León y Astorga

If you don't know, it has been raining essentially nonstop in Galicia since January, I think. Stopping only for snow-breaks and hail. Even I, Pacific Northwesterner that I am, was starting to get tired of perpetual gray skies and dampness (especially in a country with no clothes-drying machines). But suddenly, just when I too was beginning to ask, 'why do people even live here?' the clouds parted and every single plant started producing pollen at the same time. (I wonder if the increase in conversation time concerning zombies and/or the zombie apocalypse had anything to do with the increase in the number of people out and about with red, bleary eyes, zoned out on benadryl).

Anyway, we were relatively lucky as far as weather was concerned for our trip to Castilla-León. I even bought, used and appreciated a 12€ bottle of sunscreen. 

The five of us (fellow auxilars Meg, Ryan, and Julia, and Julia's bro Mike) met at the bus station and bussed to León. We grabbed some food at a Corte Inglés, ate lunch in a park (where we got stared at by Spaniards) and got lost on the way to the piso* we had rented for the weekend. 

The directions to the flat were essentially as follows: Take X street to Y street, make a right on Y, then follow Y to the roundabout, take the pedestrian street off the roundabout, walk until you see a pine tree and make another right, and the building is on the left.

Things got complicated when we left X street to find Corte Inglés and have lunch in a park. There was much consulting of maps and asking of directions during our quest.

Long story short, we found the flat, which was super cute.

The pine tree in question

After dropping off our stuff and assembling a game plan of sorts (1. go to the center 2. eat?) we set out again. 

Walking down the Calle Ancha (widestreet) of the old town

In León, like in a lot of other cities I've seen, the cathedral is one of the biggest and most impressive things to go see. And this one was pretty cool.

First view of the Cathedral

We debated for a while whether it was worth the four euros to go in or not. Four out of five tourists agreed: yes, it was.

After the cathedral, we did some more wandering around with the goals of 1. finding the plaza mayor, 2. not walking down the same street twice. Here's some photos.

At one point, León was part of Gondor

Plaza mayor

We found it! It took a lot longer (and more stops at bars) than we had originally anticipated, but we did find it.

And then we went back to all the sights to see them all lit up at night.

The next day we took a walk by the river, via a huge street market full of cheap junk, a jungle-gym, and the bus station. At the end of our walk, we came across a stone bridge and some kind of palace. 

The palace had a couple of different motifs on it--conch shells (for the Camino de Santiago. The French Way passes through León) and the two-headed eagle (which represents, among other things, the Hapsburgs), which gives a taste of the depth and complexity of history in Spain. Really, my one quarter of Spanish History painted only a broad, vague picture starting with the celtiberos and ending with post-Franco modernization, glazing over a lot of the bits inbetween. I asked one of the teachers at my school if León had been the capital of its own kingdom at some point, and ended up getting a (well appreciated) mini lecture on the Knights Templar.

The palace is now part-hotel and part-church. The hotel part (five stars) is not enterable as a regular tourist (guests only) and the church part was having a service (it was sunday), so we admired it from outside.

After some bus station croissants and a fifty-minute ride (in a bus) we found ourselves in Astorga. 

Immediately across from the Astorga bus station there are two amazing, monumental buildings, each trying to out-monument the other. One is the cathedral, and the other is the Palacio de Gaudi. 

One of two Gaudi designs not living in Barcelona

And of course there were some roman ruins and an old, possibly roman wall, which seems to have been built for gazing introspectively into the distance.

The Trip

If you recall, I work at a school called Fontem Albei, which is in the town of Fonsagrada, which is about an hour away from Lugo. Which is where I live. So yes, that means that me, and the rest of the teachers who live in Lugo have about 2hrs in car every workday. yikes. But the countryside is beautiful, which helps to make up for the motion sickness.

So, here are some blurry out-the-car-window pictures. I'm not even going to try to edit them and make them nicer. Accept the poor quality pictures as part of the experience.

Bimbo is a brand of bread

I tried to take a photo of a flag. Can you tell?

molinos

And now the return trip.

There was a nice view a second before, I swear

more molinos

toxo/tojo

the next of a stork

When the sun is out, we get the sun in our faces both in going and in coming back. And when it's precipitating, everything is cold and wet/frozen

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Also, I'm going on a little trip this weekend to Leon! So stay tuned for that, I guess.

Adventuras de cocinar

So, as you may know, one of the main draws of coming to Spain for me was improving my Spanish (still not sure how well that's gone, but I'll save that for another day). Therefore, this post will be written in Spanish. But, google can translate it for you by going to translate.google.com and posting the URL of this post into the translate box.

A ver. Ayer, después de dar un paseo con mi compañero de piso, Jonny, fui a Gadis donde vi dos latas una al lado de la otra. Tomates y alcachofas. Y me dije, 'que buena combinación. ¿qué más podría llevar?' La respuesta resultó en una receta digno un dios. Les describiré ya.

Primera etapa: calentar mantequilla.

Fue la primera vez que usé esta sartén y produjo un cantidad de humo inexplicable. Creo que fue la primera vez en que fue usado jamás. 

Segunda etapa: freír los filetes. 

Filetes de pollo. Luego los saqué, guardados. 

Tercera etapa: los verduras. Corté un montón de champiñones y cebolla roja para la salsa. Jonny me sacó un foto subrepticiamente. 

estoy pelando una cebolla

Cuando los champiñones y cebollas estaban pelados y cortados, los eché a la sartén. 

Qué bonito

Cuarta etapa: MÁS INGREDIENTES (tomates de lata y alcachofas y vino)

Tomates y más
en la sartén, que rico
falta el vino

¿Cuánto cuesta aquella botella? Menos de 3€.

Corté los filetes en trozos y los introduje a la mezcla.

Quinta etapa: pasta.

Sexta etapa: ¡comer!

Perdonadme los errores, no dudo que hize algunos.

Time Crunch

Alt title: Meghan makes lists and posts them on the internet and uses the third person.

This post will explore two themes: Why is Spain in the same time zone as Germany, and Will Meghan "get her shit together" as it were.

Let's do the second one first because I'm kind of using the blog to both procrastinate and organize my thoughts.

But Meghan, what kind of shit do you have to get together? You've graduated, you've got some vague ideas for future jobs and or grad school, and besides, you're in europe and ought to be living it up, doing the kinds of craaAAAaazy things American twenty-somethings do in Europe. 

Well, Me, if by crazy things you mean kill my roommate and get sent to an Italian prison, no thank you. Dancing is equally out. Instead, let's make a list because lists are nice.

In the foreseeable future:

• Getting all the snaggles out of my TESOL online class. 
• Actually doing all the work for my TESOL online class.
• Finding video-recording equipment and gaining permission to record myself teaching for my TESOL online class.
• Navigating the contradictory and murky waters that are Profex and the internal workings of the Auxiliares program and provisionally accepting a placement for next year.
• Deciding whether or not I actually want to come back for a second year, and if not what would I do?
• Planning a trip around Spain with Heather. (Guys, did I tell you that Heather is going to come visit!?)
• Planning other trip(s) around Europe, since I'm here and tengo que aprovecharlo.
• Applying for a summer intensive course in Galego at the University of Santiago de Compostela, and the deciding whether I actually want to do it or not.
• Buying a plane ticket home. (dear lord those are expensive.)
• Seeing about getting my old college summer job back (hi, Jeff) if I end up in the States for a significant amount of time over the summer.
• Finishing the "unidad didáctica" for the Auxiliares program this year and whatever else they may require of me.
• Finishing this blog post.

In the foggier, less foreseeable future:

• Grad school
• Big-girl job
• Adulthood
• Haircut

QUESTION: Did I just get carried away in the list-making?

BONUS QUESTION: Which of these things does Meghan least want to do?

And now guess what? Spain is in the same time zone as Germany, and I believe that this is why the timetables seem so off. In the winter one doesn't notice it because it's winter and dark all the time. 

But now spring and daylight savings time have sprung and it is just now getting dark as I am writing this at 9:03 in the evening. At home, this dusk/clock-hour relationship would lead me to believe that it is early June or mid August. But no, it's April and there is still a risk of snow. 

Therefore, it seems like the Spanish time table is actually not that strange. They eat and work and sleep at normal times, it's just the hours are screwy.

And for the secret bonus third theme, Meghan's time here in Spain is coming to a (maybe-probably?) end. There are a lot of things I would still like to do, a lot of things I would still like to see, and I don't know if I have the time. Maybe it'll be enough to come back, or maybe the pull of the familiar and the feeling of not wanting to run away from "real life" will keep me home. 

Like my tenth-grade English teacher was always saying, you need to 1. get outside your comfort zone and 2. put in some effort to actually gain anything.

Well, Mr Gambill, I'm trying.

Obligatory photo:

It's the lactation station. I took this ages ago, during San Froilan and have been waiting for a special occasion to share it. Check out the bars on the windows. Is it so the mothers can't escape? Also, look how happy that child is with his disembodied boob. "bico de leite" means "kiss of milk" or "milk kiss." Either way.

Holy Week Part V: Francesinha and leftovers

After the wine we poked around Gaia for a bit, got soaking wet, and went back to the hostel for dry clothes.

On the way home, we saw these boats on the river, loaded down with barrels presumably full of Port wine. The wine used to be shipped this way, but now it goes via temperature-controlled truck and now the boats are just for show.

We also glimpsed the sun just as it was setting, the only time we saw it in Porto. I took a photo to remember it by.

For dinner that night, we again did what the girl at the hostel desk suggested, and went to the Santiago Cafe for a Francesinha. We had asked our friend David about the Francesinha, and he wasn't able to explain what it was, just that he didn't like it. 

Having experienced it, I will try to explain. 

First off, pronunciation: frã.se.zi.ña (blogger doesn't do IPA, so this is the best I could do). 
Second, where to find it: in the north of Portugal, but especially in Porto. If Porto was a country, Francesinha would be the national dish. There is even a Irmandade da Francesinha (Francesinha brotherhood) that celebrates the dish. 
Third, what is it comprised of: the Francesinha comes in layers. Starting from the bottom up we have: a kind of thick, chewy sandwich bread, then linguiça, then steak, then ham, followed by another layer of bread, a layer of melted cheese, and a bath of special francesinha sauce. You can also get a fried egg on top, and french fries on the side. 
Fourth, what is the sauce: it's a secret. On tasting it, I figured some kind of chili sauce, probably with a tomato base. Wikipedia says there's beer involved too.
Fifth: a free ride to the hospital to recover from your subsequent heart attack. Seriously, this seems like it should be one of those things you find in a greasy diner where if you finish the whole thing you get your picture taken to put on the wall and your meal for free.

Here's a picture I stole from the internet because I forgot to take one of my own.

The restaurant was packed, and we ended up eating at the bar because there were no tables available, but that was fine. The menu had three options for entrees: Francesinha, Francesinha with an egg on top, and Francesinha with and egg on top served on a bed of french fries. But really there was only one option. As far as I could tell, every single person in the restaurant (which seated maybe 40-50 people) got the Francesinha especial--with a fried egg and french fries. I think we tried to order something else--the regular Francesinha perhaps--but that was what we got. 

Sitting at the bar, we got to watch the cook churn out Francesinhas at a prodigious rate--grilling sandwiches, frying eggs, melting cheese and doling out ladles of chili-beer sauce. 

For desert (I think I had it in the back of my head that it's spring now, and I need to bulk up for Gorge season) I tried to ask the waiter what one of the things on the menu was, the rest being pretty easy to figure out. (pudim=pudding. got it.) But, he just smiled and said something with the gist of, "no, you'll like it, I'll just bring you one."

And he was right. This is aletria, a typical desert of Portugal. At first glance I thought it was rice pudding, but it wasn't. It is kind of pudding-y, but what it is is threads of dough boiled in milk with sugar and orange zest and some other things, boiled down until it gets a kind of custardy consistency. super delicious.

Not much else to share about the trip. We stumbled home, unbalanced from the food babies, and went to bed. The next day we caught the bus from Porto to Vigo, then another from Vigo to Lugo. It poured down rain the whole time, and I read Oliver Sacks's Island of the Colorblind. 

Holy Week Part IV: More you look, more to see

Where did we leave off? Oh, right, the beautiful ancient crumblingness of Porto. 

I feel like I should make a clarification first. Porto/Oporto? What is the name of this city? In Portuguese, it is simply "Porto." But, in Spanish, it is called "Oporto." In both languages porto means port (who'da thunk?) so maybe the Spaniards thought it was silly to have a town called "port" so they added "O" (which is the masculine definite article in Portuguese) to make it a little less... I dunno, generic sounding. And then in English, we go either way. But I'll call it Porto, just because.

Back to the story. I'm gonna try and finish this today, but we'll see.

After our long, sopping wet tour of the city, we grabbed lunch at a little cafe with some girls from Minnesota who were studying abroad in Toledo who were on vacation in Porto. Did you know that "frango" is portuguese for "chicken" and not "polho?" Sometimes cognates don't work. (polho doesn't mean anything)

After a brief stop at the hostel for dry pants we set off for another part of the city with our new hostel roommate David from London. The girl at the hostel desk recommended we see the Palacio de Cristal, so off we went.

Laura and our new friend David. What are you pointing at, David? Is it the spaceship? 

No, it's a peacock! Where did you come from, bird?

The Palacio de Cristal was not actually a spaceship (though I could have been convinced otherwise) but a sort of concert hall/convention center in the middle of this beautiful big park overlooking the river. 

To our surprise, David had never explored much of Porto before, even though he passed through every year on his way to visit family in Portugal for Easter. So we ended up wandering around for a bit before all going to dinner together. 

Walkin around. we'll come back to that church later.

We stayed in the hostel that evening, and had a grand old time drinking wine and playing cards with some Portuguese boys (I called them boys, but really they were all mid-twenties) who were in town for some sort of exposition(?). They taught us a couple Portuguese games--Desconfia (like Bullshit) and Ladrões e Policia (like Mafia). We had a blast and didn't get to bed until the wee hours of the morning.

The next morning we got off to a slow start, but we made a full day of it anyway. After walking David to the metro station we went back to that church we saw earlier. Actually, we had seen it before, on the tour and it has a kind of neat history to it.

The church (called the Torre dos Clérigos) was designed by an Italian architect, who agreed to do the project for free, but on the condition that he could be buried in the crypt. That was all fine and dandy, but the interesting thing was the problems they ran into during construction. It was supposed to be a normal church, cross-shaped with two big towers, but the ground was unstable, and they couldn't make it as big as the plans called for. So, rather than find a new site, the architect said screw it and decided to essentially stack the church up on itself, with one huge tower. As our guide said, "maybe he already bought the stones or something."

The tower doesn't look all that tall from the street, but the buildings surrounding it are deceptively tall as well. In climbing it you really get a feel for how tall it is. 

View from halfway up

At the place where a normal church tower would end, this church has a unique bell system, where daily, free concerts are given.

Ana Elias in the middle of the prelude from Bach's Suite no 1 for cello, arr Ana Elias. (I picked up a program, and my goodness this woman is accomplished)

It was almost unbearably loud inside the tower, but up top and outside you could really appreciate the music. 

View of the ocean

view looking down.

The next stop on our adventure was to take a trip across the river to Gaia, the town where all the Port wine is stored. 

Bridge to Gaia, designed by the same guy who did the Eiffel Tower.

What is Port wine? Port wine is a sweet "fortified wine" made from grapes grown in the Douro river valley, just up the river from Porto. What makes it "fortified" is the addition of aguardente which is grape liquor I guess. (and not the addition of vitamins like I would have thought.) For five euros, we got a little tour of one of the storage facilities and a little taste of the wine. All the companies have an offer like this, but we just went to one, Sandeman.

The dude on the barrel is "the don," the logo of the Sandeman company, not zorro. He is wearing a Spanish hat and a Portuguese cape, to represent the origins of the wine the company sells.

The guide was very knowledgeable and told us all about the different kinds of Port wine and how they are prepared and stored, but not being a wine connoisseur myself, it all went a little over my head. 

I actually wasn't a huge fan of the Port. It was too sweet and strong, like a taste overload, and those two little glasses put me in a state where it would be a bad thing if I tried to drive.

Okay, so I lied and I didn't finish today. The last little bit to come tomorrow.