How do you prepare for a trip to India?

By Megan 

I decided that there is no one way to properly prepare for a visit to India. You can read novels, guide books, ask other travelers opinions, but in reality, you probably just have to experience it yourself. Take, for example, the train travel system. I booked my ticket nearly three weeks in advance, paid for it online (after the credit card company figured out that I was not trying to steal my own identity- thank goodness!), and I am still in wait list limbo. There has been advice on whom to bribe and how much, other traveling options, and still, I have some sort of faith that everything will work out just the way it should. (Of course, there will be an update regarding the ticket crazies.)

I've packed everything I think I might need including a key turn powered alarm clock, insect repellent, and my glasses. Of course, there is a journal to record thoughts and a camera to snap at least a few photos to share. I cannot wait to share my adventures with Go Girl, but I've got to go catch a plane. So, until next week, travel safe!

Montserrat

By Megan

I knew that Montserrat was supposed to be gorgeous, but I had no idea. I also knew that it was of religious importance because the Black Madonna (wikipedia it for more information) and a monastery resided there, but other than those few things, I was in for a surprise. It was a delicious day in Catalunya when a friend and I headed out for a weekend adventure.

We purchased our tickets for 19.50 euros and woke early enough to catch the train that would take us outside of the city. After the train outside of the city, a cremallera (a 'zipper' train) took us to a the funicular de St. Joan, which pulled us up into a religious community nestled between these impressively smooth mountains. We grabbed some bocadillos (sandwiches) and a water bottle to split before exploring what we could of the church and other worship spaces. To be honest, I was really there for the outdoor views and the opportunity to explore a new space; the religious importance was of secondary interest to me.

By that point, the sun had come out and started to warm everything up and I was ready for a hike. Camera in hand, I spied a cross that stood out on a mountain side across a little valley, and decided that that was were I wanted to go. There was a path that lead us out there and the views were incredible. But, it was not enough. I had my purple wrap around skirt on, sweater stuffed in my heart print bag, and legs ready for climbing.

It was one of those adventures that made you feel as if you were the first person to discover that spot, the first to experience the thrill of standing that high on a mountain even though you knew that you were not the first and that it was not necessarily unique experience. Having a good hiking partner who was willing to go along with my desire to climb higher and higher also made the day lovely. Sometimes you just need that person to smile with and realize how wonderful something so simple can be.

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...

A Beautiful Series of Mistakes

By Megan

This is a tale of 'woe' that turned into 'awe':  We are still in Catalunya for now and we will begin at the notorious RENFE train station, early on a Saturday morning.  I was headed to Lleida with two friends on a day trip, and carried with me my camera, journal, and swimsuit (I have no idea why I carried that particular piece of clothing, but just wait and see how handy it comes in later).

Photo by Alejandro Gamboa

After all three of us had our tickets in hand, we ran for the train, but were confused as to which train was supposed to take us to our destination.  A near drunken, bear-hug attack by two rude men rushed me into hopping on the next train that came my way, carrying my two helpless male companions with me.
Thirty minutes later, we figure out that we were on the right line, but headed in the opposite direction, so we got off and took a coffee while waiting for the next through train to Lleida.  Okay, so now our day trip was getting longer than expected, but hey, noon instead of nine didn't feel too bad.  I thought we would have plenty of time to explore the city before heading back to Barcelona; no big deal.

Waiting at the train station- a common scene

But it just couldn't be that easy- Around 11.30, our train stopped in Manresa, and the conductor informed us that it was the end of the line, and that everyone had to get off and wait for the next train to Lleida, which was schedule for late that afternoon.  We laughed, although at this point each of us was secretly annoyed with the Spanish transit system.  A march up the hill into the charmingly sleepy city, lead us to the stunning St. Ignatius church, complete with stunning views of the valley below.

Art of St. Ignatius- Photo by Alejandro Gamboa

The market was open and completely worth the inconvenience of the train:  The local cheese and dried goods were as authentic as it gets, and made this vegetarian so thrilled.  A few cheeses, a loaf of bread, and some dried fruit later, and we were enjoying our provisioned picnic while watching children chase pigeons, and each other, around a rather muslim influenced neighborhood.
After some more waiting in a sun-drenched, tree lined walk way, we finally caught the very slow train into Lleida.  Eight hours after we thought we would be there, we finally stepped foot into the city.  It was immediately decided that we would need to stay overnight, so we found a hostel downtown, rented a room for less than 20 euro a piece, and bought toothpaste and a bar of soap to split.

Plaza in Manresa

We explored the city and happened upon a celebration of sorts where I saw my first of many 'gigantes' (giant puppets manipulated by a person who hides underneath the figure's skirt)- later in the year, I ran a race in Barcelona where several teams took rotations running while wearing the gigante puppets, but I digress.

'Gigantes' of Lleida

An elevator took us up a tower that landed us in Lleida's famous Castillo de Gardeny, which boasts panoramic views of the city, and we got to thinking how we could best spend our next day.  One of my travel buds suggested a visit to the ever-so-seemingly-close national forest, and the enthusiastic information lady at the inauspicious RENFE station reinforced our decision saying the trip was a breeze.
Forgetting that it was Sunday- important because most everything closes down on Sunday in parts of Spain- we cheerily jumped on the several hour train ride.  With the boys sound asleep, the train rolled through a valley, maneuvering itself beside a system of stunningly clear blue lakes.  And it just kept getting more and more beautiful, and inspiring until finally I woke the boys and suggested we demand the train to stop and jump in the water.  Just a suggestion.
We arrived in the tiny town of Pobla Segur and realized that everything was closed- you couldn't even find a place to serve you coffee.  Where was that bus the information lady seemed so excited about?  How on earth were we going to get to the national forest?  A conversation with the amused police helped us realize that getting to the forest wasn't going to happen, but that we could catch a bus back to Barcelona later that afternoon.

The much anticipated swim

I finally had an excuse for the bathing suit; so I dragged the guys along with me, and hiked back towards the water, through plenty of grass and mud.  All would not be lost!  I threw off my dress (suit on underneath) and ran into the water.  The mud appreciated the gaps between my toes and I enjoyed the chillness of the scene.  And as I kept walking further and further in, I realized that the water didn't get much more deep than my thighs, even after I was several hundred feet from shore.  Swimming was a far off joke- more like walking in a giant puddle.

Clearly, this trip had it out for us from the start.  Train problems, faulty information, and now a lake that was more confusing than disappointing.

Reluctantly, the three of us trudged back to town through farm land and caught the bus.  Even though nothing had gone the was we thought, it had all been perfectly wondrous.  And yeah, I would do it again, maybe even on purpose this time.

Next Week:  The Five People You'll Meet in Barcelona