For the sake of brevity, these next few posts are just going to be pictures. I would love to include the stories behind these shots, but unfortunately I have run out of my time to be a carefree traveler and have made the conversion back into student life. Thank you to all who have followed my journeys so far!
Growing up, I had always heard about this insane festival in Spain where massive bulls were run through city streets admist crowds of people clad in red and white. I use to look at pictures of the affair in awe, amazed that something so barbaric as still allowed to take place in the modern age. People had died running with the bulls— a quick googling of the phrase yields some truly gruesome images complete with blood, gore and horns. When I discovered the festival was taking place in July just two countries away from Belgium, I knew I had to see it for myself. Even more so, I knew I too had to run with the bulls. THE ROAD TRIP The adventure began Friday morning when I picked up my fiancé, Paul, from the airport. We rented a car, downed some espresso, and began the 12-hour drive from Brussels to Pamplona. One of Paul’s favorite books is The Sun Also Rises, a classic Hemmingway novel about identity, war, and purpose, all centering around the running of the bulls festival in 1945. He has read the book three times. We started our journey in high spirits, still in disbelief we were making our childhood fantasies a reality. I don’t think there are many other modes of travel I enjoy more than a good old-fashioned road trip. Give me good company, a riveting playlist and the open road and I’ll be set. However, Paul and I were not prepared for the extreme monotony of the French countryside. Both of us are used to the states where roughly every hour of a road trip provides a different scene. Back home, you can travel through cities, forests, farmland, mountains, and the coast, all in under three hours. However, France does not offer such a luxury. After about 6 hours of watching the same rolling fields and quiet farmhouses pass by, one starts to go a bit loopy. Another downside about France is the incessant tolls and speed monitors. There are tolls everywhere and they're not cheap. The speed monitors are also a sneaky way of making sure you go the speed limit, which really isn’t fair if you’re an American conditioned to look for cop cars instead of weird metal racks hanging by the side of the road. We definitely accrued a few speeding tickets by the end of our trip. Regardless, we were having the time of our lives. We had snacks, music, an adventure ahead and each other. You don’t need much more in life to be happy. PAMPLONA Due to truly outrageous traffic jams around Paris (And this is coming from a New Yorker…) and a few extended pit-stops to regain our sanity, we arrived in Pamplona around 01:30 Saturday morning. The last few hours of the trip were dicey. The windy mountain roads of Spain knock driving into hard mode when you’ve been driving over 10 hours. Somehow we made it to our Air BnB where our host was kind enough to wait up and assist us in finding parking which took another 40 minutes due to the massive turn out for the festival. Exhausted, we retired to bed. Since we arrived so late, we slept in and missed the first bull run of the week starting at 8 am, but since the bulls are run every day we weren’t upset. Our Air BnB was located about a mile outside the city center, so we began the trek up the musty mountain paths to the old city unsure of what to expect. At first, we were walking among a decent crowd, all decked out in white with the classic red bandanas tied around the neck. The number of people was impressive, but nothing different than an average day of traffic on 42nd street. Then suddenly, as we turned a corner and entered the city center, it was as if it was new years eve in times square. People were flooding the winding streets, handing out of windows and balconies, shuffling through stores were crowds of people, all with drinks in hand and a smile on their face. Never before had I felt an energy like this. It was only 09:00 and there was already the smell of sangria and beer in the air. But this was not like festivals I had seen in the states. These people were not here to get plastered. Alcohol was being heavily consumed of course, but its purpose was to add to the high spirits of the festivities, not to be the singular point of interest. This is something peculiar I’ve noticed throughout Europe which is so odd compared to America. Alcohol is more accessible here as well as being legal at a much younger age, yet the count of belligerent drunks you’ll see on a Friday night is virtually zero. Back in Hoboken, the whole city seems to be hung over every Saturday morning, while here alcohol just isn’t given so much power. Instead of grinding through the work week and letting loose every weekend, people regularly enjoy a beer or two any day of the week. But I digress. We got breakfast at this small bakery and bought ‘tortillas', basically scrambled eggs, cheese and ham grilled on a baguette. We also got our first round of sangria. The streets seemed to be endlessness filled with a sea of red and white. We felt as though we were in a different time. Traditional Spanish music floated up from street corner musicians, the smell of freshly baked bread wafted out of bakeries where shop owners were rushing about to serve the invading masses, circles of young friends stood about passing around a bottle of homemade sangria, older folks watched from balconies glass of wine in hand, perhaps a grandchild or two on their knee…It was a magical sight. Every man woman and child in the town was wearing white evoking a feeling of unity throughout the city. It sounds odd, but it truly felt as if we knew everyone around us. Even though there were a hundred different cultures and languages represented in the crowds around us, we found ourselves deeply connected by one common interest: the bulls. For lunch, we found this amazing market with an endless selection of Spanish cuisine. I was pleased that my Spanish was adequate enough to not only order some ribs and paella but even have a small conversation with a waitress. My high school Spanish teacher would be proud. We decided it was a good idea to finish off a huge bottle of sangria we accidentally picked earlier when we asked for a glass and were handed a liter instead. I think we must have spent over 3 hours just sitting under a tree near the market, drinking sangria, watching people, and talking about life. Pamplona tends to evoke these types of moments--Hemmingway's book is filled with them. There is something about the dichotomy between the festivities and the old city…There is so much history in this beautiful ancient place. So many lives have passed through this city, growing and transforming and living…yet the festival goes on, year after year, never changing even as the streets age and the buildings decay. There is an eerie somberness underlying it all. Not in a bad way, just in a contemplative one. After this existential crisis, we made our way back to the center as it started to rain. Far from dampening the festivities, the people of Pamplona treated the storm as an excuse to party even harder. Suddenly there were impromptu salsa rings appearing in the streets, people dancing under the sheets of rain with drinks in hand, smiles on their face. Everyone looked even more vibrant against the grey sky. People crowded together under bar awnings, climbed into windows, huddled in doorways, no one minding the closeness. As we got closer to the arena where a bullfight was taking place that evening, the crows became thicker and even more exuberant. Full bands were marching down the streets here, carrying banners with bursts of color. There were also a group of bullfight protesters who were the only ones here in a somber mood looking quite out of place. I had no desire to see a fight where the winner is pretty much guaranteed so we avoided the ticket salesmen shouting over each other offering deals. We bought pizza for dinner at a fancy restaurant which was almost as good as the one I had in Mallorca, then wandered around the city center until dark. I’m not really sure what we did after dinner, it was mostly a blur of red and white and music and drinking. THE BULLS The next morning, we woke up at the crack of dawn. This was it. The moment we were all waiting for. We rushed through the winding streets, now mostly empty and covered in the party littler from the night before. It was raining even harder than yesterday, but our spirits were high due to the anticipated adventure ahead. Since we were a bit late, we decided to join the route just after the ring where the bulls are released to save time. Anxiously, we pushed our way through the crowds of observers lining the streets. The first shot rang out. The first pack of bulls had been released. Our adrenaline spiked. We had made it to the road. This was is. There were about eight other runners around us, clearly more seasoned than ourselves. I was wearing white Everlane flats with ripped jeans and a white t-shirt, all completely soaked already, hardly adequate equipment for racing bulls. I looked at Paul. His eyes said, “so we're really doing this, huh?”. We couldn’t hear anything over the noise of the crowd. Then. I saw them. Huge, monstrous beasts, practically as tall as me and three times as thick. They had just turned the corner 100m away. The smell of leather and manure filled the street, the thunderous sound of 64 hooves striking wet cobblestones filled my ears. Ivory horns, sharp and menacing gleamed in the pouring rain, the breath from each snort appearing like dragon’s smoke in the cold mountain air. Time slowed. I was on the side of the street, hand against the wall as a guide once the hoard passed and the chaos broke. These were no ordinary bulls. They were demons bred and selected for this one purpose: to run through the streets of Pamplona with the stupid few thrill seekers who thought it would be a good idea. Suddenly, the slow motion broke. They were here. I was running. Sprinting for my life. I could feel the horns behind my back as if some electric field was permitting from their tips directly into my spine. The adrenaline made it feel like a dream—I felt no pain when I slipped and twisted my ankle, I barely heard the screaming crowd, I didn’t care who I stepped over…Then suddenly the horns were in front of me. It was over in a matter of seconds. We stopped running and rushed to a side as the next pack of bulls clamored past. And then it was over. We ran with the bulls. And that was the end. We bought some amazing breakfast for 4 euros, walked back to our car and started the long drive home. That was the amazing thing…the main event of the adventure was actually the most fleeting. Exciting, adventurous, a memory of a lifetime for sure, but also incredibly transient. The experience of the city, the conversations, the hours spent with my best friend on the road in silence--that was the real backbone of this adventure. It’s funny how we as humans always assume we have to accomplish some grandiose feat to make our time here on earth worthwhile. Yet I argue it is not our most flashy moments that are the most important. It is in the quiet days, the ordinary activities, the trips to the grocery and walks through the park which makes us who we are. Running with the bulls was one of the most amazing things I’ve ever done in my life. But if you want the true experience of Pamplona, I really don’t think you need more than good company and a bottle of low tier sangria.
Thursday night, a coworker offered to sell me a ticket to the dreaded 100k Dodentocht, or “Death March”, taking place Friday night. With only 24 hours of notice, a still slightly broken rib, and zero time to prepare, I naturally agreed immediately. I had heard about the ruck a few weeks earlier but forgot about it once I tried to register and saw that tickets had sold out. Due to the march’s unprecedented popularity among European hiking enthusiasts, all 13,000 tickets were sold in just a few hours. But on Friday night at 9:00 pm, somehow I was among the lucky few on a mission to hike through the Belgian countryside for 24 hours.
K 1-10: THE GOLDEN DAYS This was by far the best part of the walk. As a seasoned New York walker, it has become a habit for me to follow the biggest guy in the crowd to save me the hassle of clearing my own path through the herds of that dreaded species who should have been wiped out by natural selection eons ago—the slow walkers. I call this the Red Sea method: the NFL player/bouncer/just really big dude parts the sea, and you follow him like your life depends on it because let's be real, in a crowd of 13,000, it does you helpless little Israelite. Around 2K I found my perfect target— a 6’6’’ monster of a man with a military crew-cut and a shoulder span three times my own walking at a competitive 4-5 mph. This guy was a pro. He dodged, he cut, he weaved, he was the perfect parter and pacer. I had found my Moses. Here’s the problem though— when you do this in the city, it's not weird because you usually only need to follow someone for 2K or so max. When you follow someone for over 10K, things get a little sketchy. I noticed he kept suspiciously glancing at me out of the corner of his eye so I took out my headphones and said “I promise I’m not stalking you, you’re just huge and convenient to follow” to which he awkwardly smiled and replied, “I noticed”. We both felt like the conversation was pretty much over there and went back to plowing through slow walkers. I lost him at the first checkpoint but ended up passing him again somewhere around 45K. Whoever you are friend, thanks for a great 10K and for not filing a restraining order. This was a truly wonderful few kilometers. Everyone’s energy was high, there were tons of people lining the streets cheering us on, every town we went through had crazy parties with booming DJ’s and lights, and most importantly, all blisters were still in their infancy. K 10-20: THE DARK AGES Something very strange started to happen about 4.5 hours into the walk. I’m generally a pretty positive person, but combine a lack of sleep with a sugar crash and the realization that you still have to do this for about 15 more hours and suddenly the mind starts wandering to dark places. One thing I didn’t realize about the walk is that a lot of the terrain was not on paved streets but actual hiking paths winding through Belgian forests and countrysides. This would have been fine except for the fact that around 15K the heavens opened up and started torrentially down-pouring, turning the dirt paths into mud pools. It had been drizzling since the starting line, but by this point, it felt like we were hiking through walls of water. I was completely unprepared for this. I was wearing a tank top, light running base layer, uninsulated rain jacket, and running leggings, all of which became completely soaked through within a few kilometers. My shoes also filled up with mud and water quite quickly forming the perfect environment for blister breeding. Soaked clothes and shoes paired with rapidly dropping temperatures quickly equal hypothermia and sadness. The temperature change was also affecting my rib quite a bit making it difficult to fully inhale. Another thing I was not expecting was the lack of lighting along the route. There I was, 1:00 am in the middle of some forest with no lights and a thunderstorm overhead limping along hoping that someone with a headlamp would come by soon. I had planned to listen to the Lord of the Rings soundtrack during the walk but it was at this point that things just got too dark to be listening to Khazad-Dûm. In this type of environment, the mind quickly spins itself out of control. I was taken back to many unhappy memories of basic training where the same feeling of discomfort and sadness was a daily part of life. From the outside it seems quite silly—you’re just walking and its a little uncomfortable, what’s the big deal? And that's true, but when you get stuck in your own head everything becomes blown out of proportion. It was only when I had to restrain myself from punching some poor girl in the throat for stepping on my heal that I jolted back into the real world and realized my perception of reality was being seriously compromised by futile emotions. I was hungry, sleepy, cold, and uncomfortable, but none of these conditions gave me the right to let my emotions control me. Just because your physical environment is compromised doesn’t mean your mental state needs to follow. I whipped myself into shape and made it to the next checkpoint where I gorged myself on bananas and chocolate milk and suddenly all was right with the world. An hour and a half later, I started feeling those dark thoughts again and realized this was mostly generated by a sugar crash and lack of calories. This time I was prepared, ate a protein bar and saved myself a lot of trouble. K 20-30: THE FALSE HOPE For some reason, something clicked around 25K where I honestly believed I was practically done with the ruck. “25K? That's like a whole quarter! That went so fast, damn I GOT THIS.” Coming off of a checkpoint where I inhaled a sugar loaded waffle and cup of coffee probably influenced this mental state quite heavily. For the past few weeks, I had been eating close to a ketogenic diet which limits you to under 20g of carbs per day so this influx of quickly available energy was affecting me on a whole new level. Moral of the story: SUGAR IS A DRUG. Seriously. If I learned one thing from this walk it's just how severely something as simple as a chemical can affect your brain and twist your perceptions completely out of proportion. And just like a drug, sugar comes with its highs and lows. In this phase, I was riding that high. I was zipping through people like a speed demon, totally confident I could keep this up forever. Unfortunately, somewhere around 30K, my right hamstring blew out from an old injury and I was thrown into a dizzying spiral of doom. Just like that, all that energy that was putting me on cloud 9 turned against me and all I could think about was the pain in my leg and rib. Resolute, I pressed on determined to make it to the next checkpoint. K 30-40: THE HALLUCINATION PHASE It was at this point where things started to get a bit loopy. I wasn’t physically tired at all, but mentally I really don’t do well with sleep deprivation. I hadn’t slept for more than 5 hours in the past week and the night before I was so excited that I barely slept for 3 hours. I wasn’t all that prepared to pull an all-nighter. Though I consider myself a seasoned vet of sleepless nights thanks to my years of being an overachieving student, I notice the longer I try and pull these things the worse I am at it. Combining this with the pain from my hamstring and rib, my body decided to compensate its misery with absolute delusion. I started seeing checkpoint flags everywhere certain I had made it to 50K only to realize it was just some sad tree. That internal dialogue we all have also turned to complete mush. I specifically remember thinking about how odd the word “avocado” is for a good 5K straight. I also started making up dramatic back-stories for all the other hikers around me and after a while, I was completely certain they were true. The body is a strange and mysterious machine but it sure gets the job done. K 40-50: MORDOR Spoiler alert: I quit at 50K. I know, I know, how uncharacteristically weak of me right? But hear me out. The last 10K was absolute hell. My hamstring was so strained it was starting to bunch up at the base and with every breath, I was sure my rib was just about to crack in half. And if I had done this a few years ago, I totally would have pushed through anyway, finishing 100K with a ripped hamstring and even more broken rib. But what I’ve learned is that there are times to be tough, and times to be smart. You don’t have to be Rocky 24/7. Maturity is knowing when to push through, and also when to check your ego at the door and say screw it. I’m definitely nowhere near mature when it comes to pushing physical limits, but this was one of those times where I think I finally made a wise decision. Back at 20K when I wanted to quit because my emotions were getting the best of me? Time to suck it up buttercup. But here at 50K where I had a genuine physical problem that was guaranteed to get worse if I kept going? Probably a good time to go home. It was a question of having to recover for 2 days vs. 2 months, and since I’m currently training for the Brooklyn Half Marathon this October, I found the decision quite easy to make. So no, I didn’t get the cool metal and ruck 100K like I had wanted to. But I learned some valuable lessons about mental toughness and grit that are worth a whole lot more. The Dodentocht was definitely an experience of a lifetime. I thought it would be appropriate to take a break from the travel blogging and give a bit of information about what I’m actually doing out here in Europe. Contrary to the unfortunate stereotype of my generation, my main purpose in living here isn’t because of #Wanderlust. It’s science. I am working in the Department of Physics and Astronomy at Katholieke Universiteit Leuven doing research in solid state physics. IN A NUTSHELL: The big picture objective of our research is to further the understanding of solid-state materials in order to more efficiently produce innovative substrates with unique properties for use in new technologies. Essentially, we are laying the groundwork for a software which will transform the way future researchers will investigate materials. FOR THE NERDS: On a more detailed level, we are attempting to improve a crystal lattice simulation software in order to more fully understand complex atomic structures and their electromagnetic properties. By collecting experimental data using ion channeling, we are able to map the atomic structure of Germanium to assess the accuracy of the simulation software and find the areas which need to be improved. Ion Channeling is a technique in which light atoms (He+ in our case) are accelerated into a substrate and the energies of their backscattering after collision is measured by detectors. High energy readings correspond to channeling while low energy particles indicate that the beam is centered on a nucleus. From this backscattering profile we can determine the structure of the atom and produce imaging which we can then fit with out simulation software. Conventional statistics is then utilized to measure how well the experimental and simulated images agree. My desk The nature of my work is mostly experimental, preparing samples, operating the particle accelerator, finding the planes of our crystals and producing atomic imaging, but I also engage in a substantial amount of analytical work including the mathematical manipulation of data and statistical analysis. Once the crystal lattice simulation software is proved to be completely accurate, other researchers can use it to map the structures of incredibly complex elements and substrates which could never be done using conventional lab techniques. This is highly desirable since the structures of materials determine their unique magnetic, electric and optic properties which can be used in technological development. With this software, future researchers will be able to discover properties of complex materials in a fraction of the time and cost of current methods leading to more efficient research and ultimately more efficient technology for the public. Some sketches TLDR;-I spend all day in a lab throwing atoms at other atoms in formations called ‘lattices’ -We use a nifty thing called ion channeling to figure out what the lattices look like and make pretty pictures of them -We then test our simulation software against experimental data to see if the software is working -One day this software can be used for crazy things like time travel -JK but it might give you a cooler iPhone screen or something A view into the chamber of the accelerator COBBLESTONES. CANALS. MORE BEER.The journey truly began Saturday night when I settled in and watched “In Bruges”, a satirical film about two hitmen who are forced to lay low in the touristy medieval town after a job goes wrong. The movie was quite entertaining, mainly because the entire plot revolved around the main character hating the fact he had to stay in such a boring town as Bruges. I wanted to watch the movie because it is a cult classic around here and besides making fun of Bruges the whole time, the film shows the quaint beauty of the town through its scenes of quiet canals and bustling squares. I was pleasantly surprised to find the city exactly as the movie portrayed it: a wonderfully preserved medieval town filled with Belgian delicacies and laced by a lovely canal system which has given the city its “Belgian Venice” reputation. It was definitely one of the more touristy spots I have visited here, but it was well worth the cringe. I started my exploration at the Grote Markt, one of the most popular squares near the center. The famous Belfry of Bruges is located here along with many other impressive and ornate buildings. It reminded me a lot of Brussels with all the detailed statues, fancy edgings and intricate sculptures, just a bit older. It was 10 Euro to get to the top of the Belfry, plus it was just leg day, so I decided to appreciate the iconic building from ground level. After having my fill of exploring all the touristy chocolate shops and bars near the center, I made my way to the outside of the ring to see some of the older "medieval" buildings and was delighted to stumble upon some windmills which used to be a main power source for the city back in the dark ages. Don Quixote would have been proud. The architecture was absolutely stunning everywhere through out the city, many of the buildings dating back to the 1200s. I visited a few cathedrals and was particularly awed by the beauty of these ancient works of art. Though these places were breathtaking, I couldn't help but feel a bit disrespectful tromping around what used to be considered holy ground for the sake of getting a good picture. There was an odd mix of believers attempting to pray and worship amidst crowds of bustling tourists paying 2 euros to light candles and touch a cloth that supposedly still had the blood of Christ on it. Quite a striking juxtaposition. In my opinion, the canals are the most beautiful part of Bruges. I spent a good part of the day just meandering through winding streets, following gently flowing streams and waving at tourists in little speed boats. It was a picturesque and peaceful scene. Many restaurants lined the canals and I found a lovely little pub which sold over 100 beers from local brewers where I wasted an hour or so drinking and reading The Sun Also Rises in order to prepare myself for my next adventure which will be in Pamplona, Spain. I have to say, Belgian beer is quite good, but I just don't quite understand the draw. Don't get me wrong, its refreshing, tasty...maybe its just because I haven't developed the palate for it yet, but it really doesn't seem all that better here than back home. Maybe there are more unique varieties or flavor notes, but in general its just beer. Nothing too amazing. Correct me if I'm wrong. I'm sorry Belgium. To be completely honest, Bruges was everything I expected it to be. A tourist trap, but a beautiful one. I'm getting the feeling that most Belgian cities are similar. Many wonderful restaurants and local delicacies to eat, too many bars to choose from, and gorgeous quiet streets to get lost in. I think that if I had to stay here for two weeks like those poor hit men, I too would go a little insane, but for one day Bruges is a wonderful culture trip.
BLOOD, SWEAT, TEARS, AND THE BEST DAY OF MY LIFE.09:00 Can PastillaAfter arriving in Palma late Saturday night and enjoying an amazing steak dinner with a pitcher of sangria, my friend Rebekah and I woke up primed and ready for a long anticipated adventure. Little did we know, what the day held in store was beyond our wildest dreams. Our plan was simple-rent bikes and ride a leisurely 55 kilometers to Calo de Moro, one of the most beautiful natural beaches in Spain (For all of you non-metric minded readers, 55k may not sound far. It is. I now understand kilometers on a whole new level). I mapped out our route using google maps and was confident that between our two phones and a travel charger we'd have enough battery to get us there and back without too much hassle. Saying goodbye to the tourist laden beaches near our hotel, we started off. 10:00 LucmajorThe first leg of our journey propelled us into a different world. Gone were the flashy beaches filled with young, tan masses drinking and dancing. As we rode further into the countryside, it was as if we had traveled back in time. Breathtaking fields of vibrant greens and yellows flowed away from the quaint roads lined with stone walls and white flowers. The majestic mountains towering to the west hedged in the gorgeous rural land as if protecting it from the invasive city life just a few kilometers away. This place radiated peace. Here and there beautiful villas and farms dotted the landscape, but for the most part I felt as though Bekah and I were the only souls witnessing this endless beauty. We were apparently following a road that was popular for bikers as quite a few packs of professional-looking bicyclists raced past us. At one point my competitive side got the best of me and I decided to keep up with a group of male bikers who I later found out through a conversation of broken Spanish/English, were a professional racing team who competed for Italy at the world level of bicycling competition. When I realized I had left Bekah quite literally in our dust, I said goodbye to my new friends and waited for her to catch up. We traveled through this type of landscape for about 20k. It was quiet, relaxing and unlike anything I had ever seen back home. I wish I had taken more pictures here but I was too focused on making it to our final destination to pull out my camera every few minutes even though the scenery was definitely worthy of it. 12:30 Ses SalinesAfter almost 3 hours of biking through fairly uninhabited land, we came upon a lovely little town which felt like it was straight out of an old 40's movie. I half expected Audrey Hepburn or Carry Grant to waltz pass at any moment. The streets were windy and quiet lined with beautiful apartments which had flower boxes on almost every window. Since it was Sunday, nothing was open except a few sleepy restaurants and cafes. Bekah and I did not blend into this place at all. After the trek it took to arrive here, we were sweaty, dirty, and generally disgusting, but we were starving so we swallowed our pride and stopped at a restaurant called Cassai. The pictures here do not do it justice. After such a long journey, it was an oasis to us weary travelers. We ordered Mojitos, bread and pizzas for both of us. I fully intended to take a picture of the amazing food, but unfortunately I was so ravenous by the time it arrived that no such picture came into existence. Imagine if you will toasted whole wheat bread with a delightful whipped butter/cream cheese spread topped with fresh olive oil and herbs accompanied by minty mojitos and the most fabulous brick oven pizza brimming with veggies, mozzarella and basil. Drooling yet? I don't know if it tasted so good because of the severe calorie deficit I was operating at or if Spain is really just that amazing of a culinary heaven. I'm inclined to believe the latter. We left Ses Salines refreshed and eager to complete the final 10k ride we had left to arrive at the beach. 14:00 Calo des MoroImagine the bluest blue you have ever seen in nature. Now intensify it by 100%. That was the striking scene that took our breath away when we finally made the hike up to the cliffs overlooking Calo De Moro. I have not color corrected these images. Bekah and I had no words when we reached the edge of the cliffs. We just stood there pointing with our jaws on the floor scrambling to put together such intelligent phrases as "DUDE....I just.....What even....The water tho!!". When we finally jumpstarted our brains back into functioning order, we whipped out our cameras and decided this place was worth all the biking in the world. The white cliffs encircled a striking rock beach where indigo waves crashed endlessly into alabaster foam. Charcoal rocks far below the surface lined the ocean floor making some areas resemble a deep navy color. Along the cliffs grew various species of foliage, mainly of the bush and coral variety. To the east lay a small island with a cave running through the middle. It was just past this island where the actual beach was quietly tucked away. After soaking in the view for a few more minutes, Bekah and I went back to the path and began the hike down to the water. 15:00As we climbed along the sides of the beach, I felt as though I was dreaming. This scene belonged in Narnia or Pirates of the Caribbean, not in real life. Far below, icy sapphire waves gently caressed the sandy beach full of colorfully adorned vacationers. Their vibrant pigmentation was a striking juxtaposition against the rest of the quiet tones composing the environment. It looked as if the humans below were nothing but little sprinkles scattered on to a great canvas painting. 15:30We made it. The actual beach. After taking some hasty shots, we quickly stripped off our sweat drenched clothing and raced into the water. Oddly enough no one was swimming when we arrived, but we were so hot and tired from the ride we didn't think twice about dashing into the ice cold refreshing waves. After a few minutes, the entire beach followed us. We spent over an hour swimming and scaling the cliffs surrounding the beach wishing we could stay forever. There were numerous caves and caverns built into the cliff faces, all filled with striking red earth which stained my hands and feet. Little bunches of white and blue flowers grew high up in the caves and tiny footprints from birds dotted the cliffs. It was truly a magical place. We finally tore ourselves away knowing that if we didn't leave soon, we would never make it back to our hotel before sundown. 16:30Before we bid the beach farewell forever, we hiked up to the southernmost part of the cliffs which looked out into the Balearic Sea. Here the water was a much darker ultramarine due to the greater depth. From this vantage one could see far down the coast, towards Cala Santanyi and Cala s'Almonia. The cliffs appeared stern and resolute, as if they were the keepers of this great island. The feeling evoked by such imagery is impossible to explain. These pictures simply do not capture the true incredulity of the scene. In these places of natural wonder, one becomes so aware of their own beautiful insignificance in this thing we call the universe. Insignificance has become a negative term in this world of inflated self worth, but conversely I believe that humility is a virtue to be cherished. When one looks out over the majesty of creation and becomes cognizant of the great miracle that is existence and life and rock and water and flesh and bone and breath and atom.....the burdens of everyday life suddenly float away. You are swept away but the great mystery of the universe's heartbeat, totally powerless against the force that is life itself. It was in this state that I was reminded of an excerpt from The Value of Sciecnce, an essay by one of the most brilliant minds of modern physics and one of the role models who inspired me to study physics myself: ...I stand at the seashore, alone, and start to think. There are the rushing waves, mountains of molecules Each stupidly minding its own business Trillions apart, yet forming white surf in unison Ages on ages, before any eyes could see Year after year, thunderously pounding the shore as now For whom, for what? On a dead planet, with no life to entertain Never at rest, tortured by energy Wasted prodigiously by the sun, poured into space A mite makes the sea roar Deep in the sea, all molecules repeat the patterns Of one another till complex new ones are formed They make others like themselves And a new dance starts Growing in size and complexity Living things, masses of atoms, DNA, protein Dancing a pattern ever more intricate Out of the cradle onto the dry land Here it is standing Atoms with consciousness, matter with curiosity Stands at the sea, wonders at wondering I, a universe of atoms An atom in the universe - Richard P. Feynman I had read this before and remember being quite inspired by the thought, but never before had Feynmans words resonated so deeply as they did standing on the cliffs of Mallorca. After shaking myself this oddly metaphysical state, Beckah and I started the long journey back. 17:00What follows in the hours of our returning journey is too detailed and tiresome to attempt to explain in a mere blog. Even when trying to describe what happened to my own family, I felt that I could not communicate what unfolded in a worthy manner. Unfortunately, I'm certain that only Bekah and I will ever know what actually happened on our way back. To be succinct, everything went wrong, but that is precisely what made this adventure memorable. There was blood, sweat, and tears, mainly circulating around the fact that my bike broke about 20k away from out hotel in the middle of nowhere and our phones died due to a charging malfunction, but thanks to the unparalleled generosity and kindness of a sweet elderly couple, we made it back to the hotel after 22:30, tired, beat up, exhausted, but safe and ecstatic that we undertook such a grand journey. Not only did this day show us the most beautiful scenes of natural beauty, but it also displayed something even more valuable: the wonder of human altruism. I have always been of the "self made man" persuasion, but I am beginning to realize that no one is truly independent. Humanity is so interconnected that it is foolish to think you have to the power to save yourself. Honestly, if it wasn't for the benevolence of strangers, I might not be here to write this story right now. So this is Palma. Breathtaking, gorgeous, humbling, sobering, inspiring, and absolutely unforgettable. CHOCOLATE. WAFFLES. BEER.Those three words were the only thing anyone ever told be about Brussels and Belgium in general, but after spending a day exploring the capital, I think the most beautiful thing this city has to offer is architecture. BRUSSLES-NOORDI got off the train from Leuven at Brussels-Noord (Literally translated North Brussels) in order to get a feel for the less touristy parts of the city. I was a little disappointed at first because it was mostly filled with office buildings, a few unimpressive sky scrapers and chain restaurants. Reminded me a bit of Jersey city. Then I came across this gorgeous cathedral and knew I wasn't in America anymore. This was just a taste of the truly stunning architecture that makes Brussels one of the most beautiful cities I've seen. BRUSSLES-CENTRALYou would think this gorgeous ceiling was found in a museum, but it's actually just a shopping mall. Brussels really goes all out when it comes to staying true to its roots. Just one of hundreds of the quaint little side streets twisting through the city. At this moment the air was filled with the sound of accordion music and some extremely hearty singing from a soccer team relaxing at a pub behind me. Some Belgian delicacies. GRAND PLACEWhen I walked into the Grand Place, I felt like I entered a different time zone. All these buildings are over 600 years old. The tiny intricacies on the fronts, the thousands of miniature sculptures lacing the pillars...truly astounding. I had never stood on anything older than 242 years before this. True European living. MONT DES ARTSStumbled across this majestic garden while making my way to the Museum of Natural Sciences. Later I learned this is the Mont des Arts of Kunstberg, meaning "hill of the arts". Many of the surrounding buildings are art museums and libraries. I was pleasantly surprised to find a wall of street art just beyond the Mont des Arts. The juxtaposition of the old and new proved to be a striking mix. BRUSSLES PARKWrapped up my day by going through Brussels Park. Definitely not Central Park level size wise, but arguably as beautiful and relaxing. Treated myself to a Belgian chocolate laying out on the grass. I don't know this couple, but I felt that their attitude perfectly reflected the atmosphere of the city for the day. Since it was a Sunday, most people were relaxing, sitting around at cafes or in parks, no one at all in a hurry to do anything. It was a foreign feeling to see a "calm" city as New York seems to be bustling and stressed any day of the week. That is definitely a common theme I've noticed so far; Europeans are way more chill than Americans. Hope I can take some of that home with me. In summary, Brussels was an amazing first adventure destination. Amazing views, beautiful streets, gorgeous art, quite vibes. I did try some chocolate and beer, definitely some of the best I've ever had, but didn't get around to trying the waffles so I guess I'll be back soon.
I've always been quite adverse to travel blogs, but if I'm being honest, that's just because I'm jealous of other people's adventures. Now that I'm actually embarking on my own, I've become that annoying American full of "#wanderlust", boring the world with incoherent ramblings about "experience" and "culture". I'll be the first to admit this is about as cliche as it gets, but its also a necessary evil. I will be using this blog as a way to document my travels in Europe as I was lucky enough to be accepted into a theoretical research program in Belgium for the summer.
So far, my trip has already been full of surprises. Due to a delay on my flight to Reykjavik Iceland, I missed my connecting flight to Brussels Belgium and am now camped out at the Keflavík Airport until I can board a flight to Paris then take a train to Brussels from which I can take another train to Leuven, my final destination. I'm not particularly stressed, (though neither I nor WOW air is sure where my luggage is at the moment...) just tired from pulling an all nighter. Overall, travel is all that I expected. Adventurous, slightly uncomfortable, fairly annoying, physically taxing, and going perfectly not to plan. |
AuthorAmy Renne Archives
September 2018
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