a post of the very extremely short variety (unlike this title)

Hello hello, my dear friends and family! It's been quite a while, and for this I apologize greatly. The past few weeks have been full of studying, exam-taking, and traveling about (spring break!). Expect a far too detailed account of spring break adventures (Prague, Budapest, and lots of places in between) soon. For now, though, I just wanted to mention some smaller things. 

When walking through the streets of Granada, unless the city is experiencing rain, one will find most storefronts blocked by groups of people, gazing upon the items for sale. Here, the social norm is to decide on a purchase before even entering the store -- the most extreme window shopping I have ever seen. There's a reason why the windows are packed with merchandise. Expect stares if you step inside intending to just browse... that's what the window is for. 

Spaniards truly love their fashion, hence the constant window shopping. But, the latest clothing fads have one, very powerful rival here: hair. To start, every Spaniard has beautiful locks of hair, and they go to great lengths to maintain such (another reason one will not find window shoppers out in the rain). Oh, how they value the perfect haircut. On every street one can find so many barber shops (peluquerias), all of which are super mod and constantly doing fantastic business. I cannot express just how many of these exist in Spain. Maybe more than the number of Subway restaurants on Earth. 

As stated before, super short update. More to come soon! This I promise. Until then, take care! 

Coffee, Soap Operas, and Little Chats

As I have mentioned before, every Monday and Wednesday afternoon I visit and "work" with an older woman, Mari Carmen. She lives about 10-15 minutes walking away from my residence, and the walk is just lovely. I pass over the main river of Granada (which has recently had much more water than usual from the rain in the Sierra Nevada) and walk past the convention/performing arts center. This emerald green building is starkly different than any other in Granada; 46 steps, which lead up to two sides of a tiled terrace and the center's entrance. To further illustrate, here is a picture (courtesy of Google). 

Naturally, it is not quite as imposing as the picture depicts, but I must note that the overcast and bright sky is extremely accurate. Quite the norm around here as of late. 

I arrive at Mari Carmen's apartment right around 5:15 pm, just in time to catch the name of her favorite telenovela (soap opera). I am always wary of interrupting her viewing time, as I know she loves this show and probably does not want to miss the last few moments of drama; I sit quietly (a little awkwardly, admittedly), and wait for the show to end before making conversation. She makes small attempts at conversation, but just typical questions about how my weekend was, etc. I can tell her attention is divided between me and the television, so I try to keep my responses brief. Suffice to say, the first fifteen minutes are always a bit on the uncomfortable side. Maybe I should switch my arrival time to 5:30. 

After the telenovela (which is always fantastically over-dramatic) ends, I usually ask Mari Carmen about her sisters, grandchildren, and health. I do struggle with understanding her most of the time, as her accent is thick (generally, the people of southern Spain cut their words to an extreme). Slowly, my comprehension is improving, as she tends to not slow her speech or repeat things. If I do not understand after two tries, she moves on to other topics. 

Mari Carmen does enjoy hearing about places I have explored or hope to visit in Spain. She particularly loves Madrid, for there is a multitude of fantastic museums there. One of her daughters lives in Madrid and is an English teacher. Yes, I have in fact spoken on the phone with this daughter -- Mari Carmen is very proud of her daughter's English abilities. She also just loves to make phone calls. Randomly, she will grab the phone to have sometimes extensive and sometimes extremely brief conversations. Sometimes, it is debatable whether or not the call's recipient got a word in before Mari Carmen hung up. All the while, the television remains on and blares either another telenovela or the Spanish version of "Maury."

Recently, Mari Carmen has expressed a desire to learn English. In a notebook that came with a pharmacy purchase (I think?), I write words in Spanish and their English equivalents. For now, we are just practicing how to say the words, as pronunciation of some English sounds is so difficult. Not too much time is spent practicing, though, as she becomes tired (or bored, possibly?). 

Following English practice always comes coffee time. She shuffles into the kitchen while I watch the end of Spanish "Maury." Funny, yesterday's episode featured a woman telling the show's panel about her husband, who has been stealing money from the family's funds. The panel fueled the woman on, giving her reason after reason to be infuriated. One of the panel members, though, very randomly whipped out a container of yogurt and began to snack... during the show! Once or twice, too, I have seen the cast members blatantly texting during the episode. So interesting. 

In any event, after a few minutes of closing cabinets and microwave beeps, Mari Carmen shuffles back into the living room, carrying a tray (always the same tray that has a picture of Calpe, Spain) with a teacup of coffee, bowl of sugar, napkin, and plate of cookies. For herself, she has just a glass cup of coffee. This coffee is some of the best I have had in Granada, as somehow she manages to hit the perfect proportion of coffee to milk. Brilliant. Over coffee, we watch whatever might be on t.v. at that point, and more phone calls are made.

Finally, to end our time, we watch a game show called "Ahora Caigo," or "Now I Fall." It's quite humorous, I must say, and both of us really enjoy watching and playing along. The host loves to sing, which I think Mari Carmen enjoys the most (I know when she is in a more joyful mood, as she will sing short bits of songs). The show operates as follows: 

1. Contestant stands in the center of a stage

2. 10 "minor" contestants stand on platforms in a circle around the primary contestant

3. Contestant chooses an opponent, and the two take turns answering trivia questions (a few letters of the answer are provided)

4. If the contestant does not answer before the timer buzzes (no penalty for incorrect answers), strike one! Three strikes are provided.

5. If the minor contestant fails to answer, the platform on which they are standing opens and they fall downward into the great beyond.

6. With each minor contestant beaten, the primary contestant receives a surprise amount of money.

7. On to the next opponent!

Of course, Mari Carmen and I do not watch television every time I visit; rain has just taken over the city as of late. On nice days, we go on walks around the neighborhood and through a nearby park. Once, we stopped in the local library, as she was interested in the book-borrowing process. Every so often, too, she has plans to meet her sister in the city center, so she leaves with me and I walk her to the bus stop. We link arms as we walk in the customary Spanish fashion. 

Some days are easier than others. I truly love my time with Mari Carmen, but I wish my language skills were better; I feel like I could contribute so much more to our time together if I could just speak and understand more Spanish. In due time. I have so enjoyed seeing her gradually warm up to me. She sings and smiles more. There are still those days of not-so-great moods, and I wonder if I am being a bother (would she prefer to be in bed resting?). Despite my doubts, I really do think she appreciates the company. One day last week, she found out that her son and granddaughter were not visiting the next day as planned. With a very pleading face, she asked me to visit in their place. Unfortunately, I could not oblige, as I had a complete day of class. Oh, but that face! I hope she was not too lonely. 

In any event, since I have been so preoccupied with my less than satisfactory Spanish skills, I decided to find another means to connect with her. Very recently, Mari Carmen has showed me her knitting projects... and thus I have begun what is probably my fourth attempt at learning to knit. I picked up some yarn and needles yesterday, curled up in bed, and found some instructions online. So far, this attempt is wildly more successful (every other time, I just could never seem to get the hang of it; my projects were pretty pathetic). This time around, there is far more motivation and determination involved. I shall make a scarf yet! With Mari Carmen! Once I get into the groove of this knitting thing, I shall shove those extremely (and unnecessarily) long needles and golden-tan yarn in my purse to surprise my dear friend. Who knows, tomorrow could possibly be the day! Expect an update. 

Barcelona, Part 3: The Final Installment

Alrighty, as I have drawn this Barcelona trip out long enough, I shall make this final post as brief as possible. Onward!

Our second full day began with overcast skies, which was much preferred in compared to the intense rain before. Jillian and I rushed out the door to make a free tour of Gaudi's works (the oh so fantastic architect of all things whimsical and controversial). We had a very general idea of the tour group's meeting spot, so after wandering around way more than necessary, catching a quick glimpse of the port/beach, and almost turning back, we found the correct plaza. Despite being twenty minutes late, the tour group was still there, just completing the introductory material. What grand luck! We most casually slipped into the group and listened as the guide pointed out how Gaudi, in his very early years of designing, had created the fountain just yards away.

From the plaza, we headed down some quite similar streets, which we eventually realized had been covered on our rainy tour the day before. With each stop and explanation (while interesting, of course), we began to realize that Gaudi was not the focus of this tour... in fact, it probably was not a Gaudi tour at all. We confirmed such suspicions with the tour guide but still stuck around for the remainder of the tour. A few extra facts never hurt. Eventually, inconspicuously broke off from the group to grab lunch and explore new places.

After some bocadillos (classic Spanish on-the-go lunch item: sandwiches of cheese, ham, olive oil, and salt) and apples, we caught a train to the mountain of Montjuïc, which overlooks the city and harbor. This mountain is an obligatory stop for tourists, as it is home to a multitude of sites, including a castle/fortress, museums, gardens, and Barcelona's Olympic park from the 1992 games. From the train station, we needed to catch a bus (or so we had been told), so Jillian and I went on a hunt for the stop. Of course, we really did not need to search at all, as the bus stop was right outside the train station, but our brief time exploring was not in vain -- I found 20 Euros lying in the road. Good. Day. 

Our bus finally arrived, and after about a thirty second ride, the bus pulled over so the driver could take a smoke break. Being on the mountain, the view was beautiful, so we did not mind the wait. At the mountain's peak, we bopped around the fortress and admired the industrial harbor/port of Barcelona. The vast cargo sector looked like a fantastic Lego set. 

Running around the fort occupied us until almost sunset, so we next headed down the mountain a bit to the Magic Fountain, which holds a light and music show on weekend nights. The first of these shows was held in 1929 during the Great Universal Exhibition. The fountain was huge, and it was quite magnificent to watch the water and its changing colors. Behind the fountain, too, is the wonderful sight of an art museum, which lies atop many flights of grand steps, each with their own fountains as well. Once dark, the museum was illuminated and had about nine beams of light going into the sky from its main dome. 

The next day, Saturday, was to be a day full of Gaudi indeed. Without a doubt, we were actually going to make the tour and, even more excitingly, we had tickets to visit La Sagrada Familia (The Holy Family), a cathedral that is still under construction, designed by Gaudi (of course). Suffice to say, I was beside myself with anticipation. 

Casa Batlló!!

Per usual, we woke up late, and it took a while to get the entire gang up and out the door. We almost missed the tour, but Jillian was not having that, so once off the metro, she booked it down the street, out of sight within a minute, to hold up the tour group. Amazingly, she caught it in time. We visited many of Gaudi's wonderfully whimsical houses, most of which are built alongside regular buildings, blending in with the style of Barcelona while still being extremely distinct. Gaudi's famous curly iron work and multicolored mosaics were simply beautiful. My most favorite house was definitely Casa Batlló. Again, the mosaics were just far too beautiful. 

A close up! Check out that mosaic work!

Our tour ended at La Sagrada Familia, and as our tour did not begin for another couple of hours, the gang and I lunched at a small, extremely colorful Mexican restaurant (recommended to us by the tour guide). Spanish food generally is not very spicy, so I naturally got a little overexcited about the various Mexican sauces, which resulted in a very sore mouth, sweaty forehead, and runny nose... but a satisfied Rachel. 

Still left with a bit of time before the tour, we wandered into a nearby plaza, where a massive feast was taking place. Very large onions (stalks and all) were being hung and roasted above big campfires, and table after table of diners were enjoying the blackened onions. If not for the line and my already full stomach, I would have been feasting along with them, for sure. 

Preparing to tackle the onion.

And now, time for La Sagrada Familia. Hands down, this was the most anticipated moment of the trip for me. As Gaudi's masterpiece, the cathedral is incredibly detailed, and every single detail holds so many levels of Biblical, societal, and environmental significance. The pictures from Google did not do this place justice, of course. Absolutely and overwhelmingly beautiful. Admittedly, I might have shed a tear or two (I was probably being a bit over-dramatic, but my gosh, this place was just far too gorgeous). The exterior is comprised of three facades: The Nativity, The Passion, and The Glory. The Nativity facade is the oldest and most complete, boasting dripping stone (very reminiscent of a sand drip castle) and figures from the early years of Jesus' life. It's like looking at Disney's tree of life -- the more one stares, the more images and details emerge. The Passion facade is far simpler and quite bare, as it depicts the days preceding Jesus' crucifixion. The arches supporting this facade resemble bones, and the figures are basic and angular in cut. The Glory facade is the least complete but will eventually be the grandest of the facades, seeing as it is designed to exemplify Jesus' ascension into Heaven. Upon completion, the cathedral will have eighteen towers (currently, only eight exist), which will represent the twelve apostles, four Evangelists, the Virgin Mary, and Jesus (which will be the very tallest tower). The current, less important towers are quite imposing, so I cannot begin to imagine the magnificence of the towers to come. Picture time!

The Nativity facade. So. Much. Detail. 

Close up of The Nativity Facade

The Passion facade... under construction

The minimally-designed figurines

Inside, we ascended one of the nativity towers, via elevator (lift). From the tower, we had a very up-close look at that facade's stone work AND an incredible view of the city. Gaudi designed this cathedral to be easily the tallest structure around; the tallest tower will be just one meter shorter than Montjuic (the mountain we visited on Friday), as Gaudi believed that man's creations should not surpass God's in any way.

After the towers, we took an audio tour of the cathedral, which added so much more wonder to the already mind-blowing experience. Understanding how and why Gaudi included every detail will give one a headache, in the best way possible, of course. The cathedral's interior is clean, sleek, and modern, all while still exalting the Lord. Unseen from the outside are incredible stained glass windows, all which signify different subjects, such a water, poverty, and peace. Gaudi was very particular about how much light was allowed inside, so the entire interior is completely colorful, but in a very soft way. The columns and ceiling are constructed to resemble a forest and sky. I could not spend enough time wandering and soaking in the beauty. My neck ached the next day. So good. 

Though totally wiped, physically and mentally, from La Sagrada Familia, I decided to hit one more Gaudi location before heading in for the night. Park Guell, which was originally intended to be a neighborhood for Gaudi houses, complete with plazas, small churches, and ornate paths, this project ultimately failed but still stands as a most lovely place to visit and relax. Quite naturally, I got a bit (as in very) turned around on the way there, so by the time I even got off at the correct metro stop it was already dark. As I made my way along the final stretch to the park, I stopped at a bakery that advertised "Gaudi Rocs." Intrigued, I ordered one, which ended up being a truly massive (about the size of my face, maybe?) onion-shaped meringue treat. YUM. I am fairly certain about the size, as most of my face was very quickly covered in white powder. It was delicious enough to mask my preoccupation about the sticky nature of my skin, luckily. 

Anyways, Park Guell, which I hear is beautiful, was quite dark; it lacked any and all lighting, unfortunately. I snapped some pictures, mainly to view the rumored mosaics with my flash. The park was eerie and peaceful, which was definitely a nice way to end a truly exhausting day. After some brief moseying about, I returned to the hostel, as our 4 am departure the next morning was in the back of my mind. I did not make it to bed as early as I had hoped, though. A group of three guys from Mexico had just moved into our room, and they were oh so eager to chat. They were a sassy bunch, so the conversation was quite lively and enjoyable. 

Our return trip was uneventful and smooth, and we arrived back in Granada by noon. SO much sleep ensued (through the next day with a few breaks for food, etc.). Barcelona was so worth it, though, and I am determined to return before leaving Spain. That city is teeming with all things wonderful. 

Barcelona, Part 2: Precipitation Station

Let's begin with a completely unrelated side note: 

I love places where you can look up. So often, cities are too busy or too dangerous to remove one's attention from what lies ahead. People to dodge, a purse to protect, traffic lights to heed... though wonderfully exciting, the hustle and bustle can be quite the hindrance. That which exists above is almost always even more wonderful -- balconies, plants, people dining on terraces, the magnificent sky! Granada, to my great delight, is safe enough to the point where I can wander without fearing even a stray pickpocket. Up I can look! For extended periods, at that! Granted, I look more like a foreigner than ever, but having those moments to soak up the city in its entirety is priceless. An example: today was a rainy day indeed for Granada. Even when the precipitation ceased, these fantastically dark, ominous clouds swarmed around the mountains and encircled the city during the afternoon. As the sun was setting, though, the clouds broke, Rachel looked upward, and the sun hit every roof of Granada. What made this moment even more spectacular was the color of this light; typically, the setting sun produces a yellowish, maybe even orange light, but not today. Completely and totally pure white light hit Granada. Woah. You best believe this necessitated a pause, right in the middle of the sidewalk (thankfully I had finished crossing the street). Overwhelming beauty indeed. White light! 

In any event, returning to Barcelona...

We left off at the hostel, I suppose. After warming our bellies with coffee (and not pausing for a nap -- that would have been dangerous), my travel buddies and I joined the hostel crew for a walking tour of the city. Perfect! In all the airport madness, we had failed to come up with a plan for day one. Off we went. Within minutes, though, the rain began... incredibly frigid rain. Our group decided to brave it. A little rain is bearable. Wrong. The rain quickly intensified, eventually turning into hail (which, in my opinion, was an improvement! sadly, said hail only lasted a minute or so, but I made the most of it, running about and the like). We continued on, mainly just shuffling through the streets, heads down, occasionally listening to a fact or two from the tour guide. The poor girl, her umbrella kept catching the wind and turning inside out, so eventually she gave up and guided us around in a drenched, shivering state. Major points. 

A few sights were enhanced by the dreary weather, such as a church (now elementary school), where children were hidden during the civil war. When Barcelona was under siege, soldiers took the children out of the school and shot them down along the wall. Today, proof of the massacre remains, as gaping dents cover the church's exterior, but lie no higher than the height of a child. The Barcelona government insists that the church was bombed, hence the damage, and the children were not so intentionally killed; the evidence is definitely contradictory. Picture:

Hard to deny, no?

The lack of people and bitter weather afforded us with the perfect opportunity to absorb the somber nature of this place. 

One last unhappy story: Barcelona has two patron saints, as one young girl, Eulalia, suffered so greatly that the city has honored her for quite some time. Eulalia, who aged thirteen years, was of the Christian faith when the Romans took over Barcelona. When told to deny her faith, Eulalia refused, which resulted in the Romans torturing her in thirteen different ways. In one instance, she was placed in a barrel of nails and rolled down a steep, narrow alley. Somehow, she survived these acts, and was finally crucified in the presence of every Barcelona citizen. During the crucifixion, it is said that snow began to fall (an extremely rare occurrence), which proceeded to cover Eulalia, signifying her pure nature and innocence. Finally, the Romans decapitated her, and from her neck emerged a dove. In her honor, Barcelona's cathedral always houses thirteen white geese in its garden. Beautiful. 

On a lighter note, we passed through a a covered (not quite indoor) market, with fruit juices galore. A color explosion indeed! Rows and rows cups filled the stalls. Fruits and candies, especially gummies (a Spanish favorite) made appearances alongside the juices. Naturally, a cow/pig thigh or two hung from each stall, completing the scene. Also, on our way back to the hostel, we managed to pass by Botero's kitty cat statue (not sure of the official name). Plump as ever, the cat was hard to miss in its plaza. Classic Botero. 

Back at the hostel, dinner was ready for consumption. Truthfully, we did choose that particular hostel because of the included dinner; Barcelona would have put a dent in our bank accounts had we bought dinner every night. My goodness, what a perfect idea, having a scheduled hostel dinner (usually it is an open kitchen but a general free-for-all). No one wanted to miss a warm meal, especially one cooked by a true Italian, so two long tables were full of residents from all parts of the world. Such is the beauty of hostels, having the chance to meet and bond with the widest array of people, but sometimes, with solid days of sightseeing and the like, it is hard to cross paths with the other residents. Dinner was perfect in that way, as conversation ran rampant; people shared stories about their daily adventures, homelands, and other travel experiences. 

Quick rundown of a few hostel peoples: 

The Brits- Four British guys, all from London, were spending the week in Barcelona visiting their friend, who happened to work at the hostel. This guy, the hostel employee, was a champ and a half. A year or so ago, he decided to drop everything and travel around Europe. I cannot remember how many Euros he started off with, but it was not much, and he made it six months hitchhiking about. He camped outside villages in Croatia and stayed in random homes in France. The guy just went and went until the funds ran dry. 

Them Japanese kids: Two Japanese guys were finishing up their stay when we arrived. One was in the process of touring Spain to observe all things architectural. He also had a love for photoshop and was proud to show everyone a pretty sweet picture of him and Messi (of FC Barcelona). It really did look like the real deal. The other was a DJ back in Japan and loved doing Gangnam Style. Absolutely and totally priceless. Plus, he did such whilst wearing a fur vest. 

The sole German: Katrina, law student, spent most of her time in bed on the computer. Interestingly, she spent a year of high school in Wilmington. 

The Brazilians: So many! Every night, more arrived. Most hailed from the south of Brazil, but we had fun talking geography and carnaval. 

The owner: Angel was his name. The guy hardly sleeps and knows every club/bar owner in Barcelona. He takes the entire hostel out just about every night and stays out later than everyone else. When he sleeps, its usually on a beanbag chair in the kitchen. 

No-name: A very silent guy, who always boasted a smile, always seemed to be working on a mural inside the hostel. It's coming along nicely.

Paulina: Our tour guide/honorary hostel employee. Homegirl is originally from Mexico, but has lived just about everywhere in South America and Europe. I cannot remember exactly how many languages she knows, but we are talking at least seven, including Swedish. She sports short, frizzy tomato firetruck red hair and travels through the hostel on roller skates. She was full of spunk. 

The Americans: My goodness, I have never seen so many Americans at a single hostel. They were all pretty easy going, though. Most were studying in London and spending spring break in Spain. Good choice! Too bad Spain adopted London's weather for the week. Bummer. 

Sorry. That ended up not being a very quick rundown. Typical.

After dinner, Jillian and I put our sassy pants on... as in, we exchanged our still drenched day wear for slightly less shabby dresses, and went to a place called L'Ovella Negra (The Black Sheep) to meet some friends who are studying in Barcelona. The venue was super cozy, as it was slightly underground and housed a huge fireplace, which was perfect, as the rain had definitely not ceased and we had reverted back to our drenched states. Being our classy selves, we lined our shoes in front of the fire. Next, we joined the hostel crew at a karaoke bar, which looked like a classic Hollywood theatre. The place was packed and the singers were awful. Classic karaoke experience. The Japanese guys and one of the Brazilians sang "Bohemian Rhapsody," which had to be the highlight of everyone's evening. Easily.

Consider this the conclusion of part 2! More to come soon.

Barcelona: Part 1

Last Thursday was a holiday in in Andalucia (the southern region of Spain), so no class! With three amigos, I headed to Barcelona for adventures and architecture.

After I succeeded in bopping around Granada Wednesday morning and furiously packing during the last hour prior to leaving, we caught a bus to the Granada bus station. Once there, we found our bus only a few minutes before it was scheduled to leave. My turn to board the bus had almost arrived, but the group of three older adults in front of me were having some difficulties. All three were very tall and were hunched around the bus driver, who was trying to explain something about tickets. They kept asking him to speak in English, so I jumped in. The woman and two men were Dutch and spoke absolutely no Spanish, only a little bit of English. The bus driver explained to me that they had blank tickets that needed to be filled in at the front desk, which needed to be done quickly. 1. The two buses heading to Malaga, our next destination, were about to leave and 2. the few empty spots were filling up quickly. My new friends and I hurried upstairs to the desk. Luckily, the lady in charge spoke English and told us that they would have to wait in a very long line to fix the tickets... and since the buses were about to leave, they would have to take the next bus in a few hours. Apparently, this was not okay, as one of the men leaned way over the desk and said (very boldly), "We... do NOT... accept!" The lady could not reason with them, so we returned to the actual buses, where they eventually signed up for the next bus. I shook hands with them and said goodbye... I had already held up the bus' departure considerably. 

Once on the bus, I was informed that the friend in charge of bringing the plane tickets had accidentally left them in Granada. Oops. Things had to get interesting at some point, I suppose! We relaxed until we arrived in Malaga two hours later. Once there, we managed to miss the airport bus (one of the travel companions apparently needed the restroom desperately?). Since we were cutting it close, time-wise, we splurged on a cab. 

Airport time: Let it be noted, one girl in our group actually had her ticket, as she printed hers off separately. The three of us went to the RyanAir desk while she proceeded through security, etc. Anyways, the staff informed us that we had to pay an extra fee to reprint the tickets. They instructed us to go directly to the check-in desk, which was to close in 15 minutes (RyanAir closes check-in 30 minutes before boarding begins). In an effort to avoid the steep fee, my roommate went on a quick search for a printer. We found one, but it failed to print our tickets. Confused, we consulted the airport information desk, where we learned that RyanAir blocks all printing from their site on the day of departure. Of course. 

Now knowing that the extra fee was unavoidable at that point, we booked it back to check-in, which had just closed. Not good. Consequently, we ended up back at the RyanAir desk, whose staff had (understandably) no sympathy; they definitely warned us earlier. With check-in closed, our only option was to change our flight to the next morning, which came with an even steeper fee. Kindly, RyanAir gave us an hour to make the decision, and since our flight had yet to leave, we decided to keep trying to print those tickets. After much running around the airport (with weighty luggage in tow), we found a sort of hidden customer service desk that knew how to help. Jillian had her ticket and mine saved on her computer, so we could transfer them to the airport computers via flash drive, avoiding the detection of RyanAir. Hooray! BUT, our last friend's ticket was not saved there, so he was definitely not flying that evening. Jillian decided to stay with him and sent me to accompany our other friend (a very anxious traveler) who actually made the flight. 

With only a few minutes left, I sprinted through security and to the gate. Thankfully, the boarding line was enormous, so I had a moment to breathe. Phew! As we neared the door, one of the Americans in front of me noticed that I had not gotten my ticket stamped. Shoot. Citizens not of the EU must go to that delightful RyanAir desk (which is definitely on the other side of the airport) to get their ticket stamped, sort of like a customs process. In my hurried state, I had totally forgotten. Since we were already so close to the gate, I decided to try getting through without the stamp. Clearly, people who did not show their passport were passing through without question, so I held mine underneath my papers. The ticket man took mine, began ripping it, and unfortunately got a slight glimpse of my passport at the last minute. So close! I should have left it in my bag entirely, and I probably would have made it. He refused to let me on unless I got the stamp. Off I ran/walked (exhaustion was beating out adrenaline at that point). Back out security and across the airport, I got that thing stamped. Through security again, sweating up a storm, I plowed back to the gate, only to find that the gate closed... merely a minute or so before my return. I collapsed in a chair for a while. Good grief.

Once slightly more composed, I walked out through security again (the workers were sad to see I failed, but I just told them that I should have trained more beforehand). My friends and I purchased tickets for the next morning and sought out decent chairs for sleeping. By this time, it was around 11:30 pm (we left the dorm in Granada around 5:30 pm), so it was time for some sleep. While getting settled, we met an Italian guy, who is also studying in Granada. I deliriously chatted with him for a while, and I think my Spanish might just be better in that state. Who knows. I cannot exactly remember what we talked about, but finally I decided to forego fears of being rude and went to sleep. Best sleep of my life, hands down... as in, not. I managed to score at least an hour, maybe, and was awake to catch the next flight. 

We arrived in Barcelona around 10 or 11 am, got a little turned around on the metro, and found our way, in the rain, to our hostel. The staff was so welcoming and graciously helped us settled in, providing us with plenty of blankets and coffee. 

And thus concludes part one of Barcelona. More to come later! And do not worry, we had a little bit more luck on our side from here on out. 

Until later!

Rainy days are happy ones indeed

Due to an internship I have on Mondays and Wednesdays (I work with an elderly woman, helping her do various tasks and providing her with company), all of my classes were scheduled for Tuesdays and Thursdays. Those days are long ones indeed, but absolutely fantastic in terms of Spanish practice.

In any event, my first class begins at 8:30 am, so I am always frantically scrambling about in the mornings, as expected. The sun has yet to rise and my roommate does not have class until later, so I clamber around in the dark, typically. Naturally, coffee is worked into my routine, so I always run downstairs to fill up my mug. The coffee is made the night before, I think, and stored in jars, so I toss (literally) it in the microwave when I return upstairs. Yesterday, I managed to microwave the coffee for far too long, and seeing as I did not have time to both wait for it to cool down and drink it before having to leave, I opened the bathroom window and placed the mug on the window sill. Success! During this time of year, Granada is consistently pretty cold in the mornings, so the coffee cooled down quickly and I got to endure a solid, bone-chilling breeze while touching up my makeup. On the plus side, I could hear the doves cooing outside in the abandoned building next door– so peaceful. Actually, I will be honest. I am pretty sure those birds are pigeons, but doves seem more preferable, especially if one’s coffee is chilling on a ledge, wonderfully exposed to any and all flying creatures. Doves it is.

The normal overcast skies of the morning remained throughout the day, producing rain on and off, a rare occurrence here. While Granada is so beautiful on fair weather days (the streets are filled with finely dressed individuals and the snowcapped mountains can be seen so clearly), rainy days are just as wonderful. Elderly couples walk under shared umbrellas with arms linked, and at night the old-fashioned street lights reflect off the wet roads. On multiple occasions yesterday, as a result of both being distracted by Granada’s beauty and in a hurry (typical Rachel), I nearly wiped out while out and about. This I brought upon myself, though, as walking around Granada on rainy days truly requires some focus; most of the sidewalks are tiled, which provide quite the classy appearance… and also a very slippery surface. Someday, maybe I will learn.

After my last class, which finished around 6:30, I booked it across town (quite haphazardly, once more) to make it to a showing of the movie Hitchcock. By saving most of my Spain preparations until the last minute, I did not have the chance to see this movie, so you can imagine my immense delight upon finding it at a nearby theatre. On the way, I got stuck behind one of the sidewalk scrubber trucks that are always plugging around the city Granada is known for being super clean, and these Zamboni-like machines, complete with at least two huge scrubber wheels (like one finds in a car wash) certainly help maintain this reputation. With the narrow nature of some streets, one can hardly squeeze by the scrubbers. It was raining, so I was not too bothered by the extra, momentary spray of water as I rushed past. As the Spaniards love to say, no pasa nada (no worries).

The movie theatre had just about as much business as one would expect for a Tuesday evening. The individual theatres themselves were interesting in that the floor developed into an incline as one got to the front rows. Smart! Much easier than having to crane your neck. The movie was dubbed in Spanish, but it was not too hard to get the gist of things. According to one of my professors, each actor and actress has the same dubbed voice consistently in all of their films. Makes sense.

The movie was so fantastic, of course, and almost makes me long for Netflix to revisit some of Hitchcock’s classics. Project for the summer. For now, so much more exploring to be done!

 

Carnaval!

Ever since arriving in Spain, flyers for the Carnaval celebration in Cadiz have been plastered absolutely everywhere in Granada. Essentially the closest celebration to a Brazilian carnaval one can find on the mainland of Spain, Cadiz is well-known for its two-week long series of parades, performances, and party-filled streets. Naturally, my friends and I were obligated to make the four hour pilgrimage to this coastal city.

The grand journey began at 9 am on Saturday. Carnaval is all about having a crazy time before Lent begins, and over the years costumes have become customary; in the beginning people dressed up to disguise their identities while they were acting in less-than-civil ways, but today the costumes are just one more way to be purely outrageous. Dressed in our finest of costumes (I donned the outfit of a flamenco dancer or gypsy… it was up for interpretation), we boarded a bus and set off.

Even the children were dressed in their very finest. 

The true caranval festivities do not begin until nightfall, and since we arrived fairly early in the day we ventured to the beach. Cadiz, being on the coast of the Atlantic and therefore a vital port city, is one of the older establishments in Spain. Alongside the beach are huge stone and concrete walls, creating quite an imposing image over the ocean. Other caranval-goers were enjoying the beach as well, wandering about in their costumes. My roommate, being the fantastic person that she is, took it upon herself to truly experience the beach of Cadiz by stripping down to a tank and shorts, booking it across the sand, and diving into the very freezing water. It is safe to say that she was definitely the only person to go in the ocean that day. Props. I stuck to shell-collecting, which turned into sea glass-finding, to my great delight.

The coast of Cadiz

 Come nightfall, the narrow streets and sprawling plazas of Cadiz filled with very inebriated people of all nationalities. The costumes were everything imaginable and unimaginable, for sure. Lego men, wizards, decks of cards, and so many unidentifiable characters were among the choices in attire. The center of the party could be found in the plaza of Cadiz’s cathedral (ironic, no?). The grand steps leading up to the cathedral were covered in masses of singing and dancing people. Music could be heard, but only mainly in that area, as it was being played from your average-sized boom box, not huge speakers.

The hoards of party peoples by the cathedral.

We met lots of new acquaintances as we bee-bopped and danced around the crowd. One man, Ricardo, who was probably in his fifties or so, spoke to me for the longest time about the chauvinist ways of Spanish men today. He recounted a few Native American and Peruvian fables about love and respect, explaining that those are lost values. I also learned about his 27 year old girlfriend, children, and extensive travels. Though much of what he said was not exactly cohesive, it was certainly quite interesting and entertaining. Eventually, I explained that I needed to leave for dinner with my friends. Before I could leave, he insisted that he had a gift for me… after fumbling around in his coat pockets for a minute, he produced a small wooden elephant with carved, geometric designs. Ricardo thanked me for listening to him and told me to keep the little trinket, which he got while in Africa, for good luck. I have kept in on my person ever since.

My friends and I did in fact search for dinner next, which proved difficult as very few restaurants had their interiors open for diners (most just served snack-type foods and drinks out their windows… understandably so, as the loco carnavalers surely would have trashed the restaurants, given the chance). Finally, we found a café, of the extremely classy variety, and dined among the citizens of Cadiz who chose not to participate in caranval. Indeed, we felt out of place in our costumes, but we were hungry and pretty cold (the beach winds were getting the best of us for sure).  The prices were surprisingly not too bad, so I opted for quail with berry sauce and a cup of green tea to warm my belly. I thought it was the most contradictory thing on the menu to the whole caranval experience. After an hour of fine dining, good posture, shiny silverware, and staring patrons, we returned to the madness of the streets. More dancing and wandering ensued. We met Spaniards and fellow Americans, danced the Macarena, which the Spaniards LOVE, and crunched a great deal of broken glass. 

Oh so much trash.

We finished the night off with chocolate-filled churros, as we were frozen to the core and definitely needed something remotely warm. Our bus, though scheduled to depart at 3:30 am, left around 4:15 due to many stragglers who had difficulty finding the bus. Despite the delay, some people were left behind (luckily, everyone in my group managed to make it back). Other buses and groups were leaving at 6 or 7 am, which none of us could imagine, as we were totally wiped out by the time we left. Phew! Upon returning to Granada around 8 am, I made a beeline for the showers (I was smelling and looking oh so lovely at that point), and then hit the bed until 4 that afternoon. Caranaval certainly took it out of us, but it was such a great experience nonetheless.