White Guy with a Nice Back

I am not terribly into Caucasian males...but if they are Italian, I get a bit tingly. I met this guy in Florence. It took me a while to see him, but after I paid 24 euro I was finally able to be with him. He was tall, white and naked. And he looked good for his age of over 500 years. I saw David...The David at the Accademia. Anyone think I was soliciting a Mediterranean gigolo? 

It is not allowed to photograph what is in my opinion, the most amazing piece of art I have ever seen. But I needed to have him with me for eternity. So as our local guide turned her back to me to talk into her Whisper about a lesser known Michelangelo sculpture, I unzipped my EF tour satchel, took the camera out of its case and snapped a picture. I was so nervous that the image looked like a hot mess of blurriness. I tried again (I think only Woodward saw my rebel action), breathed and shot. He is far away, but I can work with this. If you would like to see an even bolder shot of David, I suggest you visit Suzette Mendonca’s Facebook page-she got a fabulous angle of him on her iPhone. Well played Mendonca. 

Our mixed group of English-speaking tourists kept the local guide company while Lindsey, Suzette and I stared up and admired David from every nook and cranny possible. I was not even watching where I was going as I circled his body. I spent a lot of time on his back side, staring at his...personality.  I literally could not keep my eyes off him. Michelangelo sculpted him so life-like, it was as if at any moment he would come alive and sweep me off my feet. David the human was over 18, yes? I don’t want to become another female teacher on the news. 

I purchased a magnet of David at the overpriced gift shop so when I return home, I can have a moment with him as I open my refrigerator for a healthy lunch to make. I will then realize I only have condiments and wine available, close the fridge saying ciao to David and drive to McDonald’s for a #2 Value Meal with a sweet tea. 

The joys of single living, 

Hillstead 

Mi Piache Tua Musica

Our semi-elderly Napolian bus driver, Dominico would not converse with our group except for the occasional “buon giorno” when it was initiated by an American tourist.  However, I felt like he wanted to speak with us more through beats and sounds. We first got a glimpse of his music taste when his cell phone was ringing off da hook with the catchy tune of Mr. Sax O. Beat-it made you want to fist pump and be at a club that was bumpin’ house music. Our tour director hated the song, but I could not get enough of it. (Simply add this to the list of things that annoyed Paz about me) Grazie, Domincico.   

On the way home from Florence, the back of the bus began singing Top 40 hits to pass the time on the 40 minute bus ride-we tended to stay far away from the city we were visiting. The front of the bus (ok, just me) took this as a friendly competition to sing back another, better song. Challenge accepted. Nearly all bus members engaged in this a cappella greatness (except the people who were sleeping) belting tunes from Journey to Disney soundtracks to Vanilla Ice. 

After about 20 minutes of on-key and off-key crooning, Dominico straight up shuts us down by turning on his Bus Mix, beginning with The Village People’s Macho Macho Man. This disco classic was followed by Donna Summer’s Hot Stuff, the song from the Venus razor commercial, and select Grammy-nominated songs from the 80s pole/exotic dancing flick-Flashdance. 

The time flew by for most, but for me I was counting the seconds before I could jump off the bus and tame my bubbling stomach. (You know you have issues when you get excited about having a bowel movement on vacation) But I still kept singing along because it was so freeing, yet squeezing tightly down below. I finally saw the three stars to Hotel Parigi in Montecatini, bolted out the door and ran to the bathroom, with of course having to stop and say “buono sera” to the reception desk. I am so glad I didn’t shart this time. 

Dominico, thank you for your soul-pumping compact disc. It literally got everything moving for me. 

Meclizine and Imodium, 

Hillstead 

Chaperone Phun Phrases in Phrance and Beyond

"You wanna cookie?" 

"Enjoy Beaches?" 

"It wasn’t too sticky..." 

"Psycho-Poth" 

"You can plug your “phones” into my “computer”. 

Guesses as to the context of each phrase are welcome below! 

History by Justin Nunn...

About Flamenco

Pedro and Maria went out to a royal ball in Madrid and Maria asked Pedro to dance. He said no because he had a headache and needed to rest. Maria was very persistent and wanted to dance, so an argument ensued. Maria and Pedro were yelling and fighting and eventually Maria said, “I’m so mad at you that I don’t even know what to say to you anymore. I’m just gonna dance. And she does her dance and gets tired and sits down. Pedro says to Maria, “I’m so mad at you, I have nothing to say to you; I’m just gonna dance”. So he storms off and does his dance. And everyone sees this spectacle and they love it. And it becomes the national dance of Spain.   

About the Origin of the Middle Finger (the dirty version) 

During the Middle Ages, there was no toilet paper, books, or leaves to wipe one’s butt, so people used their hands. The middle finger is the longest, so it was able to scoop the most poop effectively. If there was a bad king, anytime villagers saw him they would show him the middle finger to let him know that he stank. 

Fun Facts with Bill not Ted

1. Queen Isabella was not feeling it with King Ferdinand (perhaps because it was rumored that he fancied boys) and decided to cougar pounce on Christopher Columbus. So they pretty much got it on for a bit until she got tired of her booty call. So to avoid the awkward “break up” conversation, she sends Chris on an amazing opportunity for a voyage to “India” and tells him long distance relationships never work out. 

2. The only time famed architect Antonio Gaudi left the sight of La Sagrada Familia the last 15 years of his life was to pray. In 1926 on his way to church, Gaudi was run over by the tram he designed. No one bothered to take him to a hospital until hours later, as he simply looked like a homeless man in the streets of Barcelona. He died three days later in the “poor people’s hospital” even though he was the most respected and ingenious architect of his time. In fact, if you don’t know who built something in Barcelona, just say, Gaudi created that” and you will probably be right.   

-“Gaudi is badass” -Suzette Mendonca 

3. The Barcelona Olympic pool is open to the public for five euro a day. But Bill said that we could see him later to see how to jump the fence to swim for free. (I should have taken him up on this offer and said I forgot my swimsuit so we could swim the European way. And maybe he would take off his clothes too.  

4. A high ranking soldier had bloodied his hand in battle and needed a clean space to wipe them off. What better way to wipe off your four fingers than on your gold shield. It became a thing and more soldiers started to do this, perhaps because it looked straight up hard core. When Catalonia had won its independence from another kingdom (I guess I should know the name) they decided their flag would be gold with four red stripes, inspired by the fashionable line of bloody shields in battle. The flag’s style remains today.  

Bicicletas en Barcelona

What better way to soak in this historic port city than to tour with the Fat Tire Bicycle Company? With the added bonus of Bill _______ ; our sexy, rugged five foot seven ex-pat tour guide. Although it took us a while to find him...

Our tour guide Paz (pronounced Poth) has pretty much scared the living poop out of me with being on time, hurrying up (seemingly ironic in Europe) and sitting down on the bus. However I have been on time the last two days because even though I am an adult, I still do not like being in trouble and her tone intimidates me. This was a long explanation of why we arrived early at our meeting point for our bike tour rendezvous.

As we were anxiously awaiting our thrill ride, we noticed an apartment right above the Fat Tire garage. It was siesta time and yes we were talking excitedly. But does that give a 50 plus year old shirtless and sweaty gentleman to yell at us outside his window for us to go to the beach? Is that a new way to say f*ck off?  I am glad he was not our tour guide, even if he did have the right amount of chest hair for my liking. So after being accosted twice by this cranky man who certainly needed a nap, I decided to go up to this good looking guy wearing pink sandals, feet covered in sand as if he had just finished surfing. It was Bill! We were then suited up with our yellow, red and blue bicycle cruisers and Bill and Our Excellent Adventure began (too bad there wasn’t a Ted).  

What a hard core bike ride for 25 Tracyites, one St. Louian, an Australian and a Frenchman (Francois). For three hours, we pedaled through crowded Barcelona streets, dodging tourists and locals through narrow alleyways and not wearing helmets. What beautiful sights we encountered from La Sagrada Familia to the Gothic Quarter, the other park created by Gaudi and the impressive beachfront. One reason I fell for Bill was not only for his sweet bike riding skills, but his wit and charm when sharing the history of  “bow chicka wow wow” time between Christopher Columbus and Queen Isabella, the ironies of architect Gaudi’s life, and Catalonian blood stripes. For your enjoyment, “Fun Facts with Bill and not Ted” to be posted soon. 

Francois took up the back end (that’s what she said) of our large party for those who preferred to bike “stroll” than bike “run”. As we were crossing a surprisingly uncrowded sidewalk, a driver almost bumped us as he was pulling in to the driveway (that’s what he said)  Francois got a shout out from our bike crew for cussing out the driver, hand motions and all. I believe the phrase “puta madre” was shared with the gentleman driver. Snaps for Francois. 

Running on five hours of sleep and nutella crepes,  

Hillstead 

         

Gas Stations and Gender Equality

I unfortunately missed this experience last night, however Ms. Mendonca captured its essence beautifully and I would like to share this with you...After a beach night complete with my attempt to swim (I use the term loosely-I was simply flailing my arms, screaming with chilled, giddy delight and finally dunking my head in the Mediterranean sea) under a star-studded Spanish sky, los chaperones began our trenta minutos camino back from the fishermen beach of Castelldefels (about 30 kilometers outside of Barcelona).    

A man (over the age of 18 so as not to come off as a creeper) was chillin' with his pants down, everything hanging out and taking a pee (ironically, he was right outside the gas station bathroom). Ms. Mendonca and Mr. Nunn had the pleasure of running into this free spirit. Perhaps this revealing activity is allowed as a sort of gender equality-women are after all able to frolic on the European beaches topless and we can't let women get away with partial nudity without giving men the legal opportunity to as well. And because this man was in his forties, it further emphasizes the fact that these are not necessarily the hottest bodies showing off their goods. For those who have been to European beaches, most women who choose to forego a tan line are not as "perky" as they once were.

Finally, in the classic style of Hillstead's blogs-I have a story that involves a brief before and after...with food. I may have had too many ice creams under the Spanish sun because I had to abruptly leave the group and scurry  into a local restaurant to use their water closet, even though it is frowned upon to use the toilet without ordering something. I tried so hard not to make eye contact with the server....but I had no choice...estaba una emergencia. I guess I will not be going back there anytime soon...I hope I did not leave a mark.

Now, as I am typing my blog and wishing I had some more Principe cookies, I must wait eighteen more minutes for rose wine, baguette slices a plenty, and hopefully some cassoulet as we are now already on day six of tour, having just arrived in the south of France. "Life moves quickly, you might miss it if __________________ I don't remember the rest of the line from Ferris Bueller's Day Off.

bullfighting and paella,
Hillstead

 

Hola from Espana

Greetings from Bar-the-lona! It feels so refreshing to be back in one of my favorite countries after three years. My apologies for the delayed post as there was no free internet connection in the Madrid airport (eek gasp) and only a one hour free wi-fi service at the Holiday Inn (Grandpa Vic should lay the smackdown on this hotel-use yo' connections OG). Oh, and did I mention that there are 54 people on our tour? Tracy High and Kimball High make up half the group and then there are two schools from St. Louis and The 'No (well, technically Sanger (shout out to Patrick-Sanger High c/o 2001)). It is quite a challenge to move 54 Americans through one of the most visited countries in Europe, but we be doin' our thang. I am so proud of our Kimball High peeps as they are embracing Spanish culture-with Sangria, Principe galletas, paella and gathpacho.

Perhaps you are wondering why I am purposefully spelling Barcelona and Gazpacho as they sound in the Castillian language. It is a challenging adjustment compared to Latin American Spanish, but now all I want to do is add the lisp sound to every word and pretending I am more lengua-savvy than I am. For those familiar with Spanish words, it is fun to order juice in Zaragoza and thank your server.  However, I am trying to blend in as much as I can by not wearing American Flag shirts or toting Jansport backpacks. I am also staying away from apple pie and hot dogs.

Wake-up call is at 7 en la mañana, pues hasta luego mis amigos y mi familia.

Falling in love with cafe con leches,
Hillstead