Texas is too big.
As we passed through Texas, Joy told me that she hated Texas, but couldn't help but like their attitude about Texas being the Real 'Murrka, or being the only thing it needed, because Californians are the same way.
There were American flags everywhere - I mean everywhere - matched in ubiquity only by the Texas state flag, closely followed by Whataburgers and Sonics. This would be fine - I mean, hey, it's not like I didn't know what to expect; I've been to Texas twice before. But driving through is a wholly different experience than flying in and staying with friends for a few days. People were not quite as friendly as in the Deep South, but certainly still warm and nice. Southeast Texas was uneventful enough, aside from the sharp right turns you have to take to get off and back on the highway and the pervasive presence of pickup trucks and SUVs. No joke, for a long while it was like for every car you saw on the highway, there were easily nine truck-type vehicles. There were signs that actually said "Don't Mess with Texas." The scenery mostly unremarkable except for the big, big sky - which was really lovely, full of big clouds, puffy and in fun shapes. There seems to be truth to a lot of this hype.
Around Houston, we got a system warning from the car (it has a computer - fancy!). After a brief moment of real concern, we figured out (by consulting the manual) that the issue was a need for an oil change, and after a call to the rental car company and the help from a very cute guy in a nearby pickup, we changed the oil (five freakin' quarts) and rolled on. We got to Austin mid-evening, and there, the shiny bright best part of Texas revealed itself to us.
I have a friend in Austin, but unfortunately, due to the shortness of our stay and facebook fail, we weren't able to meet up with him - as it was, our visit felt sadly rushed. The people in Austin were very friendly - friendlier than elsewhere we'd been in Texas - and blessedly weird. Austin is a city with style, a little sass, and plenty of personality, and it was a pleasure to be there, even so briefly. We stayed at the Hotel San Jose, which is quite an impressive boutique hotel in South Austin, quite close to bars, shopping, and downtown. The room was a lovely little luxury, with minimalist decor (concrete floors, bamboo shades, just one poster of Jack Kerouac on the wall), high quality, hip accoutrement in the room (Dr. Bronner's peppermint liquid castille soap for body wash in the bathroom, as well as Havaiana chanclas/flip flops, a hemp robe, and delicious goodies like Haribo gummies, pistachios, high quality chocolate) you could buy, and lots of very private nooks and crannies that made you feel you were at some desert oasis resort rather than in the middle of a major city.
The first thing we did was go out for dinner at a nearby Mexican place called Guero. Now, technically, I've eaten Mexican food before. Or at least something very close to it. And my friends who have lived in California or Texas' grousing about the lack of Mexican food on the East Coast always made me roll my eyes a little (much as I imagine my expounding on the utter shitshow that is pizza or bagels outside of the New York metro area has made them roll theirs). But seriously - I had been aware of the existence of Mexican food, but I'd never had anything like this before. The beef was perfectly seasoned, the sauces clever and complex, the ingredients fresh and hand-prepared - what?
I need to get a mole while I'm out in this Southwestern land.
After dinner, we decided to take a little walk down South Congress Avenue. By the time we'd finished our meal, it was already late, and the shops already closed, but the character of the area was already apparent even when the lights were off. In our travels, we found this little cluster of Airstream RVs selling different types of foods, and we stopped at one with a big ole cupcake on top aptly named, "hey cupcake!"
Inside, we found a gorgeous, friendly girl named Jamie who was fun to chat with. Turns out, she's originally from a part of New York very close to where my parents live, a plus-size model, and pretty awesome. She gave us four cupcakes for the price of one, and was kind enough to let me take a couple of pictures of her.
We wound up at the hotel bar, which is this secluded, outdoor, beautiful little place with winding vines on trellises and tasty shandies and a super friendly staff. It's apparently a popular spot where people in Austin go for the hip-but-relaxed ambiance, and the people there were really friendly as well. (Though one dude came up to us all flashing his business card and telling us how he was the VP of some company or another and was this big deal and had just been to China and literally, seriously straight up told us that he went there with $13,000 and in fifteen minutes of conversation I think possibly asked one question about either of us. He paid for our drinks and wanted us to come downtown with him and his friends. We let him get our drinks, but declined his invitation.)
After a delicious night's sleep at the hotel, we wanted to have time to get something to eat, go shopping, and check out the springs in Austin before we rolled out that late afternoon/early evening. It was hot as hell, but we did all three of these - more great Mexican, fantastic little shops (vintage, antiques, novelties, art). The springs were nothing like I'd ever seen before - just this big, natural spring in the middle of a park in the middle of Austin with tons and tons of people just swimming around, laying out on the grass, treating it like the beach. We didn't go in for lack of time, but it was really pretty and neat to see.
I'm not sure if we could call it the highlight of our day, since it was a pretty good day, but one of the more exciting things about Austin was going to the Original Whole Foods Evarr. (This is not to take anything away from Austin, but rather to emphasize the awesomeness of this Whole Foods.) It was freaking huge - I mean H U G E. Clean and gorgeous and modern and friendly, tons of prepared foods and treats and eats - we stocked up for the rest of the trip there, which was a Good Plan. Candy and gas station snacks were starting to wear on me, at least.
Jesus, this is rambling. All of these things seem so trivial in writing them down, but the city was just so enjoyable. The vibe was hip, friendly, creative, and weird, the nighttime crowd was fun, and the city seemed to have tons of things to do, as well as tons of unique, interesting, and very lovely architecture and design. I could definitely see spending a good deal more time there - though next time, I'll definitely fly in.
Showing posts with label accomodations. Show all posts
Showing posts with label accomodations. Show all posts
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Wednesday, June 24, 2009
A Letter to My Mama - or, I have arrived! :D
I wrote this letter to my mother in response to an e-mail she sent me asking about Barcelona, and giving me information about ancestors of ours who lived in Barcelona in case I wanted to do a little research on her behalf. ;) I feel like it covers my initial impressions of Barcelona (as well as the resolution to my accommodation problem) pretty well, so here you go.
Dear Mami,
I'm sorry it took so long for me to get in touch with you! It's been a crazy couple of days, and my sleep schedule is all fackacked (as evidenced by the fact that I'm now writing to you at 3:31 AM, local time!). I'll be happy to do a little searching; while I'm not opposed to hanging out with the young crowd a little while I'm here, I'm also definitely interested in checking out some of the older places, and I'd already had vague plans to explore the art and architecture of the city (of which there is a great deal!). I can't make any promises as to my success, but I can say I'll try. The people of Barcelona have seemed open and friendly thus far (except for this one lady in reception at my hotel - she seems snooty as hell and I think she judges me for being American and not as good at Spanish as I ought to be. But I heard her English, and it's not better than my Spanish!). As to your request about telling you about Barcelona, even though I've not yet been here twenty-four hours, I can share with you my initial observations.
First of all, I think I may have mentioned that I had about a 24-hour layover in Dublin yesterday. (Dublin, I can tell you from my brief encounter with it, is one of the friendliest and good-natured places I've ever been. The people smile easily, are quite warm, down-to-earth, and funny. I adore the Irish, and wish I could have stayed longer - and everyone I encountered who asked how long I was staying expressed regret upon discovering I'd be leaving so soon!) Late last night, about 11:00 PM local time (or 23:00, as they say here in Europe), I got a call from my "Check-In Manager" at the apartment I rented, telling me that the apartment I'd booked (and already had made a partial payment on) was not going to be available when I arrived due to a 'water problem,' and that they were going to give me another apartment in the city center for three or four days until it was fixed. I cannot tell you how jetlagged I was, mami - my Circadian rhythms are completely nuts right now - so when he told me he'd give me the address when I arrived rather than right then, as I'd asked, I didn't insist. I went to sleep, feeling very suspicious and not liking this development at all.
Of course, I woke up less than four hours later, and this time, I was a complete mess.
The first thing I did was send a text to my friend Liz, who is maybe the most wonderful person in the world, and asked her to come online. She helped calm me down, she gave me the contact information for her mother's travel agent, and she stayed online with me throughout the process of figuring out what I should do (and helped me figure, to boot).
I tried calling the "Check-In Manager" again - no answer on his phone. I wrote a letter to the agent I'd been working with, explaining the situation to her, and telling her that I was very troubled by this, that I am a woman traveling alone, and that I'd heard stories of people coming here having been promised one apartment and then having it switched for another at the last minute to another (generally a smaller one, one with less amenities, one in a much less savory neighborhood, or all of the above!). I told her that I could not take risks with my safety, and that I needed to talk to someone right away. When I didn't hear back (at what was, for them, 4:00 AM LOL), I started looking at hotels, and booked the one I'm currently staying in (which is, OMG, the nicest hotel room I've ever been inside). Now with a confirmed place to stay until at least Saturday morning (a four-star place to stay! For $82/night! Your daughter is a bargain hunter, if nothing else. LOL), I was able to get ready to leave Dublin comfortably.
While I was at the Dublin airport, waiting for my flight to Nottingham, England (where I had about a three-hour layover), I got a call from Ahmed (my check-in guy). He sounded half-asleep, and I told him very politely and firmly that I wouldn't be needing their services anymore, that I would not be staying at any apartment they offered, and that I'd like a full refund of the amount I had already put down. He told me in an apologetic tone that a refund would be impossible, and I told him it certainly wouldn't be - that I was not being given the apartment that had been agreed upon, and because of that, our agreement was null and void. When he insisted that I could not be repaid, I told him that I had family in the area (LOL I did not mention that they'd all been dead for a few hundred years, and that my closest living relatives to the area were on Mallorca), and that I was certain they'd be more than happy to refer me to their lawyer if necessary, but that I'd prefer not to have to do that, really. Then he started tripping over himself, asking when I'd be getting into Barcelona, that he'd call me, and I told him that wouldn't be necessary, that I'd surely call him once I was settled in. He hung up. LOL.
So in the hour (seriously, one hour) it took for me to get from Dublin to Nottingham (by the way, have I mentioned how completely endearing the people's accents from these areas are? Seriously. I LOVES it), I had voicemails, I had texts, and an urgent e-mail from my booking agent. My booking agent told me that she didn't know what was going on, but that she'd spoken to my landlady, and that there had been some misunderstanding, and that the apartment was ready for me today. Then, before I could reply, she called me (on my American cell - LOL I fear seeing my phone bill already), and we talked about it a little in Spanish. I told her that I'd already booked a hotel room, and that I wouldn't be staying there - I was clumsy and jetlagged, but she asked me to send her an e-mail about the situation, which I told her I would - in English! So I did, explaining that I had already paid for the reservation, that it couldn't be canceled, and also, outlining my concerns, etc. She was very apologetic, and told me she was very sorry for the confusion, and that the apartment was definitely available; I told her if I took the apartment at this point, I would clearly need them to take off the four days I'd be staying at the hotel from the price. After a bit of back-and-forth about whether I could/would cancel the reservation, I got on the plane to Barcelona, and went to sleep for two hours.
Once I got into Barce and was in my lovely hotel room, I got another call - and saw that I'd missed four others (FOUR OTHERS) between Nottingham and Barcelona somehow. This time, it was the landlady, again, apologizing profusely, reassuring me, telling me that both her company and my agents had been in business for ten years, that they were very professional, that this had never happened before, that they understood my concerns, etc. Now, she sounded quite sincere, as had Alba - being the skeptic and cynic that I am, I have no doubt that they had some concern not only about the fact that I'd already been a good American and brought up the subject of lawyers, but that since I'd made all the arrangements online, that I'd be all over Expedia and the NYT travel section online and Lonely Planet and wherever else I could clack my displeasure in consumer reviews. At least, that's what I'd have been worried about, because trust and believe, I'd had every intention of writing to anyone who'd listen about my experience, just to warn other novice travelers about the pitfalls of apartment rentals.
Eighth Floor. Holy hell.
Anyway, I told Begona that I was glad she understood my worries (and she really did - I feel like it really struck her that I am a young female traveling alone for the first time in a city and country where I've never been before), and that if the apartment I'd booked was still available, I'd really love to see it, because if it was what we'd agreed on, I'd much rather stay there for the rest of my trip than hotel-hop (though that had been starting to sound fun, too, since I'd been able to find AMAZING rates). I also told her, though, again, that I'd need the price to be knocked down to account for the four nights I'd been staying at this hotel, because really, what had happened wasn't my fault, and I'd had no recourse, in my mind, other than to book a hotel in light of the information I'd been given on such short notice. After a bit of hesitation, she agreed, and told me I could come see her before Saturday if I wanted to meet her so that I could be reassured, etc. (And I'm going to take her up on this.) So, after my four days at this beautiful hotel, I'm almost definitely going to be in my lovely apartment two blocks the beach! (If you're interested, Google Map [address omitted], Barcelona, and do the street view to see the exterior and explore the neighborhood!)
As far as the city itself is concerned, I've already been struck by the dichotomy of Barcelona. The airport is situated in a very industrial area, sort of like a Barcelonian Newark. The cab ride in showed an interesting countryside - in some places with the Mediterranean on one side, mountains on the other, and huge industrial plants in between.
Once inside the city, the architecture for which Barcelona is so famous was readily apparent - there are beautiful, interesting buildings everywhere. But in the neighborhood I'm in right now - Porto Olimpico - there's a great deal of construction under way as they build "El 22," a new neighborhood dedicated to technology and modernity. This is interesting, because many lovely buildings and hotels sprang up here when the Olympics came to Barcelona a few years back, but prior to that, it was a very old industrial area, with textile factories and the like. There are buildings all around that are half-crumbled or at least decrepit, emblazoned with graffiti tags and age, sharing blocks with huge, beautiful buildings of all kinds of architecture, parks with huge art installations visible from the street, and beautiful churches.
One thing about Porto Olimpico is that it doesn't have all the nifty density of some other neighborhoods in cities I've visited. I got to take about a 3.4 km taxi ride (I think that's a little over a mile, but I really have no idea - LOLOL I seriously need to learn the metric system so I know where I'm going and what the temperature is). There, at the recommendation of the snooty reception lady at my hotel, I went to a place called El Corte Inglés, which is a nine story (nine story!) department store in the heart of Barcelona, where I was able to buy a Spanish SIM card for my cell phone, an adaptor plug for my netbook, and a few groceries! They also had clothes, housewares, every kind of makeup, perfume, accessory, hardware, or seemingly anything else you could imagine. It was an intense shopping experience. I was too tired and jetlagged to try to figure out the Metro today, so I took a cab there and back - which gave me a chance to get a little peek at the city and talk to my lovely cab drivers, who were both really awesome and friendly. (Both of them told me about the festival of San Juan - which is still going on outside my window, from what I can tell - though the fireworks have subsided somewhat, and now it's mostly just car alarms and drunken calls of an indeterminate nature - all this I can hear from the 8th floor. LOLOL - Barcelona surely knows how to have a good time (and this is an especially refreshing change from Boston, where bedtime is 2AM, rain or shine)! I opted out of the party tonight because dear god, my whole body was aching with all the traveling and poor sleep. So I watched a little from my window and enjoyed Spanish pizza and watching a few of my shows that I've missed out on since I've been here! :D
Anyway, the city center is very lovely, and there are many amazing buildings throughout. I wasn't able to get a consistent understanding of what the neighborhoods were or how they worked - the architectural styles, conditions of the buildings, and character of the area all seemed very mixed up to me, most likely because I'm so new here. But hopefully it won't take too long for me to get a grasp on Barcelona and how it works. I really like it, though - I've encountered some really friendly people, and I'm excited to do some exploring tomorrow (or today, I guess - but I think I'm going to try for a nap first)! I kind of want to go to the beach, too (both my cabbies warned me about thieves, and advised me not to bring all my documents when I'm wandering the city, and to only bring as much money as I need; my second cabbie told me to bury my wallet in the sand when I go swimming at the beach). I'm excited both to swim in the Mediterranean and to do a little family research!
Anyway, I hope I haven't bored you with this long e-mail - but you asked! :D I hope to talk to you soon - I miss you and love you!
Love and love and many kisses,
Your niña
Dear Mami,
I'm sorry it took so long for me to get in touch with you! It's been a crazy couple of days, and my sleep schedule is all fackacked (as evidenced by the fact that I'm now writing to you at 3:31 AM, local time!). I'll be happy to do a little searching; while I'm not opposed to hanging out with the young crowd a little while I'm here, I'm also definitely interested in checking out some of the older places, and I'd already had vague plans to explore the art and architecture of the city (of which there is a great deal!). I can't make any promises as to my success, but I can say I'll try. The people of Barcelona have seemed open and friendly thus far (except for this one lady in reception at my hotel - she seems snooty as hell and I think she judges me for being American and not as good at Spanish as I ought to be. But I heard her English, and it's not better than my Spanish!). As to your request about telling you about Barcelona, even though I've not yet been here twenty-four hours, I can share with you my initial observations.
First of all, I think I may have mentioned that I had about a 24-hour layover in Dublin yesterday. (Dublin, I can tell you from my brief encounter with it, is one of the friendliest and good-natured places I've ever been. The people smile easily, are quite warm, down-to-earth, and funny. I adore the Irish, and wish I could have stayed longer - and everyone I encountered who asked how long I was staying expressed regret upon discovering I'd be leaving so soon!) Late last night, about 11:00 PM local time (or 23:00, as they say here in Europe), I got a call from my "Check-In Manager" at the apartment I rented, telling me that the apartment I'd booked (and already had made a partial payment on) was not going to be available when I arrived due to a 'water problem,' and that they were going to give me another apartment in the city center for three or four days until it was fixed. I cannot tell you how jetlagged I was, mami - my Circadian rhythms are completely nuts right now - so when he told me he'd give me the address when I arrived rather than right then, as I'd asked, I didn't insist. I went to sleep, feeling very suspicious and not liking this development at all.
Of course, I woke up less than four hours later, and this time, I was a complete mess.
The first thing I did was send a text to my friend Liz, who is maybe the most wonderful person in the world, and asked her to come online. She helped calm me down, she gave me the contact information for her mother's travel agent, and she stayed online with me throughout the process of figuring out what I should do (and helped me figure, to boot).
I tried calling the "Check-In Manager" again - no answer on his phone. I wrote a letter to the agent I'd been working with, explaining the situation to her, and telling her that I was very troubled by this, that I am a woman traveling alone, and that I'd heard stories of people coming here having been promised one apartment and then having it switched for another at the last minute to another (generally a smaller one, one with less amenities, one in a much less savory neighborhood, or all of the above!). I told her that I could not take risks with my safety, and that I needed to talk to someone right away. When I didn't hear back (at what was, for them, 4:00 AM LOL), I started looking at hotels, and booked the one I'm currently staying in (which is, OMG, the nicest hotel room I've ever been inside). Now with a confirmed place to stay until at least Saturday morning (a four-star place to stay! For $82/night! Your daughter is a bargain hunter, if nothing else. LOL), I was able to get ready to leave Dublin comfortably.
While I was at the Dublin airport, waiting for my flight to Nottingham, England (where I had about a three-hour layover), I got a call from Ahmed (my check-in guy). He sounded half-asleep, and I told him very politely and firmly that I wouldn't be needing their services anymore, that I would not be staying at any apartment they offered, and that I'd like a full refund of the amount I had already put down. He told me in an apologetic tone that a refund would be impossible, and I told him it certainly wouldn't be - that I was not being given the apartment that had been agreed upon, and because of that, our agreement was null and void. When he insisted that I could not be repaid, I told him that I had family in the area (LOL I did not mention that they'd all been dead for a few hundred years, and that my closest living relatives to the area were on Mallorca), and that I was certain they'd be more than happy to refer me to their lawyer if necessary, but that I'd prefer not to have to do that, really. Then he started tripping over himself, asking when I'd be getting into Barcelona, that he'd call me, and I told him that wouldn't be necessary, that I'd surely call him once I was settled in. He hung up. LOL.
So in the hour (seriously, one hour) it took for me to get from Dublin to Nottingham (by the way, have I mentioned how completely endearing the people's accents from these areas are? Seriously. I LOVES it), I had voicemails, I had texts, and an urgent e-mail from my booking agent. My booking agent told me that she didn't know what was going on, but that she'd spoken to my landlady, and that there had been some misunderstanding, and that the apartment was ready for me today. Then, before I could reply, she called me (on my American cell - LOL I fear seeing my phone bill already), and we talked about it a little in Spanish. I told her that I'd already booked a hotel room, and that I wouldn't be staying there - I was clumsy and jetlagged, but she asked me to send her an e-mail about the situation, which I told her I would - in English! So I did, explaining that I had already paid for the reservation, that it couldn't be canceled, and also, outlining my concerns, etc. She was very apologetic, and told me she was very sorry for the confusion, and that the apartment was definitely available; I told her if I took the apartment at this point, I would clearly need them to take off the four days I'd be staying at the hotel from the price. After a bit of back-and-forth about whether I could/would cancel the reservation, I got on the plane to Barcelona, and went to sleep for two hours.
Once I got into Barce and was in my lovely hotel room, I got another call - and saw that I'd missed four others (FOUR OTHERS) between Nottingham and Barcelona somehow. This time, it was the landlady, again, apologizing profusely, reassuring me, telling me that both her company and my agents had been in business for ten years, that they were very professional, that this had never happened before, that they understood my concerns, etc. Now, she sounded quite sincere, as had Alba - being the skeptic and cynic that I am, I have no doubt that they had some concern not only about the fact that I'd already been a good American and brought up the subject of lawyers, but that since I'd made all the arrangements online, that I'd be all over Expedia and the NYT travel section online and Lonely Planet and wherever else I could clack my displeasure in consumer reviews. At least, that's what I'd have been worried about, because trust and believe, I'd had every intention of writing to anyone who'd listen about my experience, just to warn other novice travelers about the pitfalls of apartment rentals.
Anyway, I told Begona that I was glad she understood my worries (and she really did - I feel like it really struck her that I am a young female traveling alone for the first time in a city and country where I've never been before), and that if the apartment I'd booked was still available, I'd really love to see it, because if it was what we'd agreed on, I'd much rather stay there for the rest of my trip than hotel-hop (though that had been starting to sound fun, too, since I'd been able to find AMAZING rates). I also told her, though, again, that I'd need the price to be knocked down to account for the four nights I'd been staying at this hotel, because really, what had happened wasn't my fault, and I'd had no recourse, in my mind, other than to book a hotel in light of the information I'd been given on such short notice. After a bit of hesitation, she agreed, and told me I could come see her before Saturday if I wanted to meet her so that I could be reassured, etc. (And I'm going to take her up on this.) So, after my four days at this beautiful hotel, I'm almost definitely going to be in my lovely apartment two blocks the beach! (If you're interested, Google Map [address omitted], Barcelona, and do the street view to see the exterior and explore the neighborhood!)
As far as the city itself is concerned, I've already been struck by the dichotomy of Barcelona. The airport is situated in a very industrial area, sort of like a Barcelonian Newark. The cab ride in showed an interesting countryside - in some places with the Mediterranean on one side, mountains on the other, and huge industrial plants in between.
Once inside the city, the architecture for which Barcelona is so famous was readily apparent - there are beautiful, interesting buildings everywhere. But in the neighborhood I'm in right now - Porto Olimpico - there's a great deal of construction under way as they build "El 22," a new neighborhood dedicated to technology and modernity. This is interesting, because many lovely buildings and hotels sprang up here when the Olympics came to Barcelona a few years back, but prior to that, it was a very old industrial area, with textile factories and the like. There are buildings all around that are half-crumbled or at least decrepit, emblazoned with graffiti tags and age, sharing blocks with huge, beautiful buildings of all kinds of architecture, parks with huge art installations visible from the street, and beautiful churches.
One thing about Porto Olimpico is that it doesn't have all the nifty density of some other neighborhoods in cities I've visited. I got to take about a 3.4 km taxi ride (I think that's a little over a mile, but I really have no idea - LOLOL I seriously need to learn the metric system so I know where I'm going and what the temperature is). There, at the recommendation of the snooty reception lady at my hotel, I went to a place called El Corte Inglés, which is a nine story (nine story!) department store in the heart of Barcelona, where I was able to buy a Spanish SIM card for my cell phone, an adaptor plug for my netbook, and a few groceries! They also had clothes, housewares, every kind of makeup, perfume, accessory, hardware, or seemingly anything else you could imagine. It was an intense shopping experience. I was too tired and jetlagged to try to figure out the Metro today, so I took a cab there and back - which gave me a chance to get a little peek at the city and talk to my lovely cab drivers, who were both really awesome and friendly. (Both of them told me about the festival of San Juan - which is still going on outside my window, from what I can tell - though the fireworks have subsided somewhat, and now it's mostly just car alarms and drunken calls of an indeterminate nature - all this I can hear from the 8th floor. LOLOL - Barcelona surely knows how to have a good time (and this is an especially refreshing change from Boston, where bedtime is 2AM, rain or shine)! I opted out of the party tonight because dear god, my whole body was aching with all the traveling and poor sleep. So I watched a little from my window and enjoyed Spanish pizza and watching a few of my shows that I've missed out on since I've been here! :D
Anyway, the city center is very lovely, and there are many amazing buildings throughout. I wasn't able to get a consistent understanding of what the neighborhoods were or how they worked - the architectural styles, conditions of the buildings, and character of the area all seemed very mixed up to me, most likely because I'm so new here. But hopefully it won't take too long for me to get a grasp on Barcelona and how it works. I really like it, though - I've encountered some really friendly people, and I'm excited to do some exploring tomorrow (or today, I guess - but I think I'm going to try for a nap first)! I kind of want to go to the beach, too (both my cabbies warned me about thieves, and advised me not to bring all my documents when I'm wandering the city, and to only bring as much money as I need; my second cabbie told me to bury my wallet in the sand when I go swimming at the beach). I'm excited both to swim in the Mediterranean and to do a little family research!
Anyway, I hope I haven't bored you with this long e-mail - but you asked! :D I hope to talk to you soon - I miss you and love you!
Love and love and many kisses,
Your niña
Travel Foibles – or, reminders from the Universe to expect the unexpected
written in part in my hotel room in Dublin at some ungodly hour on June 23, in part on the plane to Nottingham, also June 23
So I adore Dublin, but I haven’t had the opportunity to see nearly as much of it as I’d hoped. Despite my grand plans to sleep on the plane, and to compensate for this failure by taking a nap, my “nap” was actually four hours long, and then I had to spend another hour and a half or so dealing with business back home. All in all, I didn’t make it out of my hotel until about five (I think? My cell doesn’t like this time zone, and isn’t keeping time properly at all). So I got to walk around the immediate area and take a few pictures of the loveliness that surrounded me.
More on facebook... blogspot is slow!
I also had a really, really, really delicious dinner at a really cool restaurant called Church (it’s actually in a converted church):
(Also, I got to sample real Irish draught Guinness, and let me confirm that the rumors are true. It’s a different beer entirely in Ireland, and where I’ve never liked it when I’ve tried it in the States, I could drink gallons of what they served me here in Dublin.)
But then there was some drama.
So, I came back from the restaurant, full as a tick (again) and wholly content, and decided to take it easy, since I was still exhausted (I was falling asleep at the restaurant). While chatting with buddies and enjoying the intarwebs, I got a call from my “Check-In Manager,” Ahmed – who was neither of the women with whom I had corresponded via e-mail about the arrangements for this apartment. I hadn’t thought anything of it when I was given his name and information as a contact in Barcelona – I figured he’d be a super, or a property manager, or whatever. Well, whatever he was, he called me and told me, at about 11:00 PM or so Dublin time (which means about midnight Barcelona time), that the apartment I had booked and confirmed by making an initial payment of $600+, was having a “water problem,” and that it wouldn’t be available for a few days – but that they were going to put me somewhere in the “city center.” When I asked him for the address of the new apartment, he told me he’d tell me when I got to the airport tomorrow.
Hmm.
Now, this whole situation really bothered me – but whatever, I needed to go to bed, I needed to sleep, I needed to get up the next day (today) at 5:30 to make my flight. So I went to sleep.
And woke up at about 2:45 Dublin time.
I couldn’t get back to sleep – I didn’t want to. I didn’t like that he hadn’t told me the address of the apartment, and I tried calling him – to no avail, of course. Beyond that, when I’d first booked the apartment, I’d arranged to stay in one spot, and after I’d booked it, they wrote me to tell me that the landlady had booked it – and they offered me several other options at higher prices. I told them that I was on a budget, and that I needed to pay what I had originally been going to. They then offered me the apartment that many of my friends have heard about – an adorable little studio in La Barceloneta, perfect for my needs, a two minute (seriously, Google Maps said so) walk to the beach, ten minutes into the heart of Ciudad Vella, an area of the city densely packed with many of the things I want to see there. It was originally priced at about 700 Euro more than I’d booked the other room for, but they cut it down to only about 100 Euro more – which was awesome for the location and space.
At the time, I’d thought I’d just lucked out – but upon receiving that call from the “Check-In Manager,” I began to see it in a different light entirely. I’d been warned by a friend that I ought to just stay in a hostel for a few days when I got into town, so I could actually see the apartments I was considering, meet with landlords, and ensure that the situation was legit.
Of course, I didn’t listen; I was worried about staying in a hostel, I didn’t want to schlep, I just wanted to be settled as quickly as possible. I figured since I’d found the place in the comments of the NYT travel section’s article on staying Barcelona, it must be okay. (This was a naïve mistake on my part – the age of the Common Man Internet has made me forget the extreme paranoia I had back in the days, when it was only nerds, freaks, and liars on the ‘Net [remember when we actually called it that? HA!].) Of course, it never occurred to me that someone from the company itself may have written a bogus recommendation. I don’t know if that’s the case, but really, a little more info should have been considered.
In any case, (oh, look, there’s England! :D), when I woke in the middle of the night, my stomach clenched, my teeth grinding, about this situation, and I didn’t hear back from Ahmed, I wrote an e-mail to Alba, the woman I’d been corresponding with. I told her I was very distressed about the situation, and wanted the address of the place. But the more I thought about it, the less comfortable I was. I felt more than a little stupid, naïve, and helpless. Here I was, not even at home so that I had some kind of recourse, so that I could just say, “Well fuck you then,” or at least feel like I had resources at my disposal to fix this somehow. I was across an ocean, in a hotel room, in a place where everything is more expensive and my money is worth less than at home. The idea of being adrift – of having no place to stay, of having to spend hundreds of dollars on hotel rooms and losing the money I’d already put down – had me near hyperventilating.
This was why people had been so impressed that I’d gone by myself; or at least, it was what they should have been thinking about. Loneliness, okay – make a new friend, or make a phone call, or get drunk. Being in a foreign place when shit goes south, all by yourself? It’s strange – when someone else is with you, you’re in together. Whatever goes wrong, you have each other – to blame, to reassure, to talk and figure it out. There was no one to blame or reassure but me.
Well, that’s not exactly true – granted, there was no one to blame but myself (and maybe Ahmed), but there was reassurance to be had.
Now one lesson here is this – if you’re going far away, to another country, on vacation, make sure you either have a plan B or enough backup capital to make one on the fly. Also, a netbook and making sure wherever you stay has internet access is immensely helpful. With the help (and invaluable moral support) of my dear and infinitely smart and practical friend Leez, I researched hotels in Barcelona, checked them against my Lonely Planet and Rough Guide, and booked a room at a four-star hotel at an insanely cheap rate until Friday. When Ahmed called this morning, I went with my gut and told him I wasn’t going to be taking the apartment, and that I wanted my deposit back. He said that was impossible, and I told him that I was not going to pay for goods and services I had not been received – that since I wasn’t going to be provided with the apartment agreed upon when I paid, I was not going to let the charges stand. He said there was nothing he could do, so I told him that I had family in Barcelona (I did not mention that they’ve been dead for hundreds of years, and that my nearest live relative is in Mallorca), and that I was sure they could have their lawyer handle the situation, if that was what he wanted – but that I’d prefer not to have to go through the trouble.
Anyway, writing this entry has become exhausting - I'm in Nottingham now, and they're letting me into the departure area. YAAAAAY!
So I adore Dublin, but I haven’t had the opportunity to see nearly as much of it as I’d hoped. Despite my grand plans to sleep on the plane, and to compensate for this failure by taking a nap, my “nap” was actually four hours long, and then I had to spend another hour and a half or so dealing with business back home. All in all, I didn’t make it out of my hotel until about five (I think? My cell doesn’t like this time zone, and isn’t keeping time properly at all). So I got to walk around the immediate area and take a few pictures of the loveliness that surrounded me.
I also had a really, really, really delicious dinner at a really cool restaurant called Church (it’s actually in a converted church):
(Also, I got to sample real Irish draught Guinness, and let me confirm that the rumors are true. It’s a different beer entirely in Ireland, and where I’ve never liked it when I’ve tried it in the States, I could drink gallons of what they served me here in Dublin.)
But then there was some drama.
So, I came back from the restaurant, full as a tick (again) and wholly content, and decided to take it easy, since I was still exhausted (I was falling asleep at the restaurant). While chatting with buddies and enjoying the intarwebs, I got a call from my “Check-In Manager,” Ahmed – who was neither of the women with whom I had corresponded via e-mail about the arrangements for this apartment. I hadn’t thought anything of it when I was given his name and information as a contact in Barcelona – I figured he’d be a super, or a property manager, or whatever. Well, whatever he was, he called me and told me, at about 11:00 PM or so Dublin time (which means about midnight Barcelona time), that the apartment I had booked and confirmed by making an initial payment of $600+, was having a “water problem,” and that it wouldn’t be available for a few days – but that they were going to put me somewhere in the “city center.” When I asked him for the address of the new apartment, he told me he’d tell me when I got to the airport tomorrow.
Hmm.
Now, this whole situation really bothered me – but whatever, I needed to go to bed, I needed to sleep, I needed to get up the next day (today) at 5:30 to make my flight. So I went to sleep.
And woke up at about 2:45 Dublin time.
I couldn’t get back to sleep – I didn’t want to. I didn’t like that he hadn’t told me the address of the apartment, and I tried calling him – to no avail, of course. Beyond that, when I’d first booked the apartment, I’d arranged to stay in one spot, and after I’d booked it, they wrote me to tell me that the landlady had booked it – and they offered me several other options at higher prices. I told them that I was on a budget, and that I needed to pay what I had originally been going to. They then offered me the apartment that many of my friends have heard about – an adorable little studio in La Barceloneta, perfect for my needs, a two minute (seriously, Google Maps said so) walk to the beach, ten minutes into the heart of Ciudad Vella, an area of the city densely packed with many of the things I want to see there. It was originally priced at about 700 Euro more than I’d booked the other room for, but they cut it down to only about 100 Euro more – which was awesome for the location and space.
At the time, I’d thought I’d just lucked out – but upon receiving that call from the “Check-In Manager,” I began to see it in a different light entirely. I’d been warned by a friend that I ought to just stay in a hostel for a few days when I got into town, so I could actually see the apartments I was considering, meet with landlords, and ensure that the situation was legit.
Of course, I didn’t listen; I was worried about staying in a hostel, I didn’t want to schlep, I just wanted to be settled as quickly as possible. I figured since I’d found the place in the comments of the NYT travel section’s article on staying Barcelona, it must be okay. (This was a naïve mistake on my part – the age of the Common Man Internet has made me forget the extreme paranoia I had back in the days, when it was only nerds, freaks, and liars on the ‘Net [remember when we actually called it that? HA!].) Of course, it never occurred to me that someone from the company itself may have written a bogus recommendation. I don’t know if that’s the case, but really, a little more info should have been considered.
In any case, (oh, look, there’s England! :D), when I woke in the middle of the night, my stomach clenched, my teeth grinding, about this situation, and I didn’t hear back from Ahmed, I wrote an e-mail to Alba, the woman I’d been corresponding with. I told her I was very distressed about the situation, and wanted the address of the place. But the more I thought about it, the less comfortable I was. I felt more than a little stupid, naïve, and helpless. Here I was, not even at home so that I had some kind of recourse, so that I could just say, “Well fuck you then,” or at least feel like I had resources at my disposal to fix this somehow. I was across an ocean, in a hotel room, in a place where everything is more expensive and my money is worth less than at home. The idea of being adrift – of having no place to stay, of having to spend hundreds of dollars on hotel rooms and losing the money I’d already put down – had me near hyperventilating.
This was why people had been so impressed that I’d gone by myself; or at least, it was what they should have been thinking about. Loneliness, okay – make a new friend, or make a phone call, or get drunk. Being in a foreign place when shit goes south, all by yourself? It’s strange – when someone else is with you, you’re in together. Whatever goes wrong, you have each other – to blame, to reassure, to talk and figure it out. There was no one to blame or reassure but me.
Well, that’s not exactly true – granted, there was no one to blame but myself (and maybe Ahmed), but there was reassurance to be had.
Now one lesson here is this – if you’re going far away, to another country, on vacation, make sure you either have a plan B or enough backup capital to make one on the fly. Also, a netbook and making sure wherever you stay has internet access is immensely helpful. With the help (and invaluable moral support) of my dear and infinitely smart and practical friend Leez, I researched hotels in Barcelona, checked them against my Lonely Planet and Rough Guide, and booked a room at a four-star hotel at an insanely cheap rate until Friday. When Ahmed called this morning, I went with my gut and told him I wasn’t going to be taking the apartment, and that I wanted my deposit back. He said that was impossible, and I told him that I was not going to pay for goods and services I had not been received – that since I wasn’t going to be provided with the apartment agreed upon when I paid, I was not going to let the charges stand. He said there was nothing he could do, so I told him that I had family in Barcelona (I did not mention that they’ve been dead for hundreds of years, and that my nearest live relative is in Mallorca), and that I was sure they could have their lawyer handle the situation, if that was what he wanted – but that I’d prefer not to have to go through the trouble.
Anyway, writing this entry has become exhausting - I'm in Nottingham now, and they're letting me into the departure area. YAAAAAY!
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