Friday, March 12, 2010
Monday, March 8, 2010
A trip to the homeland: Madeira, Portugal
Growing up I was never quite sure of my background and consequently struggled with my cultural identity. My mom is American. That is easy. My father, however, is a different story. Born in Port of Spain, Trinidad grew up in Venezuela, moved to Brazil when his parents divorced and then onto the states for High School. To confuse me more my father worked, although throughout all of Latin America, primarily in Argentina and supported both their and Brazil’s national teams. It did not help that my father did not meet his father until the late 1990s, and I only learned a few months ago the political situation that lead to this whole mess with my Great Grandfather. Long story short (kind of), after a lot of question asking, I discovered where my heritage came from: Portugal.
Madeira Island is located 900 km off the coast of Portugal and is actually closer to Africa than Europe. My grandfather was the last Pereira (my father’s last name before he adopted his stepfather’s, Hudson) to be born on the Atlantic Island. As I continue the extensive process of acquiring my citizenship, I decided to make a pilgrimage of sorts to the island, where you can trace the Pereira lineage back a few centuries.
After my very fun but tiring (a combination of the travel issues, little amounts of sleep and copious drinks), my trip to Madeira was a nice escape. I traveled alone and couldn’t have been better. Spending the Thursday in Lisbon allowed me the opportunity to see the Portuguese capital., home of some very cool forts and castles. I arrived in Madeira early on Friday morning and spent the next sixty hours relaxing, reading by the water, and exploring the island. A product of a volcanic eruption, Madeira actually has very few beaches. Lush, mountainous, and with a very unique culture, it was a surreal experience to visit the island where half of my bloodline is based. As I prepare to return to Madrid, I plan on continue to research my lineage and one day return to the beautiful island.
Madeira Island is located 900 km off the coast of Portugal and is actually closer to Africa than Europe. My grandfather was the last Pereira (my father’s last name before he adopted his stepfather’s, Hudson) to be born on the Atlantic Island. As I continue the extensive process of acquiring my citizenship, I decided to make a pilgrimage of sorts to the island, where you can trace the Pereira lineage back a few centuries.
After my very fun but tiring (a combination of the travel issues, little amounts of sleep and copious drinks), my trip to Madeira was a nice escape. I traveled alone and couldn’t have been better. Spending the Thursday in Lisbon allowed me the opportunity to see the Portuguese capital., home of some very cool forts and castles. I arrived in Madeira early on Friday morning and spent the next sixty hours relaxing, reading by the water, and exploring the island. A product of a volcanic eruption, Madeira actually has very few beaches. Lush, mountainous, and with a very unique culture, it was a surreal experience to visit the island where half of my bloodline is based. As I prepare to return to Madrid, I plan on continue to research my lineage and one day return to the beautiful island.
Sunday, March 7, 2010
London: its like America Jr.
For whatever reasons the country I have the most trouble traveling around is the UK. Two trips in my life and two missed departures out of the country. Granted it is a combination of my own retardation and incredibly bad luck, but I have yet to leave London successfully in two attempts. Last Sunday’s mishap aside (which was actually the fault of the Gatwick express breaking down en route to the airport, not my fault. Unlike the time Nat and I just missed our flight while searching for soccer jerseys and then were unable to figure out the tube) it was a fantastic weekend.
Friday afternoon, Simon gave me and two other friends a detailed tour of the city. There is not a monument to George Washington or Benedict Arnold as I was promised. We concluded our trip around the city with a stop in a famous 17th century pub where, allegedly, Charles Dickens used to write. Barnes’ friend was DJing at the Ministry of Sound, one of London’s bigger nightclubs, which lead to a night of sloppy dancing and probably pissing Brits off.
Saturday was match day. Even though we were unable to get Tottenham (my team) tickets for that Sunday, Simon’s friend hooked us up with Chelsea tickets. We paid a very reasonable amount to sit five rows backs from the pitch as the Blues took on another top club, Manchester City. The best part, and what made my weekend, happened before the game. Walking towards the stadium, we stopped a few hundred meters short of the police line to finish our beers. Ducking into an alcove, Simon spotted a familiar face across the way: Harry Redknapp, manager of my favorite team. With the help of some liquid courage we crossed the street and asked if we could take a picture with the footballing legend. He obliged, even chatting us up while the retarded parking attendant attempted to take a picture with maybe the easiest camera in the world. He wished us luck, shook our hands and headed off to the match. I may not have made it to the Spurs match the next day, but I certainly got my fair share of football that Saturday.
All in all it was a swagtastic weekend as the rest of the time was spent between pubs and tourist attractions. Even making it to, and this is where my Mom will be proud, the famed British Museum, which is filled with countless world treasures. A few weeks back in Madrid and then back to London to start my spring break and finally make my pilgrimage to the White Heart Lane (home of Tottenham).
Friday afternoon, Simon gave me and two other friends a detailed tour of the city. There is not a monument to George Washington or Benedict Arnold as I was promised. We concluded our trip around the city with a stop in a famous 17th century pub where, allegedly, Charles Dickens used to write. Barnes’ friend was DJing at the Ministry of Sound, one of London’s bigger nightclubs, which lead to a night of sloppy dancing and probably pissing Brits off.
Saturday was match day. Even though we were unable to get Tottenham (my team) tickets for that Sunday, Simon’s friend hooked us up with Chelsea tickets. We paid a very reasonable amount to sit five rows backs from the pitch as the Blues took on another top club, Manchester City. The best part, and what made my weekend, happened before the game. Walking towards the stadium, we stopped a few hundred meters short of the police line to finish our beers. Ducking into an alcove, Simon spotted a familiar face across the way: Harry Redknapp, manager of my favorite team. With the help of some liquid courage we crossed the street and asked if we could take a picture with the footballing legend. He obliged, even chatting us up while the retarded parking attendant attempted to take a picture with maybe the easiest camera in the world. He wished us luck, shook our hands and headed off to the match. I may not have made it to the Spurs match the next day, but I certainly got my fair share of football that Saturday.
All in all it was a swagtastic weekend as the rest of the time was spent between pubs and tourist attractions. Even making it to, and this is where my Mom will be proud, the famed British Museum, which is filled with countless world treasures. A few weeks back in Madrid and then back to London to start my spring break and finally make my pilgrimage to the White Heart Lane (home of Tottenham).
A trip to Barcelona to escape Spain...
After returning from Germany and laying low in Madrid for a few weeks, I traveled to Barcelona to visit my sister the second weekend of February. People say cities become ‘Americanized’ but I prefer the term ‘internationalized’ because it is not just American culture that has infiltrated Spain’s second largest city.
Arriving late Thursday night had me up early the next day seeing the sights with my sister, her friends, and my aunt, who had flown in for the weekend. The city is beautiful, located on the Mediterranean (although not beach weather whatsoever during my trip), and filled with amazing architecture. Anton Gaudi, who is guilty for the majority of the famed structures that line the streets, was truly a genius. I know squat about architecture but it does not take much to appreciate the creativity the man possessed. His most famous work, La Sagrada Familia, is still a work in progress. Construction began in the late 19th century and estimates do not envision the church complete until 2030 (though I’d be willing to bet they are undershooting with that estimate). Nonetheless, it is a magnificent structure filled with an interesting history. Sightseeing aside, my sister and her friends took me out to a club the Friday night, which left the two of us appropriately hung over for our mother and brother’s arrival the next day.
Sunday afternoon, after a weekend of tourism, Beans and I headed outside the city to try and catch an Espanyol football match; however, the cheapest tickets were 75 euro, which, for an incredibly shit team, is grossly overpriced. Hungry, we stumbled into what would turn out to be the home side’s supporter’s bar. Some drinks, tapas and the belligerent singing of the Espanyol faithful ended up being a better experience we agreed.
A very different feel than Madrid or any other city I have visited in the country, Barcelona had a very unique feel (spend two minutes reading about its history and you will understand why) and was a very nice weekend escape from Madrid.
Arriving late Thursday night had me up early the next day seeing the sights with my sister, her friends, and my aunt, who had flown in for the weekend. The city is beautiful, located on the Mediterranean (although not beach weather whatsoever during my trip), and filled with amazing architecture. Anton Gaudi, who is guilty for the majority of the famed structures that line the streets, was truly a genius. I know squat about architecture but it does not take much to appreciate the creativity the man possessed. His most famous work, La Sagrada Familia, is still a work in progress. Construction began in the late 19th century and estimates do not envision the church complete until 2030 (though I’d be willing to bet they are undershooting with that estimate). Nonetheless, it is a magnificent structure filled with an interesting history. Sightseeing aside, my sister and her friends took me out to a club the Friday night, which left the two of us appropriately hung over for our mother and brother’s arrival the next day.
Sunday afternoon, after a weekend of tourism, Beans and I headed outside the city to try and catch an Espanyol football match; however, the cheapest tickets were 75 euro, which, for an incredibly shit team, is grossly overpriced. Hungry, we stumbled into what would turn out to be the home side’s supporter’s bar. Some drinks, tapas and the belligerent singing of the Espanyol faithful ended up being a better experience we agreed.
A very different feel than Madrid or any other city I have visited in the country, Barcelona had a very unique feel (spend two minutes reading about its history and you will understand why) and was a very nice weekend escape from Madrid.
An update from Madrid
The few weeks following my trip to the frozen tundra of Germany were supposed to be a pleasant transition into the Spanish spring. It should figure that, as I moved to my new place where the cost of heating is not worth the quality provided, we experience the coldest Madrileno winter in 25 years. Good. That is not to say that it was actually that cold but I learned that it is a lot different dealing with temperatures around freezing when you are prepared to do so. The Spanish are not nor have ever been prepared to handle anything below 50 degrees F.
The other main developments in my life in Spain, save two very frustrating trips to Ikea (anyone moving to a new place, please, I implore you, spend the extra money and skip Ikea), involve sport. Two friends and I have become season ticket holders for Atletico Madrid. As they are the ‘other team’ in Madrid, the ten game package was incredibly affordable and, even though their performance this season has been lackluster, los rojiblancos are a perennial contender for Europe. I have also joined a baseball team. Yes, it exists in Spain. There is even a stadium. The league is technically professional though because of recent bankruptcy, no paycheck (I can deal with that seeing as players from Valencia CF, one of Spain’s biggest soccer clubs, didn’t get paid for seven weeks). The quality is not bad as there are a good number of Dominican and Cuban immigrants; however, they are undisciplined players and any collegiate team would wipe the floor with them.
I also celebrated my 23rd for the first time away from the good old US of A. A friend of mine turned 24 on the 6th so we gathered our friends, rented out a small bar in a cool neighborhood and threw a party. Asides from the inappropriate levels of debauchery that ensued (and my friend’s father trying to lead me into a male on male Asian massage parlor), I would say the party was a success.
Debating my future in Spain/in general, consumes the majority of my free time; however, regardless of where I end up next year, with Atletico now winning (victories against Barcelona and the aforementioned Valencia) and spring slowly approaching, I plan on enjoying the next few months in the Spanish capital to the fullest.
The other main developments in my life in Spain, save two very frustrating trips to Ikea (anyone moving to a new place, please, I implore you, spend the extra money and skip Ikea), involve sport. Two friends and I have become season ticket holders for Atletico Madrid. As they are the ‘other team’ in Madrid, the ten game package was incredibly affordable and, even though their performance this season has been lackluster, los rojiblancos are a perennial contender for Europe. I have also joined a baseball team. Yes, it exists in Spain. There is even a stadium. The league is technically professional though because of recent bankruptcy, no paycheck (I can deal with that seeing as players from Valencia CF, one of Spain’s biggest soccer clubs, didn’t get paid for seven weeks). The quality is not bad as there are a good number of Dominican and Cuban immigrants; however, they are undisciplined players and any collegiate team would wipe the floor with them.
I also celebrated my 23rd for the first time away from the good old US of A. A friend of mine turned 24 on the 6th so we gathered our friends, rented out a small bar in a cool neighborhood and threw a party. Asides from the inappropriate levels of debauchery that ensued (and my friend’s father trying to lead me into a male on male Asian massage parlor), I would say the party was a success.
Debating my future in Spain/in general, consumes the majority of my free time; however, regardless of where I end up next year, with Atletico now winning (victories against Barcelona and the aforementioned Valencia) and spring slowly approaching, I plan on enjoying the next few months in the Spanish capital to the fullest.
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