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.