When I went to Spain by myself...

February half term was a week's break that I looked forward to with both excitement and mild trepidation...I was heading away for a week in the South of Spain all by myself - cue visions of me dressed in pyjamas and kicking my leg high in the air (ala Bridget Jones)... It all started back in November when Ross and I first dealt with the fact that our Feb half term holidays weren't going to match up; in fact my school's chosen half term dates were a week before basically all other schools in the UK. With that in mind, alongwith our plan to go somewhere every half term and take advantage of our holidays as much as possible, we decided separate trips had to be planned. Spain was high on our list for travels, but the South of Spain (specifically Seville) was particularly attractive because of how safe it is for single women travellers! Always a bonus if i come back from my half term trip alive... so in one of our geekier moments, Ross or I (not sure who is madder than the other) jokingly suggested the potential of planning the exact same holiday for ourselves, one week apart. What started as a joke soon became quite appealing, mainly because it meant that we would 'kinda' be sharing the same experiences. So, with that in mind, I booked a Tues to Sat trip to Spain for me, and another for Ross...one week later. Let me tell you, the hotel I booked was mighty confused, not least because I was using google translate to communicate my booking to them in wonky Spanish! I can only speak in great detail about my own experiences, but I assure you that both Ross and I absolutely loved Spain. It's now high, very, very high on our list of places to return to. It is such a picturesque place, particularly Seville (or Sevilla) where we based ourselves. I had found a small famly run pension where the grown up daughters spoke a little English. The rooms were small and monastic but comfortable with ensuite bathrooms for a good price in a central location and I leapt at the chance to stay there. It was cosy and comfortable and housed in a traditional home, deep amongst the winding alleys and narrow streets of the picturesque Santa Cruz district. This district is a series of winding streets, not unlike Venice or other littler towns in Italy or France, featuring countless neighbourhood stores and little pottery shops and tapas bars, all snaking towards the central marketplace, main square and fabulous cathedral. The whole area is amazingly quaint and just begging to be explored. I arrived in Seville on a late night flight and made my way to my little hotel, along the winding streets, feeling extremely impressed with myself. I found a little store that sold plain looking sandwiches, already made up with visible fillings and made the decision to dine on that for dinner...mainly because I know no Spanish and was too tired to whip out my fancy sign language skills just yet. I ate the VERY ordinary sandwiches before grabbing some bottled water and snackfoods from the local store and bunking down in the hotel for the night, laptop on hand to watch a few episodes of Gilmore Girls...(sad, I know...are you picturing that scene from Bridget Jones yet?) The next morning I rose early and after an incredibly embarassing situation where I, clumsily unable to aim the ahower rose correctly, managed to FLOOD MY ENTIRE HOTEL ROOM wandered the side streets and through some divine hand I came upon a Churros and Chocolate storefront where fresh and fabulous hot fried doughnut sticks, famous in Spain and unbelievably yum, were being fried and served with thick hot chocolate. The churros were my saviour after my embarassing morning, where I had had to get out of my shower early after hearing incessant baging on my door. Frustrated, I turned off my shower mid way through, and stepped out of the cubicle...and into massive puddles of water the exact size and shape of my room. The water had seeped through the tiles and down through the ceiling of my hosts... definitely my most embarassing experience ever. Picture me here, apologising profusely to an elderly Spanish gentleman, one hand holding up my towel, the other holding a phrasebook... I purchased a takeaway cone and continued my walk, quickly reaslising the sheer luck with which i had found my delicious breakfast. In my few hours' morning wander, I never once came upon another churros joint, but I did meet numerous foreign tourists who spotted my cone of deliciousness, flagged me down and begged directions. I felt like quite the expert. Seville is commonly divided into several main areas. The central zone is Santa Cruz, where I was staying. It is characterised by the main tourist attractions, places of beauty, tourist and tourist shops, great tapas bars, a lively atmosphere, and of course three Starbucks stores - inescapable. The area to the east of this is known as El Arenal hosts the famous stadium where bullfighting takes place. There's an area further east called Triana, across the wide expanse of river, where bullfighters and gypsies famously lived and still live. Here you can see (and I did) the Callejon De La Inquisition (the alley where people walked to their deaths during the Spanish Inquisition) and numerous pottery stores and workshops making traditional, richly patterned and colourful spanish tiles. To the North of the city is my favourite area, somewhere I explored for hours on my final day in Spain, the Macarena District. I saw no'one performing this tragic nineties dance routine, but I was treated to several nun sightings, a monk or three and some of the most lovely, authentic and picturesque back streets. The last main area is known as San Sebastian and features gorgeous landscaped parklands, some which have been kept beautifully, other which have disappointingly been left by the wayside. This area features a breathtakingly beautiful building called the Plza de Espana that was designed to feature in a World Expo to be held in Seville in the 1930s. Unfortunately, the Depression hit the world and the expo was never to be. The building, a stunning construction covered all over with blue, white and yellow patterned tiles produced in the Triana district and adorned with a boat filled moat, was left alone, unused for decades until recently. It's now a 'buzzy' place and reminded me in atmosphere a lot of central parks and green spaces in Australia like the Royal Botanical Gardens. I arrived in Seville on a Tuesday night and left that Saturday, spending Wednesday and Saturday exploring the sights, smells, sounds and tastes of Seville, easily one of the most beautiful and refined and liveable cities I've ever had the pleasure of visiting. Is it easy to tell I fell in love with the place? I loved exploring its back streets, poring over handicrafts, pausing at heavy gates to listen to the nuns as they chatted and giggled gaily behind their heavily cloistered walls. I loved sampling different local foods (churros of course, but also lomo and paella and calamari and castella cakes and biscuits) It truly is a gorgeous city. On Thursday and Friday i took two days trips. On Thursday, it was an early morning as I headed to Santa Justa, the main station (once famous for being a possible stop on the Orient Express) and took a train for about an hour to nearby Cordova, a Moorish town built up and around a very famous mosque, now under the control of the Catholic church, which has 'changed hands' between Muslim and Christian people throughout history. In the time of Julius Caesar, Cordova was capital of a large Roman province, and the place still has that feeling of importance and history about it. The mosque, most famous for its 856 giant arches, built of marble, jaspar, onyx and granite. Even now, the cathedral is in the power of the Catholic church and Spanish Muslims are still lobbying for the chance to pray in the mosque/cathedral, but to no avail. It's sad in that way, walking into such a significant place; a building built for religious observance by a particular group, with their faith in mind in the architecture...only to find it has been taken over and had additions made that, in some ways, compromise the original intentions of the building. On another note though, it is remarkable in many ways how the icons of both religions have been able to merge quite artfully in the one building. Something to think about...as you sit in the courtyard outside the mosque, a stunning space where you can relax under countless Seville Orange trees. The orange trees is Seville are remarkable. They make the city unique, gorgeous and orange scented! I was unlucky enough to be caight in a massive thunderstorm in Seville, but lucky enough to experience the 'after' where the oily scent of oranges is all over the city, thick in the air and absolutely beautiful. The other day trip I took was a taster of the white villages I planned to see later in the year in Greece. In the early days of Spain, the Moors settled and where they settled they built whitewashed villages, which are still, by law, whitewashed every year (in June, I think?) by the current villagers. These villages are breathtakingly lovely and I had the chance to experience a really special one, perched on a cliffside overlooking dry, green pastures, called Arcos de la Frontera. I accessed the village by train then a local bus from Jerez, home of sherry. Jerez was a less than impressive town that reminded me more of big urbanised country towns in Oz like Geelong or Bendigo than the rest of the more quaint and traditional Spain, but its tapas bars are apparently amazing, and I unluckily met the sleep town during siesta. Arcos however, was stunning. I rode a rickety local bus driven by possbily the friendliest driver in the world. He wasn't put off by my lack of Spanish and happily chatted at me for close to half an hour before another soul joined us on the route, whereupon he redirected his ceaseless chatter and toothy grins to the old lady who had joined us. On several occasions he stopped the bus to have a quick, loud conversation with men sitting on the roadisde. There was lots of throwing arms in the air, shaking heads, and muttering. Had the driver not pulled away with what seemed like a happy cheer and a big grin, I would have supposed them to be arguing. The bus wound through the dry pastures in rural Spain. The landscape here was less lush, warmer than leafy tree lined Seville and much drier. The sun beat down on empty pastures. Horses grazed near cacti. We reached Arcos in mid afternoon, just in time for me to explore the local gypsy market, eat more churros, marvel at the ridiculous items that were being sold and hike up into the main white village streets of Arcos. It was in Arcos that I discovered one of the most wonderful things about Spain, something so quaint and lovely and so very 'Spain'. I noticed as I walked the quiet back streets, attempting to take photos of myself that didn't look ridiculous and managed to feature both my face and some of the scenery, when I noticed a little wooden door, slightly ajar. I stepped through the door and realised I was in the entrance to a cloistered convent. A price list for sweets and cakes adorned the wall next to a kind of odd looking wooden contraption. A sort of confession box crossed with a lazy susan. This, I was to discover, is how the nuns and monks make themselves a bit of money (because that pesky Catholic church really does need the income, right?!) The nuns (and monks) bake sweets and traditional cakes and sell them, but because they are cloistered and meant to live a life with limted to no interaction with people outside the convent or monastery walls, they have to seel their goods by using 'El Torno' a lazy Susan type contraption where the nun sits on one side and the purchaser (ie. me) sits on the other. I ring a little bell and am greeted by the nun, tell her my order for dulces (sweets) and put my money on the Lazy Susan contraption before pushing it and sending it spinning. It then spins back around and the trustworkthy nun has placed my sweets on it! This is not just for tourists - the locals buy their nun-made sweets like this daily! It is the essence of Spain, the lovely combination of modern and traditional that captured my heart.

January and February Travels-Paris

A weekend in Paris...the concept alone is already romantic! In January, deep in France's (freezing!) winter, we took the Eurostar to a very cold, but nonetheless stunning Paris. The Eurostar is a train that travels from the centre of London, underwater (under the channel!) and into France. It's a strange concept, getting on the train then three hours later ending up in a completely different country, and sometimes it doesn't really feel like you're going somewhere special... but then you're in France and what a relaxing way to travel! I love the Eurostar! There're very short visa and passport control process, no weight restrictions to worry about on the luggage front, a little cafe on board, specious seating and the rhythm of the train puts you straight to sleep! We arrived in Paris early on a Saturday morning and headed to our little boutique hotel (tiny but nice) near the station, before exploring the Montmartre area, Sacre Couer, Champs Elysses and the Louvre. I had booked a bus tour in advance for the Saturday afternoon, mainly to ensure we had a 'skip the line' ticket for the Eiffel Tower, which can be hard to secure in advance, so our plan that first day was to catch the main sights, then take the bus and end up at the top of the tower as the sun went down...a romantic concept, but we had most definitely not factored in the incredible cold! Paris was absolutely freezing that weekend and despite wearing multiple layers including several very unfashinable, (un-Paris!) thermal items, we still shivered our way through the streets and sights. What struck me about Paris was the sheer size of the city. I mean, in theory it makes absolute sense, of course Paris is a huge city - it's one of the big four - (Paris, Rome, New York, London - tick, tick, tick, tick!) and is a powerful and influential city, but in my imagination it has always been a large cobble stoned village! Paris is actually enormous, and the size of everything in Paris is enormous too - the streets are wide, the buildings are vast and the parks and wide open spaces. It's so big that it's difficult to capture Paris in photographs; you're always missing a corner of a building or fountain! We started in Montmartre, walking distance from our hotel and easy to spot, from the towering cathedral at the top of the hillside, the very famous Sacre Couer. Montmartre is stunning, a rambling series of cobbled streets full of that neighbourhood charm you always imagine to be 'very Paris'. There are crepe stores on each corner, biscuits and sweet stores and delicatessens, men in berets and horizontal stripes playing musical instruments, artists offering to paint a likeness of you, the Moulin Rouge nearby and all of the old world charm you expect...though it is predominantly for the tourist trade. It's a lovely part of Paris, and it's a close tie between that area and the Latin Quarter as to which is my favourite for that sought after experience of Parisian charm. From Montmartre, we headed to the very fashionable, very en vogue Champs Elysses, the famous shopping strip. I've recently read that Parisian locals are disappointed by the fact that Champs has become so fashionable now that anything reminiscent of neighbourhood stores (pharmacies, newsagencies etc) cannot afford to be in the area. Just last month, the last post office in the area closed. Not having to live there, and loving being closed in on all sides by flagship designer stores and walking such a beautifully landscaped street...I didn't mind at all! It is a stunning street and a great chance to people watch and marvel at the madness of traffic as it careens around the Arc de Triomphe. From here, it was a straight, long walk down Champs, past beautifully landscaped gardens to the Louvre, and the planned meeting place of our prebooked bus tour. We had baguettes at a little sandwich shop in my favourite part of Paris, the Le Marais then headed to the meeting place, only to find that the map we'd been provided with was wrong and we were at the very much closed head office of the tour company. These sort of things aren't uncommon for us, so I barely flinched when Ross asked a kind man for the correct directions then took off at breakneck speed, running through the streets of Paris! I half jogged, half walked and 100% hoped he'd call and fill me in on his master plan. We met up at the tourist office minutes after the tour bus had left and thankfully the tour company realised their error and rebooked us, on to a tour the next morning. They made arrangements for us to rejoin the tour group an hour later at the base of the Eiffel tower so we still got to view it as the sun went down. That solved, Ross and I explored the gardens nearby and took a close look at the glass pyramid and surrounding buildings that make up the Louvre, then walked along the riverfront and admired the Musee D'Orsay; the sometimes overlooked museum and art gallery that is situated in the now-retired train terminal on the Parisian riverfront. From here we took the train to the Eiffel Tower - a magnificent building, the sight of which left us completely breathless. There's really no way of explaining just how unbelievable it is to come face to face (face to tower?) with a sight of this magnitude. I recall the same feeling when we hit Venice, when we saw the Colisseum in Rome, Michaelangelo's David in Florence, Kinkakuji in Kyoto and regularly when I catch a glimpse of Big Ben... all of a sudden, you're hit with a feeling of 'I'm here. I'm in Paris' (or Italy...or Japan...or London...) The Eiffel Tower is my favourite sight in Paris, even though it will forever be embedded in my memory as the coldest sightseeing experience ever. Logic lost to romance when I insisted that we stay on the tower to view the sun going down and the city lighting up...despite the fact that it was minus 5 and snowing on our heads! Ross forced us to pass the time and keep warm by running laps of the tower - particularly cold as we hit the west side of the tower. I'm sure people would have been very amused by the shivering couple jogging the circuit of the tower, yelling 'please no, not the west!'...had anyone else been foolish enough to stick around at the top in the mad, cold weather with us. :) Our trip to the tower was polished off with crepes at the bottowm (of course), photos from various angles and distances, and a follow up crepe, before we made our way to the Latin Quarter for dinner. The Latin Quarter is a series of rambling streets clustered near Notre Dame and comes alive at night in a lovely, dramatic way. The resturants there are quite small, tend to specialise in French or Swiss food or both and are all alike in their ability to squeeze many, many people into their tiny storefronts (many featuring the expected checked tablecloths!). We ate a three course French meal, made friends with a lovely couple squeezed in next to us on our tiny table then wandered back to our hotel. Day two began with our long awaited bus tour - a real bonus considering I only booked it to get us speedily up the Eiffel Tower. Though Ross and I often remark that we're not 'tour people', we have come to realise, all over the world, that a tour is often a good option. Without a tour in Rome, we'd have wandered around for hours at Palatine and the Forum, pointing at piles of rocks and having no idea what we were looking at. In Paris, the morning bus tour took us, in order of cultural and/or historical significance, past loads of monuments and streetscapes we'd never have had the chance to experience on foot. It was a magnificent way to take in Paris. In the afternoon we wandered around La Marais, catching sight of some AMAZING French fashion and eating chocolates and croissants then finished our weekend back in Montmartre at the Artists Square, where hundreds of artists are clustered at the top of the hill around the cathedral; a picturesque French neighbourhood, and a favourite place from our visit.

January and February Travels-Portugal

In January, we returned from our travels in America exhausted, ready for work once more, and very excited about some upcoming weekends. Late in 2010, I realised that if we were willing to leave super early on a Saturday morning and return super late on a Sunday night, there was no reason why we couldn't head international on a few weekends! So, I booked up three weekends in the end of January and beginning of February - the first in Porto, Portugal, the second in Paris (!) and the final one with friends on a road trip to Wales. In February, I then booked an extra trip as a Valentines' gift for Ross and we headed to Bruges, Belgium at the end of March - a ridiculously travel-full start to the year. It's amazing really, the flights are so inexpensive, and the trips so much fun, it's almost a crime not to head away! :) I'll begin with Porto, our trip to the capital of Port wine making, a coastal fishing city in Portugal...I loved our weekend in Porto, mainly because it reminded me of a grittier, more run down Italy, something between Venice (all that water) and Rome (all that grit), and it was our first introduction to that part of Europe. In March, we both headed away to Spain and whilst Portugal and Spain have some marked differences, I feel that Porto gave us a taste of Spain. Porto is such a lovely city with amazing, picturesque streetscapes. I loved wandering the streets and admiring the buildings. Porto is divided down the middle by a wide body of water you can pass by going over a bridge just a bit shorter than the one between San Remo and Phillip Island. On one side of the water, scattered at different points on a steep hillside are numerous Port Wine wineries, outlets and restaurants, and on the opposite side are the waterfront cafes and fish resturants, and a very steep climb into the main part of the city. There are fabulous pottery stores scattered all over town, and the shopping there was refreshingly less touristy than in previous European cities we've visited. We stayed at a run of the mill hotel chain and spent the weekend enjoying steep walks, great fresh fish and port wine! A hghlight for me was the architecture and colour. In both Spain and Marrakech where we've since visited, we've again seen coloured tiling and intricate decoraration, but Porto was our first sighting of this in Europe, and it's gorgeous. Homes are decorated with colorful tiles, most commonly with strong blue hues and often also feature some kind of religious imagery on their homes too. Portugal is a very Catholic place, with grand church buildings scattered over town. The architecture is so strange at first, enormous grand buildings...on a waterfront. It's as if they've transported Collins Street to be ocean front. A bit different, but very Europe! Our days were spent wandering the streets, intentionally getting lost, only to be found one late afternoon by an hilarious festival on the waterfront, featuring singing, dancing, cakes...and the head of Jesus. Bizarre, but delicious food!