¡Buenos días, Spain!

Or rather, bon dia, Barcelona. And since I never ventured out of Catalonia in Spain, my French actually turned out to be far more useful here than my Spanish pocket dictionary.

In many ways, Barcelona was reminiscent of Miami to me, and it was with nostalgia for my early teenage years that I walked through Les Rambles. There they were again – the bustling streets, the dancing palm trees, the Hispanic heat... 

But my favourite part of Barcelona was something that cannot be found in the States. Gaudí’s architecture. God, I have so much love for that man’s work. The Sagrada Família is one of the most amazing places I have ever set foot in (and if all goes according to plan, I will be able to say that again for the completed version in fifteen years time). 

The façades, the doors, the pillars, the ceiling, the stained glass windows, the spiral staircases... I don’t even know what to write about first, let alone which words might do them justice. It was just so completely unlike anything I had ever seen. They say that you either love Gaudí’s architecture or you hate it. Well, I guess they’re right, because I never even felt I'd been given a choice. 

I loved the way he drew inspiration from nature, shaping the pillars to imitate trees, modelling the ceiling above to resemble a canopy and positioning the windows to let light stream in like sunrays through a forest. A man with an appreciation for music (tick!), Gaudí also took great care in designing the church to produce the best acoustics possible. I cannot wait to hear the voices of a full choir accompanied by an 8000-piped organ ring out from the naves at the top of the temple. Getting goosebumps already...  

Later, in the Parc Güell, I fell in love with Gaudí’s mosaics, especially the reptilian features: the serpentine bench and his beautiful mosaic dragon. There were also the magical colonnaded pathways and the “bird nest” terraces lines by palm trees... And a perfect Spanish sky to boot.

Then, on Barcelona’s most famous street, La Rambla, I saw his Casa Batlló – a building that, for me, practically screams Tim Burton. And in case you weren’t sure, dear reader, that is a good thing. A very good thing indeed. The colours, the kookiness, the movement, and just the pure genius of Gaudí’s work – I would go back to Barcelona just for that. 

But of course, that’s not all that this beautiful city has to offer. And you know what you have to do to find out, dear reader: stay tuned!

Buon giorno, Italy!

Well, what have we here? Sure didn’t think I’d be hitting the big five-oh of blogging in just ten months. Guess that goes to show how much I actually like writing when it’s not affecting the future title of my name. I feel like I should say something funny/clever/profound to mark this historic occasion, but it will probably just come out soppy and nostalgic. So let’s just continue our journey through Europe, shall we, dear reader?

Ok, next stop: Firenze.

Florence was my favourite Italian city. She doesn’t have Rome’s constant hustle and bustle, Milan’s stylish shop windows, or Venice’s mask-adorned alleyways, but I always felt so at home here. It’s a feeling I like to call the ‘Lyon Phenomenon’. If Marseille was replaced with Milan, Montpellier with Venice and Paris with Rome, then the way I felt about Lyon in France was exactly that of Florence in Italy.

One of the first things I did (which began in Milan and turned into a habit for the rest of my trip) was climb to the dome of the largest cathedral I could find, happily burning off a few gelatos going up the almost-vertical staircases. And when I saw the beautiful Florentine rooftops, I forgot all about needing to catch my breath.

The basilica’s dark pink and green marble façade is bordered in white and carved into the most intricate designs. I couldn’t stop taking photos! It faces the impressive golden doors of the Battistero di San Giovanni (aka Florence Baptistery), which I was thrilled to finally see in person after hearing so much about them back home.

I did go see Michelangelo’s David, of course, but the real highlight in the Galleria dell'Accademia for me was The Rape of the Sabine Women, by Giambologna. Although this was only the gesso (chalk/glue replicate), with the real statue in the Loggia della Signoria open gallery across town, I must have walked around it, staring wide-eyed from every angle, for a good twenty minutes. The struggle of each of the figures – the older man, crushed under the strength of the younger Roman as they both fight for the young Sabine woman, desperately resisting his grasp – was exquisite.

I wandered the warm cobblestoned streets for hours on end with no destination in mind, making up for my earlier exercise with sweet Florentine cannoli and fresh basil and mozzarella pizza. Later, I found myself by the river, walking through the craft stand-filled arches to the Ponte Vecchio (Old Bridge). It is by far my favourite bridge in Europe. If only I could afford the sparkling things on display behind the windows! One day...

Even though I was reluctant to visit Venice alone, I arrived in high spirits after my time in Florence. They continued to soar as I set off through the endless streets of elaborate masks and delicate glasswork. I didn’t even mind watching the happy couples rowing toward eternity on their gondolas. I thought Venice was just lovely...

Until I fell into a canal. And destroyed my camera, phone and iPod. ARGH.

So, long, embarrassing story short, wanting to snap a good photo of one of the pretty Venetian bridges, I decided to walk down a set of gondoliers' steps to get closer to the water. It was only after my foot landed on the algae-covered platform that I realised my mistake. Too late! I was already flying through the air in my own rendition of the iconic cartoon banana peel slip by then... Well, I sure got close to the water alright – the completely submerged kind of close. To make matters worse, a gondolier rows past at that exact moment (of course) and informs me rather seriously: "You're not meant to walk on those steps, you know!" Yeah, thanks mate, I know that NOW. A sign or railing would have been greatly appreciated! But yes, I know, even silly tourists aren't normally that silly.

And in case you were wondering, the water tastes slightly salty. It is also very deep and every bit as disgusting as it looks. Frankly, I’m surprised I didn’t die of a few nasty waterborne diseases. Especially after shivering all the way back to the hostel and taking a cold shower. Brrrr-yuck!

So that put a slight damper (no pun intended) on the rest of my holiday in Venice. I swear the sun came out the next day just to mock me. Ah well, it does make for a good story though, if nothing else. I can’t count the number of times I have heard the sly remark: “So, I hear you went swimming in Italy...” or the glee with which my friends retell my story.

Definitely one for the grandkids, I’d say.

Music, music, music, dance, PUPPY!

Oh, what a weekend. One of the best I’ve had in a while, actually. That’s not to say that my weekends are normally pretty dull; this just happened to be a particularly good one.

Friday was spent in the company of some fine people- Ah, Shostakovich 7 just came on! Pardon the digression, dear reader, I am currently obsessed with this symphony (also known as the "Leningrad"). And I’ll be performing it next month! *bops along excitedly to first movement’s invasion theme*

So, Friday. I went to see Hanna at the cinema with a good friend. An enjoyable movie if not analysed too closely. And of course, I was stuck whistling the pentatonic theme for the rest of the weekend. Why does my aural training choose to kick in now? My evening was spent at the final Corda Spiritus orchestra rehearsal. Such lovely people. They made tea break even more enjoyable than the actual rehearsal. Of course, the spread of cheeses, hams, and chocolate biscuits didn’t hurt... And a little mishap – in which my stand partner may have transcribed her bowings into the concertmaster’s part instead of vice versa – kept the first violins rather amused.

A double-pass to the Queensland Symphony Orchestra performing Berlioz’s Symphonie Fantastique kept me busy on Saturday night. It was fantastic, indeed. Especially since I won the tickets through a Facebook competition. See? Not just a highly-addictive waste of time after all. Yeah, I know, who am I kidding...

Then Sunday was my turn on stage with Corda Spiritus, playing the Koussevitzky Double Bass Concerto, Saint-Saens’ Cello Concerto and Beethoven’s 7^th Symphony. Excellent program, if I may say so myself. I don’t like performing solo (at all), but there is little I enjoy more than being a part of an ensemble. The rush it gives isn't stage fright-inducing, but it does sharpen the concentration so that everything seems to happen in slow motion yet double speed at the same time. Like having 20/10 vision (not that my 20/infinity eyes would know). I imagine that’s how Bella must have felt when she opened her eyes for the first time as a vampire. Yes, I just used a fictional character as an analogy and made a Twilight reference in the same sentence. It must be time for bed...

So, to top off my excellent weekend, I danced the night away at Casablanca’s Sunday Salsa Seduction and enjoyed some cupcakes and cocktails with a close friend. Oh, and the company of my new godchildren, of course – the adorable Caesar and Maximus. 

*proceeds to squeal and make disturbing baby noises* Ok...definitely time for bed now. 

Till next time, dear reader, goodnight and good week.

Buon giorno, Italy!

 

Rome was...delicious.

I had always thought that the hype about real Italian food was just that: hype. But it really is worth every last penne. Elizabeth Gilbert had the right idea – to “Eat” here for four months would be Heaven. The only difference being, angels don’t get fat.

One of the downsides to travelling alone was that I often avoided sitting down at restaurants for proper meals. And while little eateries and street vendors are great for a bite (or three), a glass of wine and a napkin across the knees gives you a whole different taste of the local cuisine. So, it was lucky that I had some company in this gastronomic paradise. 

My friend and I soon discovered that the secret to a good meal in Rome lies not in the busy, commercialised city centre, but in Trastevere. This little suburb across the river is an intimate network of narrow streets lined with bustling local restaurants. And best of all, almost completely devoid of tourists. I always say that you know you’ve come to the right place to eat if you can’t understand a word that’s being said around you. And so, it was in places like this that I cut through glorious layers of fresh lasagne, twirled my fork through handmade tagliatelle, indulged in slice after slice of greasy-but-oh-so-perfecto pizza, sipped through glasses of house wine, and savoured every last spoonful of raspberry-topped panna cotta... And don’t forget the hourly gelato fix. Your ice-cream experience isn’t complete until you have tried their melon and pistachio flavours.

To top it all off (because I haven’t had to buy new jeans yet), I tasted the best tiramisu I have ever had. It being my favourite dessert, I have tried quite a few, but this one... Wow.  
As the moist scotch finger melts onto your tongue, the coffee and alcohol cut through first, strong and aromatic. Then almost immediately, the creamy layer oozes forward, smoothing the harsher tones and coating your mouth in a layer of rich velvet...
It really was quite an experience.

You may be surprised, dear reader, but I actually managed to fit in quite a bit of sight-seeing in between all this eating! Though I won’t go into much detail about the Colosseum, the Roman Forum, the Trevi Fountain or the Spanish Steps. I did enjoy them a great deal, like the millions of other tourists that week, but I’m sure Google will be much better at informing you of their historical significance than I!

We spent quite a while in the Vatican City admiring the pope’s impressive language skills in person and taking photos in the Sistine Chapel. Yup, that's right, I took photos despite being forbidden to do so in six different languages before entering. If it had been for religious reasons, I would have put my camera away without a second thought, but for a Japanese company that wanted copyright protection for financing the restoration of the paintings? Ha, keep dreaming. If Michelangelo and the Pope don’t mind, I’m going to take home my own memory of this beautiful place guilt-free.

We also visited the gorgeous riverside night markets. As the normal dinner time for Southern Europeans seems to be around 10pm, it wasn’t unusual to find locals here enjoying a beer or a puff of Shisha at midnight. We passed on the smoking, but after a nice drink, we went exploring from stall to colourful stall. 

My favourite find? Singing bowls. Well, my friend’s find, actually. Without him, I would have walked straight past them. But channelling his inner Tibetan monk (being a Caucasian American, naturally), he grabbed my hand, put one of the beautifully engraved bowls onto my flattened palm, and began to run the wand (a clave-like stick) around the rim in slow steady circles. And a few minutes later, to my delight, the bowl began to vibrate and, well, sing! It was such a stunningly pure sound. 

The vibrations are said to have medicinal effects and the sound is used to alleviate stress. They are apparently also very popular in classrooms for encouraging group work and student concentration. Though I am having a little trouble imagining my old high school class adopting the practice... Somehow, big, gruff, footy-kicking boys and singing bowl-meditation don’t seem to fit too well together. Or maybe, that’s just the problem... 

...when you're having fun!

Time is flying by at an alarming rate. Juggling uni, three orchestras, dance, cooking, cleaning, exercise, seeing friends, premed study and soon-to-come volunteer work means that most nights, blogging won’t even make it out of the fridge, let alone onto the back burner. And this is only my second week back. Who knows what life will be like once concert and exam season kick in... 

AMAZING, that’s what. Because why live life if it’s not to the full? I need to feel like there are never enough hours in a day; that I cannot physically achieve anything more with my time. And one of my favourite – albeit morbid – things to say: I can sleep when I’m dead! At least this will be good practice for my future 80-hour doctoring weeks. I'll just have to make sure not to tell that to my patients...

So, this week's smiles, in snapshots (how appropriate):

600 photos. Printed. Albumed. Treasured.

New perfume. Or rather, a new bottle of old perfume.

A pot of steaming chai. A caramel slice. A driving lesson. A quest for otherworldly things. Old friends, new lives.

Incredible posters. A wall of postcards from around the world.

Feeling a Beethoven Symphony under my fingertips. His 7^th, to be exact.

My first durian experience. Too long overdue.

Sharing the joy of salsa. Dancing. Though the edible variety makes me happy too.

Well, that’s all for now, I’m afraid. My physical exhaustion is currently trumping my motto... but I promise to return soon with some Italian treats!

Till then, my dear reader, buona notte.

Yeia sas, Greece!

Do you know why I chose to start my journey in Athens, dear reader? Well, technically, I started in Milan, but that was for EasyJet... No, I’d just finished reading a wonderful book called Sophie’s World, which could be roughly described as a four hundred page summary of the history of philosophy, set to a magical storyline. And, surprise surprise, commencing in ancient Greece. A truly extraordinary work. So, having developed a healthy interest in Western history and thought, I placed some chronological emphasis on my travel plans.

I marvelled like Sophie as I climbed the marble steps to the Acropolis (where the phrase “cradle of Western civilisation” wouldn’t leave me alone). I had a wonderful time imagining Socrates applying his Socratic method as I meandered through the Agora. Then, as I stood in front of the temple of Apollo at Delphi, I had a good giggle at the thought of people getting married or going to war over the words of a woman high on underground gas fumes. Some oracle.

A cruise soon followed to the three picture-perfect islands near Athens. The weatherman was right for once, thank Athena for that. 36ᵒC and sunny!

First stop: Hydra, the only Greek island without cars. She offered us a dip in the warm turquoise waters of the Mediterranean Sea followed by a spot of sunbaking. Again, there seemed only to be women travelling alone as I enjoyed an icy-cold beer and heavenly fried feta with an American and two Brazilian girls. Then came Poros, a life-sized post card of palm trees, white buildings, and local shops brimming with colourful swimwear and bold beach hats. And on Aegina, we visited the monastery of St. Nectarios and the pistachio plantation to taste one of Greece’s finest exports. Always accompanied, of course, by a coffee frappé. 

When asked for my ‘best European memory’, this next incident comes in at a thrilling number three...

Walking home one night after a visit to the Gazi district (the hottest night scene in Athens), my Canadian friend and I get quite lost. Not exactly ideal at four in the morning. So, too stubborn to call a cab, we proceed to execute his cunning plan of climbing up the nearest hill to locate the Acropolis. What we actually find is a beautiful park. Nice. And an unleashed guard dog. Not so nice. We take one look at his glistening fangs in the moonlight (that may have been a figment of my petrified imagination) and decide that ‘fight’ is out of the question. And I swear, at the speed that we exited that park, monstrous canine at our ankles, we may as well have been flying. Thank goodness for adrenaline. When the barks finally faded into the distance and our heartbeats dropped to double-time, I turned to my friend and started laughing. He laughed back breathlessly, then stuck out his arm. “Taxi!”

Greece was also a chance to overindulge my sweet tooth. I wonder what my dentist would say to “a baklava a day keeps the doctor away”. My constant shortage of two-euro coins is thanks to the Greek donut (or Simit, in Turkish) stalls adorning every street corner, and no fried, sugary dough was ever too greasy or sweet to escape my greedy fingers. And don’t get me started on the lamb, moussaka, pita bread and Kalamata olives. Oh, my...

Yeia sas, Greece!

 

Maybe it was all those good luck Greek Eyes I bought, or maybe Athena happened to be in a really good mood, but my week in Greece was just Mary Poppins-worthy – practically perfect in every way. 

My initiation to the culture began even before my plane landed in Athens. My neighbour, an Albanian-born Greek, chatted to me as we flew over the Adriatic Sea and promised to show me the best souvlaki house in Athens when we landed. Two hours later, that was fulfilled at Zaxos Restaurant: swaying palm trees, a cloudless azure sky and my first of many drool-inducing gyros. 
We laughed at how ridiculously good life was.

My hostel – randomly selected over the net – turned out to be located in the best part of Athens. Tucked in cosily between the gorgeous artisan shops and bustling taverns of the old city, Plaka, I was a marble’s throw away from every Athenian attraction, while avoiding the pollution, traffic, riots and prostitutes of the CBD. Phew. The only downside: mixed dorms. Boy, oh boy, do some men know how to snore.

That first afternoon, I also met a local Athenian, who offered to help me take a photo after he saw me struggling at Zeus’ Gate. He turned out to be a third year university student studying music (the Bach Chorales, to be exact) and history. So, naturally, we got talking. And walking. He showed me around Athens, explaining everything from the architectural design of the buildings to the political situation of the nation. I couldn’t have asked for a better photographer or tour guide!

From there, I spent my week taking full-day tours through the countryside, cruising around the Greek islands and exploring the ancient ruins and museums.

My first tour group consisted of two couples and eight girls, all backpacking alone, with whom I bonded very quickly. Strong, independent women out to enjoy life and explore the world. What’s wrong, boys? Scared? Go, girl power! Together, we visited the impressive man-made Corinthian Canal and the archaeological site at Mycenae. In between bites of soft Greek nougat and sips of coffee frappé (a local favourite during summer), we explored ‘beehive’ tombs and learnt the architectural significance of the Relieving Triangle in the Lion Gate. 

And at the healing sanctuary of Epidaurus, I discovered the real ‘reason’ behind my love of snakes. It is thanks to Asclepius, the most important healer god of antiquity, who carried a serpent-entwined staff – also known as the Rod of Asclepius – used today as the symbol of medicine. Aha!