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.  

Festival de San Cecilio

Hola, amigos! Time for update number 2. 

Note (number 1): On here, "hola" is underlined as misspelled, yet "amigos" remains uncorrected. Strange.

Note (number 2): In the Arab quarter I bought a very small bag of a tea called Mil y una noche. Directly translated, this means, "a thousand and one night," but in actuality, the name is Arabian Nights. Beautiful! At la tetería (house/shop of happy teas), I asked for a floral variety, and the shop owner most certainly made a good choice. I think the warm, very soothing scent is my favorite part. Yep. Definitely.

Alright, now on to the story. Like most Catholic communities, Granada has a patron saint, San Cecilio. Every year in February, a celebration is held at Sacromonte, from the base of the mountain and upwards, which consists of much flamenco dancing, eating, drinking, and partaking in conversation with friends (basically the ideal day for a Spaniard of Andalucia!). Anyways, despite our program director's advice to take the bus, my friends and I chose to walk, which ended up being more like an almost hike. Not surprisingly, we mixed up the location, so after wandering up and down and all around the Albayzin neighborhood, we arrived at the main plaza that overlooks Granada. Definitely no celebration there. Couples were sitting on the wall, children were running rampant, and gypsies were selling their wares -- basically, nothing had changed since the last time we visited that plaza just two days prior. Of course, it was at that moment that someone in our group remembered the original news article and therefore the correct location. After making a pit stop at a church to climb the bell tower, we set off to the next mountain over, which we could then see was covered in people making the pilgrimage up. Sometimes being observant can come in handy, I suppose.

As soon as we started in the correct direction, we hit streets filled with the locals of Granada, all chatting and already eating fair-style foods. The several tiers surrounding the Sacromonte Abbey were filled with people, who were all mostly either in line for more food or trying to secure a spot to see the dance performances. 

The main tier of the festival, flamenco dancers and all!

People were tucked away everywhere around the mountain, enjoying the music, smells, and good company.

My roommate, Jillian, and I decided to seek out a certain large bread that everyone seemed to be enjoying. While on the hunt, we met two other Americans who were just in Granada for the weekend, as they are studying in Barcelona. Interestingly, even though our new friends, Robert and Sera, had been in Spain almost twice as long as we had, they knew very little Spanish, which they readily admitted. Barcelona is located in the Catalonia region of Spain, where everyone speaks, well, Catalan. True, the people there do know Spanish, but Catalonia is currently seeking independence and considers itself a nation already. Most of the people speak in Catalan, so some students have trouble improving their Spanish skills. 

Side note: in one of my classes, "Society and Politics in Spain," my professor mentioned how the likelihood of Catalonia becoming a country is low. The European Union would deny Catalonia membership, as all countries in the EU must be in agreement to welcome in new states (and Spain would most assuredly vote no). As a non-EU country, Catalonia would suffer from great taxes and other border-related issues. Interesting.

In any event, back at the mount...

With our new friends in tow, we did plenty of people-watching and managed to obtain (and consume, of course) bowls of paella, a traditional local rice dish. Yum! Our friends prattled on and on about the wild and expensive life of Barcelona and how Granada is easily a more friendly place. Score! Eventually we parted ways and all bid the festival goodbye. 

Hiking, oh so long overdue

Hola a todos! My sincere apologies the recent lack of postings. What follows is looking to be the first in a series of catch-up ramblings. Take a brief moment to totally disregard any sense of chronology. I myself cannot even assign a date to things anymore. Life’s been quite the blur (in the best way possible, of course!).

Granada is situated at the base of smaller mountains, which eventually grow into the grand Sierra Nevada range. The closest of these mountains house the Alhambra fortress and the Sacromonte Abbey, both of which are within walking distance from the city center. As we had already explored the touristy and civilized sectors of these mountains, it was high time we became acquainted with the actual terrain.

A group of about seven of us set out mid-afternoon with hopes of maybe seeing the sun set over Granada. Hopping on the first trail spotted, we walked along the mountain’s edge, quickly ascending above the valley and fields with grazing sheep. Quickly we fell under the mountain’s shadow, so the pair of gloves of neglected to bring were definitely necessary. The trees along the trail were so glorious, as many were covered in  bright yellow lichen.  These trees arched over and around the path, creating such an eerie feeling. Even more exciting, though, were the precarious, winding paths that led off of the hiking trail. And what did these paths lead to? The caves of the gypsies! Granada is extremely well-known for the enormous number of caves located in the neighboring mountains, particularly because gypsies have refurbished (added doors, windows, drapes, wifi, etc.) the rocky dwellings to make temporary or permanent homes. Some of the caves are actually located in the heart of the Albayzin and host flamenco shows in the evenings. These off our trail, though, were so far from anything like an established neighborhood. Old metal chairs and cushions littered the ground outside many of the caves. Each, though, was decorated in a colorful and unique fashion. They’re homes, after all!

Eventually, the trail began to split of every so often, so with our masterful choosing and senses of direction, we hit a dead end. In my opinion, it was a dead end only in the very most technical sense. By this point, we were high enough on the mountain that the trees had dispersed and only sparse shrubbery surrounded us. So close to the top! Why stop? Onward it was! Only one friend joined me on the continuation of the journey. The grade was steep (possibly why the trail ended), so we simply crawled up along the grass and rocks… and widespread thickets of thorns! Again, that neglected pair of gloves…

No, we never did quite make it to the top, as it was taking longer than we anticipated (as do all great climbs), so we traversed the mountain and found a trail leading down to a bike path that wrapped around the mountain. There, we ran into some of our hiking crew who too decided to venture off with adventure in mind. After rounding a few corners and almost being obliterated by speeding cyclists, seeing a hint of the sunset, and crossing a few very incredibly ancient aqueducts, we proceeded back to home base.

That mountain peak will be reached another day, of course. Of this I am certain.

A Miniture Sort of Post

Once my class schedule is actually finalized, expect loads of details concerning my academic experiences thus far. Just this evening, I switched to an 8:30 am class, which is tomorrow (a crazy thought, no? Rachel is going to need some serious espresso). For this reason, tonight's post will be brief (or as brief as Rachel can be...).

For starters, I am tucked happily away in bed and my feet are very warm. Today was quite windy, so my little toes are extra appreciative of my multiple blankets.

Secondly, my tummy is full to the max. Warm toes, full belly, happy Rachel. And how did I arrive at this point? CEA (my study abroad program), treated all of its students to churros con chocolate, or churros with chocolate. Indeed, this dish is as lovely and delectable as it sounds. The churros here are simply long cylinders of fried dough. Scrumptious points already. The churros come with a cup of melted chocolate in which the churros are dipped, dunked, or if you're Rachel, completely submerged and fished out with multiple utensils. Depending on the venue, the chocolate varies in thickness, but no matter what, it is warm and delicious on so many levels. Typically, one has extra chocolate left over after the churros are consumed... so depending on how lady-like one is feeling, said chocolate can be slurped down or sipped daintily. A happy Spanish tradition indeed.

New Friends All Around

My two latest acquaintances are certainly worth noting.

 

First, after attending a festival for Granada’s patron saint (which will be described in greater detail later), my roommate, Jillian, and I ventured off into the Albayzin (the Arab quarter) instead of continuing further down the mountain to our home. The streets are lined with narrow shops, which sell products typical of Morocco. The vendors generally stand outside the entrances and encourage passersby to explore their wares. From store to store, there is slight variation in products and prices, but overall, once one has visited one of these shops, all has been seen. Jillian was searching for a set of Moroccan tea glasses for a friend of hers, so we were venturing into every shop quite systematically, as to find the very best prices and designs.

One shop, though, had no owner outside; instead, he sat inside around a corner, messing with trinkets and papers at his desk. As we neared the back of the store, we heard “The Circle of Life” playing, so quite naturally we had to take a moment to dramatically sing along. What we thought was a subtle performance apparently caught the attention of the shop owner, who came over to ask if we preferred a different song (oops!). We assured him that on the contrary, we loved the song, and all those of the Lion King variety, for that matter. Introductions then followed (all in English, by the way), and before we knew it, our new friend started showing us a project of his: an Iron Man suit. Apparently, he moved to Granada from Morocco to attend the university for civil engineering. Since school, he has worked in his shop, but still loves constructing things, particularly those related to comics. In the past, he participated in many of Spain’s comic-cons, always dressed in full, hand-made costumes.

His Iron Man suit is still in the works, and though he really only has a mask so far, it is quite impressive. The design, firstly, is spot on. The mechanics are what truly complete the work, as he has it wired so the eyes light up exactly like the real Iron Man mask. In addition to this mask, he has one glove/mechanical hand that is half finished. Jillian asked if she could take a picture with him and his mask, but he explained that he is not proud of his work until it is completed. Promptly, he took down our emails, which he wrote in a small notebook beside the email address of a British woman. In a few months’ time, we will receive photos of his finished costume. Of course, he wishes for us to visit in the meantime, and we will most certainly oblige.

 

Friend number two: Yesterday morning, as I impatiently watched my bread toast, a new girl wandered into the kitchen, making a beeline for the busy, already cooking senoras. With a bit of difficulty, this girl explained that she desired a room change, as hers was not suitable – it was cold and small. The senoras kindly explained that the residencia’s owner could make the change, but for the time being, they themselves could do nothing. Despite the senoras’ explanations, the girl pressed on, quite insistently. Clearly, communication was an issue (among others, possibly).

Anyways, finally the senoras managed to satisfy the girl. She then proceeded to examine each container of milk and finally asked me, in Spanish, what the labels meant. I could not figure out exactly what needed to be done, as she did not speak English (I know she heard me talking to another American), but her Spanish was most obviously minimal. How on earth should the difference between skim, whole, and 2% be explained? I tried a lite mix of English, Spanish, and lots of gesticulating… eventually, with the help of the senoras, we got the point across. By this time, my toast was nice and toasted – the distraction certainly made it toast faster.

As I moved to jam and butter said toast, the girl introduced herself as Sarah (from France) and explained once more her room predicament. After a few minutes, we slowly progressed to the dining room, where she continued her rant about the ridiculous nature of her living situation. Occasionally, she ventured into other topics, such as couses, length of time in Spain, etc. Honestly, though, I understood very little; she spoke a little bit of Spanish but with a heavy French accent… but mostly just French. I felt bad for her, though, as she was truly distressed by her sad little room. She repeatedly mentioned the window and needing fresh air, too. It did help that she kept restating her complaints because it definitely took a few listens to comprehend her words.

In any event, once I finished eating (she never did eat the two pastries she grabbed… they just stayed in her hands), she dragged me to her room. Granted, we went down a wrong hall or two, but finally we found it. That poor girl did have reason to be a little put off, I suppose, as her room really only had enough room to shimmy between the twin bed and the armoire. Mounted about shoulder’s height on the wall was the radiator, which most certainly was not working at the time. This radiator was extremely close in proximity to the desk. Wedged in an awkward corner, if one sat at that desk (provided the heater felt like functioning), skin would be burned for sure. I apologized for her situation, and we then ran up to my room so she could investigate. Seeing as my room is for two people, it is far larger, and Sarah, being the ultra-determined person that she clearly is, wanted to know the exact price of having such a room, etc.

Do not worry, though, today at breakfast Sarah’s spirits were much better – a room switch was granted! My goodness. After sharing another meal with her, I am still uncertain of why she is here. Either she is teaching a French class at the master’s level or she is taking courses at the master’s level to eventually teach French. No clue. I enjoy her company, though, especially with her sometimes twitchy facial expressions as she tries to think of a word and her eagerness to make conversation. Speaking with her is proving to be such a great opportunity to practice Spanish, as it is far less intimidating since she too is learning.

Specifics Concerning life in la Residencia

Granted, we have yet to settle into anything close to a schedule or routine (our classes start tomorrow, the 4^th, so a schedule we will soon have), but easily we are adapting to the ways of our home, la residencia [the residence hall]. Owned not by the school but by individuals (like apartment complexes), the residencias are scattered about the city. In actuality, I am pretty sure they are former apartments and flats renovated for student living, but I could be wrong. Our residencia is five floors – each floor has four doors leading into uniquely constructed and decorated halls (stickers of roses and other various flowers, sometimes as large as three feet tall, adorn my hall’s walls. Off of these halls lie the actual rooms. My room, though, is attached to a kitchen and bathroom. Though these two facilities are for the hall’s general use, most often the girls use the other bathroom, etc. Our space is referred to as the apartment – we definitely lucked out. The room itself is outfitted with two twin beds, armoires, desks, chairs for said desks, and side tables. Most importantly, the flower stickers did not halt at the door – above my roommate’s desk is a whole field of sunflowers, complete with multi-colored butterflies hovering overhead. The bedding is hot pink with seventies –style Barbie pictures on the inside. Festive? Our first night, my bed only had one sheet and the covers, and seeing as there is no central heat, that night proved to be very cold. Definitely hibernation mode. Anyways, after a few nights each of our beds magically received wool blankets. Simultaneously, our little space heater began to work as well, which all made for a very happy place during the first week of cold, rainy days. 

My side of the room. Sparse but comfy.

Here in the residencia, senoras clean, cook, and act as mothers for the students. Every Monday and Friday they clean the rooms quite thoroughly; Tuesdays are laundry days, so we place our clothes outside our door and the items are returned a few days later in a huge basket (smelling quite fresh, might I add). Meals are served within the building, too, on the second floor. The dining hall is a room big enough for about eight tables, all set with plates and silverware upon entry.
 

the largest of the flower stickers

Breakfast is self-serve, and the kitchen is open for students to prepare toast, oatmeal, and assorted pastries. My favorite choice for breakfast is toast with tomato puree, olive oil, salt, and pepper (I noticed many of the students preparing this on my first day, and for good reason – it is oh so delicious). The senoras are already working on the food for lunch and dinner, so shrimp and chicken are often soaking in absolutely massive pots. Coffee is made and stored in tall glass containers, so whoever wants some joe just pours a glass to heat in the microwave (literally, in a glass; none of the students use the mugs). Coffee most typically is not consumed black, but with an equal part of milk to make café con leche. Breakfast is served between 8 and 10 am, so the kitchen usually is not too crowded. A few times I have eaten with the Spanish students, which is a true exercise in my Spanish competency. Early morning Rachel has trouble enough communicating in English. Other days, I roll in at the later end of breakfast and enjoy a quiet, very peaceful meal.

Lunch and dinner differ from breakfast in that the students are served by the senoras and an incredibly wonderful man named Antonio. Tall, slim, and probably in his late fifties, Antonio is a man of few words and generally maintains a fairly serious expression, though he is quick-witted and loves joking with the students. Some of the Spanish girls like to shout and sing at meals, and I always catch him casting hilarious looks (to no one in particular), most of which are made by raising his eyebrows in unusual ways. He is patient and caring, constantly wanting to please both the Spanish and foreign residents. Upon our arrival, he learned our names; whenever someone does not favor a certain dish or cuisine, he takes note and will have other foods prepared instead.

Most meals begin with a soup or stew (for dinner, the soup is more often than not a twist on chicken noodle), followed by a main course of meat and vegetables. Never are vegetables served raw in any way; they are always at least cooked in a decent amount of olive oil. Most any dish, for that matter, involves olive oil, typical to the Mediterranean region. Bread, too, is always present and in vast quantities. Upon request, Antonio will bring a set of olive oil, vinegar, salt, and pepper for seasoning the bread and food, if one wishes (though the food is always cooked to perfection, in my opinion). Living in the residencia definitely provides the opportunity to truly experience and understand Spanish cuisine, to my great delight. One night, though, we did have hot dogs, which they called frankfurters. My friends and I, quite instinctively, picked up our hot dogs and chowed down; as we were finishing up I noticed that the Spanish students were definitely using their forks and knives to eat the hot dogs. Typical Americans, eating like barbarians. Noted. Sometimes, like on hot dog night, ketchup, mayo, and mustard are set out on the table, along with a sauce called “New York Sauce,” which is orange-ish and tastes either like ketchup mixed with mayo or spicy ranch – not totally sure.

To finish the meal, Antonio always offers dessert, and the options include chocolate mousse, yogurt, mandarin oranges, apples, or homemade flan with a cookie crust. The oranges are my go-to, for sure. One night I finally perfected peeling the little orange in a spiral fashion, and apparently Antonio was not completely pleased with my methods, so he snatched my second orange, and unpeeled it himself. Sure, he relieved that orange of its peel quite rapidly, but the peel was in multiple pieces. I’ll stick with my methods for now, but I now try to do so secretively, as not to displease dear Antonio. Admittedly, I still do not completely understand what he was trying to show me! Oh, and I forgot to mention, after unpeeling it he popped a piece of the peel in his mouth and sauntered off. Naturally, I tried the peel as well, and orange peels in Spain are no different than at home. Nasty.

 

For the time being, I think that covers the residencia. A couple quick notes: 1. There are mirrors everywhere (in most every building here, actually). 2. The shower is uber small, as in for hardly one person. I guess rooms and spaces are generally smaller in Europe (and in cities, typically), but also conservation is much bigger here; motivated by finances and environmental concerns, Spaniards are very keen on saving electricity and water. Additionally, these older buildings and structures are simply not built with the capacity for endless supplies of hot water or nine different charging electronic devices. 3. Today is Sunday, the only day the dining room is closed, and I miss Antonio dearly. He’s too cool.

In any event, the hour is late and tomorrow is the first day of class. The Super Bowl is broadcasting at a few Irish pubs, but I’m opting out, as things will not get rolling until midnight or so. Enjoy the festivities, my Americans, and I hope everyone has a delightful start to the week.

Adios por hora, amigos.