05 February 2010

Happenings in Zaragoza

Torre de San Gil Abad

La Seo

This church on Coso...

Detail of La Seo

Torre de San Gil Abad

These are all some towers we saw on a recent Art History class excursion. They are all in the "mudéjar" style, which means they were built by Arabic craftsmen under Cristian rule in the 11th, 12th, and 13th century, roughly.

Switching cultures, on Thursday I did a one-day exchange at a trilingual school here in Zaragoza: classes are almost all taught in French, with Spanish (literature) in Spanish and English (language) in English. The girl who hosted me was wonderful, and the classes were interesting - three were in French, so I hardly understood anything. More on this later!

02 February 2010

Back in Business in San Sebastian

The view from our hotel room in Biarritz.

A lovely little bridge in Biarritz, and a woman taking advantage of the definite resemblance to that romantic Titanic scene...

A seaside overlook in Biarritz, looking out over the Bay of Biscay, the same waters that crash against the Boston beaches...

What a relief when Eliza arrived and communication was once again possible!
But an even better feeling (linguistically-speaking) was our return to Spain, where I was the one which dominion over the language. Our hotel was incredibly cute, with pink walls the same bright and cheery color as those of my sister's room at home. The lovely "retro" upholstered furniture was a brilliant complement.
After a pastry breakfast, further beach exploration, and light sandwiches during our rush to the bus, we arrived in San Sebastian. Our first course of action was securing some Spanish hot chocolate, as the rain just begged for some warm chocolately comfort. We then strolled down the (covered) boardwalk lining La Concha, San Sebastian's main beach.
Posing with a column in front of la Concha, decked out in rain boots...my umbrella had already been destroyed by the wind!!

We fruitlessly attempted to find churros, but the second most Spanish gastronomical item around were tapas, and I decided that we would take advantage of that. First stop: a mini crab tart for Eliza and delicious mushrooms a la plancha for me. We next went to A Fuego Negro, mostly because I loved their decor. I couldn't read any of their menu items, as they were a crazy mix between basque and purposely misspelled Spanish, but I knew what the big round tortilla de patatas was, and ordered a slice of the typical thick Spanish potato omelette to go along with our coffee.
I also determined that the mugs in my café will follow this model. But with a little hippopotamus at the bottom.

A bit cold and wet, we returned to our hotel room to make some chai, thanks to a bag sent to me by my mother.
Unlike France, the restaurants in San Sebastian didn't open for dinner until 8:30, so we put in some time shopping the rebajas and grabbing another tapa: mushroom croquettes and a baguette-olive tapenade-goat cheese-pine nuts-dried fruit tower. Deliciousness! Our dinner also took advantage of the great food in San Sebastian: we went to the same Italian place I discovered with Heather, Capriccoso, and split the best vegetable pizza ever.
We wiled the rest of our few hours together talking and wandering the little Spanish streets (and trying another hot chocolate place). We ended up really having to rush to the train station due to some morning lethargy, but we both made our means of transport on time - although we both would have preferred to miss them and stay in San Sebastian!

01 February 2010

An Afternoon Alone en français

A coastal church in Biarritz...

3.5 hours to go until Eliza arrives. I was expecting the Biarritz train station to be suitable for a few hours of waiting - but it is bitterly ocld, and the attached bar is already closed at 8:55 (definitely not in Spain anymore!!). I decided to wander down the street to an open café for some hot coffee, a warm place to sit, and a bathroom (which I thought was lacking in the station until I wandered out to the back and found it hidden away over there). The only bar that seemed to be open within walking distance was where I wrote this post in my little notebook and constant companion. It was filled with old men who definitely didn't speak English, but "café" is the same in Spanish and French, and it certainly was good.
A row of flags outside a beach-side casino in Biarritz...

I had woken up at 5:15 that morning to be sure to get to the Zaragoza bus station on time. The first leg of my trip was to San Sebastián, where I'd have a couple of hours to buy a ticket to Biarritz and grab some lunch. Being tired, of course, I slept most of the bus ride away, and dwindled the other hour or so away admiring the green landscape of the País Vasco, which is a lovely sight compared to Zaragoza's deserty surroundings. The tree-covered hills of the Basque Country also rather remind me of Western Mass, but slightly less beautiful.
Speaking of Western Mass, I stopped into an awesome store in San Sebastián with lots of imported products to buy something to drink, and while the bottled water was cheap, the real maple syrup certainly wasn't!
Almost 11 euros (16 or 17 dollars) for this itty bitty bottle - I couldn't believe it!!
We pulled into San Sebastián around 10:45, and I wet off in search of the PESA ticket booth, easy to find. Since the Biarritz bus didn't leave until 2:30, I had plenty of time to walk to the old party of the city, especially since I already knew my way around from my prior visit. I even had time to wander through a couple churches - gothic with lovely stained glass, and where I discovered that the Basque word for church was, ironically, "eliza" - and found the hotel where we'd be staying the next night.
At the time of writing this, the bartender began to move chairs around - and I assumed he wanted to close - but I didn't want to go out into the cold!!
Anyhow, back to San Sebastián, I bought some fresh-baked organic spelt bread at an all-Basque bakery on Calle Mayor I'd discovered with Heather. Delicious! All the bakeries' windows were filled with giant, appetizing, white-frosted cookies with "San Blas" written in script black chocolate across the tops - so I had to try one!
They turned out to be anise spiced, but not too strong, so I rather enjoyed my monstrous cookie.
The bus ride to Biarritz was gorgeous, tracing the Basque coastline through Irún, Hendaye, and St. Jean de Lux.
There was no border post at all, just a sign announcing that we'd passed Hendaye's city line and an abrupt change to French. I relished the comfort of travelling with Spanish speakers before venturing into a world in which communication would be extremely limited for me.
The bus stopped in Hendaye, as one passenger had indicated his intention to get off there - but no one responded to his announcement of "Hendaya!" As no one moved, the bus driver came to check our ticekts and force the Hendaya-destined passenger to get off. The guilty one was slouched in the back of the almost-empty bus. As the driver marched back to his seat, he complained to the six-or-so of us who were seated in the first few rows, "Qué cara - esto es lo que tiene, mucha cara!", (literally, "what face - that's what he has, a lot of face!", which means he is slightly rude and takes advantage of things) and we all laughed our agreement. I chuckled too, because I understood - a sensation I was soon to miss painfully.
We arrived in Biarritz after about an hour, and I bid goodbye to the last few souls who I'd be able to communicate with. I managed to figure out that the bus that went to the Biarritz train station was the number 2, and that the last bus there ran at 8:32 - I'd have to catch that one and wait in the station until midnight and a half, when Eliza would arrive, and then figure out how to call a taxi.
At the time of writing it was 9:41, and I was back in the station - the café/bar had closed at an hour unthinkably early for Spain.
Anyhow, by hand gestures and my printed google map, I managed to find our hotel. Luckily, a group of French-speaking Americans were checking in at the same time as me, and were friendly and willing to translate for the hotel owner and me.
I dropped off my small bag in our room - a very cute clean one with a nice window. I then headed out to explore a bit. The beach was absolutely gorgeous!
It was incredibly windy, almost so strong that I couldn't walk against it! But seeing as I didn't have to worry about my hair, I didn't mind and enjoyed the salty taste of the air. However, it began to rain, and I took refuge in a juice bar I'd seen during my rambling. I was saved from an awkward hand gesture filled ordering process when I realized that the lady behind the counter was British! I ordered a carrot-raspberry-ginger smoothie, and sat down with Crime and Punishment, our next book for English class, to enjoy some warm and dry reading.
After spending enough time in the café, I went back outside to wander a bit more. I still had half-a-loaf of the bread from lunch, so I decided to buy some authentically French cheese to go with it. Somehow I knew the word for cheese, fromage, so I was able to locate a store with some. I first walked into a meat shop, since in Spain all meat shops always have cheese too. Greeting the butcher with a weak "Bonjour" and a "Je ne parle pas français", I continued with, "fromage?" He replied, "Non," so I continued my wandering down some well-lit side streets and found a little shop with delicious looking goat cheese! Between my French "fromage" and the worker's "poco?", I managed to buy a small slice for just 63 céntimos! (Which makes me feel better about the 2 euros bag of peanut MandMs I bought in the vending machine to fuel me through the next 2 1/2 hours of waiting!)
Returning to the room, I discovered that the bread and cheese were perfect together - French goat cheese is way superior to that in Spain!!
I headed out after a bit, hoping to stave off boredom by reading in a café rather than my room. I managed to order a coffee utilizing the waiter's limited anglais. Around 8:10 I walked to the bus stop, where some girls tried to ask me directions in French. However, an older woman also waiting knew a bit of Spanish, so we talked about the cold and I asked how much the bus costs (I didn't know "euro" could be pronounced so differently in French and Spanish!) until the bus came. It deposited me at the small and disappointingly small and frigid station, walked to the bar for my third espresso of the day, and then there I was - listening to my iPod and polishing off a bag of peanut MandMs, occasionally pacing to keep warm.
I felt really intense when the train station clock hit midnight.

I managed to reserve a taxi when one pulled up and I told him, "Mon ami allee, 12:30, ici". I managed not to die of boredom mixed with insane excitement and a sugar high...and I was glad I hadn't when Eliza's train finally arrived and one of the best weekends yet truly began.