At 8am me and my friends took a taxi to the Autobus station in Valencia, running on 20 minutes of sleep, after clubbing Thursday night. I was in a slight state of delirium, still feeling the effects of Cuba Libres and hand rolled cigarettes.

I had packed myself a lovely breakfast and lunch for the four and a half hour bus ride consisting of bread, bread, and more bread. With bread on my side, I soundly slept for the entire duration of the bus ride, except for when we stopped in the middle at an odd rest stop.

Arriving close to lunch time, we took the metro to our hostel, keen to drop our backpacks off and eat a real meal. Traveling with a larger group was helpful when it came to organization, but a lot to handle when making smaller decisions.

The hostel was nice enough, and the staff was very funny, making us feel slightly more at home. Hostel culture still seems slightly weird to me, and it was interesting to meet other people there from around the world.

After checking in, we headed to an area where the check in guy, Jefe, had told us to get lunch. There, we had probably the nicest and cheapest three course meal of our lives, complete with sangria and free shots.

After this, we walked around, poking our heads into random shops and exploring various parks.

There we had our first real glimpse of Madrid as a profound and beautiful city.

After walking aimlessly around the city, we decided to head back to the hostel to complete a bike tour. On the way home, I saw small children playing pickup soccer in the streets.

WE waited about 45 minutes for the bike tour guide to come pick us up at the hostel, but alas they never showed. With slight disappointment in our hearts, we decided to try our hand at a self-guided walking tour.

The tour that half-heartly gave was well worth it, allowing us to see inside the city a little bit better. The city square was beautiful, aside from the many citizens dressed up in terrifying costumes, trying to get money from tourists.

We headed to the market near the square and got popsicles dipped in cava.

We then walked to City Hall, the Cathedral, the Palace, and to a temple that gave us a beautiful view of a large park and the city.

Then we headed back to get dinner, stopping at a tapas place.

After, we decided to join the hostel for a bar crawl, which I did not really end up enjoying. At the end of the night, I met up with my friend from Madrid Enrique, who I had not seen in about 5 years, in a really cool club called El Kapital.

In the morning, I had churros and chocolate with a lovely coffee. And then we continued to wander around the city.

That night, I met up with a boy from Spain who studied at UVA named Pepe, and he took us to a few clubs that were more local. The clubs were not really my vibe, but it was interesting to see new places and meet new people.

The next day, we walked through the large city market, which was a really cool experience, and then returned to the food market to grab some empanadas for lunch.

I met up with a boy named Juanjo right before we let, to grab coffee, because he also studied at UVA and had put me in contact with Pepe, while he was out of town. He is originally from Valencia, so it was interesting to hear his take on the difference between Madrid and Valencia. We also discussed the cultural differences between Americans and Spaniards, with him concluding that people from Spain are usually much more open. This was evident from me meeting home over a year ago for about 30 minutes, and him telling me to contact him whenever I decided to go to Spain. However, I feel as though I am just as open, as I did contact him on a whim, but maybe I am just another American exception.

Then we returned home. I am completely exhausted and my body is giving out on me.

Americans have always seemed to idolize the city of Paris when it comes to everything: the French food, the fashion, the art, the language, the monuments, and the romance. Every single romantic comedy seems to revolve around some sort of French influence, or better yet take place in Paris. There is seldom a famous movie in France that does not film a panorama shot of star crossed lowers speeding around the Arc De Triomphe on a scooter.

So, we are always taught to accept Paris as this wonderful city, when in fact it is simply a city. I had always imagines myself standing in front of the impressive monuments, feeling a warm glow of wonderment. The experience of Paris is supposed to be incredibly surreal, without any sort of comparison to anywhere else in the world.

Starting the Trip off, I had my skepticisms, thinking that one city could not be as special as everyone says it is. With only about three French words in my vocabulary, I decided to tackle Paris head on, not knowing what to really expect.

After about a three hour flight, we arrived in the Orly Airport, expecting it to feel like Paris. However, I did not feel as though I was in Paris, and the scary feeling that I could no longer communicate with anyone in the native language quickly dawned on me and my friends. When first trying to find a taxi to immediately leave the airport for Versailles. It was one of the most silent taxi rides that I have taken, with none of us being able to communicate with the driver in any way.

Versailles was beautiful, although we did not enter the palace, and much bigger than I ever thought possible. We toured around the gardens for about 4 or 5 hours, marveling over the gargantuan features of the property.

The Fountains of the garden and the sheer scale of everything was really put into perspective the history of France and the reason for the overturn in power. Versailles was beautiful, but I thought it was especially hard to do in the morning, right after getting off of an airplane. Thankfully, at the palace they had guides that spoke excellent English, and they helped us to find a train station that would take us to Paris, instead of us ordering another 50 euro taxi.

Once in Paris, we got off at the stop by the Eiffel Tower, wanting to see it immediately. In that moment of exhaustion I found it very impressive, but not necessarily magical. It took until much later in the day for me to see the magic of Paris.

After this, we found another metro stop and after about 30 minutes of fighting, finally found out how to get to our very far away hostel. We got off at the stop and then walked 40 minutes in the sweltering heat to get to the hostel, which was located next to a different stop that had only been five minutes away.

After finally dropping off our heavy backpacks, we figured out the metro system and went to walk around the Louvre.

In this more relaxed state of mind, just walking around and absorbing the culture and atmosphere, I started to really feel the magic of Paris that everyone always talks about.

The Entire place was absolutely beautiful and filled with wonderment at the craftsmanship.

We then went and got dinner on the way to Montmarte neighborhood, where we watched the sun set at the famous steps. It was absolutely beautiful, and there were performing creating live music to the sun setting.

After this, we met up with two French brothers that I know who live in Paris. It was really nice to hang out with locals and talk about the cultural differences that we share, and it quickly became one of the most fun times I had the entire trip. Reconnecting with old friends in their native countries, after years of not seeing them is truly special. We talked a lot about the different words we use in English, and the way that the American political atmosphere censors words. I really appreciated a more insider look into the culture of France in this way.

The Next morning we went to a local cafe, which was evidently run by Americans girls from Texas who spoke beautiful French. It was really inspiring to see other Americans making a way for themselves in a foreign place.

Then, we took a three hour walking tour by the Canal and Notredame, learning a lot more about the history of the landmarks in Paris.

After the walking tour, we went to a famous French Market for lunch, and walked around the Canals and gardens people watching.

After this, we revisited the Louvre, and I decided to go to the top of the Arc De Triomphe. The view was definitely worth the 10 euros.

After this, me and my friends met at the bottom of the Eiffel tower and ate bread and cheese with wine, while watching the sun set. It was a moment I will remember forever.

Watching the Tower light up at night was magical.

After this trip, I have already booked a flight back to Paris for this winter, because I cannot stay away for much longer.

The purpose of my trip to Barcelona was to see my two friends from Pamplona, who I had not seen in 6 or 7 years. I finally found them at the station, and we immediately took a taxi to their friend’s apartment where we spent the night. Their friend had a very warm personality, and he was able to speak a lot of English to me.

My first time taking a train did not quite go as planned: I woke up 10 minutes before I had to be at the train station. I had not packed one thing. The woman at the ticket check in told me the wrong directions. I missed the train. The woman felt bad and helped me change my ticket. I went to the other train station. I boarded the train at 10:55. An older woman tried to chat with me through my limited Spanish skills. I arrived in Barcelona at 2:10.

After our arrival, we took the metro by the Sagrada familia, where Pao’s apartment was located. I had yet to take a metro in Spain, and wondered if it would differ from the metro stops in the United States. The metro was a little bit smaller, but I did not see a lot of significant differences between the metros in Washington D.C. and Barcelona.

Ironically, I traveled all the way to Spain to eat Mexican food, because we went to a very popular small Mexican restaurant further towards the gothic section of Barcelona. It had amazing Mexican food, and I was introduced to a «clara,» a cerveza with lemonade.

We walked around the streets of Barcelona afterwards, visiting an ice cream shop where my friend Gabriela had gone to chef school with the owner. In this section of town, I started to notice how different the people were in Barcelona. Everyone there had tattoos and an edgier style. Barcelona seems to be heavily influenced by fashion and what is deemed as hipster. I pulled a similarity to New York and its status as a fashion city to create a parallel for Barcelona.

We also met up in a beautiful courtyard restaurant where Gabriela’s friend Omar worked, and it was one of the most peaceful moments I have had in Spain, thus far. It was practically connected to the ice cream shop, and had previously been a sanctuary for monks.

There were still small dogs everywhere and I loved it.

The streets of Barcelona were very narrow and beautiful, towering over the streets in a delicate way. The architecture of Barcelona was unlike any other city that I have been in. The buildings were mostly stone, and little shops were located in and out of allies.

We did end up going to the more touristy parts of Barcelona, heading near the large shopping area. The shops were larger than most any I had ever seen, with H&M having an entire restaurants inside of its multi-story store 

We went out in the gothic district after a dinner made up of pizza, and the bars were very unique and fun; however, we made it an early night and did not head out to any clubs.

Ending the trip, we woke up and went to breakfast in the morning, finding healthier more hipster options. I really enjoyed my time in Barcelona, and cannot wait to go back.

A light clicking sound filled the room, becoming guttural and low. Soft clapping started to make its way through the room, in tune with a soft guitar. The stage came alive and the clicking turned into hard stomping sounds made from the slamming of flamenco shoes on the floor. Their feet moved fast, creating rhythmic patterns with the music, allowing them to swish their costumes around with the beat.

Flamenco is like a roller coaster ride; it starts small, but with each clap the tension and emotion of every move builds to a spectacular explosion of movement. The intensity of flamenco is something that I never even thought possible in dancing; for flamenco, dancing is filled with anger, love, and beauty. The dance rises and falls with the music, and the feelings that the dancers are trying to portray. The dancers are fierce, with stone cold expressions, one dancer constantly staring the other down as if they will suddenly draw swords.

The dancers were very serious, but at the same time they were fun and lively, allowing their playful spirits to travel into the crowd. The small wooden stage sunk into the crowd of people, up close and personal in a way that truly completed the experience. People were crowded around, hoping to catch a glimpse of the fantastic flamenco, literally immersed in the rhythm of the show. The small scuffed up stage was just enough the lift the dancers onto an ethereal level, as their bright costumes twisted in the spotlights.

Something that really struck me was the supportive nature of the dance, with the other dancers continuously shouting «¡olé!» to encourage the others on the stage. Not only was it supportive to the dancer, but also encouraged the audience to take part of the show and the culture.

I was really taken aback by the physical nature of the dance. By the end of the show, the dancers were sweating profusely, after their long performance. The dancers threw themselves into the dances, showing the viewers that this is not simply a performance, but rather a way of life.

When I think about the traditions that we have in the United States, I do not see the same strong influence of culture on dance. In the U.S. dance can be a part of the culture, simply making up a piece of a cultural puzzle; however, flamenco in Spain seems like something much more than a piece of the culture; it is the culture. Flamenco defines the culture that it represents, allowing the dancers to take ownership over then culture completely. Flamenco seems to be the light that guides the culture of Southern Spain; instead of allowing the culture to define the dance, the dance helps to define the culture. All the influences of the different regions are able to come together and make something strong, beautiful, and a little scary.