The thing to do in this town is to hike around the peninsula that juts out into the Mediterranean, which also forms a beautiful cove with the village of Villefranche on the other side. We meandered down the hill to the beach where the hike started and emerged onto a gorgeous panorama that was actually enhanced by the presence of a massive cruise ship moored in the cove — it helped give the entire scene a sense of scope.

We lingered at the beach for a bit, but then started the hike. We got a little lost moving up the hill, as there was a turnoff down to the waterside path, but once we found it, we were walking along a dirt track perched above the water with stunning views back to the cove and Villefranche. Every 5 minutes or so, there were steps leading down to the water, with a rocky area where you could sit, but it seemed that each place was already claimed by a picnicing couple (we had brought some cold cuts and bread from Nice with us). Finally about 45 minutes after we started the hike we found steps down to a concrete platform on the water, no view of the cove but looking back up the coast at Nice. We parked there for a while, had lunch and both took a catnap in the warm French sun.

We finally decided to move and kept walking, amazed by the villas perched above the path and the views to the sea below. There was a beautiful lighthouse, and around each turn the landscape changed from green to rocky and back. It seemed that everyone passing us was saying bonjour, so I suggested that we greet everyone who greets us that way with a reply of “Sawwade Krap (or ka for Elona)”, which is Thai for hello. Unfortunately, only 2 or 3 more people on our walk greeted us with bonjour, but it was still pretty funny.

We completed the walk and decided to head back to Nice to try to catch the sunset again — we made it just in time, grabbing a slice of pizza and some wine along the way. We toasted to Jay and Karien as if they were lost members of our gang, and enjoyed our last night in France as the sun dipped behind the mountains to our west (it did not set over the sea, which was hard for us to tell 2 nights before because of the clouds).

We were pretty drunk and still hungry, so we wandered back into old town to get some food. Not really sure what we were looking for, we stumbled past an outdoor eatery that had been packed earlier in the day and was still somewhat crowded. The prices were what attracted us initially (7 euro for moules frites) but we spied a local couple eating a dish of braised beef on top of ravioli that looked and smelled absolutely divine. We asked what it was and they told us — bourgnon? perhaps? We stepped up and ordered, and the server asked if we wanted pasta or polenta. I said pasta, assuming this would be the ravioli, but when we got the order, it was actually on top of fettucini. A slight let down but it was still really good. We also had the stuffed vegetables, which were much better than the ones Jay had gotten the day we met up with him. We sat outside and reminisced about what had been a wonderful 2 weeks in France, then headed back to the hostel to pack for our trip the next day to Italy.

Jay had raved about Monaco and I was excited to gamble in the famous Monte Carlo casino. Elona had said she would stay with me while I gambled and give me good energy, and maybe even gamble a little herself.

We got off the bus near the casino and popped inside and immediately I knew we had a problem. They require a passport or driver’s license to get in, and I know that Elona seldom carries any ID on her since we met up because she has it locked up in my backpack where I keep mine — but I always have my driver’s licence in my wallet, and she doesn’t even carry a wallet. I asked her and she confirmed that she did not have it. I told her that I still wanted to gamble and that she would need to give me an hour or so at some point. She reluctantly agreed after saying “What am I going to do while you gamble?” She’s been fun to travel with but she can be a little clingy — it would probably do us good to spend a little time apart, even a few hours or a day or something. You’re a big girl, go get a drink or a coffee or just walk around. Whatever — it will all work out.

The casino itself is gorgeous, a throwback to an earlier, more elegant time, filled with stained tiffany-type glass, carvings and an overall air of class.

But we wanted to take advantage of the daylight — we decided it would be good to gamble after it got dark. So we meandered about Monaco, which is a beautiful but kind of weird place. The yachts moored in the marina were beyond description — massive, gaudy, one more pimped out than the next. Most had exotic ports of call like Cayman Islands or Isle of Mann, but we did find one from Delaware — random.

But then, right down at the base of the marina, was a cheesy carnival full of rides and carnival games. We wandered through it on our way to the hill upon which the royal palace sits. We hiked up the hill, a beautiful walk through magnificent gardens, and at the top, wandered through the old town that sits just below the palace. Neither of us had a desire to pay to go inside the palace, so we went back down the hill and met up with Curtis who had just arrived in Monaco.

We ambled back through the carnival and marina and found ourselves in front of the casino as it began to get dark. Curtis wanted to gamble as well, so we told Elona to give us 75 minutes and we would meet her back in front.

We walked in, paid the 10 euro entrance fee, and entered the main hall of the casino. In some ways it was what I pictured, in other ways not at all. It certainly was very classy on the inside, but instead of that being a good thing, it almost weighed down the atmosphere — it was very stuffy, and it was nearly empty, so there was just no energy. There were lots of private salons — perhaps that is where the real action happens. I would imagine that summer weekend nights are more active than a fall Monday but there could not have been more than 20-25 players in the place.

Regardless, we sat at the cheapest blackjack table we could find — 25 Euros! — and started playing. Like the other 2 times I have gambled on this trip, I was down from the start. Unfortunately, the high price tag on the table spooked me a bit and I did not bet my normal system (sorry Bill). IF I had, I might have stuck around longer. I kept digging into my pocket for double downs and splits, and each time I lost. Finally gave up when I was down about 225 Euro. Curtis ended up winning about 100 euro — like I always say with blackjack, the bet really is which seat you choose, and I have been on a real cold streak. Sorry, Stu, but this probably rules out Mohegan Sun (nah, I will probably get talked into it anyway).

We still had a half hour to kill before meeting Elona so we walked around to the back of the casino which was gorgeous all lit up.

Met back up with Elona and we walked through the carnival a third time looking for a place to eat. We settled into a diner-ish type place right next to a bus stop and all enjoyed surprisingly good Moules Frites (had not had them yet in France). We went outside after dinner and checked the bus schedule — we had missed the last bus! Fuck. Well, now our only option was the train, which cost more money. But we had no other choice so we headed to the train station. It was around 9 pm, and the ticket booth was closed. There were ticket machines but they only took coins and we had none. We were stressing big time — you can get fined a lot of money for riding the train without a ticket. A cleaning lady who spoke English said we should find the conductor as soon as the train pulled in and pay him, but we thought this could also be problematic as it might cost a lot more to get the ticket directly from him.

Curtis showed up (he had gone to the carnival for a crepe and to play some games) and he assured us that no one had checked his tickets in 3 train journeys in the region, so we gambled and got on the next train with no ticket. It was 22 minutes of stress but yeah, no one came through checking (of course I had visions of Indiana Jones and also the spoof of it in the Kevin Smith movie Dogma — “No Ticket!”) so it all worked out.

All in all, I am glad I saw Monaco, but feel no great need to rush back.

We walked out onto the beach around 11:30 — gorgeous, just 1 block from our hostel. A long stretch of rocky, pebbly beach with some sand mixed in (as most Med beaches are) and the sun glinting off of the blue sea. We wandered for a bit, admiring the topless sunbathers and the rest of the scenery before it was time to meet Jay, hopefully. We gave him 30 minutes but he never showed up — he probably never got the message. Man, I felt terrible. But I guess these things happen sometimes when you travel — he had no cel phone so we couldn’t communicate.

We were starving so we headed into the old city — most of the restaurants were packed and super pricey. But we stumbled upon a wonderful panini place serving warm, big panini for 4 euro — called La Banana de Guadalupe. Delicious.

Then we hiked up to the old fortress and enjoyed wonderful views over Nice to the mountains beyond. The planes made their final approach into Nice Airport right past the hill on which the fortress was set, and they curved elegantly along the coastline before landing to our east about 2 minutes after passing us — very peaceful. Up at the top was a great waterfall/fountain, must have been man-made, but it added to the serenity. There were some ruins at the top which I mistakenly thought were Roman but actually were just an old church.

We descended down the hill and walked around the other side to the marina, admiring the huge yachts in the harbor — this is a money town, in fact, all of the cote d’azur is a money place. This was Sunday, and the night before, the clocks had changed, meaning the sun was setting an hour earlier, and we wanted to get to the beach for the sunset. So we cut back through the old town on some random street, and as we were walking by a food stand, admiring the stuffed vegetables that are a local delicacy, who turns around from ordering — JAY!!!! A festivus miracle!!! You would have thought we were old war buddies the way we greeted each other. Man, I felt so relieved — we explained what happened and he was really understanding. Had not gotten our e-mail, went to Monaco for the day, and was flying that night to Barcelona. So we grabbed him and 2 bottles of wine and went right to the beach. We only had 2 glasses, so we cleaned out a Coke Zero bottle and he used that to drink. We had a lot of fun just sitting there, watching the ever changing pastels of the sunset. It was a bit cloudy, which added to the colors and ambiance, though we did not actually get to see the sun set because of the clouds. If I had a dollar for each sunset I have seen on this trip, I could afford an extra night in a hostel. The wine was going down nice and smooth, but soon it was dark, and Jay had to head back to his hostel to get his bags and head to the airport. We walked him toward the tram, but he abruptly stopped us and said this was good enough, we should say goodbye there. He too seemed to get a little choked up, and we both thought he wanted to get it out of the way, not to have to say goodbye and get emotional in a more public space like a tram stop. It was almost too much to take — first Karien, now Jay — who knew that Elona and I were so likable!!!! Seriously, though, all of these goodbyes start to wear on you after a while. He wants to come work in the US, so I hope I will see him again. Really nice guy.

We decided to cook in our hostel, and Elona made pasta with pesto, but the pesto was pretty bad, and the pasta was pretty stale, so we barely ate any of it. We then had another big blowout about trip planning, right in front of everyone, where again we were both right and both wrong. I am happy to say that (now on the train from Venice to Naples) this was our last big argument thus far, and that was about 2 weeks ago. Regardless, we both went to bed kind of angry. I was still pissed in the morning but it gradually wore off. Next on the agenda — Monaco.

Karien was in a pretty somber mood all day. Part of it was the fact that Elona and I were leaving — it is amazing how quickly you get attached to people when you are travelling, everything seems to happen on fast forward, and the goodbyes are so very hard, considering the short amount of time you spend together. She was just on a week’s holiday — this was Saturday, and she was flying home Sunday afternoon from Marseilles to London. Elona tried to convince her to come with us to Nice for 10 hours, and she almost did, but then we all realized that from a time and money standpoint it made ZERO sense. Would certainly have been nice. We were leaving on a 6 pm train to Nice, so we got to spend most of the day together.

But perhaps she was also sad because of the missed opportunity the night before? It was hard to tell, and I am certainly horrible at reading women. I tried my best to cheer her up but I think I used up all my mojo the day before. She wasn’t down all day, there was plenty of smiles and laughter and plenty of more times when I wished I could kiss her, but overall there was an air of melancholy to the day.

Regardless, the bus took about 45 minutes, then a 20 minute hike till you get to the start of the cliffs. We went to the path on the right that lead up to a lookout over the Mediterranean — simply stunning. We got very lucky with the weather once again, a gorgeous sunny day. A couple of yachts were anchored in a tiny little azure cove below us — man we were jealous of them. The views to the east toward Nice along the coast were breathtaking — rocky outcroppings leading to cliffs that cascaded down to the blue water. We decided that we needed to get down toward the water, though Curtis had to leave — he was catching an earlier train to Nice, where he would be staying in the same hostel as we. So we descended and kept going round and round these switchbacks — it was a beautiful walk — before ending up at a lookout maybe 50 feet above the water. We didn’t have time to go down further to the water but sat there for 10 minutes in the golden sun, just relaxing, soaking it all in. Once again Karien’s eyes were radiant in the sun — man, I am such an idiot, I should have just kissed her. Soon enough, though, it was time to head back.

Back at the hostel, we had a quick snack and then it was time to go to the train. Karien walked us to the station and waited with us until it was time to get on the train — you get VERY attached very quickly when you travel — and she seemed to tear up a little when the three of us said our goodbyes. As for she and I, just a peck on the cheek and a hug, so impossible to say what might have been. I will try to see her in London when I am there at the end of November — glad to have a new friend, and if anything else happens, well, that would just be a bonus.

We were joined on the train by Lee, the OTHER Korean guy who was headed to Cannes. He seemed mild mannered enough but then he pointed out to me (too late to do any good) how I could have cheated on my Eurail pass by making a 1 into a 4 and not burning another day. Pretty funny. The first hour of the train ride we got to see the sunset over the Mediterranean, but then we were in darkness for the last couple of hours — too bad, I am sure the coast is stunning.

We got to Nice tired and hungry, as we had barely eaten anything all day. We ran into Curtis and decided to head out together, grabbing some very good pizza (Nice is so close to Italy — it almost has more Italian flavor than French). We then sat by the beach for a bit, drinking wine and beer and just enjoying the gorgeous Mediterrenean under the glow of a setting, almost-full moon. Curtis was a real night owl, not a foodie like us, and he liked to spend most of his money on beer and going out till all hours. We hadn’t really been out and about since Barcelona (save 1 night in Paris) so we decided to join him. He had gotten recommendations on a couple of places. We wandered around for a bit, stopping into a couple of places along the way, before we got to one of his places, right near the Palacio de Justice. Unfortunately, it was packed with a line out the door, so we decided to go next door to a place called King’s Tavern.

Inside, a raucous young french crowd was getting its yah-yahs from a quite average heavy metal cover band that played mostly AC/DC and Metallica. But the crowd was eating it up. First there were girls dancing on tables, then these 2 guys started simulating having sex during a Metallica song — it was bizarre and quite amusing. But the allure wore off and we wandered out again. Ended up at a place called the Blue Whales which was much more mellow and much cheaper. We had more drinks and a shot of sambuca, and at about 2:30 am called it a night. It was cool to be experiencing the nightlife out and about in Nice. Drinks are pricey though — 13 euro for a Jamesons at the first place. Oh well. Went to bed looking forward to exploring beautiful Nice the next day.

Elona and I were joined by Karien the South African and Jay the korean guy — it was nice to have the company, as I think Elona and I were starting to get on each other’s nerves a bit. We hopped the bus — about a 45 minute ride — and walked toward the center of town. A brief stop in the tourist office pointed us toward a chateau that was supposed to be reachable via public transport, but we decided to explore the town first. It was a glorious sunny day, the kind of day that you always picture in Provence, allowing the full glory of nature’s bounty to shine.

Our first destination, as always, was the local market. Karien is a chef at a gastropub in London so she was as much of a foodie as us, and Jay, who had spent the past year in DC (at American U) and in NYC (interning at MTV) was just as enthused. Walking through the old medieval streets, we all had a feeling that we were about to experience something special.

About 5-10 minutes later, we emerged at the market, just below the main square of the town. Maybe 40 stalls, so nowhere near as big as Barcelona, but for quality, it could not be matched. I sampled a few dried fruits and bought some amazing cranberries to munch on throughout the day. Also tried some delectable tapenades, all at the same first stand. Kept wandering around — tried some amazing greek-style sausage, and some wonderful olives.

And then, the Wow cheese.

In one corner of the market was a cheese and meat purveyor staffed by a wonderful French woman who spoke very good English. She cut us each a slice of a chevre part sheep/part goat’s milk cheese (man I wish I had taken a photo of the label). She handed us each a slice individually, maybe 10-15 seconds apart. And each one of us, individually, went weak in the knees and simply said “Wow.” It was amazing that we all had exactly the same reaction to this amazing cheese. Somehow, we didn’t purchase it there and then, but walked around the market some more before circling back and buying a bunch of slices to take with us for lunch. It was simply the most amazing thing I have put in my mouth, perhaps on the entire 6 months of the trip.

Bought some souvenirs at the market as well, and then we were off wandering through the gorgeous streets of Aix. We strolled for a good 2 hours before ending up in this wonderful garden that is part of a beautiful villa. This was the perfect place to sit and enjoy the wow cheese, on a bright sunny day. Karien (whose green eyes sparkled in the Provencal sun) also bought some perfectly ripe figs, which were a great complement to the cheese and baguettes. Yum!

After snapping out of our cheese-enabled ecstasy, we were walking again, passing the hot springs for which the town is famous (very expensive to get in, and you must book in advance — boo!). Aix is also renowned for its fountains, each one a work of art in its own right, some large, some small. Every 2-3 blocks you hit another fountain, filling the streets with the delightful sounds of sprayed water. We kept snacking as we walked, but soon, it was time to hop on the bus to try to get the Chateau for a wine tasting.

Got on the bus and asked the driver if he could let us off by the Chateau. He said he doesn’t know where it is — uh oh. I show him the map and where the TI guy drew that the chateau would be — the driver said he would try to find it and stop there. The TI guy had drawn that it would be closer to Aix than to the next town, Saint Cannat, but we keep driving, and no chateau. We’re not sure what to do at this point, as Saint Cannat is approaching. Finally we pass a sign for the Chateau, so we ring the bell — and the guy keeps driving. 1 km, 2 km, 3 km, 4 km, 5 km — not good. We finally get let off at the first stop in Saint Cannat. We considered walking back to the Chateau, which probably would have taken an hour or more, but the bigger concern was what would happen when we were done – would we be able to get the bus right there, or have to walk another hour back? So we headed into tiny Saint Cannat, bought 2 bottles of wine and some chocolate, found a park with a wooden jungle gym (for those who remember, it reminded me of the “Redwood Thing” in Washington Square Park, where we used to go and drink back in the day). We plopped ourselves on the jungle gym, which had a decent view of some rolling Provencal countryside, and enjoyed an extremely decadent late afternoon drinking and eating session. The chocolate was divine, from a local patisserie — it tasted like the best, richest chocolate from a black and white cookie you could ever imagine (big shock that I am not a food writer!!!)

We chilled there for a couple of hours, drinking, watching the little mop-topped french kids play, talking to some local teens who were drinking beer and playing bocce. I wasn’t sure but I was picking up on a bit of a vibe between Karien and myself — certainly it was quite the romantic setting. She was very smart, very funny, and oh those eyes! Would love to have kissed her then and there but in the group setting there really wasn’t a chance. Oh well, the night was still young.

Finally, we had to pick up and get back to Aix, either for dinner or to head back to Marseille. When the bus arrives, it’s the same driver! He asks if we ever found the chateau, I just told him no, it wasn’t worth explaining or even showing him where it was — we were probably the only ones who ever tried to do this without a car or on an organized tour.

Back in Aix, we start walking around looking for a place to eat. As the sun set, the sky turned these amazing shades of deep blue, with a big crescent moon making it even more special. Unfortunately finding a place to eat was not so simple — Aix is expensive, and it was hard to find a place we could all agree on, both price wise and for food. Aix has a lot of Italian restaurants, and not as many Provencal restaurants as you would think (at least that we could find). We wandered and wandered endlessly — I was getting frustrated because I was hungry and tired and my budget was a little bigger than everyone else’s so we had passed many places that would have been fine for me. Elona was leading us around and we got into an argument, in which we were both right and both wrong. I think it had been building up for a while, and at the end of the day, it probably did both of us some good to blow off some steam at each other. Unfortunate that it happened in front of Karien and Jay, but what can you do?

We eventually found a modern Provencal bistro (no cheaper than dozens of other places we had passed) and settled into an outdoor table under heat lamps. I had a delicious lamb chop dish (provence is known for lamb), which jay also had, while the girls each ordered a veal dish that none of us understood the description on the menu. It was absolutely delicious, but then we asked what it was, and it was veal kidneys, which seemed to turn opinion against the dish (not mine, I thought it was great). Elona and I slowly started to warm back up to each other during dinner and by the time we got to the bus stop to head back to Marseille, it seemed like all was cool. We had to wait about 45 minutes for the bus thanks to some faulty info from the TI guy, at which point I introduced them to the glory that is the name game. Very funny to play with a pop-culture obsessed non-native English speaker, but Jay was a really good sport, and this continued throughout the whole bus ride home.

We had picked up 2 bottles of cheap wine from a wine store in Aix that looked like it was just about home made, simple hand-written labels (or so it seemed). Popped em open when we got back into the hostel — wow! “Les Petities Re’coltes Vin de Pays des Cotes du Tarn 2008″ was just bursting with flavor, as was “Les Petities Re’coltes Vin de Pays de la Puntifante d’Orange 2007.” French wine — amazing — all for less than 3 euro per bottle.

Back at the hostel another group drinking session in the garden and Karien and I definitely flirting. But the thing is, I can’t figure out a way to get her alone. One by one, people start calling it a night, and finally, we are alone, but it is about 1:30 am and I can tell she is really tired. Gonna give it a shot anyway — but right as I am starting, the asshole Algerian guy from the hostel comes over and starts talking to us — completely cock blocking me! I think he knew it too. And I just couldn’t get rid of him, and finally, past 2 am, it was too late — she wanted to go to bed, and the moment was gone. Damn! Of course in the morning I realized a way I could get her alone but it was too late then. Oh well, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Still, it was a terrific day and night, and I vowed to return to see more (or all) of Provence some day.

Marseille has a reputation for being a bit rough, and walking around on that first rainy day, it was certainly apparent that we were no longer in Paris. But in its grittiness it has some charm as well. The hostel was located in a heavilly Muslim and North African neighborhood, which was a nice change. We walked from there down through part of the city to the marina, which is huge but when you stand at one end of it, you can’t see the narrow opening that allows boats to go out into the Mediterranean.

We hit the supermarket because we thought the hostel had a full kitchen but after we returned we saw it was just a microwave. C’est la vie. Still had some good cheap wine and cheese. We asked for a recommendation for dinner and the adorable little czech girl working behind the counter pointed us toward two Provencal/Marseille restaurants — unfortunately, we couldn’t find either one. But we had read that the area just to the west of the marina was full of places, and we landed at a seafood restaurant near the marina for a 15 Euro 3-course meal, which included a free pastis, the local drink — very strong. It comes in a glass maybe 1/3 full and then you cut it with water to your taste. I had mussels provencale, stuffed with garlic and breadcrumbs, which were fresh and very tasty, and then a grilled perch which was a little fishy but still pretty tasty. Elona had fish soup (sopa de poisson?) which was very interesting — it comes with a big pile of little pieces of toasted bread, which you load up with a sauce almost like a vodka sauce and some cheese, then dump it into the soup, let it soak for a minute, then fish it out with your spoon and eat it. For her main, she had a very delicious filet of sole. It was actually quite nice to have some fish — we had had some seafood in small quantities in San Sebastian and Barcelona, but this was a good break from pork and ham and such.

Headed back to the hostel and popped open some wine and sat outside in the garden area, meeting some really cool people — a dude from germany named Matthias, a South African girl from London named Karien, and a few others. In our room were a couple of really ragged Italian students who may have been smoking pot in the room — when we tried to ask to see if maybe we could share, the little one opened up a flask of whiskey or rum and offered it to us — nice, but not what we were looking for. Oh well.

The next day the weather was a little better and we set out to explore Marseilles more. We have become big fans of checking out the local markets, both for food and potential other finds. So we walked up the hill to Marseilles main market, which was more of a flea market with some food mixed in (we like it when it’s the other way around, being such big foodies). On the way we stopped in a pharmacy where I finally — FINALLY! — found some cheap baby powder — this had been impossible fo find in Spain or Paris for some reason. I should not so excited by this but it really perked me up. We stopped into an amazing cheese store as well and thought we were going to get a baguette to return for some cheese and meat sandwiches, but when we got to the market, we passed a stall selling paella — both regular and paella negra, the black squid ink version which I remembered from Barcelona 10 years ago but had not had at all in Spain this time. Got a heaping portion of it for 5 Euro, which was delicious! Tasted the regular paella too which was really great.

The weather was holding up pretty well so we continued exploring. Back down to the marina, and around to its eastern side and up the hill adjoining the old fort guarding the harbor, which unfortunately was closed for renovations. The views of the harbor were captivating, framed by the Notre Dame church way at the top of the hill on its western flank.

Walked up the hill into the Old Town part of the city. We walked along a cliffside with views across to the Mediterranean, which knifes in along a quay leading directly to the other main church in town, simply called La Catedral. We popped into the church inside and were immediately taken aback by the beauty inside. It was decorated with these dual color arches reminiscent in some ways of La Mezquita in Cordoba — not surprising, as the cardinal at the time of construction chose a byzantine theme to show the link of trade between Marseille and the East and North Africa. This two-tone design also extended to the outside of the church as well — simply stunning. The tile floors inside were amazing, and the main hall of the church was festooned with all the flags of the EU plus a couple of other regional flags, including a man in profile which we later learned was the flag of Corsican resistance. Interesting that such political statements are present in a church, a theme which will keep popping up as we head into Italy as well. There was just about no one else in the church, so we were able to take our time and really soak in the beauty of it. The churches I have seen thus far in Europe have been so unique and different from each other that I really have yet to feel church burnout. Hopefully this continues as I am sure there are many more churches to come.

From the cathedral, we wandered through the narrow, winding, hilly streets of the Old City. It was a weekday so things were pretty quiet. Minus the hills, this reminded me very much of Sevilla. Grabbed another wonderful baguette to munch on as we continued to walk around the town. It is unreal how good the bread in France is — we thought it might just be in Paris, but it extended down to the south as well.

Wandered into an amazing olive oil store, Place Aux Huiles, with all of these specialty olive oils from Provence. It was staffed by an incredibly friendly Canadian woman who had lived all over the south of France for the past 18 years (since marrying a French guy). She had us try several specialty olive oils (with garlic, with truffles, and the “new” olive oil which is always eagerly anticipated) and gave us some travel tips for Nice. True, she wasn’t French by birth, but this was just the latest example of people in France being extremely nice and helpful to us, even in Paris. I think the reputation for them being rude is much like the rep that NYers have for being rude — way overblown.

It had already been a pretty full day but we had one more destination — the Notre Dame up on top of the hill. So back around the marina and hiked slow and steady up the hill, which got increasingly steep as you climbed it (thank you jesus!). It was pretty humid that day (rain was on the way) so we were sweating pretty good when we got to the top. The views across Marseille and the Mediterranean (including 3 harbor islands that played a role in Count of Monte Cristo and Man in the Iron Mask) were stunning, even though it was overcast. The church itself was a little deceiving — perched up at the top of the highest point in the city, with a golden Madonna statue crowning it, it seems massive when you are down at sea level, but when you get up close, it is actually pretty small. Designed with the same two-tone marble motif as the main cathedral, it too was beautiful, and inside contained monuments to the ships that have been lost at sea around Marseilles. One of the more unusual features were the model airplanes and ships that were suspended by wire from the ceiling — I guess to point out Marseille’s role as a transport and shipping hub, but it seemed like a display you would see in a model shop, not a church. The mosaics extended all over the walls, not just on the floors like in the cathedral, so this made Notre Dame feel a little warmer and welcoming — another theme — most Cathedrals have seemed austere and cold, whereas other churches tend to be more elaborately decorated, sometimes gaudilly, but always making you feel more welcome.

We headed back outside just in time for a rain and wind burst that chased us back inside the church. Waited about 20 minutes for it to pass, then headed back down the hill and to the hostel. Got a recommendation for a good North African restaurant, which fit the bill because it turned out to be both tasty and cheap. It was pouring rain when we went — me, Elona, Matthias and this annoying German girl named Romy, one of the only people on the trip I have met who I can say I truly did not care for. Had a great cous cous dish with beef merguez sausage (this wasn’t great, but the couscous and sauce were) for 5 euro. Also enjoyed some sweet arabic tea.

Back to the hostel for more drinking, this time with a bigger crowd out in the garden — the 4 from dinner, Karien, 2 korean guys (Jay and Lee), a Taiwanese girl and French girl. Not to toot our own horn, but Elona and I were stars of the show — we had everyone in stitches all night. And of course, we managed to keep to our quota of at least 1 bottle of red wine each per day — the cheap Bordeaux wine which almost always was under 3 euro was just too good to pass up. The cheap Cote d’Rhone was good but usually not as good as the Bordeaux. I never really gravitated toward French wine at home but I will be drinking Bordeaux when I get home — when I get out of Betty Ford, that is!!!!

This was also the day that I got the most comments on my USC sweatshirt. Background — when I got to Auckland, NZ, it was cold and rainy and I had no warm clothes. Shopped around for something cheap and warm — wanted an All Blacks hoodie but they were pricey. Stumbled into Foot Locker, where they had USC and Michigan hoodies on sale for $35 NZD — about $20 USD. Opted for USC, not sure why. Wore it in NZ, Melbourne, South Africa and the UK — not one comment. In Paris, every 20 minutes — “Go Trojans!” All Americans (except for one guy as far as I could tell). It was everyday, all over Paris. Very bizarre.

We wandered through Pigalle, which is Paris’ most famous red light district and home to the Moulin Rouge. The top end of Pigalle is dominated by guys on the street playing a variation of 3-card monte, and incredibly, tourists every 5 feet were falling for the gag — the accomplice didn’t even do a good job of pretending to not now the dealer! Ah well, life in the big city, and expensive lessons for some tourists, I am sure.

The bottom part of Pigalle is where all the sex shops and clubs are, including the Moulin Rouge. We wandered down the main street, laughing at lots of the English translations in the window, like “Zapping – 2 Euros.” I’ve never seen zapping offered for so cheap.

It was such a nice day weather-wise that we kept walking all day, heading from Pigalle down to Notre Dame and Ile de City. As we got close to Notre Dame, we veered into the fascinating Les Marais neighborhood, which was swarming on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. This is the old Jewish neighborhood of Paris, and still has several kosher delis and falafel places, all of which were absolutely mobbed — pretty ironic considering that the French have never been the biggest fans of the Jews. I tried some Pastrami (as recommended by Lonely Planet) but it was not anything near as good as New York — it was more like a combo of tongue and corned beef, not juicy at all. We also had some foccacia-type concoction, sitting on a bench and watching paris wander by.

From there, we headed for a beautiful walk down the Seine — on Sundays, the main road next to the river is closed, allowing for pedestrians, bikers and rollerbladers free reign — to the Pont Neuf, where we crossed over onto Ile de City to Notre Dame. The cathedral is impressive on the outside with all of its statues and friezes. Inside, the scope is impressive, as are the wonderful stained glass windows (we hit it on a perfect day as the late afternoon sun was flooding the cathedral with light from the west). But otherwise the cathedral is a pretty cold, stuffy place — not nearly as decorative as many of the other churches we have seen on this trip.

We crossed the Seine into the 6th Arr. and stopped for a beer at a local place, where we met one of the most interesting people we have met thus far on the trip. We asked for the cheapest beer we could find — at which point, the woman seated next to us at the bar asked why we were ordering cheap beer. We told her we were travelling for a long time and were on a budget, at which point she asked us if we were beatniks!!!!!

This started a conversation with this woman who seemed to be both drunk and a little bit off. She claimed to be an actress in over 45 films (including Jonathan Demme’s film after Silence of the Lambs) and said that Harold Pinter told her she was the best in a sex scene he had ever seen (or something like that — at times it was hard to understand her English as she was slurring her words and had a pretty heavy accent). She then proceeded to make me a little origami swan, and pointed to the end of the bar and said she tried to give the guy down there reading the book it yesterday but he refused, so he was an asshole. She then said something in french which caused her to laugh uproariously, so I asked what she had said. Her response is one of the lines of the trip:

“I am not half a shit, I am a whole shit!” Which is a french phrase meaning that I am an important person. But hearing her say that in her heavilly accented, cigarette-laden voice was just too much. I probably have repeated this phrase 5 times a day for the rest of the trip — it has become a bit of a calling card for Elona and me, along with the sing-song “Bonjour! Merci” that we say to mimic the women who work at Paris’ bakeries and greet you in this completely over the top, excited high pitched greeting.

Anyway, this woman (named Katherine) went on to rail against her daughter, a wild teenager she cannot control. She also explained how she has never felt the need to be monogomous, and told us she spoke 6 languages, the last 2 of which were Extra Terrestrial and a secret language she and her daughter made up. We asked about the ET language and she responded by doing a horrible “ET Phone Home” rendition. The entire conversation was pretty surreal.

Walked around some more, wandering past the Sorbonne and Luxembourg Gardens, before heading back to Les Marais for a very good falafel dinner. Took the train back to Pigalle to see it at night, but it was pretty dead — perhaps we were too early (around 9:30 pm) or perhaps Sunday night is just slow. After this we went back to Roman’s — another great Paris day.

Monday was a day for us to take care of some errands, including laundry and making some further plans via the Internet. We had another wonderful dinner at Cafe La Cave (after Arthur helped Elona with a phone issue). Our waitress spoke of opening an organic wine bar in NYC, though she didnt seem to know much about it. I had the Steak Tartar which was fabulous. If I have had it in the states before, I don’t remember it like this — you mix it together with a raw egg and various sauces and capers — delicious!

On our last day in Paris, Tuesday, we headed out to Versailles. It was cold cold cold but we didn’t think to buy tickets in advance so we had to wait online for almost an hour in the cold — at least it wasn’t raining or snowing.

We finally got into the palace at about 12:45 and were immediately swept up by the grandeur and elegance (though sometimes quite overwrought) of the palace. Each room was more fascinating than the next. The hall of mirrors was really special, with its mirrors capturing both the ceilings above celebrating French military victories and the gardens outside. Wandering around the gardens was great though I kept thinking of History of the World Part I (Count the Money! No, it’s De-Money!). We checked out Marie Antoinette’s palace and the other palace on the grounds, which was built of the most beautiful pink marble.

After about 5 hours at Versailles we headed back to Paris. We grabbed a quick dinner of mediocre falafel and then went to meet Margaret from Barcelona at her hostel for a drink, before popping down to meet Roman and some friends for farewell drinks — 2 friends plus Amelie. We closed the bar, headed back to his place, enjoyed some more calva, then packed up and went to sleep, ready to head to the south of France the next door.

Overall Paris was tremendous. We were not as efficient with out time as we could have been but we definitely hit the highlights and walked enough in the city to really get a feel for the place. Roman could not have been a more accomodating host — I hope I get to repay the favor some day. I hope that I will get back to Paris, sooner rather than later, hopefully this time with some money to spend!!!!

Maybe it was the wine, but the trip seemed to drag on and on and on. We finally arrived in Paris around 11:30 pm.

We we supposed to stay with this guy named Roman whom I had met in Dali, China. We had spent one night drinking together at George’s Place in Dali, and stayed in touch, and he kept asking when I was coming to Paris, and graciously offered to let me (and later us) stay with him. So we hopped on the metro and headed toward Montmarte. When we got out of the metro, my directions were completely fucked up, and we wandered around the neighborhood for 20 minutes before calling him and having him meet us by the metro station.

Any fears I had about staying with someone that I did not know well were alleviated with the warm greeting we got on our arrival. He lives 1 block from the metro (the only direction we didn’t go) and in what I would imagine is a typical Parisian apartment — through a courtyard, up 3 flights of stairs, to a tiny 1 bedroom (he said 26 meters square) with a tiny bathroom and even smaller kitchen. More than enough room for 1 person but it seemed like it might be a challenge not to be stumbling all over each other for the next week. But the price was certainly right and it was good to have a friendly face and some local knowledge.

We had a couple of beers, then Roman asked if we wanted to walk around the neighborhood, up to the Sacre Couer Basilica that crowns Montmarte for a great view across Paris. It was quite chilly that night but out we went, strolling for 10 minutes before arriving at the gorgeous Basilica and its stunning view across Paris. Except it was 1:30 am, and most of Paris was not lit up anymore — the only thing we could make out was the Pantheon. Still a great view. Met a Moroccan chef at the top who claimed he had just cooked for Brad Pitt. Several people were hanging out at the top, drinking, smoking, and chilling. We stayed for maybe 20 minutes then headed back to the apartment.

The next morning, Roman ran out and grabbed some croissants for us, which were mouth wateringly good. We then headed into the city. We made the mistake of buying a 5 day tourist pass, which ended up not being worth it, but it was convenient not to have to buy a ticket each time.

We hopped the metro and got off at St. Lazare then wandered down past the stunning Paris Opera House and just spend most of the day walking around.

Paris is everything I thought it would be. Stunning architecture everywhere, and down every street, it seemed like there was another fountain or arch or monument. After a stop at the tourist office, we grabbed a delicious chevre cheese baguette for 4 euro, and kept wandering, ending up down near the Louvre. From there we walked along the Seine, crossing the river at Concorde with its twin fountains and Egyptian obelisk. The Grand and Petit Palais were right there and also stunning.

Now wandering through the Left Bank. heading toward the Eiffel Tower. It was a longer walk than it looked on the map, and it was getting pretty cold. We got there around 5 pm and Elona decided not to go up. I got online and headed up.

The Tower is an amazing structure – it almost looks like a piece of origami in a weird way, but made of structural steel. Standing beneath it, seeing its lightness and airiness was really amazing.

You take an elevator up to the second level, which is maybe 200 feet up in the air. It was controlled chaos on the platform there — not nearly as well organized as you would expect. A 20 minute wait ensued before taking the elevator to the top. The views from there were amazing — a 360 degree panorama of the glory of Paris, from Montmarte to Louvre to Hospital Invalides, to the Seine, to Notre Dame, to the Arc d Triomphe. It was a little cold at the top, but I hung out there for a good 20 minutes, snapping photos. and just enjoying the views. A radiant sunset had begun to the west, painting the sky with stunning blue, pink, yellow, orange and red hues. Ah Paris.

Came back down and met up with Elona who met me with 2 little twist off bottles of wine — NICE! We wandered and found the metro and back to Roman’s.

When we got there, he asked if we wanted to go to dinner. We headed just down the block to a friendly place called Cafe La Cave. It was a moderately priced place, with most starters in the 7-10 euro range, and mains in the 15 to 20 euro range. They also have an organic wine system where they fill wine bottles from taps, and so we had 2 bottles of this wine. Roman recommended we all try the gesier (chicken gizzard) which was very tasty, with almost a sashimi type texture. I had a very good veal, he had a better than average Entrecote (sirloin), but the winner was Elona, who had a duck confit terrine that was divine. The waitress spoke English, and we met the owner as well — a guy named Arthur originally from Buffalo, NY. On the way out I noticed that they had free WiFi, and Roman was still waiting to have his interent installed (he had just moved into the apartment a couple of weeks before — our good luck!).

Came upstairs and Roman pulls out a bottle of Calva, which is an apple liquer meant as a aperitif (after dinner drink?) But this was not just any Calva, this was 50 year old homemade calva that his family discovered when cleaning out his grandfather’s house. He had yet to try it and wanted to with us. I tried to protest that it should be saved for a special occassion, but he insisted. This might have been the strongest thing I have ever tasted — it was like firewater, with a fainnt nail polish remover finish or aftertaste. Didn’t stop me from having 2 glasses of it. When in Paris…

We hopped on the bus to Bilbao, which was a beautiful ride through rolling green hillsides broken up by the occassional small town, which look like mini cities because they all have apartment blocks, as opposed to the Spanish haciendas that you would picture in your mind. The ride ducked in and out of mountains and rugged tunnels as well, twisting and turning for just over an hour before reaching Bilbao.

We decided to walk to the museum from the bus station, and after getting turned around a bit we headed down toward the river where the museum is located. Bilbao was nicer than I thought it would be — had heard it was an ugly working class city, but it really just looked like a typical Spanish city, not unlike Malaga. We passed by one of the main traffic circles which had another towering column crowned by a soaring Jesus statue. From there, we had lunch in a little park before getting to the river.

We followed the river for about 5 minutes and around the bend the museum emerges, right on the river. It is striking at first glance, though it seemed smaller than I had pictured it. We got lucky with the weather as it was a glorious sunny day, and the remarkable titanium shell shimmers in the light, changing minute to minute depending on the position of the sun. The curving forms reflected and refracted light in such unique ways, and made the museum almost feel like a living entity. There was some cool public sculpture on the banks of the river, including a massive spider, and we walked around snapping some shots before heading inside.

Not that I am Ada Louise Huxtable, but my only critique of the museum was that the entrance was less than grand — you descend down these narrowing stairs to a basement level and through a tiny door. But once you get inside, the main atrium is a soaring space that brings the titanium inside and blends it with the stone walls. There are tons of windows that offer views of the city on both the river and the city side, allowing tons of natural light to flood the hall. To further enjoy it, the elevators are glass, and the walkways connecting the various galleries on the second and third floors are exposed, so as you visit the museum, you enjoy constantly changing views.

We started on the first floor with a huge installation by Richard Serra, which was comprised of massive steel structures that you walk through, as walls curve toward and away from you, getting narrower as you spiral around until you arrive in the center of the structure, which is impossibly large considering the maze you walk through to get there. There are about 6 of these massive structures that you walk through, and it is designed to play with your sense of time, space and orientation. I would have liked it even better if not the artist seemed so unbelievably pretentious in the audio guide. Oh well. I stomped my feet on the concrete floor a couple of times, which created this cacophony of sound as it bounced off the steel structures and the ceilings. Hey, the exhibit is meant to be interactive, so that was my way of interacting.

The rest of the exhibits on the first floor were video installations, some interesting, some not. Most notably was a type of documentary of people in an OSRAM factory in China that showed their day to day lives, interspersed with images of what their dreams were — dancing, playing the guitar, sports. It showed just how soul crushing those jobs can be. Another interesting exhibit was a triptych of videos of an artist re-creating performances by the lead singer of Joy Division (Ian Black?), Kurt Cobain and Michael Jackson, with the film distorted on each of them to show the self destructive nature of each of them. I generally don’t care for video art, but these I thought were particularly effective.

The second floor was closed as they were installing a new exhibition, so up to the 3rd floor, where the first gallery featured installations by a Brazilian artist who takes every day items such as shopping bags and business cards and devalued Brazilian currency into art. The most interesting was her interplay of ashtrays from airline seats, and the boarding passes from the flights on which she took the ashtrays.

Next was a room with some word art(?) where I saw ugly american tourism at its worst. I was in the gallery, listening to the explanation on the audio guide, when two older american women come into the room with a man in a wheelchair. The woman looks at me listening to the headset and marches right up to the docent in the room and screams at her in what sounded like a Long Island accent “WHERE’S THE NUMBER??!???!?!” To the credit of the docent, she calmly pointed to the very obvious number on the wall.

Two galleries left — the highlight of the first was a series of photos by an artist who hired a private detective to follow her and photography her on a day she would not know, but then she hired someone to be at the same place every day to look out for the detective to photo him photoing her. I thought that was a very cool voyeuristic kinda thing.

Last gallery was from the permanent collection of the Guggenheim, so many Kandinsky, Chagal, Picasso and other modern masters. Kinda weird that the lights kept flickering on and off while in the gallery — seemed like they were having problems with the light sensors.

Overall, the museum definitely lived up to the hype. The building itself is the star, and is definitely worth a visit if you are in the area.

At that point, we were pretty tired, so we opted against heading to the Old Town of Bilbao and went back to San Seb. I mentioned this earlier but it was fascinating to see the interplay of Spanish and Basque language — most signs are in both, very seldom was Spanish on its own, but Basque, which looks like Greek and reads like Russian, was sometimes on its own. It clearly points to the way that national borders are so arbitrary, because the Basque regions on either side of the Spanish/French border have much more in common with each other than they do with the rest of their respective countries.

We headed back to Donostia, stopping for a pastry on the way back to the hostel. Chilled there for a bit, then headed down for our last taste of Pintxos. Sadly, by the time we got down there, many places were already closing — we just missed getting back into the La Mejilloneras — but we managed to have some good stuff, including the puplo at Bernardo. Good stuff.

The next morning, we chilled and packed, then went to a restaurant for paella cooked by the husband of the owner of our hostel. Elona had not had paella yet, and this was supposed to be a specialty of his — he is Spanish, the woman owner Olga is Russian. The paella was very good, a little more expensive than we expected. Still, it was a nice send off from Spain, as we headed to the Eusko Train to connect to our train to Paris.

Spain delivered the goods. After 3+ weeks there, I felt like I had gotten a good sense of the country. Yes, in some ways Barcelona was a tad disappointing but overall, everything met or exceeded my expectations. If the rest of Europe is as good, I will be a very happy boy.

It wasn’t raining to hard, so Elona and I hoofed it to our hostel, about 15 minutes from the train station, called Olga’s Place. We were booked into a private room for the first night as it was all they had available (this was Sunday, and Monday was a national holiday in honor of Columbus discovering America — yup, they celebrate Columbus Day in Spain as well). We had to pay about 10 Euro more each for the privelege, but after a week of non sleep in Barcelona, it seemed like it was worth it. We checked in and got settled, and after a brief stop at the food market, headed out into the old town.

San Sebastian is a truly stunning city of about 200,000. Just 40 km from the French border and right on the Atlantic Ocean, it features gorgeous beaches, is surrounded by the foothills of the Pyrenees, and enjoys some wonderful neoclassical architecture. It reminded of some of the seaside towns in Scotland, with the way the city comes right up to the water. Elona and I wandered from the hostel in Gros down the beach, across the river and into the Old Town, where we spent the next couple of hours just wandering and soaking in the atmosphere, watching the waves crash on the rocks, looking up at the mammoth Jesus statue that towers over the city on a hill at the mouth of the harbor. It was till gray and gloomy and we were pretty tired, so we decided to save the hike up to Jesus for another day. Still, it was a good walk and a nice intro to the city. We headed back to the hostel and drank a wonderful bottle of tempranillo that only cost 2.50 euro — gotta love spain. We then headed out to the main tapas area back in Old Town.

San Sebastian has a reputation for having the best food in Spain if not the world, with more Michellin starred restaurants per capita than anywhere in the world. But we were not on that plan, we were on the Pintxos plan, attacking the local tapas scene with vigor. Or at least that’s what we hoped, but the first place we wandered into, called Munto, was jam packed and seemingly free of any sort of set pattern for ordering. The Pintxos places in San Seb (Donostia in the local Basque tongue) place most of theirwares on the bar, and you are supposed to get an empty plate from the bartender and start filling it up with tapas, then hand it back over to the bartender so they can record what you are eating. It took us a good 20 minutes to figure this out, but we could never get the attention of the bartender, so we soon got frustrated and left.

Wandered around for a bit, looking for a place that some of the guests in the hostel had labeled “Heaven on a Stick,” because of the mushroom skewers they had there. The place they told us about was closed however, so we stepped into a slightly upscale, slightly less nutty place and had our first tapas experience. We had solomillo, a beef loin covered in delicious marsalla-type sauce, and also another bacalo based dish, plus a glass each of vino tinto. Both were ridiculously delicious, fresh and complex despite their simple preparation.

With our first positive pintxos experience under our belts and feeling confident, we headed back to Munto. It took us 10 minutes to actually get a plate. We started filling it up with pintxos, most of which come atop a small slice of baguette. We collected about 4 or 5, and as I was trying to hand the plate over to the bartender, I got knocked into and dropped one on the floor. The man apologized and said something to the bartender, I think telling him not to charge me for the dropped vittle. So we finally get out food, and dig in.

Oh. My. God.

Three of the 4 pintxos were absolutely jaw-droppingly, smack-the-table delicious. The only subpar dish (which was still good) was a squid dish. The others we tried included gambas (shrimp) with white asparagus with an onion and pepper garnish, what we think was a salmon mousse, and some delicious pork with peppers, all washed down with a terrific vino tinto. After this, we needed a break to realize what had just happened, so we wandered back down to the beach (not the one near our hostel, but the one near the Old Town) and took some photos down there. Headed back to the Pintxos street and into a place called Bartolo, where we had a few more pintxos that words cannot do justice to. The winner, by far, was a version of pulpo ala gallega that was so tender that it virtually melted in our mouths. We also had a great bacon and pepper dish, some bacalao, and an average piece of ham. But the pulpo will be something I remember for a long time.

Completely blown away but also completely exhausted, we headed back to the hostel and crashed. The private room was such a blessing that we both slept about 10 hours — dark, quiet, isolated, with foam mattresses — everything that the Barcelona hostel wasn’t, in terms of sleep.

We woke up on Monday and decided to head to France to arrange for our trip to Paris on Wednesday. We both thought the idea of heading to France to essentially run an errand was hysterical, but there we were on the Eusko Tren, the PATH-like train that links San Seb with Hendaye, the French border town from where we would be catching the train. Despite the border, the Basque region has much more in common with each other than either area has in common with the rest of France or Spain, respectively (wow that is a horrifying sentence, but not sure how else to put it). Hence, the easy connection via a subway type train that costs 5 euro roundtrip. Got over the border, got our tickets, and headed back into San Sebastian.

After a brief stop at the hostel, it was time to go to Jesus. We walked back through the fishing village area of San Sebastian and began the steep climb up the hill. This hill was filled with old relics — of churches, of fortresses, and other military installations, including one place where the Spanish trained for the Spanish American war. But the real highlight was reaching the top, at the base of the Jesus statue that must have been another 100 feet high (reminds me of the photos I have seen of Rio). The views from atop the hill were breathtaking — in one direction, the classy architecture of San Seb spreads out, creeping up the foothills and through valleys leading up to the Pyrenees. On the other sides are views of San Seb’s 2 beaches, and above, myriad birds circled atop the Jesus statue, riding the wind currents, soon joined by an ecstatic looking paraglider.

We hung out on top for quite a time, then headed back down the hill, getting down at about 6-ish. We were both hungry, so we stopped back into Munto’s for a quick taste of Pintxos before heading back to the hostel for more great tempranillo.

When we got back, we were happy to see that we were still in the private room. Olga, the lovely Russian lady who runs the place, had said that if no one else came in we could stay for the price of a dorm room. Didn’t hurt that Elona spoke Russian, I am sure. So we drank our wine on the balcony that we shared with another room and had a partial view of the beach and the Atlantic just one block away. Soon, it was time for more tapas. So we headed back to Old Town, and as we were wandering around, we passed a place called Los Mejilloneras, a joint I had read about in Lonely Planet that specializes in mussels. We squeeze up to the bar, and order a huge plate of patatas bravas for 3 euro, and a plate of mussels with marinera sauce, which we thought was red sauce but turned out to be garlic. Both of them were absolutely amazing. This was a true local place, depsite the listing in the guidebook, where you throw your empty shells on the floor below you in true Spanish style. Amazing.

After this, we still wanted a little more, so we stopped back into Bartolo for some more Pulpo, just as good as the last time. Amazing. Can’t wait to attack it again tomorrow after we get back from Bilbao.