The Catalan Coincidence

By Megan

It's been 16 months since I left Barcelona.  I was pulled back into the US to finish my college degree and by a curiosity for the adventure that would be the year following graduation.  I had accomplished my goal of having dreams in Spanish and traveling to wherever my feet felt like taking me.  It was a glorious year of discovery and exploration that had to end, but there is still one connection that keeps me part of Catalunya- let's call it, "The Catalan Coincidence".  Whenever you least expect, a Catalan encounter will take place. (Below photo by Alejandro Gamboa).

For example, this past week alone, I had three people ask me if I spoke Catalan- una mica.  And in a choir rehearsal, I had to read aloud the pronunciation of a Catalan piece so that the aquesta's, nit's, and deu's were in order.  In Berlin, a bike tour I took in Spanish was lead by a Valenciana (a woman from the region of Spain where they speak a Valencian dialect of Catalan).  But the most clandestine 'Catalan Coincidence' I've ever come across was in Milan, Italy.
My travel bud and I arrived in Milan late on a Thursday evening- the plane tickets were a steal, even though it was a late arrival flight.  We soon realized that the bus we planned on taking into the city was going to drop us off in a part of town we had not researched; this meant that all of the hostels we had looked into were on the other side of town.  We didn't have a proper map, it was past midnight, and our knowledge of Italian was limited, to say the least.  A familiar, uncomfortable feeling of doom started to roll over us as the bus made it's way into the city.
Suddenly, through the waves of anxiety, came a sound familiar to any well-immersed Barcelona study-abroad student: Four catalan women gabbing loudly, while on vacation.  The strong t's and squished together ll's sounds like a lullaby, especially when they graciously lead us through the streets of Milan to a relatively inexpensive hotel where they had rooms booked.  It was a god-send at 1-am in the Italian morning to two lost travelers.  Without our Catalan guides, we would have had no idea where to go- but fear not, the Catalan Coincidence brought forth four beaming rays of light.  Bona nit's and gràcies'  later, we had been saved.
Il Duomo and gnocchi made for a fine day in Milan before we said 'adéu' to the city and our Catalan guides, and headed for Venice.  In short, Catalan will find you no matter where you are or what you are doing.  It might come in the form of petons from a friend, or a protest that throws your thoughts back to fellow students from the universitat.  Embrace it and it will ignore you with love.

Next week:  A Go-Girl Guide to Hostels

Piadina in Ferrara

By Megan
 
Earlier in my trip to Italy, my travel buddy and I met up with her Italian friend she had met in the USA.  He picked us up at the train station, and spent the day showing us around his home town, Ferrara.  I thought my home town was lovely, but his has a castle.  According to our host, the Castello Estense is the oldest castle in Europe still surround by water- quite the moat, if I do say so.  Another fantastic building is the Palazzo dei Diamanti- a villa covered by an exterior of patterned diamond shapes, one rumored to be a real, gigantic diamond.
It is also known as a city of bicycles, with 3.5 bikes for every one person.  Other highlights include the impressive medieval walls, the church turned porno movie theatre, and the longest street in Italy with out any shops.  Oh, and how could I forget- the PIADINA!
In Spain, it was pretty easy to explain that I just didn't eat meat because I didn't like it.  But Italy was another matter entirely, and it wasn't just because of the language barrier.  "How can you not eat meat? Don't you get sick?"  or my personal favorite, "What's wrong with you?  Meat is so good."  Well guys, I still don't eat meat, and although some may beg to differ, there is nothing 'wrong' with my habit.

Our lovely host (featured in last week's article- The Five People You'll Meet in Barcelona)

Anyway, our kind host took us to his favorite bar to get a necessary bite to eat before continuing on our tour of the region.  He repeatedly reminded us of the importance of these lovely sandwiches, which sounded better and better the hungrier we became.  The 'chef' extraordinaire repeatedly told me that he didn't know how to make a piadina without meat, and then reluctantly served me a veggie filled, sauce drowning wonder, which I ate reassuring him that it was perfect (although thoughts may have gone to more tasty wonderlands...).  Vegetarianism in Europe garners some interesting reactions.

The rest of the visit was spent driving to and walking around in Bologna, a city with quite the sense of humor (see photo to the right) and a nutella themed cafe.  Heaven?  Maybe, maybe not, but it made me miss Barcelona all the more.  However, on the train ride back to our hostel outside of Venice, I realized that regardless of the apparent confusion over a meatless existence, Italy was a magical place.
Next Week: Another late night in Italy- Catalan Angels in Milan

Two Cappuccinos, Hold the Catcalls

by Megan

Due cappuccini, per favore.

It may seem obvious, but a quiet train station in Turin, Italy at midnight is rather unsettling when all you know in Italian is, "Two cappuccinos, please," and a few choice curse words.  Not only that, but I was out of euros on my cellphone, waiting for a friend who was thirty minutes late, and surrounded by men who lived up to the catcalling stereotype of Italian men.  When she finally arrived with our two gracious hosts, one rather enamored with the idea of me, and the other, a pop-diva aficionado- both Turkish engineers- I couldn't help but laugh at the beauty of the situation.

Toto, we aren't in Venice any more

That morning, I'd left Venice for Trieste, a seaport city in northeastern Italy, famous for it's Austro-Hungarian past.  The first thing I noticed when stepping off the train was the city's stunningly different architecture contrasted against the confined canals of Venice I had walked away from earlier that morning.  There was a hush hum from people coming and going, child or brief case in hand.  On the advice of a well intending station manager who tried very hard to speak with me in Spanish (Italian eventually took over, and I held on to any word I understood like a two-year-old to her blanket), I took a walking tour of the city streets and plazas.
My lunch consisted of nuts, cookies and a gigantic bottle of fizzy water, after accidentally ordering a ham sandwich, of which I only ate the bread (I really tried to nibble of the meat, but I just couldn't do it).  Afterwards, I caught a bus leading out of the city, towards Miramare, to see the castle the station manager told me was a must see, or at least, that's what I thought he was trying to tell me.  The bus driver and I couldn't understand each other, so I eventually jumped off the bus where I thought the castle might be near.  By this point, I only had two hours to catch the last train from Trieste at 4pm, or I would leave my friend worrying in Turin, so I ran for the water.
Taking plenty of time to dip my feet into the ocean, and enjoying the awesome sight of the bluest water imaginable, I caught my breath.  You could see the bottom of the ocean way out in the deep and the station manager's famed castle gleamed in the warm sun as proud and bright as he described.  I ran three miles along the water, snapping photos as I went, to catch the 36 bus back to the station.  Thankful that my bag was very light, I took my seat on the train.

On the seven hour ride to Turin, a fellow rider drew a picture of me holding a rose and gave it to me before getting off in Milan.  I spent the last two hours scribbling lists, ideas and memories on every scrap of paper around.  In the end, the train station was unpleasant, but sharing my adventure with my travel buddy and hosts helped me forget the catcalls... or maybe it was my host's rendition of Mirah Carey...