What I CAN promise, though, is a detailed itinerary followed by some photos. Did I say some? Clearly I meant MANY.

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I have wanted to go to Hawaii for as long as I can remember. I even bought a guidebook to the Big Island about a year ago, just for kicks (in the hopes that perhaps I’d make it out there sometime soonish, I suppose). Then one day last summer, Lauren (my roommate) comes home from work all exasperated and says “I just wanna take a trip somewhere!”. I asked her where, all the while with Hawaii on the mind. She didn’t know – maybe somewhere in the Caribbean? Or Costa Rica? I took advantage of her indecision and sold her on the idea of Hawaii, and we booked our flights that night. BOOM!

The next few months were spent mapping out a route around the Big Island (in true Lindsay fashion). We decided that after 1.5 weeks of ‘roughing it’, most nights in a tent, we’d splurge and stay 2 nights in The Hilton on Waikiki Beach to end our trip.

The thing I’m most excited (albeit slightly nervous) about is our hike to Waimanu Valley. I’ve done extensive research on it and have seen enough jaw-droppingly stunning photos to know that any initial trepidation will be worth it. I’m just a little wary of maneuvering our pseudo-4WD rental car down a very steep road and then leaving it in the bush for a few days. Apparently lots of theft occurs with parked cars at the beach there. Also – hiking up a mountain with a big-ass backpack sounds like hell. Not only will I be carrying my hideously expensive and heavy photo gear and clothes, but also a TENT and food and a sleeping bag. Lord help us.

Also really excited about using my new HAMMOCK as much as possible – hopefully even sleeping in it!

Oh, and turning 27 in Hawaii sounds pretty great to me, too.

Here’s an approximate schedule of where we’ll be:

I had prebooked my bus to Madrid thinking the demand might be high after Las Fallas, but I got to the station super early and switched to an earlier bus. The bus ride was fine, aside from melting from the sun.

I had an hour to kill at the Madrid train station, which I mostly spent drinking coffee and wondering why/how the heck there was a mini-rainforest in the middle of the station. The train itself was nice and fast and even showed a movie (‘The Switch’). I spent those 2.5 hrs going back and forth between the tv screen and the baby sitting across from me who would just light up as soon as I flashed her a big goofy smile

Up until now, the day had been long but not too traumatic. Unfortunately that was shot to hell when I finally arrived in Sevilla. I hopped on the right bus, which was completely packed with locals, and made a small scene when paying for my ticket and dropping coins all over the place. I then proceeded to get off at the wrong stop (still not sure if it was too early or too late), and walked to the next busstop, where I determined from the route maps that I was nowhere near the hostel I had booked and that the bus I had been on didn’t even stop at this stop. Ugh. At this point it was after 9pm, I was tired and frazzled, and would much rather throw a few more euros at a cab driver and have him take me there than deal with any form of public transport.

The cabbie didn’t quite know where we were going, so together we found the general area on his map and I was able to walk the rest of the way there. I realized the second I got to the hostel door that I had left my trip notes in the cab (the cabbie had taken them to see the address I had written down). I was SO UPSET!! Seriously, so upset. When I travel I always take copious notes of what I did each day, which I later turn into blog/journal entries. I was also keeping diligent track of every purchase on these papers, not to mention they had all my lists of things to do in every city. And all of this was gone when I lost the papers. Not happy.

Upon checking in at Oasis Backpackers, I was given a room in their second building, a 5 min walk away from the main one, which I wasn’t too thrilled with. I was not happy to walk into an all-but-abandoned house and have to lug my massive bags up 3 flights of stairs in the dark. At the very top of the stairs was a door I had to unlock, which apparently was my room. No one and nothing was there. The room looked to be a converted kitchen still with a stove and cabinets. The bathroom was just outside the door. Oh, and the deal breaker? No lockers! In the whole building! Which of course is not even an option when you’re traveling with $8k worth of camera gear.

So admittedly, I broke down and had a moment of tears, then pulled myself together and trudged back to the main building and asked to stay in the main building. I’d have to switch rooms during my stay, but it was worth it. Oh but of course someone had been sleeping in my bed the night before, meaning I had to move all their crap to another bed and remake my bed. And of course I couldn’t figure out how to work the lockers. Sigh.

Wanting so badly to salvage the night, I headed out in search of the cathedral. It took several wrong turns, but I did find it eventually. And it was so beautiful that I felt completely ridiculous for almost letting all that other crap ruin my night. I mean I’m in Spain… life could be a whooooole lot worse.

(Although when I brought a pizza back to the hostel around midnight, both the bar and deck were closed for the night and I literally had to sit on some steps next-door and eat by street light.)

Today was rather lackluster compared to yesterday. It’s kind of hard to follow up a day like that with anything that’s comparable, but I was feeling pretty tired and in need of a chill day. That’s the issue I sometimes face when traveling: I feel like I should take advantage of being somewhere new and see/do as much as I can, but my body/mind are begging for a day off. It was one of those days.

Being the last day of Las Fallas, it was the most crowded day in town. It was even more of a pain trying to walk around and get through the crowds. I’d wanted to do some proper sightseeing on my last day in Valencia, but the Cathedral seemed to be closed. I settled on going up the Torres de Serrano, which was fairly underwhelming. It was nice to get a view of the town from above, but it wasn’t particularly stunning. And it was too bright for good photos. Also of note: I tried wandering in a different part of town and ended up in what seemed to be a somewhat dingy neighborhood, with graffiti and trash and not-so-nice buildings. Blah. Yeah, blah would be a good way to sum up my afternoon.

(Well, except for the part where I plopped myself down at a sidewalk cafe and had some chocolate and churros. That part was pretty enjoyable.)

I was also on somewhat of a time constraint because I’d planned on meeting up with Natasha early evening and wanted to book my bus back to Madrid beforehand, AND I’d gotten a late start to the day so I was always conscious of the time. I hate that. I don’t like to plan my days too strictly when I travel, but sometimes you have to.

Naturally, we had problems printing out my bus ticket at the hostel, so that made me run a little late. Then somehow I got lost THREE TIMES while trying to find Natasha’s hostel. It was on the other side of town and should have taken me maybe 25 minutes to get to had a). I gone the right way the first time, and b). there not been massive crowds all over the place to slow me down. But no, it took me almost an hour to get there. I have absolutely no idea how I managed to circle around 3 times and end up in the same square that was closer to my side of town than hers, but I did. It’s kind of like how you enter Central Park on one side, intending to cross straight over to the other side (obviously west/east), but end up right where you started – which I’ve done multiple times. But now was NOT the time for me to be getting lost and showing up super late. Without cell phones, I had to hope she’d still be there waiting for me. If she’d left without me, then I’d be out of luck.

Fortunately she had waited for me. Phew! We immediately set off with a few girls from her hostel to check out the fire parade that was supposedly happening tonight. Only… we had apparently missed it? What kind of parade lasts less than an hour? Furthermore, what kind of parade actually starts on time in Spain?! We were slightly bummed to have missed it, but we’d seen enough parades and fire already so I wasn’t too distraught over it. We consoled ourselves with horchata y fartones. Natasha almost bought a cup of horchata from a street vendor, but I insisted she try the real thing with the dipping pastries at a proper cafe in town. Let’s just say she was glad she listened to me

When we were wandering around town later on, the strangest thing happened – in the midst of all the thousands of people roaming around Valencia, we just happened to run into a guy that Natasha had met in Madrid last week. What are the odds! It was funny because she had lamented not exchanging contact info with him before.

But you know how when this usually happens and you’re the one standing there awkwardly and politely let them catch up for a few minutes while you just sort of look around and shuffle your feet? Well this guy was with 2 friends in the same boat as me, so we all got to talking. One was from New Zealand, the other from South Africa – and both were super cute We talked sh-t about a nonexistent camera lens (f/0.9 what?) and how the one guy currently held the title for Worst Pool Player In South Africa (I’m still not sure if they were talking sh-t about this or if they really do rank pool players in that country – but it’d be pretty funny if they did!). I very much enjoyed talking to them and continuing my streak of meeting awesome pretty people at Las Fallas, but we soon parted ways to find our spots for La Crema.

La Crema is the pinnacle of Las Fallas, the night where all of the Fallas are set up in flames. From the first night in Valencia, I’d decided that I wanted to see the big naked girl Falla set on fire. No, not because of the nudity – but because this particular Falla was so intricate and would likely make for a spectacular show. I couldn’t even imagine how the thing would go down. How long would it take for the flames to reach the narrow little birds hanging off of the girl’s head? Or would they fall off first?

We didn’t realize that this would be one of the last Fallas to be set on fire, and that we were in for a 2+ hour wait. But we were sort of trapped in the middle of the crowd, on a narrow side street that fed into the square where the Falla was… meaning we had little choice but to stay and wait it out. I didn’t really mind, because what else would I be doing? And after all that time I’d already put in waiting for the Crema, there was no way I was about to throw in the towel and miss it in the end.

Turns out it was more than worth the wait. They built up suspense by doing last-minute tweaks to the setup, having someone climb up inside the Falla and put puncture holes in it (including one boob – much to the crowd’s delight), and bringing in fire trucks. They also staggered fireworks on all 4 side streets beforehand, before setting them off right above the Falla. Then the official burning began with pinwheels of fireworks spinning around the Falla. It was UN.REAL. Within seconds, the whole Falla was enveloped by a black cloud of smoke. There’s no point in me even trying to describe the sight when you could just watch the video I took of it. It suffices to say that I was left thinking *Holy sh-tballs!*.

After La Crema, we wandered back into town. The streets were filled with people partying and dancing and playing music. The whole town was an absolute mess, though somehow they always have it completely immaculate by sunrise. It’s one of those experiences that you know you’ll never live again, so you just want to soak the whole night up for as long as possible. This whole WEEK has been just the most incredible experience.

Like, I’m talking Top 5-worthy. There wasn’t any one particular thing that happened that made it so incredible, though; it was more a combination of many things that made for one continuous chunk of time where I was extremely contented.

The stage was set with the most glorious weather you could ask for. Clear blue sky as far as the eyes can see. Sun shining bright. Warm enough to wear a tank top, dry enough that I wasn’t sweating much. Beautiful weather, I think, is a prerequisite to having a ‘best day ever’

I had also pre-decided that today I was going to have my one and only sampling of buñelos, which are basically pieces of fried dough in various shapes, covered in a crapton of sugar. They’re like doughnuts without the cakey inside. All the street vendors at Las Fallas sell them in cones of 6 or 12, so it’s ideal for sharing. But hey, I’m traveling solo and maybe I don’t WANT that many. And oh, I hate wasting food, which often prompts me to finish my food even when I’m no longer hungry (yeah I know, not so good). But! – I made my 6 little fried dough delights last me until dinner. And they were indeed as glorious as I’d been told.

Traveling does strange things to my eating habits. I normally eat so healthfully at home and would never dream of ordering fried foods from a NYC street vendor, but when I travel I indulge in whatever food/drink is considered characteristic of a particular city or country. And that’s enough justification for me to eat fried foods and pastries to my heart’s content. HOWEVER – I always end up losing weight by the end of a trip, despite eating somewhat poorly. I eat a lot less than I normally would, sometimes even forgetting to eat when I get so engrossed in my wanderings. And I walk walk walk, everywhere, all the time, as much as possible. I’m surprised how easily I adjusted to the bizarre Spanish dining hours, where it’s customary to eat dinner after 9pm and lunch up to 5pm. I would busy myself all day with seeing a place and hardly think of food at all.

Today I had planned to check out La Ciudad de Las Artes y Las Ciencias, an “entertainment-based cultural and architectural complex” in Valencia. I’d seen photos of the amazing buildings that comprise it, and with the clear blue sky I knew I’d have a ball taking photos there. Getting there required a lengthy walk from the old town and through the old riverbed, which has since been turned into a park. It’s not particularly picturesque, but it’s got palm trees and bridges crossing it, and some ponds and fountains, and various sporting courts. You know, typical park-y things.

And then, I got my mind blown by La Ciudad.

Now, I should preface this by saying that if you don’t have a tendency to geek out over cool-looking, modern buildings that have a gaggle of photo ops beckoning, you might not be as taken by it as I was. I could look at pretty things all day long and photograph them to death, as I did with La Ciudad. I felt like I had to thoroughly walk around each building within it and capture every angle with my camera. It just didn’t get old for me. All the lines and shapes, the symmetry, the white against the blue. LOVE IT.

If cool ogling cool buildings isn’t your thing though, you can go inside any of the buildings and check out their museums or shows on offer. You could conceivably devote an entire weekend to this complex and not see everything. I hadn’t intended to partake in any of the attractions – I mean, I’d spent the better part of the afternoon just wandering around in utter contentment. I didn’t NEED to see anything else. But then I got to the aquarium (el Oceanografico) and couldn’t get close enough to its buildings without a ticket. Then I thought about how back in the day I used to be obsessed with fish and sea creatures and seals, and how this was one of the best aquariums around, and wouldn’t it be nice to relive my childhood passions for a couple of hours? (and ok, the thought of walrus porn may have been a slight bonus here – just kidding, kind of).

I stood outside the gates for quite some time contemplating buying a ticket. Sometimes my decision-making process is so agonizing because I want so badly to decide right. I don’t ever want to choose wrong. I have a hard time accepting the fact that sometimes maybe there ISN’T a right or wrong decision, and that I should just go with my gut at the given time and forego all reasoning. So dammit, I bought an obscenely priced ticket and went inside.

And you know what, it was worth it. I went into every building and looked at everything on display. I walked through tunnels where fish and sharks were swimming all around you. I saw cute little penguins swimming around. I witnessed some major sea lion foreplay (though no walrus porn, I’m afraid). I had myself a jolly good time at the aquarium. At the end of the day I went to the dolphin show, which was incredibly cheesy and all in Spanish, but it’s not like you need a narration while dolphins are jumping in the air.

Yeah, my day was pretty amazing. I even got a little bit sunburned(!!), which I generally see as a positive thing, unless the burn is to the point where it hurts and probably did some damage. I even stopped to watch a breakdancing competition in the park on my walk back, which I loooooooved (I love watching dance). And If the day were to have ended here, I would have deemed it stellar and been satisfied.

Oh, but it didn’t. It was really only half done at this point. I got back into town and had a couple hours before I was meeting Natasha, so I caught some more of the Flower Processional. This time I had a front row spot right by the church, which yielded some great photos and videos. Everyone in the parade seemed to think I was legit with my fancy camera, so they would turn to look at me as I was shooting. YES! Love it. I couldn’t get enough of all the native Valencians in their festive attire. And most of them seemed genuinely happy to be taking part, which I find incredibly remarkable. I know I would be none too thrilled if I had to don uncomfortable attire, stand in a line and march through town all night with hundreds of fellow townsmen. Not to mention, uh, devoting a ridiculous portion of my free time throughout the year to preparing for this festival and having to conform to the whole groupthink/team pride thing. Nooooooooo thank you. I’d rather watch the masses take part than actually participate myself!

Back at the hostel, it was €1 sangria night. Yes, one euro. Absurd! I mean, why not sit in the lounge, responding to emails with a cheap delicious drink in one hand? That’s perfectly fine, right? I should also mention that I ran into my two hot Italian roommates back at our room and they invited me to come out to see the fireworks with them tonight. Oh man, I can only imagine the trouble I’d get into with them. Or should I say, the trouble they’d *try* to get me into, that I would resist because I’m a superhuman machine of high moral character ;D They were already mixing vodka and redbull and filling a bunch of empty water bottles to take with them for the night. Wowzers.

(I should also mention that this is standard protocol at Las Fallas. You see people chugging cheap mixed drinks from bottles all over the place!)

Natasha finally got to my hostel around 10:30pm, accompanied by someone she’d met at her hostel (Matt, 29, from NZ, living in London), and together we set off into town. Our sole goals were to avoid the parade route and find *somewhere* to eat/drink. Go figure that *somewhere* ended up being El Laboratorio, the same bar I’d been to last night. We were lured in by the mojitos that these guys let us sample just outside. At first I figured they worked there and were trying to win our business, but I think they may have been just random festival-goers being super friendly. Regardless, those mojitos kicked some serious butt and we were sold. Though I ended up getting a glass of wine instead – for €1.50, mind you. That’s like $2.25 for a top-notch wine. Abbbbbbsurd.

The only free space in the place was at – yes, go figure, again – the same spot I’d been sitting in last night, at this low table in the corner by the door that had small stools and a couch around it. A Spanish couple was already sitting there but invited us to join them. We spent the next few hours hanging out with them and exchanging cultural bits. I just loved Marina – she was so friendly and full of life and so unbelievably excited to hear about America from me. That, and she was a willing model for my camera, pretty much begging me to take her picture. I only wish we’d had more time to do a proper photoshoot!

I have to brag about one thing – Marina said my Spanish pronunciation was very good! I almost didn’t believe her, ’cause I’ve always been so self conscious about speaking other languages. I always figured I must sound like a 5 year old trying to speak it. But apparently not? I wish my language skills were up to par, but it’s been too long. Matt, on the other hand, took the liberty of making fun of my American accent, likening it to that of a pirate. How embarrassing! I’ve been told by non-American friends that I have a very hard accent, specifically with the way I say my R’s… which I suppose is where Matt got the pirate accent from (arrrrrgh, matey!). It’s so funny. I could talk about language and culture all day, every day. So fascinating!

I was very much enjoying our night there, but I think Natasha wanted to catch the 1am fireworks so we kind of dragged everyone out with us. Unfortunately we lost the Spanish crew and it was back to just the 3 of us again. The fireworks were stellar as usual, but it was the 3rd straight night of them so maybe it wasn’t quite as exhilarating as before. (Gosh, I’m so jaded)

When they concluded around 2am, we were once again met with the question of where to go next. And once again, the answer was “some bar”, which was fine by me. I didn’t really care, I just wanted to wander and witness the shenanigans. Walking by all the random vendors BBQing on the streets, we were all kinda craving some meat (ha), but the prices seemed to be a wee bit much for us cheapskates. We tried our hand at bargaining and found a British guy who gave Natasha and I a small bacon sandwich for free. Win! Poor Matt didn’t get anything for free ’cause he’s not a young girl like we are Even the club he tried to get us into wouldn’t let him in without paying the €8 cover charge (they were fine letting Natasha and I in for free, though!). Too funny. Poor Matt!

By that hour, restaurants had spilled out onto the streets with little stands set up in the doorways selling cans of beer for a couple of euros. I mean why not – at this hour, people are looking to drink, not have a sit-down meal. Natasha and Matt indulged, while I bought a bottle of the cheapest red wine I could find at a shop nearby. The poor cashier stuck working was this little Asian girl who couldn’t speak much English, so we had to mime a few things, including asking her to open the bottle. She did it all with a sad, sour look on her face. Not the typical angsty, eye-rolling, ugh-you’re-so-lame look, but more a… *this is my fate and it sucks, but I’m gonna deal with you obnoxious anglicans because I have to* -look. I think I might have preferred the former look, for her sake.

And then we did something unheard of in NYC – we openly drank on the street, no brown bags needed. It was quite invigorating, actually. I really wanted to document this momentous occasion with a photo of me and the wine bottle in front of a falla, but we were interrupted by The Grossest Group Of Spaniards In Existence.

Unfortunately that’s no exaggeration. These guys were just… not only gross looking (as in dirty, unattractive, dressed shabbily) but real creepsters. They tried to strike up conversation with us and roped Matt in, while an Indian guy walking around selling beer cans out of a plastic bag pounced on Natasha (she’s of Indian descent, while being British). That left a couple of creepsters to bother me. They kept making this weird hand motion, like wiggling their thumb and pinky and tilting upward as if motioning to drink. So I’d drink straight from my bottle to see if that was what they were getting at, but it didn’t seem to appease them. One guy kept calling me antipatica (which means ‘mean’). Finally I realized that they wanted me to share my wine with them. At first I resisted, but then I thought hey, I’m not going to finish this myself anyway, and MAYBE they’ll back off if I give them a taste. So I poured a bit into each of their mouths. No way was I letting their lips touch my bottle. But they just wanted more. Ugh. SO GROSS!!

I was beyond relieved when we were able to escape, and we called it a night around 4am or so.

At 2pm daily was the mascletà, or daytime fireworks. Apparently it is almost unique to Valencia, which doesn’t surprise me ’cause I didn’t even know you could do (or see) daytime fireworks. Naturally, this takes place in the biggest open space in town, the Plaza del Ayuntamiento. The place was MOBBED, but not to the point that everyone was smushed together like sardines. I had plenty of elbow and camera room, but I did have to make my way through the masses to find my spot. And god was it sunny! It felt well into the 80′s, though I don’t think it was quite so hot. I just hadn’t felt heat like that since last summer, and it felt damn good. The fireworks and firecrackers were shot off by the fountain and above the Fallas, and all you could see was the big clouds of smoke they were creating. But above all, it was LOUD. So loud that I was able to hear them the next day a few miles away. It sounded like the town was under attack with guns firing. But after awhile, you just get so used to hearing cracks and booms that you barely bat an eye (or ear?). It becomes normal.

Afterwards, I deemed it time to try Valencia’s famed horchata y fartones. Horchata is a yellowy, creamy drink made from tiger nut apparently. It’s delightful. And you’re meant to dip fartones (long, thin pastries with powdered sugar on top) in them. It was nothing short of downright delicious. I tried them at Santa Catalina, one of the oldest horchaterias in town, surrounded by loads of other tourists doing exactly the same thing. I don’t blame them at all, ’cause the stuff’s so good.

I pretty much spent the afternoon just wandering around. Everywhere I turned, I saw people setting off firecrackers on side streets or in squares. You wouldn’t believe how many kids were playing with them! Somehow seems wrong, coming from a society plagued by so many strict rules. Then just when I think I’m used to all the noise, a firecracker will go off a few feet to the side as I’m walking by and startle me. It’s a little unnerving to think about what would happen if the timing were slightly off – what if I stepped right into an exploding firecracker?! I feel like that had to have happened to some people over the course of the week. I can’t be staring at the ground the whole time while I’m walking around, so I spent three straight days being a wee bit paranoid about it. Thankfully I survived the festival unscathed, but still.

One of the things I was most looking forward to at Las Fallas was seeing the Flower Procession, a seemingly never-ending parade that takes place over the course of two days (from 4pm-1am technically, though I’m pretty sure it lasted longer than that). Falleres from each neighborhood don their party clothes (I mean, native dress) and march in packs all through town, ultimately ending up at the Plaza de la Virgen, where the women pass off the flowers they’ve been carrying for deposit in the massive Virgen statue in the square. Representatives use the flowers to fill in the frame, so that by the end of the two days there is a massive, colorful statue of the Virgen sitting right in front of the church.

I loved seeing each neighborhood progress down the street. They would all have a similar format, with individuals leading the pack carrying poles and special items, followed by families holding hands, couples, women pushing strollers, packs of little girls or boys (usually separate), marching bands. I was so entranced by their amazing costumes! Every outfit looked different, yet so intricate. The preteens looked kind of exasperated to march, while the older folks had big smiles on their faces and the little kids were obedient but looked tired. I don’t know how many neighborhoods are in Valencia, or how many times each marched through town, but the parade went ON and ON and ON and I felt like I was seeing the same people after awhile.

I took a quick break from the procession to meet Natasha at the train station, but she got held up elsewhere and couldn’t meet me. Of course I didn’t know this since I had no phone, but I assumed as much (and was right). I didn’t mind too much, and took the liberty of heading back to the hostel to relax for a bit and, uh, not carry my heavy camera bag for a little while. I also forced myself to answer a bunch of business emails. It was a wee bit depressing to be hanging out in the lounge area working while the bar area was quickly filling up with people getting ready to party. I had no idea what I’d get up to later on that night, but I sure wasn’t going to stay in.

Then, with near-perfect timing, a girl came and sat next to me on the couch and struck up a conversation just as I was finishing up my last email. I met Deidre, an American currently studying abroad in Madrid, and we talked Euro-travel for a good while before deciding to go out for drinks and tapas. Thank God I was eating with someone who spoke fluent Spanish and could identify most foods on offer! People, take note: if you want to make quick friends with me, you’re pretty much guaranteed to if you bring up either a). travel, or b). photography, two topics which I could blab about for hours on end. When I meet people while traveling, it’s pretty much guaranteed to find common ground regarding the former topic

Another topic of discussion we got into was walrus porn – yes, you read right. Deidre highlighted her afternoon spent at the aquarium at La Ciudad de Las Artes y las Ciencias and how she had witnessed some walruses going at it for quite some time. I was planning on going there tomorrow, at least to La Ciudad, but clearly now I had to check out the aquarium (Oceanografico) as well I mean, who doesn’t love watching a good walrus romp? (*cough*)

We watched a bit of the Flower Procession as the flowers were passed off to be added to the Virgen statue, then I caught the fireworks show back near the hostel. Unbeknownst to me, they were being set off really closeby. I just followed the masses of people down the street and before I knew it, I had fireworks practically slapping me in the face. I would gaze up at them and it would feel like they were falling straight at me. They seemed SO CLOSE it was insane. I would even venture to say they rival the Macy’s 4th of July fireworks. Macy’s has a few big displays in a row on the river, so it ends up being one massive fireworks show. The fireworks for Las Fallas were just one display, but there were so many different kinds of fireworks going off within it that you couldn’t look away. It was absolutely amazing. I even have a video to prove it!:

Down the street, I stopped in what I’ll call a deli, though it’s not quite that. It’s one of those places where they have big things of ham hanging from the ceiling, a counter where you can buy meats, and a bar where you can order drinks and sandwiches. I found it hilarious that I could walk up and buy a sandwich and coffee while the guy next to me had a beer on tap. At 11am on a Wednesday, mind you. That’s just how they roll in Madrid.

The bus down to Valencia took about 4.5 hrs with a 30min stop. It was raining for most of the ride, which further validated my decision to leave Madrid and head south for better weather. Once we got into Valencia, however, I waited almost one whole hour for the damn bus to take us into town. It was absurd how late it was. People were undoubtedly cursing in Spanish as we all waited. I was sitting at the busstop next to a red headed girl who appeared to be reading a book in English, so I was pretty sure she was American. Only after we finally boarded the bus did we start talking. Turns out her name was Rachel, and she was from California but studying abroad in Granada. We spent the bus ride sharing her headphones and squealing in excitement whenever we passed a Falla. Turns out we were even staying in the same hostel (Purple Nest) but she was meeting friends there. We were gonna hang out that week but unfortunately we never saw each other again. That’s just what happens when you’re traveling (and especially staying in hostels) – you come into contact with so many different people, only a few of which you ever talk to again after the initial encounter. You just get so caught up in your own travels that it’s tough.

I was so overwhelmed when I first arrived! I usually am whenever I visit someplace new because I just want to see and do everything right away. Throw on top of it a massive festival and party scene and it’s like ahhhhhhhh. Overload!

My hostel room had 3 bunkbeds, one of which was occupied by a pair of Italians. I think referring to them as the ‘Italian Stallions’ would be extremely appropriate in this case, because I wouldn’t be surprised if they were. They were clearly here to party hard. I didn’t see them return to the hostel the first two nights AT ALL, which is quite a feat. Also, these guys were objectively hot. It’s not even up for argument. One of them was exceptionally friendly and touchy-feely with me and I can’t say I minded all that much I would run into them daily at the hostel in-between bouts of partying and ask them about what they’d been up to, and they’d laugh and smile and say something vague about their escapades, which I’m sure their recollection of is more than a bit fuzzy, based on the amount of alcohol I saw them consume in our room each evening.

So the first thing I did was email Natasha and another person I knew, Ed, was also in Valencia to let them know I was here. I was assuming that they wouldn’t be regularly checking email or sitting at a computer too often with everything that was going on. And I didn’t have a phone so it made instant contact impossible. God, is this how it was before the age of cell phones, where you’d agree to meet someone at an exact time and place beforehand? ’cause i’ve gotta say, I might be on board with that. Maybe people would be more accountable if they couldn’t easily back out of plans at the last minute with a quick call or text.

The second thing I did was walk into town, look at a big-ass falla, get lost in the crowd, and wander back. And to my surprise, Ed had written back and, after an hour or so of exchanging emails and setting a plan, I met him at his hostel and we got some dinner at a restaurant in town. We ordered the dinner menu of the day, which as usual resulted in a bunch of surprise plates being placed in front of me, most of which included ham, eggs, or potatoes. I pretty much wolfed my food and downed my wine, having not consumed anything all afternoon, and Ed and I got to know each other. He actually lives in NYC too and travels all over photo documenting festivals around the world, then sells his footage to various contacts he has overseas. How cool is that!

So obbbbbviously two photographers absolutely had to run around the festival with their cameras. Ed had been in Valencia all week checking out the prep process and had seen most of the big Fallas, so he essentially gave me a tour of them.

I suppose that begs the question: what the heck is Las Fallas? In short, an homage to St. Joseph where each neighborhood in Valencia bands together to construct gigantic farcical statues made of styrofoam and wood. They basically plan for the event all year and put countless hours into preparing for 5 days of festivities. There are processions and music and fireworks, and then on the last night all of the Fallas are set on fire. Fire and noise is what the whole thing’s about.

So Ed and I were wandering around til about 3am. I was just taking it all in. I’d never seen or experienced anything like this festival before, and it was only the first night! I marveled at all the massive statues of people and characters in costume (some Fallas can be up to 5 stories high!) and tried to make sense of every scene. Some were just beyond absurd or grossly inappropriate – which I suppose is why there is usually an accompanying children’s Falla of a more PG-nature.

It really was a lot to take in, but I loved every second of it. We would make our way through crowds of people hanging out on the streets, eating drinking and socializing (and occasionally puking), passing by these big white tents that were blasting music and housing dance parties for the falleros belonging to that particular neighborhood. We ran into a massive concert on the streets around 2am, tucked into a square that I don’t think I was ever able to relocate during the rest of my time in Valencia. There was a big stage with a band and a crowd of people in front rocking out or hanging out. For the first time in my life, I felt kind of old because it seemed like everyone around me was so young. When did that happen?!

At one point in the night, we came across a random marching band churning out music as they walked down some random side streets. We couldn’t help but follow them, and soon found ourselves in the middle of a massive crowd of costumed people – people dressed as cowboys, jesters, even pills! It was completely nuts, and felt a bit like Halloween. It was like they were organizing their own neighborhood parade just for kicks at midnight.

We managed to catch the fireworks on the river at 1am. Actually it’s a riverbed that’s been turned into a sort of park. There was much less of a crowd on the opposite side of the park, but the view was pretty distant so maybe that’s why. I didn’t really care because there would be fireworks every night and I’d be sure to grab a better spot next time. Ed was more concerned with shooting the people as they were watching the fireworks rather than watching them himself.

I had pre decided to begin today with ‘breakfast’ at Chocolateria de San Gines. This is the must-do spot for chocolate and churros, which Madrilenos do for either breakfast or a late-night post-party snack. In broken Spanish I asked what the deal was and was told to order at the counter, then sit at a table in the back downstairs and wait for them to bring it to me. I was nestled at a table near two young Spanish guys who were deep in discussion over chocolate and coffee. Their voices sounded so melodic and stereotypically lovely that I sat here for awhile in utter contentment just listening to the sounds, occasionally picking up some words or phrases. Then my food arrived and soon I was dipping delicious fried sugary dough in melted dark chocolate. Does it get any better? I had my doubts at this very moment.

From there, it was a quick walk down to the museum area. I wanted to do the Prado today, but figured I’d wait til the last 2 hrs when it’d be free to enter. I’m happy to say that I ordered a coffee at Starbucks without incident, and even asked for milk afterwards! Go me. I took my coffee across the street to the Parque del Buen Retiro and it ended up being a perfect time for a stroll with the sun peeking out from the clouds. Even though not in full bloom, the park was really nice. There were fountains and ponds and the coolest looking sculpted trees in one part. Even the pathways throughout the park were picturesque. I’d have loved to see it in spring/summer when it’s full of color and frolickers.

I’d also have loved to have gone inside the Palacio de Cristal, but of course it was closed on Tuesdays. It’s basically a big greenhouse-like building with art on display inside… but since the structure is see-through you can pretty much see enough from outside. Instead I walked some more and found this massive monument by the lake where people were boating or just hanging out. There were plenty of stray cats also hanging out, and of course I just had to chase them around with my camera

After the park, I was on a quest for some good vegetarian food. My trusty Rough Guide had a little section on veg cafes in Madrid, one of which was located in the ethnic neighborhood of Malasana. I took a long stroll there from the park, past all sorts of posh- looking buildings, and my feet and shoulder were absolutely killing me by the time i got there, only to find that they had no open tables. Whaaaaaaat. Oh but I really wanted, nay needed, some veg food, even if that meant walking another half hour to another neighborhood and inevitably getting lost and caught in a downpour (yes, both happened). And wouldn’t you know it was closed when i arrived! How awesome. I think ‘FML’ would be quite appropriate here.

Thankfully that square had an organic veg buffet as well, so that’s where i ended up. After enjoying a dish of paella, salad, potatoes, falafel, and carrot cake, I continued my circular trek back towards El Prado, which I had intentionally avoided earlier because I was waiting to enter between 6-8pm when it was free. I spent a little over an hour there, which most people would gawk at and insist it does the museum no justice. And maybe it doesn’t. But my attention span can’t handle much more than that, and I felt like I had seen enough to appreciate the grandeur of the Prado. I basically just walked from room to room and stopped whenever something caught my eye. I mostly avoided all those famous 18th century portraits – I know they are beautifully done, but I just hate looking at all these ugly people! They’re all pudgy and pasty and have horrible hair and it’s just not fun to look at, I don’t care how well they’re depicted. And I’m ok if that means I’m a horrible person for saying that.

I did, however, quite like some of the crazy stuff by Bosch, and the various depictions of Madonna/child and churches.

Once I’d had enough, I headed back to the city center on a quest for tapas. Really, I just wanted some good, cheap wine somewhere very typically Spanish. This led me to circle around the same streets an absurd number of times before deciding on a bar called Almendra 13 that looked to be crowded and lively with lovely decor inside. So I got myself a €3 glass of wine and sat on a wooden bench by the window and soaked it all in. I really wanted to blend in and not stick out as the solo English-speaking traveler. But naturally, a fellow American found me out and started speaking to me in English and my cover was blown. Sigh.

I rounded out the night by walking over the Royal Palace on the way home and broke out the tripod to take some night shots. The building is not surprisingly gorgeous.

Back at the hostel, I was all psyched to walk into an empty dorm room. But of COURSE this Argentinean guy arrived around midnight after reception was closed. Goddammit!

It took me about 1.5 hrs to get from my apt to the check-in counter. JFK is what, 5 miles away? Absurd. One con to solo travel: not being able to split costs (e.g. Cabs). Sigh.

Somehow there was nowhere near my gate where I could grab some fries, so by the time we were served our dinner on the flight I all but devoured it. I was actually feeling tired enough to sleep, only the plane was FREEZING hooooooooly crap. I think it was just because the side of the plane and floor were ice cold, so being in the window seat touching them made me colder than if I had been seated away from the side. Ugh. So once again, I arrived in Europe on zero sleep.

Yet somehow, I was feeling alright. After collecting my bag, I dragged it halfway through the airport to the metro entrance (seriously, it was at least half a mile) and got on the first train just fine. I knew I had to switch to a different train (as in, not a simple transfer), but was a little fuzzy on the details of doing so.

*cue a 10-minute interlude of me fumbling with various ticket machines, euro coins, and escalators to buy the right ticket and find the right train*

I may not be detail-oriented, but I know I’m always able to figure out my way. That’s why I feel very comfortable throwing myself into unfamiliar or sticky situations… ’cause I know it’ll all work out. I like to think that makes me a darn good traveler

I emerged from the train station at Sol, the heart of Madrid where most of the hostels and nightlife can be found. My hostel, Hostal One Puerta del Sol, was super close by… only once I found it, I wasn’t sure where to go inside because there was no indication what floor or door it was. This little old lady who must monitor the lobby kept scolding me in Spanish when I attempted to go one (apparently wrong) way in. Another girl came inside and told me it was likely the next floor up, and she was right.

I checked into the hostel, which to my surprise was quite tiny. There were only a few rooms, but I quite liked the coziness I had an hour to kill before I was actually allowed in my room, so I ditched my suitcase and headed out to Plaza del Sol. I quickly got distracted by the cool-looking reflective glass of the train station entrance and the nearby Topshop, but not long enough to keep my stomach from leading me toward the nearest cafe for a bite to eat. I also am incapable of saying no to coffee, so even though I planned on napping right away, I had a cup of coffee. And you know what, I passed out right away anyway. No harm done. I’m delighted to report that Spain does coffee right. It might not be Italian-caliber but it beats the hell out of Scandinavian coffee – and for only a fraction of the cost, mind you.

When I was out on the plaza busying myself by taking iPhone pics of my reflection in the station entrance windows, I noticed some sort of protest going on behind me. I’m not sure what the deal was, but people were chanting with signs and guys with big cameras were on the scene. Naturally I jumped right in with my own big camera

And once the hour was killed, I went back and collapsed in bed for a luscious 2 hr nap, followed by a shower. Once alive again, I ventured out into Madrid and wandered around all afternoon. I was mostly in search of a couple good cafes mentioned in my Rough Guide book, but one was closed and the other was way too fancy pants for me. But it was a nice intro to the city if nothing else. What struck me first about Madrid is that pretty much every window of every building is very tall and has a decorative balcony. Balconies out the wazoo! Madrid overall has a modern feel to it. Different neighborhoods obviously have their quirks, but in general you won’t find the rustic, old school European architecture here.

It was nearly 5pm and I was absolutely starving for a proper meal. How convenient that my jet lagged appetite coincided nicely with the normal Spanish dining hours. It’s still acceptable to eat lunch at 5:00 here. I entered some nondescript cafe that advertised a 10€ menu of the day and was immediately served by a nice old Spanish man. There was no written menu so he read off 4 choices for both the first and second course. I wasn’t even sure what I ordered, but I knew enough to avoid red meat and fish (neither of which I care much for). I was served a bowl of potato and meat stew, which was super delicious, followed by a plate containing a slab of white meat (pork?), a fried egg, and French fries. Is it sad that even after sampling everything I still didn’t know what kind of meat I was eating? All I ever eat is chicken, usually. Oh and the menu also included an ice cream sandwich and coffee. All for 10€! Seriously! It was akin to the cheap brunch specials you can find in the East Village back home except with more food. Love it.

On my way back, it was starting to rain a bit. Better later than earlier I guess. I checked my email at the hostel and saw that I was to meet Natasha (a girl from England I’d met online in a travel forum) at 7:30, and she agreed to trek to the outskirts of the city to Casa Mingo, a restaurant I’d read about online as being loved by locals for its authentic Asturian food. It’s quite a walk downhill beyond the palace so I doubt many visitors find it. But oh man, this place is the real deal. It’s got a very rustic feel with wooden benches and tables barrels against the wall. They are famed for their cider and roast chicken, which is precisely what we ordered. Oh sweet Jesus – it was out of this world. We ate with our fingers and drank the whole bottle and didn’t give a damn. Never mind that we were practically the only ones dining until about 9:00 and that all 5 of the waiters were huddled at the bar probably amused by us. So worth it.

It was pouring rain on our walk back, but I hardly minded after such a satisfying dinner. We parted ways and agreed to meet up again in Valencia later in the week. I went back to the hostel, hit up the wifi from the comfort of my bed, and had maaaaajor trouble falling and staying asleep. F you jet lag.

I do have to say this: Madrid, you go hard. On a Monday night (well, early Tuesday morning) there was a line of cabs parked outside my window and a constant stream of drunks passing by yelling out at the world. Seriously, 5am on a Tuesday! I don’t think that happens even in NYC!

With a preface like that, you’d think I’d be introducing an epic trek around Mt. Everest – and before this trip came to fruition I was seriously considering just that (unfortunately it’ll have to wait til I have more time at my disposal – but my goal is to do it before I turn 30!).

But no, I’m actually heading back to Europe – Spain, to be more specific. About a month ago I got a fare alert from Airfare Watchdog about some $150 RT flights to Denmark and Sweden – but I had literally just been there last fall, so I didn’t really feel like going back. It’s funny because I was like “you know, if they dropped a fare alert for somewhere like Spain, I’d totally be on that”. About a half hour later, I found myself scouring available dates and booking a $203 flight to Madrid. Yes, $203. Roundtrip, taxes included. I mean you just don’t pass on something like that!

I have two full weeks in Spain. My itinerary is lightly structured, and looks something like this:

3/14-16 : Madrid & surrounds
3/17-20 : Valencia
3/21-24 : Seville & surrounds
3/25-27 : Barcelona

Honestly, I am not too psyched about Madrid. It doesn’t strike me as having a lot to see and is more about the culture and way of life, so I am eager to experience late night tapas and chocolate Not too psyched about the forecasted rain, but with a little luck it won’t be so bad. (I won’t hold my breath though after the horrendous weather I had on 80% of my last European trip).

The thing that kind of threw my planning out of whack is the inconvenient trek out to Valencia, which I probably wouldn’t have even considered including on this trip had my time in Spain not coincided with the annual Las Fallas festival. Part of me even contemplated skipping it anyway, but I know that this’ll be the best way to see how Spaniards live and celebrate. How often do I have a chance to experience madness like this? There’s going to be FIRE, for crying out loud! Bonfires and fireworks and bullfighting and ceremonies and parties in the streets. It’s a little daunting right now, but I feel like once I’m in it it’ll be insane (but in a good way). I’ve also been in contact with a few other travelers who will be in Valencia so I should at least have some people to touch base with once I arrive.

After Valencia I will somehow make my way out to Seville, though the details are fuzzy here. I’m thinking of going back to Madrid in between, mostly because it’ll be faster than going directly to Seville. Seville is supposed to be gorgeous and warm and full of culture. I need to see some flamenco!

And finally, I end my trip with a few days in Barcelona. I have high hopes for this city and its gorgeous buildings, though admittedly I have not done much research on it yet. That’s what my Rough Guide book and long train/bus rides are for!

I should also mention that most hostels in Spain offer free sangria and nights out for their travelers, so I’m a little bit concerned. I don’t want to be in a daze the entire trip so I’m thinking of limiting the hedonism a bit But it should be pretty easy to meet people at least! That’s why I love solo travel so much – I can be as alone as I want and pretty much do whatever I want, when I want… but if I feel the need to socialize or hang out with people, I can easily do so.

Also, I am gonna try to leave my laptop at home for this trip. I don’t want to be spending time on my computer doing anything photo or business-related while traveling, and want to try to enjoy the moment more on this trip. The only thing is that I won’t be able to do anything with my trip pictures until I get home. Buuuuuuuut I plan on taking a few snapshots with my iphone that I can upload whenever I have wifi there. I’ll have my ipad as well for reading, web surfing, and writing. I think I can survive 2 weeks without an actual computer – I spent 5 weeks alone in Italy without it and had the time of my life, so I hope to have a similar experience this time in Spain!

Naturally, I went the wrong way looking for the hostel. And when I did find it, it was far too early to check in. Normally I’d be a bit hesitant to leave my valuables (i.e. camera gear) unattended and outside of a locker, but my camera bag is super safe. Not only does the bag itself lock, but it also has a cable cord attached to it that you can lock around something unmovable. So I wrapped the cord through both suitcases and around the shelving unit and locked it all up. The luggage room itself is locked and near enough to reception that I felt safe enough leaving everything there.

I then proceeded to walk my ass off, almost literally. I walked and saw so much that I could have felt like I ‘saw’ Copenhagen in a day. I walked so much that everything below the waist hurt by the end of the day, butt included. The weather was pretty cruddy, mostly cloudy and windy per Scandinavian usual, but the rain never lasted too long at least.

I started off with my first real Danish pasty – and yes, they do it right. Coffee, however, is another story. I found Danish coffee to be weak and not so good overall. Their regular filtered coffee is bad, and you can barely taste the coffee in espresso drinks unless you get a double shot. I’m holding out for mainland Europe in hopes of redemption here.

And oh, everyone wears scarves here. Very smart, since it’s so damn windy all the time. I ended up buying a beautiful Finish scarf at a market because I was so cold, and it helped immensely. In general, people are quite stylish in Copenhagen. They traipse around in heeled boots and dark jackets that they can pull off so well, yet would likely make me look absurd if i attempted such a look.

And bikes!! My lord, everyone bikes here and it’s glorious. There are bike lanes on every street. During rush hour, you’ll see a big mass of bikes waiting at stoplights right next to the line of cars. It’s pretty intense. Copenhagen even has bikes chained up around the city that you can rent on a whim for 20kr by inserting a coin and simply unlocking it. Sadly I didn’t get a chance to bike here

I walked down Stroget, the main shopping strip which runs all through the main part of town, several times each day I was in the city. It’s kind of hard not to. You start seeing the same stores over and over again. I was eyeing pea coats in several stores, but they’d end up being twice as much as they’d be for me in the US so I abstained. Even items from Urban Outfitters would have cost me more than they would in the US. Damn the horrible US economy and the exchange rate!! It got to be so depressing after awhile. A simple cup of coffee should not cost $6, I’m sorry. That is just straight-up robbery.

 
I started noticing that Danish teenagers like to hang out in stores. They just sort of stand around, singing or dancing along to the music that’s playing, perhaps checking themselves out in mirrors or trying on accessories. I don’t really get it, but it’s amusing nonetheless.

Stroget eventually led to a square that was home to a daily international market, where I bought my Finish scarf. Just beyond this point is Nyhavn, a street along the canal flanked by colorful buildings and boats. It was one of my favorite parts of the city purely due to its aesthetic appeal. I reckon this is the area sailors used to live in, back in the day.

Beyond Nyhavn, I walked past the royal residence, aka 4 fancy buildings in a square manned by guards. I also stumbled upon a church that mimicked St. Peters Cathedral with its big dome (though to say it paled in comparison would be a gross understatement).

I finally made it to the place where the famous Little Mermaid statue would have been, had it not been shipped to China til the fall. Which sounds absurd, by the way, yet is true. So instead, I walked around the entire perimeter of Kastellet, a 5-point wall built in the 1600′s to keep out the enemies.

 
While walking back toward the city center, I happened upon a neighborhood called Nyboder, characterized by cobblestone streets lined with small yellow houses. I pretty much had a field day with my camera. I mean where the heck else are you gonna see something like this?! It’s just so cute. And as luck would have it, I stumbled upon a bar nearby called Black Swan that had good coffee, an Irish bartender, and free wifi. I couldn’t have written it better myself. This was the one place I found here (aside from the train station) that had free wifi, so I took advantage and came here both days.

At this point, I had made up my mind to cross the river and try to find Christiania. Never mind the fact that I had already done more than a day’s worth of walking by mid-afternoon and was nowhere near the neighborhood. I really didn’t know much about Christiania other than it considers itself to be separate from Copenhagen and is home to many alternative-minded, hippie types. To say the least, I soon learned as I witnessed a bunch of arrests being made at the village entrance. Apparently some punks had been throwing stones at people? Regardless, I did not feel comfortable in Christiania from the get go. I entered from another entrance down the road and immediately felt on edge. People were dressed in black, wearing hoods, hanging out around tables/stands set up all over the place where I’m prettttttty sure they were selling drugs. Signs everywhere said no photos. It was like I had entered the dark side. I forced myself to walk around for a minute and bolted out as soon as I couldn’t take it anywhere. I’m normally very open-minded and laid-back about things, but for some reason I felt like a cat with all its hair standing up. Very uncomfortable.

All afternoon it had alternated between sun, heavy clouds, and bursts of rain. I’ve never seen such fickle weather! It was beyond annoying having to keep opening and closing my umbrella and adjusting my layers. The one upside though was that I kept seeing rainbows all over the city. It was like chasing rainbows! The best part was seeing them over the canals in Christianshavn. I really liked this area for its tranquility and beautiful boat-lined canals.

Making my way back into the city across the river, I settled on dinner at the Viking Bar. I noticed that a lot of bars serve dinner as well here, which I like because it’s a chill place to go to eat when you don’t want a fancy dining experience. I figured the Viking stew (meat and potatoes) would be appropriate.

The next day was much more relaxed than the first day in Copenhagen. I had all day to hang out, so I mostly revisited the same areas and enjoyed them at leisure this time. The one thing i did do differently was start the day with a trek in the opposite direction to sample the ‘best coffee’ in Copenhagen at Ricco’s, in an international neighborhood that required a walk through the red light district. It turned out to be a cute little cafe where I very much would have enjoyed spending an hour or two sitting at a cozy table in the back room, sipping on the best coffee in the city. Turns out it was the barista’s 21st birthday (god I’m getting old), and she had a bunch of friends there with cake. They took up most of then space and were smoking, and the only way i could escape it was to go to the front of the cafe and sit by the window. Boo. So I had to rush to finish my drink so that I could stop breathing in that disgusting smoke inside. Ugh so gross!

The weather on the second day was pretty cruddy, so I spent a little more time indoors than I would have liked. I went shopping (i.e. gawking at the outrageous prices) and to a museum (the kunstmuseet) and mostly just killed time before my 8pm train. I knew that the Swiss boys were in Copenhagen as well today, but I had no way of contacting them and no idea when or where they’d be around. So after some Thai curry and a chocolate pastry, I boarded my train for nowheresville, Denmark, unsure of what to expect for the next 5 days.