Wednesday, February 20, 2013

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!
 

Monday, February 18, 2013

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.  

Tuesday, February 12, 2013

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.

Wednesday, February 6, 2013

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.

Tuesday, February 5, 2013

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.

Sunday, February 3, 2013

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 4th, 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.