Que mañana no llegue…

No puedo creer que me quedo apenas 24 horas en Madrid. Todavía no he aceptado que esta nocha será la última vez que ceno a la mesa en la que he cenado casi cada noche de los últimos cuatro y pico meses. La última vez que entro muy tarde por la noche (o muy temprano de la madrugada, si quieres verlo así) al edificio que en muchas formas ha sentido como hogar más que lo en que crecí. La última vez que me doy un paseito por El Parque del Buen Retiro, la última vez que puedo beber en la calle sin miedo de castigar por la policía, la última vez que escucho la risa de mi madre española que siempre me hace sonreir por la pared, la última vez que disfruto la magica que es un crepe después de una noche a las discotecas. La última vez que estaré rodeado por la gente de una cultura tan bonita, única y llena de vida como la de España.

Home.

No estoy lista para salir. He pasado toda mi vida esperando la próxima camino, contando los días y horas hasta las próximas vacaciones o semestre o verano o Navidad o lo que sea. Pero ya mismo, por la primera vez en mi vida, no me siento que tenga que pasar a la próxima cosa tan pronto como posible. Me siento supercontenta aqui, porque me quedo muchísimo aprender — español (que es claro si hables español, disculpan los errores!), de mi madre española, quien es la persona con la más sabiduría que conozco, de los familias que pasan juntos por Retiro los domingos por la tarde, de la sangria y las tapas y las tradiciones de las que la ciudad de Madrid está tan orgullosa.

Por la primera vez, he aprendido como vivir por cada día. He aprendido que trabajando hacia éxito sin viviendo la vida sencilla de seres humanos es perder la significida de la vida. He aprendido que seguir conocer las personas de culturas diferentes es una de las más importantes cosas que quiero en mi futuro. He aprendido que puedo sobrevivir miles de millas de todo de lo que conozco y no sólo sobrevivir, sino también ser superfeliz.

Me nego aceptar que esta camino ya está terminado, porque no está. Con estas palabras, me prometo a mí misma que nunca olvidaré todo de lo que me ha enseñado España. No tendré miedo de lo que no conozco, porque llegando a España fue la más grande riesgo y la más grande éxito de mi vida. Voy a volver a España, pero no para una semana de las vacaciones — quiero vivir aqui de nuevo y terminar la camino asombroso que he comienzado hace cuatro meses. Estoy seguro que la despedida mañana será la más díficil cosa que he tenido que hacer (dura vida, ¿eh?). Pero es que por la primerz vez no tengo prisa a pasar adelante en algún otro sitio. Quiero pasar adelante aqui mismo con la vida aqui que apenas he empezado deserrollar.

Lo que voy a recordar con lo más destacar de estos meses serán las cosas pequeñas — como el conductor del autobús durante Azahar fue incluido en el grupo de los profesores como fuera él uno de ellos. Las profesoras cantando ‘Hala Madrid’ en el autobús antes de El Clásico. El portatero de mi edificio me diciendo, ‘Hola, guapísima’ cada tarde cuando llegaba a casa de clase. El sueño de la voz de mi señora cada noche cuando dijo, “Niñas, a cenar!” El camino desde Retiro a casa, y la sensacíon de tranquilidad y felicidad que acompañarse. Hablando con personas que hablaban menos inglés que yo hablo español y esta sensacíon de orgulla.

Así que aunque tengo lagrimas en mis ojos que no acabarán por un rato largo, me prometo a mí misma que siempre vivir las lecciónes de Madrid. intentaré estar tranquila, haré las cosas que me hagan feliz, pasaré tiempo con los que quiero, y SIEMPRE llevaré el ánimo de esta hermosa y única ciudad a cada sitio que yo vaya. Gracias por todo, Madrid — estaré de vuelta.

I cannot believe that I only have 24 hours left in Madrid. (Actually, in this moment I have less, since it took me a hell of a long time to write this in Spanish first.) I still haven’t accepted that tonight will be the last time I eat dinner at the table I’ve eaten dinner practically every night for the last four and some-odd months (this is causing me MUCHÍSIMO depression — you guys in New York will likely be able to hear the mental breakdown I already know I’m going to have when we finish dessert). The last time that I walk very late at night, or early in the morning if you look at it that way, into the building that in many ways feels more like home than the one in which I grew up. The last time that I take a walk through Retiro Park, the last time that I can drink in the street without worrying about the police, the last time that I hear my Spanish mom’s laugh that always makes me smile through the wall, the last time that I can enjoy the magic that is a crepe after a night at the clubs (or, you know, as a 2 p.m. pick-me-up). The last time that I will be surrounded by the people of a culture as beautiful, unique, and full of life as Spain’s.

I’m not (not, Not, NOt, NOT) ready to go. I’ve spent my whole life waiting for the next path, counting the hours and days until the next vacation or semester or summer or Christmas or whatever. But now, for the first time in my life, I don’t feel like I have to move on to the next thing ASAP. I feel great here where I am, because I have so much more to learn — Spanish (which is clear if you speak Spanish and read my above post, sorry amigos); from my host mom, the wisest person I’ve ever met; from the families that stroll through Retiro on Sunday afternoons; from the sangria and the tapas and the unique traditions of which the city of Madrid is so proud.

I’ve learned here to live for each day. I’ve learned that working toward success without taking time to enjoy the simple human life is to lose the meaning of life altogether. I’ve learned that continuing to meet people from different cultures is one of the most important things I want in my future. I’ve learned that I can live thousands of miles from everything I know and not only survive, but be happy.

I refuse to accept that this journey is over now, because it’s not. With these words, I promise myself I’ll never forget everything Spain has taught me. I won’t be afraid of the unknown, because coming to Spain was the biggest risk and the biggest success of my life. I will come back to Spain, but not for a week of vacation — I want to live here again and finish the amazing journey I started four months ago. I am positive that tomorrow’s goodbye will be the most difficult thing I’ve ever had to do (tough life, I know). It’s just that for the first time I’m in no hurry to move on to somewhere else. I want to move on right here with the life I just started to develop.

What I’m going to remember most prominently about these months will be the little things — the way the bus driver on the Azahar seminar was included in the group of professors as if he was a professor too. A few of the professors singing ‘Hala Madrid’ on the bus before El Clásico. The doorman of the building saying ‘Hola, guapísima’ when I came home from school every day. My host mom calling us to dinner with ‘Niñas, a cenar!” every night (ohhhh how I’m going to miss this…I’m really struggling with this whole no-more-cenas thing). The walk from Retiro to home, and the feeling of peace that comes with it. Talking to people that speak less English than I do Spanish and the sense of pride that hey, we can still communicate.

So even though I have tears in my eyes that aren’t going to stop for a lo0o0o0ong time, I promise myself that I will always live Madrid’s lessons. I’ll try to always be tranquila, I’ll do what makes me happy, and I’ll  carry the spirit of this beautiful and singular city with me wherever I go. Thank you for everything, Madrid — I’ll be back.

 

Campeónes, campéones, olé olé olé

I love Madrid.

In two days I’ve had two absolutely incredibly, truly and uniquely Spanish experiences. Yesterday was the bullfight, which I have to write a paper on tomorrow and therefore will write about here tomorrow too (might as well conserve the brainpower and do all the thinking in the same time span, ¿tu sabes?). Then today. Ah, today. Hoy. What a día. As you may or may not know, Real Madrid won La Liga (the Spanish soccer league) last night. They haven’t won in several years, so the whole city is elated. Tonight at 7 there was a celebration in Plaza Cibeles, near the center of Madrid.

After class a bunch of us walked to Plaza Colón, halfway between our school and Plaza Cibeles, to wait for the bus that was carrying the team. I am a Barcelona fan, Madrid’s mortal enemy, so I wasn’t sure if it was morally acceptable for me to go and had a serious discutimiento with myself. Ultimately I decided since I love every single other aspect of the city of Madrid and above all I’m really a fan of good soccer more than any team, I could justify my attendance at the celebración. So off we went to Colón, where we were joined by what seemed like half of Madrid — decked out in Ronaldo and Casillas jerseys, chugging 40’s of Mahou beer and singing one of the Real Madrid songs: “Campeónes, campeónes, olé olé olé.”

The police escort came down the road (three times the size of the president of Polond’s escort in Portugal) and then came the bus with the entire team on the top deck. I was, like, 15 feet from the entire equipo. I almost vomited from excitement. Luckily I didn’t because I was so close they would have seen me!!! Anyway, the bus passed and then we followed it down its path to Plaza Cibeles. In Plaza Cibeles it felt like todo el mundo was there, from tiny niños on their parents’ shoulders to abuelos. There were huge speakers set up playing all of Madrid’s songs (as well as “We are the Champions,” por supuesto). Everyone was singing and dancing with the team on the bus in the middle.

La energía en la plaza se sientó electrica. Spain is approaching 26% unemployment and their economy is on the verge of failing. But the word crisis might as well not have existed in Plaza Cibeles tonight. The whole city cared only about its team celebrating los campeónes de La Liga. Although it was a huge crowd with lots of alcohol and chaos, no one was out of control. I looked up at the Spanish flag blowing in the wind at the top of Banco de España (a BEAUTIFUL building) and then at Casillas and Pepe dancing on top of the bus while thousands of people sang the Real Madrid anthems and I got so caught up in the excitement I started yelling ¡Hala Madrid! (This is the worst  move a FC Barcelona fan can commit. It’s like what Benedict Arnold did to America but worse.)

But even though Madrid winning La Liga means that Barcelona lost it, after tonight I was actually a little glad Madrid won this year (I might have to rename this blog Elora’s Deepest Darkest Confessions). I know we have big celebrations in the States and people go crazy over the Super Bowl and the World Series, but it’s not the same. Granted I don’t care about American football the way I do European football and I consider watching a baseball game cruel and unusual punishment, but the Real Madrid celebration was still something completely different.

According to my host mom, the one and only time Spain has been united since the fall of their former dictator Franco in 1975 was two years ago when Spain won the World Cup. As I traveled through Spain I noticed that too — the different provinces speak their own languages, eat their own foods, even fly their own flags above or, many times, instead of the Spanish flag. The one and only thing that has ever brought the people of Spain together was soccer, and you could practically see that level of energy flying with the streamers in the air. Así que para que pueda agradacerles a los jugadores de Real y la gente de Madrid por una experienca que jamás olvidaré, voy a decirlo una vez más…¡Hala Madrid!

Penthouses and Portugal

Two weekends ago (was it seriously two weekends ago!? Wasn’t I still in New York two weekends ago!?) was my last trip of the semester. It was my sixth country in four months, officially ending the most active period of my life ever. It was a great country to end on — Lisboa (Lisbon in English), Portugal is BEAUTIFUL. We went with the school so since I didn’t have to plan anything I kind of forgot I was going, but I was pleasantly surprised at how nice it was.

The pleasant surprise only increased when we got to our hotel and Carly, Danielle, and I got our room assignment, room 707. Vale. So we get into the elevator and see 7 is the top floor…vale again. We step off the elevator, and 707 is the only room on the floor, next to a lounge that opens up onto three different balconies. Turns out we had the penthouse suite to ourselves! There were several professors on this trip, so how we wound up with the penthouse I’ll never know, but we each ran out onto a balcony to yell to the Portugese world that we had the penthouse.

During the time we weren’t sitting on one of our balconies (the word “balconies” came up probably 7 million times during the weekend, just because it’s plural) enjoying the beautiful view (which I just went to post pictures of and realized I didn’t take any…hehehe, my b), we were out exploring Portugal with the school. I’m not a big fan of tour groups, especially ones filled with identical-looking millionaire Americans texting on their Blackberries behind sunglasses that are bigger than their faces instead of paying an iota of attention to the monuments that are older than the entire United States of America, but what can you do.

The first and second days we saw the Alfama, Torre de Belém, and the Padrao dos Descobrimentos with a lookout over the Tajo River. While we were getting our lookout on, a police-escorted brigade of cars pulled up to the river, and out stepped the president of Poland! We’re not sure why he was in Portugal, but he took some pictures by the river and then posed with a couple of SU students. It was cool to see a president so casual like that — his entourage was a quarter of the size of what Obama’s would have been. European Union for the win!

El presidente de Polonia!!

The next day we visited Palacio Nacional de Sintra and Cascais, a beautiful fishermen’s town. Oh, and we can’t forget the important aspect of visiting any foreign country, la comida! So lemme tell you…Portugal has these desserts called pasteles de Belém that are absolutely to die for. I don’t know what’s in them, maybe crack, maybe heaven, maybe both, I don’t know, but I definitely put on some kilos from those bad boys. But I don’t know the conversion between kilos and pounds so I figure it’s not real weight. Also the fish in Portugal, as you could probably imagine, is sabrosísima as well. The bacalao…ay dios mío, I would go back to Portugal just to eat.

We also went out to experience la vida noche de Lisboa…I’ve come to realize I’ve been going out in other countries not as much for the sake of going out as to ensure that Madrid’s nightlife really is the best in the world (it is, mis amigos). But Lisboa nightlife was still fun, the second night we brought a bit of Madrid across the frontera and botellóned on a pier next to a club, so we got free music…the hoodrat way to enjoy international nightlife, I suppose. Then the next day was an 8-hour bus trip back to España! Since then it’s been Spain, Spain, Spain, just the way I like it. Tomorrow I’m going to a corrida de toros (bullfight), for which the general consensus seems to be many Americans do not have sufficient cojones. Creo que los tengo…¡vamos a ver mañana!

 

Un viaje por Europa

¡Cuánto tiempo! I’ve been meaning to write about my spring break ever since I got back but la vida truly has been loca these past few weeks. This coming week is already the last week of classes. This is the first time in my entire life that course evaluations, final exam reviews and seeing “LAST CLASS” in my planner haven’t made me grin like a fool. I am excited to be done with classes, but I know that every second that brings me closer to the end of the semester brings me closer to the e-n-d of my semester in Madrid. But I’m not going to get into that right now because if I do I’ll burst into hysterical wailing tears, and just a few days ago I made friends with the neighbors across the hall in the elevator and don’t want to mess that up so soon into the relationship.

So as I said in my last post a million years ago, I made it out of the country sin algún problema. First stop was Prague, Czech Republic. We stayed with Danielle’s friend Max, who’s studying there for the semester and has an apartment with a bunch of other people. It was really fun to be in Prague with people who knew the city — they gave us the inside scoop on all the important things, like how to order a beer in Czech. The Czech Republic isn’t on the euro and the exchange rate was something like 32 krona for 1 euro, so I was as rich as a reina for three days!

For those of you who know that I don’t understand why we can’t just print more money in order to solve the economic crisis (I know the answer is “inflation” but I do not know what that means), don’t worry, I know I wasn’t actually rich. But it was fun to pretend, tu sabes? Anyway, Prague was a really cool city. It was much smaller and much, much, much quieter than Madrid. We saw the Prague castle, Old Town Square, the Charles Bridge, the John Lennon wall, and…The Hunger Games. It only just came out in Madrid this past weekend and Prague already had it, and in English — the odds were in our favor!

*Please ignore the obnoxious head tilt in this photo.*

The food in Prague was DELICIOUS. I had no idea what to expect of Czech food, so it therefore exceeded all my expectations, but even if I had had expectations they would not have been that high. One night I had one of the best dishes I’ve ever eaten in my life. It was some sort of potato concoction with cheese on top…I have no idea what it’s called but it reminded me a bit of a potato latke (pero latke 6.0) so I dubbed it Hanukkah con queso. We also went out one night with the group we were staying with and met up with their professor, who happened to be a really prominent Czech filmmaker. We all had a lengthy and animated debate about the merits of each Hogwarts house until last call (which was at, like, midnight…when Madrid bars are just opening.)

The second night we saw a Spanish tapas bar, so of course we went! I pretty much spent the whole trip getting disproportionately excited whenever I saw anything in Spanish or that had to do with Spain. I also responded to everyone who started speaking a different language to me with “Perdona, no hablo *insert language of given country here*” despite the fact that they were more likely to speak English than Spanish. Whoops.

So after a fun time in Prague we took an overnight train to Vienna. I felt like a badass 1970s American expatriate backpacker navigating the vibrant streets of Europe with my overnight Eurail pass. Of course I know that I’m a middle-class white girl in a structured study abroad semester at an overpriced university, pero da igual. The train beds still felt like an adventure.

Vienna was much bigger than Prague, and less quiet, though still quieter than Madrid. We only had two days here, so we spent a lot of time just walking through the city and checking everything out. We ate lunch at the top of this communications tower that spun so we could see the BEAUTIFUL view of the city. Vienna was definitely the prettiest city of the four I went to and was very tranquil. I totally get where Billy Joel was going with that one.

The next day we went to Austria’s Imperial Palace and checked out their government district/city center. It was all really pretty. At night we went to a sports bar which, of course, was playing a fútbol game (SERIOUSLY, how am I going back to the United States of Baseball!?!?). After our waiter asked us in German what we wanted to order and I replied in Spanish, we eventually sorted out that that we could all speak enough English to get by (although my Spanish has improved, my English has curiously gotten much worse since I’ve been here). Once we got that settled he brought us THE best beer I’ve had in Europe and delicious burgers. Quite a successful Viennese stay.

*Side note, I don’t know why so many of my pictures are blurry…Carly and I concluded my camera has a drinking problem.

Monday night it was off on another overnight train excursion to Frankfurt, Germany, where we arrived at 6 AM and then took the train to Berlin. I was all types of displeased about how early in the morning it was, but the sunrise was absolutely beautiful and entonces valío la pena. Anyway, in terms of history and culture Berlin was awesome. But I was not at all feelin the city itself. Berlin doesn’t have a center so the whole city felt very disconnected, the metro system was confusing as all hell, and a lot of the people we interacted with were not friendly. But still, the things we saw were incredible: the Jewish Museum, the Berlin Wall, and Sauschsenhausen concentration camp.

The Jewish Museum was fascinating, and I probably could have spent my whole time in Germany there. There were so many exhibits and history and information that it was overwhelming. One of my favorite exhibits had personal testimonies from people who lived all over Europe just before and during World War II about what it was like to be Jewish in Europe at that time. There was stuff on Einstein, the last remaining personal artifacts from Holocaust victims, a memorial garden…if you’re ever in Berlin, go to the Jewish Museum! It’s worth it.

The Berlin Wall was SO COOL. It took me a while to get over the fact that I was actually standing at the Berlin Wall. Usually I’m just boppin around in Syracuse or Newburgh eating Panera Bread sandwiches and watching Friends, yanno? Obviously the whole wall isn’t still up, but what’s left of it was painted in, I think, the 90s, with images and messages of peace and unity and all those cosas buenas. I have a TON of pictures of the wall on Facebook, so I’ll just post a few here.

The concentration camp was surreal. I’ve seen plenty of Holocaust movies and images, but actually being at the camp was something completely different. So many of the real barracks, medical experimentation “labs” (read: cold, dirty cabins), the ashes of victims, are still there. I learned a lot more than I’ve ever learned in school about the Holocaust and WWII. It was obviously a difficult and overwhelming experience, but it was something I’ve wanted to do for a long time and I’m REALLY glad I got the opportunity to go. Nothing can prepare you for it, but if everyone spent a day at a concentration camp site I think the world would be a different place.

So after Sauschenhausen I flew to London to meet up with my mom and my brother. When I first got to Heathrow I was overwhelmed by all the English — I went from three months of Spanish, to a couple days of Czech, to 4.5 days of German. It was kind of nice, but also a little alarming to be able to speak the language I actually know. Sometimes it’s cool to just go with the flow and have no idea what anyone is saying. Pero bueno, after a few seconds of silence while I translated my thoughts from Gibberish, I asked someone how to get to my mom and brother’s terminal and off I went. I had un poquito de un disastre with my phone — I left it at home in Madrid the morning I flew out, but I thought I took it with me and had lost it, so I had a new one shipped to me in Germany, but then I couldn’t activate that SIM card…anyway, long story short, I’m a dunce who was phoneless in London. Since I didn’t have a phone I just waited at the terminal for my mom and brother to emerge, but it took them forever, and then people started deplaning from the flight from Istanbul that came in after the one from JFK. After panicking a little I found a pay phone (LOL those still exist…thank goodness) and found mi familia a couple minutes later.

London was la bomba. I didn’t really think I would like it — I thought it would be NYC with accents — but it wasn’t at all. There was SO MUCH to do, so much interesting history and culture, surprisingly delicious food and even better hard cider, an easy metro system, absolutely beautiful parks…I definitely want to get back there at some point. Preferably after I make my millions though, since the pound could slay the dollar blindfolded and with its hands tied behind its back.

We did muchísimas cosas in London — Kensington Palace, Buckingham Palace, Westminster Abbey, Big Ben, saw Wicked, went to a bunch of parks, saw The Globe Theater, walked along the Thames River, went to the Tate Modern, went to Abbey Road, and some other stuff.

So after 11 days roaming through Europe, it was finally time to go back to Madrid. It was a fantastic 11 days, but I breathed a literal sigh of relief when I got off my metro stop in Madrid. My mom and brother came back to Madrid with me for 5 days, where they got a taste of la vida madrileño. It really is something that can’t be explaine,  so I was glad they were able to experience for themselves the magic that is Madrid. We toured the Real Madrid stadium, took a cable car ride over the city, drank some sangria, had a delicious dinner at my host mom’s, went to the Spanish Navy Museum, chilled in Retiro Park, and soaked up the Spanish sun (when it was shining…April’s been kinda cloudy up in here).

Whew, and that was spring break! The weekend after my mom and brother left I went to Lisbon, Portugal for four days with my seminar from the beginning of the semester, so those adventures will be up muy pronto! (What a cliffhanger, huh? 🙂 )

Una noche hermosa

So, by the skin of my teeth I survived my first Spanish huelga general (general strike)…I’d love to share the story of how I leaped on top of the only metro to run for hours and smuggled myself into the airport and out of the country, but I love this country and don’t want to get myself on its mierda list. Also that story doesn’t exist because there were no problems. The strike did complicate Madrid that day, and for a few days after it, but my metro ride to school, taxi ride to the airport, and flight out of the airport were all smooth as glass. It was a huge relief and also sort of disappointing after all the huelga hype, but así es la vida.

Entonces, after a very underwhelming morning, we made it into Prague for an 11-day whirlwind trip through Europe. I would tell you guys all about it, but I’m tired and have a 7 page paper to write and photos of said European whirlwind trip to upload to Facebook, so instead i have another idea! I’m gonna write about the night before I left, which includes a bit of Spanish striking, several cervezas, American country music and overwhelming feelings of contentment. If that teaser hasn’t sold you, I don’t know what could.

The weekend before spring break I was having dinner with my host mom and she was telling me that on that following Wednesday she was going to a concert at night and would leave dinner for us on the table before she left. I nodded between spoonfuls of soup and told her not to preocupes, that was no problem. Then she started telling me about the concert she was going to — an American country rock singer named Stacey Collins. I told her me gusta country rock, and then the next thing I knew she was instructing me to be home and ready by 7:30 on Wednesday to leave for the concert. I was a bit confused as to how we got from Point A to Point B there, but I decided to roll with it.

So 7:30 on Wednesday presented itself and off we went. She was styled, made up and ready to get her country rock on, and I was sporting a crazy Einstein-like ‘do and worry lines from stressing about all the work I forgot to remember to do, packing my stuff and leaving the next day. But I got on the bus to Puerta del Sol with her and told myself to get ready to listen to some country rock.

In true Spanish style, we went out for drinks and tapas before the concert. I have consumed a hearty amount of both drinks and tapas while I’ve been here, of course, but always with my American friends. This time I sat back while my host mom ordered me all the local favorites and beers. We went to several different places, having a tapa and a cerveza at each, and at each place met up with more and more of her friends. Whenever I’m out in Spain I try to eavesdrop on peoples’ conversations to see if I can understand what they’re saying, but this time I was allowed to eavesdrop since I was part of the group! They were a typical group of Spaniards in their 50s and 60s — friendly, warm, fun, talkative, and super social. I didn’t have much to add to their conversations, so I just sat back and soaked in them enjoying each others’ company. As most of you may have picked up on I like to talk and do a hell of a lot of it, but it was a really nice feeling to just sit back and listen. Plus, I never hang out with my host mom except at the dinner table in her apartment, so it was really fun to see her interacting with her friends.

After we were full we went to the place where the concert was, a club in the center of Madrid. On the way we passed a group of people gathering in Sol (the Times Square of Madrid) for the strike that was starting at midnight. I was expecting yelling, angry political signs, and police, but instead I found…singing. They were singing a song from Bienvenido Mr. Marshall, which is actually about relations between the USA and Spain in the early 50s. My hippie self is all about peaceful protests, so this was the kind of strike I could get on board with. (Side note, I do think there were other protests that had more rage and less lyricism the next day.)

But anyway, so we got to the concert at this cool club, and there were all kinds of people of all ages hanging out there for the concert. My host mom asked me, “Quieres una cervezita?” to which I said no, but she glared at me and said “Quieres una cervezita.” Again, the type of glare that I can get on board with. So I drank a(nother) beer and then started talking to some of her friends, all in Spanish and with almost no problems. One of her friends even said that my Spanish accent was perfectly clear! I got so excited I accidentally said “Really, you think so!?” in English. Smooth, Elora. But I recovered, Stacey Collins came out and sounded great, and then we caught a taxi back home seven minutes before the strike started.

Even though I had never heard of the woman whose concert I was going to, everyone I was with was born before my parents, and I didn’t speak the same language as anyone there (except the singer, but she was otherwise engaged), I had an amazing time. It was so fun to be out for a night with all Spaniards, joining them in a typical night for them and just being in their presence. I was really happy I got to do something with my host mom outside of wolfing down all her food at dinner and I felt so at peace sitting in a Madrid club, drinking a Coronita (Spanish corona) and chatting about the differences between Northern and Southern California with a Spanish woman. It wouldn’t have been the same if I had been with a bunch of Americans — I’m SO grateful I finally was completely immersed in Spanish culture, even f it was just for a few hours. Even the most mundane things, like going outside with my host mom and her friend while they smoked, were more meaningful because I was so aware that these are all experiences I’ve never had before and might never have again (though if I have anything to say about it, I will certainly be having them again.)

So then the next day I started wandering through Europe, which I will write all about muy pronto! Hasta entonces 🙂

Friends and Fallas

Remember how I thought I was exhausted a couple of months ago, on the traveling seminar when I first got to Spain? Pffffft. Next time I think I know what I’m talking about, someone please remind me that I have no idea.

Luckily, the exhaustion of the past couple of weeks has all been more than worth it (valió la pena, as I told my host mom, who was so surprised I knew this expression and used it more or less correctly that she laughed. A weird type of progress, I think!). Anyway. Last week Rosa and Elvin were here! It was the best week evah (VH1 ain’t got nothin on us). We did lots of sightseeing and even more sangria drinking. I was so glad I got to share Madrid with some of my best friends, and they loved it as much as I do. It made my study abroad experience that much better that I got to have a week in Madrid with friends from home. The first night they got here we went out to dinner after finally finding the restaurant I wanted to take them to (please take note: if you ever visit me in a foreign country, bring a smartphone with GPS capabilities. My sense of direction does not improve one bit in transatlantic situations). Then we walked a little bit and somehow found ourselves at the rooftop bar I had wanted to take them to the following night. Couldn’t tell ya how to get there again if you put a gun to my head (which you wouldn’t be able to do in Spain because, imagine this, it’s practically impossible for the average lunatic to purchase a gun, but we could always go to Florida and stand our ground…) okay I’ll stop with the parenthetical rants now. So we got to the rooftop bar, got us some $7 Coronas, (called Coronitas in España) and the week took on a life of its own from there!

I also had my own personal interactive Spanish dictionary for the week, since they are both native speakers. Oh, and! While I was waiting for them in the airport, I started talking to an older Spanish woman who was waiting for her granddaughter (she spoke no English and we talked for a solid 15 minutes, hollaaaa) and it turns out her granddaughter lives in Westchester and goes to Albany. ¡Qué pequeño es el mundo! But anyway, back to airports. Rosa and Elvin left on Saturday, which made me so visibly distressed three strangers came up to me after we said goodbye at the gate and asked me if I was bien. My Spanish dictionaries were gone so I had to scrape together an answer.

I had planned on going home and sleeping for the next two days straight, since Monday was Spanish Father’s Day. It’s a religious holiday here, so we didn’t have school. So I used Monday to rest up, do my homework and recharge for the week of classes that was coming, right? Wrong. So wrong. We decided last-minute to leave at 7 Sunday morning for Las Fallas in Valencia. Never heard of Las Fallas!? Leeeemme tell you. It’s one of the coolest things I’ve ever seen. The city of Valencia spends all year building this float-y, statue things…that I will post pictures of (because Rosa brought me a memory card!!!!!!!)

So these are placed all throughout the city of Valencia for four days, and then on Monday night, throughout the night until the last one in the central square at 1 am, they’re lit on fire. It’s a little bit like our 4th of July before the actual fires start, with people in the streets and fireworks and whatnot, but instead of the main attraction being just fireworks, these things blow up. It was one of, if not the, coolest things I’ve ever seen. Each piece is doused with gas and then lit with dynamite, and the streets are filled to capacity with people watching them burn. Carly and I were sitting on top of a dumpster really close to the first fire and almost had a stop, drop and roll situation on our hands (fires get HOT, man), but when you’re that close to something that cool, what’s a little bit of skin, yanno?

Las Fallas are supposed to be a symbolic release of sin (Holy Week starts next week), but a lot of it is also satirical. Satire and fire, Spain seriously knows what’s up.

 

Right after the fires went out it started to rain. So we spent the the 3.5 hour bus ride from 3 am til 7:30 Tuesday morning back to Madrid wet and cold, which put a damper (hehehe) on the situation at the moment, but it was still very much worth it. There’s no comparison for Las Fallas in anything in the USA, or, I think, the world, so I’m really glad I dragged myself out of bed and went. It was a very authentic Spanish experience I could never get again. Valencia is also a really cool city with great street art and its own coastal character.

That building in the background is a bank

Aquarium!

And of course, paella valenciana!

Next week is spring break, and I have a flight to Prague scheduled for Thursday…which is also the day that Spain is going on strike (I kid you not, the whole country is going on strike) in protest of a new labor law the government wants to pass. So whether we’ll be able to get to the airport for our flight, and whether the flight will actually take off, remains to be seen. If anyone has any special pull with the forces of the universe, I’d REALLY, REALLY owe ya one if you could drop my name for next Thursday. Customer service isn’t the same in Europe as it is in the US, so if we can’t get on the flight, the chances anyone will care are slimmer than my pinky finger. And I have really small fingers. But since I’ve been whining about how tired I am, I’m off to bed to dream about happier things! ¡Felices sueños a todos!

BarÇa! BarÇa! BarÇa!

Please excuse the capital c’s in the title of this post, I don’t know how to make a lowercase Catalan c on my little American keyboard. But, as you have probably gathered, I spent the past weekend in Barcelona! It’s one of the coolest cities in the world. I should probably take this opportunity to note that I’ve only been to six major cities in the world, four of which are in the United States, but I loved Barcelona and the Cheetah Girls were there so I stand by my statement. Although I would also like to note that even though Barcelona is fantastic, I’m really happy I’m studying in Madrid. Barcelona is very touristy and has its own Catalan culture. Madrid feels much more like a true Spanish experience. Although the people in Madrid are very friendly the city exists for its own people. It doesn’t cater to tourists and has its own local color, which I didn’t sense as much in Barcelona. Madrid is España, puro y duro (I learned this expression two weeks ago and have proceeded to use it incorrectly twice…maybe third time’s a charm?).

But anyway, we flew to Barcelona on Thursday night and after an impressively brief period of being lost, found our hostel. When we got there the guy working the front desk asked us if we drank wine and wanted to enjoy a complimentary bottle while we waited to check in. Needless to say this pleased us very much and set the tone for the weekend. We went to bed happy and on Friday morning the happiness continued when we discovered DinoPan! It had amazing pastries and absolutely DELICIOUS café con leche for less than 2 euro. Good work, Barcelona.

We then went to see Park Guell, the park that Gaudí designed. Gaudí essentially designed all of Barcelona, which is a huge reason why it’s such a cool city. I’ve never seen architecture as colorful and fun as Gaudí’s work, especially in the park. I don’t have a very sophisticated sense of art but I’m all about fun colors and crazy designs (gimme some Crayola markers and computer paper and I’ll prove it) so Park Guell was right up my alley. Actually it was up A LOT of alleys and a small mountain, but you get the idea.

PS I HAVE PICTURES! Still no memory card, but my friends took a whole bunch and posted them on Facebook #2012memoriez. So then Friday night we ended up going to a discoteca next to our hostel. There was a private party going on, but everyone looked like they were having a good time so we decided to stay for a bit and wish the celebrants well, or sneak drinks until we got discovered and kicked out — whichever came first. But it ended up being an anniversary party for a model from Manhattan and her Israeli husband, who are living in Barcelona. They were super nice and we ended up staying for a few hours and talking to a bunch of different people. Even though the woman in the couple was American and her husband was Israeli, people were really interested in talking to us because we were foreign. I felt so popular! But don’t worry guys, I won’t forget about all the little people.

Saturday was for sure in the top 10 days of my life. I don’t even know what the other 9 are, but Saturday is definitely in there. For one thing we had Mexican food, which automatically significantly improves the quality of a day. We also went to the beach and I had my first view of Mediterranean water! It’s cleaner than the Atlantic and the seaweed is cooler. The street art at the beach (in all of Barcelona, but especially at the beach), was also really fun.

THEEENNNNN, *drumroll please* I went to an FC Barcelona game. No big deal, just all my dreams coming true. Walking to the stadium I got so excited I started spinning in circles. I almost tipped over, little teapot style, but managed to stay on my feet long enough to make it into the stadium. Watching Barcelona play in person was unbelievable. I don’t know how to describe it. Watching them play on TV for so many years, and then actually watching them live, was such a surreal experience. They play the most beautiful soccer in the world (sorry, Real Madrid). We sat in the nosebleeds but at the half line so we could see everything perfectly, including the city of Barcelona beyond the stadium. The whole stadium sang the FC Barcelona song together at the beginning of the game (I mumbled along until the end “Barca! Barca! Baaaaaaarca! part, which I sang so enthusiastically the poor little niño in front of me almost dropped his popcorn). In literally the first minute of the second half a Barcelona player was red carded so they played the whole half a man down, but still won 3-1. Every three or so minutes I turned to Danielle and yelled “I can’t believe we’re at a Barcelona game!” I think that yell was accompanied by a loud squeal several times too. The people behind me were staring and may or may not have been trying to figure out whether I was on drugs, but they were speaking Catalan so there’s no way to know for sure. But they all held onto their popcorns so I couldn’t have been too much of a disruption, right?

After the game we went to a Michel Teló concert. If you don’t know Michel Teló, a) GET ON IT, and b) he’s kinda like a Portugese, one-man O-Town. We went because he has this one song that’s all the rage here. It has a dance that’s kinda like the European macarena. It was the only song of his we knew, but once we got the concert it became apparent that it was also the only song of Michel Teló’s that Michel Teló knew. It was basically a cover concert, from a Spanish song about a sonrisa that I had never heard but sang along to anyway, to Adele, to the Black Eyed Peas. The age range seemed to be 3 to 63 and Teló whipped out an accordion at one point. He also sang a song that was entirely in Portugese with the exception of the words open bar.  It was by far the most ridiculous concert I’ve ever been to and also one of the most fun. Además, I can now speak 3 short See Spot Run-esque sentences in Portugese!

Sunday we went to Mount Tibidabo (the same on that Joey goes to in his magical story on Friends!!!). We went to see the church there and then went to an amusement park (what else do you do after church!?). The lone roller coaster was no King Da Ka, but it had gorgeous views off the mountain. Also there were bumper cars…’nuff said.

If your church doesn’t have a merry go round in front of it, you’re at the wrong place of worship, my friends.

<–No lo sé.

Alaska and elevators!

After we descended the mountain, we went to the Sagrada Familia, the church that Gaudí designed and also where he’s buried. Then we tried to go to the famous magic fountain, but after walking for an hour and a half we got there and it was off. Or maybe you had to be magical folk to see it. But since my freakin Hogwarts letter STILL hasn’t come (I’m pretty sure my owl was recruited by Death Eaters and abandoned his letter-delivery duties midway through his flight to me), I was staring at a row of water-less columns. The view was still beautiful, kinda like a Barcelona version of Griffith Park Observatory, so it wasn’t a total bust.

After the non-seeing of the fountain we went back to the hostel and had some more wine with the guy who worked at the front desk, who’s from Nigeria and emigrated to Spain six years ago. I bombarded him with questions about Africa and Europe and discovered the extent of my oblivious white girl ignorance is deeper than I realized, BUT I learned a lot from talking to him and also the wine was really good. All in all, a very successful weekend! My application to become an official Cheetah Girl is forthcoming.

La alfombra roja

Tonight is a big night in Spain. Any guesses why? The running of the bulls? An El Clásico match between Real Madrid and Barcelona? El Día de San José?

Nope, negative, nah. It’s The Oscars. I know what you’re thinking! (I’m quite intuitive sometimes.) The Oscars is an American awards show. Why do Spaniards care? I was toootally thinking the same thing. My host mom has been getting pumped for this for the past two weeks. She’s setting her alarm to wake up at 3 a.m. (since Spain is six hours ahead of the States) and is not going back to bed until the final person has thanked the Academy. I was confused when she said this, since Spain had their own version of the Oscars, Los Goya, last weekend. When I asked her about those bad boys, she looked so disgusted I thought I mispronounced the name as something deeply insulting to her. While I had a quick mini heart attack, thinking that I would have to find a new homestay, she started scoffing and said Los Goya are ‘una verguenza’ and a much worse version of the Oscars.

She explained that for her, and for many Spaniards (not all, of course) American cinema is the best in the world. She looks forward to the Oscars just as much, if not more, than Americans do. She has all her favorites picked out to win, and asked which I thought would win best movie. Usually when I don’t know how to answer her it’s because Dora the Explorer hasn’t taught me the vocabulary I need yet, but this time I didn’t know what to say because I literally haven’t seen one of the nominated movies. I’m actually pretty sure the only movie I’ve seen in the last three months has been here in Spain. My country is apparently the cinematic capital of the world, and the only movie I could think of when she started talking about American cinema was Stepbrothers (a masterpiece for sure, but not likely to win anything any time soon).

The day after this conversation I grabbed a Spanish newspaper with the Oscars on the front page. (Like, they took up the ENTIRE front page — does that happen in the US!? I can’t even remember). I underlined the term ‘alfombra roja,’ which means red carpet. I brought it up last night at dinner, but instead of being impressed with my advanced Spanish terminology my host mom asked me what it’s called in English. Then I told her I went to the Kodak Theater last spring break (it was on the way to get ice cream, yanno?) and she raved about how her dream is to see it. In all honestly I don’t really remember what it even looks like.

I logged onto Facebook a few minutes ago, and my newsfeed told me 7 people had posted about the Oscars. Six of the posts were about the dresses on the red carpet, and one lonely, solitary post was excitement for the actual show. In Spain, the dresses are great to look at, but the excitement of the Oscars is because of the actual contest. They make an extra effort to see películas norteamericanas, and they can’t wait to see which ones the Academy has chosen (does the Academy choose the final winners!? Talk about una verguenza, I’m clueless). I do know that plenty of Americans get just as excited about the Oscars, but an equal number don’t care and another equal number only care about who’s being worn on la alfombra roja. Spaniards love the dazzle and production of the show that has become not only normal, but expected in the States. Of course it has to be the most elegant night of the year, we wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I saw how big the Oscars are here I felt proud to be American (where at least I know I’m freeeeee), but I was also more than a little ashamed. I had never seen a Spanish movie before two weeks ago, in my Spanish class. In another one of my classes we had to write the names of two Spanish celebrities, and I wrote Cristiano Ronaldo as one. *Facepalm* I’m well aware that he’s Portugese, but I couldn’t think of anyone else and hoped I would get half credit for trying. North America is an aspirational culture for so many other countries, with all its glitz and glam, but the result is that I’m blinded a lot of times by all that glitter. I didn’t see any of the Oscar-nominated movies because, like, whatever, I’ve been very busy watching YouTube videos about chimpanzees and there will be more next year. I never bothered to learn where Antonio Banderas or Penelope Cruz are from because I couldn’t even tell you where George Clooney or Cameron Diaz are from. I really am proud that the USA produces so much of what the rest of the world enjoys (as if I had something to do with it), but I need to start paying attention and enjoying it too. Looks like I’ll be making another trip back to la alfombra roja…

Madridiversary

Tomorrow is the one month anniversary of me living in Madrid — I graciously accept diamonds, roses, and/or chocolate — and it’s been six weeks since I’ve been in Spain. I’d just like to take this opportunity to shout out to studying abroad. I’ve already had so many opportunities I never could have had in Syracuse. Last weekend I went to Segovia, a beautiful historic town about an hour from Madrid, and saw a 2,000 year old Roman aqueduct. The oldest structures I’ve seen in Syracuse are the desks in the Hall of Languages. I’m going to go against everything I stand for in life and sound like a Nickelback song for a sec here, but it really puts your own life in perspective when you’re standing stand next to something that was built in DOUBLE DIGIT YEARS and has withstood 2,000 years on the planet. Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it was definitely built to last.

             

The people here are all about enjoying life. My Spanish professor tells us to “have fun, enjoy life” at the end of every class…I can count on no hands the number of professors at the Syracuse campus in New York that have said that. Yeah, yeah, the Spanish economy is bad right now, but the American economy isn’t exactly a picture of perfection either, and we don’t get free shots with our lunches. Yup, this weekend we had lunch outside at a restaurant across the street from Parque del Retiro, and after we finished the waitress asked if we wanted complimentary shots. We were confused and thought there was no way we could actually be getting free shots — we somehow decided we were actually getting free servings of Jell-O — but lo and behold, out came free shots! It seems that whenever I try to communicate with waiters I end up with more alcohol than I bargained for. If this is miscommunication I have to suggest trying it more often.

I’m starting to understand a little more español, thanks in large part to the melodramatic Mexican telenovela I’ve been watching religiously (and have become way too emotionally invested in). AND apparently my speaking is improving a bit — I had a full conversation with a Spanish man on Monday! We started chatting in the park, talked for a solid fifteen minutes, and I only got my panicked, I’m-such-a-gringo-I-have-no-idea-what-you’re-saying look twice the whole time! There was no pressure, we were just shooting the breeze, and I just talked instead of worrying that I was saying everything wrong. I do still only talk in incorrectly conjugated half sentences with my host mom. But the plus side to this is that she thinks I’m funnier than I actually am, just because all my jokes are told in my fumbling attempts at Spanish. Cheers, study abroad!

Adventures in Amsterdam

So, I’m sure you’ve all been on the edges of your seats dying to hear about my weekend in Amsterdam! Yeah, just kidding, even I’m not especially interested in my life. Hacía MUCHO frio (dumb brick in English…well…hoodrat English, at least) but it was a lot of fun. Unfortunately we didn’t get to see the famous Dutch tulips because the entire city was a sheet of ice, but it’s definitely a cool city. The apple pie is absolutely phenomenal, I may or may not have ordered 3 slices in 2 days. Aaaand everything you’ve heard about Amsterdam is true, with the exception of the Red Light District. I thought it was a lot tamer than we’re led to believe in the States. This is probably because the US is actually much more conservative than I realized — for example, Spanish movies that are exported to the US almost always have to be edited and censored. But anyway, that’s a topic for another day (and oh, will it be a topic for another day).

We had some trouble finding our hostel when we first got there, so we inadvertently got a tour of the city while wandering around looking for it. I don’t really know how else to describe Amsterdam except as cool (I’m gonna make a great journalist, right?). It was sort of grungy but not dirty, the stores, streets, and architecture were quirky, and the people were all very laid-back. Everyone in Holland speaks English, which would have been very nice to take advantage of had my little brain grasped that while I was there. I spent the entire weekend answering people in Spanish, or pausing for a full six seconds (cue O-Town) before answering because I would automatically try to translate what I wanted to say into Spanish and then realize I could answer in English and convert back to English. Oy vey. I think I’m gonna take up mimery.

But all in all, it was a really great weekend. On Saturday morning we went to the Van Gogh Museum. I’ve never been to a museum that focused on just one artist, so it was really interesting to see Van Gogh’s evolution and the work of the artists who influenced him and who (whom? Ross Geller where you at) he influenced. Then we went to the Anne Frank House, which was actually pretty emotional for me. It wasn’t until I was halfway through the house I realized I was actually inside the house where the Franks hid. The markings on the wall that measured how tall Anne and her sister were are still there, as is the famous bookcase that hid the Secret Annex. There wasn’t much in the house, it was basically just a walk-through with quotes from her diary and stuff on the walls. The government also moved and renovated a lot which I was disappointed about, but I’m still really glad I had the opportunity to go.

We also of course checked out the I Amsterdam sign, after which I bought another slice of apple pie. Amsterdam was definitely great for a weekend, but it was really nice to come back to Madrid. We now have two Italian girls staying with us in my host mom’s studio apartment, and they speak Italian, Spanish, English, and French. WHAT. At dinner they were speaking Spanish perfectly and I got really jealous and started talking a lot more quickly and with a stronger accent than ever before…it wasn’t any better than it usually is, but at least I wasn’t sitting there saying “uuuummmmm” while I tried to translate every single word. Maybe the key to stepping up my español game is to have multilingual 17-year-old Italian girls around at all times. I really wish American schools encouraged us to learn more languages. Yesterday one of my teachers apologized for her ‘terrible’ English and then proceeded to talk about assisted reproductive techniques. Umm…I don’t even know how to say blanket in Spanish.

Also, I’m gonna continue this rant for a minute, because I learned about the educación aqui today. In Spain, education is free, if your grades qualify you. (Side note, health care is universal and free here too…what a novel concept). If you qualify, you go to the public universities and pay, like, 80 euro a year for books and such. If your grades don’t qualify you, then you go to one of the private universities which are more expensive and not as good because, to quote my host mom, they’re for “tontas.” But they’re still much much much cheaper than US schools, so almost everyone here goes to college. And education in Spain truly is based on merit, not money or athletic talent or anything else — my host mom was disgusted at the preferential treatment athletes get in the States. Juuuust sayin…