How can I falter, when I'm the rock of Gibraltar?

Hola!

As I was sitting in Cadiz, eating my potaje and croquetas, I realized I had a sudden hankering for fish and chips. Ok, not really, but Gibraltar is 2 hours away, it'd be a crime not to go. So my friend Kevin and I grabbed our passports, and hopped on an EARLY bus (trust me, it was a struggle) to Algeciras.

Curious fact about getting to Gibraltar. There's no clear way, and no Spaniards are gonna help you out there. I say "Gibraltar?" They say "eh? eh? eh? Ohhh G-EE-BRAL-TAHR" in over spanified version. Ok, really? That's the same thing, I know you can understand me. But all the travel schedules and bus lines never refer to Gibraltar. I had so much trouble finding it until I found out they refer to it as La Linea de Concepcion. And there's only two ways to La Linea, either from Malaga or Algeciras. So off to Algeciras we went. What a hideous town. Apparently it has some cool Moorish influence or something (*yawn, I lived in Granada for 4 months, no big deal), but really all we saw were shipping yards and factories.

After dropping us off at La Linea (really just a weird bus station next to a street lined with fast food joints) we walked to the border. When we walked inside, they took a cursory glance at our passport and waved us on. So much for national security.

I kept expecting to cross a specific line, but no, instead it's just an airport runway. I think they stop people from crossing when there's airplanes actually landing. I hope. It's striking how dramatic the change is crossing into Gibraltar. The moment you get there, you're standing on Winston Churchill Ave. There's a red phone booth, and people speaking in British accents around you driving the famous London cab. And the most comical of all. When we were in Spain, waiting to cross the border, it was sunny and beautiful as always. Then almost as soon as we crossed into Gibraltar, it got cloudy. And stayed cloudy. There was a gigantic, grey cloud parked right on the rock. And it wasn't budging. It's as if the British came to Spain, looked around and said "Hey! This place is cloudy like home! Let's take this part!" Sure enough all day long, it was cloudy, and actually started raining in the afternoon.

After walking around the downtown area of Gibraltar for a bit (yes, it has a Marks & Spencer, woo-hoo) we were trying to figure out how to get UP on the rock, an interesting predicament since it's almost vertical. As we were contemplating if we could climb up it, a British chap with bad teeth (I'm sorry, it's just what I notice first!) came up and told us there was a bus that went to the top, with all admissions prices and everything included in the price, and they'd even get you a picture with a monkey. How much? 30 pounds. POUNDS. Are you crazy!? Do you know what I could buy for that? He told us that was the only way up. And so he left us still figuring out the physics of trying to scale the rock without climbing equipment.

Then we heard from someone else there was actually a funicular that went to the top for much cheaper. HAH. Forgot to mention that one, eh mate? So I went to go get some money out, expecting to get British pounds. Oh no, that would be way to easy. No, instead it gave me Gibraltar pounds. Really? Of all the useless crap in this world.. what am I gonna do with that? I have yet to find a place that converts Gibraltar money, and thus it is currently sitting on my desk, with a demonic monkey smiling at me from the bill.

After the 5 min trip up (nice views, but don't look down), we were finally on the rock. I get out, and say "Where are the monkeys?" And then I turn around. Oh, THERE they are. A bunch. Some cute. Some not. My feelings towards monkeys were ambivalent at this point. Yeah, they're kinda cute. I don't know how I feel about touching them, but they're pretty cool. So we walk a little bit farther to the Monkey petting thingy or whatever. There was a huge food pit, and about 20 monkeys scattered around it, sitting on walls and eating each other's ticks, or whatever they do. Then one of the stupid tour guides of those buses that were trying to take us up for 30 quid comes over. He starts offering the monkeys food, trying to coax them to get on one of the tourists so she can take a picture.

I don't know if it's something he did, or just for no reason, but all of the sudden all hell broke loose. The monkeys straight up went Jumanji! One monkey apparently did something wrong, and they all started screaming and launching themselves through the air. OK, my idea of monkeys have definitely changed. Get them away from me, they're not THAT cute. The idiot tour guide is still sitting there with a monkey, saying "come here, monkey, come and take a photo with this nice man". I walk past the monkey, and make the mistake of making eye contact with it. BAD IDEA. I just manage to turn towards the front when I see Kevin's face, and he says "uh oh, uh oh, it's coming." Before I had time to react, I feel a good 10 pounds sitting on my head. Oh lovely. You don't go on the stupid tourist who wants a photo, you jump on me. He grabs my hair and starts pulling it. The entire time I'm just thinking 'please, please, please, NOT the ear'. I don't know why I have visions of him biting off my ear. He sees the scarf around my neck, grabs one end of it, and then jumps off my shoulder. Lovely. I almost get my head ripped off, but I managed to wrestle my scarf back from that scoundrel. But that's the story behind the photo. No, I did not ask for it, I wasn't enjoying it, I just wanted to walk away with my ear still attached.

After that fiasco, I walked around the rest of the day extremely wary of all the monkeys. I wish I could say more memorable things we saw on the rock, but we spent most of the time after that just looking for a supposed Moorish castle, or a bunker or something. We never found it, of course, but it was still cool to see both Spain and Morocco at the same time as standing on British soil. Kevin's cell phone even got a text message saying 'Welcome to TelMaroc', that's how close we were.

I guess the most interesting part was just seeing the complicated relationship between Spain and England focused on this tiny rock. All the Gibraltar residents (weird, I know, but there were a lot) spoke perfect British and perfect Spanish with a Spanish accent. We actually met a young teenager on the bus from Gibraltar, and he spoke both so well. He said they taught them in school starting at 5. But besides this, the Spanish attitude towards Gibraltar was dismissive to say the least. They tried to ignore its existance as long as possible unless they were forced to. I didn't see any British aggression towards the Spanish, but that's because look who's holding the land right now. When we went to Burger King (I know, I know, I never would have usually, but we had hiked for 6 hours without eating a single thing, and all I wanted was a burger), the cashier would say "Next, Siguente" all in one breathe. The dual language used was quite hilarious. Example of an overheard: " 'Oh 'ello there! Howya doin'? 'Ow are the children?' 'Oh, they're doin' right well, I suppose. Dame la caja de bombillas al lado de las tijeras. Tia, que va, el otro lado. Right, well, I'd better go, I suppose. Cheerio!'" No joke. What a glorious conversation to overhear.

Cádiz

I've finally arrived at my home for the next five months! CÁDIZ. It is argued to be the oldest settled city in all of Europe, with proof of habitation dating back 3,100 years! And walking around here, you can see how truly is the Pearl of Andalucia.

Because I didn't go to orientation in Madrid (I went to the Canary Islands instead, see previous post), I met the rest of the group at the Cádiz bus station straight from Granada, and it was here that I met my host family! Here name is Pepa, and she owns her own shop in the middle of Plaza San Antonio filled with quirky little doodads and trinkets. Where else could I get my awesome ladybug earphones? She has a 19-year-old daughter named Alba, who's also a student, and is obsessed, obsessed, OBSESSED with Michael Jackson. The first things she showed me was her Michael Jackson tattoo on her wrist. And then the front page article outlining her obsession in Cadiz' main paper. Apparently when she found out he died, she didn't get out of bed for a week, and when she did, she booked tickets to LA and went to his funeral. Now that's what we call dedicated. They're super nice, welcoming, relaxed. And they're also the owner of Pepa's Grand Menagerie. Ok, that's a joke, but they do have a lot of animals. Which I love of course. I'll put up pictures soon, when they're all looking their very best. There's Turca, who met me at the train station in her little bomber jacket. She's a fox terrier, think of Tin-Tin's sidekick, and she's got the sweetest face you've ever seen. Then there's Coco. How to describe Coco? He's a long-haired Chihuahua, and I'm not gonna lie, when I first met him I didn't know what to do with him. I mean, I didn't want to break him while petting him, or accidentally step on him, but I have to admit, he's growing on me. He has an unhealthy attachment to me, and likes to velcro himself to my leg when I walk in. And he has the funniest habit of wrinkling his nose and barring his fangs when he wants love/affection. Pepa is now very proud of herself because she taught him to go to the bathroom in a litter box. I swear, this dog is weird. Then there's Joselita, who's 1/2 of a lovebird pair. Apparently if they never get a mate the moment they're born, they never die of a broken heart, or whatever they do. At first she hated me (she drew blood from me on several occasions), but now she's also warming up to me. Once Pepa let her out of her cage to fly around a bit, and she climbed onto my laptop, typed around a bit (I like to think she was typing a letter to me in her own language, in which 'szha;e' means 'I love you'). And she then proceeded to climb up me, and park herself on my chest. Then she started pecking me on my lips, and Pepa said to smile, and when I started to smile, Joselita stuck her beak in my mouth, and started to, apparently, eat the food from between my teeth. Ummm, I thought my teeth were pretty clean, but she apparently found enough in there to keep her going for a good 5 minutes, until I had to forcibly pry her off my gums. Finally, there's Elvis. He's a guinea pig with ADHD and a mohawk (those usually go hand in hand anyway, don't they). He sometimes gets a little hyper, and decides to run full speed at the side of the cage and bounce off. He just does this for 20 minutes, its incredible! And that finishes off the menagerie, and I'm so glad I have them all. The house is never boring, I can say that at least.

I should describe our piso as well. Their real house, where I spent my first two weeks in Cadiz, suffered some water damage from a broken pipe or something, so the Ayuntamieno made them move out so they could repair it, and they said it would be a 'long-term' repair job. So Pepa found another piso to rent. And to be honest, I don't know how they're ever going back. It's double the size, and this place actually has windows!!! Before we moved, she kept trying to warn me, like 'Kiki, es muy antigua... MUY antigua'. I didn't understand what the big deal was, 'vale... no pasa nada?' I was expecting the crappiest house ever. But I have moved into a history buff's dream. The whole building has to be about at least 150 years old. Typical Andalucian style. It's on one of the main streets in Cadiz, Sacramento (which I keep confusing with Sacromonte, a neighborhood in Granada), and has a huge, HUGE wooden door. Like 12 feet tall. Once you get in, it's an open courtyard in the middle, with all the apartments all around it. We're apartment 2I, or 2 Izquierda. It's the top floor facing the street. Amazing. I've never seen a house like this. When you open the door to the piso, you're actually opening the door to the outside. All the rooms in the apt open up to the outside courtyard. I don't have any windows in my room, instead I have 1o foot tall glass doors that let in light from the outside. Although apparently it won't always be 'outside'. The glass roof over the courtyard has panes of glass missing, so they just decided to drape a tarp over it for when it's raining. But I love it, it has 4 balconies looking out over the street, which is super fun because we're 2 blocks away from Teatro de Falla. During Carnaval, and leading up to it, all the Chirrigotas (performing groups who sing songs that are like social commentaries, making fun of everybody) do a big victory lap on their way to the teatro/on their way back from the teatro all through the city. And they're always dressed up. We've had Roman gladiators, lost tourists, the pope with his papparazzi, and Marilyn Monroes marching through the streets at 11 o'clock at night with drums and cymbals, screaming 'CAMPEONES, CAMPEONES!' Or sometimes they sing my personal favorite, the Cadiz F.C. (our soccer team) team song: "Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol, Alcohol/ Hemos venido/Emborrachamos/El resultado/Nos da igual!".

My house is also located about a 6 minute walk from La Caleta, which is the only beach in Old Cadiz (there is a very, VERY long beach in New Cadiz, actually I think of all new Cadiz is just one long beach). La Caleta is also probably the oldest part of all of Cadiz. It's so cool, I'm usually sitting there, lying in the sun, thinking about how hundreds and hundreds of years ago, ships we're coming in here from all over the world, full of Romans and Phoenicians and Moors. Super guay. Ok geek moment over.

But anyway, that's a small introduction to Cadiz. I'll definitely post more once Carnaval happens!

Adios!

Madrid y Gran Canaria

I'm finally back in Spain, and boy, was it worth the wait. But I guess I should start in the beginning, since I did a bit of traveling before I got here.

After a nice, long relaxing break at home with the family, I hopped back across the pond to Madrid on January 13. First of all, my flight over here was heaven. I thought Aer Lingus (or as my dad likes to call them, Aer Fungus) was just an Irish airline, but apparently they fly to Spain too! The flight was completely empty so I could stretch out, and we had our own tv with on demand movies, shows, and music videos. Needless to say I didn't sleep much on that flight.

When we finally landed in Madrid, I went to the Consigna, or the luggage locker, and checked my huge I-could-fit-a-human-in-this bag. I had some free time to kill before my flight to the Canary Islands the next morning, so I had booked a hotel in Barajas, a town a little outside Madrid, but that you could still get into the city on the metro. I slept a little, then got changed and got ready to go meet my friend, Kaitlyn, who is studying abroad in Madrid. We spent the day seeing the sites, and thank god it was actually pretty nice weather.

Then I met up with my... ex-host sister?... I'll just call her my Spanish sister, Marian, and her boyfriend Mario. The month before she asked me if I could get her an MacBook Air in America, since it was cheaper, and then she wired the money over. I really felt like Santa Clause when I gave her the laptop ("Soy la reina maga" is what I kept saying over and over again), she was giggling like a little schoolgirl. Moments after they left at 6:30, I conked out.

I had to wake up super early the next morning for my flight, and met my friends Sam and Joey at the Madrid airport at 5 AM for our flight. We were officially going to Gran Canaria! The flight was surprisingly long, close to 3 hours, but I guess when you look at a map, it is closer to Africa than Spain. And oh man, when you stepped out of that plane, you know instantly you were in a different climate. So nice and warm! I can't believe I found a flight with Ryan Air for 8 euros to a different climate and time zone! Our hotel was called Apartamentos BlueBay, and it was really more like a resort. Our room wasn't ready until 4, so we just changed and went down to the huge pool. Me being a moron, I decided that because it was January, and I was only gonna be down for a couple hours, I didn't need sunscreen. Great life choice.

We met the activities coordinator, and we asked him to repeat his name several times, but all I really heard was "Nono". So I guess I'll call him Nono. He asked, no, begged, no threatened us with suicide, to play a game of water polo with "anather naaiiice yung couple". The couple was nice. They were from Norway, and we also asked them to repeat their names several times, and all we heard was the man was named Kitten and the girl Lilo. Kitten & Lilo. Cute. Sam and I were hesitant, because the water was pretty bloody cold. But somehow, without us remembering saying yes, we found ourselves putting on this ridiculous-looking swim cap. I forced myself to get in the pool slowly, because I guess I like torturing myself. Joey was already in and swimming around. Sam decided to just jump in. HAH. When her head emerged from the water, she let out such a bloodcurling scream, literally every single person lying around the pool almost fell off their chaises. After an hour of water polo, we decided to call it a day, and went back to lying like vegetables in the sun.

The nice part about our room was that it was an apartment with a kitchen. So we decided to go grocery shopping, and every night made dinner. Saves money, and it was fun. The first night we made spaghetti, the second was taco night, and then the third night was turkey burgers with leftover spaghetti. So yummy. Although our first night we just stayed in because everyone was so tired, our second night we decided to go out, because Joey absolutely HAD to see the Patriots play (sorry Joey, better luck next time). We actually managed to find a bar that played the game, and of course it was a British bar. What we didn't know prior to coming to the Canary Islands was that it is absolutely crawling with Scandinavians and Brits. Not a single American to be seen for miles. So when they found out there were Americans in the corner watching football, we were the butt of every joke from the DJ booth for the rest of the night (They played "Wanker with white socks" and dedicated it to Joey). That was a fun night.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end, and because Sam and Joey were taking a class in Granada, and they couldn't miss more than 2 days of class, we had to come back. But it wasn't that bad because I followed them back to Granada and got to stay with Manuela and Marian, my host family from last semester, again. It was so nice. She made my favorite salad, and then my favorite rice with her special curry sauce, and made sure to give me lots of avocados. I also had to pick up some things I had left behind at her house that I didn't want to America and then back again. The morning before I left, I was talking to her about what lies underneath her house (trust me, you don't even want to know) and she said that everytime they constructed a house, they found more and more things. So she took me to this construction site two blocks from the house, and showed me people who had torn down the house to rebuild it, and found ruins underneath (she says they were idiots to call the archaeologists, because now they can't build their house for 5 years, she just put the counter back down and stayed mum). You can see the windy road, the ruins of the house, and one of those big Amphora-looking things where they held food or drink. Super cool.

Well, after doing some last minute errands and trying to cram everything I had left behind in my already bursting suitcase, it was time to leave for the next leg of my adventure. Anda, Cádiz!

Paris

Que verguenza. No really, I am so ashamed. It is December 27, and I haven't written in over a month. To be fair, it has been a whirlwind, what with all the traveling, final exams, and packing. So now let me take you far, FAR into the past to November.

Every API (my study abroad program) program has one international excursion, and this semester's was Paris (next semester's is Morocco, woo-hoo!). I was actually surprised we went at all, because the week before we were supposed to go, the US State Dept. released a statement saying that Americans traveling abroad in Europe should be extra cautious of terrorism, especially in Paris. Then on top of that, they were having major demonstrations against raising the retirement age. Oh, don't worry, I'll get to my opinion of that.

And here comes a confession, try not to grab your pitchfork. I'm not the biggest fan in the world of Paris. Not that I dislike it, not even near to that. But for some reason, I don't feel the same pull that has been attracting artists, architects, musicians, or tourists for centuries. I mean, the Hilton's loved Paris enough to name their sniveling little daughter after it. What's wrong with me? Am I immune? I can see the charm it has, but in my opinion, you can't truly enjoy Paris unless you have a lot of money to blow. Something students don't happen to have a lot of. And here comes the final doozy, try not to faint.... I don't see the big deal with the Eiffel Tower. I know, I'm crazy. But really, it's just an oversized, glorified radio tower. It's all iron and metal, and it's really not old (1889). Maybe it's because I'm a history major, but I find things that are old and beautiful attractions. Which Paris has plenty of!

The rest of the API group went on a tourbus to take a highlights tour of Paris, which, no disrespect, to me seems like walking around with a target on your forehead for anti-American radicals. So I opted out and took to the streets. I went to my favorite district: the Marais district. That's where the real Paris is. Away from the Eiffel tower, the Notre Dame, the Louvre. This is just beautiful, ancient streets, sidewalk cafes, and is home to the beautiful Musee Picasso. I didn't get to go to the Picasso museum this year, because it was under renovation, but I went two years ago, and I can tell you it's worth a visit. Then I went to go meet up with my friends at the Notre Dame when they got out of their tour. Luckily enough, some French protestors decided to meet outside the Notre Dame as well. With their banners, and their songs, they're acting as if a huge injustice was done to them. Ok, seriously? Raising the retirement age from 60 to 62? Not such a big deal. America's is between 65-67, so I don't want to hear it.

The Notre Dame is beautiful, of course. Back in the old day, there wasn't that huge open square in front of it, all the houses went right up to the very front of the Cathedral. As I have now excitedly realized, Disney was surprisingly accurate in their portrayal of Medieval life living in front of the Notre Dame in The Hunchback of Notre Dame. Hell yeah! I knew Disney could be used as a history textbook! Ok, maybe not for Pocahontas... Oh, and Victor Hugo, author of the Hunchback, lived and died in the Marais district, and you can still go see his house. Another incentive to go there. But by far the best part of the Notre Dame--- no, Paris--- is the Crypte Arquelogique. It is AMAZING. I cannot stress enough how cool it is. Everyone in the whole wide world knows about the Notre Dame. But what not many people know is that in the square in front of the Notre Dame, behind a couple bushes, is a staircase going into the ground. The Roman ruins of Paris lie intact directly UNDERNEATH the Notre Dame. When you descend into the crypte, you can walk around, and see what the houses looked like. You can see the staircases, where they moored their boats, their front doors. It's incredible. And it only costs 2 euros with a student ID.

Now the last thing I cannot forget to talk about is the food. YUM. Steak Frite, bouillabaise, cheese souffles, and CREPES... all accompanied with a nice glass of French wine, of course. Let's just say I'm glad I walked a lot, because I probably would have gained a lot of weight in that one weekend. Oh well, life's too short. Au Revoir!

5 Things you probably didn't know about Granada...

While reading all my past blog posts, I realized I really haven't really written that many on Granada. Shame on me! Granada is not only the home base for all of my travels, but the most beautiful city on earth, with the most interesting buildings, culture, views, food, and people. So in honor of my beautiful home, here is a list of things you probably didn't know about Granada. And I know... some of these may apply to all of Spain.

1. "Granada" means pomegranate in Spanish. And they like to remind people by putting little iron pomegranates all over the city at just the right length so that my knees are perpetually black and blue.

2. Spaniards have an obsession with the lottery. All day, every day, you will be assaulted by young men, old men, old women, young children trying to sell you tickets for "el premio gordo". And the most amazing part of all... people buy them EVERY day! That's who we call people with issues.

3. We have here a very small and close-knit community that can only be found in Granada. No, they're not the gitanos. They're the perroflautas. Dog-flutes. Who are they? Let's examine the word. Perro-flautas. They're certain people who like to wander around with unwashed hair and low-crotch pants of rainbow colors, performing songs on flutes or other strange instruments with varying success, and always, ALWAYS, have some sort of mangy dog following them. It is up for debate where they live and how the actually manage to support themselves, since I have literally never seen one work.

4. The botellón. A very important Granada institution. Apparently a few years ago, those who couldn't afford bars (read: students) would just go to the supermarket and pick up alcohol there and drink it on the street with their friends. But as you can imagine, it got kinda messy. Not to be too graphic, but I don't even want to imagine all the bodily fluids that were flowing down the street on a Sunday morning. So they decided to designate one parking lot in the outskirts of Granada to be the only place where people can legally drink in the street. And let me tell you, any given night, you will find approximately 75% of the Universidad de Granada student population congregating there, with a few Americans thrown in. Trust me, it makes for some fun times.

5. If you ever come to visit Granada one day (and you should), you no doubt will be strolling along the Cathedral, soaking up the sun and enjoying life. All of the sudden a nice, old lady will approach you and offer you a sprig of rosemary. You would think, 'oh, how nice, I do love the smell of rosemary'. As you start to walk away, sprig in hand, the nice, old lady will turn into an evil hag before your eyes. She grabs your hand with the pretense of reading your palm, and then will not let it go until you give her money. This is the gypsy-giving-you-rosemary scheme, and somehow, it always works on tourists. So beware!

That's a little taste. I'll try and add more every week or so. See you all soon!

Dublin

I finally went! I have been wanting to go to Ireland for a long time. For the same reasons everyone else wants to go: the supernaturally green landscape, the history, the nightlife, and the irish accent. Although unlike the rest of America, I did not go to Ireland to rediscover my heritage. I cannot, for the life of me, understand how about 60% of the US has Irish in them. After the potato famine, I guess the only thing they could do to pass the time that was free was have babies, and lots of them. And you could tell in Dublin. Many tourist shops offered plaques with your Irish last name, and then they would include the history of your tribe, or your clan, or whatever you call it. I thought about making up an Irish name... how about Eileen O'Donnell in honor of my favorite song.

Dublin is surprising a pretty city. When people come to Dublin, they don't really say, "Oh my Gosh, Dublin is just a breathtaking city!". They actually say, "Oh my Gosh, the beer in Temple Bar is 9 euros! But I don't really remember paying, so I guess it doesn't matter...." Temple Bar is everything you expect it to be: expensive, touristy, crowded, strange, and beyond all else fun. I almost expected for myself to hate it, because that seems to be the general trend for me (I know, I know, sue me I don't like the Eiffel Tower). But you can really get in the mood! Everyone around you is having fun, so you have fun. The best part is the live music. After bar hopping to about 7 different bars, we finally settled on one that we really liked the music. We were once again the only girls in the bar. What is it with these ratios in the UK? But I soon realized that all the men standing around us had smiling, rosy faces, all were drinking heavily, wearing strange clothes, blonde hair, and blue eyes, and were singing badly. Oh God, my people followed me to Dublin. I think about 70% of that bar was Dutch. And the fun part was they thought we couldn't understand them. Hehe. Apparently I smell good. Regardless of the lack of Irish company, we still had the time of our lives.

The next day we went to Trinity College, which is one of the most beautiful campuses I have ever seen. But no fair, because I'm pretty sure they spray-paint their grass green. The Book of Kells was there, but I didn't get to go in and see it because it cost 7 euros, and I was the only one in the group who had heard of it, and I didn't want to drag them all in there and make them pay. So I consoled myself with going to Dublin Castle. But once again, traveling on a student budget bites the big one. So eating won out over touring inside the castle. Oh well, it was a good mashed potato.

Liverpool

HOLA!

Lo siento for the wait! But now I'll make it up to you...

Among the many trips that were booked during long nights in an "internet bar" (great decisions were made there, I can tell you), one of them was to Liverpool and Ireland. I've always wanted to go to Ireland, for obvious reasons, have you ever seen a picture? The Liverpool stopover? Yeah, that was kinda done for economical reasons... so cheap! So after a horrendous travel schedule (I've found there's a reason RyanAir's tickets are so cheap, it's because all their flights are at 3 in the morning), we finally arrived in Liverpool.

The first thing I thought as the plane was landing was 'holy crap! It's sunny! In England? How can it be?' My second thought was "wow. look at all those smoke stacks and factories.' Ok I'm being unfair, Liverpool does have its charm. It just also is still recovering from a horrendous post-World War II economic decline. But its coming along very nicely, I'll say that.

Liverpool is probably most famous for some band that had a few hit songs a while ago (hint: an insect). So of course I was excited to see where they were from. We got off a bus stop called Penny Lane! The airport is called John Lennon International Airport, and there is a big, yellow submarine when you walk outside.

Not that they're proud or anything. Unfortunately we really weren't in Liverpool that long, more like half a day and that night. But we found a beautiful pub called The Phillharmonic, and I mean really, the most beautiful pub ever.

I would not have been surprised to see Winston Churchill and Dumbledore playing chess in the corner. It simply oozed with good taste and faded grandeur. So because we were in a proper British pub, I went up to the bartender to ask him what he recommended to drink. It went a little something like this: "Hi, what would you recommend me to drink? I don't really like heavy beers." Him: "Of, hugh aveint tryd dah best kyinduh. Lemme paw hugh sumfin spesha n hugh tell me wha hugh fink." I literally could NOT for the life of me understand what this man was saying to me. I asked him to repeat himself 3 times. "Aaaeeuoogghh so hugh donna speak Liverpuddlian, duye?". I thought I spoke English, and last I checked that's what they spoke in Liverpool. But no, I was sorely mistaken. After having some poor gentleman at the bar finally translate for me, I sat down with a huge pint of something very austere and British sounding, and actually pretty good!

We then scarfed down a huge meal of something called "sticky chicken" (that's what happens when you don't eat for 10 hours), and decided to go onto another bar. One of the things we noticed about Liverpool: there are not a lot of girls. Really! I think I spotted about 20 the whole time we were there. Everytime we walked anywhere, everyone's heads swiveled :"girls!". Weird. So if anyone back home is frustrated with the Mary Washington ratio, and doesn't mind having to learn Liverpuddlian, have a go in Liverpool.

The second bar was nice enough, although we all first thought it was a Gentleman's club (no, not that kind), so that we had to ask if we were even allowed to be inside. They just laughed. I got myself a nice, tall glass of Pimm's. I LOVE Pimm's. Then we met this guy, Daz, who lives in Liverpool but is originally from Umbria. Talking to him confirmed my realization that I could not speak the language here. But with my friends translating, it wasn't that bad. He couldn't believe that there were Americans there. "Wihyy fo fooks sak wood hugh caom to Leeverpool?" Why, to meet people like you, my classy British friend.

The next morning, it was onto Dublin. A short, but cheery and brash visit to the home of the Beatles, the famous football team, and a language so strange that I could spend the rest of my life watching them talk. Except not, because then I would have to look at their teeth.