So despite my enthusiasm toward the general idea of my blogging I have come to loathe it. Really I dread it more than the phrase "I found another cavity" but I guess its essential seeing as I forget my own name at times to my recollection of my adventures so here i go...
I enlisted in the second school 'field trip' by bus to Valencia this past weekend with the rest of my fellow unconscious classmates at the ungodly hour of 8 AM. The ride there was so quiet the bus driver could have heard me cough from twenty rows back. An 8 AM wake up call in Madrid is the equivalent of 4 AM one in America: humans become mute, eyes are at half mast, and the idea of walking seem father fetched than getting me to eat meat. Four and a half uncomfortable hours and unforeseen sleeping positions later we arrived in the land of oranges. If Madrid, Sevilla, and Barcelona had a child it would look like Valencia but less clean. When we first arrived at Expo Hotel ( at first mention of the hotel name I was convinced we were taking up residence in a Costco) I could have sworn I fell asleep and the bus drove us to Vegas. Not Bellagio fountains and amusement parks Vegas but the off the strip kind.... yeah. Naturally there was a Hercules size Corte Ingles surrounding it on all sides just so you remember they own the country. Thank goodness it turns out that where we were staying was the eye sore calle of what turned out to be a beautiful city.
My thought process regarding the trip went as follows: southern spain, beach town, TANNING! and it ended there. I had little to no intention of absorbing more Spanish culture or getting off my beach towel for that matter. I can thank my failure to check the weather report for my complete and utter incorrectness. So after I divorced myself from the idea of seeing this supposed "sun" people speak of, I decided that exploring the city for 20 out of 24 hours of each day was a good backup plan. Now I don't know if any of you have traveled with my friends Alicia and Rachael but if you have, you know they mean business. Groggy wake-up calls at 7 AM demanding I come down to the continental breakfast before we hit the local produce market were made. A trip to the aquarium and Arts and Science center was made in which I learned things about blue whales I never wanted to know. I even went to the Falleras museum of Las Fallas where I viewed paper mache art pieces that looked like a satanic Walt Disney had designed them.
Once a year the city puts on a festival/parade/fireworks show/mob scene called Las Fallas. They spend 500,000 euro each on artists to create styrofoam and paper mache floats that could rival the Empire State Building in grandeur. Then on the final night of a week long Mardi Gras type celebration they burn all of them in the street as a cultural screw you to how short and fleeting life is. Sounds like a good use of time and money to me. Call me ethnocentric but I also fail to grasp their love of fireworks. They treasure explosives with the same enthusiasm that Americans have for their dogs. Baby pyro Spaniards still in diapers can be found taking delight in putting their own fireworks show with other Rugrats while the mothers laugh and smoke off in the distance. I get nervous if I light a candle and I'm twenty-one. The boys in our group took to the prevalence of the unnervingly loud hobby famously, one boy even lighting one off in his mouth and charring his nose. I really am among brilliant minds here. The whole weekend was and endless noise of what sounded like cars backfiring, at one point during an outdoor lunch I yelled " the Redcoats are coming, the Redcoats are coming". Now theoretically when the option of a three and a half hour bike tour came up I thought, 'count me in!' and also a bit of ' will there be training wheels?' While the bike tour was one of the best blatantly tourist activities we agreed to, I havn't walked right since. Throw me a cane and I could pass for a patient in the geriatrics department. I also took a blow to my self esteem when the bike tourguide asked if we ( Alicia, Rachael and I) were Canadian due to our matching plaid flannel shirts ( result of an impulse buy due to cheap prices and lack of a jacket at the time).... we said sure. I havn't worn the shirt since. Now that I look back I guess we did look a little too much like Paul Bunyan fans.
All in all the trip was one of the best I've taken and the paella and bunelos will be missed. From this point its off to London, Paris, Barcelona, Florence, and Greece, oh my! Until then.... MISS YOU ALL AND LOVE YOU!!!!!!! xoxoox
un besito
Chrissy
A Falla
expressing my love for the farmer's market
Arts and Science's Museum
proud to be Canadian
