If You Want to Read a Novel...

HOLA AMIGOS!!

Its been about nine years since I wrote on this precious blog so we’ve got a lot to catch up on. Since I’m such a procrastinator and am worried that my mom’s going to pester me about not writing her appearance in Madrid yet I’m going to be doing a lot of fast forwarding in this post. If that’s not your style you might want to get out before it’s too late.

While my roommates decided to have a romantic getaway to the land of the Irish, I deemed myself the luckiest girl in the world because my parents and one of my sisters ventured all the way to España (and then to London and back to Spain again).When they arrived, I hurriedly ran to the metro where I found my ten minute ride would soon become almost an hour long because line 3 was broken (later found out, thanks to Renatta, that it was indeed not broken, just on the opposite side of where we usually go.)

            However, FINALLY I got to the apartment where the fam was staying and rushed to hug and lay on a couch and just be still. After my dad and sister “well deserved” naps, we ventured out to show the wonders of Mad City. We walked all around and ended up at Plaza Mayor; and of course had to take pictures standing in the same place we stood exactly 12 years ago when my oldest sister, Lauren studied here in Madrid. Those members of the family that weren’t along for the ride because of those inconvenient “job” things should know that they were (and are) greatly missed.

Fast forward to dinner at a small Spanish tapas bar where my horrendous (yet improving) Spanish turned out to be beneficial when the owner continued to say “cuatro chupitos!” my father, thinking this nice man was offering the check said yes please. This was when I had to step in because my father had just unknowingly got four shots of God knows what for us. Before the man could walk to the two steps from our table to the bar I asked “gratis?” (aka free) and he replied with a laugh and “si si!” and then something about Americans.

not sure how my parents feel about my Spanish skills pertaining to chupitos... 

FF to catching a flight to London, England aka one of the coolest places ever.

AND OHMYGOD I COULD UNDERSTAND WHAT EVERYONE WAS SAYING! How fun, I could eavesdrop again and I had to watch what I said around strangers! My love for London is borderline obsessive and in no way am I ashamed. Our time in the lovely land of the Brits was spent dodging rainstorms and fighting with umbrellas.

We got to visit Churchill’s War Rooms, the London Eye, Big Ben, Westminster Abbey, the Tower of London, the Palaces, and many other picturesque sites. However, the favorite stop of Cait’s was inevitably Platform 9 & ¾ at King’s Cross Station, made famous by the Harry Potter series. Here, it is literally someone’s job to hold a scarf out of range for a picture. What a life. One of my favorites was the Fashion Rules exhibit in Kensington Palace where gowns of royals including Princess Diana were showcased. Our hotel, St. Ermins, was a perfect place and FAR from the norm of what I’ve become accustomed to. You can bet your bottom dollar that I soaked up all that that place had to offer including the robes, slippers, and of course tea. The last morning in London was spent wandering to Abbey Road and trying to recreate the famous Beatles album cover before our flight back to Madrid.

Dad didn't get the memo

Leaving London was a sad sad day. Not only did it mean I had to leave a city I fell absolutely in love with, but it also meant that little time remained with my family. After the main events of my mom falling out of a cab and a Spanish shuttle driver replying “20 minutes” to my fathers question about the engine (language barrier? What language barrier?!), the last hours were upon us.

Seeing my family was absolutely perfect. I honestly have no words to describe how grateful and happy it made me. The goodbyes were almost harder the second time but rest assured, parents, I am coming back to America someday. However I couldn’t help but realize how immensely different traveling is with different people aka parents VS broke ass college kids.

Traveling with parents:

·      Whats a budget?

·      Whats a hostel?

·      “if you want it, get it”

Traveling with other college students:

·      “that costs HOW much?!”

·      “18 person hostel? Whatever, its cheap.”

·      “I love it but maybe I’ll just take a picture of it instead of spend more money”

FF through another week of school (nothing remarkable happened) and to the trio splitting up once again. This time, Laura and Renatta held down the fort in Madrid while I met 2 friends, Mo and Kelly at the airport to fly to Barcelona to meet our friend Hannah who is currently studying in Bolgona, Italy!

Once again, a weekend with tastes of home while still being in Europe was the perfect combination. Barcelona is all that its cracked up to be and more. The weather was just as beautiful as the architecture. Within minutes of seeing each other, we received a noise complaint from the hostel man (or as Kelly deemed him, the Shh-er Nazi). Our time is Barcelona was extremely short but we managed to pack in a shocking amount. We started by searching for the Gaudi houses and his stunning architecture as well as Park Guell.

However, I would just like to pause and take a moment to elaborate on how perfect La Sagrada Familia is. Antonio Gaudi is a man among men and if you ever have the chance to see his work, you absolutely must. Both Mo and I bought posters of the beautiful place and I can’t wait to hang it up and kiss it everyday. In an attempt to muster up words to describe this holy structure Hannah said it best, “it’s not a building. I think it is a physical kiss from God given in the form of a church to all of humanity.” The basilica is still a work in progress and has continued to evolve after Gaudi’s passing. In 2026, it is projected to be completed and believe me I’m already planning my trip back.

Later on we made it to one of Barcelona’s largest markets where we gazed at the mounds of candy, downed organic fruit juices, and saw some less than appetizing sites of animals I didn’t even know could be eaten. A few snacks and some retail therapy we decided to make moves back to the hostel to get ready for a night out. Apparently, it was a big day in Barcelona and no one told us until shouting men and women carrying posters and flags blocked the streets. However, when I recognized the flag of Catalonia (not Spain) I was ecstatic because I could tell the girls all about what I have been learning about in my Spanish Anthropology and Culture class (Nerd Alert). I asked a street vendor about his views on the upcoming referendum (basically Catalonia, a region in Spain, wants to split from Spain and enter the European Union as an independent nation for a multitude of reasons I wont go into) he was taken aback by my knowledge and went into a spiel As said best by a street vendor, “this is Catalonia. Not Spain. We do too much and they do too little.” Our eventful trip was deemed even more eventful when the quad became the trio and we lost Kelly. I kid you not, our second night in Barcelona (Kelly’s second night in Europe) will forever be known as “The Night We Lost Kelly.” Thankfully, all ended up peachy and we can laugh about it soon because what’s a trip to Barcelona without good food, shopping, and losing a best friend for a few hours? Barcelona was a great taste of Spain that isn’t Madrid and I couldn’t be happier that I got to experience it with friends from home. As Mo, Kelly, and I headed off to the airport we were almost speechless at just how impeccable the weekend was and the sheer joy of being around our dear friends that we’ve missed. 

          I have questioned my decision to come abroad more times than not, and these past few weekends have really been a reality check in the best of ways for me. I am reminded constantly just how lucky I am to be in this position. The time spent with my parents, sister, and friends in London and Barcelona have me overwhelmed with gratitude. Physically being able to hug my parents, hear my sister laugh and be able to sit and catch up (too loudly according to the Shh-er Nazi) with my beautiful friends was exactly what I needed. Thinking back to first arriving in Madrid gives me the butterflies and knowing that our time here is halfway over is mind blowing. However, apparently this “studying” part of study abroad is actually important. So while I’m off to do that LC and Natta are off to Valencia to beach it up at Las Fallas Festival. Updates to come on what will be their second romantic getaway and my solo dinner with Izzy with the dictionary most likely by our sides so we can communicate. 

Xoxo MalPal

Irish I Made Better Puns

How about that title, guys, huh? 

This weekend, our trio parted ways: Mal’s parents and sister came to Europe and they spent some much-needed family time in Mad-City and London while Laura and I headed to Ireland, where we used the phrase “luck of the Irish” at least once every five minutes. Since I unfortunately did not become an honorary Price this weekend, I can only speak for my weekend and will therefore let you stay tuned for Mal’s upcoming post.

Laura’s and my romantic getaway was off to a great start with a lot of unnecessary mentions of Irish luck, as we kept sprinting on to the Metro, massive backpacks jostling around, despite the fact that we allowed like, three hours of travel time to the airport. However, you might say that Laura’s heritage was in play at least a little bit, as we arrived at the airport and waited in a ridiculous line for forty-five minutes to get our boarding passes stamped by the infamous RyanAir, only to discover, upon finally reaching the counter, that savvy college students who refuse to check bags like ourselves need only go to a much, much shorter line off to the side. Irish luck (I’m already annoyed at how many times I’ve typed those two words) also played a huge role in the life of the guy who I sat next to on the flight, as he is extremely fortunate I didn’t punch him square in the nose for leaning over me for the duration of the three hour flight to hit on the girl across the aisle from me. For the record, I’m not sure how much progress he made, as he was speaking in rapid Spanish and also I was too busy pointedly glaring at both of them to even attempt to follow their (stupid, asinine, moronic) conversation.

Miraculously, once on Irish soil, Laura and I managed to make it from the airport to our hostel via bus with no issues. At our hostel, we were greeted by a real-life Irishman (can you tell that we had like, tons of expectations for this trip?) who kept throwing the F-bomb around and told me my passport picture was sexy, which, if your eyes haven’t been graced by this photo, is an entirely accurate statement (if you happen to find mugshot-esque pictures attractive). Anyway, surprise, Mom! We stayed in an 18-person co-ed dorm and naturally the only bunk bed in the entire room that did not have a safety locker below it was—you guessed it—ours. Because we’re quick on our feet, we quickly stole a nearby empty locker, shoved our backpacks in, and headed out into Dublin in search of an authentic Irish meal. Long story short, we were not nearly lucky as we kept bragging that we were, as we went into like five different restaurants that had 30-euro entrees or was accidentally a tapas restaurant. We did eventually find a delicious place with reasonable prices (thank St. Patrick—jk, just thank God) and spent the entire meal talking about how good the food was. Post-delicious dinner (seriously you guys, it was so good that my stomach just audibly growled at the thought of it), we had our first pint of Guinness while enjoying some authentic Irish music at a nearby pub. I will note that Laura sadly did not show off her Irish-dancing skills, as we let a veeeery intoxicated bride-to-be and some fellow Spaniards steal the show (and by steal the show, I mean make fools of themselves, much to our delight).

This picture sucks, but if you look at it while listening to some Irish music that might help

The following day, after unlocking our backpacks mere inches from a snoring, excessively hairy, maybe Jordanian? stranger, we scarfed down the hostel’s free breakfast (which included yogurt and hard-boiled eggs and the way that Laura raved about it you would think she hadn’t eaten at least a week) and once again flawlessly managed to find our tour bus that would take us to the famous Cliffs of Moher and also some other stuff. Shortly into our ride, Laura and I discovered that despite all the advertisements, our tour guide was not actually the “most fun tour guide in all of Ireland” and instead kept shushing everyone over the loudspeaker on the bus. We totally would have thrown our hard-boiled eggs at the back of his chair if we had been certain we would get lunch on this tour, which we were not because I guess research is not a strong point of mine. Regardless, the tour still took us to some pretty neat sites, like Dungaire Castle and a super old abbey (I’m so cultural!) even if they were muddy and thorny and a little chilly.

Moments after I shoved my hand in the face of the guy behind me and made him hold it

The good news is that we did stop for lunch at a phenomenal little restaurant (all of Laura’s and my meal conversations consisted of us talking about how good the food was, so we’re super fun to hang out with) and then finally headed to the Cliffs of Moher. If you’re unfamiliar with what those are, you should immediately stop what you’re doing and watch Princess Bride four times in a row so you can quote it as obnoxiously as I do (aaasss yoouuuu wiiiishhh!!!). Anyway, the Cliffs were gorgeous and Laura even did a little jig and then made me do a whole slew of dumb poses, so let’s just say we were easily the most popular tourists there that day. After that major highlight, the ride home seemed to really drag on, especially since shockingly we were hungry.

Noobs and some awesome cliffs

Back in Dublin, Laura and I discovered that the Irish must eat dinner at like, 4 in the afternoon because pretty much every kitchen in the whole city was closed, or maybe they just didn’t want to serve us with our tangled, wind-blown hair, I don’t really know. We did eventually manage to find a restaurant and I’ll just let you guess what the dinner conversation was that night. After our meal, we hung out for a little while in the hostel lobby and met some neat Danish guys who were in their twenties but also in high school (red flag!). Notably, one of the guys kept mentioning that he was Arab although we caught onto that the first of the twelve times he told us. For example, we would be like, comparing the American and Danish governments (don’t say we’re not cultural) and suddenly he would chime in, “So my mom was born in Palestine and…” Hostels are super fun.

On our last full day in the homeland (I’m not even a little bit Irish), we planned to take a free walking tour that we thought the hostel offered. We embarked on a self-guided tour of Trinity College to kill some time before we had to meet and also to ogle at Irish college guys. Despite making it back to the hostel with plenty of time to spare, we somehow managed to miss the group and had to meet them in front of City Hall… which we tried to do, but seemed to have been eluded by the group. A lot of complaining and whining occurred between the two of us, but we resolved to find some lunch before meeting the next group in a couple hours. The lunch we had was phenomenal (par for the course), so all that whining paid off, no worries. In the interest of time, I’ll skip the details of how moronic it turns out that Laura and I were about the fact that the previous tour had been right in front of our eyes… what’s really important is that we finally got to take the stupid free walking tour. The tour itself was very interesting and we loved learning about Irish history and hearing some humorous stories as we walked with our group for three hours. The major downfall of the tour was the guide, who was pretentious and condescending and that’s putting it nicely. Basically the guy was a real tool. Also he made us do some ice-breaking games at the beginning and I would have felt bad for the fifty-year-old couple from England if I didn’t feel so bad for myself for being back at college freshman orientation. Laura and I don’t let these little things get us down, though, so we easily survived the tour by making fun of the tour guide a lot and marveling at the beauty that Dublin is. Some highlights included the Dublin Castle, the site of Bono’s first concert and the hotel he owns (famous by association!), and the River Liffey. A non-highlight was shoving a ten Euro bill in the guide’s hand at the end and running away out of shame for underpaying, but we are poor college students and he just sucked.

Laura strutting her stuff on the streets of Dublin

Our final night in Dublin was spent hanging out some more with our Danish boyfriends at the hostel and then checking out a few live music joints, including the Brazen Head pub, which is the oldest pub in Dublin, as it was built in the twelfth century.

After a snore-ridden night courtesy of our roommates, we gorged ourselves some more on free breakfast and walked around the city a bit, holding hard-boiled eggs in our pockets, before heading back to the airport. We were sad to say goodbye to such a lovely city and everyone’s cute accents and also everyone’s remarkable ability to speak English and also Laura’s ancestors’ homeland (haven’t made it to Poland yet, sorry Dad), but as always it is so good to be back in Madrid. Mari seems pumped to have us back, as she slapped Laura on the butt before dinner. It was a nice moment.

Stay tuned for Mal’s post—we don’t feel quite as complete without her and that was such a cheesy thing to say that I’m considering just saying something dumb about the luck of the Irish again.

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.