Mom, I've been somewhere you haven't.

Shame on me for not posting for so long. Now you'll just have to bear with a longer post. First off, I'm moving on Sunday to a homestay...with a KITTY!!!!! Can you tell that I'm excited? I finally decided to move after equating my situation to living with Papa and Henriette. Constant bickering, paranoia (though no trash-delving), and terrible music are partly responsible for this comparison. For those of you who aren't familiar with the tales of George and Co., just ask me for some highlights. I'm switching to an apartment that is a little farther away but has other exchange students, a 17-year-old son, and a working mother. The son brings with him the possibility of a wifi connection in the house, and the other students will take some of the pressure off mealtime conversations. Today my host mother told me it pains her that I will be leaving. Nothing like a little guilt to make the move that much easier! It's nice to know that I kept my disappointment to myself, for she seemed genuinely surprised when I told her I was moving. Like any good Jew, I know how to keep my suffering bottled up inside. I just use other outlets, like online blogging, to kvetch. Aside from food, I have not accumulated too many items, so moving out shouldn't be too hard, but I'm still not looking forward to the lugging of the items to the tiny elevator that may or may not make it safely down the shaft.

My friends and I celebrated one of our last three-day weekends by hopping a train to Portugal. The train left the Salamanca station at 4:50 in the morning, and my plan to stay out all night failed. I ended up crashing at about 3:30, only to be rudely awakened by my alarm at 4. It's not an experience I really want to repeat. We made it on the train, and we were immediately accosted by drunk Spaniards who refused to leave our compartment. While some of my friends find it funny when intoxicated guys demand a kiss on both cheeks, I find it degrading, sexist, and insulting. When they came around to me, I nicely told them to get the fuck out of our compartment, but in their drunken stupor, they must have just seen my English yelling as playing hard to get. After shoving them out the door and holding it closed, we tried to sleep. Needless to say, six girls in one compartment does not make for comfortable travel. As I was finally dozing off, the conductor slammed the door open, turned on the light, and started talking to us in Portuguese. It took about a minute before we realized he wanted our passports, but the manner in which he entered made it seem like a drug bust. Regardless of what people say, Portuguese does not sound anything like Spanish, especially at six in the morning. The rest of the train ride was filled with random men coming into our compartment and speaking to us in every language but Spanish, little boys banging on the glass because it was funny to wake us up, and me clutching my purse through the entire ride. I'm glad I became acquainted with the Spain-Portugal train system, and I can assure you I will never do it again.

We arrived in Lisboa around noon, and we headed for the hostel. Yes, that's right, I stayed in a hostel. While my next step won't be backpacking around Europe for the next six months, it was a very enjoyable experience. Named Smile, the hostel literally resembled an Ikea showroom, for everything from the bedding to the kitchen cabinets came from the store. As I was boasting about my ability to "rough it," I learned that the cleanliness and cheerfulness of the establishment was due to the fact that the hostel had been open for two weeks. Apparently my perception of hostels is now completely skewed, and any subsequent hostel in which I reside will arouse feelings of nostalgia for Smile and bitterness toward my current housing.

Lisboa is incredibly old and busy. While beautiful, most of the neighborhoods we saw were in dire need of repair. I do not have a great desire to visit Lisboa again, but our two side expeditions were amazing. On Saturday we visited Sintra, a town with famous castles, towering hills, and expensive meals. Being poor college students, we had to narrow our tour of Sintra down to two castles, but it was still magnificent. We first viewed a palace with grounds that rival the eccentricity of Versailles. There was a botanical garden, cave, chapel, and labyrinth. In place of a treehouse, the garden featured several stone mini-castles with Rapunzel-esque towers. We could have spent the entire day exploring the secret tunnels and dark caverns, but we pressed on to the Moorish castle. This expedition involved a windy bus ride to the top of a massive hill. We hiked from the ticket booth up to the top of the remains of the stone wall of the castle. I was grossly underdressed in my flip-flops, and there were definitely some treacherous moments on the stairs. Safely at the top, however, my exhaustion became awe. We could see all of Sintra, as well as the surrounding mountains and castles, from our perch. It was absolutely breathtaking; I only wish we had time to visit some of the other sprawling hilltop manors.

Saturday night we went out to explore Barrio Alto, which is Lisboa's most famous nightlife district. The scene is the exact opposite of what you would see in America. The bars are rather small and have limited seating, so everyone gets their beers and heads out into the streets to drink. I guess there aren't laws against open containers of alcohol in Portugal. People openly smoke joints on the street, and we witnessed multiple fights during our visit. It's kind of pathetic; we were talking to a group of travelers from France and Switzerland, all of us having a jovial time, when suddenly one Frenchman made a comment to the other Frenchman, and the two started throwing punches. Of course the remark was in French, so I have no idea what was so offensive that caused 2 euro beers to be thrown, but nonetheless a fight occurred. I'm glad most of my going-out clothes are from H&M, for I seem to constantly be caught in the midst of the beer-throwing.

On Sunday we repeated the seven-hour journey home, but not before we hit the beach at Cascais. Another beautiful Portugal town, we walked right off the train and onto the public beach. Though the water was probably colder than Lake Tahoe in summer, the weather was perfect. The only tan lines I have are from my flip-flops, so I was overjoyed to find remnants of my bathing suit line on my body. Hooray for sun damage!

This trip actually took place two weekends ago, so stay tuned for my journey to Galicia. I didn't want to lose any fans by making this post insanely long. I hope to update the blog tomorrow, along with a link to pictures. Despite my sexy phlegm, I'm off to Cafe Erasmus for Intercambio, where I'll hopefully meet boys who want to practice their English skills. Ciao!