From Paris with Love (and Tough Luck)

This weekend the three of us ventured out of the country for the second time, destination: France. We were fortunate enough to be able stay at an apartment with eight other girls, which saved us from the struggles of shoving our backpacks into tiny lockers and worrying about being taken in the middle of the night. I, however, was unfortunate (and dumb) enough to leave my camera at home, and anyone who’s traveled with me knows that my camera is on more than it is off when I’m traveling someplace new. Thankfully, my iPod has a camera… a selfie cam. So I took selfies for the rest of the trip, looking more touristy than I’m sure I ever have. But hey, at least I wasn’t one of those people holding up massive iPads, obstructing everyone else’s views. Phew.  

After landing in Paris at about 10:00 and having missed one of Mari’s cherished dinners, the three of us rummaged through the refrigerator and cupboards of the apartment. For dinner we had: carbs, carbs, and more carbs. It is Europe, after all.

Friday morning we woke up bright and (relatively) early to head to Versailles. None of us had really gathered our bearings just yet, but we eventually made our way to the metro stop. After we tried (and failed) to figure out the ticket machines, I decided to put my French to the test and ask the lady working at the ticket booth nearby for help. What followed was a kind of Frenglish that I couldn’t re-form even if I tried, and I was ready to give up. Cue Fairy Godmother, in the form of an elderly (beret-wearing!) French woman. She appeared almost magically amidst the foul-smelling French metro, her grace capturing the attention of us all. Some say to this day that she floated in on a cloud of fairy dust, but what you believe is up to you… This petite old lady waltzed up to us and offered to help us (in impeccable English) navigate our way to Versailles. She escorted us on our first leg of the trip, and we were sad to say goodbye, shouting out “Merci beaucoup!” as we left the train. 

Although it was raining when we got out onto the street, nothing could put a damper on our moods as we gazed at the splendor of the palace. We meandered through the palace with the accompaniment of an audio tour (none of us brought headphones, so we held the audio devices to our ears like brick-phones. Needless to say we looked like goons from the nineties).  Nonetheless, we learned about Le Nôtre and the prestige he held as the designer of the Versailles gardens. We also saw Marie Antoinette’s bedroom, and of course the gorgeous hall of mirrors.

The Palace of Versailles and all its beauty

When the three of us finished making our way through the palace, we found ourselves sans our 4 friends who came with us. After waiting in the entrance to the palace for a while, discussing our plan of action, we quickly came to the stark realization that we had become stranded in an unfamiliar town, void of keys to our apartment, void of the address of our apartment. Panic promptly set in, and we scurried to a McDonald’s with the hope that free Wi-Fi and Viber would save us. Two hours, six Principe cookies, and countless “Urgent, please help us” messages later, we managed to find our apartment’s address. How, you might ask? Well, the sole thing we knew about our apartment was that it was across from an Office Depot. I searched each Office Depot in the Paris area on Google Maps (there are an astonishing 17. Does that seem like a rather large number to anyone else?). Lucky number 9 was the winner, and Google Maps Street View beheld the entrance to our apartment. No words can describe the relief the three of us felt: that we wouldn’t have to helplessly call the cops and break down crying, that we wouldn’t have to ditch Paris all together and have a taxi take us to airport and head straight back to Madrid, and that we wouldn’t have to sit in that trying McDonald’s for any longer. Now, before I move on with the description of the rest of our trip, I must take a moment to thank the American companies that saved our souls that fateful day. Thank you Google Maps for your Street View capabilities, Office Depot for your (strangely recurrent) presence in Europe, and lastly, thank you McDonald’s (as much as I hate to admit it) for your free Wi-Fi. You guys really came through for us.

When we arrived back in Paris, safe and sound, we visited the elegant Louvre Museum. We wandered through the galleries, Renatta commenting on the statues’ anatomical proportions (she thinks she’s a curator or something) and Mal taking selfies with the Mona Lisa. We finished the night with dinner at a nearby café, where I enjoyed crepes with eggs, cheese and ham, and Mal and Renatta each ate a Croque Monsieur. Yum.

Just in time for sunset

Day 2 in Paris brought an abundance of pictures at the Eiffel tower, banana and Nutella crêpes, a promenade along the lock bridge and the Seine, a visit to the beautiful Notre Dame, several bowls of French Onion soup, a moment of silence for Princess Diana at her memorial, the most delicious macaroons at Ladurée, selling the gourmet pastries since 1862, and a stroll along the famous Champs-Elysées. We took a Hop On, Hop Off tour, a great investment, which took us to these famous sites in Paris. Even though some of the drivers were a little on the strange side, one of them taking the liberty of combing his fingers through my hair and calling Carly a “good banana,” all in all it was a good time. Plus, we were able to learn a little about the immense history of the city. For instance, the Louvre was originally built as a fortress, and Champs-Elysées is such a touristy part of the city that French is actually only the 2^nd most spoken language in the area.

This cheesy pose turned out to be a real gem

Although we got rained on that night (actually, we got hailed on and completely soaked), when we arrived at the Trocadéro, a plaza across the Seine from the Eiffel Tower, we were met by upbeat Jamaican music and danced along, umbrellas in hand. After taking (believe it or not) more pictures of the Eiffel Tower, we made our way back to the apartment, eating dinner along the way. Renatta, Meghan and I found a small restaurant called L’Angle, where we enjoyed duck, salmon, chocolate mousse, and crème brulée, of course. Our waiter was not impressed by my French, something he made clear when he revealed that he was from Madrid and we were able to end the game of Charades we’d been playing all night and speak in Spanish. I don’t think we had ever been more relieved to hear a foreign language.

Our last day in Paris came along more quickly than we had anticipated, and it was time to head back home (Madrid? Home? Crazy.) Unfortunately, Easy Jet decided to take its sweet time getting everyone to board, and we ended up taking off 45 minutes late. To top it off, the guy sitting between Renatta and I had to tempt us by buying Pringles and a hot ham and cheese sandwich. Save it for the airport, dude. Needless to say we were happy when we landed in Spain, Renatta proclaiming her love for the stench-free, easily understood Madrid Metro. We made our way back to 4D, and were welcomed home with Mari’s delicious chicken empanadas.

And You Get a Valentine, And You Get a Valentine, And....

In honor of the upcoming Hallmark holiday (just kidding, I actually really love Valentine's Day because my mom gives me presents because she's the best and the SweetTarts and peanut butter she sent overseas for a pretty penny have increased the quality of my/our days tenfold), the residents of 4D wanted to pass out a few Valentine shoutouts, blog-style.

First and foremost, if you have even so much as glanced at any of my social media profiles, you know that my oldest sister Natalie had a baby girl, Brecken Marie, a week ago and I could not be more excited. Although it honestly really sucks to not be around, Nat spoils me with FaceTime and lots and lots of pictures and Brecken spoils me by being the cutest newborn I've ever laid eyes on. Brecken's birth was an exciting occasion in this part of the world, as she was born around 7 PM St. Louis time, meaning 3 AM Madrid time, meaning Mal and I watched Rent on Netflix while I stared at my phone as if that would make Brecken depart from my sister's womb at a faster rate... Anyway, the time finally came to FaceTime with my new sobrina and rest assured, Mal and I were both sobbing as we sat on my twin bed in the dark, using all of the tissues, and generally being very dramatic. So first Valentine goes to my niece and I'm just assuming Mal would give one to her adorable nephew Leo and Laura's sister is only 21 and doesn't have any babies, but she's mailing a letter to her grandma tomorrow, so there you have it I guess.

First meeting with Brecken (black square in left hand corner is a teary Renatta and Mal)

Our next Valentine goes to our host mom who we're calling Mari for now (but seriously what is her name?), who I could probz wax poetic about for a few hours, but I'll just share a few highlights....
-When we returned from Lisboa last week, we were telling her about our generous welcome into the "population of Portugal" (see Laura's blog post), and she went on a full-on rant about how ugly Portuguese men and women are (officially praying no Portugal natives are reading this, but if you are, I don't think she's been there for awhile or maybe she hasn't met you?) and that her ex-husband was Portuguese and had to marry a Spanish woman since there weren't any good Portuguese women out there... suffice to say, we were all in tears at the dinner table while she talked about gross mustaches, etc.
-Tonight at dinner, Laura was complaining about paying for printing (it actually is an outrage because it's a dollar a page and that kind of money could be used on coffee or day trips or hot dogs) and Mari was pissed, which we totally appreciated. She talked about how stupid that is for a good ten minutes, and we all nodded along vehemently, and for a few minutes I thought she was actually going to get up and call the school and give them an earful. She didn't, but maybe I'll bring it up again tomorrow night...
-A few nights ago, Laura rudely told Mari that I'm clumsy (although I seem to recall a certain someone wiping out on the streets of Lisboa....) and she laughed and said that we're so quiet at dinner unless we're making fun of each other. (For the record, that is only partly true.)
-Last night in Mal's and my bedroom we were all laughing far too loudly and far too obnoxiously about something that probably was not even remotely funny and Mari came flying in to check on us because she thought one of us crying, so yeah, she really is the best of the best (of the best).

A very heartfelt Valentine to chocolate con churros, which are even better than the sliced bread that we have three times a day (I know... the carbs... don't even get me started). On Sunday it was rainy and miserable and we three could have been disgustingly crabby but instead we chose to head into Sol to San Gines, a 24-hour chocolateria with pictures of famous Spanish people all over the walls that really could have just been regular old people for all we know, and this is such a run-on sentence that I'm just going to stop and start a new sentence. Can you guys even believe that my major is English? Anyway, we owe it to the Spanish for this phenomenal treat, so let's just throw a Valentine their way too.

A Valentine goes out to Cercedilla, the beautiful town where we got really lost in went hiking. I admit it was a little on the cold side, plus it started raining, but the views were unbeatable and there was a real live cow on the path and you just don't see that everyday, unless you're Mal and you're from Troy, Missouri. Also, we had one of our best lunches thus far in Cercedilla (the paella was the bomb.com) and had ice cream for dessert because ice cream is ice cream no matter how cold you are (and we were pretty cold).

What's better, that view or the bunny ears? 

An obligatory Valentine goes out to Laura's haircut that occurred literally feet from where I'm sitting on my bed as I type out these absolutely ridiculous sentences... I'm not kidding, Mal cut Laura's hair with craft scissors and there was hair everywhere on the floor so then she used my school supplies to sweep it up and the whole affair was honestly pretty janky, but Laura looks hella good, so it was worth it, and maybe Mal has a future in cosmetology if college gets too hard.

What's the opposite of a Valentine? (Am I seriously supposed to be capitalizing Valentine? I kinda think I'm not) Because we'd like to give like, at least eight of those to the scam website edreams.es, which we momentarily forgot we weren't supposed to be using when we booked our flights to Paris and let's just say we're all now out 150 Euros due to a flight home scheduled in March instead of February and I'm really, really sorry about that one, Dad.

Our final Valentine goes out to Mad-town itself because oh my gosh, do we love you and your 80 cent Principe cookies and delicious carrots and beautiful landmarks and decent weather and cute boys and cuter dogs and fantastic Metro system, etc, etc, and etc.

We love Madrid so much we're publishing this heinous photo taken months and months ago when we were still American.

This coming weekend we're going to Paris and let me tell you, we are pumped for the inevitable PDA every time we turn the corner. (On the real, Paris and Valentine's Day is a bit of a double-whammy so I'll admit that might have been poor planning on our part.) Let's just hope we don't make the French hate us even more than we already know they do.

L for Lisboa (and Laura)

It was a busy weekend as we embarked on our first trip outside of Spain – Lisboa, Portugal. We decided that Americans change the name of too many cities and countries (Germany instead of Alemania, Seville instead of Sevilla, Spain instead of España… the list goes on and on really), so we refused to call the city Lisbon for the majority of the trip. Take that, USA.

When we landed in Portugal, the first local we met was our taxi driver, who, while seemingly friendly, promptly revealed his true trip-ruining personality and went on and on about how the tour we were to go on the following day would be a complete waste of our time and money. It turns out that he was a waste of time and money, since he ripped us off, charging us about 10 euros too much for our ride and spent the entirety of the ride bumming us out about our plans for the weekend.

Thankfully, this taxi guy (he doesn’t deserve to be called by name) was the only person we met who did not attest to the friendliness the Portuguese are known for. Just minutes after we arrived, as we walked along one of the city’s main plazas, a guy walked up to us and said that the Portuguese were happy to welcome us “into their population” as tourists. There also were the construction workers we drove past who smiled, waved and said something in Portuguese (which none of us understood, but that’s irrelevant), the older man who walked up to us on the street and gave us each four kisses as a greeting instead of the customary two, and one of the workers at Pão Pão Quejio Quejio, who gave us a thumbs up and winked at us when he brought us our food.

Besides the friendly strangers we came across during our stay, we were truly convinced of the effortless charm the Portuguese possess when we began our “We Hate Tourism” tour and met our guide, Ricardo. Always addressing us as “my friends” and insisting we refer to him not as our guide, but as a friend, Ricardo picked us up from our side of the city, Belem, in a charming old van and showed us around Cascais and Sintra.

Our first stop (after Ricardo bought us the most amazing pastries we’ve ever had, called Pasteis de Belem) was the tiny town of Cascais. Ricardo left us to explore once he bought us some coffee. Okay, not just some coffee, but the strongest beverage I’m sure any of us had ever tasted. Mal, after pouring, and I kid you not, an entire two packages of sugar into maybe a quarter of a cup of liquid, couldn’t handle it. Renatta quickly jumped at the chance of more caffeine (that addict) and finished it off, although it was probably more like syrup by the time Mal was done with it…

We ended up exploring our first beach of our time abroad instead of the city, but can you really blame six girls from the Midwest? The beach, despite the cool weather, was beautiful, and we could see the coast curve around, highlighting the border of the other side of the city. We met up with Ricardo again, and he drove us through the hills to The End of the World. We climbed up and around boulders, Renatta fearlessly climbing under the fences that kept sane people from getting too close to the edge, and Mal pitifully clinging onto the boulders for dear life (although we really were close to the edge of some major cliffs). The views were amazing, and it was crazy to think that a few hundred years ago, it was common belief that this was the end of all land.

Friends at The End of the World

We came rushing into Ricardo’s arms once again, and he drove us back through the hills towards Sintra. Along the way we stopped at a food truck, where Ricardo said he had called the owner and asked her to make her famous chorizo sandwiches, just for us (what a considerate guy). When we tasted these sandwiches, (and it has nothing to do with how famished we were, I promise) even Renatta quit talking to scarf them down (and if you know her, you know what a feat this is). Those sandwiches were easily one of the best meals we’ve had since our time in Europe.

Enjoying the best sandwiches on planet Earth

Next stop on our tour – Sintra. We visited La Quinta Regeleira, an enormous estate built in the 1800s, which included a beautiful palace and the most amazing gardens I have ever seen. The entire property was like a colossal jungle gym, full of towers, ponds and caves for us to explore. Since we felt like we were kids again, we figured we might as well act out a few scenes from our favorite childhood movies. Mal slung hair from one of the several towers like Rapunzel in Tangled and later leaped from a rock, umbrella in tow, as if she were Mary Poppins (she was really on a roll with those Disney movies). Meghan and I also found a gazebo-esque structure and were Leisl and Rolf from The Sound of Music (because you can never miss out on a chance to reenact the greatest musical of all time, unless you’re Carrie Underwood).

Despite our spectacular reenactments, which I’m sure the other visitors of the estate enjoyed as much as we did, the highlight of the grounds was the well. Almost 100 feet deep, the well’s interior appeared to be an inverted tower, with a spiral staircase that wrapped its way around the edges. It’s no wonder the entire estate is a World Heritage Site.

We eventually tore ourselves away from the spectacular sight of the well, and made our way back to the entrance of the estate. We easily could have gotten lost (we’re really good at that), but we eventually found our way. Even if we hadn’t, Ricardo told us before we left him at the entrance that if we ever got lost, all we’d have to do is yell “RIICARRDOOO” and he would come to our rescue. Are you sensing a knight in shining armor motif here?

 Sorry about the cheesy pose, but how about that well

Ricardo drove us back to the city center, where the streets were so tiny and uneven and the van so old and rickety that it seemed like the vehicle would fall apart at any moment. Not to mention that Ricardo was quite an aggressive driver; at one point we almost collided head on with an oncoming vehicle, made apparent not only by the sudden appearance of another car a mere two inches from the hood of ours, but also by Meghan’s shockingly piercing squawk as she “saw her life flash before her eyes.” She has a flare for the dramatic, apparently. Ricardo showed us several vantage points of the city, where we took too many panoramic pictures and tried to stop gasping at the spectacular views.

As our time on the tour (and with Ricardo) came to a close, anyone could sense our disheartened mood. Although we could no longer be shuttled around the city accompanied by a charming guide, on Saturday we made our way around the city just fine, visiting El Mosterio de São Vicente de Fora, and watching the sun set from the beach. We also came across a charismatic street performer, whose voice and rhythms on his makeshift drums entranced an entire crowd of people, making us all clap our hands and dance along.

Overall, our time in Lisboa was an amazing adventure, but it wouldn’t have been a true American escapade without our array of embarrassing moments. I took a tumble walking across the street (everyone knows that the paint on crosswalks gets slippery, yet refuses to admit it), said cheers to the lady at La Quinta Regeilera instead of thank you (I don't have anything to say for myself about that one, except that I clearly need to work on my Portuguese), and Mal literally shed a tear after saying goodbye to Ricardo. Dramatic, one might say? Maybe a little, but then again we all promptly began to suffer from separation anxiety (and still are), so we can’t really judge her.