The adventures of naked Carlos

Remember the show Friends and how the girls were constantly monitoring the comings and goings of Ugly Naked Guy? Well our hotel in Barcelona is directly across the street from the apartment of this pretty hot guy I named Carlos. Our first day Jen is innocently looking out our balcony window when she says, "Hey Mim- check out our neighbor folding his laundry in his underwear!" I come running and can't believe how close our two buildings are. Also, Carlos' back is to us and it's a great, um, view. This is a totally Instagramable moment. I whip out my phone, lining up the shot which I've already decided to caption Room with a View. It's a bit dark. I zoom, trying to adjust the lighting when suddenly Carlos spins around, smiling and kind of posing. I nearly throw my phone in the air, busted and completely embarrassed. I duck down and crawl away from the window. Jen and I collapse in hopeless giggles. 

Later that day while she is out in front out building having a smoke Carlos gives her a friendly wave, evidently no hard feelings. We soon discover a lot of things about Carlios (except his real name). Here are some coversation tidbits we have during the course of our week:

"Hey come look- Carlos just took a shower and he's walking around naked." At this point we busy ourselves near the window, ostensibly looking for something while surreptitiously getting an eyeful. 

Or- "Check it out- Carlos goes commando." 

"Carlos is cleaning in his underwear. Wow, he's really tidy and folds his laundry meticulously."

Along the way we develop a waving hello vibe and occasionally chatting across the balconies to one another. He witnessed with amusement my portrayal of Evita singing "Don't cry for me Argentina."

The last night however, he does lean out to shush us at 5am. Undeterred, I call up for him to come on down! He shuts the shutters and does not. The next day we discover why. 

"Carlos has a girlfriend," Jen reports. 

"OMG! You didn't see...they aren't..."

"No," she says. "She's dressed and in the living room and he just showered and is parading around naked as usual."

"I guess that explains yesterday's cleaning frenzy," I say. 

His living room is next to his bedroom and while GF sits in the living room unaware, he's next door in the bedroom now dressed and waving to Jen. She goes to open our window to call out at which point he frantically waves his arms indicating "No!" He then circles a finger around his ear, the universal symbol for crazy, and points to the next room. Jen nods knowingly. 

We are going back Tuesday for one more night before flying home Wednesday and we hope to be put in exact same room with its excellent vantage point. Also, we're determined to find out his real name and get a legit photo. Stay tuned. Amigos! Ciao for now- Mim 😉

Barcelona- nightlife edition

Hola amigos! Let's talk Barcelona!!

NIGHTLIFE- CLUB SCENE
Oh boy is this my kind of place! Well, add it to the list of my kind of places but it ranks highly. I'd put it in the Greece category. 

First of all I've been joined by my BFF Jen so right away we've got a new twist. This is her first overseas journey so I'm the tour guide. Our first night we just google Barcelona nightlife and a list of clubs pops up. We pick the first one, Razzmatazz, said to be totally hot, and head over. Here's a Mim travel tip: Amigos, please don't ever go there if you're in Barcelona! I don't know why I didn't just ask someone from our hotel which what I always do but I didn't. 

The cab lets us out and there's a long line. Good sign, right? Had we had just a moment more to actually look at the people on the line we'd have stayed in the cab but alas we did not. The line to get in looks like an open casting call for some grunge MTV reality show. It isn't just the odd piercings and tattoos. I'm pierced with a couple of tattoos, but the guy behind us has multiple piercings beneath his skin all over his face. Nobody is dressed for a club. Girls are in ratty dresses with Converse high-tops, etc. Guys look like they've rolled out of bed. Are you getting a visual? This is not what we're expecting. And here are Jen and I in little black mini-dresses and 5" heels.  

We immediately regret letting our cab go as we are quite far off the beaten path. Again, this is pre-Uber. We're fretting about our options as the line is moving us toward the door and we're surrounded by these people. We absolutely cannot stay but there's not a cab in sight. What to do?? When we finally reach the door we're met by two dwarves in tuxedos and a dominatrix-looking woman in a top hat holding a whip. WHAT goes on here?? We're ready ready to bolt so when she uses the whip to flip up the backs of our little  club dresses while the tuxedoed dwarves hoot and holler, we duck off the line not caring that we look like frightened school girls. 

Thankfully we find a cab immediately and I describe what we just witnessed and ask him to take us anywhere fun, which is another way I've started many an evening. He takes us to Opium, a Real Club, on the beach and flanked by a few other similar clubs. This has standard-size bouncers in Armani suits and now we're completely surrounded by Beautiful People. Now THIS is what we want! The club is rocking and, despite being stalked by a couple of local guys in whom we have no interest, we proceed to dance and party until 5am. Barcelona totally rocks!

The next night over a late dinner at the W Hotel our waiter Nelson tells us we should really check out the club Eclipse on top of the W. He also tells us of places near our hotel that aren't clubs as we really prefer a rowdy bar with great music that's not a Scene since we've already done that. So Nelson leads us up some back stairs and through the hotel to a lobby elevator where there is a velvet rope behind which is a tuxedoed bouncer and a beautiful girl with an iPad checking names on a guest list. 

Nelson has a few words with the bouncer who then opens the rope and puts us on the elevator, pushing an unidentified button above the numbers.  We're whisked to the club at the top which has a panoramic view of the beach and city and we're surrounded by more Beautiful People (young mostly) who absolutely adore us, the girls and the boys. We're inexplicably the most popular people there making all kinds of new friends. I'm even given a private lesson on how to twerk in the ladies' room by this one girl while Jen videos. Oh the hilarity!! When the club abruptly closes at 3 they insist we move on with them to the Opium area and party on with them. Having just done that the night before we say our good-byes while they're making us promise to go meet them. We lie and get in a cab home as we have tickets to the Sagrada Familia Basilica later this morning and don't want to be shattered. 

BAR FUN!
On Nelson's recommendation we go to Plaza Rial off La Rambla and a 5 minute walk from our hotel. There we discover a bar called El Rey de Copas which instantly becomes our new home base. Great music, lively crowd from all over and one of the hottest bartenders we've seen anywhere. His name is Jan (pronounced Yahn) and he looks like a Chippendale dancer. 

 Already crowded, at 2 or 3 an even larger crowd surges in and the music is pumping, people are dancing, drinking and the DJ rocks. Before you know it's 5am again. As we head home there are people waving tasty-smelling savory treats under my nose which I'm dying for  yet in a few short hours our awesome hotel breakfast will be served so I refrain. Our deal is we set the alarm, drag ourselves to breakfast, graze, then go back to sleep until 1. All in all, great night! We repeat this every night until we leave for France. Thank you, Nelson for that tip. 

Anyway, like I said, Barcelona is definitely my kind of place. I've loads more to report but for now, love and all that Razzmatazz- Mim 😊

A broad abroad in Morocco

 

Upon arrival in Tangier our tour guide Paco shepherds our group through customs and onto a bus after a 3 hour bus ride to the ferry & 40 min ferry ride over. I didn't even tell you about that part but it began at 6am and felt endless.  We're now led by a Moroccan man named Hassan and he explains the history of Morocco and Tangier which is quite interesting but I'll spare you details. Google it.

Peddlers

Our first stop is a tiny market and lookout point where we're immediately accosted by peddlers shoving trinkets, bracelets, wooden camels and long Islamic-looking tunics at us. The tunic peddlers are around every corner throughout the day. "Tunic for you?? Look at pretty colors! You like? You want? How much you pay??" After my endless "No gracias! No gracias!" which falls on deaf ears, I finally indulge one guy by holding it up to myself, saying, "Now where am I wearing this?" and he finally leaves me alone. Until the next one finds me. And the one after that...You get the idea. 

Camel ride

Next stop is to see the camels where I indeed take a ride which is hilarious. An older man from Atlanta who's on our bus says, "I'd like to see you manage a camel ride in that long dress."  He's joking but I assure him I've every intention of riding. I hike dress up to my knees, climb aboard the camel who has patient but long-suffering look in his eyes and his handler prods him to stand which nearly unseats me while the wind blows off the silly fez hat the man has stuck on my head. I go on mercifully short wobbly ride after which my fantasy of being SJP from SATC is shattered when I catch a glimpse of myself in mirror.  I'm way more HBC (Helena Bonham Carter) from any film she's made in past several years minus the blacked out teeth. My hair is wild and I feel a layer of sand over my entire body. Pretty. 

Lunch!

After more sight-seeing along the famed Kasbah (I did rock the Kasbah!) it was finally time for lunch. We weave our way through the narrow, winding streets followed by little beggar boys calling,"Por favor, señora! Por favor!" with outstretched hands which my new friends and I ignore. The restaurant has a lively band with that meandering sort of tambourine beat one can imagine. At this point, conceal your shock, I am absolutely famished having eaten nothing when I left my hotel at 5:30am. It's now 1:00 and the food is absolutely delicious! Starter is a soup which I finish with such gusto the waiter asks if I'd like some more, which I desperately want but politely decline. Don't want to be the ugly American! He takes our drinks order and this lively older British man orders two beers and then turns to his wife and asks, "And what would you like darling?" I like this group! I follow his lead and order 2 myself. Next we are served beef kabobs (love a kabob!) followed by main course which is this flavorful chicken and vegetables over a couscous the likes of which I doubt I'll ever taste again. Light, fluffy, delicious! It's making me hungry thinking of it. After dessert and surprisingly tasty mint tea, it's time for the real shopping. I can hardly wait!!

Shopping

I'd imagined that everything would be dirt cheap here and I'd walk away with armfuls of gifts. Not so amigos! Prices are outrageous & I manage to buy myself cool candle holders and a dish for which I'm embarrassed to share how much I overpaid. It being Ramadan AND Friday (their holy day) many merchants are off. The spice market rocks though!! A guy has us all seated around him while he explains what each spice is. My Pakistani neighbor in NY is often sending over delicious foods with a particular, very flavorful spice I can neither find nor identify. Friends, I now have two bags of it and can't wait to start cooking with it. I was super thrilled to discover the obvious- Moroccan oil!! It's about $40 for a 5 or 6 oz bottle at home and I was using it until my budget for such luxuries ran dry so I'm psyched to discover it's about €10 for an even bigger bottle.  It originated here yet I'd forgotten all about until I got here. As with all the spices & perfumes the man passes them around encouraging us to try. Well I need no encouragement and when the Moroccan oil comes my way I spray a couple of drops on my palm and run it through my messy hair. Before passing it on I decide to discreetly spritz some more right onto my hair but when I press the spray my new friend Trish who is next to me bursts out giggling as others behind me suppress laughter. Turns out I've inadvertently sprayed the oil right onto the face of a guy behind me who is thankfully a Very Good Sport as he wipes it off his cheek. Next the spice guy calls out asking if anyone knows what arnica is. I answer loudly, "Poison?" Heads turn and the spice guy shakes his head in confusion as I realize I'm mistakenly thinking of arsenic. Trish and I laugh HARD over this, especially after the oil incident. Ah the giggles of this day! Spices procured: 2 bags magical spice, 1 vial of pure saffron, 1 bottle Moroccan oil. 

Attack of the Peddlers 2:The Final Assault

Getting to the bus to return to the ferry means bracing ourselves against the peddlers who, knowing this is their last chance, are crawling all over us more aggressively than ever. More tunic guys, guys with cheap jewelry, the little beggars, guys with tee shirts & wooden camels- name it. I'm dangling my bags saying, "All done! No gracias!" to no avail. I make the rookie mistake of glancing ever so briefly at some leather sandals. And they were in a shop so I thought I was safe once I passed.  Next thing I know the guy has them all bundled in a blanket and he's trotting along beside me asking, "You like? Which ones you want?" He's displaying colors & calling out "15 euro? 12? I give for 12!" 

I'm refusing while on my other side trots along a guy selling mirrors which he's holding up to my face, some with doors that he's opening and closing in front of my eyes while the beggar boys are in front of me under my feet asking for "One euro señora, por favor!" I'm clutching my purse with an iron fist thinking this a classic diversion scam. Sandal guy gets on the bus with me (!) and he's down to five euro but I just want to scream, "Stop the madness!!!!" Finally, purse secured, bags in hand, I settle onto the ferry with my new fun girlfriends I've made and we watch Morocco disappear on the horizon. A very cool experience.

Breakfast in America

I embrace everything about traveling in other countries, especially the food, but as my breakfast In America consists solely of a good cup of coffee, my body struggles if denied this simple ritual. Today in Malaga my coffee is served to me in a tiny cup about half the size of an espresso cup. I feel like I should be lining up my dolls for a tea party. I can only add a few grains of one sugar packet or it'll turn into a paste. I down it in half of one sip. I debate ordering 5 more & pouring them into a larger cup but decide against it. 

As much as I find it disappointing that every American fast food establishment has set up shop around the world, I have long appreciated Starbucks being available even though I don't even drink it at home. I'm a Dunkin' Donuts girl through and through and have been baffled for years why they've not put down roots here in Europe.  Nonetheless I've made the adjustment and take comfort knowing I'll get my venti Americana in nearly any city. 

Imagine my delight when, upon arriving in Madrid, I spy the familiar orange logo of my beloved DD. I actually gasp aloud and my cab driver glances in alarm at me in the rear view mirror only to see me grinning like an idiot. And I soon discover during this brief cab ride that they are as numerous as Starbucks. Yes! DD!

The next morning I easily find one and order my extra large with cream and sugar and am presented with a tiny paper cup with one packet of sugar on the side. The milk (looking suspiciously skim...) has been added already. I ask if this is the largest size and the woman (I can't even call her a barista) is already completely annoyed by my question. She says, yes, this is the largest. 

I ask for more sugar and now she's openly hostile, eyes narrowed, as she hands me another single packet. Small coffee or not I need more than 2 sugars and,when she's not looking, I reach over and grab two more. It also did not taste like our DD. 

Overall I'm pretty horrified that the world  must believe we Americans eat nothing but crap fast food and that we're all fat and rude, but I confess to being grateful for Starbucks when available. My venti Americanos are comfortingly the same wherever they're served and I'm free to add my requisite 8 sugars. Don't judge- I'm American after all. 

A broad abroad in Pamplona

Toro! Toro!

So- Pamplona! What can I say except the bull running has been on my bucket list for years. I once had  aspirations of running but last month on a normal run through town I tripped seemingly on nothing (a speck of dust? Pebble? My own feet?) and was black and blue with knees and palms tore up & bloody as well as a swollen jaw (don't ask). I looked like a domestic abuse victim & received strange & sympathetic looks which made me wonder what may happen if chased by bulls. 

After 3 nights in London with only catnaps on plane and train I was remarkably ready to party upon arrival in Pamplona. Stepping off the train all I can see are people dressed all in white with red sashes around the waist and red bandana at the neck which is the typical costume of the Festival of San Fermin. But many of you may be wondering- 

What is the Festival of San Fermin? (No worries- I'll be brief!) San Fermin was a saint beheaded in Spain. The red neckerchief is symbolic of that. 

Who runs? Anyone can just jump in and run and climb back out over the barricade along the route.  Average time running? About 8 seconds if you're lucky. Although amateurs from around the world jump in, the professional runners are the mozos (pronounced mothos- with long O sound) and now mozas (women). These people train year-round and know how to run in front of the bull without getting gored. The police try as best they can to keep out those runners obviously drunk, although many are buzzed but still with their wits about them. 

So the entire town of a Pamplona is a sea of people dressed in white with the red sash and red bandana. I have all my whites ready and am planning to buy the bandana along the way when to my delight I discover my hotel (Hotel Yoldi which I highly recommend!) has left one on my pillow when I get upstairs. Yay me!

After a quick shower I don my white jeans and white tank (an outfit that is no woman's friend btw), tie on my bandana and hit the streets. Many connections to Pamplona and New Orleans at Mardi Gras which I've also done. A difference is there are like the equivalent of several Bourbon Streets surrounding a main plaza. With no time to orient myself to the town and no map (!) I take a pic of the map from the Rick Steve's guide book for handy reference and I used it A Lot! Like Mardi Gras, the streets and bars are full of revelers but, contrary to what one may expect, all friendly and respectful. People are of ALL ages so my fear of crashing a college party is quickly put to rest. Nothing to do but start exploring.

I'm in maybe my third bar when I'm befriended by a local guy and within seconds am being spun around the dance floor- or the area near the bar serving that purpose.  He gets me a beer and no, I am not getting rufied (no idea how to spell that and won't try) because I watch the beer being poured that the bartender gives me and it does not leave my sight. This guy is Jose and he's seemingly close to my age and understands my Spanish perfectly well. We chat, we dance, and before I know it it's 3:30am. I've heard it's necessary to line up quite early to get a decent vantage point along the route and after my travels and little sleep I'm concerned about whether I should try to rally on and stay up or nip back to the room for a brief rest. 

As Jose escorts me back to my hotel, police are already putting out the barricades and they're about as high as my chin and I'm 5'6". Jose has run years before but not in 17 years when he was in his twenties (an age clue- maybe early forties? I never asked- seldom do. He tells me I'll never get close enough to see, thousands of people blah blah. Now it's nearly 4 and I'm practically asleep on my feet and the idea of waiting up until 8am is beyond me. I say good night and thank you to Jose and go upstairs just to lay down and "rest my eyes" like we used to say at slumber parties when we were determined to stay awake. I mean, I'm planning to line up at (yawn) 5:30 or 6 (yawn) LATEST. It's why I'm (yawn) even in (yaaaawn) Pamp....zzzzzzzzzzz....

Despite having set 3 alarms, noise from the street wakes me and I bolt up, seeing the light sky and absolutely sick with dread that I've already missed it. I rub my eyes (contacts still in-ugh!!) and grab for my phone. 6:45! I'm Scrooge on Christmas morning. I haven't missed it!! I want to dance around but too tired and no time. I brush my teeth and hair. I'm still completely dressed and in last night's make up as was just "resting my eyes".  I throw on my sunglasses and run downstairs, following the crowd past the famed statue of the bull-running the few blocks toward the arena. I'm certain the crowd will be 20 deep but no! I find a spot by the barricade right up front! Yay me! It's just past 7 and the crowd is thickening behind me, and, despite the excitement around me, I'm yawning so much I practically dislocate my jaw. I'm psyched though. 

The crowd is rowdy- have I mentioned the singing?? Oh, the singing!! Last night also. I hear that only the Irish sing as much. It's as though  I'm suddenly cast in the chorus of a rowdy Spanish musical. I watch as several medics gather inside the barricade, at the ready with stretchers. Photographers climb into place perched atop the barricade. It's moments from 8am and we're all ready to watch.  The crowd energizes me and before I know it I hear the gunshot signaling the start. The entire run is barely 5 minutes and the part one actually sees, depending on vantage point, is about a minute. I'll attach the link to yesterday's actual whole run. 

I hear the shouting and pounding of hooves and there they are, running past me, the bulls (6) and the steers (8). It's absolutely amazing to be right there! The mozos and the rest of the runners all peering over their shoulders and leaping out of the way. I'm told if you run and fall to stay flat on the ground and count to be sure all beasts have passed before getting up. In the video below you'll see a couple of guys fall and lie flat. Because one poor bull got separated he was far behind all the others. Before I know it they've

all run past and into the arena. 

After the whole business ends moments later I'm grateful to return to my room for proper rest. I'm leaving later that evening for Madrid so just spending the rest of the day hanging around town after I wake back up. That night would be another night of frivolity but I'm ready to move on so will not be present at midnight for the "Pobre de mi" closing ceremony & song. Pobre de mi (poor me) that one must wait another year for Festival of San Fermin. But, hey, as I'm so fond of saying, it's annual!  Plan your trip, amigos- you won't be disappointed. 

Cheers! Mim 

Link to actual bull running from yesterday. I'm behind photographers near the arena at the end (not visible but I'm there!). One poor brown bull gets confused & needs a lot of help finding his way. The animal-lover in me finds this part very hard to watch as the poor thing looks confused & terrified by all the people. The bull-fighting itself I refuse to contemplate. But check out the link:

http://www.sanfermin.com/index.php/es/encierro/encierros_2014/14-julio

How do you do it?? Tips for traveling the world solo

The most common question I get about my solo travel is, "HOW do you do? Just show up in a foreign country by yourself? I could never."  Well, most of you reading this absolutely could do it.  With a few of you I'd agree, don't try it. You don't have to be a 20-something on a gap year to have these adventures. You can even be a 40-something single parent like me. It all boils down to two simple tips. 

1) Talk to everyone

I talk to absolutely anyone- young or old, man or woman, people behind me in line, sitting next to me at a bar, wait staff, hotel staff, and, of course, bartenders. I've been befriended in cities around the world simply by asking a question like, Where's a fun place to go? In Venice when I asked that I was taken along on a bar crawl with some fun locals who are still my friends today. They even sent me a personalized lovely framed photo of us and our night of fun together. I told a cab driver in Croatia to surprise me and take me anywhere fun. Clearly finding fun is a priority for me. He took me to this huge beach party I'd never have known about on my own and there I met a local who is still my friend today.  Chat works!

2) Be resourceful

Put me anywhere but give me a map. Most travel books have one and you can usually find them at any transportation hub but you need to know how to read one. I happen to be very visual so can picture exactly where I am and what direction to go to get to the tiniest of streets. I also take whatever public transportation is available. My first solo getaway was to London and I hopped off the plane & onto the Tube like I've been doing it all my life. I am writing this post in the Barcelona train station. I've never been to Spain in my life. I took a bus from the airport (about 20 min) and got off when they announced a Metro stop is nearby. I took the Metro a few stops and used my map to walk to the station. I find it gratifying to get from point A to point B spending as little as possible. That little journey I just took cost €8. A cab would've been €40. And I have found that people are very helpful wherever I go. 

So there you have it. Be friendly and resourceful and you too can globe trot on your own. Traveling alone is very empowering and you'll have experiences you likely would not have had otherwise. 

It's your adventure- make the most of it! Stay tuned for my stories...Cheers!