Lima's Culinary Delights

Hello from the Southern Hemisphere!  I am writing you from Lima, Peru, where I have spent the past four days doing little more than walking and eating.  One does eat a lot in four days, so therefore I have plenty to write about!

My trip started with my earliest flight ever -- 5:28 AM Monday morning from Washington Dulles, catching a Copa Airlines flight to Panama City.  I had some fears of traveling through a decrepit Central American airport but everything turned out easy-peasy.  Aeropuerto Internacional de Tocumen in Ciudad de Panama isn't a bad facility at all and has some exquisite duty-free shopping at Lacoste and the like if you have time to burn on a layover.  Copa Airlines is the Latin American little brother to Continental and was a smooth ride, though if you don't like being awakened by a call for desayuno you may not be perfectly thrilled.

Lima is only about 3500 miles south of Washington DC and is on the same time zone, so with such an early departure I was able to arrive in Lima at around 3PM, giving me some time to enjoy the end of the day in the city.  I have been staying at a great hostel in the Miraflores part of town, safer than most of Lima and probably the best place to park yourself if you're a tourist here.  My buddy Michael had already arrived ahead of me and met me at the hostel.

We did some walking around the area, through the artisan market at Parque Kennedy and the tourist trap restaurants on the Calle de las Pizzas down to the Oceano Pacífico.  Strangely, I had flown more-or-less due south and gone from one ocean coast to another.  We walked to the Larco Mar, an American-looking outdoor mall complete with a Starbucks and a TGI Fridays.  Definitely gringo territory.

After enjoying a Pilsen beer along the waterfront, we walked to the elegant Miraflores Park Hotel, quite possibly the fanciest hotel in Lima, where we met up with a few Darden second-years at the Dr. Jekyll & Mr. Hyde bar.  They had just finished the Inca Trail and had the best things to say about their trip -- cannot wait to start our hike in a few days!  At the bar I did some more Peruvian beer sampling, trying Cristal and Cusqueña, with Pilsen being the consensus favorite amongst us Darden folk.  We moved from here to Rafael, quite possibly the most expensive restaurant in Peru!  I had a delicious meal of fried squid, grilled sea bass served in a mushroom sauce, and churros served with Nutella.  I also sampled my first pisco sour, the Peruvian national cocktail, containing a grape liquor (pisco), lime juice, egg whites, and bitters.  Service not good, though, so at $53/head I will call this place overpriced!

Day two started solo.  While Michael and the first-year Darden Peruvians were being courted at a six-course lunch held by McKinsey & Co., I slept in and awoke to walk further around Miraflores.  I was a little afraid I wouldn't find lunch on my own with the five words of Spanish I know, but I managed to survive at a pleasant empanadería.  Unfortunately, empanadas are Argentinian!  I spent a couple hours getting to know the neighborhood, walking through the Plaza Centro America and past the Peruvian Papa John's ("Mejores Ingredientes.  Mejor Pizza.") to the Parque Del Amor, well-known for its rather controversial statue of embracing lovers.

I returned to the hostel for a nice siesta before being picked up by Michael and our Darden Peruvian friend Antonio, who drove us in his nicely-appointed Audi A4 to the posh suburbs of Lima, where we met our friends Javier and Ariana.  Drivers in Lima are crazy and the traffic here is the worst!  I would be in about 12 accidents per day if I were driving here.  Also, pedestrian safety is almost non-existent here -- like China you need to keep your head on a swivel here.

The five of us caught up over a couple Pilsen beers, then drove back to the city and parked ourselves at Bar Huaringas, a trendy lounge, where we met Darden Peruvians Jaime and Melissa.  Our friends were great hosts and made sure we kept the pisco sours flowing (I highly recommend the maracunya sour, same drink but mixed with the juice of passion fruit).  We also ate like kings, feasting on sampler platters with tamales, stuffed peppers, roasted pork (chicharron) and my new favorite, cow's heart (corazón).  From here we taxied to Larco Mar to a club with a cover band playing American rock-and-roll hits from the likes of AC/DC and Journey.  They LOVE American music in Peru, especially 80's music!

On Wednesday, Michael and I went to the Barranco neighborhood, the bohemian part of town also along the coast.  The neighborhood was quiet with little to see during the day, so we sat down for lunch at a cevicheria named Canta Rana.  Ceviche is a dish of fresh raw fish marinated in lime juice and peppers.  I ordered a mixto plate with octopus and fish -- delicious!  I also ate some of Michael's plate of calamari (chicharrones de calamar) and drank a couple more Pilsen beers, then pretty much needed to be rolled out of the place with a food coma.

We taxied back to Miraflores to visit the Huaca Pucllana, a pre-Incan mud-brick pyramid.  A pretty random bit of history in a bustling city, sort of like the ruins you see scattered around Rome.  From here we headed back to the hostel for a break, then back out to the San Isidro neighborhood, the richest part of the city.  We sampled the espresso at a local cafe and ate at a great little Italian place, one of those little 10-table restaurants, with served some great cannelloni.

This morning we set our alarm and met Jaime and Melissa for a trip to the city center on Lima's new city bus, the Metropolitano.  From Miraflores to the Centro in 15 minutes would have been unheard of with Lima's traffic, but this bus gets its own lanes and is a super easy ride.  The four of us visited the Plaza de Armas, home of the presidential palace, then toured the catacombs underneath the Iglesia de San Francisco.  Unfortunately no cameras allowed, but super cool, especially if you like bones!

Melissa's family is from China, so she knows all the great Chinese restaurants in Lima (called chifas).  We ate brunch at a great dim sum place near the city center, eating Cantonese-style dumplings, pork, and stuffed rice noodles.  From here we walked around the busy markets of the city center watching desperate Limeños struggling to find last-minute Christmas gifts.

This walk turned out to be much needed as we were heading to our next meal with Javier and Ariana at Panchita, a modern Peruvian restaurant headed by local celebrity chef Gaston Acurio.  Gaston was eating food and greeting visitors -- gotta love when the chef is hanging around his own restaurant.  I couldn't believe how much food our hosts ordered -- anticucho (skewers) of corazón, delicious potatoes, stuffed peppers, more roast pork, goat served with beans, a savory chicken with a yellow sauce (Michael's favorite), flan and picarones (donut-like fried treats) for dessert.  For about $25, perhaps the best food value I have ever experienced!

So, as you can see, Lima doesn't have a whole lot of traditional touristy things to do, but it has a ton of great food to eat!  You don't need a big budget at all (unless you're dining at Rafael) to eat really, really well.  From here we are onward to Cusco.  Our friend Anoop arrives late tonight and we fly up to 11,000 feet in the morning!

My Spanish is improving slowly and I hope to be communicating at the level of a 2-year-old by the time I leave Peru.  Feliz Navidad to all my American friends!

Six Days to Peru!

My whirlwind Darden semester has ended and now it's time for winter break!  To celebrate successfully completing 25% of business school, a couple of my business school buddies and I are heading to Peru for the holidays!  While there, we're going to explore with some of our local Darden Peruvian friends, eat some amazing food, and hike the Inca Trail.

Traveling to Peru with Michael Barnett (to my left) and Anoop Singh (to the left of T.J.)

The itinerary is as follows:

December 20-23: Lima, Peru.  The capital city.  Not much to do there is the way of tourism, but all of the native Darden Peruvians live in Lima, so we hope to meet up with some of them in their native land.  Also supposed to be the home of some great eats!

December 24-25: Cusco, Peru (part 1).  We hope a couple days at the high altitude (11,000 feet) will acclimatize us to the thin air we will be hiking through on the Inca Trail.

December 26-29: Inca Trail.  A four-day hike with a guide through the Peruvian Andes, ending up at the famous Machu Picchu!

December 30-31: Cusco (part 2).  A New Year's celebration in Peru's most hospitable tourist destination.

January 1-2: Puno.  On the shores of Lake Titicaca, this place is home to 41 man-made floating reed islands, still the homes to many Peruvians!

January 3: Easy day in Lima.

January 4: Return to the USA

The backpack is back!

First trip to South America for me.  Clearly a continent missing from my summer trip, I'm glad I'm finally about to make a visit!  Have pulled out the old backpack from my basement and am trying to make room for all the important essentials again.

I'll try to post pics while I'm on the ground there.  Wherever you are, have a happy holiday season!

Photos Posted and Around-the-World Trip Epilogue

The whole 11-country trip

 At long last, I sat down with the 3000 photos from my trip and went through the arduous task of captioning and figuring out what the heck I was doing in all my pictures. Good thing I had the blog to reference!

The 500 or so best pics can be found on Facebook in 4 albums:
New Zealand and Australia
Shanghai and Hong Kong
Singapore, Phuket, Malaysia, and Dubai
Istanbul, Croatia, Ibiza, and Barcelona

With four months behind me since returning to the US, I now realize just how busy I was this summer. Unless you're flying on Air Force One, 11 countries in 63 days is pretty hectic. If I were to embark on a similar trip I would take it much slower, maybe spend a couple weeks in each country before leaving.

The around-the-world trip gave me some good talking points when I met international students during my first days at Darden. Classmates from Dubai...hey, I've been to Dubai...it's hot! Classmates from China...look, here's the three words of Mandarin I picked up in Shanghai. The ESADE exchange students from Barcelona...your city can be a little sketchy.

My passport expires in about a year and it is definitely a keeper. I only have two full unblemished pages left, sort of what I imagine happens if you're an international pop star or a super spy (though those guys tend to have the suitcases of fake ones).

I'll keep this blog active as a travel blog, and just FYI I have a couple more international trips in the works, so stay tuned...

Mom’s House == Best Hostel Ever!!

Coming home to the USA made me every bit as happy as I thought it would. No more trying to decode foreign menus or communicate with shop workers using nothing but hand pointing. No more uncertainty about how I would make it from Point A to Point B or where my next meal would come from. For once, I was in a land where everything already made sense for me, and after two months of traveling I no longer had a need for serendipitous adventure.

Not much had changed at home since I left. I thankfully had missed much of a brutal East Coast summer in milder climates. Top story in the news before I left was the BP oil disaster, and sadly that was still the case two months later.

New developments were minor. My mother had acquired some sheep for her farm, so now I could wake up to see furry animals munching on grass. My brother was at French camp. One sister needed surgery on her shoulder and the other was pulling long hours at two summer jobs.

Understandably, my mail pile was massive. Thankfully my mother had opened up anything that looked important while I was away. My first two days were spent tediously making sure I had paid bills and otherwise had my life back in order.

I made my return to DC on Friday. After a doctor’s appointment confirming a clean bill of health (travel raised my cholesterol but lowered my weight), I met up with a couple former coworkers for lunch at our old favorite pizza joint. Afterwards I poked my head into my old company’s new headquarters, and hadn’t expected to spend two hours working my way around to talk. People were curious about my adventures and a surprising number had followed my blog. I received two comments from almost everyone in the office: “You look very tan” and “You look very healthy”.

In the evening I sat myself down at my favorite bar in DC, Local 16 on U Street. The unruly heat prevented me from enjoying the roofdeck, but I was able to meet up with other old friends from the air-conditioned comfort of the lower levels.

In my mind I reflected on how little I had taken in DC ask your typical tourist. Granted, over 6 years I had taken in almost everything imaginable, from the White House and Capital tours to climbing the Washington Monument to gazing at the planes at the Air & Space Museum to running through Rock Creek Park to bar-hopping in crazed Adams Morgan. But in my camera I had taken very few photos of a very photo-worthy city. Here’s one of what is today the Obama residence, from the archives.

Onwards to Charlottesville, Virginia, home of Thomas Jefferson!

Really Long Travel Day, But Home!

Monday was the last day of my two month epic journey. It felt really good to be getting back to recognizable territory, and I had no idea that two months of travel would make me miss home so much. Traveling was wonderful, particularly at the beginning of my trip when I was full of energy, but by July I had worn down, and even the best of travel destinations I was willing to trade in for a home-cooked meal and some familiar faces.

The final piece of my journey was not going to be easy. Given Barcelona's status as a non-hub airport, and given the high airfares to Europe this summer, I needed to sacrifice convenience to get a flight within my budget. Tracking gyrating flight prices in April made me a little nervous, and when I saw Orbitz advertising Barcelona to Dublin to Boston to DC for a couple hundred dollars cheaper than the next closest option, I frantically clicked "Buy Now", purchasing the first flight of my journey. As a friend put it, "You're either brilliant or insane for booking the last leg of your trip first."

As I had managed to arrive in Barcelona as scheduled, the stars were aligned for me to arrive home on time! Let me provide you with the play-by-play commentary I wrote down during my 24 hour travel day:

06:05 Central Eastern Summer Time (UTC+2): I am woken up by Australians returning from a late night out in Barcelona. Bloody hell. At least I'm not going to miss my morning flight. Love them or hate them, the Australians definitely take the crown for heaviest partying nationality I encountered on my trip.

06:55 CEST: I check out of my hostel, strap on my money belt, and venture out vigilantly into the pickpocket infested streets of Barcelona.

07:55 CEST: I arrive at "El Prat" airport, well in time for checking into my 10:50 flight. There's no one yet staffing the Aer Lingus counter and a queue has formed.

08:20 CEST: T minus 2.5 hours to the flight, and still no agents available for check-in. When I had booked the flight, Aer Lingus was teetering on the verge of bankruptcy, and I hope that there isn't a labor strike today that I didn't get the memo on.

08:25 CEST: I make friends with the family of 4 behind me in the queue, who are also transferring to the Boston flight in Dublin. They finish their day with a 90 minute drive to Maine, and have been on a 3 week cruise in the Mediterranean. They ask about my trip and I mention that I have been traveling around the world for two months. The father, slightly unimpressed, comments, "I did something like that once for a whole year...started in India." Once again my trip has been outclassed.

08:30 CEST: Some airline agents appear but no one is being checked in yet. The Maine guy speculates that it's their first day and they therefore need to be trained. Indeed it does appear that the delay is due to someone needing instruction.

08:45 CEST: Passengers finally start getting checked in, and I'm relieved that I will have time for a leisurely breakfast at the airport.

08:50 CEST: My discipline for getting to the airport early is rewarded with a window seat in the exit row for my first flight. As the New Zealanders say, sweet as!

08:55 CEST: I start my day off with a delicious jamon bocadillo, a fruit cup, and a big water.

09:20 CEST: I have some euros to burn and need a pick-me-up. I order a cappuccino.

10:15 CEST: Boarding for the Aer Lingus flight to Dublin commences by walking onto a bus and riding to an Airbus A320 in the middle of the tarmac. We are really out there.

10:20 CEST: My exit row window seat is blocked by two teenage Irish girls who don't seem to understand that seat "C" is on the aisle. I don't enforce my seat assignment and take the aisle seat, promising in my mind to be very passive-aggressive if either of the girls dares to use the restroom during the 2 hour 10 minute flight to Dublin.

10:50 CEST: Airborne for flight #1, on time.

12:05 CEST: I awaken from a nap. Pull my iPod out from my bag, as I'm in serious need to listen to some America-inspired music. Homesickness has hit a crescendo. I have a fair bit to choose from, such as "American Woman" by the Guess Who, "American Boy" by Estelle & Kanye West, and "American Idiot" by Green Day.

12:30 CEST: I move to "Born in the USA" by Springsteen.

12:40 CEST: Now listening to Jimi Hendrix's "Star Spangled Banner". Realize why old people in the 60s hated hippies.

12:50 CEST: Pilot's announcement about impending arrival to Dublin. I feel the need to fire up some Irish music on the iPod, and switch to the Cranberries.

12:15 Irish Summer Time (UTC+1): Arrival at Dublin airport.

12:20 IST: Disembark the plane via stairs and observe that summer has temporarily ended. It's overcast and 17 degrees C (63 degrees F). Am glad I am wearing long sleeves.

12:25 IST: The boarding area at Dublin Airport is one of the worst I've ever seen for what is not a small facility. I take a long walk to my connecting gate down a tight crowded hallway.

12:27 IST: I'm amused by the use of the Irish language on all the airport signage, as I thought everyone in Ireland spoke English. I've never visited Ireland (besides the airport of course), but am I wrong?

12:30 IST: I see that I will need to clear passport control, odd as I'm not leaving the airport and I traveled between EU nations.

12:36 IST: I officially enter Ireland and receive yet another stamp in the old passport. Very friendly Irish agent directs me to the Aer Lingus transfer desk.

12:40 IST: Receive my boarding pass for the Boston flight and instructed that I need to report for boarding in 5 minutes, despite scheduled departure not being until 14:00. Bah. Plans for lunch in Dublin airport are thwarted.

12:45 IST: Long trek towards my connecting gate.

12:50 IST: The airport quality has improved considerably beyond passport control, and I'm now passing lots of good restaurants and Guinness pubs. Dammit. I really want to catch my US flight, though.

12:55 IST: Finally reach my gate area, and see that I will actually need to clear US passport control to board my flight. Novel pre-clearing procedure -- I had only seen this in Canada before. Fill out my customs form and proceed.

13:02 IST: I officially leave Ireland after a 26 minute stay. DHS agent comments, "You've been to a lot of countries on this trip, haven't you?"

13:05 IST: "Entering the US" consists of gaining access to a cramped holding pen with people waiting around for the Boston departure. Walls are plastered with information about "The Irish in America", "Emigration from Ireland", "Contemporary Irish America", and "Ireland and America in the 21st Century", containing pithy statements of important knowledge such as, "Emigration from Ireland to the United States is a long established practice."

13:10 IST: I need some food and water, but all I see are a couple vending machines and a tiny cafe. I enter the latter, purchase a Danish and a bottle of water. Rings up to €4.59, and for the first time in my life I receive back the €0.01 coin. What a piece of rubbish.

13:30 IST: Receive notification from the gate agent that she apologizes for the brief boarding delay which is due to a "minor" technical issue. Update promised at 13:45.

14:00 IST: The "13:45 update" arrives 15 minutes late, and we have bad news. The flight is delayed and we won't receive another update until 14:45.

14:15 IST: I fire up the iPod again and turn on "Zombie" by the Cranberries, because I feel like one now.

14:20 IST: I need some American music again. iPod switches to John Denver's "Take Me Home, Country Roads".

14:30 IST: The airline gods had been so friendly to me for the past two months. Had taken 20 flights and each was within an hour of being on time. And I hadn't lost my backpack despite needing to check it each time. My luck appears to have finally run out.

14:40 IST: I realize I now stand little change of making by 18:02 connecting JetBlue flight in Boston, and run through the scenarios in my head of what to do if I get marooned in Dublin.

15:00 IST: "14:45 update" arrives late to inform us that, in fact, they have no new information and will update at 15:15.

15:05 IST: I've reached my breaking point. In need of food, drink, and psychological relief I head back to the cafe, by now picked clean of almost all food items. To alleviate all 3 ailments I choose a bottle of Guinness, which appears to have been placed there for precisely this scenario. There probably hasn't been a run on these because you just don't get that full Guinness experience from a bottle.

15:10 IST: Guinness rings up at an outrageous €5.50 ($7.09). Feels even more extortionate considering it's brewed just down the road, it's served in a bottle without a widget, and I don't even get a glass to pour the beer in. In spite all this, the Guinness is still pretty refreshing.

15:15 IST: For once we receive an update on time. We're now promised a 16:30 departure with boarding commencing at 15:50. Relieved that at least I will end up in the US tonight.

15:20 IST: With my foreign currency balance dwindled to €2.26, I decide I need to clean out. I finish my Guinness in the cafe and hear a guy at the counter order a bag of chips for €1.40. I decide that's what I want and I jump back in the cafe queue, which is now quite long.

15:30 IST: Still standing in the cafe queue, chatting with the American in front of me. Turns out he lives in Appleton, WI and went to college at UW-Madison. A Badger connection! He also knows someone in my incoming Darden school class -- when I meet Veneet in a couple weeks I should tell him I ran into his college buddy Taej at the Dublin airport!

15:35 IST: Taej and I order the final two bags of chips. I drop my residual €0.86 in the tip jar as the poor cafe lady looks exhausted.

15:40 IST: Have entered airport hell. The United States on Irish soil is pretty terrible.

15:55 IST: We finally start boarding for the Boston flight.

16:00 IST: A lot of ads for the New York PD covering the interior of the jetbridge to board the aircraft.

16:50 IST: The captain apologizes to us for the lengthy delay, which he attributes to a supply truck barging into the original aircraft. As the damage couldn't be repaired the solution was to bring us a new plane. I don't see how this qualifies as "minor".

16:55 IST: Aer Lingus flight 137 bound for Boston has taken off!

17:20 IST: I've locked in the window seat in a favorable 2-4-2 configuration, but my seatmate has now entered the "demilitarized zone" by laying full claim to the armrest and digging his elbow into my side. I once again promise some passive-aggressive fury if he needs anything from me on this flight.

18:00 IST: First movie I select from my in-seat screen is "The Last Station", a new movie about the end of Tolstoy's life. It's confusing.

19:40 IST: First film ends. Still 3.5 hours to go before we land.

19:55 IST: Shift to TV, and start watching an episode of HBO's "Entourage". Hadn't seen it in months -- great show!

20:00 IST: These shows are all preceded by several minutes of advertising for Irish restaurants located in midtown Manhattan. I didn't realize there were so many. Too bad we're landing in the wrong city.

20:15 IST: Halfway through a hilarious "Entourage" episode guest starring Matt Damon. Are there any women actually named "Sloan"? This has always bothered me about the show...

20:30 IST: Show over, time for a bathroom break. Still 2.5 hours, ugh.

21:30 IST: Watch episodes of "Frasier" and "Family Guy", then fall asleep for another nap.

22:15 IST: Awakened by in-flight meal service. Devour a cheese scone.

22:45 IST: An episode of "30 Rock".

18:30 Eastern Daylight Time (UTC-4): We arrive at the gate in Boston! Technically, however, I've already been in the US for 10 hours.

18:40 EDT: Am thankful that my backpack is one of the first bags to pop out of the luggage carousel, and that I won't be greeted by an interminable line at passport control.

18:45 EDT: Stuck in the bowels of Logan Airport, again at the Aer Lingus transfer desk.

19:00 EDT: Thankfully Aer Lingus has rebooked me on a later JetBlue flight scheduled to depart at 20:20. Switch terminals and check in seamlessly to my third flight. That was easy.

19:10 EDT: Sit down in food court for a quick meal so I'm not starving when I arrive at home. Order my first burrito in two months. It's huge! I need to get re-acclimated with American portion sizes.

19:30 EDT: 20:20 flight has already been delayed to 20:40. Call my mom to let her know -- this day just won't end.

20:20 EDT: We have a plane on the ground here but no crew, which is still airborne on a flight from New York. Boarding has been delayed until 21:00.

20:30 EDT: I'm getting really tired -- it's already 02:30 Barcelona time, and I slept 4 hours last night.

21:45 EDT: JetBlue flight to Dulles airport finally taking off. My re-booking onto the later flight has forced me into a middle seat, but I really don't care. So tired.

23:05 EDT: We land in Washington! So close to ending my day.

23:25 EDT: My backpack pops out yet again...22 for 22 on my trip! Somehow Murphy's Law hasn't struck yet again -- it's not as if today's 3.5 hour delay crippled me.

23:30 EDT: My mom is at the airport almost immediately to pick me up. Greets me with a big hug.

0:05 EDT: 24 hours after waking up, I've finally reached my mom's house. Home sweet home! My mom wants to tell me about everything that's happened over the last two months, and I need to shoo her away so I can sleep.

Barcelona – City of Contradictions

The final stop on my world tour was the romantically alluring city of Barcelona, Spain. Though I had looked forward to this stop for months I was now like a rock star on his last legs, desperate to get home. I had 4 days and I looked to make the best of it.

I was done with vapid Ibiza and needed an infusion of history and culture. One of the important old European cities, Barcelona certainly had both to offer. Unfortunately Barcelona also has enough urban grit to deter the squeamish. Every guide I referred to screamed about the city’s rampant pickpocketing epidemic, and it also has its fair share of poorly lit dodgy streets to be fearful of at night. You see a lot of graffiti and most shops fence themselves off after closing. At times Barcelona was one of the most beautiful cities I had ever visited, and at other times it was one of the sketchiest.

One of the first things a visitor notices upon arrival at Barcelona’s airport is the trilingual translation of all the signs. There’s English, there’s Spanish, and there’s something that looks French or Italian – must be Catalan. It’s a common misperception that Catalan is simply a dialect of Spanish; it’s very much its own language.

I took the airport bus to the city center at Placa Catalunya, then raced to the Metro subway and made sure to cover my pockets. With all my stuff on me I felt very vulnerable, and my eyes darted back and forth as people approached. The Metro tunnels are unbearably hot in Barcelona. Lugging around a 25lb backpack, I broke quite a sweat.

I checked into the Mambo Tango hostel on Poeta Cabanyes street and appreciated the cool air conditioning on a hot summer afternoon. Despite being only 100 miles away Barcelona felt much warmer than Ibiza, and I understood why people in Spain embrace the afternoon siesta. I embraced it myself with a nap.

I woke up feeling much better and made my way towards the Parc Montjuic, a big hill overlooking the city, which was also the home of the 1992 Summer Olympics. Really beautiful – if all of Barcelona was this pretty I was really going to enjoy the place. The old Olympic stadium had a great classical architecture and was very well done – must have hosted a terrific games 18 years ago.

I walked a little further to a building that looked like a palace. “What could that be?” I wondered. It looked like a palace for a great kingdom, but no! It was an art museum! The Museu Nacional D’Art De Catalunya. An absolutely massive structure…how could they possibly find enough art to fill it all?! Being on a hill, the art museum provided a great view of the city – no skyscrapers like many European cities but a couple important buildings do stand out (more on that later). Also a grand view overlooking the Placa Espanya.

By the time I was walking back to my hostel it was getting late, a little after 9PM. Perfect time in Spain to eat! Spain’s timing is unusual for Americans – you eat late, you go out very late, and don’t try to get any errands done mid-afternoon.

I wasn’t super hungry, and there was a famous tapas place next to my hostel. Would have been the perfect introduction to Spanish cuisine, but there was a line out the door, leaving me to scamper around looking for the next best option. After wandering around the block for awhile I poked my head into a bar and sat down. The bartender was an Asian immigrant so I felt safe using my 20 word Spanish vocabulary with him! I recognized “chorizo” on the menu and tried to order it, but it came in two forms. I went for the “bocadillo” variety, and was pleased to see a sandwich come out of the kitchen. It was tasty too, and washed down with a local Estrella Damm beer my total only came out to €5. Great success!

My next day started at the museum of the world-famous FC Barcelona at their stadium, the Camp Nou. Though I’m game for all things soccer, this museum does more than just describe a sports team – it also showcases the Catalan identity and the sometimes violent struggle it has had with the Spanish national government. The club’s Catalan slogan, “Més Que Un Club”, translated as “More Than A Club”, highlights the club’s history as a symbol of Catalan nationalism and pride during the dark days of the Spanish Civil War and the totalitarian Franco regime.

The stadium tour is cool – you get to sit in all three tiers and check out the club president’s box, the finest seats in the house. You then get to walk through the players tunnel to the field and imagine walking out to play in front of 98,000 fans. There are all sorts of cool interactive video exhibits and I think you can watch every famous Barca goal ever scored.

I headed from there back to the Placa Catalunya, more fun now that I didn’t have all my gear with me. Right off of there is the famous La Rambla, one of the most vibrant streets to be found anywhere. It contained all the cheesy tourist souvenir shops that I needed to visit, as I hadn’t yet purchased anything for my family and I couldn’t return from two months of travel without bringing gifts! The street also has a wide array of street people in costume, pet salesman (you can purchase anything that fits in a cage), and of course pickpockets! Walking back to my hostel I got a little lost and stumbled upon what I believe was a street full of daytime prostitutes. They started yelling at me in English and I ran away real fast!

When you travel you meet people, and sometimes they have a way of popping up again. Remember Pam, the friend I made in Hong Kong? She was in Europe on business and heading over to Barcelona for some sightseeing, so she's back in my blog!

After Pam arrived Friday evening we went out for some beers to catch up, then needed to find some food in a foreign country. Sadly my Spanish was even better than her’s, which meant we would have problems! Along the same street where I had been the night previously we walked into a different bar, this one with a picture menu. I picked out a couple tapas and started to try to order in Spanish. Again the waiter was Asian, so when we hit a communications snag after my 20 words vocabulary was exhausted, Pam starts speaking to the waiter in Mandarin. They have a perfectly fluent conversation, and soon food appears! So lesson learned; if you speak Spanish OR Mandarin, you’re fine in Barcelona!

We capped the night off with a beer at a place popular with absinthe lovers and which probably hasn’t seen a paintbrush in 30 years. We got lost looking for a second bar and were guarding ourselves tightly on the dreary urban streets around La Rambla – I’m really glad my hostel was in a safer-looking area.

On Saturday, Pam and I woke up early to catch a free walking tour of the Old City. We started in Placa Reial and wandered a couple hours in the historic Gothic Quarter, learning the histories of Barcelona and Catalonia along the way. This included the majestic city hall and regional parliament buildings, the Barcelona cathedral with its 13 white geese, and Roman ruins.

We stuck to the Spanish schedule, eating their typically big lunch and then retiring to our lodgings for afternoon naps. When we woke up, we returned to the Parc Montjuic and took a cable car ride to the Castell de Montjuic, a big fortress built to protect the city in the 17th and 18th centuries. Though we were too late to go inside we were perfectly timed to see a superb panoramic view of the city near sunset.

We stumbled down the big hill and were heading in the direction of the waterfront when we heard music. We walked towards it and found an exciting street festival! The music was accompanied by “gigantes”, giant mannequin-like figures of traditional Catalonians propped on the shoulders of people who make them dance up and down to the music. Pam and I didn’t quite understand what was going on; a local told us that this was a traditional neighborhood festival.

After a tasty dinner we walked to the Columbus Monument, then along the marina where a pack of racing sailboats where stowed for a regatta. Passing by the aquarium we walked to Barceloneta, the city’s beach neighborhood. Pam and I were disgusted by what we saw – easily the most trash-filled beach I have ever seen!

My final day in Barcelona began with another free walking tour, this one of the buildings by the world-famous architect Antoni Gaudi. His buildings defy traditional form and are uniquely his own – almost every famous residence in the city belongs to him.

Our Argentinean guide showed us the famous residences of Palau Guell, Casa Batilo, and La Pedrera. We learned that what are now some of Gaudi’s most famous works were highly controversial when first constructed.

The tour ended at Barcelona’s most famous landmark of all, the Sagrada Familia cathedral, 125 years in the making and still going! The construction has long outlived Gaudi, but his architectural legacy lives on to this very day as modern contractors try to assemble his intricate masterpiece.

Another long lunch and another nap followed. When we reconvened, Pam and I headed for the final two big landmarks we hadn’t seen – the Parc Guell and the Magic Fountain.

Parc Guell was also designed by Gaudi, but would have been too vast for a 3 hour walking tour. It is, without question, my favorite of Gaudi’s works. The best part is an elevated terrace held up by classic pillars and lined with mosaics. The stonework here is very colorful and appealing to the eye.

We took the long walk from the Parc back to Metro. On the train halfway to the Placa Espanya stop a man boarded screaming "STOP IT! DON'T YOU EVER DO THAT AGAIN!" The use of English was surprising, but the man was a tourist, and he held out his finger to point at a stone-faced woman who had just boarded the car and taken a seat. "SHE TRIED TO PICK MY POCKET! SHE'S THE ONE!" We all sat there dumbfounded, not sure what to do. I can see why a city would have a pickpocket problem -- this incident illustrates how hard they are to pin down -- but I can't understand why the problem would be so much worse in Barcelona than other cities. A greater cultural acceptance of thievery??

The Magic Fountain, a nighttime event at the art museum, is visually catchy. Not as good as the Bellagio fountain in Vegas but similar idea – moving fountains set to music against a stunning backdrop.

Having seen both the good and the bad in Barcelona, I’m now intrigued by Spain and would like to see how Madrid compares. Spain can be difficult for an English speaker, so before I make my next trip I need to improve at my Spanish speaking!

Ibiza Trance

Before trying out "real Spain" I headed for the Balearic island of Ibiza (aka Eivissa), Europe's equivalent of Cancun.

Ibiza is known as a hedonist's paradise. It is flocked to for its summertime club scene, which I will admit to an American feels very foreign. This place is best avoided by the prudish -- just look at the club advertisements at the airport. One was called Amnesia, presumably because, maybe under the influence of a hallucinogenic substance, you want to forget what you did there the night before. Another club advertised a Thursday night party whose name I cannot repeat here, but was something along the lines of getting intimate with another person because of his or her fame and notoriety.

Not being a hedonist myself, my first thought upon landing was, "What on earth am I doing here?" (this was followed shortly by, "Where the heck is my bag?"). Well, most things are worth trying once, and I wanted to see if I could peel the onion to get underneath the Spanish party capital.

In late evening I checked into a hotel with favorable online reviews on Playa d'en Bossa. I was disappointed to discover I was paying $100/night for a small, sparsely appointed room in a hotel with the aesthetic appeal of a Best Western.

Though online reviews were accurate that one couldn't hear the famous dance club across the street, they failed to mention that the hotel was directly underneath the flight path to Ibiza's airport. Bah! How did they know I was hoping to be woken up by the 2AM Ryanair flight from London? At least I had a balcony with a view of the beach, and thankfully I had packed my earplugs.

One thing my hotel did offer was free breakfast and dinner, which was useful as Playa d'en Bossa has only the lowest quality of fast food and pub fare. The buffet food was mediocre and I felt like I was dining in a school cafeteria, but it did fill me up.

A definite positive of my hotel was its location next to the beach. So I slapped on some sunscreen, packed my towel, and looked for a nice spot to stare at the Mediterranean.

Unlike Croatia's rocky offerings, Ibiza's beaches are full of smooth sand. Playa d'en Bossa is long (a 45 minute walk end-to-end) and lined with accommodations. The seawater is a bathtub temperature. Woo!

I found a strip of sand to lay my towel on and joined the Europeans in their worship of the sun god. The weather was nearly identical to Croatia -- endless sun and warm but not too hot. Humidity a little higher but not excessive. The beach would be a pretty good place to catch an afternoon siesta except for the constant air traffic -- a parade of planes from pretty much all of Europe's numerous discount carriers pass over throughout the day.

Fearing I might be contracting a sunburn (which really isn't possible when you're wearing SPF 50), I took a walk to find a place to plop down under an umbrella. I found the perfect spot -- an English-speaking beachside cafe with a tasty bacon avocado sandwich, a refreshing Spanish white wine, and WiFi! (so important when you want to blog!) With nothing else to do except return to the sun to lay down, I lingered in the connectivity-friendly cafe for awhile.

Though the sun didn't set until 9:30PM there was still a fair bit of time to pass before Ibiza's renowned club scene gets going. As I was travelling alone I was in no mood to pre-party. Thankfully I had a TV in my hotel room, allowing me to catch up on my world news courtesy of BBC and entertain myself with an episode of "Two And A Half Men" dubbed in Spanish. Buenas noches, Charlie Sheen!

There was no definite plan for my Tuesday evening, but I thought at the appropriate time (certainly no earlier than 11PM) I would take a walk around and see if anything fancied me. In the meantime I dozed off, and when I woke up I decided I enjoyed sleep far more than going out. Yes, sometimes I am lame, but it's my vacation...I do what I want!

After the Wednesday morning breakfast buffet I decided I needed to get away from the beach and walked an hour to Ibiza Town. There's nothing really cultural about the island, and it's not as if anyone cares, really. Most of the young Germans, Brits, and Spaniards follow a repetitive cycle of sitting in the sun, eating, clubbing until sunrise, and sleeping in between.

Nonetheless, I had seen what looked like a fortress past the beach, and sure enough I found it, the Dalt Vila. Before the island of Ibiza was a place for young Europeans to become party zombies, it held strategic importance in control of the sea, so therefore this fortress was built. It was a good climb and offered a good view of the beach and town. I patted myself on the back for a token effort at doing something cultural.

After another bacon avocado sandwich at my favorite cafe it was back to the beach for me. In the afternoon the beach was full of people, so I got some good people-watching in. Some people were out wind-surfing, others kicking a soccer ball or playing a game like ping-pong at waters' edge. And yes, since it's Europe you see a fair bit of female topless sunbathing. All this paired with the incessant beat of club music on the beach, and even a few paid professional dancers.

Also patrolling the beach are disco representatives offering discounts to nightly shows at the various clubs. I received a wristband to the club Space, the big club across from my hotel. The ticket offered free admission if I arrived before 11PM, so I figured if I woke up from my early evening siesta I would give it a visit.

My nap ended around 10:30PM but I wasn't ready to head to the Space club yet -- felt too early by Spanish standards. My wristband offered 15€ admission between 11PM and midnight, and having read that to also be the approximate price of one vodka lemon I decided it would be better to walk the streets for a bit.

This paid off. More wristband dealers roamed the streets near my hotel, and hiding my Space wristband in one pocket I was able to receive another with free entry until 2AM. Sometimes, if the right DJ is in town, these club passes are like concert tickets, costing up to 50€ just to get in! I figured it wasn't going to be a good party at Space, but at least I would get to experience it on the cheap, and it was in an extremely convenient location.

So I caught another nap and woke up a little groggy at 1AM, just in time for clubbing. I walked over as is, in a polo shirt, Adidas shorts, and flip-flops. Had absolutely no problem getting in -- Ibiza really doesn't have a dress code.

Space is divided into two rooms -- a smaller lounge with Europeans yawning at their drinks, and a much larger room with the DJ and dance floor. I headed there and landed in a pit of hyponotically twisting bodies moving to a robotic thumping bass underneath flickering lights. It was pretty dude-heavy, about a 2:1 ratio. Though many of the girls dressed up the average guy was wearing shorts, a T-shirt with something written on it, and Adidas shoes. Not much great dancing, but enough fist pumping to fill an episode of "Jersey Shore".

I took in the scene and came away bewildered as to how this could be a good time. The music was dull and uninspiring -- again maybe I was at the club on a bad night -- and though the venue was large I didn't see anything exciting like maybe a fog machine or balloons or something. Maybe they save such pyrotechnic displays for the 50€ nights.

After 90 minutes I was content that I had seen enough, and I wasn't looking to sustain further hearing loss by staying at the club until dawn. I walked the short distance back to my hotel, confused but at least not a eurocent poorer.

Croatian Riviera

I spent last week on the Dalmatian coast in Croatia and can affirm what all the travel magazines say is true -- in summer, this area is one of the most beautiful places on Earth.

I started my trip by staying up all night in Istanbul to make a 6:40 AM flight (ugh), but despite being slightly out of sorts the journey was all worth it when I touched down in the sunny coastal town of Split. Seeing the town nestled between mountains and sea, I was happy to have had the window seat for this flight.

I took the bus to the center city, walked along the marble boardwalk along the harbor (the "Riva"), and found my hostel nearby. After checking in I met a girl transiting through the town briefly on her way home to Australia, and we headed out together to find one of the beaches near town.

The beaches in Croatia are almost all rocky, but with every day seeming to have perpetual sunshine and dry heat no one seemed to mind. The sea water was somewhat mild near Split, but this would not be true further south.

After swimming the two of us grabbed dinner and took a tour of pubs in the Split old town, sampling Croatian beers Karlovacko and Ozujsko and also the Slovenian beer Lasko Zlatorog. Ozujsko is a little bitter for my taste but I enjoyed the other two. Croatians like their beer -- you sometimes even see people with beers in the morning, sitting and sipping in outdoor cafes or parks. It's cheap too. Unless you're in a tourist bar (and hence being overcharged) you can expect to pay 20 Croatian kuna (about $3.50) for 0.5L of the local draft brew. Delightful!

My new Australian friend was gone the next day as I explored the old town of Split on my own. It's compact, very walkable, and very clean. By far the most prominent feature of Split is Diocletian's Palace, built by a Roman emporer as a place for him to retire. After 1500 years most of its former glory has been lost, but you still see some cool archways and the bell tower is a nice climb -- not for those with a fear of heights!

The rest of my Wednesday was pretty lazy. You can see the Italian influences in Split all over. I spent the day eating pizza, sitting in one of Split's ubiquitous outdoor cafes drinking coffee, and dined on a cuttlefish risotto for dinner. I like how you can just sit indefinitely in a restaurant or cafe after the meal is over without being bothered -- actually getting a bill can be difficult!

To burn some calories, I hiked Marjan Hill, a protected bit of green space near the city. It gives quite a view. In the evening I found some more cheap beer, watched the World Cup semifinal, and finished off with some tasty cheap ice cream.

On Thursday morning I caught a catamaran bound for Hvar town. Croatia's coast is dotted with islands and I wanted to sample a couple.

Hvar is even more beautiful than Split...a fancy harbor with an awesome hilly backdrop and all sorts of fancy yachts docked in the harbor. Other travelers described it as a mini Monte Carlo.

I had booked a bed in "Villa Skansi" on Hostel World and expected the place to be a little beach shack, but in fact the name did not lie. The house was like something out of Beverly Hills! I couldn't believe that $25 could get me something so luxurious, or a terrace with a view.

After lunch I spent my afternoon partaking in a great European tradition...sunbathing! On Hvar you take your beach towel and lay it on your favorite rock, hopefully one which fits the contours of your back. If you get too hot you can plunge into the chilly water, but beware for sea urchins!

It's interesting how different attitudes are between Europeans and Chinese regarding sun exposure. Europeans can't get enough of the sun, and will lay interminably until turning the color of a lobster. On the other hand, on a sunny day in Shanghai you would see an array of umbrellas burst out, protecting the porcelain complexions of its citizens. The girl from Hong Kong who I met in Dubai even had a "whitening cream" which she used on her face in the evening!

My night in Hvar started with dinner, more ice cream, then some time staring at all the yachts in the harbor. Rumor has it that Eva Longoria was on one of them, and someone staying at my villa claimed to have spotted her at the disco the night before.

I returned to the villa for evening drinks on the terrace and met a group of Australian expats living in London. We left for a big night out which ended at the aforementioned disco, a massive outdoor party lounge situated in a medieval castle. Quite the party spot, but don't arrive before 2AM!

After a late night it was hard to awaken to check out of the villa on Friday. I booked onward ferries, took a long breakfast at the harbor with the Australians, then headed up the hill to a fortress atop the hill overlooking the town. There was nothing in the fort, but there didn't need to be as it possessed a fantastic view of the harbor and the nearby hills.

After some more time in the endless sun I took a late afternoon catamaran to the small town of Korcula, alleged to be the birthplace of Marco Polo. His house no longer stands here but a tower has been erected in its place, and of course no trip to Korcula is complete without visiting the Marco Polo store!

Korcula is small but I wasn't staying there long, using it as a transit point to the city of Dubrovnik on the southern end of the long Croatian coast. The ride on the automobile ferry was much slower but equally scenic. I spent three hours sipping a beer while gazing at the hills shooting out of the sea.

In Dubrovnik I was greeted at the ferry port by a big friendly Croatian named Ante, whose guesthouse I had booked for two nights. More expensive than a hostel but totally worth it. My room was both luxurious and spotless, and Ante spent a thorough 15 minutes explaining to me everything to do in the old city.

Ante gave me a ride to the Dubrovnik old city and wow, what a sight! It's exactly my vision when I think of a medieval fortress. Stationed on a cliff overlooking the Adriatic, the imposing walls make every visitor stare and take notice.

Dubrovnik is far more touristy than Split, and for good reason. Nothing against the latter, but Dubrovnik is simply amazing. Even after sustaining a Serbian shelling in the 1991 Croatian war of independence, the old city remains remarkably well-preserved, or at least reconstructed. The inside of the city hums with tourists, and I found Americans! "Semester at Sea" was in port that weekend, so 740 college kids were in town. After traveling for so long out of the homeland, I actually wasn't saddened to see a few.

I cruised the streets for awhile then ascended a long flight of stairs to walk around the city walls. This is a must-do if you ever visit Dubrovnik...the views can't be beat.

Circumnavigating the city took about 90 minutes, getting me to dinner time. After so much climbing I had worked up a serious appetite, and I downed a whole pizza and a big salad. A meal fit for two, but hey, sometimes I try to play the part of fat American!

Saturday evening marked the beginning of the Dubrovnik Summer Festival, a 6 week celebration of the performing arts. That night the streets of the old city were teeming with police to protect the dignitaries attending the opening ceremonies. I did not pull enough rank to get a ticket, but I did get outside the city walls in time to see the celebratory fireworks display. After missing 4th of July in the US I'm glad I didn't go a whole summer without seeing some! I finished my night by listening to some of the live Croatian music.


Sunday was another easy day. Ate a little too much at a portside seafood restaurant, then visited the small green island of Lokrum to walk off the meal. It's a peaceful island with no inhabitants, no cars, and a few peacocks. At the top of the island was a small fort with a decent view of the old city. I walked back down and past several beaches, including a nudist one! I did not partake, but I found a different rock nearby in the sun.

In the evening I found a seat in the Buniceva Poljana square to watch the World Cup final, Spain vs Holland. There were far more supporters for the red side than the orange, and it felt like the old city was a giant Spanish pep rally! Bars surround the square and with plenty of TVs the square was packed with soccer fans. Bedlam ensued when the Spaniards scored their late goal to win the trophy. The Spanish victory cheer rang throughout the city -- "Campiones! Campiones! Ole Ole Ole!"

Croatia was absolutely wonderful. I barely saw a cloud over six warm days and the Croatian people were very welcoming. It would have made for a brilliant end to my trip and I'm ready for home now, but I can hang in for more week. Who knows, maybe Spain will be equally amazing.