So today I decided to take a siesta for the first time in a long time because I was struck with a horrible thought: Today is just about the last day that I will be able to do so. Without it being weird, that is. I suppose this is arguable, being that the standard American college student's sleep schedule is much like that of all of Spain: go to bed after midnight, wake up at 7, go to class/be productive, then take a nap in the afternoon. It's brilliant, I think. College students have the right idea. Let's impose this on the rest of the country.
So yes, this weekend was satisfying, which is the best I can hope for, as it is my last one. I got to see most, if not all, of my ERASMUS friends, which were the ones I was most concerned about seeing. It's the most uncomfortable goodbye, because that's exactly what it is: a goodbye. There's almost absolute certainty that you won't ever see the person again. There's no "see you later" about it. The Portuguese guys, as they've been come to be known, threw all us Americans a going away party at their house uptown, which was really sweet. And if you're confused about why we're having a going away party right now, while we still have a couple weeks left in Europe (actually 2 as of tomorrow), it's because tomorrow will be our last night. We've had several of these "last nights" here in Santander (for example, last weekend, we never hesitated to tell everyone who would listen that it was our last weekend. And tomorrow night, there is talk of going out for our "last night," but then most of us will still be here on Friday the 29th, which is our real last night, because we leave for Madrid the next day, and from Madrid, it's home), and I think it's because we all just want an excuse to party harder than we've ever partied before.
Anyway, it was a successful weekend. After losing my camera on Thursday night, I succeeded in losing nothing else. Oh, Spain. All I've ever done is love you unconditionally and you just take, take, take. I've lost two sets of keys, two cell phones, an iPod, a camera, and probably some dignity as well. Okay just kidding about that last one.
So one more thing before I go home and start to pack and give up halfway through and instead cry myself to sleep...I was walking here to the library to study for my last exam tomorrow when I heard some really obnoxious drumming. I walked a little further on and I saw my first Semana Santa procession! Now, for those of you who don't know, Semana Santa means "holy week," and a Semana Santa procession is kind of like a parade, only creepy. Men cloaked in large white cloths with their faces covered in the cone-shaped hoods walked to the slow, ominous drumming of teenage boys walking behind them. Then came some pre-teen looking girls carrying banners and looking like they hated their lives. After the girls with banners, there was a giant "float," if you will. It was a giant wooden table covered in red flowers on the top with a symbolic Jesus standing on top, complete with crown of thorns and look of misery on his face, he was carrying a proportionally sized crucifix on his shoulder. The statue was even made to look like he was being weighed down under the burden of this giant cross; a detail I think few would think to include. Bringing up the rear were 4 or 5 young boys, also cloaked in white, but the terrified looks on their faces were on display, as they were not forced to wear the creepy cone-shaped hoods with the tiny eye slits. Why make a religious procession so unsettling? I'll never know. I can only imagine what would happen if the Catholic Church tried to pull something like this in North Carolina.
Speaking of North Carolina! I hope you all are doing well and my heart goes out to everyone who lost homes or even family. You guys made international news. I watched it on the Spanish news with my host family. That was just about the most frightening thing, let me tell you; hearing about natural disasters in your home state and not knowing whether your family and friends are okay. Glad to hear you all are, though. I count myself lucky.
Until next time, everyone!
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
Monday, April 18, 2011
Last word, Kodak digital camera gifted to me for Christmas by Brian Stewart, dies at the age of 4 months.
Today we mourn the loss of the digital camera belonging to a Sherri Christine Dill, 19.
The camera, a Kodak 8 megapixel Easy-Share with 5x optical aspheric lens, died this past Thursday night, April 14th, 2011, in its temporary home of Santander, Spain.
The cause is believed to be theft, but is as of yet, unknown.
In its four month career, this accomplished and celebrated Kodak documented several amazing places and many a night out on the town, reccounting many stories that none would believe actually occured had there not been photos. This camera's lens had seen the likes of Santander, Bilbao, Salamanca, Santillana del Mar, Las Cuevas de Altamira (kind of), Barcelona, Dublin, and Paris. It also had plans to travel to Los Picos, El Soplao, San Vicente, Rome, Pisa, Florence, Venice, and Madrid, and even was going to return to its original home of North Carolina. However, due to Thursday's tragedy, these dreams will, unfortunately, not be realized.
This particular Kodak will be remembered fondly, for its ability to capture the moment at the most spontaneous beck and call, and for its unique attention to the most minute detail.
"My Kodak did any beautiful scene justice," Said previous owner, Sherri Dill last Friday morning. "All my friends were really jealous when they looked at my pictures on FaceBook."
Kodak Easy-Share was manufactured in Japan and made its way to a Staples store in North Carolina, USA in the year 2010. It was purchased by Brian Stewart and then made its way to the intended owner, Sherri Dill, on Christmas Day, December 25th, 2010. The camera earned its own 5 albums on Dill's FaceBook, including over 750 photos. Dill admits to missing the camera dearly, saying that none will be able to fully replace it.
Memorial arrangements have not yet been released.
The camera, a Kodak 8 megapixel Easy-Share with 5x optical aspheric lens, died this past Thursday night, April 14th, 2011, in its temporary home of Santander, Spain.
The cause is believed to be theft, but is as of yet, unknown.
In its four month career, this accomplished and celebrated Kodak documented several amazing places and many a night out on the town, reccounting many stories that none would believe actually occured had there not been photos. This camera's lens had seen the likes of Santander, Bilbao, Salamanca, Santillana del Mar, Las Cuevas de Altamira (kind of), Barcelona, Dublin, and Paris. It also had plans to travel to Los Picos, El Soplao, San Vicente, Rome, Pisa, Florence, Venice, and Madrid, and even was going to return to its original home of North Carolina. However, due to Thursday's tragedy, these dreams will, unfortunately, not be realized.
This particular Kodak will be remembered fondly, for its ability to capture the moment at the most spontaneous beck and call, and for its unique attention to the most minute detail.
"My Kodak did any beautiful scene justice," Said previous owner, Sherri Dill last Friday morning. "All my friends were really jealous when they looked at my pictures on FaceBook."
Kodak Easy-Share was manufactured in Japan and made its way to a Staples store in North Carolina, USA in the year 2010. It was purchased by Brian Stewart and then made its way to the intended owner, Sherri Dill, on Christmas Day, December 25th, 2010. The camera earned its own 5 albums on Dill's FaceBook, including over 750 photos. Dill admits to missing the camera dearly, saying that none will be able to fully replace it.
Memorial arrangements have not yet been released.
Monday, April 11, 2011
Just because I haven't been in Santander in a month, I'm going to dedicate a whole entry to this weekend.
This past weekend was the 2nd to last one that I will spend in Santander. Because of this, I rationalized going out on Thursday night, in spite of having class at 9am on Friday morning.
I met up with a friend at the Chupiteria to start the night. We drank tequila to pass the time, and I couldn't help but feel that roles were reversed, as we drank tequila while waiting for the men to get ready and meet us there. We took 3 shots each and then left to go find the guys because they were taking too long. When we met up with them, we all headed over to a place called Rio De La Pila, which is a street that I walk everyday to go to school. It's really close to my apartment, and I had been there once before to hang out with a friend, but had never been there late at night or on the weekend. By the way, Thursday night counts as the weekend here. Anyway, it was a shock because the place was PACKED. Just about every young Spanish person and ERASMUS student was there. Usually people get their drinks and go outside to socialize. I learned this fairly late in the game (as it was my second to last weekend, as I mentioned before), but all the kids go to Rio De La Pila to hang out early in the night (and I use "early" as a relative term, because early here is anywhere from midnight to 2am) and then move toward my side of town, where all the heavy drinking and/or dancing goes on. That's just a coincidence, by the way...Anyway, that was fun because I got to see a lot of my ERASMUS friends as well as some of my American friends. We bar hopped the night away, and I got home around 5am, and even made it to class the next day.
One thing that was particularly striking to me, and what originally inspired me to write a blog about this weekend was something a friend said to me. As my friends and I were walking the street heading to Rio De La Pila, we ran into another friend of ours who is from Mexico. We stopped to talk to him and he asked me, "¿Adónde van?" Now, this deserves both a bit of context and a tiny grammar lesson. If you speak Spanish or at least know how to conjugate verbs, you can skip the grammar lesson. I took 7 classes over the course of about 5 and a half years in the states learning Spanish. Because Mexico is the closest Spanish speaking country, the American public schools teach you what's called Latin American Spanish, which makes sense. If you're to run into a Spanish speaker, they probably come from a Latin American country. It's really not all that different from Spanish Spanish, but there are notable differences, as I've come to realize. In Spanish (in general), they maintain the difference between a friend and a person of seniority or respect, and conjugate the verbs differently. I'm sure you all know this, especially knowing that "¿Cómo estás?" means "how are you?" when talking to a friend, and "¿Cómo está?" means "how are you?" when talking to an elder. You is "tú" and the formal you is "usted." Now, more to my point, if you're talking to a group of friends, it would be multiple tús, right? That's what we call vosotros. If you're talking to more than one person of respect, you call that "ustedes," because it's just more than one "usted," make sense? But in Latin America, they don't make this distinction. When they're talking to multiple people, no matter if they're friends or professors or what-have-you, they refer to them as "ustedes." However, it must be noted that the conjugation for "ustedes" also functions as "ellos," which means "they." This may sound confusing, but it's easy to understand within context. If you say "Van a Rio De La Pila," this can mean "you all go to Rio De La Pila," OR it can mean "They go to Rio De La Rila," depending on what you want to say. I learned for five years to use ustedes. I never ever EVER used "vosotros." It just isn't done in Latin America. Even my professor for Advanced Spanish Grammar said that he was unable to use vosotros without taking a second to think about it first. And yet, when my Mexican friend looked at me with a group of friends and asked, "¿Adónde van?" I actually looked around and said, "Who?" What's striking is how quickly I fell into Spanish Spanish, and I didn't even realize it. After five years of studying Latin American Spanish, I forgot it in two months. I had expected to hear "¿Adónde váis?" which is the "vosotros" form.
Okay, sorry if that was boring. Just had to get that out.
Side note- The last bar we went to, a place called "Indian," gave me a heart shaped lollipop with my rum and coke!! I love Spain.
Friday night was a little crazier. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was just like every other night. Pre-gaming with the Americans, then separating and bar hopping with our respective ERASMUS friends. Nothing particularly memorable. And if there was and I'm not exactly remembering it at the moment, I will edit this later on.
A lot of my wilder stories came from Saturday, which is truely saying something. I chose not to drink, which was SUCH a good idea. I'm glad I was fully there for all of the insanity. (Side note-I found out the cheapest and easiest way to get hammered, if you're interested. Simply tell all your friends that you're not drinking. I did this and I think about 7 of my friends offered to buy me drinks) We started out at the Chupiteria, doing the usual, which, if you haven't gathered by now, is drinking obscene amounts, because they're 1€ per shot, which is the cheapest you'll find just about anywhere in the world. Qué mala idea, ¿no?
There is another group of Americans from Oregon studying here for a "term." I assume this is kind of like a tri-mester or something, because I didn't care enough to ask when I was actually talking to an Oregonian. Anyway, put all of us Americans in a room together (a room that happens to sell cheap liquor) and what should we do? Take body shots, of course. The Spaniards acted as though they'd seen nothing like it. After terrorizing the poor place, we walked over to Tempo, where the ERASMUS used to hang out. None of us had been there for a long time, and it felt like kinda like home. No, that's a lie. It felt like the beginning of my time in Spain when we all used to go there. I got to see a lot of ERASMUS students that I hadn't seen in weeks while I've been busy jet-setting all around Europe.
A group of us decided to do some bar hopping like always. I had a wonderful time and the night ended at about 4:45. One of my more tamer nights, but let me tell you about the rest of us. Without naming names, of course. By the end of the night, one girl had lost her keys, several had had horrible falls, two guys had gotten in two different fights, and one guy had had the policía called on him. Oh, and I hear that about 3 or 4 never actually made it home. Americans. Can't live with them, can't live...well, let's just leave it at that.
So I can't really ask what I thought about Santander, like I usually ask myself at the end of my entries. I'm sure I've bored you all with my talk about how much I love this city anyway, because every time I go somewhere else, I compare it to Santander. I really only wrote this blog so I could put into writing my thoughts on all of a sudden knowing vosotros.
This is going to end now due to poor planning. Until next time, vosotros :)
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
I met up with a friend at the Chupiteria to start the night. We drank tequila to pass the time, and I couldn't help but feel that roles were reversed, as we drank tequila while waiting for the men to get ready and meet us there. We took 3 shots each and then left to go find the guys because they were taking too long. When we met up with them, we all headed over to a place called Rio De La Pila, which is a street that I walk everyday to go to school. It's really close to my apartment, and I had been there once before to hang out with a friend, but had never been there late at night or on the weekend. By the way, Thursday night counts as the weekend here. Anyway, it was a shock because the place was PACKED. Just about every young Spanish person and ERASMUS student was there. Usually people get their drinks and go outside to socialize. I learned this fairly late in the game (as it was my second to last weekend, as I mentioned before), but all the kids go to Rio De La Pila to hang out early in the night (and I use "early" as a relative term, because early here is anywhere from midnight to 2am) and then move toward my side of town, where all the heavy drinking and/or dancing goes on. That's just a coincidence, by the way...Anyway, that was fun because I got to see a lot of my ERASMUS friends as well as some of my American friends. We bar hopped the night away, and I got home around 5am, and even made it to class the next day.
One thing that was particularly striking to me, and what originally inspired me to write a blog about this weekend was something a friend said to me. As my friends and I were walking the street heading to Rio De La Pila, we ran into another friend of ours who is from Mexico. We stopped to talk to him and he asked me, "¿Adónde van?" Now, this deserves both a bit of context and a tiny grammar lesson. If you speak Spanish or at least know how to conjugate verbs, you can skip the grammar lesson. I took 7 classes over the course of about 5 and a half years in the states learning Spanish. Because Mexico is the closest Spanish speaking country, the American public schools teach you what's called Latin American Spanish, which makes sense. If you're to run into a Spanish speaker, they probably come from a Latin American country. It's really not all that different from Spanish Spanish, but there are notable differences, as I've come to realize. In Spanish (in general), they maintain the difference between a friend and a person of seniority or respect, and conjugate the verbs differently. I'm sure you all know this, especially knowing that "¿Cómo estás?" means "how are you?" when talking to a friend, and "¿Cómo está?" means "how are you?" when talking to an elder. You is "tú" and the formal you is "usted." Now, more to my point, if you're talking to a group of friends, it would be multiple tús, right? That's what we call vosotros. If you're talking to more than one person of respect, you call that "ustedes," because it's just more than one "usted," make sense? But in Latin America, they don't make this distinction. When they're talking to multiple people, no matter if they're friends or professors or what-have-you, they refer to them as "ustedes." However, it must be noted that the conjugation for "ustedes" also functions as "ellos," which means "they." This may sound confusing, but it's easy to understand within context. If you say "Van a Rio De La Pila," this can mean "you all go to Rio De La Pila," OR it can mean "They go to Rio De La Rila," depending on what you want to say. I learned for five years to use ustedes. I never ever EVER used "vosotros." It just isn't done in Latin America. Even my professor for Advanced Spanish Grammar said that he was unable to use vosotros without taking a second to think about it first. And yet, when my Mexican friend looked at me with a group of friends and asked, "¿Adónde van?" I actually looked around and said, "Who?" What's striking is how quickly I fell into Spanish Spanish, and I didn't even realize it. After five years of studying Latin American Spanish, I forgot it in two months. I had expected to hear "¿Adónde váis?" which is the "vosotros" form.
Okay, sorry if that was boring. Just had to get that out.
Side note- The last bar we went to, a place called "Indian," gave me a heart shaped lollipop with my rum and coke!! I love Spain.
Friday night was a little crazier. Actually, I'm pretty sure it was just like every other night. Pre-gaming with the Americans, then separating and bar hopping with our respective ERASMUS friends. Nothing particularly memorable. And if there was and I'm not exactly remembering it at the moment, I will edit this later on.
A lot of my wilder stories came from Saturday, which is truely saying something. I chose not to drink, which was SUCH a good idea. I'm glad I was fully there for all of the insanity. (Side note-I found out the cheapest and easiest way to get hammered, if you're interested. Simply tell all your friends that you're not drinking. I did this and I think about 7 of my friends offered to buy me drinks) We started out at the Chupiteria, doing the usual, which, if you haven't gathered by now, is drinking obscene amounts, because they're 1€ per shot, which is the cheapest you'll find just about anywhere in the world. Qué mala idea, ¿no?
There is another group of Americans from Oregon studying here for a "term." I assume this is kind of like a tri-mester or something, because I didn't care enough to ask when I was actually talking to an Oregonian. Anyway, put all of us Americans in a room together (a room that happens to sell cheap liquor) and what should we do? Take body shots, of course. The Spaniards acted as though they'd seen nothing like it. After terrorizing the poor place, we walked over to Tempo, where the ERASMUS used to hang out. None of us had been there for a long time, and it felt like kinda like home. No, that's a lie. It felt like the beginning of my time in Spain when we all used to go there. I got to see a lot of ERASMUS students that I hadn't seen in weeks while I've been busy jet-setting all around Europe.
A group of us decided to do some bar hopping like always. I had a wonderful time and the night ended at about 4:45. One of my more tamer nights, but let me tell you about the rest of us. Without naming names, of course. By the end of the night, one girl had lost her keys, several had had horrible falls, two guys had gotten in two different fights, and one guy had had the policía called on him. Oh, and I hear that about 3 or 4 never actually made it home. Americans. Can't live with them, can't live...well, let's just leave it at that.
So I can't really ask what I thought about Santander, like I usually ask myself at the end of my entries. I'm sure I've bored you all with my talk about how much I love this city anyway, because every time I go somewhere else, I compare it to Santander. I really only wrote this blog so I could put into writing my thoughts on all of a sudden knowing vosotros.
This is going to end now due to poor planning. Until next time, vosotros :)
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
Friday, April 8, 2011
Viaje a París
Paris was amazing. I really wasn't that excited to go, because I'd already been. I'm not entirely opposed to revisiting beautiful cities, so I went with my friends to Paris, because I think that would be more fun than going to a new place by myself. We had a wildly successful weekend. It was just five of us girls, and we got to see everything we wanted to see. I like traveling with just five or less people, because any more than that and you start to get pulled in a lot of different directions. It's easier to agree and get things done with fewer people.
The first night we got there was Thursday, and we didn't actually get to the hostel until after 10pm, so we just went to bed. But not before getting lost about 100 times. (Travel Tip #15: Before you visit another city, make sure you know where it is you're staying, or at the very least, make sure you have the stupid address.) We only knew the street name where our hostel was located, which happens to have a name that's very similar to another street that's on the other side of the city. Guess which one our taxi driver took us to?
I'll wait.
If you guessed, "the wrong one," you're correct! We walked around, really confused, until we came upon a metro station and stopped to look at a map. I can only imagine what a mess we looked like, because a really nice man with an english accent came up and asked us if we needed help. We told him where we needed to go and he gave us really clear instructions on which train to take, what stop to get off at, and where to go once we did. It was something of a god send, really. We thanked him and he laughed a laugh that says, "crazy americans..."
We got off the metro at the spot he told us to get off at and started walking. He told us to go to the end of the street, and there will be a graveyard on the left, and we turn right at that street and our hostel will be on the left. We walked and walked but began to doubt ourselves when the road kept going and never ended. We stopped to ask an asian girl smoking a cigarette outside a restaurant if she might know where we needed to go. Her directions were crass; she was telling us to go back the way we came and take the metro to some other place. We instead decided to go to a place with internet one street over. We looked up the address and asked the guy working there for directions. He helped us out, but was a little vague. We continued up the street and realized that somehow, we still didn't know where we needed to go. We stopped a couple that was walking along the same street, and luckily they spoke a little bit of english. When the woman realized we wanted directions, she pulled, wouldn't you know it? a GPS out of her purse. Another god send, for sure. She typed in the address and told us to continue the way we'd been going the whole time. Because, you know, the 4th time is the charm.
Finally we made it to the end of the street (which really wasn't that far down; I don't know why we were questioning ouselves) and instead of turning right as we'd been told, we turned left. I don't know why, please don't ask. We continued left and started to get excited to check into the hostel and go to sleep after a long day of traveling and confusion. The address was 2 Square Coulaincourt. We walked and watched the numbers above the doors start in the teens and go down as our anticipation went up. 8, 6, 4; ours was next. Then 2. A big black 2 above a big black door that looked nothing like a hostel. Feeling frustrated, we frantically searched for a street sign (which are extremely elusive here in Europe). Turns out we were on Rue Coulaincourt, not Square Coulaincourt. Why does anyone ever think it's a good idea to recycle street names within the same vicinity? Anyway, an Italian man came up to us (again because we must have looked very sad and lost), and asked us if we spoke Italian, because he wanted to help us. We said no, but he did speak some Spanish, and I was never so relieved to be able to speak Spanish. He told us basically that we should have turned right instead of left. We learned quickly that if there is a choice of ways to go, we will definitely pick the wrong one. Anyway, we finally found our "Square Coulaincourt," which turned out to be the tiniest square I've ever seen. We checked into our hostel and went to bed immediately.
I hope you all learn from my mistakes.
Friday, we went to see the Museum of Orsay, which is an art museum. I liked the photography exhibits, but I'm not all that into impressionism. To each his own . Then we went to see Notre Dame, which was wayyy more crowded than is comfortable, but I am big on cathedrals so I'm always willing to see them. Even ones that I've already seen before. After that we ate lunch and headed toward Champs Elysses, which is pronounced not at all the way it's spelled. In French there are so many crazy pronunciation rules that I can't remember. Basically the French just throw in a bunch of Qs and Xs and Zs and Js and then just arbitrarily choose not to pronounce some Ss and Ns and Ys and vowels, so in the end, nothing is pronounced the way it's spelled. But yeah, Champs Elysses is kind of like the Rodeo drive of Paris. I found a Starbucks and couldn't resist. I know it's kind of American, but I'm addicted to caffeine, okay? And drinking coffee and walking down Champs Elysses in France on a cloudy day? Okay, I thought it was cool. So at the end of the road is the Arc de Triomphe (Which literally means, as I understand it, "Arch of Triumph." Look at me, speaking french and what not), and it's in the middle of a GIANT round about. They do that so you'd have to play some serious Frogger in order to get across and realistically, it's impossible to do so without dying. This way, you have to take the underground tunnel, where they can charge you for a ticket. It wasn't worth it to us because we can always admire it from afar.
On the street corner, there was a small crowd gathered around 4 hot frenchmen dancing, which I suppose is a popular passtime for the young and poor. They find an open place in a high traffic area, set up a speaker, and just dance. Something you don't see everyday.
Then we made our way to the Eiffel Tower (Tour Eiffel in French). The girls were thinking about not going up because there was a long line, but the sun had poked its little head out from behind the clouds, and there really wouldn't be a better time to go up. AND it's really surprisingly cheaper than you'd think. It was 8€ (with the student discount) to go all the way to the top and 5.50€ to go to the second floor. We went all the way to the top and it was amazing, just as I remembered it. It kind of felt like deja vu, because even though I remembered being there before, it still felt kind of unreal.
After coming back down, we made our way back to the hostel, stopping at a small convenience store along the way to buy champagne. I'm not exactly sure why; it just felt right. We spent the night in the hostel and gossiped.
Saturday, we started our day off going to Versailles. The line was forever long, but it was worth it. It was really strange to be in all these monumental places AGAIN. It's like reading a really good book for a second time, because you catch a bunch of new things that you didn't see before. My favorite part was the Hall of Mirrors, as is everyone's I think. Actually, I loved the whole place. Louis XIV was such an arrogant douche. Who demands a bust of himself above EVERY fireplace? Who thinks that EVERY room requires a larger-than-life-size portrait of himself? Who lines his halls with statues of important people, and not only includes himself, but makes his statue the biggest one?? Louis XIV, that's who.
After Versaille, which took the better part of the afternoon, we were starving, but poor. We went to get Kebabs, which I'm sure I've mentioned before, but I really don't remember. The cookout of the European world? Maybe? America is missing out. Add that to the list of things I need to bring back to the states. Kebabs are heaven in pita bread. Anyway, after that, we went to Sacre Coeur, another really famous church in Paris. It's on top of this GIANT hill, which I climbed all the way up last time. But our hostel was located about 3/4 of the way up the hill already, so I didn't have to do much climbing this time around. I got all the joys of the amazing view without any of the panting and sweating and burning thigh muscles. There's also this really busy square outside where artists come to paint the scenery. It's really cool to watch them at work. How poetic is that? Painting in the square outside Sacre Couer.
Though it was beautiful, it was a little bit more touristy than Notre Dame. I mean, don't they think that maybe, just maybe, a GIFT SHOP in a CHURCH kind of robs it of its original beauty, or is that just my opinion? We did get to see the procession of the nuns to the sanctuary. And then they sung! It was really cool. How many people do you know who have heard the nuns sing in the Sacre Coeur? Then we went outside, and wouldn't you know it? More shirtless sexy French men dancing! I couldn't really see, because I am short and there was a large crowd, but I could hear them. And what do you know, hearing dancing is not as exciting as seeing it. Some people shifted and I snuck into the gap before anyone else could and watched them/appreciated their physical perfection before asking myself, "What do the nuns think about this?"
After that, we slowly made our way away from the crowded area of town, meandering through the streets and looking for the Moulin Rouge. Finally, we found it (lucky our hostel was close to a lot of cool stuff). It was cool to see it in person, but disappointing that a show cost 92€, or about $130. I just did not have that kind of money, as I'd only brought 275€ with me, and the hostel alone cost 120€. So yeah, we stood in the street and fantasized about all the scantily clad french sex goddesses inside, took pictures with the windmill, and left. We went back to the store we'd gone to the previous night, and bought more cheap wine. The funny thing is, we're all so used to buying boxed (shameful...) wine at 98 céntimos, that buying a 3.50€ bottle felt downright classy. All the while, the store owner was shaking his head and laughing, probably thinking, "crazy americans." If I had a nickel...
Then we went back to the hostel and had girl talk. The wine ran out remarkably fast, and we decided to go out for more, because, what else can you do? On our way back to the hostel, bottles in hand, we decided on an impulse to stop and get sushi at a place down the street. Candace and I went back to the hostel to get money and put the wine down while the others went in to order. We came back and ordered a metric shit ton of sushi, paid for it, and left.
When we got back to the hostel, the food lasted about five or six minutes. Then we drank more wine, talked more girl talk, and listened to old school 90s/early 2000s pop music. No better way to spend the night.
Sunday I woke up with a horrible wine headache. But I popped a couple advil, ate a croissant and I was golden. The only thing left on our To Do list was to go see the Louvre. (Travel Tip#16: If you go to Paris, make sure you leave at the very least a whole day for the Louvre. You'll need it. The line is insanely long, and the museum is insanely big.) (Aside...When did the United States decide that the "Louvre" was a monosyllabic name? Did we just forget about that R or something?) We were reserving it for Sunday because it's free on Sundays, but that also means gigantic-est line of my entire life. It wound all the way around the pyramid, along the front building, through the following square, and out and down the street behind the entire museum. It took us nearly 2 hours to finally get inside, but it was, of course, worth it ("worth it" in spanish="vale la pena"). Since there were five of us, we knew that we were going to get separated, so we set aside a time and a place to meet up. Info desk at 3. I looked at Victory and Aphrodite and Mona lisa, and I was making my way to the Egyptian exhibit when I realized it was 2:45. I made it to the information desk just in time. I met with my friends; two of us had already eaten, so the other three of us went to eat lunch. I know that a 3 o'clock lunch sounds really late, but that's actually right on time for us Españolas. After that we dispersed for more art appreciation. I went to see more of the Egyptian stuff, because I didn't get through it all before meeting the rest of the group. It was definitely my favorite part, mostly because it's really unlike anything I've ever seen before. I mean, I've seen it in a lot of shit movies like The Mummy, but to see the real thing was infinitely cooler. Their paintings were shit, but their sculptures were increíble. I'm amazed at the things they were able to do, and on such a wide range of scales. How did they sculpt such detailed artwork on such a small piece of material? Also, I would walk around and admire the bah relief works and the hyrogliphs, but then I thought about something I'd never really thought about before. I thought about the person who made it. I know it sounds like something you would intuitively consider, but when seeing a work in a temperature controlled glass box, it's easy to separate it from its creator. I wonder what he would think if he knew that what he was making would someday, thousands of years later, make it it into a museum where thousands of people would look at it every day, and probably never think a second thought about it.
I've been thinking about this a lot recently. I'm no artist, but I have drawn and painted and sculpted before. I mean, my pieces were absolute garbage, but I still know the time and effort and even emotion that you put into your artwork. In the end, you've put a little bit of yourself into it. So I can't imagine what it's like to make a giant life size sculpture of someone out of marble, like those that line the halls of Versailles and the outside walls of the Louvre. Who were these people? What did they do to deserve a statue of themselves in such a place of respect? How much of himself did the artist put into a particular work? And we just walk right past them. Food for thought.
The museum was closed at six, so I went to meet everyone out front. After we left, we found a random bakery because we felt like the French thing to do was to eat macaroons. Even though they're just about everywhere in the world. Anyway, they were delicious, and after that we went to wander around the city. We'd eaten fairly cheaply over the course of our french weekend, and a few of the girls really wanted an authentic French dinner, at an actual restaurant. An "authentic" French dinner usually consists of 4 or 5 courses. You have a starter and a wine, then your main course, then some kind of cheese and bread, then a dessert or liquor. I've heard that they're not big into entertainment, so what do they do for fun? you might be asking yourself. They go out to eat. For hours. And hours. And I loved every second of it. AND I ate snail!! It tasted good, but I just couldn't get over the fact that I had...a SNAIL in my mouth. At first, I was totally opposed to trying it, but I asked myself how often I'm able to try escargot in Paris. Yes, I liked the taste, but I just couldn't help but be reminded of the snails I've seen sticking to the inside walls of the tunel puerto chico, which is dirtier than a truckstop restroom, and think "one of those is in my mouth right now." But I ate it, and that's the important thing. I also tried foie gras, or duck liver. It was a little funky, but again, I tried it. It was somehow a little easier to stomach because it wasn't as recognizable as the escargot, which still had their shells. That felt so wrong. Pulling a little innocent snail right out of his home just so I can eat him. Poor little guy never had a chance.
So yes, we arrived at the restaurant at about 7:30 and left close to 10:30, like true Parisians. Then we made our way over to the Eiffel Tower, because the only thing I really wanted to do on the whole trip was to go up in the Eiffel Tower at night to see the whole city lit up from above. And we got there at 11:18. Guess what time they stopped selling tickets. If you guessed 11, you're right. Oh well. Disappointing, but I'm trying to be a good sport about everything. If there's anything I don't get to do, I just tell myself that it's a reason to come back. I still got to see the Eiffel Tower itself lit up at night, which is something I hadn't seen before. I also got some good pictures, which can be seen on facebook.
We went to the hostel and took a shot of Sake, which we had left over from the night before when we got sushi, and went to bed.
Monday was a really, really long day. We checked out of the hostel at about 9:30, walked to the metro, took the metro to the bus station, took the (hour long) bus to the airport, then hopped on a plane to Madrid, waited in Madrid, then took a (30 minute-talk about "hopper flight"-) flight back to Santander, took another bus from the airport to the bus station, then walked home. I got home and talked to my señora for about 5 minutes about my trip and told her I was going to take a late siesta before eating dinner, but I ended up never waking up. I woke up at 1:30ish, and just set my alarm for the morning and went back to sleep. She laughed at me this morning because she knew I had grand plans of showering and unpacking and studying, when I really just fell asleep. But I think I had reason enough to be tired.
Definitely a good weekend. Probably my favorite viaje out of all of them.
Time for my final thought. What did I think of Paris (this time around)? I was pleasantly surprised. I didn't try to keep it a secret that I wasn't all that excited about going, but I had a really good time. The city is absolutely gorgeous. It's very romantic somehow. Everything is infinitely more poetic in Paris. Even though the touristy aspects would annoy me, I think that if I had chosen to persue French instead of Spanish, I would have loved to study for three months in Paris. I'm glad Paris didn't turn out like I thought it would. I'm sorry, Paris; I don't know why I doubted you. I'll see you soon hopefully.
Over and out.
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
The first night we got there was Thursday, and we didn't actually get to the hostel until after 10pm, so we just went to bed. But not before getting lost about 100 times. (Travel Tip #15: Before you visit another city, make sure you know where it is you're staying, or at the very least, make sure you have the stupid address.) We only knew the street name where our hostel was located, which happens to have a name that's very similar to another street that's on the other side of the city. Guess which one our taxi driver took us to?
I'll wait.
If you guessed, "the wrong one," you're correct! We walked around, really confused, until we came upon a metro station and stopped to look at a map. I can only imagine what a mess we looked like, because a really nice man with an english accent came up and asked us if we needed help. We told him where we needed to go and he gave us really clear instructions on which train to take, what stop to get off at, and where to go once we did. It was something of a god send, really. We thanked him and he laughed a laugh that says, "crazy americans..."
We got off the metro at the spot he told us to get off at and started walking. He told us to go to the end of the street, and there will be a graveyard on the left, and we turn right at that street and our hostel will be on the left. We walked and walked but began to doubt ourselves when the road kept going and never ended. We stopped to ask an asian girl smoking a cigarette outside a restaurant if she might know where we needed to go. Her directions were crass; she was telling us to go back the way we came and take the metro to some other place. We instead decided to go to a place with internet one street over. We looked up the address and asked the guy working there for directions. He helped us out, but was a little vague. We continued up the street and realized that somehow, we still didn't know where we needed to go. We stopped a couple that was walking along the same street, and luckily they spoke a little bit of english. When the woman realized we wanted directions, she pulled, wouldn't you know it? a GPS out of her purse. Another god send, for sure. She typed in the address and told us to continue the way we'd been going the whole time. Because, you know, the 4th time is the charm.
Finally we made it to the end of the street (which really wasn't that far down; I don't know why we were questioning ouselves) and instead of turning right as we'd been told, we turned left. I don't know why, please don't ask. We continued left and started to get excited to check into the hostel and go to sleep after a long day of traveling and confusion. The address was 2 Square Coulaincourt. We walked and watched the numbers above the doors start in the teens and go down as our anticipation went up. 8, 6, 4; ours was next. Then 2. A big black 2 above a big black door that looked nothing like a hostel. Feeling frustrated, we frantically searched for a street sign (which are extremely elusive here in Europe). Turns out we were on Rue Coulaincourt, not Square Coulaincourt. Why does anyone ever think it's a good idea to recycle street names within the same vicinity? Anyway, an Italian man came up to us (again because we must have looked very sad and lost), and asked us if we spoke Italian, because he wanted to help us. We said no, but he did speak some Spanish, and I was never so relieved to be able to speak Spanish. He told us basically that we should have turned right instead of left. We learned quickly that if there is a choice of ways to go, we will definitely pick the wrong one. Anyway, we finally found our "Square Coulaincourt," which turned out to be the tiniest square I've ever seen. We checked into our hostel and went to bed immediately.
I hope you all learn from my mistakes.
Friday, we went to see the Museum of Orsay, which is an art museum. I liked the photography exhibits, but I'm not all that into impressionism. To each his own . Then we went to see Notre Dame, which was wayyy more crowded than is comfortable, but I am big on cathedrals so I'm always willing to see them. Even ones that I've already seen before. After that we ate lunch and headed toward Champs Elysses, which is pronounced not at all the way it's spelled. In French there are so many crazy pronunciation rules that I can't remember. Basically the French just throw in a bunch of Qs and Xs and Zs and Js and then just arbitrarily choose not to pronounce some Ss and Ns and Ys and vowels, so in the end, nothing is pronounced the way it's spelled. But yeah, Champs Elysses is kind of like the Rodeo drive of Paris. I found a Starbucks and couldn't resist. I know it's kind of American, but I'm addicted to caffeine, okay? And drinking coffee and walking down Champs Elysses in France on a cloudy day? Okay, I thought it was cool. So at the end of the road is the Arc de Triomphe (Which literally means, as I understand it, "Arch of Triumph." Look at me, speaking french and what not), and it's in the middle of a GIANT round about. They do that so you'd have to play some serious Frogger in order to get across and realistically, it's impossible to do so without dying. This way, you have to take the underground tunnel, where they can charge you for a ticket. It wasn't worth it to us because we can always admire it from afar.
On the street corner, there was a small crowd gathered around 4 hot frenchmen dancing, which I suppose is a popular passtime for the young and poor. They find an open place in a high traffic area, set up a speaker, and just dance. Something you don't see everyday.
Then we made our way to the Eiffel Tower (Tour Eiffel in French). The girls were thinking about not going up because there was a long line, but the sun had poked its little head out from behind the clouds, and there really wouldn't be a better time to go up. AND it's really surprisingly cheaper than you'd think. It was 8€ (with the student discount) to go all the way to the top and 5.50€ to go to the second floor. We went all the way to the top and it was amazing, just as I remembered it. It kind of felt like deja vu, because even though I remembered being there before, it still felt kind of unreal.
After coming back down, we made our way back to the hostel, stopping at a small convenience store along the way to buy champagne. I'm not exactly sure why; it just felt right. We spent the night in the hostel and gossiped.
Saturday, we started our day off going to Versailles. The line was forever long, but it was worth it. It was really strange to be in all these monumental places AGAIN. It's like reading a really good book for a second time, because you catch a bunch of new things that you didn't see before. My favorite part was the Hall of Mirrors, as is everyone's I think. Actually, I loved the whole place. Louis XIV was such an arrogant douche. Who demands a bust of himself above EVERY fireplace? Who thinks that EVERY room requires a larger-than-life-size portrait of himself? Who lines his halls with statues of important people, and not only includes himself, but makes his statue the biggest one?? Louis XIV, that's who.
After Versaille, which took the better part of the afternoon, we were starving, but poor. We went to get Kebabs, which I'm sure I've mentioned before, but I really don't remember. The cookout of the European world? Maybe? America is missing out. Add that to the list of things I need to bring back to the states. Kebabs are heaven in pita bread. Anyway, after that, we went to Sacre Coeur, another really famous church in Paris. It's on top of this GIANT hill, which I climbed all the way up last time. But our hostel was located about 3/4 of the way up the hill already, so I didn't have to do much climbing this time around. I got all the joys of the amazing view without any of the panting and sweating and burning thigh muscles. There's also this really busy square outside where artists come to paint the scenery. It's really cool to watch them at work. How poetic is that? Painting in the square outside Sacre Couer.
Though it was beautiful, it was a little bit more touristy than Notre Dame. I mean, don't they think that maybe, just maybe, a GIFT SHOP in a CHURCH kind of robs it of its original beauty, or is that just my opinion? We did get to see the procession of the nuns to the sanctuary. And then they sung! It was really cool. How many people do you know who have heard the nuns sing in the Sacre Coeur? Then we went outside, and wouldn't you know it? More shirtless sexy French men dancing! I couldn't really see, because I am short and there was a large crowd, but I could hear them. And what do you know, hearing dancing is not as exciting as seeing it. Some people shifted and I snuck into the gap before anyone else could and watched them/appreciated their physical perfection before asking myself, "What do the nuns think about this?"
After that, we slowly made our way away from the crowded area of town, meandering through the streets and looking for the Moulin Rouge. Finally, we found it (lucky our hostel was close to a lot of cool stuff). It was cool to see it in person, but disappointing that a show cost 92€, or about $130. I just did not have that kind of money, as I'd only brought 275€ with me, and the hostel alone cost 120€. So yeah, we stood in the street and fantasized about all the scantily clad french sex goddesses inside, took pictures with the windmill, and left. We went back to the store we'd gone to the previous night, and bought more cheap wine. The funny thing is, we're all so used to buying boxed (shameful...) wine at 98 céntimos, that buying a 3.50€ bottle felt downright classy. All the while, the store owner was shaking his head and laughing, probably thinking, "crazy americans." If I had a nickel...
Then we went back to the hostel and had girl talk. The wine ran out remarkably fast, and we decided to go out for more, because, what else can you do? On our way back to the hostel, bottles in hand, we decided on an impulse to stop and get sushi at a place down the street. Candace and I went back to the hostel to get money and put the wine down while the others went in to order. We came back and ordered a metric shit ton of sushi, paid for it, and left.
When we got back to the hostel, the food lasted about five or six minutes. Then we drank more wine, talked more girl talk, and listened to old school 90s/early 2000s pop music. No better way to spend the night.
Sunday I woke up with a horrible wine headache. But I popped a couple advil, ate a croissant and I was golden. The only thing left on our To Do list was to go see the Louvre. (Travel Tip#16: If you go to Paris, make sure you leave at the very least a whole day for the Louvre. You'll need it. The line is insanely long, and the museum is insanely big.) (Aside...When did the United States decide that the "Louvre" was a monosyllabic name? Did we just forget about that R or something?) We were reserving it for Sunday because it's free on Sundays, but that also means gigantic-est line of my entire life. It wound all the way around the pyramid, along the front building, through the following square, and out and down the street behind the entire museum. It took us nearly 2 hours to finally get inside, but it was, of course, worth it ("worth it" in spanish="vale la pena"). Since there were five of us, we knew that we were going to get separated, so we set aside a time and a place to meet up. Info desk at 3. I looked at Victory and Aphrodite and Mona lisa, and I was making my way to the Egyptian exhibit when I realized it was 2:45. I made it to the information desk just in time. I met with my friends; two of us had already eaten, so the other three of us went to eat lunch. I know that a 3 o'clock lunch sounds really late, but that's actually right on time for us Españolas. After that we dispersed for more art appreciation. I went to see more of the Egyptian stuff, because I didn't get through it all before meeting the rest of the group. It was definitely my favorite part, mostly because it's really unlike anything I've ever seen before. I mean, I've seen it in a lot of shit movies like The Mummy, but to see the real thing was infinitely cooler. Their paintings were shit, but their sculptures were increíble. I'm amazed at the things they were able to do, and on such a wide range of scales. How did they sculpt such detailed artwork on such a small piece of material? Also, I would walk around and admire the bah relief works and the hyrogliphs, but then I thought about something I'd never really thought about before. I thought about the person who made it. I know it sounds like something you would intuitively consider, but when seeing a work in a temperature controlled glass box, it's easy to separate it from its creator. I wonder what he would think if he knew that what he was making would someday, thousands of years later, make it it into a museum where thousands of people would look at it every day, and probably never think a second thought about it.
I've been thinking about this a lot recently. I'm no artist, but I have drawn and painted and sculpted before. I mean, my pieces were absolute garbage, but I still know the time and effort and even emotion that you put into your artwork. In the end, you've put a little bit of yourself into it. So I can't imagine what it's like to make a giant life size sculpture of someone out of marble, like those that line the halls of Versailles and the outside walls of the Louvre. Who were these people? What did they do to deserve a statue of themselves in such a place of respect? How much of himself did the artist put into a particular work? And we just walk right past them. Food for thought.
The museum was closed at six, so I went to meet everyone out front. After we left, we found a random bakery because we felt like the French thing to do was to eat macaroons. Even though they're just about everywhere in the world. Anyway, they were delicious, and after that we went to wander around the city. We'd eaten fairly cheaply over the course of our french weekend, and a few of the girls really wanted an authentic French dinner, at an actual restaurant. An "authentic" French dinner usually consists of 4 or 5 courses. You have a starter and a wine, then your main course, then some kind of cheese and bread, then a dessert or liquor. I've heard that they're not big into entertainment, so what do they do for fun? you might be asking yourself. They go out to eat. For hours. And hours. And I loved every second of it. AND I ate snail!! It tasted good, but I just couldn't get over the fact that I had...a SNAIL in my mouth. At first, I was totally opposed to trying it, but I asked myself how often I'm able to try escargot in Paris. Yes, I liked the taste, but I just couldn't help but be reminded of the snails I've seen sticking to the inside walls of the tunel puerto chico, which is dirtier than a truckstop restroom, and think "one of those is in my mouth right now." But I ate it, and that's the important thing. I also tried foie gras, or duck liver. It was a little funky, but again, I tried it. It was somehow a little easier to stomach because it wasn't as recognizable as the escargot, which still had their shells. That felt so wrong. Pulling a little innocent snail right out of his home just so I can eat him. Poor little guy never had a chance.
So yes, we arrived at the restaurant at about 7:30 and left close to 10:30, like true Parisians. Then we made our way over to the Eiffel Tower, because the only thing I really wanted to do on the whole trip was to go up in the Eiffel Tower at night to see the whole city lit up from above. And we got there at 11:18. Guess what time they stopped selling tickets. If you guessed 11, you're right. Oh well. Disappointing, but I'm trying to be a good sport about everything. If there's anything I don't get to do, I just tell myself that it's a reason to come back. I still got to see the Eiffel Tower itself lit up at night, which is something I hadn't seen before. I also got some good pictures, which can be seen on facebook.
We went to the hostel and took a shot of Sake, which we had left over from the night before when we got sushi, and went to bed.
Monday was a really, really long day. We checked out of the hostel at about 9:30, walked to the metro, took the metro to the bus station, took the (hour long) bus to the airport, then hopped on a plane to Madrid, waited in Madrid, then took a (30 minute-talk about "hopper flight"-) flight back to Santander, took another bus from the airport to the bus station, then walked home. I got home and talked to my señora for about 5 minutes about my trip and told her I was going to take a late siesta before eating dinner, but I ended up never waking up. I woke up at 1:30ish, and just set my alarm for the morning and went back to sleep. She laughed at me this morning because she knew I had grand plans of showering and unpacking and studying, when I really just fell asleep. But I think I had reason enough to be tired.
Definitely a good weekend. Probably my favorite viaje out of all of them.
Time for my final thought. What did I think of Paris (this time around)? I was pleasantly surprised. I didn't try to keep it a secret that I wasn't all that excited about going, but I had a really good time. The city is absolutely gorgeous. It's very romantic somehow. Everything is infinitely more poetic in Paris. Even though the touristy aspects would annoy me, I think that if I had chosen to persue French instead of Spanish, I would have loved to study for three months in Paris. I'm glad Paris didn't turn out like I thought it would. I'm sorry, Paris; I don't know why I doubted you. I'll see you soon hopefully.
Over and out.
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
SALAMANCA
The weekend after Dublin was our class trip to Salamanca. We left on Thursday morning, met in Palacio de Festivales and took a five hour bus ride to the city. We had lunch in the hotel, then had a short walking tour of the vicinity. We were staying right in the center of the city, and really the purpose of the tour was just to get our barings for when we went off on our own. We saw the Plaza Mayor, which was built at the end of the Gothic movement and at the beginning of whatever movement came next. We took some pictures, then headed back to the hotel.
After we met for dinner, the group of us Americans all got ready to go out, which meant all the Spaniards ran and hid. And just so you know;
Travel Tip #14
In Spain, and most parts of Europe, you can and will get kicked out for noise. If you're pregaming (or pre-drinking as the Europeans call it) in the hotel, don't get loud, becuase you could find yourself on the streets.
I usually don't like to explain my travel tips, because I think the mystery of it caters to the humor, but I will explain this one: I speak not from experience; this is just what I heard. No one got kicked out, which is lucky, because I'm pretty sure we were damn close.
We did some bar hopping even though night life is a tad more expensive in Salamanca than it is in Santander. I think this is because it's more of a university town than Santander. The streets were crowded like you wouldn't believe with Spanish college students.
The night ended a bit early because one of my friends got sick and I took care of her, but let me say this:
Travel Tip #15
KNOW THE NAME OF THE HOTEL OR HOSTEL YOU ARE STAYING IN. OR AT THE VERY LEAST, KNOW THE NAME OF THE STREET. And if you aren't going to memorize neither the name of your hotel nor the name of the street it is on, at least make sure you have some credit on your phone so that you can call someone who does know this information. Seriously. Your worst nightmares will be realized. Bad things will happen to good people; I beg you, learn the name of your hotel.
Friday we woke up fairly early and ate breakfast in the hotel. We took tours of Catedrals Nueva y Vieja (The old and new cathedrals of Salamanca), which were much different than Catedral de Barcelona. I like that, because I'm always afraid they're going to get a bit monotonous. The facade of the New Cathedral broke or burned down or something back in the 1970s, and when they fixed it, they added 2 things; an astronaut and an ice cream cone. I was able to find the atronaut, which you can see a picture of on my facebook, but not the ice cream cone. Then we got to go on the roof, where the two cathedrals connect, which I'm told is the best view of the whole city. I got some great pictures of this as well. (Side note-this is where I discovered my fear of spiral staircases. And raise your hands, who is surprised? No one? Okay. I suppose it's no shock when I'm scared of tight spaces and heights; why would I be perfectly okay when you put them together in a twisting vortex of doom?)
We also got to see La Casa de las Conchas, which was my personal favorite because it's a house covered in shells just like the one on my foot. Which is a bit strange, because Salamanca is in the middle of Spain and no where near the coast. Then we saw a church, which I can't remember the name of, something like "La Iglesia del Puente Romano" or something like that. But anyway, the city was settled by the Romans, and they built this bridge (english for "puente") in the first century. The first century!! I wish I were capable of building something that would last for 2000 years.
Then we went to see El Jardín de Calisto y Melibea. This was coolest, I think, for my compañera Emily and me, because we were most familiar with the story of Calisto and Melibea after having done a project on it together for our literature class. It's basically the Spanish version of Romeo and Juliet. It's a tiny garden, but the main attraction is the well that stands in the middle. Couples from all over come to attach a padlock some part of the well. If I were a romantic, I would so want to come back and attach one myself with a boyfriend. As it is, I am not a romantic, but I still fancy it a cool idea.
After the garden, we had some free time to walk around to get coffee or explore the city or what have you. I bought an "I <3 a="" and="" back="" balance="" br="" espa="" going.="" have="" hostel="" i="" like="" nice="" ola.="" salamanca="" shirt="" siesta-ed="" tee="" the="" then="" think="" to="" true="" turista.="" went="">
Actually, I didn't siesta per se. I really just laid around and watched hours of spanish disney channel. That was probably the best part of the whole trip. I watched Hannah Montana Forever, Suite Life On Deck, and Phineas and Ferb ALL in Spanish. Phineas and Ferb was my favorite, not only because that show is brilliant in English already, but also because they always have at least one song per episode, and it was really cool to listen to them translated into Spanish. Of course, some of the meaning is compromised, but still interesting. Or is that just really lame of me?
Whatever.
That night we went out again. We went to a bar that, if you paid the 3€ entrance fee, you would get complementary beers for 2 hours. And if you paid 6€, you would get complementary mixed drinks. Qué mala idea. Yeah, I'm glad I have good friends that I can trust.
Saturday we went to see la Universidad de Salamanca, which is the oldest functioning university in Spain. The oldest university is actually in Valencia, but it shut down in the 16th century (I think?). According to a legend made up by the students, if you can find the tiny frog within the facade of the main school (the school was divided into the main school and the lesser schools. the main school is where people studied philosophy and religion, which were considered much more important at the time the school was built. so, if you were a math or political science major, you would attend the "lesser" school. Qué interesante) without help, then that meant that you would have good luck on your final exams. If you weren't a student at the time but were still able to find the frog, that meant that you get a wish. So, if you'd like a wish and are bad at finding shooting stars, then there's still Salamanca.
We also got to see La Iglesia de San Esteban, which I think was my favorite. The space is just so grand and overwhelming. By the way, pictures of all this can be found on my facebook.
That night, I borrowed one of my friend's computers and got to skype with my sister and my two little cousins, who are slowly but surely becoming not so little anymore. Then, on a whim, because my boyfriend wasn't answering his phone, I skyped with my dad because 1. I saw that he was online and 2. I hadn't heard his voice in just about 2 months. That was a well appreciated digital family reunion. Then I went down into the lobby to talk to one of my friends and ended up being kidnapped by two of my friends and taken out on the town, even though I had no plans to go out that evening. It was close to 1am, which is about the time the city comes alive. The streets were crowded yet again with Spanish college students. Even though I made good on my promise to myself not to drink, we didn't get back to the hotel until around after 5am. I blame the time change. Here in Spain, they don't "spring forward" until the 27th of March. So after a breif 4 hours of sleep, I was downstairs at 9, ready to hop on the bus back to Santander.
So here's the question you knew I would ask: What did I think of Salamanca? (This is becoming something of a Jerry Springer's final thought, I think) I thought it was really beautiful as well. It was really different looking than Santander. Santander is your typical ugly city. Out of all my trips up to this point, Salamanca was for sure my favorite. I think that if I hadn't chosen Santander, I would have studied in Salamanca. It's about twice the size of Santander, which intimidates me, but it's infinitely more interesting than Santander because it's something like 700 years older than anything in the States. Its only vice is that it's extremely touristy. I could never imagine living there. It would feel like an extended vacation rather than life. So, Santander is still number one in my book. It feels much more real, which I like. I only have 3 months, and I want them to feel as real as they possibly can. My señora told me that this entire weekend was sunny perfect weather the whole time, but as soon as we drove the bus into the city, it began to rain. My friend Keelan said, "Welcome home to hell."
Holy shit, I love this ugly little city.
Until next time,
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página"
After we met for dinner, the group of us Americans all got ready to go out, which meant all the Spaniards ran and hid. And just so you know;
Travel Tip #14
In Spain, and most parts of Europe, you can and will get kicked out for noise. If you're pregaming (or pre-drinking as the Europeans call it) in the hotel, don't get loud, becuase you could find yourself on the streets.
I usually don't like to explain my travel tips, because I think the mystery of it caters to the humor, but I will explain this one: I speak not from experience; this is just what I heard. No one got kicked out, which is lucky, because I'm pretty sure we were damn close.
We did some bar hopping even though night life is a tad more expensive in Salamanca than it is in Santander. I think this is because it's more of a university town than Santander. The streets were crowded like you wouldn't believe with Spanish college students.
The night ended a bit early because one of my friends got sick and I took care of her, but let me say this:
Travel Tip #15
KNOW THE NAME OF THE HOTEL OR HOSTEL YOU ARE STAYING IN. OR AT THE VERY LEAST, KNOW THE NAME OF THE STREET. And if you aren't going to memorize neither the name of your hotel nor the name of the street it is on, at least make sure you have some credit on your phone so that you can call someone who does know this information. Seriously. Your worst nightmares will be realized. Bad things will happen to good people; I beg you, learn the name of your hotel.
Friday we woke up fairly early and ate breakfast in the hotel. We took tours of Catedrals Nueva y Vieja (The old and new cathedrals of Salamanca), which were much different than Catedral de Barcelona. I like that, because I'm always afraid they're going to get a bit monotonous. The facade of the New Cathedral broke or burned down or something back in the 1970s, and when they fixed it, they added 2 things; an astronaut and an ice cream cone. I was able to find the atronaut, which you can see a picture of on my facebook, but not the ice cream cone. Then we got to go on the roof, where the two cathedrals connect, which I'm told is the best view of the whole city. I got some great pictures of this as well. (Side note-this is where I discovered my fear of spiral staircases. And raise your hands, who is surprised? No one? Okay. I suppose it's no shock when I'm scared of tight spaces and heights; why would I be perfectly okay when you put them together in a twisting vortex of doom?)
We also got to see La Casa de las Conchas, which was my personal favorite because it's a house covered in shells just like the one on my foot. Which is a bit strange, because Salamanca is in the middle of Spain and no where near the coast. Then we saw a church, which I can't remember the name of, something like "La Iglesia del Puente Romano" or something like that. But anyway, the city was settled by the Romans, and they built this bridge (english for "puente") in the first century. The first century!! I wish I were capable of building something that would last for 2000 years.
Then we went to see El Jardín de Calisto y Melibea. This was coolest, I think, for my compañera Emily and me, because we were most familiar with the story of Calisto and Melibea after having done a project on it together for our literature class. It's basically the Spanish version of Romeo and Juliet. It's a tiny garden, but the main attraction is the well that stands in the middle. Couples from all over come to attach a padlock some part of the well. If I were a romantic, I would so want to come back and attach one myself with a boyfriend. As it is, I am not a romantic, but I still fancy it a cool idea.
After the garden, we had some free time to walk around to get coffee or explore the city or what have you. I bought an "I <3 a="" and="" back="" balance="" br="" espa="" going.="" have="" hostel="" i="" like="" nice="" ola.="" salamanca="" shirt="" siesta-ed="" tee="" the="" then="" think="" to="" true="" turista.="" went="">
Actually, I didn't siesta per se. I really just laid around and watched hours of spanish disney channel. That was probably the best part of the whole trip. I watched Hannah Montana Forever, Suite Life On Deck, and Phineas and Ferb ALL in Spanish. Phineas and Ferb was my favorite, not only because that show is brilliant in English already, but also because they always have at least one song per episode, and it was really cool to listen to them translated into Spanish. Of course, some of the meaning is compromised, but still interesting. Or is that just really lame of me?
Whatever.
That night we went out again. We went to a bar that, if you paid the 3€ entrance fee, you would get complementary beers for 2 hours. And if you paid 6€, you would get complementary mixed drinks. Qué mala idea. Yeah, I'm glad I have good friends that I can trust.
Saturday we went to see la Universidad de Salamanca, which is the oldest functioning university in Spain. The oldest university is actually in Valencia, but it shut down in the 16th century (I think?). According to a legend made up by the students, if you can find the tiny frog within the facade of the main school (the school was divided into the main school and the lesser schools. the main school is where people studied philosophy and religion, which were considered much more important at the time the school was built. so, if you were a math or political science major, you would attend the "lesser" school. Qué interesante) without help, then that meant that you would have good luck on your final exams. If you weren't a student at the time but were still able to find the frog, that meant that you get a wish. So, if you'd like a wish and are bad at finding shooting stars, then there's still Salamanca.
We also got to see La Iglesia de San Esteban, which I think was my favorite. The space is just so grand and overwhelming. By the way, pictures of all this can be found on my facebook.
That night, I borrowed one of my friend's computers and got to skype with my sister and my two little cousins, who are slowly but surely becoming not so little anymore. Then, on a whim, because my boyfriend wasn't answering his phone, I skyped with my dad because 1. I saw that he was online and 2. I hadn't heard his voice in just about 2 months. That was a well appreciated digital family reunion. Then I went down into the lobby to talk to one of my friends and ended up being kidnapped by two of my friends and taken out on the town, even though I had no plans to go out that evening. It was close to 1am, which is about the time the city comes alive. The streets were crowded yet again with Spanish college students. Even though I made good on my promise to myself not to drink, we didn't get back to the hotel until around after 5am. I blame the time change. Here in Spain, they don't "spring forward" until the 27th of March. So after a breif 4 hours of sleep, I was downstairs at 9, ready to hop on the bus back to Santander.
So here's the question you knew I would ask: What did I think of Salamanca? (This is becoming something of a Jerry Springer's final thought, I think) I thought it was really beautiful as well. It was really different looking than Santander. Santander is your typical ugly city. Out of all my trips up to this point, Salamanca was for sure my favorite. I think that if I hadn't chosen Santander, I would have studied in Salamanca. It's about twice the size of Santander, which intimidates me, but it's infinitely more interesting than Santander because it's something like 700 years older than anything in the States. Its only vice is that it's extremely touristy. I could never imagine living there. It would feel like an extended vacation rather than life. So, Santander is still number one in my book. It feels much more real, which I like. I only have 3 months, and I want them to feel as real as they possibly can. My señora told me that this entire weekend was sunny perfect weather the whole time, but as soon as we drove the bus into the city, it began to rain. My friend Keelan said, "Welcome home to hell."
Holy shit, I love this ugly little city.
Until next time,
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página"
Nothing Like St. Patrick´s Day in Dublin
Since it's been over three weeks since my last update, and since so much has happened, I've decided to divide my next update into three entries. It only seems fitting, because I have three trips that I still need to write about. This is for both of our conveniences, you see, because it'll be easier for me to write it in three different entries and hopefully will be easier to keep your interest in three different entries instead of one really super duper long one. So first is Dublin, which was from March 17th to the 20th. Here we go:
If someone ever tells you that they don´t really celebrate St. Patrick´s Day in Ireland, he or she is lying to you. A group of 8 of us skipped class on Thursday (sorry dad) to catch our flight out of Santander at 11am. Ireland is an hour behind, so we gained an hour, and arrived at the Dublin airport at 1pm ish. We made our way to the hotel, paid, and settled into the room. After that our first stop was to a novelty Irish gift shop, so we could find ridiculous green wastes of money to adorn ourselves with. Then we walked along the O´connell street, which I gather is the main street of central Dublin. All of us were immediately having the time of our lives. The streets were insanely crowded (tough break to be a car) with tons and tons of people. We made our way to Temple Bar, which was an area surrounding an actual bar called, you guessed it-Temble Bar. It was the craziest party I´ve ever seen, which really isn´t saying much, because I´ve only seen a handful of parties in my day, and they were all fairly tame. But I assure you, this was probably the biggest party going on in the world on Thursday. And also probably EVER. We met up with one of my sorority sisters, who is studying in Wales this year. Another one of our sisters was visiting her, and she also brought along her Welsh friend. When we retrieved them, we heard somewhere that the drinking age in Ireland was 20, and me and my sister´s Welsh friend began to panic slightly, as we´re both 19. Our friend Shelby walked to the bouncer of our first bar and said "Hi, I´m with that group of people over there, and we all forgot our IDs, can we come in anyway?" And he said, "Yeah, you look old enough." And in we walked. We started the night off early at about 2:30pm with a Guinness, which was the cheapest available pint (I shopped around. By asking the barman, "What is your cheapest pint? I'll have that." I´m so resourceful...) at 5€. Just so you know, the drinking age is actually 18 in Ireland. Good thing I did some research before I left, right?
So I won't bore you with the details, but basically we walked around the insane crowded green party that is Temple Bar and went from bar to bar and drank. I'll try to paint a picture for you. All you can see is green. You can't hear yourself think. You can barely walk for how many people there are. While making our way to another bar, I looked over and saw an early 20s looking man laying on the sidewalk, just vomiting into the street. I had two reactions:
1. Gross.
2. I'm so glad I don't have to clean that up.
St. Patrick's Day.
So yes, our day was much more successful and vomit-free than this stranger I saw on the streets of Dublin. Our night did end extraordinarily early, though. We went for Irish fast food at about 10, and took a cab home at 11. We got back to the hotel before midnight. All I could think was, wow, if we were back home in Santander, I wouldn't have even have left my apartment yet. I suppose when you begin drinking at 2am, midnight is a good time to throw in the towel.
Friday was a long day. It started out promising, as we'd all bought tickets to a 2 day hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Dublin. It's a line of buses that run constantly from early in the morning to about 6, and they stop at 24 popular tourist spots. You can get off at any point, and go to any bus stop and get back on. It's a pretty good deal, too. I recommend it if you're ever in the Dublin area. http://www.dublinsightseeing.ie/ It's only 11€ if you're a student and you buy tickets online (if you're wondering, that's my Travel Tip #14). Anyway, we started out at stop #1, and our tour guide was really funny, so we decided to stay on the bus for the entire circle of the city, just to get acquainted and decide where it was we wanted to go. After one full go around, which took about an hour and a half, we made our way back around to stop number 3, or 4, I can't remember because it was like 2 weeks ago and I need to stop procrastinating writing these blogs. This stop was Trinity College, which is the oldest college in Ireland. It's consistently rated as Ireland's number 1 college, and is rated 40somethingth worldwide. Also, it was founded by Queen Elizabeth I. It's really beautiful, and I admit that it would be cool to go there and all but, I get annoyed when I see high schoolers touring UNCW. There's no way I'd be able to handle the hundreds of tourists coming to see my school just for the novelty of it. How do you focus with all those people clouding up your mind?
After the college, we all went to get something to eat and to sit down and plan the rest of our day. We did some shopping and then made our way to the Guinness Storehouse. I'm really not a huge fan of Guinness, but when in Ireland, drink like the Irish do. We got our student discount (kinda ironic to get a student discount to enter a brewery, but then again, maybe not that ironic) and went in. Everyone gets a complimentary pint of Guinness. You have three options: go to the fifth floor bar and get your pint, go to the seventh floor gravity bar, from which you can see the entirety of Dublin, or go to the fourth floor, where they teach you the "right" way to pour a pint of Guinness. And then you get feel the pride of a job well done by drinking the very pint that you labored over and poured yourself. Guess which one I picked? The fourth floor, of course! I'm an american, I want to work for my pint. I don't want it just handed to me. That was a cool experience, though. They even gave me a certificate to prove that I am, in fact, a certified pourer. After that, we walked aimlessly through the other 6 floors of the storehouse. Actually, let me amend that statement: the other 5 floors. There actually isn't a sixth floor. The seventh floor is made up of only the gravity bar, which gets its name from the fact that it's floating rather than resting on the sixth floor, make sense? Kinda cool, no?
Also, when you first walk in, the central structure of the building is made of glass and is shaped like a pint glass. They seriously love their Guinness, don't they? They told us how many pints it would take to fill, and I think it was somewhere around 28 million. Then our tour guide said that that's how many pints are sold in Ireland per week. Then he added, "But this week, that's how many pints are sold per day."
St. Patrick's day.
The rest of the day was uneventful. We ate dinner and made our way back to the hotel, in hopes of getting up early the next day to get some more sight seeing done.
We did succeed in getting an early start on Saturday, though as soon as the cab dropped us off in the center, one of our number realized she didn't have her bus pass. This weekend was one mishap after another. Luckily we all like each other. The group I was with was the poor group, so while 3 of our group went to see stuff you had to pay for, we went to see all the free stuff, which happened to also be all the stuff that was shit. The first was Pheonix park, which was, admittedly, beautiful. Despite the winter months that preceeded, it was a vibrant green. There we met with our sister Jordan and her Welsh friend Jack.
Next was the National Museum of Ireland. It was kind of boring, admittedly, but I tried to be a good sport about it all. I mean, jeez, Ireland, we get it. That whole "luck of the Irish" thing was just a facade. It was like they wanted to avoid telling about all the misfortune in their past, so they just filled the museum with random things that you'd never go to a museum to see. For example, fashion on the 19th and 20th centuries. Then later, examples of the way a typical Irish bedroom or living room might look in the 1900s, 1910s, 1920s, and so forth. And then they exagerrated their involvement in the American Civil War, especially in the north (probably to win points, no?). Why do you need an entire floor of a museum dedicated to this? Even I could tell you about the Irish involvement in our Civil War. In fact, I can sum it up for you in one sentence: There were some legalized Irish aliens and some naturalized Irish immigrants living in the states at the time and they were drafted to fight. Some of them felt passionately enough about it to enlist themselves. Oh, wait. That was two sentences. You win this time, National Museum of Ireland.
After that, we went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art. I hate modern art; I think it's a waste of materials, money, time, capital, and energy to take a large canvas and paint it entirely black, save a 2cm by 2cm square in the bottom left corner (yes this was an actual piece that I saw). I value much more a person's ability to recreate actual, recognizable images, but that's just me. I won't be judgemental. Anyway, I found myself a nice room and read a book until one of my friends came to get me. When we were done at the Modern Art museum, we went to a crowded bar called Flannigan's or something Irish like that to watch the Rugby game.
The game was Ireland versus England, so it was really exciting to get to watch it in Ireland. And, as an added bonus, we got to watch Ireland win. This was especially exciting because this meant Ireland prevented England from winning some kind of title (forgive me; I'm new to this rugby thing). So after watching my first game of rugby, I have another thing to add to my list of things to bring back to the states. Where did we deviate from rugby and create American football, which is really just a shit version of rugby? Seriously, United States, get it together.
Sabrina, Abi, and I really wanted to get over to St. Patrick's cathedral and Christ Church Cathedral to take pictures before we lost the sun (it was about 5pm at this point) and before the buses stopped running. So we left during the game and made our way over to the churchs. They were really stunning and I got a couple pictures, but it was really just because I felt like it was important to at least make it to St. Patrick's Cathedral while you're in Dublin. That's not something you can see anywhere you go. After my few photos, we went to a place down the street that the cab driver had suggested. Apparently it's super famous. They have a list of the celebrities that have eaten there outside on the wall. It was a lot of food, but hey, I ate fish and chips in Dublin next to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. It wasn't on my bucket list exactly, but still cool all the same.
We got back to the bar to watch Ireland win, which was just about the most insanity I've seen in a single room in my whole life. After the game, Sabrina and I were getting tired and didn't feel like staying at the bar for the next game, which was between Wales and some other country I don't remember, so we met up with Shelby, Danielle, and Kelsie, who had all gone an another tour the rest of us couldn't afford. We met them in the center and caught a taxi back to the hotel. We spent a couple hours in the room having girl talk, and then went down to the bar for a night cap. I had an Irish coffee, which was suggested to me by my boss (Thanks, Mark!) a while back. It wasn't as good as I was expecting. I like whiskey, and I like coffee, but it's kind of like how I enjoy the taste of lasagna and the taste of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, but I certainly don't like them together. Then we called it an early night.
The next morning we had to wake up at 4am in order to catch the bus in order to make it to the airport in order to get our plane in time. It makes me feel so adult to do things like this by myself.
So what did I think of Dublin? It was beautiful. I didn't miss Santander as much, but I think that was just because I had already gone to Barcelona and learned what it was like to be away from your home away from home. It's kind of like when you go to school for the first time. It's really scary and you don't know what to expect and all you really want to do is go home, but then you get used to it and it's not so bad. (Until you get to college and you have to drag your ass out of bed at 7 in the morning to make it to quantitative methods and statistical analysis for business and economics, but that's a different story). So yes, Dublin was beautiful. There was a lot to see. I had a lot of fun Thursday, but I didn't particularly enjoy the rest of the weekend. Understand, I think this was mostly circumstantial. I don't blame the city for my bad time. I wish I could have somehow teleported to Santander during the night on Thursday and woken up in my bed on Friday morning. I missed class Thursday, and two day trips over the weekend, one of which I had to write a paper for in order to make it up. I feel a lot of what I did was purely for the novelty of having said that I did it. Yes, I drank a Guinness in Dublin on St. Patrick's day, but was that an even trade? I suppose I'll never know. It's best not to dwell on what could have been, especially one single weekend of my life. The important thing is that I had fun in Dublin. Don't misunderstand me; it's not that I regret my decision to go to Dublin (which, ask anyone of my friends, was a difficult one), it's just that it was this weekend that I began to realize how little time I have left here. Maybe I should be thinking the opposite way, that I should be taking advantage of all my time here and using it to travel around Europe?
Anyway, next entry will be about my trip to Salamanca! Adios, todos!
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
If someone ever tells you that they don´t really celebrate St. Patrick´s Day in Ireland, he or she is lying to you. A group of 8 of us skipped class on Thursday (sorry dad) to catch our flight out of Santander at 11am. Ireland is an hour behind, so we gained an hour, and arrived at the Dublin airport at 1pm ish. We made our way to the hotel, paid, and settled into the room. After that our first stop was to a novelty Irish gift shop, so we could find ridiculous green wastes of money to adorn ourselves with. Then we walked along the O´connell street, which I gather is the main street of central Dublin. All of us were immediately having the time of our lives. The streets were insanely crowded (tough break to be a car) with tons and tons of people. We made our way to Temple Bar, which was an area surrounding an actual bar called, you guessed it-Temble Bar. It was the craziest party I´ve ever seen, which really isn´t saying much, because I´ve only seen a handful of parties in my day, and they were all fairly tame. But I assure you, this was probably the biggest party going on in the world on Thursday. And also probably EVER. We met up with one of my sorority sisters, who is studying in Wales this year. Another one of our sisters was visiting her, and she also brought along her Welsh friend. When we retrieved them, we heard somewhere that the drinking age in Ireland was 20, and me and my sister´s Welsh friend began to panic slightly, as we´re both 19. Our friend Shelby walked to the bouncer of our first bar and said "Hi, I´m with that group of people over there, and we all forgot our IDs, can we come in anyway?" And he said, "Yeah, you look old enough." And in we walked. We started the night off early at about 2:30pm with a Guinness, which was the cheapest available pint (I shopped around. By asking the barman, "What is your cheapest pint? I'll have that." I´m so resourceful...) at 5€. Just so you know, the drinking age is actually 18 in Ireland. Good thing I did some research before I left, right?
So I won't bore you with the details, but basically we walked around the insane crowded green party that is Temple Bar and went from bar to bar and drank. I'll try to paint a picture for you. All you can see is green. You can't hear yourself think. You can barely walk for how many people there are. While making our way to another bar, I looked over and saw an early 20s looking man laying on the sidewalk, just vomiting into the street. I had two reactions:
1. Gross.
2. I'm so glad I don't have to clean that up.
St. Patrick's Day.
So yes, our day was much more successful and vomit-free than this stranger I saw on the streets of Dublin. Our night did end extraordinarily early, though. We went for Irish fast food at about 10, and took a cab home at 11. We got back to the hotel before midnight. All I could think was, wow, if we were back home in Santander, I wouldn't have even have left my apartment yet. I suppose when you begin drinking at 2am, midnight is a good time to throw in the towel.
Friday was a long day. It started out promising, as we'd all bought tickets to a 2 day hop-on, hop-off bus tour of Dublin. It's a line of buses that run constantly from early in the morning to about 6, and they stop at 24 popular tourist spots. You can get off at any point, and go to any bus stop and get back on. It's a pretty good deal, too. I recommend it if you're ever in the Dublin area. http://www.dublinsightseeing.ie/ It's only 11€ if you're a student and you buy tickets online (if you're wondering, that's my Travel Tip #14). Anyway, we started out at stop #1, and our tour guide was really funny, so we decided to stay on the bus for the entire circle of the city, just to get acquainted and decide where it was we wanted to go. After one full go around, which took about an hour and a half, we made our way back around to stop number 3, or 4, I can't remember because it was like 2 weeks ago and I need to stop procrastinating writing these blogs. This stop was Trinity College, which is the oldest college in Ireland. It's consistently rated as Ireland's number 1 college, and is rated 40somethingth worldwide. Also, it was founded by Queen Elizabeth I. It's really beautiful, and I admit that it would be cool to go there and all but, I get annoyed when I see high schoolers touring UNCW. There's no way I'd be able to handle the hundreds of tourists coming to see my school just for the novelty of it. How do you focus with all those people clouding up your mind?
After the college, we all went to get something to eat and to sit down and plan the rest of our day. We did some shopping and then made our way to the Guinness Storehouse. I'm really not a huge fan of Guinness, but when in Ireland, drink like the Irish do. We got our student discount (kinda ironic to get a student discount to enter a brewery, but then again, maybe not that ironic) and went in. Everyone gets a complimentary pint of Guinness. You have three options: go to the fifth floor bar and get your pint, go to the seventh floor gravity bar, from which you can see the entirety of Dublin, or go to the fourth floor, where they teach you the "right" way to pour a pint of Guinness. And then you get feel the pride of a job well done by drinking the very pint that you labored over and poured yourself. Guess which one I picked? The fourth floor, of course! I'm an american, I want to work for my pint. I don't want it just handed to me. That was a cool experience, though. They even gave me a certificate to prove that I am, in fact, a certified pourer. After that, we walked aimlessly through the other 6 floors of the storehouse. Actually, let me amend that statement: the other 5 floors. There actually isn't a sixth floor. The seventh floor is made up of only the gravity bar, which gets its name from the fact that it's floating rather than resting on the sixth floor, make sense? Kinda cool, no?
Also, when you first walk in, the central structure of the building is made of glass and is shaped like a pint glass. They seriously love their Guinness, don't they? They told us how many pints it would take to fill, and I think it was somewhere around 28 million. Then our tour guide said that that's how many pints are sold in Ireland per week. Then he added, "But this week, that's how many pints are sold per day."
St. Patrick's day.
The rest of the day was uneventful. We ate dinner and made our way back to the hotel, in hopes of getting up early the next day to get some more sight seeing done.
We did succeed in getting an early start on Saturday, though as soon as the cab dropped us off in the center, one of our number realized she didn't have her bus pass. This weekend was one mishap after another. Luckily we all like each other. The group I was with was the poor group, so while 3 of our group went to see stuff you had to pay for, we went to see all the free stuff, which happened to also be all the stuff that was shit. The first was Pheonix park, which was, admittedly, beautiful. Despite the winter months that preceeded, it was a vibrant green. There we met with our sister Jordan and her Welsh friend Jack.
Next was the National Museum of Ireland. It was kind of boring, admittedly, but I tried to be a good sport about it all. I mean, jeez, Ireland, we get it. That whole "luck of the Irish" thing was just a facade. It was like they wanted to avoid telling about all the misfortune in their past, so they just filled the museum with random things that you'd never go to a museum to see. For example, fashion on the 19th and 20th centuries. Then later, examples of the way a typical Irish bedroom or living room might look in the 1900s, 1910s, 1920s, and so forth. And then they exagerrated their involvement in the American Civil War, especially in the north (probably to win points, no?). Why do you need an entire floor of a museum dedicated to this? Even I could tell you about the Irish involvement in our Civil War. In fact, I can sum it up for you in one sentence: There were some legalized Irish aliens and some naturalized Irish immigrants living in the states at the time and they were drafted to fight. Some of them felt passionately enough about it to enlist themselves. Oh, wait. That was two sentences. You win this time, National Museum of Ireland.
After that, we went to the Irish Museum of Modern Art. I hate modern art; I think it's a waste of materials, money, time, capital, and energy to take a large canvas and paint it entirely black, save a 2cm by 2cm square in the bottom left corner (yes this was an actual piece that I saw). I value much more a person's ability to recreate actual, recognizable images, but that's just me. I won't be judgemental. Anyway, I found myself a nice room and read a book until one of my friends came to get me. When we were done at the Modern Art museum, we went to a crowded bar called Flannigan's or something Irish like that to watch the Rugby game.
The game was Ireland versus England, so it was really exciting to get to watch it in Ireland. And, as an added bonus, we got to watch Ireland win. This was especially exciting because this meant Ireland prevented England from winning some kind of title (forgive me; I'm new to this rugby thing). So after watching my first game of rugby, I have another thing to add to my list of things to bring back to the states. Where did we deviate from rugby and create American football, which is really just a shit version of rugby? Seriously, United States, get it together.
Sabrina, Abi, and I really wanted to get over to St. Patrick's cathedral and Christ Church Cathedral to take pictures before we lost the sun (it was about 5pm at this point) and before the buses stopped running. So we left during the game and made our way over to the churchs. They were really stunning and I got a couple pictures, but it was really just because I felt like it was important to at least make it to St. Patrick's Cathedral while you're in Dublin. That's not something you can see anywhere you go. After my few photos, we went to a place down the street that the cab driver had suggested. Apparently it's super famous. They have a list of the celebrities that have eaten there outside on the wall. It was a lot of food, but hey, I ate fish and chips in Dublin next to Saint Patrick's Cathedral. It wasn't on my bucket list exactly, but still cool all the same.
We got back to the bar to watch Ireland win, which was just about the most insanity I've seen in a single room in my whole life. After the game, Sabrina and I were getting tired and didn't feel like staying at the bar for the next game, which was between Wales and some other country I don't remember, so we met up with Shelby, Danielle, and Kelsie, who had all gone an another tour the rest of us couldn't afford. We met them in the center and caught a taxi back to the hotel. We spent a couple hours in the room having girl talk, and then went down to the bar for a night cap. I had an Irish coffee, which was suggested to me by my boss (Thanks, Mark!) a while back. It wasn't as good as I was expecting. I like whiskey, and I like coffee, but it's kind of like how I enjoy the taste of lasagna and the taste of chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream, but I certainly don't like them together. Then we called it an early night.
The next morning we had to wake up at 4am in order to catch the bus in order to make it to the airport in order to get our plane in time. It makes me feel so adult to do things like this by myself.
So what did I think of Dublin? It was beautiful. I didn't miss Santander as much, but I think that was just because I had already gone to Barcelona and learned what it was like to be away from your home away from home. It's kind of like when you go to school for the first time. It's really scary and you don't know what to expect and all you really want to do is go home, but then you get used to it and it's not so bad. (Until you get to college and you have to drag your ass out of bed at 7 in the morning to make it to quantitative methods and statistical analysis for business and economics, but that's a different story). So yes, Dublin was beautiful. There was a lot to see. I had a lot of fun Thursday, but I didn't particularly enjoy the rest of the weekend. Understand, I think this was mostly circumstantial. I don't blame the city for my bad time. I wish I could have somehow teleported to Santander during the night on Thursday and woken up in my bed on Friday morning. I missed class Thursday, and two day trips over the weekend, one of which I had to write a paper for in order to make it up. I feel a lot of what I did was purely for the novelty of having said that I did it. Yes, I drank a Guinness in Dublin on St. Patrick's day, but was that an even trade? I suppose I'll never know. It's best not to dwell on what could have been, especially one single weekend of my life. The important thing is that I had fun in Dublin. Don't misunderstand me; it's not that I regret my decision to go to Dublin (which, ask anyone of my friends, was a difficult one), it's just that it was this weekend that I began to realize how little time I have left here. Maybe I should be thinking the opposite way, that I should be taking advantage of all my time here and using it to travel around Europe?
Anyway, next entry will be about my trip to Salamanca! Adios, todos!
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una página."
Sunday, March 13, 2011
Almost the halfway point
I´m so happy here living in Spain that it´s depressing. It´s like being desperately thirsty and watching someone pour your last water bottle out onto a desert of Spanish. I´m so happy that thinking about the fact that we´re approaching the halfway point makes me really sad. I wish I could have more time here because I´m doing a lot of traveling, so most of my weekends will be spent outside of Santander. Last night was the last weekend I will spend here for a few weeks. Ah, that´s depressing.
So last week, everyone did something crazy. And guess what? I got a tattoo. It says "vuelvan," which means "come back." It´s on my right shoulder blade and it hurt like a bitch. It´s a bit awkward because it´s conjugated in a form that the Spaniards don´t typically use (it´s more of a latin american thing), so a lot of people think it´s spelled wrong at first. I´ll be glad to see some Mexicans who understand it without me having to explain it. Even though it´s a bit tiresome to explain it, I love my new tattoo. It was designed by the girl at the tattoo shop (who was really cool), so it´s nice knowing that no one else can have the same font as me. And also, even if I regret it later on (because who doesn´t) it will still be a cool story to say "Yes, this is the tattoo I got when I was a crazy college student living in Spain." You´re only young and stupid once. Well, you´re only young once.
Two other girls on the trip got tattoos, and a couple others got piercings, and I won´t tell you where. I think it was just a bucket list kind of thing, because once one person thought of the idea to get a tattoo, suddenly a whole group of us wanted something done. It was a bit disappointing because my camera was dead and I didn´t get any pictures of my tattoo actually being done, but then I thought, "No, I don´t have pictures of my tattoo, but I have the tattoo." The tattoo is a picture in and of itself.
Anyway, I guess I´m rambling again. I just wanted to update and talk about my new tattoo and my last weekend in Santander, because I´m going to Dublin next weekend, then Salamanca the next weekend, and then Paris. And then i only have a weekend or two more before I go to Italy and then after that it´s Madrid and then after THAT it´s Wilmington!!! How the time flies. Okay, until next time vosotros.
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
So last week, everyone did something crazy. And guess what? I got a tattoo. It says "vuelvan," which means "come back." It´s on my right shoulder blade and it hurt like a bitch. It´s a bit awkward because it´s conjugated in a form that the Spaniards don´t typically use (it´s more of a latin american thing), so a lot of people think it´s spelled wrong at first. I´ll be glad to see some Mexicans who understand it without me having to explain it. Even though it´s a bit tiresome to explain it, I love my new tattoo. It was designed by the girl at the tattoo shop (who was really cool), so it´s nice knowing that no one else can have the same font as me. And also, even if I regret it later on (because who doesn´t) it will still be a cool story to say "Yes, this is the tattoo I got when I was a crazy college student living in Spain." You´re only young and stupid once. Well, you´re only young once.
Two other girls on the trip got tattoos, and a couple others got piercings, and I won´t tell you where. I think it was just a bucket list kind of thing, because once one person thought of the idea to get a tattoo, suddenly a whole group of us wanted something done. It was a bit disappointing because my camera was dead and I didn´t get any pictures of my tattoo actually being done, but then I thought, "No, I don´t have pictures of my tattoo, but I have the tattoo." The tattoo is a picture in and of itself.
Anyway, I guess I´m rambling again. I just wanted to update and talk about my new tattoo and my last weekend in Santander, because I´m going to Dublin next weekend, then Salamanca the next weekend, and then Paris. And then i only have a weekend or two more before I go to Italy and then after that it´s Madrid and then after THAT it´s Wilmington!!! How the time flies. Okay, until next time vosotros.
"El mundo es un libro, y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
I´ve been here for a month!
Okay, more than a month. I got here on the fifth of Febrero, and I think today is the 8th, but it might be the 9th. I´m really not sure. The days run together when you have as much fun as I have.
A ver, what was my last update? It had to have been about a 2 weeks ago, because I went to the Guggenheim a couple Saturdays and I know I haven´t written about it yet.
So Saturday (not last saturday, Saturday the 27th) we went to Bilbao. We met outside the nautical engineering school, which is right by the bay about a 15 minute walk from my piso (new vocab word-piso=apartment, or "flat" if you want to sound british). We took an hourish bus ride to the industrial (aka ugly) city of Bilbao. We had a tour of the Basque museum, which was unbelievably boring. Our tour guide didn´t do a fantastic job. She stopped at every piece and talked in Spanish (at least she wasn´t speaking in Basque...) for about 15 or 20 minutes. That amount of talking is difficult to follow in any language. After the Basque museum, we were given about an hour and a half to eat or shop or walk around and explore the city. It was a rainy day and I was feeling sick, so I didn´t take advantage of exploring like I probably should have, but that´s alright.
After our descanso, we went to see the Guggenheim, which was really cool. There were 3 floors. The first was all the modern art, which bores me. The second was an exhibit called "Haunted," which was my favorite simply because I enjoy all the really dark and abnormal stuff. Then the third floor was more boring classic works, all from the WWI era.
Afterward, we dragged our tired selves home to Santander.
That week we started our second set of classes. Monday was our first day: Grammar began at 10am. Our class was separated once again into the yellow and orange groups. My class is taught by a man named Manolo (I hope that´s how you spell it...), who reminds me a lot of Gonzalo, whom I´ve mentioned in previous entries. If you´re just now joining me and have no idea who Gonzalo is, or if you just don´t remember, I´ll tell you that he´s the craziest teacher I´ve ever had. He´s extremely hands on and clearly believes that the stranger the method of teaching, the easier it is to remember concepts. Manolo clearly got his teaching certification from the same school. When I say crazy, I mean things like throwing pieces of chalk at words written on the board when he refers to them, singing and playing air guitar, and then making us act out his random stories and then write them down to practice grammar. This guy is COOL. After grammar, we have a short break and then History.
I don´t think I should tell you much about my history class, in the best interest of my blood pressure. My professor is just about THE most condescending fuck I´ve ever met. And the fact that my sickness had progressed and rendered me voiceless made me even more frustrated. He clearly mistook my lack of response for lack of understanding. Let me explain. He was telling us the structure of the class, and said "No hay examen." He repeated himself 3 or 4 times, then said (in spanish), "You all aren´t responding the way I thought you would," (so clearly that means we didn´t catch a word of "no hay examen," even though a retarded english speaking chimp would understand that) so this douchebag wrote "No exam" on the board IN ENGLISH. IN ENGISH, PEOPLE. How condescending is that? And then he had us read a paragraph from the text book, and then asked "¿Quien quiere resumir?" Now, I respect that for those of you who don´t understand spanish, this would be hard, and I don´t mean to condescend. But these are words we learned within the first few weeks of Spanish 1 back when I was 14 years old. I know what "¿Quién quiere resumir?" means, I just can´t respond because I don´t have a voice. Then this asshole says, a LOT slower, "¿Quién...who...quiere...who wants...resumir...to sum up? Who wants to sum up?" He´s done this several times. I consider myself a very laid back person. It takes a lot to anger me. The one thing guaranteed to get under my skin, however, is to talk to me like I´m stupid. There´s nothing I hate more. But, I´m a rational human being, so anything that upsets me, I will try to take something away from. So here is today´s travel tip:
Travel Tip #11:
When you´re learning a new language, be patient. You won´t get it right away. Listen to the native speakers around you, and when you hear a new phrase, ask about it. Then remember it. Then try to use it yourself organically in another conversation with another person. And when you´re with a group of people trying to learn a new language, you need to be 10 times more patient. Everyone is at a different level. Remember that yes, there are people who understand less than you do, but there are also people who understand more.
And because it´s been so long since my last update, I´ll throw in another:
Travel Tip #12:
It´s probably a good idea to NOT storm out of your class, even if your professor condescends to translate the word "communidad" for you. (But seriously, communidad?! COMMUNIDAD?!?? Who couldn´t possibly figure that out??)
Alright, enough ranting. So those are our Mondays and Wednesdays. We´re out of class by 1:45 and home para la comida at 2:15, give or take. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we go to class at 10 for Literatura, with our adorable professor Carmen. She´s petite, dresses really well, has the cutest little haircut, and also has that sexy librarian glasses thing going on. I have to say that class with her was a bit of a wake up call for me. Grammar is my thing and I´ve been taking Spanish grammar classes for 7 years, so that was no problem. Then I had Mr. History Professor talk to me like I was a child for 2 hours, so when I took a real class in Spanish, I was surprised at how difficult it was. There isn´t a big difference between a Spanish Grammar class taught in english and one taught in Spanish, but there is a chasm of difference between a Grammar class taught in Spanish and one about a new subject. I can follow mostly what Carmen says, but she has to speak con mucho espácio, which means really slowly. It´s definitely a challenge, but the good kind of challenge. Not the euphemistic kind of challange that people say about things that they know they will fail at.
After Literature, we have Art. Our professor is very hands off and laid back, which is to say "kinda boring," but I enjoy it none the less. Mostly because it´s basically a review of History, because he´s beginning with cave art in Altamira. Our homework for tonight was to draw a map of the mediterranean and all the bordering countries. Yeah. Our homework for the first night of grammar was to "go out and start a conversation with a stranger." Really cool. For the second night it was "to be happy," and for our next class it´s "to have fun." Vive España.
We don´t usually have class on Fridays, and this past weekend we had Monday off. We have 3 long weekends during our semester to allow time for travel. This weekend a group of us decided to go to Barcelona. There were 10 of us going, which I think was the largest group going anywhere. I know a group of 5 or 6 went to Rome and a small group traveled around northern Spain. But anyway, back to me. Our flight was at 12 something, and because none of us really knew how to get to the airport, we decided to meet at 10am so we could all figure it out together. We met, walked to the bus station, and took a bus to the airport. No problems thus far. The santander airport is the smallest thing I´ve ever seen. People who have seen ILM-I tell you, SDN is smaller. Yes, somehow, the Santander airport is that small. So we had no problems finding the gate. Mostly because there was only one gate. We got in line really early because we´ve heard horror stories about how RyanAir overbooks flights and if you aren´t in line and don´t get on the flight, they say "tough luck." So you better believe we were among the first 30 people in line. The flight wasn´t the worst thing ever, but I´ll tell you this: RyanAir gives a whole new meaning to "commercial flights." Because they´re so cheap, they have commercials like you wouldn´t believe. I mean, how much stuff can you sell on a flight? Anyway, we landed and found a taxi AND the hostel without problems. So far, so good.
The hostel was really nice. There were 10 of us, but because of circumstance, we had to split up 8 in one room and 2 in another. The 8 of us were together in a 10 person room, and our 2 other roommates ended up being from Texas-fancy that. They were really nice and joined us for a lot of the sight seeing. The girl was living in Paris teaching English to French students. And her friend was simply visiting her while she had 2 weeks off, and they were traveling about Spain. We put our stuff down and found our way to the metro and from there found our way to Park Güell, where you can climb a giant mountain, where there stands a really steep plateau with a frighteningly small diameter that had a cross on top. Me and my travelmate Chris wanted to go up there and got to see an AMAZING view of Barcelona. I got some incredible pictures, including one panoramic one that stitched together quite nicely. You should go on facebook and check it out if you haven´t already. At the bottom of the hill was some amazing Gaudí architecture as well as a gift shop where I discovered some post cards. So if you´re cool, you should be expecting one in a few weeks.
That night we went on a pub crawl organized by the hostel staff. But shhh, that´s a secret, since aparently they´re illegal here in Spain (clearly not THAT illegal). We each gave them 5€ and they gave us a shot of really gross liquor and took us to a club that we couldn´t get into. Yes, I used the term "organized" very loosely. Since we couldn´t get into that club, we went to another, where we did receive one complementary drink, but the ones you had to pay for were unbelievably pricey. I´ve become spoiled in Santander, where the bars are about a 50 meter walk away from my piso, and the drinks are 1€ each. Speaking of drinking and walking to bars, I´m going to give you another (yes-another!) travel tip:
Travel Tip #13:
Do NOT drink too much while in an unfamiliar city, especially one that doesn´t speak either of the two languages you do understand. You need to be coherent for when you need to get home, because it can be difficult even when you are sober.
For my parents´ peace of mind (though I don´t even think they love me enough to read all this), I´ll include that we got home perfectly safely. Though it was difficult, we got back to the hostel around 3:30am. I stayed up and hung out with the people around the hostel until about 7am, which sounds crazy, but I admit that I love the hostel experience. It´s like a homeless shelter for successful people. You come and live with a bunch of strangers and all you have in common is that you need a place to stay. Really-you find all kinds of different people, from all different walks of life. I met a really interesting Argentinian who worked the front desk. We talked for a long while about his visits to the US and he showed me a lot of the photos he took. He was really into photography. The next night I talked with a Welsh guy (I think he was Welsh...maybe I should just say British) who was traveling around Europe for 3 weeks by himself. It´s amazing some people have the balls to do that. It was fun to impress him with my Spanish. My roommate and I (from the hostel...the girl who taught english in paris, remember?) had fun speaking to him in our respective second languages. Then we also made friends with an Australian guy...crap, I forget his name...oh well, not important. And also a group of 3 Canadians. It´s always an amazing time because I always learn something new. It´s like how grown ups always used to say that the more you learn, the more you realize how little you know. There´s an entire world of infinite wisdom out there, and even though I know that I could never conquer it, I´ll be damned if I don´t try.
The second day, despite going to bed at 7am, I woke up around 10am and we were out of the hostel by 11:30 to sight see. We went and saw first Las Ramblas, which is a mostly pedestrian street a mile long, with famously good shopping and food.
Side note-This is the point when my iPod got stolen. We were on our way there on the metro, and it was really crowded. I was carrying a purse with a flap that had a latch on it, and of course it was closed and latched. When we got off the metro, I noticed it was open. Shucks. I checked inside and what do I find? Not an iPod, that´s what. I was about 98% sure I had brought it with me, but I decided to not give up hope until we returned to the hostel and made sure I hadn´t left it there. But when we got back that day, it was nowhere to be found.
However, we chose the worst restaurant ever for lunch. I´m not a huge fan of dining experiences here in Spain, but sometimes you find yourself in situations where you have to eat outside the home, like when you´re all the way across the country from your madre. Anyway, after that, we didn´t really walk around Las Ramblas much, but instead went to see Catedral de Barcelona. Keep this in mind before I explain my thoughts on cathedrals: Catedral de Barcelona is considered one of the lesser impressive ones in Europe. Again, Pictures are up on facebook for you to see. I find it the most humbling experience to see these cathedrals. It´s an entire work of art, cleverly disguised as a building. Everywhere you look, every inch is art. It´s absolutely unfathomable.
After Catedral, we went to go see Gaudí´s La Sagrada Família, which is another cathedral in Barcelona. This church, along with the rest of Gaudí´s work, is like something out of a dream. The designs that man came up with just blow my mind. The stain glass windows were so perfectly placed that the sun shone through them at amazing angles and created the illusion of dozens of colored lights lighting up the space, but no-simply the sun shining through. The lift to the roof was closed, which was depressing, but I´m still glad I got to see the church.
After that, we went to the McDonald´s across the street. Yes, you read that correctly. It was kind of a novelty, I suppose.
After eating, we dragged our exhausted bodies not back to the hostel, but to Las Ramblas yet again. At this point it was starting to get dark, so we made our way to CarreFour, which is a supermarket chain here in Spain (I made a rhyme). We bought a few boxes of wine to share between the 6 or 7 of us (A few of us didn´t come or went elsewhere). Here in Spain, a box of wine (55 cents) costs less than a bottle of water (70 cents). And in the states, they give you 750 mL, where as here en España, they give you an entire liter. Yeap. That´s how us Spaniards do it.
Las Ramblas was PACKED for Carnaval. It was really, really fun. Lots of people dressed up, street vendors (I had a good conversation with one-in spanish!-who was selling his paintings), and living statues. We also got to see a few of the cars drive past who were preparing for the parade. After a long time of walking around, we decided to go find the parade, which ended up being only a street or two over. This was also crazy, I think that neither my describing it nor my photos on FB could do it justice. Lots of costumes, loud music, and crazy dancing.
Around 10:30, we went back to the hostel. I decided to stay in, since I´d gotten about 8 hours of sleep in the past 2 days. It was fun all the same; hanging out with the hostel staff and all the extranjeros (foreigners). Even though it was a "take it easy" night for me, I still went to bed around 2am. It´s strange that 2am is going to bed "early" for me now.
Well, maybe not that strange.
The next morning we were up around 8:30 to get an early start on the day. A cup of café con leche and we were out the door. We went to the Picasso museum, which was free on Sundays. It was interesting and I learned a lot about Picasso that I didn´t know before. Although, it would be strange if I learned a lot about Picasso that I did know before...anyway, that was fun. We met the American boy who was standing in line behind us. I think he was from Florida..or something. He was going to school in France, and now he´s traveling around and working on farms. Sounds like something my boyfriend should do so that we can be together on my international travels...hmm...
After the Picasso musuem, we walked around quite a bit, just looking at the very european-looking streets and shopping (there´s a large amount of hand-made jewelry in Barcelona for some reason). Eventually, we made our way to the beach, where we ate at a great seafood place. I had my first paella experience, which was heavenly. Then we walked down to the shore, where it was so crowded with tons of people because it was such a beautiful day. We walked around for a while, got hit on by strange spanish men, and I even got to stick my feet in the water!! So now I can say I have touched the Mediterranean.
After the beach, we walked past the Olympic Park and then ate a Kabob (this is like the Spanish equivalent of Cook Out) and then some Helado (the spanish word for Gelato, Italian ice cream). Lots of Spanish comida. After that we mosied back to our hostel, where we met up with the rest of the group. A few of us went out to purchase pasta and makings for our Jersey Shore dinner. We call it Jersey Shore dinner because, aparently (I can´t say for sure, because I´ve never watched the Jersey Shore), the group of 18-24 year olds go out and do crazy things all weekend, but always come home to make Sunday dinner at the end of their wild weekend. The same went for us, claro. So we made a makeshift pasta in the hostel kitchen, all of us together. I don´t know if any of us went out, but a lot of us decided to stay in. I know it sounds lame to just hang around the hostel, but it was fun either way. It goes back to what I said about meeting people in hostels, there´s never a dull moment.
The next day we had to get ourselves up bright an early to pack and get ready to be picked up by taxis at 8:30 and be taken to the airport. We said goodbye to our beloved hostel staff and were on our way.
So what did I think of Barcelona? I liked it...for a weekend. Of course, it was wild and I had an amazing weekend. But my conclusion is, I would never want to live there. It´s too big, and I´m little and easily intimidated. Also, there are wayyyy too many english speakers there. And also, I´m not a fan of Catalán. It looks really similar to Spanish, so you try to read it, and you´re four or five words in when you think to yourself, "why am I not understanding any of this?" And then you realize, oh, that´s because it´s not spanish. I began to realize how attached I´ve gotten to my lovely city of Santander when I actively missed it on Saturday. When I was really tired, all I wanted to do was return to my bed. And I never felt more at home than when we arrived back in Santander on Monday morning.
Point is, I´m glad to be back. Sorry I haven´t updated in a while. I won´t have much to update for a week or so, but there is a lot coming up in the next month. This weekend, I stay in Santander (yay!). Next weekend, a group of us are going to Dublin for St. Patrick´s day, which I´m told is going to be crazy. The weekend after that, we take a class trip (all of us from carolina del norte) to Salamanca. And THEN after that, a group of us go to Paris. So I´ll try and keep updating at least once a week, and definitely be sure to look for pictures.
Tis all for now! (I say that like I haven´t been writing for 2 hours...)
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
A ver, what was my last update? It had to have been about a 2 weeks ago, because I went to the Guggenheim a couple Saturdays and I know I haven´t written about it yet.
So Saturday (not last saturday, Saturday the 27th) we went to Bilbao. We met outside the nautical engineering school, which is right by the bay about a 15 minute walk from my piso (new vocab word-piso=apartment, or "flat" if you want to sound british). We took an hourish bus ride to the industrial (aka ugly) city of Bilbao. We had a tour of the Basque museum, which was unbelievably boring. Our tour guide didn´t do a fantastic job. She stopped at every piece and talked in Spanish (at least she wasn´t speaking in Basque...) for about 15 or 20 minutes. That amount of talking is difficult to follow in any language. After the Basque museum, we were given about an hour and a half to eat or shop or walk around and explore the city. It was a rainy day and I was feeling sick, so I didn´t take advantage of exploring like I probably should have, but that´s alright.
After our descanso, we went to see the Guggenheim, which was really cool. There were 3 floors. The first was all the modern art, which bores me. The second was an exhibit called "Haunted," which was my favorite simply because I enjoy all the really dark and abnormal stuff. Then the third floor was more boring classic works, all from the WWI era.
Afterward, we dragged our tired selves home to Santander.
That week we started our second set of classes. Monday was our first day: Grammar began at 10am. Our class was separated once again into the yellow and orange groups. My class is taught by a man named Manolo (I hope that´s how you spell it...), who reminds me a lot of Gonzalo, whom I´ve mentioned in previous entries. If you´re just now joining me and have no idea who Gonzalo is, or if you just don´t remember, I´ll tell you that he´s the craziest teacher I´ve ever had. He´s extremely hands on and clearly believes that the stranger the method of teaching, the easier it is to remember concepts. Manolo clearly got his teaching certification from the same school. When I say crazy, I mean things like throwing pieces of chalk at words written on the board when he refers to them, singing and playing air guitar, and then making us act out his random stories and then write them down to practice grammar. This guy is COOL. After grammar, we have a short break and then History.
I don´t think I should tell you much about my history class, in the best interest of my blood pressure. My professor is just about THE most condescending fuck I´ve ever met. And the fact that my sickness had progressed and rendered me voiceless made me even more frustrated. He clearly mistook my lack of response for lack of understanding. Let me explain. He was telling us the structure of the class, and said "No hay examen." He repeated himself 3 or 4 times, then said (in spanish), "You all aren´t responding the way I thought you would," (so clearly that means we didn´t catch a word of "no hay examen," even though a retarded english speaking chimp would understand that) so this douchebag wrote "No exam" on the board IN ENGLISH. IN ENGISH, PEOPLE. How condescending is that? And then he had us read a paragraph from the text book, and then asked "¿Quien quiere resumir?" Now, I respect that for those of you who don´t understand spanish, this would be hard, and I don´t mean to condescend. But these are words we learned within the first few weeks of Spanish 1 back when I was 14 years old. I know what "¿Quién quiere resumir?" means, I just can´t respond because I don´t have a voice. Then this asshole says, a LOT slower, "¿Quién...who...quiere...who wants...resumir...to sum up? Who wants to sum up?" He´s done this several times. I consider myself a very laid back person. It takes a lot to anger me. The one thing guaranteed to get under my skin, however, is to talk to me like I´m stupid. There´s nothing I hate more. But, I´m a rational human being, so anything that upsets me, I will try to take something away from. So here is today´s travel tip:
Travel Tip #11:
When you´re learning a new language, be patient. You won´t get it right away. Listen to the native speakers around you, and when you hear a new phrase, ask about it. Then remember it. Then try to use it yourself organically in another conversation with another person. And when you´re with a group of people trying to learn a new language, you need to be 10 times more patient. Everyone is at a different level. Remember that yes, there are people who understand less than you do, but there are also people who understand more.
And because it´s been so long since my last update, I´ll throw in another:
Travel Tip #12:
It´s probably a good idea to NOT storm out of your class, even if your professor condescends to translate the word "communidad" for you. (But seriously, communidad?! COMMUNIDAD?!?? Who couldn´t possibly figure that out??)
Alright, enough ranting. So those are our Mondays and Wednesdays. We´re out of class by 1:45 and home para la comida at 2:15, give or take. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, we go to class at 10 for Literatura, with our adorable professor Carmen. She´s petite, dresses really well, has the cutest little haircut, and also has that sexy librarian glasses thing going on. I have to say that class with her was a bit of a wake up call for me. Grammar is my thing and I´ve been taking Spanish grammar classes for 7 years, so that was no problem. Then I had Mr. History Professor talk to me like I was a child for 2 hours, so when I took a real class in Spanish, I was surprised at how difficult it was. There isn´t a big difference between a Spanish Grammar class taught in english and one taught in Spanish, but there is a chasm of difference between a Grammar class taught in Spanish and one about a new subject. I can follow mostly what Carmen says, but she has to speak con mucho espácio, which means really slowly. It´s definitely a challenge, but the good kind of challenge. Not the euphemistic kind of challange that people say about things that they know they will fail at.
After Literature, we have Art. Our professor is very hands off and laid back, which is to say "kinda boring," but I enjoy it none the less. Mostly because it´s basically a review of History, because he´s beginning with cave art in Altamira. Our homework for tonight was to draw a map of the mediterranean and all the bordering countries. Yeah. Our homework for the first night of grammar was to "go out and start a conversation with a stranger." Really cool. For the second night it was "to be happy," and for our next class it´s "to have fun." Vive España.
We don´t usually have class on Fridays, and this past weekend we had Monday off. We have 3 long weekends during our semester to allow time for travel. This weekend a group of us decided to go to Barcelona. There were 10 of us going, which I think was the largest group going anywhere. I know a group of 5 or 6 went to Rome and a small group traveled around northern Spain. But anyway, back to me. Our flight was at 12 something, and because none of us really knew how to get to the airport, we decided to meet at 10am so we could all figure it out together. We met, walked to the bus station, and took a bus to the airport. No problems thus far. The santander airport is the smallest thing I´ve ever seen. People who have seen ILM-I tell you, SDN is smaller. Yes, somehow, the Santander airport is that small. So we had no problems finding the gate. Mostly because there was only one gate. We got in line really early because we´ve heard horror stories about how RyanAir overbooks flights and if you aren´t in line and don´t get on the flight, they say "tough luck." So you better believe we were among the first 30 people in line. The flight wasn´t the worst thing ever, but I´ll tell you this: RyanAir gives a whole new meaning to "commercial flights." Because they´re so cheap, they have commercials like you wouldn´t believe. I mean, how much stuff can you sell on a flight? Anyway, we landed and found a taxi AND the hostel without problems. So far, so good.
The hostel was really nice. There were 10 of us, but because of circumstance, we had to split up 8 in one room and 2 in another. The 8 of us were together in a 10 person room, and our 2 other roommates ended up being from Texas-fancy that. They were really nice and joined us for a lot of the sight seeing. The girl was living in Paris teaching English to French students. And her friend was simply visiting her while she had 2 weeks off, and they were traveling about Spain. We put our stuff down and found our way to the metro and from there found our way to Park Güell, where you can climb a giant mountain, where there stands a really steep plateau with a frighteningly small diameter that had a cross on top. Me and my travelmate Chris wanted to go up there and got to see an AMAZING view of Barcelona. I got some incredible pictures, including one panoramic one that stitched together quite nicely. You should go on facebook and check it out if you haven´t already. At the bottom of the hill was some amazing Gaudí architecture as well as a gift shop where I discovered some post cards. So if you´re cool, you should be expecting one in a few weeks.
That night we went on a pub crawl organized by the hostel staff. But shhh, that´s a secret, since aparently they´re illegal here in Spain (clearly not THAT illegal). We each gave them 5€ and they gave us a shot of really gross liquor and took us to a club that we couldn´t get into. Yes, I used the term "organized" very loosely. Since we couldn´t get into that club, we went to another, where we did receive one complementary drink, but the ones you had to pay for were unbelievably pricey. I´ve become spoiled in Santander, where the bars are about a 50 meter walk away from my piso, and the drinks are 1€ each. Speaking of drinking and walking to bars, I´m going to give you another (yes-another!) travel tip:
Travel Tip #13:
Do NOT drink too much while in an unfamiliar city, especially one that doesn´t speak either of the two languages you do understand. You need to be coherent for when you need to get home, because it can be difficult even when you are sober.
For my parents´ peace of mind (though I don´t even think they love me enough to read all this), I´ll include that we got home perfectly safely. Though it was difficult, we got back to the hostel around 3:30am. I stayed up and hung out with the people around the hostel until about 7am, which sounds crazy, but I admit that I love the hostel experience. It´s like a homeless shelter for successful people. You come and live with a bunch of strangers and all you have in common is that you need a place to stay. Really-you find all kinds of different people, from all different walks of life. I met a really interesting Argentinian who worked the front desk. We talked for a long while about his visits to the US and he showed me a lot of the photos he took. He was really into photography. The next night I talked with a Welsh guy (I think he was Welsh...maybe I should just say British) who was traveling around Europe for 3 weeks by himself. It´s amazing some people have the balls to do that. It was fun to impress him with my Spanish. My roommate and I (from the hostel...the girl who taught english in paris, remember?) had fun speaking to him in our respective second languages. Then we also made friends with an Australian guy...crap, I forget his name...oh well, not important. And also a group of 3 Canadians. It´s always an amazing time because I always learn something new. It´s like how grown ups always used to say that the more you learn, the more you realize how little you know. There´s an entire world of infinite wisdom out there, and even though I know that I could never conquer it, I´ll be damned if I don´t try.
The second day, despite going to bed at 7am, I woke up around 10am and we were out of the hostel by 11:30 to sight see. We went and saw first Las Ramblas, which is a mostly pedestrian street a mile long, with famously good shopping and food.
Side note-This is the point when my iPod got stolen. We were on our way there on the metro, and it was really crowded. I was carrying a purse with a flap that had a latch on it, and of course it was closed and latched. When we got off the metro, I noticed it was open. Shucks. I checked inside and what do I find? Not an iPod, that´s what. I was about 98% sure I had brought it with me, but I decided to not give up hope until we returned to the hostel and made sure I hadn´t left it there. But when we got back that day, it was nowhere to be found.
However, we chose the worst restaurant ever for lunch. I´m not a huge fan of dining experiences here in Spain, but sometimes you find yourself in situations where you have to eat outside the home, like when you´re all the way across the country from your madre. Anyway, after that, we didn´t really walk around Las Ramblas much, but instead went to see Catedral de Barcelona. Keep this in mind before I explain my thoughts on cathedrals: Catedral de Barcelona is considered one of the lesser impressive ones in Europe. Again, Pictures are up on facebook for you to see. I find it the most humbling experience to see these cathedrals. It´s an entire work of art, cleverly disguised as a building. Everywhere you look, every inch is art. It´s absolutely unfathomable.
After Catedral, we went to go see Gaudí´s La Sagrada Família, which is another cathedral in Barcelona. This church, along with the rest of Gaudí´s work, is like something out of a dream. The designs that man came up with just blow my mind. The stain glass windows were so perfectly placed that the sun shone through them at amazing angles and created the illusion of dozens of colored lights lighting up the space, but no-simply the sun shining through. The lift to the roof was closed, which was depressing, but I´m still glad I got to see the church.
After that, we went to the McDonald´s across the street. Yes, you read that correctly. It was kind of a novelty, I suppose.
After eating, we dragged our exhausted bodies not back to the hostel, but to Las Ramblas yet again. At this point it was starting to get dark, so we made our way to CarreFour, which is a supermarket chain here in Spain (I made a rhyme). We bought a few boxes of wine to share between the 6 or 7 of us (A few of us didn´t come or went elsewhere). Here in Spain, a box of wine (55 cents) costs less than a bottle of water (70 cents). And in the states, they give you 750 mL, where as here en España, they give you an entire liter. Yeap. That´s how us Spaniards do it.
Las Ramblas was PACKED for Carnaval. It was really, really fun. Lots of people dressed up, street vendors (I had a good conversation with one-in spanish!-who was selling his paintings), and living statues. We also got to see a few of the cars drive past who were preparing for the parade. After a long time of walking around, we decided to go find the parade, which ended up being only a street or two over. This was also crazy, I think that neither my describing it nor my photos on FB could do it justice. Lots of costumes, loud music, and crazy dancing.
Around 10:30, we went back to the hostel. I decided to stay in, since I´d gotten about 8 hours of sleep in the past 2 days. It was fun all the same; hanging out with the hostel staff and all the extranjeros (foreigners). Even though it was a "take it easy" night for me, I still went to bed around 2am. It´s strange that 2am is going to bed "early" for me now.
Well, maybe not that strange.
The next morning we were up around 8:30 to get an early start on the day. A cup of café con leche and we were out the door. We went to the Picasso museum, which was free on Sundays. It was interesting and I learned a lot about Picasso that I didn´t know before. Although, it would be strange if I learned a lot about Picasso that I did know before...anyway, that was fun. We met the American boy who was standing in line behind us. I think he was from Florida..or something. He was going to school in France, and now he´s traveling around and working on farms. Sounds like something my boyfriend should do so that we can be together on my international travels...hmm...
After the Picasso musuem, we walked around quite a bit, just looking at the very european-looking streets and shopping (there´s a large amount of hand-made jewelry in Barcelona for some reason). Eventually, we made our way to the beach, where we ate at a great seafood place. I had my first paella experience, which was heavenly. Then we walked down to the shore, where it was so crowded with tons of people because it was such a beautiful day. We walked around for a while, got hit on by strange spanish men, and I even got to stick my feet in the water!! So now I can say I have touched the Mediterranean.
After the beach, we walked past the Olympic Park and then ate a Kabob (this is like the Spanish equivalent of Cook Out) and then some Helado (the spanish word for Gelato, Italian ice cream). Lots of Spanish comida. After that we mosied back to our hostel, where we met up with the rest of the group. A few of us went out to purchase pasta and makings for our Jersey Shore dinner. We call it Jersey Shore dinner because, aparently (I can´t say for sure, because I´ve never watched the Jersey Shore), the group of 18-24 year olds go out and do crazy things all weekend, but always come home to make Sunday dinner at the end of their wild weekend. The same went for us, claro. So we made a makeshift pasta in the hostel kitchen, all of us together. I don´t know if any of us went out, but a lot of us decided to stay in. I know it sounds lame to just hang around the hostel, but it was fun either way. It goes back to what I said about meeting people in hostels, there´s never a dull moment.
The next day we had to get ourselves up bright an early to pack and get ready to be picked up by taxis at 8:30 and be taken to the airport. We said goodbye to our beloved hostel staff and were on our way.
So what did I think of Barcelona? I liked it...for a weekend. Of course, it was wild and I had an amazing weekend. But my conclusion is, I would never want to live there. It´s too big, and I´m little and easily intimidated. Also, there are wayyyy too many english speakers there. And also, I´m not a fan of Catalán. It looks really similar to Spanish, so you try to read it, and you´re four or five words in when you think to yourself, "why am I not understanding any of this?" And then you realize, oh, that´s because it´s not spanish. I began to realize how attached I´ve gotten to my lovely city of Santander when I actively missed it on Saturday. When I was really tired, all I wanted to do was return to my bed. And I never felt more at home than when we arrived back in Santander on Monday morning.
Point is, I´m glad to be back. Sorry I haven´t updated in a while. I won´t have much to update for a week or so, but there is a lot coming up in the next month. This weekend, I stay in Santander (yay!). Next weekend, a group of us are going to Dublin for St. Patrick´s day, which I´m told is going to be crazy. The weekend after that, we take a class trip (all of us from carolina del norte) to Salamanca. And THEN after that, a group of us go to Paris. So I´ll try and keep updating at least once a week, and definitely be sure to look for pictures.
Tis all for now! (I say that like I haven´t been writing for 2 hours...)
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Friday, February 25, 2011
Day 19
Hey everyone, I thought I should update real quick before I have to leave for class in about 15 minutes. This week has been crazy as classes have gotten intense and I've gotten sicker. This is not one of those relationships you want to be positive. I'm hanging in there, because I refuse to miss class. We have our exams today and I want to be ready.
My Spanish mother and I have had a few special bonding moments. At lunch she asked me what I thought about Santander so far, and I got the chance to talk a lot in Spanish to her, which is cool, because it's usually a lot of "si's" and "como?s" on my end (and if you're spanishly retarded, "si" means "yes" and "como?" means "what?"). And Monday night we watched "La República," which is a telenovela about the birth of the second republic in Madrid cerca 1930. I've come to be really hooked on it (I think I've mentioned it before, but not by name) since watching it once before with my señora, and now I'm dying to know what happens. And also my señora and I bond over talking about how gorgeous Alejo Sauras is. Photo here: http://www.rtve.es/television/components/noticia/popup/7/3/3/3/foto383337_957202.shtml (You'll have to copy and paste)
What did I tell you? Probably the most beautiful human being I've ever laid eyes on.
Anyway, Wednesday night, I met some friends after siesta to go to the library's computer lab to study and finalize plans. When I got home it was about dinner time, and mi señora was making tortilla española, which is God's gift to the people. That was another bonding experience between me and mi señora. I got to talk in Spanish and tell her how spaniards know what real tortillas are, and she taught me how to make them. Then I immediately went to sleep. Wine and a full tummy will do that to you.
Last Saturday I woke up sick, as I said before. It was hard for me to explain to my señora that I was sick, not humgover. That's a difficult conversation to have in Spanish. But I think seeing that my cough lasted far into this week (obviously, as it's Friday) convinced her that it wasn't an issue of drinking too much. I can tell we're growing closer because she's becoming more and more like a real mother to me. She makes sure I'm wearing sufficient clothes before I leave the apartment, and even when I'm hanging around the house, she tells me to put a sweater on to make sure I'm warm enough. And also she's been bugging me about 8,000 times a day since Monday to go to the pharmacy. I didn't want to go partly because I knew it would be hard to ask for medicine and describe my symptoms in Spanish, but also because I don't even like going to the doctor when I'm at home. I would really rather just ignore it until it goes away. That's more my style. But I finally went to la farmacia today, and it turned out to be much more painless than I anticipated. The pharmacy tech understood what I asked her, then gave me some cough drops with DXM in them (so I shouldn't take too many before class...) and I paid for them and left. Easy.
I'm having a really hard time coming up with a good travel tip for today, because nothing comedically horrible has happened to me in the last week. Hopefully you've prepared yourselves for dissapointment, because this one's going to be lame:
Travel Tip#10:
When you move to a different country and begin speaking a new language, the very first thing you learn is the curse words. The second thing is medical terminology.
So that's it. Did I mention I'm going to Bilbao tomorrow? The whole day. Even though it's only us Americans going (bor-ing), I'm still excited. I mean, who wouldn't be? Expect pictures very soon.
Ps before I do my closing statement, I have to admit one thing: I'm fairly certain I've been doing it wrong. It made sense, but I think there's a better way. This is what it will be from now on:
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
My Spanish mother and I have had a few special bonding moments. At lunch she asked me what I thought about Santander so far, and I got the chance to talk a lot in Spanish to her, which is cool, because it's usually a lot of "si's" and "como?s" on my end (and if you're spanishly retarded, "si" means "yes" and "como?" means "what?"). And Monday night we watched "La República," which is a telenovela about the birth of the second republic in Madrid cerca 1930. I've come to be really hooked on it (I think I've mentioned it before, but not by name) since watching it once before with my señora, and now I'm dying to know what happens. And also my señora and I bond over talking about how gorgeous Alejo Sauras is. Photo here: http://www.rtve.es/television/components/noticia/popup/7/3/3/3/foto383337_957202.shtml (You'll have to copy and paste)
What did I tell you? Probably the most beautiful human being I've ever laid eyes on.
Anyway, Wednesday night, I met some friends after siesta to go to the library's computer lab to study and finalize plans. When I got home it was about dinner time, and mi señora was making tortilla española, which is God's gift to the people. That was another bonding experience between me and mi señora. I got to talk in Spanish and tell her how spaniards know what real tortillas are, and she taught me how to make them. Then I immediately went to sleep. Wine and a full tummy will do that to you.
Last Saturday I woke up sick, as I said before. It was hard for me to explain to my señora that I was sick, not humgover. That's a difficult conversation to have in Spanish. But I think seeing that my cough lasted far into this week (obviously, as it's Friday) convinced her that it wasn't an issue of drinking too much. I can tell we're growing closer because she's becoming more and more like a real mother to me. She makes sure I'm wearing sufficient clothes before I leave the apartment, and even when I'm hanging around the house, she tells me to put a sweater on to make sure I'm warm enough. And also she's been bugging me about 8,000 times a day since Monday to go to the pharmacy. I didn't want to go partly because I knew it would be hard to ask for medicine and describe my symptoms in Spanish, but also because I don't even like going to the doctor when I'm at home. I would really rather just ignore it until it goes away. That's more my style. But I finally went to la farmacia today, and it turned out to be much more painless than I anticipated. The pharmacy tech understood what I asked her, then gave me some cough drops with DXM in them (so I shouldn't take too many before class...) and I paid for them and left. Easy.
I'm having a really hard time coming up with a good travel tip for today, because nothing comedically horrible has happened to me in the last week. Hopefully you've prepared yourselves for dissapointment, because this one's going to be lame:
Travel Tip#10:
When you move to a different country and begin speaking a new language, the very first thing you learn is the curse words. The second thing is medical terminology.
So that's it. Did I mention I'm going to Bilbao tomorrow? The whole day. Even though it's only us Americans going (bor-ing), I'm still excited. I mean, who wouldn't be? Expect pictures very soon.
Ps before I do my closing statement, I have to admit one thing: I'm fairly certain I've been doing it wrong. It made sense, but I think there's a better way. This is what it will be from now on:
"El mundo es un libro y ellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Day 15
Hello everyone. I'm updating because I feel like I should, but I really don't have much to tell you. On my end, I had a great weekend. I went out Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night and it was all really eventful and fun for me, but how many times can you tell the same "I went out, drank a lot, and talked to Europeans all night" story before it gets boring? I mean, I doubt it'll ever get old for me over my three months, but I'm sure you don't want to hear about it everytime.
(Side note- my señora is watching requiem for a dream in the other room. What a trip.)
So thursday night was the arsenal versus Barcelona game. I went home early because of a stomach ache, (Travel Tip #9: Splitting an entire pitcher of sangria with a couple friends, eating a full dinner in less than 10 minutes because you were supposed to meet your friends 10 minutes ago, and then running to a bar where you'll watch a game and drink another glass of wine will probably result in a stomach ache. I mean I'm not a doctor, so don't quote me on that, but yeah.) so I don't know the result of the game, but I think arsenal won. I suppose I'm on Barcelona's side, because Spain is a bit more relevant to my life than England. So anyway, yeah I went home really early, around 10:30, and slept. It was a school night anyway.
Friday night ended relatively early as well. And I'll emphasize once more that "early" is a relative term, because I went home at like 3:30ish. I also lost my phone, and another friend of mine lost her wallet. Probably, over all, one of the wilder nights we've had, which is saying something.
Saturday night started out slow. I was feeling a little bit sick, probably as a result of hanging out with everyone the night before. Just being in a different country meant that everyone got sick immediately, but I managed to remain healthy until I woke up Saturday morning. Shucks. And I'd been doing so well, too.
I happened to have a pen with me, so my friends and I decided to "keep score," as they say. The spaniards found it hilarious. Probably because they don't drink enough to have to count. But before i forget, I met one!!! It was awesome. I said before that I hadn't really met many spaniards. Yes, I'm surrounded by them, but it's hard to find and befriend the younger people. Especially because it's as though the ERASMUS have taken over. But anyway, I don't even really know if he counts, because he's spanish, but his father is british, so when he speaks English, he has an English accent. I mean, he's more a nomad than anything else, having lived in england, Spain, the united states, and, most recently, morocco (and probably more that I don't know about). People like this fascinate me, because I'd like to fancy myself a worldly and cultured person, but it's simply not true. The fact that I spent about a month traveling southern Europe, and now am living in Spain for three months, is nothing next to him when you consider that this is the only traveling I've done. Anyway, ERASMUS are cool, but it's nice to finally meet someone from Spain.
Alright, well I'm off to study. I have a test tomorrow. I know, it's a pain. School getting in the way of me living in Spain...
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
(Side note- my señora is watching requiem for a dream in the other room. What a trip.)
So thursday night was the arsenal versus Barcelona game. I went home early because of a stomach ache, (Travel Tip #9: Splitting an entire pitcher of sangria with a couple friends, eating a full dinner in less than 10 minutes because you were supposed to meet your friends 10 minutes ago, and then running to a bar where you'll watch a game and drink another glass of wine will probably result in a stomach ache. I mean I'm not a doctor, so don't quote me on that, but yeah.) so I don't know the result of the game, but I think arsenal won. I suppose I'm on Barcelona's side, because Spain is a bit more relevant to my life than England. So anyway, yeah I went home really early, around 10:30, and slept. It was a school night anyway.
Friday night ended relatively early as well. And I'll emphasize once more that "early" is a relative term, because I went home at like 3:30ish. I also lost my phone, and another friend of mine lost her wallet. Probably, over all, one of the wilder nights we've had, which is saying something.
Saturday night started out slow. I was feeling a little bit sick, probably as a result of hanging out with everyone the night before. Just being in a different country meant that everyone got sick immediately, but I managed to remain healthy until I woke up Saturday morning. Shucks. And I'd been doing so well, too.
I happened to have a pen with me, so my friends and I decided to "keep score," as they say. The spaniards found it hilarious. Probably because they don't drink enough to have to count. But before i forget, I met one!!! It was awesome. I said before that I hadn't really met many spaniards. Yes, I'm surrounded by them, but it's hard to find and befriend the younger people. Especially because it's as though the ERASMUS have taken over. But anyway, I don't even really know if he counts, because he's spanish, but his father is british, so when he speaks English, he has an English accent. I mean, he's more a nomad than anything else, having lived in england, Spain, the united states, and, most recently, morocco (and probably more that I don't know about). People like this fascinate me, because I'd like to fancy myself a worldly and cultured person, but it's simply not true. The fact that I spent about a month traveling southern Europe, and now am living in Spain for three months, is nothing next to him when you consider that this is the only traveling I've done. Anyway, ERASMUS are cool, but it's nice to finally meet someone from Spain.
Alright, well I'm off to study. I have a test tomorrow. I know, it's a pain. School getting in the way of me living in Spain...
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Thursday, February 17, 2011
Day 13, I think.
I'm sorry, my dearest readers. Please accept my sincerest apologies for not having written. I know it must have been heart-breakingly difficult to not read the paragraphs and paragraphs of dumb shit I have to say. To make it up to you, you all will receive not one, but THREE travel tips, aiight? Sound good? Okay, let's get started:
Travel Tip #6:
Don't decide that "to stop cursing" is your news years resolution the same year you leave the country to learn a new language.
So when was the last time I wrote? Saturday? Sunday, perhaps? I don't even know. But one significant event has taken place since the weekend: classes have officially started. (Side note real quick- I wish you all could appreciate how hard it is for me to write in English right now. Everything comes to me in Spanish first, so I have to think about every sentence and every word twice. And that's twice as much thinking.) Our first day of classes was Monday. For those of you just now joining us, our group of united states-ians was split up into two groups, according to level. They, of course, won't tell us which is the smart level, but I have the feeling they mixed us up. That is to say, the "smart" students aren't all in one class, and the "stupid" kids aren't in the other class. My hermana asked me if I was in the smart class, and I responded with, "Claro que si," which translates loosely to, "Duhhh."
So here is the structure of our arduous, hectic, demanding, strenuous, and a bunch of other sarcastically used words meaning "difficult" days: we arrive at school at 9:30am for our first class, which for my group is conversation, taught by Dr. Chandler (a teacher at UNCW) and our student teacher intern lady (yes that is her official job title), Sara. Then at 11:00, we take a 30 minute break. At 11:30, we return to class for advanced grammar, taught by dr. Gonzalo, who is a teacher here at UNICAN. The other group's schedule is backwards; they have grammar first and then conversation practice. At 1pm, we are done with classes for the day. We go home and eat lunch with our families, usually take a siesta, and then are free to do with the rest of our day as we please. Yes. Life here is rough.
Now, for my parents, I'll emphasize my pursuits inside the classroom. I am extremely relieved to be taking classes again. I hate to admit how boring of a person I fundamentally am, but I absolutely crave structure. I used to resent the fact that I thrived under a set schedule, but now I embrace it. Yeah, I'm also the loser that genuinely enjoys learning grammar rules while everyone else is falling asleep. I admit it proudly.
I wondered if there might be a strategy behind having a certain group take the conversation class first, and THEN the grammar class. It seemed to me a bit counter-intuitive. Bass-ackwards, if you will. Why would you practice speaking language before studying its grammar rules? And then I thought, of course! it must be because everyone in my group already knows said rules and therefore can move on straight to practice only to return to grammar later on to simply tweak a few verb conjugations here, correct a few adjective-noun agreements there. The other students, however must need to first learn the rules before they're able to practice them. Thusly, I MUST be in the "smart" group, follow my logic?
If you hadn't already noticed, I have a problem with over-thinking things.
No, I went back and forth in my head as to why/how we were split, what the method was behind us taking a certain class before another and the other after the first. It was one of those moments when I had to remind myself that I'm in spain. In Spain. Me. Stop worrying about the strategy of learning the language, because it's really simple: ignore why the professors are doing what they're doing, because for everyone, "stupid" group or "smart" group, the objective is to practice, so effing practice. And if you're wondering, yes, that is the pep talk I give myself in the mirror every morning.
('Nother side note- I had a prettier way of saying that, but my señora just came in and distracted me, resulting in my forgetting what I was going to say. So there it is. It's not beautiful, but there it is.)
Okay, so yeah, enough tangents. Seriously, I'm actually going to talk about classes in this paragraph. Really. Here goes. Our first class of the day, conversation with dr. Chandler, is nice first thing in the morning. We've been given a daily vocab list, which is usually a nice mix of a good review (because I SO already know most of the words) and a couple new words that aren't as arbitrary as the ones we were assigned back in high school. As in, words me might actually use in our daily conversations. For instance, the Spanish equivalent of "OMG," and how to say "cool," and "pedestrian crossing," and other such useful city-folk vocabulary. After we take our daily vocabulary quizzes or, pruebitas, literally "small quiz," we usually have a lengthy, slightly structured conversation. Our conversation topics are usually very English-teacher-trying-to-win-over-his-students, like, "describe your best experience since you've been in Spain," "what has been your worst/funniest misunderstanding so far?" and "what was your most surprising moment?" Yeah, what did I tell you? I still enjoy the class a lot, because I get to practice Spanish.
During the breaks, we usually (I throw the word 'usually' around as though we've been in class longer than 4 days...) find he other class and hang with them. We need some dose of sanity to prepare for the shit show we all know is coming. Dr. Gonzalo is crazy. Listen to me, people. Crazy with a capital C. So crazy, that I considered relocating to the back of the classroom from my comfort zone of front-and-center. If you've ever taken a class with me, you know that that is saying something. Front-and-center is my home. I will give him this though, every thing he says is so insane, there's no possible way we're ever going to forget it. For instance, there is a grammatical concept called the "impersonal a," which we spaniards put between a verb and the subject if the subject is a person or group of people. A lot of times it is mistaken for the preposition "to," which happens to be spelled the same way (a). Because of this (sometimes frustrating) mistake, Gonzalo calls it-loudly, I might add-"fucking A!" Hopefully that paints some kind of picture for you as to what kind of lectures Gonzalo gives.
And I use the term "lectures" loosely because he has us talk a lot of the time. His way of teaching is doing something, like poking me in the eye (yes that actually happened), and asking me to tell him what happened. "A mi me molestas," which is NOT what it sounds like. In Spanish, "molestar" is a false cognate. It means "to bother" (not to molest; just so we're clear). So I tell him, you're bothering me. Then he asks someone else, what happened? "A ella le molestas," you're bothering her. Then he does something else, like scare the piss out of the girl sitting next to me (again, actually happened), and ask her to tell him what happened, then ask someone else, and so the "lecture" goes.
As I'm only a sophomore in college, I've only taken classes from a tiny, Sherri-sized handful of teachers in my life. I think I was stuck in my comfort zone a little bit, because I knew what the teachers wanted me to say, and how little of it I could say and still get a decent participation grade. I got used to their teaching styles and was dreading branching out. But I have to admit that I think it's been beneficial for me, because already I now understand a few concepts that have evaded me for years. It's a whole new perspective on things and who knew that might help? Which reminds me:
Travel Tip #7:
Zoning out, even for a few seconds, in a class taught in another language costs you exponentially more than zoning out in a class taught in a language you actually understand. Pay attention.
Alright, I'll stop boring you with the academic stuff. Especially because I'm hardly finished, and this is already hellas long. So, a few of us stayed after class to finalize plans to go to Dublin for St. Patrick's day, and I was a little late coming home. The next day, Tuesday, I came home at the normal time, but it seemed early to my señora because she only had the previous day, when I was late, as a point of reference. When I got home, she asked, "Why are you so early? It must be because it's my birthday." Yes, it was my Spanish mother's birthday and I didn't even know it. I am the worst American daughter there is. Luckily, I hadn't given her my homestay gift yet, so when her kids and grand kids came over to celebrate, I had gifts of my own to add to the pile. Then we ate tapas and drank-wouldn't you know it?-soda! It's funny that in the US, we drink soda like water, and here they only break it out for parties. anyways, so I experienced my first Spanish birthday. Que guay!
So I've been making a conscious effort to talk more and more, especially to my señora who is, after all, feeding and housing me. (It's only polite, ya dig?) Today over la comida, which is lunch, we talked about eating habits here versus those in Spain. She told me I was skinny, that she had expected me to be bigger before she met me, and that I needed to eat more. It's as though they're afraid I'm going to lose weight while I'm here. There's something about keeping up appearances, like, if I left after three months skinnier than when I arrived, it would mean either that they were cruel and underfed me, or that they're poor and didn't have the resources to feed me properly. One of them social stigmas, I reckon.
So, as promised:
Travel Tip #8:
Clean your plate. Literally.
So that's it, folks. I hope that wasn't too painfully long, and if you actually made it this far, hey, now I know who my true friends are. I will try not to have such sparse updates. They may be fewer and farther between than every day, as things settle down and we all develop a routine, but to be fair to you, because i love you all so much, I will try and update things, you know, as they actually happen.
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Travel Tip #6:
Don't decide that "to stop cursing" is your news years resolution the same year you leave the country to learn a new language.
So when was the last time I wrote? Saturday? Sunday, perhaps? I don't even know. But one significant event has taken place since the weekend: classes have officially started. (Side note real quick- I wish you all could appreciate how hard it is for me to write in English right now. Everything comes to me in Spanish first, so I have to think about every sentence and every word twice. And that's twice as much thinking.) Our first day of classes was Monday. For those of you just now joining us, our group of united states-ians was split up into two groups, according to level. They, of course, won't tell us which is the smart level, but I have the feeling they mixed us up. That is to say, the "smart" students aren't all in one class, and the "stupid" kids aren't in the other class. My hermana asked me if I was in the smart class, and I responded with, "Claro que si," which translates loosely to, "Duhhh."
So here is the structure of our arduous, hectic, demanding, strenuous, and a bunch of other sarcastically used words meaning "difficult" days: we arrive at school at 9:30am for our first class, which for my group is conversation, taught by Dr. Chandler (a teacher at UNCW) and our student teacher intern lady (yes that is her official job title), Sara. Then at 11:00, we take a 30 minute break. At 11:30, we return to class for advanced grammar, taught by dr. Gonzalo, who is a teacher here at UNICAN. The other group's schedule is backwards; they have grammar first and then conversation practice. At 1pm, we are done with classes for the day. We go home and eat lunch with our families, usually take a siesta, and then are free to do with the rest of our day as we please. Yes. Life here is rough.
Now, for my parents, I'll emphasize my pursuits inside the classroom. I am extremely relieved to be taking classes again. I hate to admit how boring of a person I fundamentally am, but I absolutely crave structure. I used to resent the fact that I thrived under a set schedule, but now I embrace it. Yeah, I'm also the loser that genuinely enjoys learning grammar rules while everyone else is falling asleep. I admit it proudly.
I wondered if there might be a strategy behind having a certain group take the conversation class first, and THEN the grammar class. It seemed to me a bit counter-intuitive. Bass-ackwards, if you will. Why would you practice speaking language before studying its grammar rules? And then I thought, of course! it must be because everyone in my group already knows said rules and therefore can move on straight to practice only to return to grammar later on to simply tweak a few verb conjugations here, correct a few adjective-noun agreements there. The other students, however must need to first learn the rules before they're able to practice them. Thusly, I MUST be in the "smart" group, follow my logic?
If you hadn't already noticed, I have a problem with over-thinking things.
No, I went back and forth in my head as to why/how we were split, what the method was behind us taking a certain class before another and the other after the first. It was one of those moments when I had to remind myself that I'm in spain. In Spain. Me. Stop worrying about the strategy of learning the language, because it's really simple: ignore why the professors are doing what they're doing, because for everyone, "stupid" group or "smart" group, the objective is to practice, so effing practice. And if you're wondering, yes, that is the pep talk I give myself in the mirror every morning.
('Nother side note- I had a prettier way of saying that, but my señora just came in and distracted me, resulting in my forgetting what I was going to say. So there it is. It's not beautiful, but there it is.)
Okay, so yeah, enough tangents. Seriously, I'm actually going to talk about classes in this paragraph. Really. Here goes. Our first class of the day, conversation with dr. Chandler, is nice first thing in the morning. We've been given a daily vocab list, which is usually a nice mix of a good review (because I SO already know most of the words) and a couple new words that aren't as arbitrary as the ones we were assigned back in high school. As in, words me might actually use in our daily conversations. For instance, the Spanish equivalent of "OMG," and how to say "cool," and "pedestrian crossing," and other such useful city-folk vocabulary. After we take our daily vocabulary quizzes or, pruebitas, literally "small quiz," we usually have a lengthy, slightly structured conversation. Our conversation topics are usually very English-teacher-trying-to-win-over-his-students, like, "describe your best experience since you've been in Spain," "what has been your worst/funniest misunderstanding so far?" and "what was your most surprising moment?" Yeah, what did I tell you? I still enjoy the class a lot, because I get to practice Spanish.
During the breaks, we usually (I throw the word 'usually' around as though we've been in class longer than 4 days...) find he other class and hang with them. We need some dose of sanity to prepare for the shit show we all know is coming. Dr. Gonzalo is crazy. Listen to me, people. Crazy with a capital C. So crazy, that I considered relocating to the back of the classroom from my comfort zone of front-and-center. If you've ever taken a class with me, you know that that is saying something. Front-and-center is my home. I will give him this though, every thing he says is so insane, there's no possible way we're ever going to forget it. For instance, there is a grammatical concept called the "impersonal a," which we spaniards put between a verb and the subject if the subject is a person or group of people. A lot of times it is mistaken for the preposition "to," which happens to be spelled the same way (a). Because of this (sometimes frustrating) mistake, Gonzalo calls it-loudly, I might add-"fucking A!" Hopefully that paints some kind of picture for you as to what kind of lectures Gonzalo gives.
And I use the term "lectures" loosely because he has us talk a lot of the time. His way of teaching is doing something, like poking me in the eye (yes that actually happened), and asking me to tell him what happened. "A mi me molestas," which is NOT what it sounds like. In Spanish, "molestar" is a false cognate. It means "to bother" (not to molest; just so we're clear). So I tell him, you're bothering me. Then he asks someone else, what happened? "A ella le molestas," you're bothering her. Then he does something else, like scare the piss out of the girl sitting next to me (again, actually happened), and ask her to tell him what happened, then ask someone else, and so the "lecture" goes.
As I'm only a sophomore in college, I've only taken classes from a tiny, Sherri-sized handful of teachers in my life. I think I was stuck in my comfort zone a little bit, because I knew what the teachers wanted me to say, and how little of it I could say and still get a decent participation grade. I got used to their teaching styles and was dreading branching out. But I have to admit that I think it's been beneficial for me, because already I now understand a few concepts that have evaded me for years. It's a whole new perspective on things and who knew that might help? Which reminds me:
Travel Tip #7:
Zoning out, even for a few seconds, in a class taught in another language costs you exponentially more than zoning out in a class taught in a language you actually understand. Pay attention.
Alright, I'll stop boring you with the academic stuff. Especially because I'm hardly finished, and this is already hellas long. So, a few of us stayed after class to finalize plans to go to Dublin for St. Patrick's day, and I was a little late coming home. The next day, Tuesday, I came home at the normal time, but it seemed early to my señora because she only had the previous day, when I was late, as a point of reference. When I got home, she asked, "Why are you so early? It must be because it's my birthday." Yes, it was my Spanish mother's birthday and I didn't even know it. I am the worst American daughter there is. Luckily, I hadn't given her my homestay gift yet, so when her kids and grand kids came over to celebrate, I had gifts of my own to add to the pile. Then we ate tapas and drank-wouldn't you know it?-soda! It's funny that in the US, we drink soda like water, and here they only break it out for parties. anyways, so I experienced my first Spanish birthday. Que guay!
So I've been making a conscious effort to talk more and more, especially to my señora who is, after all, feeding and housing me. (It's only polite, ya dig?) Today over la comida, which is lunch, we talked about eating habits here versus those in Spain. She told me I was skinny, that she had expected me to be bigger before she met me, and that I needed to eat more. It's as though they're afraid I'm going to lose weight while I'm here. There's something about keeping up appearances, like, if I left after three months skinnier than when I arrived, it would mean either that they were cruel and underfed me, or that they're poor and didn't have the resources to feed me properly. One of them social stigmas, I reckon.
So, as promised:
Travel Tip #8:
Clean your plate. Literally.
So that's it, folks. I hope that wasn't too painfully long, and if you actually made it this far, hey, now I know who my true friends are. I will try not to have such sparse updates. They may be fewer and farther between than every day, as things settle down and we all develop a routine, but to be fair to you, because i love you all so much, I will try and update things, you know, as they actually happen.
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Day 8,537
I've decided I'm going to stop counting the days. It's too hard, I can't keep track. So today is Sunday, and it's incredibly difficult to believe that we've only been here for a week. The past 7 days of my life have been the best I've ever had. I can't begin to explain all the amazing places I've been, all the cool people I've talked to, or any of the insane nights I've had. And it's only been a week.
I feel compelled to update you all, but there is nothing specific to say. I could iterate how amazing of a time I'm having, but mere words won't suffice. Much like my photos will never look as beautiful as the real view. I wish I could pack up my life and move here permanently. It's a long way away and I shouldn't even be thinking about it, but I know I won't want to go home in just three short months. I don't say this often, but my dad was right. I should have come in the fall and stayed here for a year. A semester will never be enough time.
Yesterday was the santander versus some other city game. I met some friends at about 9:30 and we walked over to the stadium. I sincerely regret not going to the game, but we went to a nearby bar and watched it on tv. I really hate football, but I have to admit that last night's game was really fun, mostly thanks to the atmosphere surrounding it. These people go wild when there's a game. Racing (Santander's team) scored twice near the beginning, but the other team caught up fairly quickly. The score stayed at 2-2 up until the very last minute, when Santander scored a third time. We walked past the stadium after the game and the energy was palpable. The way back to my side of town is through a tunnel that is about 600 or so meters long, and walking back through was SO much fun. Tons of people waving flags or jerseys, and every car that passed honked its horn and cheered out the windows. Our throats were sore from cheering and my friend Bobby even complained that his hands hurt from clapping so much. Spaniards are serious about their football.
So of course we had to go out afterward to celebrate the victory. There are usually no cover charges here in espana, and the bars don't usually close until after three or four, which makes bar hopping an all-night adventure. Es un poco peligroso, pero no me importa.
I've said this before, but my favorite times are when we get to hang out with the ERASMUS students. There's never a dull moment, because they're all so foreign in more ways than one, so there is never a shortage of conversation. Not like talking to Americans, because I cant very well ask them when/how they learned English, what they do for fun, and if they've ever been to America, because I know the answers to all those questions. I really wish I could live like this forever.
We've begun to plan our trips a bit. I know a lot of us are planning on going to Dublin for saint patrick's day, and I just booked a flight to Paris with one of the girls here. I absolutely can't wait to go back to Italy. Italy was my favorite place to visit, and it's not just because of the italianos, who, admittedly, contribute significantly. I didn't have a travel tip prepared for today, but I just thought of one just now:
Travel Tip #5:
You must visit Venice and some point in your life. And you should probably do it soon, because I'm pretty sure global warming has its crosshairs set, and it's ready to pull the trigger any decade now. Sooner than we might think, Venice will be become the next lost city.
I am so strange. Everything I just said, what a weird way to word all that. Lo que sea. That means "whatever." I learned that yesterday. Ah, there are so many things I plan to bring back to the states. Siesta being the number 1 priority. America, this is important. We have to jump on this siesta bandwagon, I PROMISE you will ask yourself how you ever went without it. (but americans are too much in love with their jobs, so alas, siesta will never catch on over there. But por eso, this next one will-) Second on my list of things to bring back is "sunnies," which is not, strictly speaking, as much Spanish as it is Australian, but it will replace sunglasses. Listen, we're Americans. We got shit to do. We don't have time to say "sunglasses." That's a whole three syllables, people. Think about how much more productive we can be when we drop it down to two. and after that, it will evolve into just "suns." It will be fucking great.
Okay, I'm done now. I'll think of more things I want to bring back and write about them.
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
I feel compelled to update you all, but there is nothing specific to say. I could iterate how amazing of a time I'm having, but mere words won't suffice. Much like my photos will never look as beautiful as the real view. I wish I could pack up my life and move here permanently. It's a long way away and I shouldn't even be thinking about it, but I know I won't want to go home in just three short months. I don't say this often, but my dad was right. I should have come in the fall and stayed here for a year. A semester will never be enough time.
Yesterday was the santander versus some other city game. I met some friends at about 9:30 and we walked over to the stadium. I sincerely regret not going to the game, but we went to a nearby bar and watched it on tv. I really hate football, but I have to admit that last night's game was really fun, mostly thanks to the atmosphere surrounding it. These people go wild when there's a game. Racing (Santander's team) scored twice near the beginning, but the other team caught up fairly quickly. The score stayed at 2-2 up until the very last minute, when Santander scored a third time. We walked past the stadium after the game and the energy was palpable. The way back to my side of town is through a tunnel that is about 600 or so meters long, and walking back through was SO much fun. Tons of people waving flags or jerseys, and every car that passed honked its horn and cheered out the windows. Our throats were sore from cheering and my friend Bobby even complained that his hands hurt from clapping so much. Spaniards are serious about their football.
So of course we had to go out afterward to celebrate the victory. There are usually no cover charges here in espana, and the bars don't usually close until after three or four, which makes bar hopping an all-night adventure. Es un poco peligroso, pero no me importa.
I've said this before, but my favorite times are when we get to hang out with the ERASMUS students. There's never a dull moment, because they're all so foreign in more ways than one, so there is never a shortage of conversation. Not like talking to Americans, because I cant very well ask them when/how they learned English, what they do for fun, and if they've ever been to America, because I know the answers to all those questions. I really wish I could live like this forever.
We've begun to plan our trips a bit. I know a lot of us are planning on going to Dublin for saint patrick's day, and I just booked a flight to Paris with one of the girls here. I absolutely can't wait to go back to Italy. Italy was my favorite place to visit, and it's not just because of the italianos, who, admittedly, contribute significantly. I didn't have a travel tip prepared for today, but I just thought of one just now:
Travel Tip #5:
You must visit Venice and some point in your life. And you should probably do it soon, because I'm pretty sure global warming has its crosshairs set, and it's ready to pull the trigger any decade now. Sooner than we might think, Venice will be become the next lost city.
I am so strange. Everything I just said, what a weird way to word all that. Lo que sea. That means "whatever." I learned that yesterday. Ah, there are so many things I plan to bring back to the states. Siesta being the number 1 priority. America, this is important. We have to jump on this siesta bandwagon, I PROMISE you will ask yourself how you ever went without it. (but americans are too much in love with their jobs, so alas, siesta will never catch on over there. But por eso, this next one will-) Second on my list of things to bring back is "sunnies," which is not, strictly speaking, as much Spanish as it is Australian, but it will replace sunglasses. Listen, we're Americans. We got shit to do. We don't have time to say "sunglasses." That's a whole three syllables, people. Think about how much more productive we can be when we drop it down to two. and after that, it will evolve into just "suns." It will be fucking great.
Okay, I'm done now. I'll think of more things I want to bring back and write about them.
"El mundo es un libro, y aquellos que no viajan leen solo una pagina."
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