Such As It Ends, But It Was Such an End

This is basically what we did when we were all together and lost in a foreign country. Best two weeks ever. It’s mostly for Michelle, Marie, and I, so some of it is just keywords that will make us remember and might not make a lick of sense to any other body.

July 29
Justin went to Noe’s. We went to Chinchón. Realized difference between barras/barres. One is the plural of “bar” the other is the plural of “whorehouse.” Oops.

July 30
Marie came but Michelle didn’t. Noelia took us to a castle in Manzanares Real. Marie slept forever. We went to Lavapiés Barrio and Melo’s Bar which was Gallego and we ate a zapatilla. It was definitely enough food for four people but sadly is closed for all of August for vacaciones so we could only eat there once. Gallegans apparently drink their vino out of little bowls. We also had some salted peppers and croquetas. Then we walked around toward La Puerta del Sol, Gran Vía, and Chueca where we had some Madrid typical vermouth.

July 31
Michelle came and we went to some pueblo Navalcanero (?) with Noelia and Nana. Went to this ham place where Michelle’s “hair was all up in that ham.” We ate cena with them in Madrid. As usual, it was a ton of food.

Aug 1
Ate churros and porras con chocolate for breakfast. Porras are like churros but porros are joints like marijuana. Once again, oops. Moved into hotel. Said goodbye to Noe because she was going on vacation with Nana and Miguel to the Canary Islands and it was sad. Went to grocery store, which was quite an adventure. The conversion of kilograms to pounds is 1:2.2. We messed up and ended up getting a lot a lot a lot of crappy meat. We also just grabbed the first thing that said “leche” which was a bad idea since it was disgusting whole milk. We ended up with a whole kilo of salt too. The Reina Sofia Art Museum was almost a huge bust. The first room we went to was practically empty with these metal boxes. It was a bad omen but then all of a sudden we found El Guernica and it was awesome. Naaaap. Meeeat. So, I’ve started drinking milk and juice mixed together and I think it’s fantastic so I decided to share it with my sisters. Well, we had some gross milk and I think the one I mixed for Marie was more milky and therefore more gross. She almost threw up. We thought she was being a baby, but then we tasted her’s. It was gross indeed.

Aug 2
El Rastro=world’s largest flea market, bought a bunch of craappp. The roundabouts are so confusing for walking and the fact that street signs don’t exist consistently is rough. Buen Retiro and saw the Crystal Palace and some cool monuments and stuff. Then we walked home and it was farrr. Then we went to a bullfight and we liked it when the bull tried to jump the fence and when the matador got rocked and the showy turquoise guy who air humped a lott. It was better than the one in Sevilla and 1/6 the price. Then went for some food. Some rude waitress. We added Marie to the room becauase she wasn’t on there earlier and the only thing different about our new room was the number of plates. And that it’s 35€ more/night.

Aug 3
Atocha (train station) and Alcalá. We walkedddd and saw everythiinngg. Old guy in speedo with the belly. Got some good workout in the parque. Got real tapas and bought the most random assortment of groceries to bring allll the way back to Madrid. Then we walked home from Nuevos Ministerios. Cervantes house, first chino and Michelle and Justin had the simultaneous idea to go in different directions so the Chinese lady watching us would be torn over whom to follow. Taking pictures in the reflection of the train window.

Aug 4
Prado=5 hrs. saw it all. Awesome. The rock table/mosaic thingies were sweeeet. McDonlad’s that was really posh and modern and had beer and café con helado. Then we didn’t have time to go change or siesta before Carmen so we walked there and went to the production in our tourist attire. Flamenco Carmen was not what I was expecting but was incredible nonetheless. Incredible. Michelle said bravo a lot and clapped at awkward moments…more than once. Marie knows numbers; Michelle does not. Melo’s Bar is closed for August. =[ Carnival after the Thai/Indian/Cell Phone Store. Michelle’s freaking hat. Don’t joder me!

Aug 5
We did nothing. Marie woke up at about 3pm. We sat around and played cards and listened to music all day. We never get to just spend an entire day together even in the US so it was still ok. We also did some laundry in the sink and let it dry on the bars outside our window. Most of them stayed. Two pairs of my underwear and one of michelle’s shirts fell the few stories down sometime during the seven hours between washing and when we went outside to the grocery store. At the store, Michelle wanted cheese but didn’t know how much to get. “100 grams?” “I dunno. How much is that? 100 is a big number.”

Aug 6
Breakfast at a café. Park and played on a crappy playground and in some fun fountains. The National Cathedral is ugly, the viaduct has an ugly plastic wall around it because it was a very popular suicide spot (it was not worth seeing at all but my guide book recommended it for some reason), jardines vistillas ugly, Parque Atenas was ugly also, plaza de españa (played cards) was cool. A lot of ugly, but it was ugly Spanish things so it was definitely still awesome.

Aug 7
Campo del Moro (Royal Gardens) and picnicked and siesta-ed and played cards and got attacked by birds and got shat on. Then we went to Templo de Debot (Egyptian temple) waited for it to open then saw the one sign where it was posted that it has weird hours in August like every other damn thing in Spain. So we decided to go to La Ermita del San Antonio de la Florida to see some of Goya’s frescoes in their original location. Turns out I led us to bus station 26 near Puerta del Sol instead of monument 26 which is right next to Templo de Debot. Eeeeefffff! But we walked down Gran Vía to get there, it’s a really cool street with nice architecture.

Aug 8
Today, we ACTUALLY went to Templo de Debot and San Antonio. Impressive but nothing too special. The temple was a bit of a bust. Goya definitely won that contest. Marie and Justin were pretty museumed out but Michelle insisted on finishing the art museum triple crown and going to the Thyssen. We went. It was an art museum. Then we decided to find some souvenirs by walking down Gran Vía again. We wandered in Chueca and found some good shops without hardly any tourists in sight but a lot of locals. It’s crazy how many people are out so late when you compare it to the US. Not just young people either, old folks, too. Then we went to this really nice yet inexpensive restaurant because Michelle wouldn’t stop complaining about not having tried “Spanish” food yet. Then we walked back down Gran Vía and saw the buildings at night. They look very different. Justin was sad and almost cried and may have had his sisters not been there. He would have sat on a bench for an hour or two just looking at the Metropolis building, Palace of Communication, La Puerta de Alcalá, and Spaniards.

Aug 9
We thought we had booked tickets for a 1045 flight but it turns out we didn’t. we managed to get tickets the same day at 330 but for much more money. We got to the Barcelona airport and waited for Lydia because we thought she was also arriving by plane from her vacation. She was actually arriving by car from the opposite side of Barce, so we waited in the airport for an extra few hours for no reason. Lydia’s place is nice, though, and we really like it. It’s close to a metro stop, which is close to a cheap shoe store where we all bought a new pair. We ended up spending all day in airports and didn’t actually do anything Spanish at all.

Aug 10
After having a hectic day at the airport, we decided to spend the whole day at the beach. We got off a stop early to walk through a park, which turned out to be a great choice. At first, we took a wrong turn and went through a nasty dog park, which turned out to be a bad choice. But we found our way after asking for directions. A gigantic fountain with lots of little fountains and decorations and gold statues and awesomeness was in the real park…and a wooly mammoth. The beach in Barcelona kinda sucked a lot. The water was dirty and cold and the sand was rocky, not sandy (all unlike Valencia), but it was better than the beach in Iowa so we were all happy.

Then we came back to Lydia and Marta’s and made them an American meal: meatloaf, mashed potatoes (mashed with forks :( ), and green beans. Marta was sick so didn’t have any, but we think Lydia liked it. At least she said she did.

Aug 11
We were tourists. We saw: Cathedral, Santa Maria del Mar, Picasso Museum, La Rambla.
The patron saint of Barcelona is a twelve year old girl who survived thirteen tortures including being rolled down the street in a barrel full of knives and glass and being burned at the stake. She died during the thirteenth torture: crucifixion. Everything in the center is really close together because everything was built in gothic style in the gothic era, apparently. It all looks so stereotypically European. Anyway, this is how we stumbled upon Santa Maria del Mar, a cathedral-y church, before we had meant to. Incredible architecture mixed with powerful organ music is really moving, and it really isn’t a surprise to us that people back in the day were awed at “the power of God.” After The Prado, Reina Sofia, and the Thyssen, the Picasso Museum was underwhelming, but we are still glad we went. Justin got pooped on AGAIN on La Rambla…and offered drugs, but not as often as in Lisbon.

We ate lunch at Casa del Delfín. Marie had meatballs with cuttlefish, Justin had lambs brains, and Michelle had squid ink paella. Delicious and cultural.

Aug 12
We did the Paseo de Gracia. That’s not what it’s actually called. It has some Catalán name, which is why I don’t remember it, so this is the Castellano name. This walk is famous for the Gaudí designed buildings on it: Casa Batlló and Casa Pedrera. They were cool from the outside and probably better inside, but it cost a lot lot lot to go in and the lines were ridik. Then we saw La Sagrada Familia, Gaudí’s unfinished cathedral. It’s ugly. Then we walked (a very, very long way I might add) to Park Güell, another Gaudí work. It’s not a park in the traditional sense, by any means. There is no grass. I was sad. There are just a bunch of modernist structures, which were fun to look at.

Aug 13
Didn’t write anything when it happened, so we don’t remember.

Aug 14
Didn’t write anything when it happened, so we don’t remember.

Some quotes:

“Hurry up hurry up! Come on! Get the kids up! Orange juice! Let’s go! Go to the airport!” –Nana saying it all in Spanish EXCPEPT for orange juice.

“You must call me raptor.” –Justin (I don’t remember why)

“It’s a good thing it happened to you and not me.” –Michelle after Justin got pooped on.

“When’s wedding season?” –Michelle along with a jillion other ridiculous questions

“Is it ‘gracias’ or ‘gratheatlejth?’” –Marie after hearing Michelle butcher the pronunciation repeatedly

The Roads Are Like Sidewalks for Cars

I saw Harry Potter 6. It’s called “Harry Potter and the Mystery of the Prince.” A horcrux is horrocruxo in Spanish. It’s weird.

This session’s program organized trip was to Valencia. Valencia is in the southeast on the Mediterranean coast. The language they speak there, in addition to Castellano (Spanish), is Valenciano which is really close to Catalán. It’s a romance language, so like most romance languages, I can read it decently but aural comprehension is practically nil. Valencia was amazing, but so is everywhere I’ve been in Spain. We visited a beautiful cathedral as well as a few other interesting historical places on our tour. Typical food—by that I don’t mean the locals eat it all the time but rather something you should try while you’re there—typical food in Valencia is horchata (or orxata) and paella. Horchata is like the liquid squeezed from some kind of nut that’s been soaking in I think it was water. I’m not a huge fan. I’d drink it if someone offered it, but I don’t think I’ll buy it again. Paella Valenciana is paella (cooked rice…probably more complicated than that, but I don’t know) with chicken in it. It seemed like the exact same thing as chicken fried rice from Great Wall or somewhere. I’m probably offending someone by saying that.

Something I don’t think I’ve mentioned before is the Spanish norm of having three course meals at restaurants. Many times, restaurants don’t have menus like we would think. They have “the menu of the day” which I guess could be called the special except a lot of times, they ONLY have the menu of the day and that’s it. Other restaurants will just hand you a list of what they have for first course, second course, dessert, and drinks. Everything is the same price (6-12€ at the places I go) and includes everything no matter what you get. What I’m trying to say is that one of my friends was sick so I ended up eating probably four and a half courses.

Something else I don’t think I’ve mentioned before is the Spanish norm of botellón. Botellón is the Spanish equivalent of the American pre-game…only far superior. You basically get cheap wine (I usually go for the .79€ stuff) or liquor and meet all of your friends (and enemies) in a park. Common botellón drinks: tinto de verano (literally ‘red wine of summer’ but is like wine with Sprite or 7-Up) and calimocho (wine and Coca-Cola). Sometimes, we never end up going to a bar because there are so many people in the park that you wouldn’t gain anything at a bar besides music. It’s so much more fun than pre-gaming because no one cares that you are loud and you don’t have to worry about bothering anyone. Well, I guess that isn’t true. In Valencia, we were having a small botellón with just Americans in a park that had some sweet looking ruins when we were yelled at by this homeless man who was trying to sleep. It was a public park, but it was also his bedroom so we decided to relocate. We found a better spot where, judging by the litter and arrangement of rocks for sitting, botellóning was common. Fun, fun night.

Valencia used to have the Ebro River going through the middle of it, but it kept flooding the city so they re-routed it. The riverbed is now a long, river-shaped park full of gardens and playgrounds and fútbol fields and what not. We came across a rehearsal of Grease down there. It was in Spanish. “Summer Nights” is better in English. We eventually got to the Ciudad de los Artes y Ciencias, which is a group of museums and the second (?) largest aquarium in Europe…or the world. It’s apparently amazing and therefore cost 30€ to get in. We didn’t go. The area was really cool, though.

One of my favorite touristy stops was the Fallero Museum. I really should have wrote this all down right away because I can’t remember the names of everything and I don’t feel like looking it up, but The Fallas Festival is in March and looks totally awesome. I’m coming back for it. It started out as a competition between the barrios of Valencia. Each group would make this huge sculpture thing and then at the end of the festival, they burn them. They are really complex, gigantic, and impressing whether they are on fire or not. The stereotypical resident of Valencia loves noise so there are a lot of fireworks both during the day and night. My mom’s been and she was telling me that it’s like a city-wide party. She didn’t know about any of the other places in Valencia I was telling her about because she only saw the city at night because she was there during festival time. The videos they showed and the parts of some of the winning fallas they had in the museum really made me want to go. It’s art, culture, and a party. What else could you want?

Valencia is on the Mediterranean coast so we naturally went to the beach. This beach was absolutely amazing. The water was much warmer than in Asturias/Cantabria and the waves were bigger and more fun to swim in. There were definitely some characters lying out around us. Other than the usual topless women and nearly naked men, there was this boy COVERED in sand running around in his underwear and floaties while his “parents” seemed to be enjoying some PG ménage à trois. We also witnessed a handie and plenty of dry-humping. I’m sorry if saying that is offense or you find it inappropriate, but life is apparently full of inappropriate Spaniards.

That night we were planning on going out to see the city, watch fireworks, or find some theatre to go to, but we ended up staying in a talking about music and editing pictures for about 3 hours. I didn’t expect to find such good friends here, but I’m starting to actually like these dumb Americans. =] Oh, and when I got back to Alcalá, I walked into our empty house only it wasn’t empty. There was a dog inside. We don’t own a dog. Good thing I’m pretty much a dog whisperer or else it would have been weird.

One of our last botellóns in Alcalá was one of the best. I had a slightly awkward situation with my family when I left but that’s going in my personal journal. We met a huge group of Spaniards in a park and did the whole, typical sharing of drinks that makes me feel all warm inside (in more than one way, I guess.). I was really proud of the fact that I found a two liter of pop for 29 cents. This time we made our way to a bar we frequently went to called Can-Can. It’s a basement bar that’s always full of smoke and music and dancing and creepy Spanish men. The girls I was with made friends with an Argentinean who kept giving them (and me by the distributive property of shot giving) shots. I don’t even think he worked there but he took them behind the bar and gave them soooo much alcohol. Then Laura and I did something completely awesome that I can’t tell you about. It was a good night until my nose started bleeding suddenly. No one in the bar had napkins or tissues, the bathroom was out of toilet paper, and I was gushing everywhere. The only thing I could find was…a tampon. I used it. Does that really surprise anyone?

My family was leaving that morning for vacation at around 530am. I wanted to eat breakfast with them before they left. It was about 545 and I was in the process of giving someone a piggy back ride home. I ended up dropping them and sprinting home. Oh, man. I know some of you in IC know what it means when you see someone running at night. Siiigh. I got home in time to say goodbye and everything. I’m kinda sad that I’m just now getting really comfortable with my family and good enough at Spanish that I feel like I can connect with them and base our relationship on something other than the fact that we share a house. For example, my sister hates Hannah Montana. I don’t know if she realized how happy this made me. Her, her friend, and my mom all commented on how much better I am at Spanish. Again, I don’t know if they realized how happy this made me.

Anyway, the real interesting thing happened the next morning. I woke up in an remarkable situation, which I don’t feel comfortable sharing via internet. It’s a good story, though, if you want to hear it in person.

This morning I climbed out my window and up to the roof of our building to watch the sunrise. I’ve been wanting to do it since I first got here, so I finally did.


Funny things I’ve learned in Spain:
The word for corkscrew is ‘sacacorchos,’ which I learned after asking the store worker “¿Dónde están las cosas para sacar corchos?” That’s about the same as saying “Where are those things for screwing corks?” She answered, “…..¿Un sacacorchos?” “….a corkscrew?” Me, “Eeeh, sí.”

I get much better at Spanish as a botellón goes on.

Laying in the grass with a friend is great no matter which hemisphere you’re in, especially when surrounded by rose bushes. Greatness.

My shadow looks good.

The roads are like sidewalks for cars.

You only live once apparently sums up my personality, at least that’s what I was told. Meow.

“Yeah, that’s how it starts, Justin, then next thing you know you’re kidnapping children.”

Spanish locks are confusing. I wanted to go out the other night. I couldn’t figure out how to open the door, so I stayed in.

My little sister is a figure roller-skater, a pretty good artist, wants to be a vet, hates her English class, and has more patience for me than anyone. I think I’m bad luck for her, though, because two of her birds and a kitten died while I was there. Her Guinea pig was fine though.

how it flies

I've been back in the country for a month already. Time seems to go faster when you're around things that you are used to...then again, it doesn't exactly slow down while adventuring around a foreign country either.

I've got two more blog posts from Spain yet to be published. Once there's a lull in my activities, especially the weekend eating marching band, I'll try to proofread and expand my random thought fragments into some sort of descernable set of sentences. Fear not. Same goes for the pictures that need to be put on Facebook. I've gotten through editing a little over half of the 1500 pictures I took with my sisters. Yipes! I'm not publishing them all. Who would look at them?

Until then, it's school as usual. This whole triple majoring thing may catch up to me this semester. Vamos a ver.

Let’s write a screenplay, then we can go to sleep.

This is going to be long. I can tell. Spain is just too much. The highlight that I really wanna talk about is Lisbon, which isn’t even in Spain, but you knew that already. Still, Spain is too much without Lisbon tacked on.

First thing is first, I’m not Chinese. Surprisingly, at least to me, I’ve been mistaken for Asian more times than I can count in the US, but I feel like it’s happened more often in Spain. I’ll admit that my eyes are small, but they don’t, by any means, look like any type of Asian eye. I’ll also admit that I play into a few Asian stereotypes: Rubik’s cubes, rice, and occasional ping-pong are just a few. I’ve had four teachers in Spain, and half of them have commented on my Asian-ness (I bet the others would if I’d ask them if they think I’m Asian). The first one was my phonetics teacher. I was sick and tired, so my eyes weren’t as open as they could have been, I guess, so she got the idea that I was Asian. Then she noticed the way I speak or at least listen. Spanish r’s and l’s are done more with the tip of tongue and teeth than the back of the throat like in English. To me, they sound almost the same especially if I’ve never heard the word before. One part of our test was all strange Spanish words with l’s and r’s and I had a hard time with it. Do you happen to know which ethnicity has trouble distinguishing r and l? Yeah, stereotypically, it’s Asians. My teacher then loudly declared that I have to be Asian in the comical way Spaniards frankly comment on other people’s habits. The other one was my civ and culture teacher. During roll the first day, he was asking everyone what their heritage was since we were a room full of Americans with a diversity of last names. After I insisted that I’m from the Bohemian region and I think my name comes from Czech, he just plainly said, “Your eyes are really small. You aren’t Chinese?” No, no I’m not.

I went on a field trip to the beer factory. Yessss. The view of alcohol here is way different than in the US, especially in school. My school’s cafeteria sells alcohol. Iowa would be freaking out. Anyway, going to the beer factory was like being a kid in a candy store only more like being a Justin in a beer factory. Delicious.

The Fourth of July. I missed it. I was in Spain. How was it, everyone? Same as every year? Cool. Some of us Americans went to Madrid to celebrate, sorta. We had a picnic in Madrid’s largest park then went to the largest gay pride parade in Europe. There were 1.5 million people there. I’m not sure what I was expecting, so I’m not sure if that was it. It was definitely interesting, and I had a good time. After about 3 hours or more of standing there watching the groups of people snail by, we went to McDonald’s because it was the Fourth and we are American. It was a tribute. Although, I didn’t get anything at McD’s. I went to a ….wait for it…. an Asian store and bought food there. Then I ate a whole loaf of bread in one sitting. I’m not really proud of that. Then we went to an English theatre in Madrid and saw the new Transformers movie. It was a pretty sweet, American filled evening. On the way back to Alcalá, we had to take the Metro to the bus station because the trains were done for the night. The Metro was absolutely paaacked to the ceiling with drunk Spaniards with their drinks just on their way to the bars or between bars or something. It was only 230ish I think, so they definitely weren’t on their way home like us (it takes a while to get back to Alcalá), which reminds me that we don’t get unlimited train and bus passes this month. Only the new kids get them even though we paid the exact same amount! There isn’t even a reason they have them and we don’t since they weren’t valid during either orientation session and are only really for personal use. Luckily, I live close to the school, but some people live a 30 minute bus ride away, which they have to pay for twice a day now. It’s a pain. Unfair.

I’m not sure if it was the next day or a few days later, but we went back to Madrid for the official presentation of Cristiano Ronaldo to Real Madrid (soccer team). Doesn’t sound like much, right? It was insane. I had two plans when I came to Spain: run with the bulls and soccer riot. Bull running was too expensive and I went to Lisbon instead (see below) and someone from Alcalá actually died this year. Soccer season is not happening right now. Plans, ruined. I saw highlights of the presentation of Kaká and people were going crazy, so when I was asked if I wanted to go to see Ronaldo, I jumped on that wagon right away. Apparently, people had been sitting outside the stadium since 6am for the 9pm presentation. We got there at around 630pm for the 7pm door opening and there were already thousands of people there. When they did open the doors, it was a dangerous rush of people to get in. They were trying to make people go through these turnstile things, but, since it was a free event, they had one person there with one ticket putting it through the little machine letting one person in at a time. We decided to just jump the closed gate, run to some pretty decent seats, and then proceed to wait two more hours. I can’t describe the atmosphere and energy in the stadium. I think it’s a 90,000 capacity stadium and it was completely full with people sitting in the aisle, on the stairs, and on the ledges between tiers. I can’t imagine what an actual game would have been like. The presentation ended after a half hour (I think it was close to being done anyway) when people started rushing the field and the security was overtaken and Ronaldo was rushed away. Awesome.

I went to Lisbon for the weekend with a friend who’s a big fan of Dave Matthews Band. They were playing at Optimus Alive ’09, which is a three day music fest in…Lisbon, like I said. On the way to the train to Madrid, I was carrying food and a juice in my hands. I saw a mother and her son coming my way. As we were about to pass, the kid started to wind up. I don’t mean wind up like hyper and slightly obnoxious. I mean he wound up to hit me in the nuts, which he did. The worst part was that I saw it coming but couldn’t do anything to stop it. Tragic.

Do you ever see someone on a bus or in the airport and wonder where they are going? It happens to me a lot especially since I want to talk to everyone I hear speaking English. Well my dream came. We talked to these American girls from somewhere in the Midwest (a very, very surprising amount of Americans I’ve met in Spain have been from the Midwest) and were on their way to Rome for the weekend. We talked to them because they didn’t know which stop they needed for their terminal. Then we realized we didn’t know which one we needed either. We went with the odds and got off on the one that had the most terminals the closest. When you leave the Metro, you have to sometimes put your ticket through the thing again to get out so the double check that you paid for a ticket. Well, going to airport apparently costs more because our tickets wouldn’t get us through. At one point, I had gotten by the security guard, but he stopped Caitlin then called me back even though I could have ignored him and just kept walking. That would have been a jerk move to Caitlin, though. There really isn’t anything funny or interesting about this story. Apologies.

You can’t take liquids on planes. That’s the rule. Caitlin tried bringing all of her shampoo and conditioner, face wash, peanut butter, jelly, and a coke in her carry-on. It was depressing seeing it all thrown away especially since if we would have been thinking we could have just made our sandwiches at the security checkpoint and not had to throw any of the food away. Funny thing is, they didn’t even notice the coke. Are liquids really that dangerous? What if my sandwich had been a bomb? Scary? No.

I was really impressed with the plane. First, I was just happy to get on the plane. I had booked a 1pm flight but was told my flight was at 3 when I checked in. I was very confused. I went to the gate my plane was supposed to leave from anyway and just asked if I could get on if there were seats. Yeah, no problem. Then, they served us a meal…for an hour long flight AAANnnnd they had a movie. It was just a candid camera type of prank TV show, but still. I don’t get a movie on hardly any, or any, domestic American flights. The interesting thing was that they didn’t have headphone plug-ins, or at least the people I could see and I couldn’t find them. However, everyone would still laugh at all the same parts. I was sitting next to a German woman (she had a German newspaper, at least) and a Portuguese man (at least, he spoke Portuguese). I thought it was cool that we found the same things hysterical. Significant.

When we landed in Lisbon, we were picked up by a guy named José. I didn’t know him. Caitlin didn’t know him. We got in his car and stayed at his house for the weekend. Check out couchsurfing.org (I think it’s org. Google it.). He was an AMAZING host. He picked us up from the airport, let us stay with him for free, offered us a Portuguese cell phone for the weekend so we wouldn’t have to pay long distance, picked us up from downtown at 4am-ish the first night, and took us back to the airport. He’s a Portuguese film producer and had an incredible apartment with the most astonishing view of Lisbon and…some body of water. I don’t think it was the ocean. He called it “the river” which would be the Tajo, but I don’t think it was the river either. Hmmm. He was really helpful, letting us use his internet to get info about the festival, calling them and asking our questions in Portuguese, and helping us map out some cool things to see in Lisbon. Very good experience. Safe?

The first day in Lisbon, we met up with one of Caitlin’s friends, Sara, from Wisconsin who’s studying in Valencia. She brought Derek, who is also studies at Wisconsin, and they were probably the best people to meet in a foreign city while traveling. They kinda had the same mindset toward traveling that Caitlin and I have, so we had a good time. Walking around Lisbon, I realized it is beautiful and I have to go back. It’s a need thing. It’s hilly, which sucked for walking, but it’s awesome seeing hills covered in city. The weather was perfect while we were there. It was sunny but not 200° like in Madrid. It was really diverse, too. Probably because it was a bit of a tourist town, but that actually didn’t bother me this time. I know, it’s surprising. We spoke Spanish whenever we needed something done. I’ve heard that if you know Spanish or Portuguese, you have a good chance of understanding the other one. LIES! I could read the signs but when it came to speaking and hearing….nope. There was an incident on the plane that had to do with coffee and another when we tried to figure out the public transportation system. Portuguese sounds like Russian or something. There are so many diphthongs and “sh” noises it’s not even funny. Ridiculous.

During the day we went to the Castle of Saint George. It was on the highest hill in Lisbon and provided some gorgeous views of the city. I feel like this won’t surprise any of the people who are probably going to read this, but it felt very Lord of the Rings. I didn’t hesitate to blurt out some quotes and fall into character a few times especially when I decided it was a good idea to try and climb the castle wall to get to a window. It almost got to it, seriously. There were also some cool arc like ruins and a Stargate, but it was broken. Oh, and peacocks. They only worried me once or twice, but I definitely overreacted each time. Frightening.

Portugal, and I think Lisbon in particular, has a very “look the other” way policy on drugs. Sara’s travel book, if I remember correctly, said something like 1/3 of the world’s hashish is in or from Portugal. There’s no way I could have kept track of how many times I was offered drugs in the middle of the street in the middle of the day. If caught and actually prosecuted, it carries a huge fine, but it brings too much money into the country that the economy would suffer that they don’t do anything. Why is it illegal, then? Curious.

That night we went to Derek and Sara’s hostel to chill for a bit before going out. We hung out in the common room. There was a group of Spaniards and a Brazilian with a guitar sitting around a coffee table, a group of Frenchmen/women (is that what French people called? Frenchie?) sitting on some beanbags, Americans on a couch, and a German girl writing at the table. The rest of the hostel seemed alive with a bunch of other travelers, too. I really liked that feeling. It’s like being in a building full of people who are after the same thing as me. Anyway, we naturally joined the group of people speaking the language we understood…the Spaniards. We passed the guitar around and sang songs for an hour or two. It was really cool how three different cultures could find something so in common. Someone would play the guitar while the others would clap, tap a glass with silverware, or sing. Then we all went out to the bars. Lisbon nightlife in Barrio Alto is pretty impressive. I thought Iowa City was pretty good when the ped-mall is packed and everyone is having a good time. Lisbon makes IC look like kid stuff. Think of the ped-mall on the busiest night, now take everyone out of the bars and put them on the street but doing the same thing they would be doing in the bar, now multiply the area and person density a few times. I forgot we were on the street until a lone taxi drove by to brave the crowds. People moved just far enough out of the way to let it by. I had another “we are all the same” moment in the bars. We were dancing around to this really hippie band and I don’t even remember what song came on, that’s not important, but I remember that we just started dancing like crazy. Arms around each other in a circle, we took turns showing off our stuff in the middle or breaking apart to dance with a neighbor. No, it wasn’t because we were intoxicated. We were very far from it, actually, well, most of us were. That Brazilian guy, Ronaldo, liked to drink, I think. Something I liked was the way they would buy a drink, but pass it to the person next to them first. The drink would be offered to everyone then the buyer took a drink. Brotherly.

The next day we went to the Tower of Belem. At low tide, it’s dry ground to the tower; at high, it’s an island. I’m not really sure what advantage that would have had back when it was built. Maybe people back in the day thought it was just a cool idea and did it for the heck of it. I do that a lot. When we decided to try and find the tower, we were probably a few miles away. More than three, for sure, but it didn’t look very far on the map. We were just going to walk, but after like a half hour of walking, we had gone about one inch on the map and had three or four left. That’s when we realized it was very, very far away. Moral of the story: trams are faster than feet. Surprising.

The music fest went from 4pm-4am with Black Eyed Peas going on at 10ish and Dave Matthews Band at 12. We were there the whole time, and it was totally worth it. I’m not a huge fan of BEP or DMB, but I like them and Caitlin had an extra ticket and wanted someone to go with her. I had no plans, so I decided to go discover Lisbon and some indie European artists with her. BEP were so much fun! The energy and music they bring to stage is infectious. They had a lot of people on stage at once (them, dancers, musicians). Wouldn’t it be awesome to play the drums or dance or something for Black Eyed Peas? The answer is yes. My favorite part was before they played “Pump It.” I don’t know their names, but after their guitarist did the first chord, the black guy that wears the kinda nerdy looking glasses said something like this: “Did you understand that? Do you speak guitar? Say that again. (chord) Did you hear that? He’s saying ‘pump it.’ (crowd goes crazy) (chord) pump it (chord) pump it.” Then the song started. It was really cool because it seems like everywhere I go I manage to get into a situation where music is the center rather than the fact that I’m surrounded by people from different countries, cultures, and languages. Strange, huh? Everyone understands music. Sometimes, when I hear Spanish music without words, I feel like it’s in English because I understand it perfectly. When I realize that the person/people playing it may not understand a single word of English but still understand the music, it’s mind-blowing. I know that might be hard to understand, but try harder. Remarkable.

Favorite parts of the concert:
- The Portuguese couple that didn’t see BEP or DMB because they were making-out for literally 3 hours. This girl who was studying in France couldn’t see because she’s little and they were normal sized. I asked them in Spanish to get their big, saliva-y faces out of the way, still hoping that rumor that Portuguese speakers can understand Spanish was true. He nodded and moved two inches out of the way, so I pushed him to the side and her to the front. Language barrier: broken.
- From where I was standing, I could have touched a New Yorker, a Brit, some Portuguese, Spaniards, countless Midwesterners (ironically, the most people we met were from the Midwest), French people, and some Columbians. It was crazy. What did we all have in common? Music.
- Nutella and bologna sandwiches
- Realizing Fergie is more ripped than me.

The last day, Sunday, was pretty uneventful. I mean, we did almost get stuck in Portugal, but that was no big deal. First, we ate a whole container of Duo (a brand of nutella/nocilla) because we wouldn’t have been able to deal with __ of another meaningless loss of food. Then the lady at check-in said, “It’s closed.” We didn’t really know what that meant since we were an hour early for the flight. She was saying that after a certain time, they give the seats away. We were pretty angry and pretty worried at the same time. How can they just give our seats away for a flight we’ve already paid for and that hasn’t left yet and wasn’t going to leave for an hour?? She said she “can’t get us on.” We were expressing our frustration when she handed us our boarding passes. Language barrier: rebuilt…even though we were speaking English. Confusing.

Thing’s I’ve learned in Spain:
- I love juice and milk.
- I will purposely walk farther if it means there is even a meter more of shade.
- I eat so much bread and olive oil.
- I’ve been conjugating the verb “pensar” (to think) wrong for my entire life. Someone finally corrected me. It was only in the imperfect tense so I was only wrong every time for part of the time.
- Eating at 3 and 9 makes so much more sense than 12 and 6.

Chicarrón del Norte…or something like that

I LOVE Northern Spain. For sure my favorite part of Spain. The people, the climate, the landscape, the everything are all perfect. I went over the long weekend between sessions with Noelia. I met her, Nana, and Lidia in Madrid then we drove up to Caín in León to stay in a hostel with Noe’s brother Miguel Ángel, his son Miguel, their neighbor Tori, Lidia’s brother Jelete, and a friend Nacho. There were nine of us. I know what you are thinking, and yes, it was just like the Fellowship of the Ring. It gave me a whole new respect for Gimili who probably carried at least 100 pounds or more of armor and weapons and had stubby limbs. Plus, those hobbits weren’t exactly tall either and they carried pots and pans and what not. Then they hiked around mountains all day, every day. I just don’t understand how those fictional, semi-magical beings could have possibly done it.

We started off in Caín on La Ruta de Cares, which is a really easy, flat trail along the Río Cares. This is the route we did last time I went north with Noe. Off of Cares we went up, up, up Canal de Trea. This “trail” was unmarked in a lot of places, but the occasional pile of rocks helped us know we were on the right track. The piles of rock are called “jitos” but Nacho kept calling them “Paris Hiltons” because Hilton in a Spanish accent sounds more or less like jito. He’d then ramble off some Spanish that I didn’t always catch, but I think the gist was that Paris wouldn’t go in the mountains but if she did she’d be a pile of rocks. You’d be able to tell you were on the trail when you pass her passed out body.

It was definitely a lot harder than I was expecting. I’m thankful Jelete lent me a pair of boots and Nana a walking stick. The way was rated “alta” which is one level in difficulty below using ropes and carabineers and hooks and what not. There were some places where we had to “crawl” vertically. It was awesome. The air was noticeably thinner toward the top of the peak, Juntayu. It was so discouraging because I thought I was in shape, but then I could only go MAYBE 20 feet before needing to catch my breath for a while. Nana and I were talking about the psychological effect of thinking you’re almost at the top then you catch a glimpse of the peak again and realize you’re going to die. Then you see these cows meandering around like it’s easy and some goats prancing around like they’ve adapted to their habitat or something. Combined with a bit of oxygen deprivation, it takes a toll on your resolve.

Eventually, we DID reach the top. It was one of the best feelings ever. It took us about 6 hours to get to the peak, and it wasn’t easy. It’s been a while since I’ve done something physically challenging, and I almost forgot how rewarding it is. We took a break at the top to eat some bocadillos and look through the binoculars at Caín a few thousand meters below. Then it was time to go back down and make our way to the refugio. Going down from Juntayu was definitely easier than going up because of the air difference, I think, but when we eventually went all the way down the next day, that was just as hard as going up.

The refugio where we stayed the night was 1.5 hours from the peak of Juntayu. The refugio was part of a community called Ario. By community, I mean people used to live there. There were ruins of a bunch of houses used by shepherds. It was kinda cool. The bathroom was only for women and only during certain times of day. Otherwise the campo was used but only if you burned your paper when you were done. The only running water was outside and a little bit of a walk and came from a rock. There was a kitchen, however, and they cooked us some cena. We ate with a Romanian guy we had passed on our way to the refugio while he was on his way up to the peak. Meeting him was a highlight. He works for the European Parliament as a translator. He translates English to French and Romanian and back and can translate Spanish to English (and the other two, I imagine) but not the other way because he’s just starting to learn Spanish. He’s travelling around Northern Spain on vacation by himself. It was fun sitting around before cena and not being the only one who speaks like a child in Spanish. Now that there were two of us who needed to be spoken to a little slower, everyone actually slowed down. Plus, I think we understood each other better than the others understand us because we make the same kind of mistakes and have similar accents. We all slept in the same room with long triple bunks. My sleeping bag consisted of a sheet folded in half and clothes pinned together, a nice invention by Nana. I think I slept the best out of everyone according to the way they talked in the morning. It was also in the morning when I saw my horrendous tan-line across my forehead from the bandana I wore. Nana told me it was ok because it made me look like Nadal, which was clearly what I was going for.

Staying at the refugio I realized something: I would hate to have a bell tied around my neck. Almost all of the cows on the mountain had bells. Think about it. Wouldn’t that be the most annoying thing ever? It’s almost torture. Every step you take an irritating bell rings. It’s always the same tone and it’s always there. There was a chorus of cow bell music on the mountain, but not in the cool way Minus Six uses cowbells. There were also three dogs. Of course, I made friends with them right away. My favorite one loved rocks. He reminded me of my dog, Hans, with the way he would come to you while looking for anything on the ground to bring to you. The only things on the ground were rocks, so we played fetch with rocks. If the rock broke on other rocks, he could find both pieces and place them both very nicely directly between your feet.

After some muffins, bread (of course), and signing the refugio’s book thingy in the morning, we headed down the mountain. The Romanian, Victor, was going to go down Canal de Trea, but we convinced him to come with us down Canal de Culiembro. This way was flatter for more parts, but that was only because most of the vertical work was very, very vertical and all at once. Going up has pros and cons that are traded when going down. When we finally reached the flat Ruta de Cares, it was like heaven. There’s an aqueduct along La Ruta de Cares that takes water to Asturias. We sat there for a while sticking our feet, heads, hands, and hats in the freezing, refreshing, glorious water. It was hot, by the way. It’s the north, but it’s still Spain. Then we went back to Caín. It took 6 hours to get back down. Being let into their group of friends in such a welcoming way was incredible. I tried to tell them how much it meant to me to be a part of their trip. I’m not sure if the words got across or not, but I have a feeling they the idea and feeling was communicated. I was appreciative.

Then we headed off to Madrid because Lidia needed to catch her flight back to Barcelona. On the way, Nana and I made a bet on the soccer match. The match before, the US had beat Spain. I know you probably already knew that. Most of you live in the US where soccer is life, after all. If only the US would have beaten Brazil, Nana would have had to do the dishes.

During the whole trip, I got to practice and learn a lot more Spanish, especially some slang, curse words, and idioms. My favorite was “jodido pero contento” which I was told is an appropriate response to “qué tal” after such a climb. I’m not going to translate it for you. Of course, being around so many Spaniards, there was also a lot I didn’t understand. One phrase that I always caught no matter how fast it was said was “explica a Justin porque el pobre no entiende nada” which means “explain that to Justin because the poor guy doesn’t understand anything.” It wasn’t always completely true, but a lot of the time things needed clarification with a slightly less complicated vocabulary and sentence structure.

Commencing unconnected paragraphs of thought:

We had plenty of time to talk during the few hours from Madrid to Caín. Noelia explained the Spanish medical system to me a little bit more. It doesn’t seem so bad even though I’m still pretty upset with the situation I went through. Apparently, there’re quite a few people who will come to Spain when they need heart surgery. Even if you aren’t a Spanish citizen, you get free healthcare if it’s an emergency. She also told me a sad story about a friend she had in the States who died because she couldn’t pay for cancer treatment. That doesn’t happen in Spain. If you need medical help, you get it. I think I need to read some English articles about this to get a clearer idea of what it’s all about. We also talked about Malvern again because Lidia was with us and wasn’t in on the last reminiscing fest. I realized I don’t know anything about anyone anymore. It made me sad, which genuinely surprised me. I’ve always thought that in order to grow up, you have to move away from home and do everything on your own. I guess that is one way to grow up, but is staying in or near your hometown any less valid? No. I know that seems like a fairly simple revelation and I actually had it a while ago, but I realized in that car that I had to move away from Malvern to see how good the people are there. I’d like to think I was pretty involved in my community throughout high school. By doing so, I formed some serious relationships that I underestimated. There were always more than a few people I could count on when I needed something done for a project or a good story or a laugh. “Good hearts” was the best way I could describe it in Spanish and Noe agreed. I know I haven’t lived for a significant amount of time in any other regions of the US, but I’ve found I really like Iowa and Iowans…winter still sucks, though.

I was watching this TV show for people who are learning English. It was an advanced lesson so it was a completely English interview with a woman who had lived for a considerable amount of time in South Africa and Spain. She said a lot of interesting stuff, but one thing reminded me of something I had written in a previous blog. Basically, there is a big cultural difference between South Africa and Spain. She said she had some trouble adapting and learned that the trouble was her preconception. I thought about this and it’s so true. No matter what we do or where we go, we always think we have an idea of what to expect, what it will be like. This is completely natural. It’s just the way the brain works. The problem is that more often than not, we stick to those conceptions instead of letting them change when necessary. The same is for all stereotypes, which are also the brains natural way to categorize information (we can’t have a separate category for every single person on earth, can we?). Then the host said, “If you don’t get rid of those misconceptions, you’re always a tourist.” That’s also true. Ok, I think I’ve been hard on tourists. Sometimes it’s fun to be the tourist, see tourist things, take tourist pictures, eat in tourist restaurants, and stay in tourist hotels. It’s another side of the country you can see, and if you want to see all of the country, you’re gonna hafta be a tourist for part of it. Just don’t keep separating yourself from the population and culture you are learning about because chances are that the new culture does some things better.

Comparing yourself to others is the best way to solidify who you are and who you aren’t (comparing is different from judging, btw). Seeing and living another lifestyle gives me plenty of opportunity for self-reflection. I’ve always thought it sounded lame and cliché when I’d hear about people going to Europe “to find themselves,” but it is kind of true. Then again, don’t you “find yourself” everyday? Experience is who you are. You are your experience. Living in a foreign country is an experience just like living in Iowa City, it’s just different so I learn different sides of myself or relearn the same ones in a new way. Identity. I wrote a short paper on this argument for my Civ and Culture class. I’d include parts of it, but I don’t want to translate it to English.

Funny things I’ve learned in Spain:
--Spanish
--Taking public transportation is the best thing to do if you want to think. That’s where the guts of my blogs are thought up.
--The Simpsons are super popular.
--A six-pack (on a person) is called a bar of chocolate.
--Madrileños por el mundo is an excellent show to learn vocabulary and about the world.
--Cell phones are way over priced in the US. Mine here was 19€ and came with 12€ of credit. Calls are only .05€/min and you’re only charged if you make the call.
--Running to catch a train is one of the most exhilarating things ever. It either ends with an incredible sense of accomplishment or a surprisingly intense feeling of helplessness and failure.
--I hate tourists and love Alcalá for this reason.
--I love Spanish words with j’s, ge’s, and gi’s. Also, I rolled an r for the first time. It was everything I imagined it would be.
--If something is described as “leche” (milk), it’s probably pretty cool.
--I like taking pictures of things no one else notices, like trees and drains, Adam. Similarly, I decided I want to be a photographer/travel guide writer or work for National Geographic. My current degree tracks will surely help with this, right?
--Soccer is not as boring as it seems especially when an upset of Spain by the US is watched in a Spanish bar. I’ve seen so much fútbol now that I’ve become quite a fan.
--When cows and babies make their respective noises, they sound different than they do in the US.
--There are a few Spanish words, like in English, that differ by only one or a few letters but have incredibly different meanings. Here are some that I’ve learned and remembered (I’ll just have to keep messing up until I remember all of them):
-Chupitos--> shots like the drink.
Chopitos--> little fried pieces of calamari.
-Conejo--> rabbit
Cojone--> balls like testicles
-Chulo--> cool
Culo--> ass but not the animal
-Frutos--> nuts
Frutas--> fruit
-Cono--> cone like for ice cream and stuff
Coño--> that slang word used for feminine parts
--There have also been times when I realize I’ve been using a word wrong for over a month. I can’t remember all of these but I know it’s happened more than once. The most recent of which was the use of the word vergüenza. I used it on my final paper I wrote for art history. I thought it meant vengeance or revenge. It, in fact, means shame. Vulcan wouldn’t be looking “to exact shame” on Mars after finding out that Aphrodite was cheating on him, but that’s what I insisted had happened.

Defend the Keep!

This weekend was the CIEE organized trip for Session I. We took a nice seven hour bus ride up to Asturias in the north. We stopped in the capital of Oviedo to weather that was about 20°C cooler. Yessss. Then we walked up a big hill outside Oviedo and saw some old buildings. It felt like my art history class, but I’m in Spain so I can’t complain. Then we went to our hotel in Cangas de Onís. I really liked this hotel. It had real keys. It was crazy. Cangas has this really old, sweet bridge over a stream. Like a mountain stream, not an Iowa stream, which wouldn’t have been as cool.

The next day we went up the mountains to the Parque Nacional de Los Lagos de Covadonga (The Lakes of Covadonga National Park). This was pretty cool. Someone said it felt like our own little world up there because we were above the clouds but there were still clouds above us. Once she said that (I say she because odds are it was a girl since the program only has three guys) I really did notice it. The world felt smaller. It was like I could focus on smaller things rather than the big picture. I felt like I could appreciate the scenery, the situation, and the feelings more. Then the world felt gigantic as I remembered that there was a world outside our sandwich of mist. It was weird.

Next was the Basílica de Covadonga. I actually was listening to our guide, but I can’t remember exactly why it was important. I’m pretty sure the king fended off the Muslims in Asturias. Asturias served as the foothold for Christianity’s 800 year comeback in Spain. That’s why the prince of Spain is Prince of Asturias the same way the English prince is Prince of Wales. This was all said in Spanish so I’ve probably got something important very backward. What I’m trying to say is that we found a dog eating a muffin, so we named her Muffin and tried to steal her.

Then we went to the beach. We had some doubts because it was pretty chilly in the mountains, but the beach at Llanes was perfect (Llanes is famous for some enormous painted cubes on one of the piers). It wasn’t too hot and was sunny. The water was freezing, of course. I lost a gymnastics contest, I realized going topless at the beach was socially acceptable, and I almost speared a man with a lance…would that be “almost lanced a man?” I don’t know. A friend and I built this Gothic sand castle, hoping we would get extra credit in art history. We started building the castle just fine, but the waves got closer and closer so we really spent the whole time building a giant wall to protect our mound of a castle. No, it wouldn’t have been easier to find a new spot. We decided to take a break from our toils and labor. As soon as we left, this jerk face lied (laid? Aaah, Spanish is messing with my English.) down on our wall and used it as a back rest. I was ready to fight and tried to rouse the troops by shouting, “Defend the keep!” Sadly, the only movement was from laughter as no one moved to arms. The city was lost.

The next day we went to Comillas in Cantabria. They were having a medieval festival so we spent most of the time looking at the booths. I was kind of sad we had to leave because there were stages setup for what looked like would be pretty big concerts. There was also a sidre pouring contest that I wanted to watch (Sidre is a drink typical of the north. It’s poured from above the pourer’s head to a glass around waist level because the bubbles are apparently what make it taste good. You have to drink it before it goes flat and super bitter.). The program director said that Alcalá has a medieval festival that’s four times bigger in the fall. Too bad I won’t be here.

I’ve been warned and expected that studying abroad would be a roller coaster ride of emotions. You know that feeling you get when you just got to the bottom of that first and tallest hill, when your stomach feels like it’s being pushed through your seat and you’re dangerously close to vomiting? That’s what happened to me only I puked emotionally, mentally, and physically. I wanted to go home so bad. I hope that was the low point of the trip because if I feel lower than that later, I might just fly home. I tried not to let it affect the other people in the program, although I’m sure it probably did. I know that when I’m around someone who is constantly putting something down, it sometimes affects my view of that thing. I didn’t want to be complaining all the time and possibly influence their views. This actually helped me too. I tried not to let my crappy health affect how I felt about the trip, the people, and the places. Of course, there were times when I blamed everything on Spain. I hit my head on my shelf. Stupid Spain. I forgot to save my blog in 2003 Word format for the school’s outdated computer software. Arrrgh, Spain! My water bottle is empty. What else do you want from me, Spain, seriously?! I could write a lengthy anecdote about my episode with the Spanish medical system and how I feel it compares to that in the US, but I’d rather not remember that experience or the health related experiences that ensued. And it wasn’t an STD, Michelle, but thanks for asking. Let’s drop it, eh?

I did a lot better in art history than in phonetics, which was genuinely a huge surprise. Art history is a thousand times harder. We’ll see how finals go. Clearly, since I’ve got finals, it’s the end of the first session. There’s a long break between sessions (five days or something like that). A lot of the people that are here for only one session are travelling as are the people staying for both sessions. I was invited to Milan, Switzerland, Granada, and Iowa City. The problem is I didn’t get any of the gajillion scholarship dollars Iowa claims to give to study abroad students, so I have no money to do this. However, I just got off the phone with Noelia and she is going to hike up some giant mountain up north and said I could come. My weekend plans went from nothing to mountain climbing with eight Spaniards. As far as I know, Noelia is the only that can speak English, so I’m going to get lots of practice, which I desperately need and want. I’m pretty excited to own this mountain too. I’ve got some reliable sources that tell me people have died on this sucker. It’s kind of a big deal. Don’t worry, I’ll carry a walking stick or something. If that mountain tries anything, I’ll give it a good poke. Also, I hope I see another goat.

Random thoughts:

I have a feeling my family struggles to understand me just as much as I struggle to understand them.

I’ll never get used to the way Spaniards say ‘piss.’

Swear words aren’t as bad as they are in the US, at least that’s what I’ve been told. If you want to swear, you swear. The context and intonation affect how it is interpreted; whether it’s a ‘bad’ curse word by American standards or if it’s a curse word like ‘crap.’

I´m so ready for some death

I went to Seville. Although I didn’t go see a barber, I saw where The Barber of Seville was performed or shot or staged or inspired or something. I’m pretty sure Carmen was done there and another that I can’t remember, but who knows.

I went for Corpus Cristi, which is a holiday, so we didn’t have classes. My friend Piper and her husband suggested I go there to see them and the big Corpus festival. It was pretty cool. I was kind of exhausted and sick from the night before, but I tried not to let that affect how I judged the city. I’ve heard so many good things about it. The thing I absolutely hated wasn’t the 43° weather (guess what that is in Fahrenheit), it was the tourists!!! I HATED it. Everything was oriented toward them and they seemed to be everywhere. Ugh, it was awful. I’m glad Piper and Jacob could show me some other local things to do like eat lunch on the river and swim. This was one of my favorite parts of the trip, and it was caused by a plan gone wrong. We planned to catch a bus to the beach, but we were either too late or there were no more seats on the bus. The lady just said 3:30 when we tried buying our tickets to Montalascañas. So, we walked around, debated about going to a water park, nixed that, thought about paddle boats, nixed that, got hungry so we ate on a little dock by the Guadalquivir River. It was sooo so soso soos sosooos sosoo hot. There were these kids swimming a little way away from us, so Jacob and I went to swim with them. They got out right before we got there, but we noticed that there was a locked gate and fence to the dock. We asked them if we were allowed to swim. They said as long as the police don’t catch you. Of course, that was good enough for me so I proceeded to jump the first fence then fell over the second one. They laughed. I laughed. I’m sure they said something about me being a tourist, but I’m glad I didn’t hear. Have I mentioned I hate being a tourist? I know I don’t look like a local, but I don’t want to be the tourist either. There’s a difference between a visitor and a tourist. Anyway, the guys must have known the cops were coming soon, and that’s why they left because it was maybe five or ten minutes and a police car pulled up. My first instinct was to hide under the dock but they had clearly seen us. We got out, I crawled under the fence this time, then walked around the other fence, and walked innocently to where we ate lunch. My innocent walk must need some work because I have a ticket I have to pay in 90 days.

After that, we tried finding something to do that wasn’t hot. What is the most air-conditioned, freezing place in the US? It’s the same in Spain…… We went to a movie theatre. Piper assured me that it was an English theatre with Spanish subtitles. I was skeptical, but I remembered all the tourists and could imagine there being enough of them to support an English theatre. We went to Coraline. The previews started in Spanish. I thought, “Oh, they’re just the previews.” Then the movie started in Spanish. I sighed. I know I’m here to learn, but my brain was literally fried from the sun. It turned out really well, though. I could understand almost perfectly. I actually mean it this time. I’ve said I can understand Spanish for a long time, but I was basically lying to everyone. I really did understand this movie. I was cold and content.

We also went to a bullfight. This is where Piper declared that she was “so ready for some death.” There are two kinds: a corrida is a matador on foot and a rejone is fought from a horse. We went to a corrida. We paid less for tickets in the sun but were next to the cut off for shade, so we had shade the whole time. It was still stiflingly steamy. The seats aren’t exactly built for comfort. I had a person between my legs in front of me, I was sitting between the person behind me’s legs, and had Piper on my left side. Squished. The whole bullfight experience was pretty cool. I’m not into the killing an innocent animal thing at all, but I loved the cultural aspect of it. It was really interesting to see a different kind of sport/ritual/ceremony and savor something so Spanish (I’m sorry for all the alliterations in this one). I suggest going to one.

I really like palm trees. I like Seville because it has palm trees.

Seville also has a lot of Muslim influenced architecture (I spelled ‘architecture’ in Spanish twice, got mad, then realized it was underlined in red because I spelled it in Spanish. HhahaaHAHA hilarious.). The buildings are all different from the ones in Madrid and very different from the ones in Alcalá. We went to Real Alcazar, which was the palace for the Muslim king and then the Christian king. All the walls are covered in crazy detailed sculpture patterns and mosaics. It was really cool and is free for students, so it was that much more awesome. There are the royal gardens attached. They are huge. There were peacocks. They were huge, too. There was also this underground bath for the queen. It felt so good…the temperature not the water. You weren’t allowed to touch the water. I tried. We kind of mooched off of two of the tours to find out some info about it (although I hate looking like a tourist, I like learning things). One was a group of high school English speakers and the other was a Spanish guy with four other people. Sometimes the things they said didn’t match exactly. I think the English lady’s facts were wrong.

I had a fun experience with food. I was warned that Spaniards will serve their fish with the heads attached. I hadn’t seen this yet and had fish several times. I was starting to get disappointed, but Seville didn’t let me down. At Hermanos Gómez, we didn’t really know what the second dish was going to be because we just asked the waiter to bring his favorites. I got a bunch of fried minnows, Jacob got two fish, and Piper got two or three of a fish of a different breed (I’m sorry, Dad, I know I should know the names of my fish by now). All of them, except Piper’s, had heads. The waiter probably got worried that we hadn’t started eating after a little while and then saw our confused looks. He told me how to eat my dish: completely whole, head and tail and bones and all. Jacob filleted his nicely and left the head, which I think was correct. I don’t know how anyone could have eaten it. They tasted like chicken strips only they were fish with heads…Fish sticks! Not chicken strips, duh. I could hit ‘backspace’ but I think it’s funnier this way.

One of my other favorite things was really simple and cheap: we ordered Domino’s Pizza and drank 1€ wine for about three hours while sitting by the river talking about what we want to be when we ‘grow up.’ I absolutely loved it, and it satisfied my craving for American food for a while. I’m glad I got to learn more about Piper and Jacob, too.

I got a good dose of dancing too. I didn’t actually get to dance, sadly, but I got to watch some. We went to the Tango Festival in this really cool theatre. I was kinda bummed because the show was focused more on Tango music rather than dancing. There were about five dance pieces plus a bunch of music pieces. One piece featured a guy who danced the whole thing without bending his right leg. Impressive. Afterward, there was a street performance outside for a festival called Circada, which seems like a circus/street artist fest that goes for a few weeks. The performers we saw weren’t that good and the guy really wasn’t funny plus he had the most annoying accent. I guess I can’t give anyone crap for an accent but still. The other dancing we saw was Flamenco in this really authentic feeling bar. There were a lot of tourists there but there were also a bunch of locals. I checked later and it’s the bar suggested by the guidebook I got from Noelia; clearly tourist, then. I didn’t care though. It was like a slightly run-down hole in the wall with a front where the Flamenco goes on, another big bar room, and a gigantic patio. It was all in this old stone building, just like every other building in Spain, I guess. It was crowded so I couldn’t see very well and the dancer didn’t dance long but it was still cool. Flamenco reminds me of tap. It’s a lot of stomping and clapping but is waaay more passionate and raw when compared to tap.

We went to the Plaza de España. It’s basically this awesome plaza with mosaics of every region of every province. Madrid was under construction so I didn’t get to see it, but the whole place was still pretty impressive. There were fountains and waterways not only in the Plaza de España but also in a lot of parks and the Alcazar that would have looked really cool had there been enough water to fill them all. Water and electricity are really expensive here; it’s not uncommon to spend all day in the dark if you’re inside.

The last thing we did was see a Corpus Cristi parade. It was more of a processional and not what you would think of as a parade. It was really slow and the ‘floats’ were really small shrines carried by a bunch of children. I didn’t even know kids were carrying them because they are covered, but then Piper pointed out the little feet under the sheet. The bands were cool, too. It was more laid back since the streets are so tiny and people kept walking across between people in the procession. There were also a bunch of shrines set up on store windows, on the streets, and in people’s doorways. They weren’t dinky little shrines, either. They were respectable. People on the upper floors would hang decorative things that looked like scarves but were the size of blankets over their balconies. There’s probably a word for them, but my English vocabulary has significantly decreased since I haven’t been using it. There were also these ropes of flowers made from plastic bags criss-crossing the streets overhead. All of it combined gave the feeling of a big city wide party.

I had a midterm in art history on Monday and one in phonetics on Tuesday. After my art history one, I went to the doctor because I’m sick again. I’m always sick and I am so tired of it. I know I shouldn’t complain. It definitely isn’t as bad as it could be. I’m reminded of my Dance Marathon friends. But going to the doctor was a cultural experience all in itself. Patient care and interaction are first in the US. Not so in Spain. It’s basically, “Enter. What’s wrong?” I didn’t know hardly any of the necessary vocabulary like swollen, sore, sores, glands, sinus, dizzy, etc. The doctor spoke very fast and in an old man voice (men are always the hardest to understand in Spanish, I find). The bed I sat on wasn’t the cleanest, and when he looked in my throat, it was basically him jabbing a tongue depressor down my throat until I gagged. Anyway, he wrote me a prescription, I went to the pharmacy, and have started taking it. The pharmacist didn’t ask if I knew how to take it, if I were taking anything else, what the side effects were, what it actually does, or any of the other things pharmacists are supposed to tell you, at least that’s what pharmacists in the US are supposed to tell you. The medicine is a minty powder that I drink and tastes good but seems to only be a short term fix because my throat gets numb for a while but hurts just as bad later. The label says “ibuprofeno” which looks a lot like “ibuprofen” to me. If all he gave me was mint flavored ibuprofen, I’m going to be so pissed.

Ok, so it’s been a week since I wrote that first paragraph about being sick, and I’m pissed. Turns out the magic ibuprofen didn’t work. I got a lot worse, threw up a few times, and had a fever of over 100 for about a day and a half. I can’t eat or drink because there’s this giant sore on my tongue and my throat feels like strep. I’m only telling you this so you can maybe diagnose me. You’ll probably do better than the ‘doctor’ I saw here. I was the worst was over our weekend trip to the northern Spanish autonomías of Asturias and Cantabria. I’ll write more about the actual trip in the next blog, but I can tell you that I pretty much hated life the whole time. I love the North, but I was absolutely miserable especially when I had to listen to our guide yak for twenty out of every thirty minutes. I like to know what I’m looking at and the significance behind it, but a whole lecture on every historical object is a little much. I’d rather explore the cities on my own, decide which things I want to learn about, and learn about them for myself especially since I’M the one that’s paid for the trip. Plus, I was sick and just wanted to go home, lie down, and not think.

Language stories:
- When I talk faster, I make more mistakes with pronunciation. For example, I meant to say “Hacía frío” which means ‘it was cold (as in weather)’ but I kinda said “Hacía frito” which means ‘it was fried.’ My sister found the second one hilarious. Now, when she asks how something went, she’ll say, “¿Qué tal? ¿Frito?”
- The menu at a bar in Seville said “Jarra 1.5€” or some price like that, I don’t remember the price at all actually. So I ordered that, thinking it was a brand of beer. The bartender kept saying “¿Qué, qué, qué?” So I repeated myself, pointed at the menu, said it again, pointed more, felt like an idiot, and then realized that ‘jarra’ means ‘jar’ like a pitcher. He wanted to know what I wanted a pitcher of. I only needed to say ‘cerveza’ and everything was fine. You’d think I would have learned my lesson but I did the same thing at another bar later that weekend. I just caught on faster the second time.
- Spaniards, in general, pronounce ‘c’ and ‘z’ like the ‘th’ in ‘think.’ So, the word for beer (cerveza) is pronounced ‘thur-bay-tha.’ I’m used to that because Madrileños speak that way. In Seville, they have an accent on top of that one, though. They cut off the last letter of words, last syllable of others, and sometimes entire words. “thur-bayth.” This isn’t really a funny story, but you can imagine how frustrating it was. “Muy” was one I had trouble with because it’s used so much but isn’t always pronounced. It was more like “meh.” If something were hot, like the coffee my friends host mom served me, she would say “mecalien” instead of “muy caliente.”
-Julie asked how people greet each other and say good-bye. My experience has been “Hola. ¿Qué tal?” for greetings, and “Hasta luego” or “Adios” for goodbye. If you are leaving someone for a long time or are really close to them or just had a really good time with them, then you give two kisses for goodbye. Usually, when you meet someone for the first time, it’s two kisses also. One of my Spanish friends says ‘besos’ for good-bye all the time, but she’s the only one I’ve heard say it, probably because she’s the only Spaniard with whom I’m close enough to warrant ‘kisses.’ With guys, it’s a handshake.This is just my experience. I was really confused about qué tal at first. I had learned that it means what’s up but the response to qué tal is bien which means good. That doesn’t really make sense if the person is asking you what is up with thee. I’ve also been asked things like “¿Qué tal la misa?” which is answered as if the person asked “How was mass?” “Bien. Un poco aburrido como siempre.” rather than “What’s up with mass?” “I dunno, but I think all the Protestants are making things awkward.” Get it? Also, hasta luego is super slurred. It’s more like [ata-lego] like leggo my eggo and the very first [a] sound in hasta is barely said, at least it’s barely heard by me. Of course, it’s not ALWAYS slurred like that and is really clear, but sometimes it’s just mush.
- I was just kidding about getting a ticket. The police didn’t confront us because we left right away.

¡Ay, cabra!

You may need to read this one in sections. I even told myself to keep it short, but it turned out to be 7 pages in a Word document. I included lots of feelings, just for you Sara. I’m not sure if I was able to say what I really felt since I think I’ve lost my touch with the subtleties of English, but I tried.

Small world, the Nordic Choir performed at the cathedral in Alcalá. For those who don’t know, the Nordic Choir is from Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. I went with two of my friends, just as something to do to kill time until cena. I ended up being an hour and a half late to eat, but I am so glad I went to the concert. Listening to an incredible choir in a beautiful cathedral with typical cathedral acoustics was absolutely the most impressive thing I’ve ever heard. Not to mention the organ. Apparently, the organ hadn’t been played in a while. A member of the choir played it for one of the songs, and we were talking to him afterward (because he happened to be from the same high school as one of my friends) and he got a lot of compliments about his playing and how “organs are made for people like him.” I recommend hearing a choir in a cathedral to anyone and everyone. Indescribable. I’ve been thinking a lot about religion lately, especially how and why Christianity started and gained such a headstrong following. Sitting before a gigantic hanging Crucifix, getting goose bumps listening to the choir left me awestruck. I can understand how people back in the day could believe it were the power of God. To me, the power of music was impressive. Having visited a few local establishments and hearing street musicians in Madrid and Seville, music is such a connecting human characteristic. Music feels like English to me because it’s so natural, but at the same time, I imagine it feels Spanish to a Spaniard. We are speaking the same language then and understanding each other perfectly. After the concert, a group of about six performed an informal a capella song and it was incredible. I think there’s a vid on facebook of them that I’m tagged in. I’ll check and tag it.

I went to León with Caitlin to see Noelia’s family last weekend. I think it is going to be the highlight of Spain. The landscape and people were both mesmerizing. I wish I would have had time to write everything down because I’ve already forgotten a lot. However, I don’t think I could have ever accurately conveyed the atmosphere of the pueblos and the warmth of Noelia’s family. I fell in love with Castilla y León, I think. I didn’t take near as many pictures as I wanted to, but I plan on stealing some from both Caitlin and Noelia. I’ll probably make my own facebook album consisting solely of “borrowed” pictures.

The only touristy (sorta) thing we did was go hiking in the Parque Nacional de los Picos de Europa (The Peaks of Europe National Park). It wasn’t too touristy because most of you know I hate being seen as a tourist. The peaks were beautiful, then it rained, and it was a whole new kind of beautiful. I’ve heard some quote, “Some people feel the rain, others just get wet.” This applies to more than just physical rain, but you understand how relevant it was here. Yeah, I wasn’t exactly dressed or prepared for rain, but the sound of the rain, the wet socks, the heavy jeans, and the weight of the mountains added to make it something I could feel. I was wet, but I wasn’t just wet. Get it? The rain and fog made the mountains so majestic and mysterious, like some kind of immortal Goliath that has been there forever and will be there forever. Sometimes they can be seen, sometimes they are hidden, but they remain sitting. It’s almost like they’re waiting for something just enduring what’s happening right now because they know, in that majestic, mysterious way, that something else is coming… Sorry, I have a lot of time to think when I can’t always say what I want to, when I want to (on account of the whole Spanish thing) and even when I can, my mind likes to take my body for a walk on its leash.

Anyway, this is where the title came from. I saw a mountain goat and yelled, “¡Ay, cabra!” naturally and excitedly. Caitlin laughed at me because it does sound weird when Americans say things like ¡Ay! and it probably wasn’t something a Spaniard would say. Would it be funny if someone said in English, “Oh goodness gracious, a goat!”?? I dunno. I think the whole situation was funnier for those involved. After hiking, we ate some authentic northern food: fabada (a bean heavy soup with a few pieces of sausage-y meat), I forgot the second course was, cidre (cider that tastes like a mixture of wine and beer to me and is always drunk from a shared cup), and nocilla and something else that I forgot the name of (nocilla is a delicious custard/pudding thing and the other thing we had was the worst tasting “yogurt” I’ve ever had in my life and I’ve had expired yogurt. It came with honey, though, which tasted a lot like honey). There were also dogs that looked like lions, but they were just dogs.

Noelia also took us to see “typical Spanish” in some other pueblos. First of all, a pueblo is like a town but different. It’s one of those things you really can’t translate directly. There’s a lot of emotion connected to the word pueblo, even for me and I’ve only visited. Imagine what the word implies for people who have lived there their whole life. They are tiny little village/towns that are stereotypical European. I didn’t think this kind of place actually existed. I’ve only seen it in movies so assumed it wasn’t actually that common. Tiny, tiny roads made of stone to match the stone houses, old couples with a cane or flowers or the day’s bread, and countless little details that make each new direction I look new but familiar and welcoming. I wanted to go up every alley and around every corner because the whole place seemed like a fantasy. I didn’t think this kind of place actually existed, remember? I hope the pictures I post will help explain it. There was one couple we visited: Isaac and Bernadina. They have lived in their pueblo for their entire lives and rarely leave. People go to see them because they are genuine, heartfelt people. When we drove up, we had to go slow so the free-range chickens and new baby chicks had time to get out of the way. The two dogs were the first to welcome us followed closely by Issac who was sitting outside the house on a bench looking like he was remembering some interesting story he wanted to tell. Dos besos (two kisses) for everyone once we were invited into the modest house for wine, meat, and cheese. The small kitchen, with the cut of meat hanging from the ceiling to cure and the red-hot coals burning slowly in what looked like a hole where a floor level cabinet used to be, was cozy. We had just met but Isaac was so willing to give all that he had. Well, not all of course, but the earnest he showed in offering another piece of meat or another cup of wine was true. I didn’t always understand what they were saying, but they way spoke, especially Bernadina, was so funny to me. She always seemed to be yelling, you know how old ladies are, and when she talked to Isaac it was like she was scolding him. I don’t wanna use the word cute, so I won’t, but it was.

Driving through another pueblo, Noelia suddenly stopped and rolled down my window. She started yelling up the hill to a lady in her “yard.” The lady stopped and looked for a second and just said, “¿Quiééén?” She seemed really confused by who it was at first but once Noelia told her you could tell, even from that far away, that her face kinda lit up. They yelled back and forth for a while. Kiki was her name, and she invited us in for some food, which we had to decline since, although not in a hurry, never in a hurry in Spain, we were still on our way somewhere. As we drove away, Noelia just said, “very a Spanish,” but to me, it was just very real. It’s the side of Spain I didn’t really expect to see. Away from the cities, away from the places everyone has recommended, I found people I knew. They are people that reminded me of Iowa, where people stop in the middle of the street to yell to an old friend. I felt a sense of connectedness and a vision of this huge network that stretches to every person on earth. We aren’t really that different, are we?

In Noelia’s pueblo of Puente Almuhey, we stayed in the family’s house which is connected to their bakery. To me, the house was gigantic, but there are up to 6 people staying there at once; more if friends are over. The house felt like a hotel to me, but not. I’ve never been to a bed and breakfast, but I think it would be like that. Only, the family was nice because they are nice and not because we were paying them as if it were a bed and breakfast because we weren’t paying them, they were just nice and let us stay with them. Did that sentence make sense? It was so awesome to eat meals with them, play cards with them and their friends, teach each other language, share YouTube videos, everything. Noelia’s brother took Caitlin and me to the local bar. It was just a small town, everyone knows everyone kind of bar. I would have never gone in if I hadn’t been invited. It was fun. Staying with them was the highlight of the highlight, I think.

Talking about the weekend on the way home instigated some interesting thought. I don’t want to analyze it fully because I could probably write quite a bit about each one. Instead, I’m going to list them like essay topics, which I might decided to expand upon later.
-That lifestyle dies with them (talking about Isaac and Bernadina).
-Torre, Noelia’s neighbor and pretty much member of the family, reminded me so much of a Malvern person. Again, do all the differences between our cultures outweigh the similarities enough that war was ever or is ever necessary? Maybe not necessarily with Spain, but what about other places? I’d like to go to those other places to see if we are more alike or different. I think I already know the answer.
-The connections you make with people are what you remember, not the stupid tourist stuff. Even when you don’t understand all the words, the emotions and feelings and ideas are still there. It’s crazy when you can connect with people like that. It almost seems strong than if I would have been able to understand every sentence perfectly. It’s like we struggled together to understand each other so we have that little extra bit of ourselves invested in the other one.

So, this blog is long. It’s been a while since my last post and a lot has happened, so I’m just going to tell you stories and ramble like I do. I know a series of unorganized, tangent thoughts is frustrating to read, but thanks for doing it anyway.
Here’s another section:

Arbitrary Observations and Comical Language Encounters
- It’s hot. Very hot. All the time. The north was actually pretty cold. It’s weird how you don’t have to go very far to be in a completely different climate. From Madrid, you can get some sun on a Mediterranean beach or go skiing in the mountains after driving only a few hours in the car. Compare that to 12 hours to Colorado and who knows how many to a beach when leaving from Iowa City.
- Mullets are still in style as are mohawks. Unfortunately, the mohawk-mullet is NOT a rare enough find. I decided today that I’m getting my haircut like a European.
- A lot of guys have an ear pierced. That part closest to your head that you wouldn’t think would be pierced is most popular. There are also a lot of random places pierced like just pieces of skin anywhere on the body.
- Censorship in the media doesn’t really exist. Nudity and incredibly violent images of corpses and such are shown.
- Popped collars abound.
- Two of the bars in Alcalá that I’ve been to had signs banning requests for reggaeton. I don’t know why I thought that was really funny.
- Spanish has five vowel sounds (a,e,i,o,u) while English has 13, not including diphthongs. So, it’s hard for Spaniards to pronounce some English vowel sounds. While in León with Noelia’s family, Torre was trying really hard to pronounce something. All I kept hearing was ‘cock, cock, cock.’ I was telling him in Spanish what he was saying and he was really confused. Apparently, he was trying to say ‘cook’ then switched to saying ‘coke,’ but they sounded the same. Anyway, cooks, cokes, nor cocks had anything to do with the conversation at hand. It was hilarious.
- Noelia was asking about people from Malvern and what people in my class are doing now. Since I haven’t been home for anything other than Thanksgiving, Christmas, and Spring Break in over two years, I didn’t have much info for her. She did ask about Sara Woolery, with whom I keep in contact. I didn’t understand her accent when she said “Sara Woolery” so she said something like “The Amish one,” and I explained that Sara’s not Amish, but she always wore long dresses. “…pero siempre estaba vestido en faldas.” At least, that’s what I meant to answer. I actually said, “…pero siempre estaba vestido en alfombras,” which we all know means that she always wore not one but two or more carpets.
- This isn’t the French reference I was talking about in my last post, but I heard another one. We were in Puente Almuhey with Noelia’s family and they were asking about our heritage. This is roughly what was said:
Caitlin, “Mis antepasados son Franceses.”
The family, “¡Qué curso!”
Caitlin has some French in her, which is apparently worthy of pity from the family. The way they said it and the context and everything, I thought curso meant curse or something like that. I just looked it up and it means year, class, or course, but not course like rough, course like route. So now the whole situation doesn’t make sense to me. I wonder how many times I’ve thought I understood someone’s Spanish and been completely wrong. All well, no pasa nada.
- A good chunk of the countryside on the way to León was covered in grapes. We spontaneously decided to stop at a vineyard. They were really nice and gave us a tour. It included a lot of very unfamiliar vocabulary so I’m not quite sure how everything worked but it was still really cool. There was a really fancy place underground that looked like it was for wine tastings, but the lady said they don’t have them down there because it’s cold. They also kept all the barrels down there. By ‘barrels’ I mean ‘baaaaaaarrrrrreeeeellllllllsssss,’ which is Spanish for ‘there were so many darn barrels in that basement.’ Then they gave us each a little bottle of free wine. Also, I learned that they put the SAME EXACT WINE into two different labels. One goes to a restaurant and costs 20€ and the other goes to a store and costs 7€, but they are the same wine!
- I found a good place in Alcalá. We got 3 drinks and tapas for only 9€. Cha-ching!
- I also met some good local friends to have. They are friends with a lot of the bartenders… Also, they are both multilingual. One speaks German, Spanish and English. The other one speaks, get this, Dutch, Taiwanese, Spanish, English, and Mandarin. Yep. The English taught here is English English, so a lot of people have accents which is kinda funny. Anyway, after talking to them for a while, they are really interesting people and I can’t wait to go out with them again.
- Later that night a friend and I met some French guys. They were really impressed with my French, which consists of a little more than 15 words. It was a new experience switching from Spanish to French to English to French to English to Spanish. If I couldn’t say something in one language I could say it in another, and if one of us didn’t understand the other, we had at least one other language to try to say it in. I don’t know if meeting at least bilingual people is common or if it was a bit of an anomaly that night, but it was cool.
- We visited Palacio Real (the Royal Palace) in Madrid for my art class. It was cool. Painted ceilings, sculptures, tapestries, etc. Then my group and I did our group project homework on the steps of the Cathedral next to the Palace. Pretty sweet.
- I saw the biggest dam in Europe when I visited Castilla y León. At least I think it was the biggest. Eight pueblos were destroyed from the resulting lake formation. A lot of the older people, like Isaac and Bernadina, insisted on staying and dying in the pueblo where their ancestors are buried rather than move. Of course, no one actually did that, but it was still incredibly moving.
- In León, there were a lot of fountains just on the side of the road coming out of the hillside. Not fountains like, “Ooh, that’s a pretty fountain.” They were working drinking fountains but were still really cool because there were made out of stone and were super old.

Here’s more about “people not being different” that I’m only including because Sara said she wouldn’t mind this kind of stuff. I had to write it for a report I write every year about my summer for one of my scholarships.

>>My entire experience abroad thus far could take up about fifty pages of this section. Taking a risk and completely immersing myself in a strange, new, and completely different environment has been both challenging and rewarding, clearly worthy of writing about. I suppose I shouldn’t say “completely” different. The similarities I notice are just as important as the differences, and there are similarities. When my Spanish sister and I can share something as simple as loving ice cream, we are actually sharing something much more. It shines light on connection people all over the world share, even if it is only liking sweets. This isn’t the first time I’ve felt this way, nor the last, I expect. Sometimes, living in the middle of a gigantic country, even in a diverse university town, there’s a sense of unrealism when it comes to considering other nations, peoples, and cultures. The “they” used to refer to foreigners so many times, although not meant in a hateful way at all, seems to be a wall to me. The war is happening “over there” or that earthquake happened in “that country” or that tsunami destroyed “their homes.” It’s weird how I feel like I’ve unconsciously categorized “them” into a category unique from people I know. Not to be misunderstood, I, by no means, have ever had any feelings of either race-superiority or that one group of people is more “human” than another. I’m trying to say that that invented wall I didn’t realize was there has come down. It’s still mind-boggling to me when I consider that people thousands of miles away, who live in a starkly different culture, are more like me than I could possibly imagine. With the current political situation, my mind couldn’t help but wander to the Middle East and Islamic culture in the US. Two questions keep running through my head: “Are Muslims that different from me? Why did I used to think so?” Like I said, I’ve never harbored hateful feelings. However, I would always tell myself that everyone is equal; there are no differences, but I think that imaginary wall was still there before. All of this makes me fantasize about a world where the differences between people aren’t the focus and cause of war and turmoil, but rather the similarities are realized and differences celebrated. It sounds like the daydream of a liberal nut-job, and maybe that’s what it is and that’s what I am, but I know it’s the truth behind what I feel.<<