Wanderlust

Somebody told me a few weeks ago that coming back home only gets harder every time. It was at least reassuring to see I wasn't the only one having a hard time readjusting. The old is new again but still too familiar for comfort. I wonder whether having a new perspective will do me any good or will only further drive my dissatisfaction with the society in which I live.
The best way I can describe what my exchange abroad has given me is wanderlust, desire to wander or travel. That is what I hope to do with my studies and with my career, but for now I need to cope with the banality of routine. Paying more attention to my 'home' and noticing new aspects of it has kept me motivated, but that is not to say I can spend a day without reminiscing of my travels.

Deer in the Headlights

Prague. Is there anything authentic left about the major European capitals? It seems that most of the popular touristic cities have turned into museums for mass tourism. It's impossible to walk across the Charles Bridge without getting caught in a mob of tourists. A lot of the tourists in Prague come in couples or in big groups and take pictures at every step without really trying to understand what's around them. I've been hearing every language but Czech and sometimes I forget where I am. And as long as you're in the center no matter where you go, you're always caught in someone's picture like a deer in the headlights.

Spain

I miss Spain. I got so into my travels after Madrid that I didn't think of writing. My thoughts on the capital: more is less. Besides the art galleries and the huge Sunday market El Rastro, Madrid didn't impress me that much. Barcelona on the other hand was my favorite.

Partying every night in Barcelona, Gaudi, crazy Basques partying in the streets during carnaval all day and all night in San Sebastian, getting by with broken Spanish, the amazing sea and ocean views from castle ruins, world heritage sites like Segovia's old town, getting a burn from falling asleep under the Andalucian sun with a view of the Albayzin in Granada, all the people I met, the times we had, the stories we shared, and of course all the paellas, tapas and sangria...

Time of my life.

Spain, Chapter 1: Valencia

How am I going to leave this city? I started my backpacking trip two days ago in Alicante late at night. I woke up to an amazing view of a castle on a hill and to a narrow street with really cute houses. I took a 5 minute walk through the hilly centre onto the Mediterranean coast. Coming from Vienna it was unbelievable to be on the beach among palm trees and not having to wear a jacket in February. I got on the road right away and took an 11am train to Valencia. The third biggest city in Spain. It´s nothing like I imagined it to be. I walked through the whole city centre from the train station to my hostel and was on a natural high. It was a really sunny day, I had been been using nothing but Spanish, and the city was like nothing I had seen before. At first I had a strange feeling about it, like it wasn´t for me. But my mind has changed completely. Apart from the Valenciano dialect which I can´t understand (a dialect of Catalan, which is a dialect of Castellano or "standard Spanish"), I love everything about Valencia. Eating a traditional Valencian paella at an outdoor café in one of the many plazas, burning under the sun and wearing sunglasses in the middle of the winter, having tapas and sangría with other travellers in the middle of the day, getting fresh fruits for breakfast at the central market, taking a walk down the old river which is now a stretch of green space, being a part of the rhythm of the city, being pleasantly surprised by the juxtaposition of different architectural styles, getting lost among the narrow streets and stumbling upon cute shops... I´m not as excited as I should be for my next stop: Madrid.