On Wednesday, August 3 after my finals I went on a field trip to what must be one of the strangest historical sites in all of Europe, The Valley of the Fallen. The Valley was commissioned by totalian dictator, Francisco Franco after his victory in the Spanish Civil War in 1939 with the help of German and Italian forces. Spain was in ruins from the war when Franco decided to build the church built into a mountain just north of Madrid, to serve as a resting place for his side’s dead (later all dead from the war would be able to rest there along with Franco himself after his death in 1975). Those that built the Valley worked under slave-like conditions (many Spaniards say that they saw people falling to their deaths off of the 500-foot stone cross that sits on top of the mountain.) The Basilica is huge. A gate had to put in the tunnel that is inside of the mountain so that it would not be larger than Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome. It is a very dominating place. The 500 foot granite cross and giant statues that mark the entrance to the tunnel remind of something that the Empire in Star Wars would construct. Franco lost power when he died in 1975. Many living Spanish citizens remember his time in power. Some Spaniards refuse to ever visit the Valley. The Valley in also a popular meeting place for skinheads that approve of Franco and other past European dictators. There are many opinions in Spain about the Valley. Our tour guide, Pedro, seemed a bit uncomfortable being there. However, it is a functioning church. They have mass and even weddings at the Basilica. The monks of a monastery on the other side of the mountain deal with the Basilica´s upkeep.
I don´t feel like I have enough knowledge of the Spanish Civil War, (a real topic of interest for Ernest Hemingway during his lifetime) or Franco´s rule in Spain to have opinion on the Valley of the Fallen. However, I think that I will be glad that I visited it as I get older. I think that my mother would enjoy the tour of the Valley of the Fallen. It is a very interesting and historic place even though that history is a bit unpleasant.
Wednesday, August 1, 2007
Saturday, July 28, 2007
Salamanca, Avila, and more fun Madrid nights
On Wednesday, July 25 at night I went to water fight party at a local bar. The girls received water guns upon entrance. My buddies and I got soaked. There were all also Spanish boys running around with the guns (I suppose that the bar just did not want American guys getting in on the fun.)
On Thursday, July 26 we went on a field trip to Salamanca and Avila. Salamanca is a college town, but in the summer it turns in to a happening tourist destination for Europeans. We visited the cathedral their, it was pretty much the same as all of the other cathedrals that I have visited on this trip.
Avila was a wonderful city. It is surrounded by walls and is the birthplace Saint Teresa, the patroness of Spain. In the old days, in order for a Catholic Church to be considered legit it had to have a relic from a Saint, this never took hold with Catholics in America. Saint Teresa’s finger is preserved at the Cathedral of Avila. We stopped at a café for a coke at about six in the evening. People were just getting up from the afternoon nap is a part of Spanish culture and heading to the café for beer and what not. The amazing travelling man that I have mentioned lived in Avila for a year and a half. I could defiantly do that if I knew Spanish.
On Thursday night, my buddy and I had some wine, you have to drink some wine when you are in Europe. We then headed to an Irish pub in Sol called Dubliners. A Braves vs. Giants game was on in the bar. We then went to a club called Capital that is near the train station. I rode the metro home at six a.m.
On Friday night, I went to eat dinner with a large group at a chicken place. The place specialized in this cider that tasted like sparkling grape juice. It felt like thanksgiving dinner, sitting with the group of 15 eating poultry and drinking sparkling grape cider.
On Thursday, July 26 we went on a field trip to Salamanca and Avila. Salamanca is a college town, but in the summer it turns in to a happening tourist destination for Europeans. We visited the cathedral their, it was pretty much the same as all of the other cathedrals that I have visited on this trip.
Avila was a wonderful city. It is surrounded by walls and is the birthplace Saint Teresa, the patroness of Spain. In the old days, in order for a Catholic Church to be considered legit it had to have a relic from a Saint, this never took hold with Catholics in America. Saint Teresa’s finger is preserved at the Cathedral of Avila. We stopped at a café for a coke at about six in the evening. People were just getting up from the afternoon nap is a part of Spanish culture and heading to the café for beer and what not. The amazing travelling man that I have mentioned lived in Avila for a year and a half. I could defiantly do that if I knew Spanish.
On Thursday night, my buddy and I had some wine, you have to drink some wine when you are in Europe. We then headed to an Irish pub in Sol called Dubliners. A Braves vs. Giants game was on in the bar. We then went to a club called Capital that is near the train station. I rode the metro home at six a.m.
On Friday night, I went to eat dinner with a large group at a chicken place. The place specialized in this cider that tasted like sparkling grape juice. It felt like thanksgiving dinner, sitting with the group of 15 eating poultry and drinking sparkling grape cider.
Wednesday, July 25, 2007
My Madrid Adventure
On Wednesday, July 25th I did something that I had wanted to do ever since I signed up to come to Madrid. I visited the Real Madrid Soccer stadium! It was so cool. It is huge. It seats over 125,000 people. There are sings that direct the tour, so one can move at there own pace. There were picture of old players and coaches, just like at Turner Field. The tour even took me down onto the field! I saw the bench in which David Becham and Zidane have sat (both have been White Knights at one point or another). I went into the vistor´s dressing room. I am sure that many soccer greats have been in that dressing room. I don´t know if The World Cup has ever been in Spain, but it sure should be. There was also a trophry room. The explanation of the room was in English and explained that no one would ever find such a collection of trophies, because no team has won more than Real Madrid.
My trip to the stadium was also my first trip out into the city on my own. I am very pround of myself. I rode the metro alone and found the stadium. I then rode the metro to Sol just to explore a little. It feels good to know that I can find my way around big city in another country by myself.
Milledgeville is going to seem so boring when I return.
My trip to the stadium was also my first trip out into the city on my own. I am very pround of myself. I rode the metro alone and found the stadium. I then rode the metro to Sol just to explore a little. It feels good to know that I can find my way around big city in another country by myself.
Milledgeville is going to seem so boring when I return.
Monday, July 23, 2007
Into Africa, the wildest weekend of my life.
I was way tired night I packed to go to Morocco, and I forgot to pack my camera, which sucked because I saw some cool stuff. However, this blog is only account of my trip to the continent of Africa, so I am including everything.
The boat from Spain to Morocco was the nicest boat that I have ever been on. We passed the rock of Gibraltar, people live on that thing. A buddy of mine and I talked about how we would throw some crazy parties on that rock. We landed in a Spanish city and crossed the border into Morocco. We were on a bus so we all just passed out Passports forward, but the normal security looked intense. The first city we visited was an authentic Moroccan village. Mohammad, our guide, said that the water was fine, but I did not use more than necessary to brush my teeth and take my medicine. For dinner the first night we had stew, lemon chicken, and fruit (everything is in courses there). Every ware in the town there were natives trying to sell us Hash. Chilling with my friends in a hotel room listening to natives being called to prayer was an amazing experience. The second city was a larger Moroccan city settled by the Spanish and was later a heaven for the Jews for Israel was created. We visited the markets and a pharmacy, I got Craig something that I think he will like at the pharmacy, there was one market called the aphrodisiac market. Mohammad gave us ¨Moroccan Viagra,¨ dates, in the street. The fresh dates were very good. For lunch we had Kous-kous and kabobs. Out side of the restaurant they were all kinds of vendors selling all kinds of stuff. One man kept on hassling my buddy and I. We told him that only thing that we would buy from him was the shirt off of his back. He proceeded to tell us that there were no men in America, only little boys. I think that he meant this to be a hard-core insult. I felt for this part of the world. In a few weeks I will be back in my cosy house in Woodstock, Georgia. The people there will still be living the same way. It makes me remember something that Father Pat always said, if you were born in the U.S.A., than you won the lottery. We also visited a carpet factory. All of the carpets were hand made, and took four months to make. They were for sale, but I declined. I don’t know what I would do with one of those rugs, it would be the nicest thing by far in my Milledgeville apartment. More anti-Americanism awaited us in Tanger. We took a walking tour of the city. I thought it was very nice, but apparently it shady, and I did not even know it. Roberto, our Madrid tour guide that was playing tourist for the weekend, was almost pick-pocketed. Mohammad stopped the thug. Natives were making cat calls towards the women in our group and telling us to go back to America. I did not see any of this, just heard about it. Some children came up me and spoke in French. I had no idea what they were saying, so I just walked on and avoided eye contact. For dinner, we had some crazy pie thing full of meat, and veal, which was good (sorry animal rights folks, but not as bad as the bull fight). One of my fellow students was pulled up with a belly dancer at dinner and forced to put on the garb as well.
I will probably never return to Africa. It was a good experience, but not one that wanted to last for longer than two full days. I was so happy to back in Madrid, and will be even happier when I return to the Georgia. At dinner in Madrid on Monday night, I had a long conversation with a one the professor’s husband. It seamed as though the two of them had been all over the world. I want to seam like that one day, but if my trip to Morocco has taught me anything it is that these things must be spaced out, and one time is enough for many places.
The boat from Spain to Morocco was the nicest boat that I have ever been on. We passed the rock of Gibraltar, people live on that thing. A buddy of mine and I talked about how we would throw some crazy parties on that rock. We landed in a Spanish city and crossed the border into Morocco. We were on a bus so we all just passed out Passports forward, but the normal security looked intense. The first city we visited was an authentic Moroccan village. Mohammad, our guide, said that the water was fine, but I did not use more than necessary to brush my teeth and take my medicine. For dinner the first night we had stew, lemon chicken, and fruit (everything is in courses there). Every ware in the town there were natives trying to sell us Hash. Chilling with my friends in a hotel room listening to natives being called to prayer was an amazing experience. The second city was a larger Moroccan city settled by the Spanish and was later a heaven for the Jews for Israel was created. We visited the markets and a pharmacy, I got Craig something that I think he will like at the pharmacy, there was one market called the aphrodisiac market. Mohammad gave us ¨Moroccan Viagra,¨ dates, in the street. The fresh dates were very good. For lunch we had Kous-kous and kabobs. Out side of the restaurant they were all kinds of vendors selling all kinds of stuff. One man kept on hassling my buddy and I. We told him that only thing that we would buy from him was the shirt off of his back. He proceeded to tell us that there were no men in America, only little boys. I think that he meant this to be a hard-core insult. I felt for this part of the world. In a few weeks I will be back in my cosy house in Woodstock, Georgia. The people there will still be living the same way. It makes me remember something that Father Pat always said, if you were born in the U.S.A., than you won the lottery. We also visited a carpet factory. All of the carpets were hand made, and took four months to make. They were for sale, but I declined. I don’t know what I would do with one of those rugs, it would be the nicest thing by far in my Milledgeville apartment. More anti-Americanism awaited us in Tanger. We took a walking tour of the city. I thought it was very nice, but apparently it shady, and I did not even know it. Roberto, our Madrid tour guide that was playing tourist for the weekend, was almost pick-pocketed. Mohammad stopped the thug. Natives were making cat calls towards the women in our group and telling us to go back to America. I did not see any of this, just heard about it. Some children came up me and spoke in French. I had no idea what they were saying, so I just walked on and avoided eye contact. For dinner, we had some crazy pie thing full of meat, and veal, which was good (sorry animal rights folks, but not as bad as the bull fight). One of my fellow students was pulled up with a belly dancer at dinner and forced to put on the garb as well.
I will probably never return to Africa. It was a good experience, but not one that wanted to last for longer than two full days. I was so happy to back in Madrid, and will be even happier when I return to the Georgia. At dinner in Madrid on Monday night, I had a long conversation with a one the professor’s husband. It seamed as though the two of them had been all over the world. I want to seam like that one day, but if my trip to Morocco has taught me anything it is that these things must be spaced out, and one time is enough for many places.
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Amsterdam: The good, the bad, the sad
One of the guys that I went to the Netherlands´ largest city with is a vegetarian. When I raced him on the moving sidewalk in Sciphol International Airport just after arrival, I felt like the plannet´s biggest hippie. Amsterdam is truly an amazing city, with its canals, old buildings, and cool breeze (very welcome after two weeks in Spain). We took a boat tour of the canals. The Bulldog Palace (shitty name I know) is like Justin and my Milledgeville hang out, Doc´s, but everyone is smoking a joint. For legal reasons, patrons can not buy pot in the bar. They must buy it from the coffee shop next door, but papers are provided at the bar and people are allowed to smoke.
Amsterdam´s ¨Red Light District¨ would be picture-esq. if it was not a playground of smut. It is a canal surrounded on both sides with windows, drenched by red light, containing hookers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. A few things shocked me about the District. Number 1: The locals were so open about it. It was clearly marked on most maps of the city and any resident was glad to point tourist in its direction.
Number 2: The women did a great job at pitching the product. Some were what you world expect, the crack-whore covered in make-up. However, many were very good looking women.
Number 3: I strolled through an ally in the district and watched one text message on her phone. She looked not a day over 19. She motioned for me to speak to her. I asked her how old she was and where she was from. She was 23 and from Bulgaria (I don´t know where that is). She spoke better English than any native of Spain that I have met. I was tempted, but am proud to say that the big head stayed in control, and I left and District with some dignity. Megan would say that my Bulgarian friend thinks with a diferent part of her brain. I am not sure about that, but I do know that the Red Light District of Amsterdam is a place in which men from all over the world make mistakes.
The city is not all sex and drugs. I visited the Rujks Museum which encases many priceless Rembrants. It was a nice museum, much more low-key than El Prodo. I also went to the Anne Frank House. Being in the house in which she stayed, writing in her diary until ulimatly meeting her creul fate was extreamly renching. It made me aware of the inntolerance that exists in the world to this day.
My final thought on Amsterdam is that it is a good place to visit (there will be a Rose Ball in the city during my lifetime, I will make sure of it), but I would not like to live there. It is a little too crazy there. Maybe I am just a borish American. It felt less like another country than Spain, they have adopted more of American culture than Spain. It made me very homesick in a way.
Amsterdam´s ¨Red Light District¨ would be picture-esq. if it was not a playground of smut. It is a canal surrounded on both sides with windows, drenched by red light, containing hookers of all shapes, sizes, ages, and colors. A few things shocked me about the District. Number 1: The locals were so open about it. It was clearly marked on most maps of the city and any resident was glad to point tourist in its direction.
Number 2: The women did a great job at pitching the product. Some were what you world expect, the crack-whore covered in make-up. However, many were very good looking women.
Number 3: I strolled through an ally in the district and watched one text message on her phone. She looked not a day over 19. She motioned for me to speak to her. I asked her how old she was and where she was from. She was 23 and from Bulgaria (I don´t know where that is). She spoke better English than any native of Spain that I have met. I was tempted, but am proud to say that the big head stayed in control, and I left and District with some dignity. Megan would say that my Bulgarian friend thinks with a diferent part of her brain. I am not sure about that, but I do know that the Red Light District of Amsterdam is a place in which men from all over the world make mistakes.
The city is not all sex and drugs. I visited the Rujks Museum which encases many priceless Rembrants. It was a nice museum, much more low-key than El Prodo. I also went to the Anne Frank House. Being in the house in which she stayed, writing in her diary until ulimatly meeting her creul fate was extreamly renching. It made me aware of the inntolerance that exists in the world to this day.
My final thought on Amsterdam is that it is a good place to visit (there will be a Rose Ball in the city during my lifetime, I will make sure of it), but I would not like to live there. It is a little too crazy there. Maybe I am just a borish American. It felt less like another country than Spain, they have adopted more of American culture than Spain. It made me very homesick in a way.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Pre-Amsterdam
I went out with some guys and had a few drinks last night. There was a picture taken of all of us doing the Captain Morgan pose. I hope I see it on Facebook one day.
Thursday, July 12 was awesome. I visited two churches and one convent in Madrid. The convent was amazing. It was founded by a 13 year-old princess from Austria. The area in which the nuns slept was dark and the walls were covered in gigantic tapestries. There was a statue of Christ on a bench bleeding from his wounds suffered of the cross. The say that one time a year the blood becomes real, it is a miracle. The visit to the covent got me intouch with myself as a Catholic man.
I leave for Amsterdam tomorrow mourning.
Thursday, July 12 was awesome. I visited two churches and one convent in Madrid. The convent was amazing. It was founded by a 13 year-old princess from Austria. The area in which the nuns slept was dark and the walls were covered in gigantic tapestries. There was a statue of Christ on a bench bleeding from his wounds suffered of the cross. The say that one time a year the blood becomes real, it is a miracle. The visit to the covent got me intouch with myself as a Catholic man.
I leave for Amsterdam tomorrow mourning.
Tuesday, July 10, 2007
More Art, blood sports and a big adjustment
On Friday, July 7 I went to an art exhibit in Alonzo Martinez, the cultural and swanky area of Madrid. All that the exhibit was was three old women rolling on the ground laughing for four hours, we only witnessed one, but we got the idea. Every now and again the women would get up, one at a time and still laughing mind you, and put up cardbord signs on the walls. I was later informed that most of the signs had to do with death and/or suicide. The whole thing was bit strange for my taste. However, the event was sponsored by Absolute and we got free martinies after the show.
I think that it would be a great Jackass stunt to blindfold a bunch of PETA members and bring them to a bullfight. They a part of the Spanish culture, but that does not mean that everyone in this country loves the bloodshed of bullfighting. The bullfight that I saw was equivillent to a Rome Braves baseball game. The madadors were young and still learing the ropes of the Plaza de Toros, I hear that the best bullfights can run up to 500 Euros. It was the most the brutal thing I have ever seen done to an Animal, one of the girls I was with cried. The bull is not an aggressive animal, it is just attracted to collors and movement. First, the bull is unleashed and runs around the ring as the madadors coax it. The bull in led to gore a horse with armor on. The man on horse back stabs the bull with spear. The bull is stabed with small spears and starts to blead profusly. It is then the madadors time to shine. He leads the bull to gore him and stabs him with a sword attepting to seaver the spinal cord and kill the animal instantly. This did not happen at my first bullfight. Others kept the bull´s attention while the madador tried to pull his sword out of the injured bull. He tried one more time and the bull still would not drop. The crowd booed him. I felt bad for him, as if he was not rattled enough already. One his thrid attemot the bull stubled and fell. Another man staded the animal in the head, it convolsed and was then still. My group took a wrong turn coming out of the arena and saw the bull being skined. I rather enjoyed the bullfight, it was an interesting source on entertainment. I might go back during my stay here in Madrid. I suspect that my friend Chris would hate a bullfight.
My dirty garments, or ropas, are starting to pile up. On Tuesday July 10 a new friend on mind and I search for a luandry mat. We walked for hours and could not find one. It turns out that we have to take a bus to another part of town to get to one. I washed some stuff in my sink, and that was not real plesent.
I think that it would be a great Jackass stunt to blindfold a bunch of PETA members and bring them to a bullfight. They a part of the Spanish culture, but that does not mean that everyone in this country loves the bloodshed of bullfighting. The bullfight that I saw was equivillent to a Rome Braves baseball game. The madadors were young and still learing the ropes of the Plaza de Toros, I hear that the best bullfights can run up to 500 Euros. It was the most the brutal thing I have ever seen done to an Animal, one of the girls I was with cried. The bull is not an aggressive animal, it is just attracted to collors and movement. First, the bull is unleashed and runs around the ring as the madadors coax it. The bull in led to gore a horse with armor on. The man on horse back stabs the bull with spear. The bull is stabed with small spears and starts to blead profusly. It is then the madadors time to shine. He leads the bull to gore him and stabs him with a sword attepting to seaver the spinal cord and kill the animal instantly. This did not happen at my first bullfight. Others kept the bull´s attention while the madador tried to pull his sword out of the injured bull. He tried one more time and the bull still would not drop. The crowd booed him. I felt bad for him, as if he was not rattled enough already. One his thrid attemot the bull stubled and fell. Another man staded the animal in the head, it convolsed and was then still. My group took a wrong turn coming out of the arena and saw the bull being skined. I rather enjoyed the bullfight, it was an interesting source on entertainment. I might go back during my stay here in Madrid. I suspect that my friend Chris would hate a bullfight.
My dirty garments, or ropas, are starting to pile up. On Tuesday July 10 a new friend on mind and I search for a luandry mat. We walked for hours and could not find one. It turns out that we have to take a bus to another part of town to get to one. I washed some stuff in my sink, and that was not real plesent.
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