¡Hola!
Okay...since our last attempt to update was thwarted by an expired timer, I'll try to be brief...or breve, as they say here in España. Ha...
Anyway...Madrid, i.e. MadTown (extra appellation courtesy of Dr. Linda), was totally mad. We indulged in a couple of afternoon siestas and did our best to synchronize our biological clocks w/ the Spaniards', but it's no use -- these people can subsist on no sleep whatsoever, I'm convinced of it. They're especially good at savoring/sucking on life's simple pleasures...unlike (many of) us Americans, they know how to pace themselves. Which isn't to say they're espeically efficient...but hey. You can't have your postre and eat it, too.
The cuisine leaves something to be desired. My first meal in Spain consisted of three pieces of toast, a slice of lunch meat, onions, hard-boiled eggs, and half a jar of mayonaise. ¡Que delicioso! Tapas (deep, deep, deep fried bar foods) are generally good, but oh-so greasy, and paella is...well, paella.
Still, the food is cheap, as is the sangria...and the shopping is out of this world. Such sales, such rebatas! Such is the stuff of deflationary depressions. The sites were generally good; Spain's royal palace, official residence of Rey Juan Carlos y Reina Sofia (whose name, by the way, is attached to the very cool modern art museum that houses Picasso's Guernica) is in many ways more impressive than Versailles. On Friday, we journeyed up into the nearby Guadarrama Mountains to visit Franco's chilling, TimBurton-esque basilica, the Valley of the Fallen, and the 16th century royal monastery that inspired it, Philip II's El Escorial. Yesterday, we met up w/ the Baylor in Denia group for paella and a foot-aching, philistine romp through the Prado. It was so good seeing our friends, but we're both more than ready for a respite from beautiful art.
At night, we sipped sangria at tables lining the arcades of Plaza Mayor, did some first-rate people watching, and failed (on multiple occasions) to find this one club. ¡Que lastima!
The hostels were very good. At MuchoMadrid, we chatted it up in the breakfast room w/ some Aussies who showed us video footage of some poor, young mozo getting his skull cracked by an angry bull in the streets of Pamplona...
...and that is where we are headed next. Heh. But never fear...neither I nor Katie intend on running. Katie has tripped over her own feet one too many times on this trip, and I...I've got my great uncle's build, and at the ripe old age of twenty. Much love, Uncle Bob...much love, all. We've got a train to catch. Until next time!
Salud,
S. & K.
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Wednesday, July 8, 2009
Buenos Dias!
Oof. España at last. Katie would like you all to know that she is glad to be back.
Somehow, we managed to catch our 7 a.m. flight from CDG Airport in Paris to Madrid (we did wake up 3:50 in the morning). And so here we are, on the 7th floor/flat of 59 Gran Via making good use of some much appreciated free internet.
After finally escaping from Bayeux, Katie and I, despite having neither bathed nor changed clothes in a solid 24+ hours, soldiered on to Musee dÓrsay to ogle beautiful French Impressionist paintings about which we knew next to nothing. Well worth a visit, though...so long as you do your homework and make sure your camera is charged (ours wasn't -- it died with our pride somewhere in Bayeux). From there, we topped off the day with dinner in Montmarte and a hike to the lover-strewn steps of Sacre Couer, where we admired the mind-blowing panorama while eating ice cream and listening to the French massacre "Billie Jean" (they do try, and more often than not they succeed).
Monday was a day for which our feet will never forgive us. We processed through the ambulatory at Notre Dame (Katie does a superb Quasimodo impression), took in the soaring stained-glass at Saint-Chappelle, and got utterly lost in the labrynthine Cimitiere du Pere Lachaise, where I laid some sugar on Oscar Wilde's tomb (trust me, it's the thing to do...I've got the facial herpes to prove it). Then, after wandering through the Latin Quarter, we tried our very hardest to look posh sipping beverages on the terrace of Les Deux Magots, one of the Lost Generation's favorite cafes. Katie, however, spilled her coffee and spent the better part of an hour daubing at her dress with a Tide-2-Go pen -- much to the waiter's amusement (in his defense, he took a very good photo). Finally, after arriving at the justly famous Rue Cler market two minutes too late, we settled for cheese, chocolate, and a bottle of cheap wine from a nearby grocery store and ended up on the banks of the Seine, where we were mistaken for locals by severely confused river-boating tourists and ordered to "Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!" by none other than...the police.
On Tuesday, we and about fourteen thousand other tourists descended on Versailles like a gaggle of geese on a junebug. The interior of the palace was (IMHO) a bit much, but the gardens were well worth the price of admission.
Before entering the grounds, we dined at a nearby McDonald's packed with pretty, smiling French people doting on their pretty French babies and speaking that pretty, French language of theirs. It's strange (and not a little bit sad, considering how well we were treated in Paris) to think that, at the end of the day, Hewitt Drive conquers the world...
Indeed she does. Until next time...hasta luego.
S & K
Oof. España at last. Katie would like you all to know that she is glad to be back.
Somehow, we managed to catch our 7 a.m. flight from CDG Airport in Paris to Madrid (we did wake up 3:50 in the morning). And so here we are, on the 7th floor/flat of 59 Gran Via making good use of some much appreciated free internet.
After finally escaping from Bayeux, Katie and I, despite having neither bathed nor changed clothes in a solid 24+ hours, soldiered on to Musee dÓrsay to ogle beautiful French Impressionist paintings about which we knew next to nothing. Well worth a visit, though...so long as you do your homework and make sure your camera is charged (ours wasn't -- it died with our pride somewhere in Bayeux). From there, we topped off the day with dinner in Montmarte and a hike to the lover-strewn steps of Sacre Couer, where we admired the mind-blowing panorama while eating ice cream and listening to the French massacre "Billie Jean" (they do try, and more often than not they succeed).
Monday was a day for which our feet will never forgive us. We processed through the ambulatory at Notre Dame (Katie does a superb Quasimodo impression), took in the soaring stained-glass at Saint-Chappelle, and got utterly lost in the labrynthine Cimitiere du Pere Lachaise, where I laid some sugar on Oscar Wilde's tomb (trust me, it's the thing to do...I've got the facial herpes to prove it). Then, after wandering through the Latin Quarter, we tried our very hardest to look posh sipping beverages on the terrace of Les Deux Magots, one of the Lost Generation's favorite cafes. Katie, however, spilled her coffee and spent the better part of an hour daubing at her dress with a Tide-2-Go pen -- much to the waiter's amusement (in his defense, he took a very good photo). Finally, after arriving at the justly famous Rue Cler market two minutes too late, we settled for cheese, chocolate, and a bottle of cheap wine from a nearby grocery store and ended up on the banks of the Seine, where we were mistaken for locals by severely confused river-boating tourists and ordered to "Chug it! Chug it! Chug it!" by none other than...the police.
On Tuesday, we and about fourteen thousand other tourists descended on Versailles like a gaggle of geese on a junebug. The interior of the palace was (IMHO) a bit much, but the gardens were well worth the price of admission.
Before entering the grounds, we dined at a nearby McDonald's packed with pretty, smiling French people doting on their pretty French babies and speaking that pretty, French language of theirs. It's strange (and not a little bit sad, considering how well we were treated in Paris) to think that, at the end of the day, Hewitt Drive conquers the world...
Indeed she does. Until next time...hasta luego.
S & K
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Bonjour!
Salutation, from Bayeux, Normandy, one-time home of William the Bastard (i.e., the Conqueror). It's a tiny medieval town highly reminiscent of that opening scene from Beauty and the Beast. What's more, it's positively bursting with historical significance; Bayeux was the first town to be liberated from the Nazis by the Allied forces that landed on the beaches of Normandy on June 6th, 1944 (Katie, being the history major she is, had to remind of the date). It emerged from two world wars virtually unscathed. As I type this, I can hear cathedral bells pealing in the background.
Katie and I caught the Eurostar from London to Paris last Thursday the 2nd. As you've probably surmised, we barely made it. Our hostel, the Montclair Montarte, is situated in the 18th arrondissiment (district) of the city, just a short, steep climb away from the steps of Sacre Couer, highest point in France. Largely populated by Slovenians and histrionic, west-coast Americans, it's charming nonetheless.
After getting roughly four hours of sleep (between the two of us, mind you), we woke up relatively early on the 3rd, hopped aboard the metro, and hit the Louvre, where we ogled such masterpieces as Venus de Milo, Winged Victory of Samothrace, Delacriox's Liberty Leading the People (the one from the cover of the latest Coldplay album), and (of course) the Mona Lisa. I attempted the smile, and got nothing but an embarassing photo to show for it.
Later that evening, we took a bike tour of the city. The Tour de France it was not; I laid waste to most of the city's traffic cones and incurred the wrath of many a Parisian motorist. We chased the sunset all the way to the Seine, where we hopped aboard a riverboat and made the mistake of not refusing the tour guide's offer to wine (we had to get back on the bikes afterward...you do the math). Still, we made some friends and got a truly capital view of much of the city's superfluous (yet stunning) statuary. Later that night, we watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.
Then, on the morning of the 4th, we decided to celebrate that precious, Franco-American ideal liberté by visiting the D-Day museum here in Bayeux. Unfortunately, in an ill-starred attempt at spontanaity, we neglected to buy our return tickets to Gai Paris and, after looking at a 70m long tapestry, munching on croissants, and banging the tambril with the denizens of Bayeux, we returned to the little train station to find it...closed.
But hey, despite the dirty clothes and puffy faces, getting stranded in a town that looks like a Van Gogh painting ain't so bad. Speaking of which, we are off to Musee d'Orsay. Thanks again...au revoir!
-- S & K
Salutation, from Bayeux, Normandy, one-time home of William the Bastard (i.e., the Conqueror). It's a tiny medieval town highly reminiscent of that opening scene from Beauty and the Beast. What's more, it's positively bursting with historical significance; Bayeux was the first town to be liberated from the Nazis by the Allied forces that landed on the beaches of Normandy on June 6th, 1944 (Katie, being the history major she is, had to remind of the date). It emerged from two world wars virtually unscathed. As I type this, I can hear cathedral bells pealing in the background.
Katie and I caught the Eurostar from London to Paris last Thursday the 2nd. As you've probably surmised, we barely made it. Our hostel, the Montclair Montarte, is situated in the 18th arrondissiment (district) of the city, just a short, steep climb away from the steps of Sacre Couer, highest point in France. Largely populated by Slovenians and histrionic, west-coast Americans, it's charming nonetheless.
After getting roughly four hours of sleep (between the two of us, mind you), we woke up relatively early on the 3rd, hopped aboard the metro, and hit the Louvre, where we ogled such masterpieces as Venus de Milo, Winged Victory of Samothrace, Delacriox's Liberty Leading the People (the one from the cover of the latest Coldplay album), and (of course) the Mona Lisa. I attempted the smile, and got nothing but an embarassing photo to show for it.
Later that evening, we took a bike tour of the city. The Tour de France it was not; I laid waste to most of the city's traffic cones and incurred the wrath of many a Parisian motorist. We chased the sunset all the way to the Seine, where we hopped aboard a riverboat and made the mistake of not refusing the tour guide's offer to wine (we had to get back on the bikes afterward...you do the math). Still, we made some friends and got a truly capital view of much of the city's superfluous (yet stunning) statuary. Later that night, we watched the Eiffel Tower sparkle.
Then, on the morning of the 4th, we decided to celebrate that precious, Franco-American ideal liberté by visiting the D-Day museum here in Bayeux. Unfortunately, in an ill-starred attempt at spontanaity, we neglected to buy our return tickets to Gai Paris and, after looking at a 70m long tapestry, munching on croissants, and banging the tambril with the denizens of Bayeux, we returned to the little train station to find it...closed.
But hey, despite the dirty clothes and puffy faces, getting stranded in a town that looks like a Van Gogh painting ain't so bad. Speaking of which, we are off to Musee d'Orsay. Thanks again...au revoir!
-- S & K
Thursday, July 2, 2009
Hallo!
Here we are in Londontown, sitting in the lobby of the Royal Bayswater Hostel on Bayswater Rd., looking out onto leafy-green Hyde Park. Having just spent two and half hours on the top deck of a big, red bus, we figured now would be a good time to enjoy some AC and bring you up to speed...
On the way to Houston, the Kamperman family paid a lovely little tribute to the late, great King of Pop; we sang all the hits and every one of your old favorites, a capella, sans accompaniment.
And so, ears ringing and hair standing on end, Katie and I boarded flight BA 106 for Heathrow Airport, London, UK, where our still-tender ears were soothed by the sound of many, many British accents. The flight itself was very smooth and rather uneventful, other than the fact that our tickets got upgraded from coach to business class. Katie in particular was thrilled by the coat hooks, night masks, and a little English boy named Benny sitting directly to her left (who, incidentally, stole her blanket and gave her a good mid-flight ribbing in a fatigue-induced fit of passion).
Upon arrival in London, we took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, and from there we strolled through the sun-drenchedstreets towards our hostel, Smart Hyde Park View. This place was smallish; the lobby was full of facial hair and Polish schoolchildren, and the room (which was, of course, in the basement) was perhaps a cupboard in another life. Charming, none the less!
After checking in, we rode the tubes to Wimbledon, where we bought GA tickets and sat on Henman Hill w/ the local yuppies to watch our fellow American Andy Roddick squeak past Aussie Lletyon Hewitt after five total sets. Whew!
From there, we trotted over to Westminster to see the soaring, faux-Gothic facade of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament up close. After munching on some traditional English fare (steak and kidney pie...mmm) in a cozy, wood-panelled dining room, we crossed the bridge and hopped on the London Eye to see the sun set over the sky line. Finally, after snapping a few more photos, we headed home to cozy up w/ four strangers (albeit friendly ones) in an 8'x8' space that couldn't have been intended to lodge anything more than cleaning supplies.
And so here we are, getting ready to pass through the deep dark of the Chunnel into the City of Lights. London was great, and we WILL be back. Until next time!
Cheers,
Sean and Katie
Here we are in Londontown, sitting in the lobby of the Royal Bayswater Hostel on Bayswater Rd., looking out onto leafy-green Hyde Park. Having just spent two and half hours on the top deck of a big, red bus, we figured now would be a good time to enjoy some AC and bring you up to speed...
On the way to Houston, the Kamperman family paid a lovely little tribute to the late, great King of Pop; we sang all the hits and every one of your old favorites, a capella, sans accompaniment.
And so, ears ringing and hair standing on end, Katie and I boarded flight BA 106 for Heathrow Airport, London, UK, where our still-tender ears were soothed by the sound of many, many British accents. The flight itself was very smooth and rather uneventful, other than the fact that our tickets got upgraded from coach to business class. Katie in particular was thrilled by the coat hooks, night masks, and a little English boy named Benny sitting directly to her left (who, incidentally, stole her blanket and gave her a good mid-flight ribbing in a fatigue-induced fit of passion).
Upon arrival in London, we took the Heathrow Express to Paddington Station, and from there we strolled through the sun-drenchedstreets towards our hostel, Smart Hyde Park View. This place was smallish; the lobby was full of facial hair and Polish schoolchildren, and the room (which was, of course, in the basement) was perhaps a cupboard in another life. Charming, none the less!
After checking in, we rode the tubes to Wimbledon, where we bought GA tickets and sat on Henman Hill w/ the local yuppies to watch our fellow American Andy Roddick squeak past Aussie Lletyon Hewitt after five total sets. Whew!
From there, we trotted over to Westminster to see the soaring, faux-Gothic facade of Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament up close. After munching on some traditional English fare (steak and kidney pie...mmm) in a cozy, wood-panelled dining room, we crossed the bridge and hopped on the London Eye to see the sun set over the sky line. Finally, after snapping a few more photos, we headed home to cozy up w/ four strangers (albeit friendly ones) in an 8'x8' space that couldn't have been intended to lodge anything more than cleaning supplies.
And so here we are, getting ready to pass through the deep dark of the Chunnel into the City of Lights. London was great, and we WILL be back. Until next time!
Cheers,
Sean and Katie
Monday, June 29, 2009
Hello, world! Here begins the account of our journey to eight* great European destinations...
Tomorrow's the day! We're set to depart from Houston Int'l Airport at 7.55 p.m, and we're due to land in London some time around 11.00 a.m. on the 1st. There's so much to do, and have we done it all? 'Course not. But hey...sometimes you've just got to know when to go.
Naturally, we've hit our fair share of pre-trip snags. I went to the trouble of ordering us two International Student ID Cards for the sake of getting a discount on our railpasses; yet predictably, I forgot to order the railpasses themselves. Looks like it's gonna be p2p (that's point-to-point) for us! And Katie, in an effort to edit the details of our stay at the duly popular St. Christopher's Inn (i.e., hostel) in Paris, actually cancelled the entire reservation.
So in other words, we are about as ready as we'll ever be. After all, if we were any more ready, it wouldn't be a bona fide European adventure, now would it?
No. It most certainly wouldn't.
Until next time!
-- Sean
*Katie would like to inform you all that we are technically traveling to a total of five countries and seventeen cities (give or take a few). I insisted on sticking with the number eight for no reason other than my utter inability to come up with a title that didn't include some lame reference to a current pop culture phenom, and she'd like you to know that. That is all.
Tomorrow's the day! We're set to depart from Houston Int'l Airport at 7.55 p.m, and we're due to land in London some time around 11.00 a.m. on the 1st. There's so much to do, and have we done it all? 'Course not. But hey...sometimes you've just got to know when to go.
Naturally, we've hit our fair share of pre-trip snags. I went to the trouble of ordering us two International Student ID Cards for the sake of getting a discount on our railpasses; yet predictably, I forgot to order the railpasses themselves. Looks like it's gonna be p2p (that's point-to-point) for us! And Katie, in an effort to edit the details of our stay at the duly popular St. Christopher's Inn (i.e., hostel) in Paris, actually cancelled the entire reservation.
So in other words, we are about as ready as we'll ever be. After all, if we were any more ready, it wouldn't be a bona fide European adventure, now would it?
No. It most certainly wouldn't.
Until next time!
-- Sean
*Katie would like to inform you all that we are technically traveling to a total of five countries and seventeen cities (give or take a few). I insisted on sticking with the number eight for no reason other than my utter inability to come up with a title that didn't include some lame reference to a current pop culture phenom, and she'd like you to know that. That is all.
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