Soaking-up-Italy time
When we landed in Italia we opted for the hour-long, eight-euro bus ride into the city over the 14-euro train and 40-euro taxi. Although it was our most time-consuming option from the airport, we were offically on soaking-up-Italy time so it was the best (so scenic!) route for us.
If anyone's ever told you to sit back and enjoy the ride, I'm pretty sure this is what they had in mind.
We were giddy as we stepped off the bus and onto our first real European cobblestones. About a mile down the road, we met our Italian landlady who lead us to our amazing apartment through a 20-foot-tall, green, double door, past the Fontana Romano and up a teeny-tiny lift. She handed over the keys and we were on our own.
We decided to start the night off with a walk down to Campo di Fiori for dinner and then the plan was to head to the Trevi Fountain and up the Spanish Steps.
No problem, right?
About a quarter mile down the road we got lost and were wandering around the streets of Rome. I approached a car with carabinieri (Italian military police?) written on the side to ask for directions.
"Parla inglese?" I asked.
"A little," they said. They all ended up getting out of the car for a better look (at our map). "A little" English turned out to be "less than a little" because we ended up having most of the conversation via Google translate. Asking for directions lead to them asking us to meet them for drinks when they got off work. At one point they told us they wanted to meet us "half past a field of flowers." I think that meant "1:30 a.m." But meeting for drinks quickly turned into "where is your hotel?" I'm pretty sure one of them wanted to be Jamie's new Italian boyfriend. It was unanimous, we didn't want to meet these Italian carabinieri for anything, anywhere.
We said "ciao" and headed on our way.
We found Campo di Fiori and a few seats at an outside cafe overlooking the square and the human river of young Italians drinking beer and eating gelato.
When in Rome...
I ordered the rossa della casa (house red) wine and we sampled our first Italian gelato on the way back to our apartment. I'd read these are the flavors of Rome best tasted after dark and I couldn't agree more.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Friday, May 27, 2011
Strolling the Champs Élysées
Bonjour!
The top ten things I learned in Paris:
#10 The metro system is incredibly awesome. It's so easy to figure out, I already consider myself a pro.
But (yes, there'a but!) the metro stops running at 1 a.m. That's something that would've been good to know before midnight, two metro stations and 21 stops from our hostel. However, we actually could've skipped our quick jog the station because we made it with seven whole minutes to spare. Just 420 seconds later and we would have been about $60 poorer and a taxi driver would have been $60 richer.
#9 When you ask someone "Parlez-vous anglais?" nine times out of ten they'll shake their heads "no" and the other time they'll say "a little" but in reality they know a lot more than they let on, because somehow I've managed to have entire conversations with people who claim they don't know any English. When I say I don't know French at least I mean it!
#8 The Eiffel Tower is best seen at night when this 1,000-foot-tall ornament lights up like a Christmas tree.
#7 We didn't cruise the Champs-Élysées in our carriage as the Parisians once did when Louis XIV opened the street in 1667, but we sure enjoyed our two-legged cruise on Paris' famous boulevard.
#6 It's worth boning up on the history of the Catacombs. In 1786, the city emptied its cemeteries into miles of underground tunnels. We checked our nightmares at the door (a sign warned that this "ride" may not be suitable for children) and entered the graveyard of six million Parisians. I was surprised no one checked our bags for "souvenirs" at the end. This one is a must-see!
#5 Two words: Musee D'Orsay
If you ever make it to Paris just go.
#4 For a comfortable, enlightening stay in Paris, I recommend St. Christopher's Hostel. Where else can you sleep with drunk Canadians (we have a busy 8-bed dorm room), see someone in the Internet cafe drop a lit cigarette into the trash and have it catch on fire, take a communal shower and eat a French continental breakfast (all the baguettes you could possibly handle) all for around 30 euro a night?
#3 Eat the croissants.
#2 Eat the crepes.
#1 Drink the Champagne.
Au revoir!
The top ten things I learned in Paris:
#10 The metro system is incredibly awesome. It's so easy to figure out, I already consider myself a pro.
But (yes, there'a but!) the metro stops running at 1 a.m. That's something that would've been good to know before midnight, two metro stations and 21 stops from our hostel. However, we actually could've skipped our quick jog the station because we made it with seven whole minutes to spare. Just 420 seconds later and we would have been about $60 poorer and a taxi driver would have been $60 richer.
#9 When you ask someone "Parlez-vous anglais?" nine times out of ten they'll shake their heads "no" and the other time they'll say "a little" but in reality they know a lot more than they let on, because somehow I've managed to have entire conversations with people who claim they don't know any English. When I say I don't know French at least I mean it!
#8 The Eiffel Tower is best seen at night when this 1,000-foot-tall ornament lights up like a Christmas tree.
#7 We didn't cruise the Champs-Élysées in our carriage as the Parisians once did when Louis XIV opened the street in 1667, but we sure enjoyed our two-legged cruise on Paris' famous boulevard.
#6 It's worth boning up on the history of the Catacombs. In 1786, the city emptied its cemeteries into miles of underground tunnels. We checked our nightmares at the door (a sign warned that this "ride" may not be suitable for children) and entered the graveyard of six million Parisians. I was surprised no one checked our bags for "souvenirs" at the end. This one is a must-see!
#5 Two words: Musee D'Orsay
If you ever make it to Paris just go.
#4 For a comfortable, enlightening stay in Paris, I recommend St. Christopher's Hostel. Where else can you sleep with drunk Canadians (we have a busy 8-bed dorm room), see someone in the Internet cafe drop a lit cigarette into the trash and have it catch on fire, take a communal shower and eat a French continental breakfast (all the baguettes you could possibly handle) all for around 30 euro a night?
#3 Eat the croissants.
#2 Eat the crepes.
#1 Drink the Champagne.
Au revoir!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
Italian shower photos
You wanted to see it, right??
I guess the loofah was included in the price for the night.
Warning: don't stay here. Even the shower couldn't wash away the smell of the ferret. You'll just have to ask, won't you?
The Italian one-handed shower
Do you know the word for one-handed shower in Italian? I don't. But if I had to guess, I'd say "ridiculousioso."
Up until recently I never considered myself an obnoxious, spoiled American, but when it comes to showering in a hostel I guess I'm a brat.
Do Italians take a lot of baths? Because there was a shower head but it wasn't attached to the wall overhead. Who would take a bath in a hostel? I don't want to know. So I attempted the Italian shower. I had to turn the water on and off 400 million times (this is the sneaky way to make us conserve water, right?) and try a tricky one-handed maneuver in order to rinse my out shampoo.
It wasn't fun, but it was pretty entertaining.
I found a hot-pink loofah in the shower, too. Are the hostelers sharing? Gross.
It was worth the experience though. I can't really complain, because it makes me thankful for all the other normal showers in my travels, like the one where all the other people in the hostel like to walk in
and out of the bathroom 100 times while I'm in the shower.
So the one-handed shower I can handle but sleeping with the hostel's pet ferret, that's another story.
Up until recently I never considered myself an obnoxious, spoiled American, but when it comes to showering in a hostel I guess I'm a brat.
Do Italians take a lot of baths? Because there was a shower head but it wasn't attached to the wall overhead. Who would take a bath in a hostel? I don't want to know. So I attempted the Italian shower. I had to turn the water on and off 400 million times (this is the sneaky way to make us conserve water, right?) and try a tricky one-handed maneuver in order to rinse my out shampoo.
It wasn't fun, but it was pretty entertaining.
I found a hot-pink loofah in the shower, too. Are the hostelers sharing? Gross.
It was worth the experience though. I can't really complain, because it makes me thankful for all the other normal showers in my travels, like the one where all the other people in the hostel like to walk in
and out of the bathroom 100 times while I'm in the shower.
So the one-handed shower I can handle but sleeping with the hostel's pet ferret, that's another story.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Adios Espana!
Before we could say adios to Spain we wanted to make a little jaunt over to Gaudi's Parc Guell. We got detailed directions from our wonderful Spanish hosts the night before but once off the metro and into the street the park was nowhere in sight.
We asked a woman on the street for help, but no habla Ingles. She understood where we wanted to go though and was talking up a Spanish storm of directions. She had to say it three times but I finally understood "escalatora" and "a la derecha" and I knew if we walked back down the street we'd find an escalator on the right. Impresionate! Awesome!
We made it up the hill to Parc Guell for some amazing views of the city and copped a squat on the world's longest park bench, before booking it back to hostel where we'd left our bags for two euro and heading to the aeropuerto.
We checked in with plenty of time before the flight, but after 20 minutes of sitting at a mostly empty gate we were getting a little worried. That's because there was a gate change (I definitely don't know the words for gate change in Spanish).
We checked in with plenty of time before the flight, but after 20 minutes of sitting at a mostly empty gate we were getting a little worried. That's because there was a gate change (I definitely don't know the words for gate change in Spanish).
And the plane was already boarding. Help! Ayudame!
We booked it across the airport, running down halls and flying over mechanical walkways to land at our gate just as the sign at the gate desk read "Boarding. Last call."
It was a smooth trip on Vueling Airlines for around 30 euro and when we landed we were in Roma!
Saturday, May 21, 2011
Tapas and topless with the Spaniards
I promised you more juicy details about Spain. No problema!
To fuel up for the day we walked down to La Boqueria, just as Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi used to, and meandered through huge carcasses hanging from the ceiling and fresh sparkling fruit lined up for what seemed like miles. I avoided the huevos del toro (bull testicles) and cows' heads with eyeballs still intact.
But I marveled at the pounds of chocolate, nuts and spices. One of the fruit drinks was calling my name. "Hola, Kerri! Yo la bebida perfecto en al del mundo." I chose pitahaya, because it was the one name I didn't recognize. There's no vacation like one where you eat and drink things before you know what they are, right? It was amazing -- fresh, sweet and juicy!
A vendor called us over to demonstrate his fancy kitchen utensil. He was rapidly explaining, in Spanish, of course, how to slice and dice potatoes, carrots and cucumbers with a quick flick of the wrist. He was a smooth salesman until his accidental finale when he cut (or completely chopped off!) the tip of his finger. He started bleeding all over his vegetables. Needless to say he lost the sale and he ran away to get a Bandaid.
Next stop: Port Vell.
We headed down to Barcelona's waterfront harbour and then straight to the beach to dip our toes in the Mediterranean Sea for the first time ever. It was cold!
It was in the 70's though so we hung out to soak up some sun. A quick look around told me Spaniards don't appreciate tan lines.
To fuel up for the day we walked down to La Boqueria, just as Spanish architect Antoni Gaudi used to, and meandered through huge carcasses hanging from the ceiling and fresh sparkling fruit lined up for what seemed like miles. I avoided the huevos del toro (bull testicles) and cows' heads with eyeballs still intact.
But I marveled at the pounds of chocolate, nuts and spices. One of the fruit drinks was calling my name. "Hola, Kerri! Yo la bebida perfecto en al del mundo." I chose pitahaya, because it was the one name I didn't recognize. There's no vacation like one where you eat and drink things before you know what they are, right? It was amazing -- fresh, sweet and juicy!
A vendor called us over to demonstrate his fancy kitchen utensil. He was rapidly explaining, in Spanish, of course, how to slice and dice potatoes, carrots and cucumbers with a quick flick of the wrist. He was a smooth salesman until his accidental finale when he cut (or completely chopped off!) the tip of his finger. He started bleeding all over his vegetables. Needless to say he lost the sale and he ran away to get a Bandaid.
Next stop: Port Vell.
We headed down to Barcelona's waterfront harbour and then straight to the beach to dip our toes in the Mediterranean Sea for the first time ever. It was cold!
It was in the 70's though so we hung out to soak up some sun. A quick look around told me Spaniards don't appreciate tan lines.
A woman approached me and asked, "Massage? Five euro." I said, "Heck yeah!" Actually, it was more like "Si! Si!" She threw down her massage blanket, gestured for me to hop on, and without warning she untied my bikini.
She hadn't even bought me dinner yet!
With three days and 30 miles of walking behind me, it was exactly what my neck, back and shoulders needed. It was honestly the best five euro I've spent so far. There's nothing like a rubdown on the beach overlooking the Mediterranean.
Next: When in Rome...
Tuesday, May 17, 2011
Living the hostel life
I just wanted to share a couple photos from our first night at the hostel.
Here´s the room we checked into, out of and back into.
Yes, those buckets are holding pee-colored water.
This is what they did with our mattresses for the day. They are sunbathing on the terrace. Lucky us!
The first night, after the flood, they let us sleep in a different room, but last night the hostel was completely booked, so they made promises to fix the roof and give us new beds.
Last time I checked there is a difference between a mattress drying on the terrace for a few hours and brand new beds, but we kind of needed a place to sleep. So last night we slept on the maybe-wet, maybe-moldy beds.
Oh well, it´s called a hostel for a reason.
We´re off to the beach!
Here´s the room we checked into, out of and back into.
Yes, those buckets are holding pee-colored water.
This is what they did with our mattresses for the day. They are sunbathing on the terrace. Lucky us!
The first night, after the flood, they let us sleep in a different room, but last night the hostel was completely booked, so they made promises to fix the roof and give us new beds.
Last time I checked there is a difference between a mattress drying on the terrace for a few hours and brand new beds, but we kind of needed a place to sleep. So last night we slept on the maybe-wet, maybe-moldy beds.
Oh well, it´s called a hostel for a reason.
We´re off to the beach!
Lost in translation
I´m sure everyone figured it out already. I made it to España!
In the first 12 hours alone I strolled Las Ramblas, devoured tapas and gelato, discovered several centries-old churches, stopped for an acrobatic hustler show, soaked in the works of Picasso, avoided the mysteriously-colored water on the floor of my hostel, watched a man run down the street with a mattress on his head and enjoyed a flamenco opera.
As soon as we landed we caught the aerobus into Plaza de Catalunya and then strolled through Las Ramblas on the way to our hostel. After a stop to grab some euros, we headed to Jules Verde for tapas before making our way over to the Cathedral.
Our real mission was to find the Musee de Picasso for free-entrance Sunday, where we enjoyed one of the world´s most extensive collections by Spanish artist Pablo Picasso.
Next on the eventhough-we're-dead-tired-we're-in-Spain-we-can't-go-to-sleep-yet agenda was an opera and flamenco show.
We headed back to our room for a minute before the show to find our room in an inch of (excuse me) pee-colored water.
My bed was soaked!
Reception moved us to an empty(!) room, minus the gallons of pee-water and five other hostelers.
Then it was flamenco time.
Let me give you some words of advice: don't go to a Spanish opera on an hour and a half of sleep.
We were thrilled to catch the 9:15 p.m. Opera y Flamenco show. From what I gathered, it was a lot like a telenovela, all serious and dramatic, plus some awesome tapdancing.
Around ten minutes into the show I jerked awake. I'd just fallen asleep during the first act! Isn´t that awful? It had nothing to do with how talented and amazing the ensemble was, but only stainless steel toothpicks could have kept my eyes open. A few English subtitles would have helped, too. I guess they don´t have those in the world of Spanish opera. Maybe we should do something about that.
Fortunately, I woke up in time for the man with the magic feet. When he flamencoed from stage right his feet were pounding the floor like a bionic woodpecker. It was truly an incredible sound.
Then we groggily stumbled back to the hostel for a few sweet hours of sleep.
In the first 12 hours alone I strolled Las Ramblas, devoured tapas and gelato, discovered several centries-old churches, stopped for an acrobatic hustler show, soaked in the works of Picasso, avoided the mysteriously-colored water on the floor of my hostel, watched a man run down the street with a mattress on his head and enjoyed a flamenco opera.
As soon as we landed we caught the aerobus into Plaza de Catalunya and then strolled through Las Ramblas on the way to our hostel. After a stop to grab some euros, we headed to Jules Verde for tapas before making our way over to the Cathedral.
Our real mission was to find the Musee de Picasso for free-entrance Sunday, where we enjoyed one of the world´s most extensive collections by Spanish artist Pablo Picasso.
Next on the eventhough-we're-dead-tired-we're-in-Spain-we-can't-go-to-sleep-yet agenda was an opera and flamenco show.
We headed back to our room for a minute before the show to find our room in an inch of (excuse me) pee-colored water.
My bed was soaked!
Reception moved us to an empty(!) room, minus the gallons of pee-water and five other hostelers.
Then it was flamenco time.
Let me give you some words of advice: don't go to a Spanish opera on an hour and a half of sleep.
We were thrilled to catch the 9:15 p.m. Opera y Flamenco show. From what I gathered, it was a lot like a telenovela, all serious and dramatic, plus some awesome tapdancing.
Around ten minutes into the show I jerked awake. I'd just fallen asleep during the first act! Isn´t that awful? It had nothing to do with how talented and amazing the ensemble was, but only stainless steel toothpicks could have kept my eyes open. A few English subtitles would have helped, too. I guess they don´t have those in the world of Spanish opera. Maybe we should do something about that.
Fortunately, I woke up in time for the man with the magic feet. When he flamencoed from stage right his feet were pounding the floor like a bionic woodpecker. It was truly an incredible sound.
Then we groggily stumbled back to the hostel for a few sweet hours of sleep.
Saturday, May 14, 2011
Miami
Six minutes 'til takeoff part three. We're all here, minus one driver's license, but we're all here!
Barcelona here we come.
Barcelona here we come.
Chicago
Made it to Chicago! I'm sitting at the gate for the flight to Miami.
I just found this in the seat next to me.
It's no Grover Cleveland, but a $1 Ulysses S. Grant coin will have to do.
Pretty random, right? There's nothing like a shiny $1 in my pocket to start the trip off right.
Heads, I make it to Miami. Tails, I don't.
I just found this in the seat next to me.
It's no Grover Cleveland, but a $1 Ulysses S. Grant coin will have to do.
Pretty random, right? There's nothing like a shiny $1 in my pocket to start the trip off right.
Heads, I make it to Miami. Tails, I don't.
Takeoff Take Two
Just kidding about takeoff. Looks like we're not taxing out for another 20 minutes...only the second delay of the day so far.
Our first delay had something to do with the plane's weight restrictions. I wish I could point to myself and say "not it" but that would be a lie.
My bag just weighed in at a whopping 34 pounds. I'm ashamed to say it weighs more than a four year old.
Let's try this takeoff thing one more time.
Our first delay had something to do with the plane's weight restrictions. I wish I could point to myself and say "not it" but that would be a lie.
My bag just weighed in at a whopping 34 pounds. I'm ashamed to say it weighs more than a four year old.
Let's try this takeoff thing one more time.
Friday, May 13, 2011
Look what I found. Money for waffles and beer!
Tomorrow’s the big day – takeoff time.
If you hadn’t guessed it already, my wallet’s still searching for that special someone or someones – Washingtons, Hamiltons and especially Franklins. Having dinner with paid for by Grover Cleveland would be nice. Yes, I’m talking about a crisp $1,000 bill.
I’ve been lying awake at night wondering how I can make $$$ appear out of thin air. Sell some goods? Sell some services?
Ding. Ding. Ding.
Ding. Ding. Ding.
What do I have that I could easily live without and would help make me a quick buck?
Yes, I have an extra kidney, but isn't that illegal?
I was talking about ...
Clothes!
Why didn't I think of this sooner? I threw open my closet and started throwing tee shirts, sweaters and jeans into a pile in the middle of the room. Next came shoes! Brown sandals. Black sandals. Heels with bows. Flats with bows. (When's the last time I even wore a pair of shoes with bows?!) Tennis shoes. Flip-flops. I'd struck shoe gold!
Clothes!
Why didn't I think of this sooner? I threw open my closet and started throwing tee shirts, sweaters and jeans into a pile in the middle of the room. Next came shoes! Brown sandals. Black sandals. Heels with bows. Flats with bows. (When's the last time I even wore a pair of shoes with bows?!) Tennis shoes. Flip-flops. I'd struck shoe gold!
This must convert to a couple of Belgian waffles, right?
I got a hold of myself, because the thought of turning clothes into money put me into quite a frenzy, and neatly folded everything into a big box.
Then I took it to, where else, Plato's Closet! Whoever this Plato guy was, I'd heard he was willing to fork over a few bucks for some old clothes.
Boy was he ever! Plato paid me $16.70.
Sure, 11 euros isn’t going to buy me a bed to sleep in at even the worst hostel ever, but maybe it will buy me a couple of those waffles.
I’ll let you guys know when I make it to Belgium.
Tuesday, May 10, 2011
Do I go with teeny-tiny or the duct-taped monster?
Only four days out from full-body security scans and customs, and I have a big question to answer.
Do you know carry-on baggage on most of those sweet little "cheap" intra-European airlines cannot weigh more than 10 kilograms? All I have to say is Pssht!
If I have to limit myself to a 22-pound bag, that's like asking, "Why don't you just bring one pair of shoes?" or "Go ahead, leave the guidebooks at home. What do you need those things for anyway?"
I'm already getting one free checked bag on the international flights to and from Europe, so taking a carry-on wouldn't save me money there, either.
What do I do?
I have one teeny-tiny carry-on suitcase and one monster check-in suitcase with a big hole in the bottom of it. I have to pick one.
We've already established there's no cost advantage to taking the carry-on because it's going to cost me money to check it when it goes over 10 kilograms. Plus, that bag would limit my souvenir purchases to precious little Eiffel Towers and two-ounce Jameson shot glasses. I need more room than that!
That leaves me with the duct-tape option (though I may be cursing my decision as I drag the monster suitcase up flight after flight of stairs) or the new-purchase option.
So I went shopping.
Will any of these do?
Mr. They-don't-pay-me-enough-to-wear-this-spiffy-red-vest found me in the aisle and looked at me like I was a kid in a candy store who'd just stuck my grubby hand in the licorice bin, took a lick and tossed it back.
He asked, "Are you buying all of these?"
I quickly said, "No, I promise to put them all back!" And I did because I just couldn't bring myself to swipe the plastic for a new bag. (BTW, Mr. MasterCard arrived. We're getting along perfectly, though I'm trying to use him sparingly.)
I re-evaluated the monster suitcase with a hole in it.
That can't be good.
Okay, I might come home minus a sweater or two.
So...
Ta-Da!
Do you think my cousins will be embarrassed to be seen with me? I know there's a redneck joke here somewhere, right?
Do you think my cousins will be embarrassed to be seen with me? I know there's a redneck joke here somewhere, right?
See you at baggage claim!
Thursday, May 5, 2011
You call this desperate?
I leave in 9 days. What does this mean for you? It means it's time to put in your souvenir requests!
I'm getting a strange feeling that souvenir-fulfillment will be limited on this trip. Why do I feel this way? It could have a little something to do with the $601 train tickets I still need to buy.
To put it simply: Tell me what you want before I go broke!
Smashing open my piggy banks!
Smashing open my piggy banks!
The last thing I want to do is come back empty handed. So yesterday I decided it was time for The Great Coin Search of 2011.
I have a box of nickels and pennies that I've been saving since I was, oh, about 13. Unfortunately, the quarters and dimes all went to the bank a long time ago. This was a good starting point. I had a massive haul. $14.34.
I have a box of nickels and pennies that I've been saving since I was, oh, about 13. Unfortunately, the quarters and dimes all went to the bank a long time ago. This was a good starting point. I had a massive haul. $14.34.
Like I said, this was just the beginning.
I scoured the bottom of every purse I own (Yes, this took awhile). Cha-ching! $2.85.
Of course, I checked my best hope of all ... the couch cushions. Alas, not a single dime.
Then I moved on to my car. I got down on my hands and knees and pried out sticky nickels from under the seats. Score. $0.26.
Then I decided to get serious.
It was time for Chuck E. Cheese. It was time to bust open my oldest piggy bank of all. He's been with me since I was 5 years old. He didn't know he had it coming. I'm kidding! He's plastic! I flipped him over, popped out his trap door and emptied his guts onto the table. A glorious $18.09.
All together, I found a whopping $35.54.
This converts to €23.93, or a bus ticket and a ham sandwich.
Am I desperate? Nah. Funding a month-long vacation to Europe is serious business. I'd hardly call this desperate.
Now I’m headed to the bank to hand over all my pretty little pennies, and this girl's vacation fund will be back in the black.
What's the craziest thing you've done for a few extra bucks?
Tuesday, May 3, 2011
Oh, $#*!
In exactly 12 days, I’ll be flying over the Atlantic on my way to España.
¡Olé! I can’t help myself. Just thinking about it makes me want to dance the Flamenco while waving a little red muleta in front of a bull with one hand and eating tapas with the other. Oh, Spain. I can’t wait to meet you.
The thing is, Spain is planned. The flight’s booked. The hostel’s booked. It’s all of the details and countries that come after that are up in the air (like me in just 12 days). Help!
Oh, did I forget to mention, I’m going to Europe for a month?
Just a handful of places.
Barcelona, Rome, Tuscany, Florence, Venice (Maybe. We haven’t even decided yet!), Paris (Depends on if we go to Venice.), London, Bath, Caen (Or back to Paris for Round 2.), Bruges, Amsterdam, Rotterdam, Cork, Shannon and Dublin.
That’s the plan, plus or minus a few cities, because what’s the fun of traveling if you actually know where you’re going?
Did I mention, I’m unemployed and on a snug budget? Unemployed, as in technically, I could qualify for government cheese. And snug, as in Lady Gaga’s hotpants snug.
So, you might be asking yourself, “What the heck was she thinking when she booked that ticket?”
Last summer, my cousins said, “Let’s go to Europe.” I said, “Heck yeah!” It was a pretty obvious response. I had a job. I was making money. Spain and Italy are on the top of my 30 Before 30 list.
A few months later and here I am, less than 2 weeks away from a tour of Europe.
Enter, Mr. MasterCard.
Did you know it’s pretty easy to go online, type in “credit card” and find a dozen credit card companies, all willing to throw huge credit limits at you? I didn’t have many requirements. No foreign fees. No annual fee. Cash back. I was approved in 3.5 seconds.
Now, I’m just patiently pacing the mailbox waiting for Mr. Tall, Dark and Handsome, err, scratch that, Mr. Moneybags to arrive. Soon, we’ll be strolling hand in hand card in hand across Las Ramblas, meandering down the Champ Élysées and zipping through the Chunnel on our way to Westminster Abbey. It is going to be Fab-u-lous!
Who’s with me?!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)