprised everyone, including myself, and so did the ensuing bruises all over my body the next morning.
When we arrived at Placa John Lennon we were the only ones there. Climbing so dextrously inevitably drew an audience of incredulous Spaniards, however. We were a spectacle of ugly Americans, I’m ashamed to say. This time, we were not defacing property…merely breaking in.
On the way home, the charlie horse that had acted up on me when I was hanging from the swing-bar started to hurt, so Dan Long Name, the only Spanish citizen on this trip and thus the only one who can partake of the bicing bike-sharing program (a fantastic idea for the States, by the way), decided to bicing me home. Standing on barely-existent bicycle spokes in high-heeled boots was a little more of a challenge than the flip-flops I wore last time we tried it, but we still made it back to the Residencia. Of course, technology failed us at the closest bicing bank (the bike wouldn’t lock into place), so we had to joy ride all the way towards the Arc de Triomf to return the bike, meaning I actually probably walked just as much as I would have sans bike ride. We did get to bike down the middle of the deserted Eixample streets, though, so it was definitely worth it.
Woke up Saturday morning feeling not only bruised, but sick. So I spent the day as I do in the States when I’m sick: in bed, catching up on my illegally-accessed internet television…and blogging of course. Mustered the energy for a Chupitos trip with the gang and Elena’s Cornell friend, Johnny Lau (both names obligatory, evidently). What did I get out of that night? I got to witness the best Monica Lewinsky (literally a dildo shot, involving a blindfold, whipped cream, and beer sprayed all over some poor unsuspecting boy’s face) I will probably ever see, a free sip of radioactively-green beer, the discovery that there is a shot called “El Punto G” AND one called “Punto G” (is there actually a difference?) and my first experience climbing up an escalator the wrong way — Staci tried with me but had an epic fall. Getting started is a challenge, but otherwise it’s easy enough.
Sunday was the Red Bull Air Race. It was touted as the closing event for the Merce festivities, so I assumed it was a Spanish thing. Not so. This is an international competitive event that takes place in a different location every year. So we were pretty lucky to have it on our lovely Mediterranean coast this year. Basically daredevil pilots fly a 2-lap course through huge inflatable gates sitting in the water, involving flips and hairpin turns and knifes. The beach was packed, and the British announcer was hysterical. The Catalan announcer was fond of screaming “Si, si si sisissisisisisisi” when a pilot was doing well. There were huge screens set up on the beach, and side acts to entertain between rounds, kind of like the Blue Angels. Some British man won, but that wasn’t important. The 4th place finisher (the last one to go in the final) flew through a gate, popping it. It was a pretty sweet way to end the race. We then found tiramisu gelato at our new found touristy pizza-gelato place (really good French Fries, fyi…cheapest thing on the menu). So so good.
Lots of flights were booked last night — namely Amsterdam second weekend of November and Paris Thanksgiving weekend. Thus, I am travelling basically every weekend for the rest of the trip. This weekend is Italy, the following weekend a seminar at UPF (so no travel, but time commitments all fin de), then Lisbon, then probably a day trip to Andorra (a very small country and the only one where the only official language is Catalan), then Amsterdam, then Ruta Dali with the program, then Paris, then probably Madrid and/or the south of Spain. Literally every weekend. I’ll leave Barcelona to weekdays - I get out of class at 1:30 Tuesdays and noon Wednesdays.
The hostel we’re planning on staying at in Amsterdam is called The Bulldog Hotel (check out that link), and it looks hysterical. “Nothing is normal, everything is comfortable.” There is a cave-themed bar attached, stocked full of the Bulldog’s trademark energy drink. Apparenty, the Bulldog coffee shop was the first (in the 70s) to sell cannabis in Amsterdam, according to popular legend. Their website says that they “don’t mind people staring at their aquaria for hours.” Sounds like our kind of place.
And now for this week’s edition of Spanish peculiarities: Residencia Kitchen edition.
-We have a drying rack as the bottom shelf of our dish cabinet. Genius. No towels needed.
-The freezer is miniscule and keeps frosting to the point where it won’t close. This is a problem.
-No oven. Goodbye frozen pizza. We miss you so. Not even a toaster oven (so we toast on frying pans on the stove…not terribly efficient.)
-The highest setting for the two burners is the first notch on the dial. This caused much confusion in the beginning of the program. We were apparently turning it to the lowest setting and then wondering why our water was not boiling.
-The other reason our water wasn’t boiling was that the first dial on the stove is a timer, which tends to turn off without telling you it’s done so. Problematic.
I could say that I’m learning to cook — see my orgasmic chicken, protein burgers, and patatas bravas, as well as the apple fries Dan taught me — but without an oven it’s not super realistic. Also, me cooking really just means seasoning meat with every spice I have, i.e. basil, garlic, onion, hot pepper, salt and pepper. Voila, orgasmic chicken. Oh well, my potatoes are yummy. As are my undercooked scrambled eggs. I’m learning.
Til tomorrow.
2 years ago • 0 notes