with the shopkeeper at the bookstore in my barrio (I went to buy 100 años de soledad today):
Do you live here?
Yes, near avenida de la albufera
You don´t live in Andalucia or somewhere outside of Madrid?
No, I live here. But I´m sad because I´m leaving soon, at the end of December.
Where are you going?
United States. (note: at this point it should be obvious that I´m a foreigner)
Are you going there to learn english?
(haha)...yes.
Well, you appreciate things more once you´ve left. Do you think you know enough english to get by there?
yeah, I think so. Enough to order a beer at least.
Great!
28 November 2007
22 November 2007
Tortilla-fest 2007
A true account of a conversation between Belén (my señora) and I:
So this is like our family dinner for Thanksgiving, right? You have to tell me the story behind this holiday. What is it that you´re celebrating? Independence?
No, not independence. Basically we´re celebrating the arrival of the pilgrims to the United States and the story goes that they shared a big dinner with the natives to celebrate the harvest.
(Pause.) Before they killed them all? Didn´t they fight them off later?
...Yes. We just celebrate the eating part, though.
------------
Tortilla Española
Manera de hacerla: Slice potatoes and put in a frying pan with about two fingers worth of oil and fry. While potatoes cook, cut onion. After five minutes of potato-cooking, add onion. While potato and onion fry, beat eggs well. Very well. Make music, muy fuerte. After ten minutes more minutes in pan, remove potatoes and onions and add to egg. Do not add oil. Clean pan, mix up egg, potatoes, and onion. Put mixture in fying pan on low heat and cook. When the liquid becomes solid-ish, flip entire tortilla using either a plate or the lid of the pan. Do so fearlessly so as to not spill tortilla everywhere. Finish cooking other side. Refill wine glass.
Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
So this is like our family dinner for Thanksgiving, right? You have to tell me the story behind this holiday. What is it that you´re celebrating? Independence?
No, not independence. Basically we´re celebrating the arrival of the pilgrims to the United States and the story goes that they shared a big dinner with the natives to celebrate the harvest.
(Pause.) Before they killed them all? Didn´t they fight them off later?
...Yes. We just celebrate the eating part, though.
------------
Thanksgiving.
Sopa Tortilla Mexicana
Manera de hacerla: Here is the tricky part--find the ingredients. Be sure to specify that when you say ¨frozen corn¨you mean corn off the cob and then when you say ¨cumin¨you specify that you need the powder, not the whole grain. Find a bodega somewhere to buy the tortillas, which will be rediculously over-priced, becuase they´re kind of an import. Boil roasted chicken to make stock. Drink a glass of wine. When the glass is empty, the chicken stock should be done. Remove bones, fat, add all other ingredients (put in a Spanish-sized amount of chile powder--which means go easy on the spice). While soup simmers, turn your attention to the lesson in Spanish tortilla making.Tortilla Española
Manera de hacerla: Slice potatoes and put in a frying pan with about two fingers worth of oil and fry. While potatoes cook, cut onion. After five minutes of potato-cooking, add onion. While potato and onion fry, beat eggs well. Very well. Make music, muy fuerte. After ten minutes more minutes in pan, remove potatoes and onions and add to egg. Do not add oil. Clean pan, mix up egg, potatoes, and onion. Put mixture in fying pan on low heat and cook. When the liquid becomes solid-ish, flip entire tortilla using either a plate or the lid of the pan. Do so fearlessly so as to not spill tortilla everywhere. Finish cooking other side. Refill wine glass.
Hope you all have a wonderful Thanksgiving!
20 November 2007
A crash course in socialized medicine
I rode in the back of a police car! I´ll explain.
A group of us went out Friday night, and on one of our walks from place to place, we encountered a sculpture of a tree that was absolutely begging for a group picture. So we climbed all over it (this is not the part where the police show up) and gathered around for a few shots and then were on our merry way. Merry kind of. As one of my friends was jumping down from the thing, her ring caught on the sculpture...and you can imagine what happened to her finger. Amazing, how an emergency situation was a better test of Spanish than anything we´ve had in school so far...
The emergency response was really good. I flagged down some Spaniards nearby who called the emergency number and helped us talked to the (four cars of) police that arrived quickly, then waited around until they got her in an ambulance. Since they wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance with her, I got to ride in the back of a cop car for the first time in my life. (A side note on cop cars--the back seats are hard, hard plastic and really uncomfortable. You do not want to ride in one.) They took us to the nearest public hospital.
Lesson number one: real doctors do not work on the weekends in Spain. That is rest time, not surgery time. There are nurses, interns, care aids, on duty, but no doctors.
So at this first hospital they put a temporary fix on the finger while they called around to find (a) a hospital with a specialist and (b) a hospital with a specialist on duty. Also, about 10 extra people came in and out of the room to glance at this rare injury that my friend had. I translated back and forth, mostly cuss words. They also kept telling us that we should have been at the hospital near where Joanna lives, which was on the other side of the city, but that they didn´t know if there was a specialist there. Eventually, they found a hospital that could help us.
Lesson number two: find your own way to the hospital.
They handed me the paperwork work and said ¨ok, go to Hospital de la Paz.¨ Right, and where is that? How do I get there? They looked at me like I was an idiot. ¨Take a taxi.¨ And if she faints in the taxi? If she starts bleeding again? My lifeguard certification is expired, people, I don´t remember what to do in this situation!!
Finally, we took a taxi to the other Hospital (with no medical emergencies), where they were waiting for us and we had no problem getting in. I hung around, translating, calling parents, making sure everything was ok, until 6 when the metros opened and I could go home and rest a bit. They told me they´d have to wait until morning (and by morning, they meant before 3 PM--Spanish morning) to do any surgery (see lesson number one).
Lesson number three: hospital visits. Only two at a time and they mean it.
First, we had to procure our visitors cards, which have barcodes on them. The barcodes are for scanning at the entrance to the wards, where you pass through a turnstyle, very much like riding the metro except that it´s to visit your loved one in the hospital. It counts how many times the code has been scanned and there are guards. You have to scan the card again to get back out so that someone else can use the code to get in.
Lesson number four: When they say floor 1, keep in mind that there are six floor 1´s.
But, once you figure it out, there is a very easy system of colored arrows directing you to the correct ward, so that you can get to the correct floor. On our first try, Andy and I ended up in cardiology in a room full of old men. Wrong first floor.
All that said, the system is complicated but the care is pretty good (except for that whole doctors really not working on weekends thing), according to most of the people that I've talked to. And it´s free for everyone in Spain. There are private hospitals here, for people who want to pay for them, but the public hospitals do just fine.
And one more thing...the siesta still reigns. According to my friend, they observe the rest time in the afternoon better than they do 2 AM.
A group of us went out Friday night, and on one of our walks from place to place, we encountered a sculpture of a tree that was absolutely begging for a group picture. So we climbed all over it (this is not the part where the police show up) and gathered around for a few shots and then were on our merry way. Merry kind of. As one of my friends was jumping down from the thing, her ring caught on the sculpture...and you can imagine what happened to her finger. Amazing, how an emergency situation was a better test of Spanish than anything we´ve had in school so far...
The emergency response was really good. I flagged down some Spaniards nearby who called the emergency number and helped us talked to the (four cars of) police that arrived quickly, then waited around until they got her in an ambulance. Since they wouldn't let me ride in the ambulance with her, I got to ride in the back of a cop car for the first time in my life. (A side note on cop cars--the back seats are hard, hard plastic and really uncomfortable. You do not want to ride in one.) They took us to the nearest public hospital.
Lesson number one: real doctors do not work on the weekends in Spain. That is rest time, not surgery time. There are nurses, interns, care aids, on duty, but no doctors.
So at this first hospital they put a temporary fix on the finger while they called around to find (a) a hospital with a specialist and (b) a hospital with a specialist on duty. Also, about 10 extra people came in and out of the room to glance at this rare injury that my friend had. I translated back and forth, mostly cuss words. They also kept telling us that we should have been at the hospital near where Joanna lives, which was on the other side of the city, but that they didn´t know if there was a specialist there. Eventually, they found a hospital that could help us.
Lesson number two: find your own way to the hospital.
They handed me the paperwork work and said ¨ok, go to Hospital de la Paz.¨ Right, and where is that? How do I get there? They looked at me like I was an idiot. ¨Take a taxi.¨ And if she faints in the taxi? If she starts bleeding again? My lifeguard certification is expired, people, I don´t remember what to do in this situation!!
Finally, we took a taxi to the other Hospital (with no medical emergencies), where they were waiting for us and we had no problem getting in. I hung around, translating, calling parents, making sure everything was ok, until 6 when the metros opened and I could go home and rest a bit. They told me they´d have to wait until morning (and by morning, they meant before 3 PM--Spanish morning) to do any surgery (see lesson number one).
Lesson number three: hospital visits. Only two at a time and they mean it.
First, we had to procure our visitors cards, which have barcodes on them. The barcodes are for scanning at the entrance to the wards, where you pass through a turnstyle, very much like riding the metro except that it´s to visit your loved one in the hospital. It counts how many times the code has been scanned and there are guards. You have to scan the card again to get back out so that someone else can use the code to get in.
Lesson number four: When they say floor 1, keep in mind that there are six floor 1´s.
But, once you figure it out, there is a very easy system of colored arrows directing you to the correct ward, so that you can get to the correct floor. On our first try, Andy and I ended up in cardiology in a room full of old men. Wrong first floor.
All that said, the system is complicated but the care is pretty good (except for that whole doctors really not working on weekends thing), according to most of the people that I've talked to. And it´s free for everyone in Spain. There are private hospitals here, for people who want to pay for them, but the public hospitals do just fine.
And one more thing...the siesta still reigns. According to my friend, they observe the rest time in the afternoon better than they do 2 AM.
16 November 2007
Yes, the Parisians do walk around with baguettes in hand.
Paris was wonderful, better than anyone could have planned it. Beautiful in its late-1800s leaf-covered streets. Even the cemeteries were gorgeous.
We arrived Friday night and walked the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triumph, then walked back to our hostel (about an hour when you factor in getting lost and taking picture time). Saturday was the the Louvre, lunch on the Seine (and by lunch I mean bread and cheese and apples), a look at the Eiffel tower, Notre Dame, an amazing dinner at this tiny restaurant at the bottom of some stairs by our hostel, and coffee and crepes at the Place de Clichy, which Van Gogh painted when it wasn´t all neon lights and traffic. Sunday was the Pere Lachaise Cemetery (for Jim Morrison´s grave), and long walk to Luxembourg park, hot chocolate while we let the rain die down a little, another long walk to the Eiffel tower, and then a climb to the top to look at the lights of Paris. We made dinner at the hostel. All in all, by doing the free breakfast at the hostel, bread and cheese lunches, and walking instead of riding the metro, we probably spent 70€ each in Paris. Hooray budget student travel!
Apparently, though, Paris was too perfect. Monday was a fiasco. Ryan Air, our airline, has an airport outside of the city, which means we had to take a bus to the place before we could check in. We arrived at the bus station two hours before our flight, which would have given us just enough time to check in, get through security, etc. Thanks to the bus not leaving the station until thirty minutes later, we missed our check in time by fifteen minutes, leaving us stranded in the airport unable to get on our plane, which hadn´t boarded yet and was sitting right outside the window where we could all see it. Ryanair, you weasel. So we pay to change our flight to Barcelona (hey, at least we´d be in Spain by then). We arrive in Barcelona and buy bus tickets online to Madrid (we used the computers at ISA, who also has programs in Barcelona). We pick the tickets for 4:30, I swear I watch Teresa press the button for 4:30. After we get to the station, get our tickets printed, and are waiting for the bus, Teresa looks at her ticket and says ¨mine says 3:30. Why does mine say 3:30? It´s 4:15.¨ We panic and I go upstairs to argue with the people at the ticket window about how they printed us the wrong tickets and then handed them to us without mentioning that we´d already missed the bus. We end up buying more tickets for the one we already bought tickets for, then running on to that bus as it was almost done boarding by the time we bought our replacement tickets.
Seven and half hours later, we were home in Madrid, only 14 hours later than our planned arrival. ¡Que horror! as Belén said when I recounted the story to her.
But when you look at it a different way, maybe missing our flight only added to the cosmopolitan nature of the trip. So, yeah, all the money we saved by being cheap students went towards getting home on Monday. But we woke up in Paris, ate lunch in Barcelona, and slept in Madrid. Can you beat that?
We arrived Friday night and walked the Champs Elysees to the Arc de Triumph, then walked back to our hostel (about an hour when you factor in getting lost and taking picture time). Saturday was the the Louvre, lunch on the Seine (and by lunch I mean bread and cheese and apples), a look at the Eiffel tower, Notre Dame, an amazing dinner at this tiny restaurant at the bottom of some stairs by our hostel, and coffee and crepes at the Place de Clichy, which Van Gogh painted when it wasn´t all neon lights and traffic. Sunday was the Pere Lachaise Cemetery (for Jim Morrison´s grave), and long walk to Luxembourg park, hot chocolate while we let the rain die down a little, another long walk to the Eiffel tower, and then a climb to the top to look at the lights of Paris. We made dinner at the hostel. All in all, by doing the free breakfast at the hostel, bread and cheese lunches, and walking instead of riding the metro, we probably spent 70€ each in Paris. Hooray budget student travel!
Apparently, though, Paris was too perfect. Monday was a fiasco. Ryan Air, our airline, has an airport outside of the city, which means we had to take a bus to the place before we could check in. We arrived at the bus station two hours before our flight, which would have given us just enough time to check in, get through security, etc. Thanks to the bus not leaving the station until thirty minutes later, we missed our check in time by fifteen minutes, leaving us stranded in the airport unable to get on our plane, which hadn´t boarded yet and was sitting right outside the window where we could all see it. Ryanair, you weasel. So we pay to change our flight to Barcelona (hey, at least we´d be in Spain by then). We arrive in Barcelona and buy bus tickets online to Madrid (we used the computers at ISA, who also has programs in Barcelona). We pick the tickets for 4:30, I swear I watch Teresa press the button for 4:30. After we get to the station, get our tickets printed, and are waiting for the bus, Teresa looks at her ticket and says ¨mine says 3:30. Why does mine say 3:30? It´s 4:15.¨ We panic and I go upstairs to argue with the people at the ticket window about how they printed us the wrong tickets and then handed them to us without mentioning that we´d already missed the bus. We end up buying more tickets for the one we already bought tickets for, then running on to that bus as it was almost done boarding by the time we bought our replacement tickets.
Seven and half hours later, we were home in Madrid, only 14 hours later than our planned arrival. ¡Que horror! as Belén said when I recounted the story to her.
But when you look at it a different way, maybe missing our flight only added to the cosmopolitan nature of the trip. So, yeah, all the money we saved by being cheap students went towards getting home on Monday. But we woke up in Paris, ate lunch in Barcelona, and slept in Madrid. Can you beat that?
26 October 2007
Answer girl
I´ve decided to take this short amount of time that I have before I begin my Spanish night to answer a few of what I´m sure are your burning questions, that you would have sent to the ¨burning questions¨section of this blog if indeed that section even existed. You will just have to take my word that these are the questions you wish I would answer about Spain.
Do Spaniards tailgate?
Why yes, yes they do. It´s called a Botellón, and basically it´s a pre-game in a park or some big open space. And it´s huge. Think tailgating minus the trucks and a football game. Oh, and also minus the beef. They do ham here, always.
Are man bags really ok over there?
If by ok you mean totally hot right now regardless of sexual orientation, then yes.
What are the Spanish men like?
Shorter. I´m at eye level with at least half of them. Walking around with my tall blonde American friends is really fun, because everyone knows we´re not from here. According to one Spaniard, this lack of height is due to the fact that ¨we don´t eat the Wheaties or the corn flakes in the morning.¨
Does the siesta exist?
Good luck trying to buy stamps or go to the bank or do anything important between the hours of 3 and 5.
Does the rain in Spain fall mainly on the plains?
I will kick the next person that asks me that.
Well, that´s all the questions I have time for today. I hope you all feel a little bit more cultured now that you know these important things.
Do Spaniards tailgate?
Why yes, yes they do. It´s called a Botellón, and basically it´s a pre-game in a park or some big open space. And it´s huge. Think tailgating minus the trucks and a football game. Oh, and also minus the beef. They do ham here, always.
Are man bags really ok over there?
If by ok you mean totally hot right now regardless of sexual orientation, then yes.
What are the Spanish men like?
Shorter. I´m at eye level with at least half of them. Walking around with my tall blonde American friends is really fun, because everyone knows we´re not from here. According to one Spaniard, this lack of height is due to the fact that ¨we don´t eat the Wheaties or the corn flakes in the morning.¨
Does the siesta exist?
Good luck trying to buy stamps or go to the bank or do anything important between the hours of 3 and 5.
Does the rain in Spain fall mainly on the plains?
I will kick the next person that asks me that.
Well, that´s all the questions I have time for today. I hope you all feel a little bit more cultured now that you know these important things.
23 October 2007
Man, this blogging thing is hard.
Three weeks in. It´s gone by so fast.
So, the highlights:
Portugal! I went to Lisbon the weekend before last with two friends via a travel agency that caters to foreign students (read, makes sure you experience the night life). Lisboa is gorgeous, this city on the sea. The streets are all narrow and there are trolleys and outdoor cafes everywhere. Think San Fransico with more history and less Chinatown. Actually, don´t think San Fransico. Think of your ideal seaside city, with the best views and cobblestoned, hilly streets and big catholic churches, smelling like chestnuts everywhere. That´s Lisbon. And yes, I swam in the Atlantic ocean in October, because I am a landlocked desert child and I freak out wheneverI see water. It´s a natural reaction for us desert folk.
Last weekend I went on an excursion with ISA to Grananda, Spain. The Alhambra. Flamenco. And this religious procession that I´m pretty sure was for the Virgin Mary except that among all the Catholic stuff were all these stars of David, which the last time I checked is a Jewish thing. The only answer we could kind of come up with after asking several people was ¨gypsies.¨ Ah yes. Gypsies. That explains everything, thank you. In fact I think that will be my new excuse to throwing together any culture I want. Gypsie, sorry. And people will be like, ooh, ok. Right?
But unusual religious processions aside (which was really fun, actually), I enjoyed Granada a lot. It is probably the best place around here to see how all of the cultures that have come to Spain have converged in their history and religion. One room in the Alhambra will be totally Arab with the other one is most definitely trying to be Catholic. There are narrow streets lined with tea shops and hookah bars and arabic vendors, while on the next street over there is a gypsie procession going on, while at the Cathedral down the street you can see the tomb of Juana la loca and her mean husband. Flamenco is unlike any other type of dance I´ve ever seen, beautiful in its somber, regal, yet very raw form. I would recommend seeing it as we saw it, in a hole-in-the-wall tavern with low, rounded ceilings and one room big enough to accomadate (very intimately) 50 people. To see flamenco on a stage is not nearly as moving as being close enough to feel the guitar and the stomping and clapping and the singing.
What I´m loving about Spain is that I´ve never gotten to see history or cultural intertwining like this before. Everything goes back so much further than we´re used to in the states.
As for my life in the city, all is well, finally calming down. I´ve been running through El Parque Retiro the past couple of mornings (read, 9:30 AM, which is an ungodly hour for Spanairds and no one is really around) and enjoying the quiet Spanish mornings. Last week I took a ten hour course on teaching English and am about to begin the internship portion of the class, where I´ll be taking on some Spanish students to teach English to. After my internship is over, I´ll be getting paid (¡in Euro!) to continue teaching. Should be interesting.
Meeting Spaniards is proving to be really hard. Just like anywhere else, everyone sort of already has their own group and would rather not go out of their way to talk to foreigners who can only halfway understand them. Then again, I haven´t really had time to make a huge effort on my part either. I did meet a lot of very cool Mexicans on the trip to Portugal, though, and found that their accents were much easier for me to understand than the Spanish accent. Spanish español sounds much different than the stuff they teach us in the states (if what they do in the states can be considered teaching a language, which is hard to judge).
The upcoming weekend is the first weekend since I´ve been here where I´ll be in Madrid. I plan on actually exploring the city, finally.
Hope that covers everything. ¡Hasta luego, chicos!
So, the highlights:
Portugal! I went to Lisbon the weekend before last with two friends via a travel agency that caters to foreign students (read, makes sure you experience the night life). Lisboa is gorgeous, this city on the sea. The streets are all narrow and there are trolleys and outdoor cafes everywhere. Think San Fransico with more history and less Chinatown. Actually, don´t think San Fransico. Think of your ideal seaside city, with the best views and cobblestoned, hilly streets and big catholic churches, smelling like chestnuts everywhere. That´s Lisbon. And yes, I swam in the Atlantic ocean in October, because I am a landlocked desert child and I freak out wheneverI see water. It´s a natural reaction for us desert folk.
Last weekend I went on an excursion with ISA to Grananda, Spain. The Alhambra. Flamenco. And this religious procession that I´m pretty sure was for the Virgin Mary except that among all the Catholic stuff were all these stars of David, which the last time I checked is a Jewish thing. The only answer we could kind of come up with after asking several people was ¨gypsies.¨ Ah yes. Gypsies. That explains everything, thank you. In fact I think that will be my new excuse to throwing together any culture I want. Gypsie, sorry. And people will be like, ooh, ok. Right?
But unusual religious processions aside (which was really fun, actually), I enjoyed Granada a lot. It is probably the best place around here to see how all of the cultures that have come to Spain have converged in their history and religion. One room in the Alhambra will be totally Arab with the other one is most definitely trying to be Catholic. There are narrow streets lined with tea shops and hookah bars and arabic vendors, while on the next street over there is a gypsie procession going on, while at the Cathedral down the street you can see the tomb of Juana la loca and her mean husband. Flamenco is unlike any other type of dance I´ve ever seen, beautiful in its somber, regal, yet very raw form. I would recommend seeing it as we saw it, in a hole-in-the-wall tavern with low, rounded ceilings and one room big enough to accomadate (very intimately) 50 people. To see flamenco on a stage is not nearly as moving as being close enough to feel the guitar and the stomping and clapping and the singing.
What I´m loving about Spain is that I´ve never gotten to see history or cultural intertwining like this before. Everything goes back so much further than we´re used to in the states.
As for my life in the city, all is well, finally calming down. I´ve been running through El Parque Retiro the past couple of mornings (read, 9:30 AM, which is an ungodly hour for Spanairds and no one is really around) and enjoying the quiet Spanish mornings. Last week I took a ten hour course on teaching English and am about to begin the internship portion of the class, where I´ll be taking on some Spanish students to teach English to. After my internship is over, I´ll be getting paid (¡in Euro!) to continue teaching. Should be interesting.
Meeting Spaniards is proving to be really hard. Just like anywhere else, everyone sort of already has their own group and would rather not go out of their way to talk to foreigners who can only halfway understand them. Then again, I haven´t really had time to make a huge effort on my part either. I did meet a lot of very cool Mexicans on the trip to Portugal, though, and found that their accents were much easier for me to understand than the Spanish accent. Spanish español sounds much different than the stuff they teach us in the states (if what they do in the states can be considered teaching a language, which is hard to judge).
The upcoming weekend is the first weekend since I´ve been here where I´ll be in Madrid. I plan on actually exploring the city, finally.
Hope that covers everything. ¡Hasta luego, chicos!
11 October 2007
Long Overdue
Second week in Madrid. Finally starting to get my feet on the ground and actually experience what the country has to offer.
Madrid is an incredibly lively city. I feel like I´ve only visited the places that are teeming with tourists (Latin American and English speaking), so I´m ready to get going on exploring some lesser frequented parts of the city.
This weekend, though, I got out of the city for a bit.
First, on Saturday, the program took us on an excursion to Toledo, just outside of Madrid. The town is beautiful, old, with these narrow streets and painted buildings that look like a movie set. It was one of those places where you feel bad shuffling around in a big group of tourists. It felt more like a place that deserves to be found. Anyway, on our tour, we got to see some pretty amazing things. There´s an incredible mixture of Christian, Arab, and Jewish culture in the history and architecture. Saturday was also one of the special days a year (I think there are two) when the convent in Old Toledo is totally open to the public. What I loved was how excited our guide got when he found this out as we walked by, excited enough to risk not making it to the other places on our tour to show us this. The weather couldn´t have been more perfect for a visit to a town like this, either.
Sunday my señora took my roomate and I out to Cercedilla, which is about a 40 minute train ride west of the city. Cercedilla is one of those little Spanish mountain towns that you imagine, with the winding streets and red rooftops...even the mountains are postcard-worthy. We took about a 3-4 hour hike, ate our sandwhiches at the top where you can see all the way down into the valley and the town, and I explained Ultimate frisbee to my señora (of course I brought a disc up the mountain with me...you never know). Belén is a fun woman. She´s done a part of the Camino del Santiago (which is one of my dreams), and gives me a lot of advice about how to meet Spanish boys, and how to be more like a Spaniard. I have yet to ask her why I see so many Spanish guys at the bar, but not many Spanish chicas...it´s a curiousity I´m trying to figure out right now.
Sunday night I took myself to Parque Retiro, which is Madrid´s equivalent to central park. The thing is gorgeous and huge. Keeping with the Madrid mood of a constant party, every Sunday night, in this circular-columned place by the lake, there´s this massive drum circle. People bring their african drums, beer, and friends and dance around and listen to music. It´s such a blast.
I still have yet to find the Ultimate team here. I´ve found their website, and I know they´re called Los Quixotes, which I love. But they´re as elusive as any other team, and I doubt that their website has been updated in the last 6 months. I´m sure I´ll find them soon.
I´m of to Lisbon, Portugal this weekend by a stroke of luck--a spot opened up at the last minute on a trip for international students, and two of my friends are already going. I´ll try and post some of their pictures (since I don´t have a camera anymore, I´ve been guilting my friends into taking pictures of me in cool places).
Last week was rough, yes, but I always, always am trying to remember this: Should I have stayed home and thought of here?
The answer is obvious.
Madrid is an incredibly lively city. I feel like I´ve only visited the places that are teeming with tourists (Latin American and English speaking), so I´m ready to get going on exploring some lesser frequented parts of the city.
This weekend, though, I got out of the city for a bit.
First, on Saturday, the program took us on an excursion to Toledo, just outside of Madrid. The town is beautiful, old, with these narrow streets and painted buildings that look like a movie set. It was one of those places where you feel bad shuffling around in a big group of tourists. It felt more like a place that deserves to be found. Anyway, on our tour, we got to see some pretty amazing things. There´s an incredible mixture of Christian, Arab, and Jewish culture in the history and architecture. Saturday was also one of the special days a year (I think there are two) when the convent in Old Toledo is totally open to the public. What I loved was how excited our guide got when he found this out as we walked by, excited enough to risk not making it to the other places on our tour to show us this. The weather couldn´t have been more perfect for a visit to a town like this, either.
Sunday my señora took my roomate and I out to Cercedilla, which is about a 40 minute train ride west of the city. Cercedilla is one of those little Spanish mountain towns that you imagine, with the winding streets and red rooftops...even the mountains are postcard-worthy. We took about a 3-4 hour hike, ate our sandwhiches at the top where you can see all the way down into the valley and the town, and I explained Ultimate frisbee to my señora (of course I brought a disc up the mountain with me...you never know). Belén is a fun woman. She´s done a part of the Camino del Santiago (which is one of my dreams), and gives me a lot of advice about how to meet Spanish boys, and how to be more like a Spaniard. I have yet to ask her why I see so many Spanish guys at the bar, but not many Spanish chicas...it´s a curiousity I´m trying to figure out right now.
Sunday night I took myself to Parque Retiro, which is Madrid´s equivalent to central park. The thing is gorgeous and huge. Keeping with the Madrid mood of a constant party, every Sunday night, in this circular-columned place by the lake, there´s this massive drum circle. People bring their african drums, beer, and friends and dance around and listen to music. It´s such a blast.
I still have yet to find the Ultimate team here. I´ve found their website, and I know they´re called Los Quixotes, which I love. But they´re as elusive as any other team, and I doubt that their website has been updated in the last 6 months. I´m sure I´ll find them soon.
I´m of to Lisbon, Portugal this weekend by a stroke of luck--a spot opened up at the last minute on a trip for international students, and two of my friends are already going. I´ll try and post some of their pictures (since I don´t have a camera anymore, I´ve been guilting my friends into taking pictures of me in cool places).
Last week was rough, yes, but I always, always am trying to remember this: Should I have stayed home and thought of here?
The answer is obvious.
05 October 2007
Tuesday
Rank this among worst feelings ever--getting your stuff stolen. Add ¨in a foreign country¨in parentheses.
Gone. Adios. Hasta forever. All of it. Everything you need. You turned around for one second and it´s gone.
Teléfono, billeta, tarjetas de credito, tarjetas de debito, efectivo, licensia de manejar, identificaciónes, llaves, camera digital, libro, abono transporte, varios cosas pequeñas, un poco basura...
Phone, wallet, credit card, debit cards, cash, drivers license, IDs, keys, digital camera, book, metro card, various small things, a bit of trash...
In spanish. In english. Over the phone. Electonically. And once more, for posterity, with feeling. It´s all gone. Not coming back.
But thank God or Allah or whatever that your passport wasn´t in there, or any copies of your passport, and that you have a little extra cash. Thank god you´re with people who are going to buy you food, lend you a phone, some money for the taxi ride home (because once you get everything sorted out, it´s too late to ride the metro).
Try not to think about how almost everything, everything, was in there. Try not to think about how you´re going to have to tell your señora, whom you met three days ago, that some creep has her keys, that you were stupid and didn´t watch over it closely. Try not to cry. And when you do cry, to your señora at three in the morning after you get home, try to cry in Spanish. Try to explain everything in broken spanish between shaky breaths.
I´ll be fine. I´ll be fine. I´ll be fine. Actually, everything worked out pretty quickly. They tell me that sometimes a theif just takes the money and chucks the bag and that later the police will find and that sometimes, sometimes, it just shows up at the office one day, with your things in it.
So I´ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that i´m not getting it back.
Other than that, now that it´s Friday and classes have started and I´m finally getting my bearings, Madrid is fantastic.
Gone. Adios. Hasta forever. All of it. Everything you need. You turned around for one second and it´s gone.
Teléfono, billeta, tarjetas de credito, tarjetas de debito, efectivo, licensia de manejar, identificaciónes, llaves, camera digital, libro, abono transporte, varios cosas pequeñas, un poco basura...
Phone, wallet, credit card, debit cards, cash, drivers license, IDs, keys, digital camera, book, metro card, various small things, a bit of trash...
In spanish. In english. Over the phone. Electonically. And once more, for posterity, with feeling. It´s all gone. Not coming back.
But thank God or Allah or whatever that your passport wasn´t in there, or any copies of your passport, and that you have a little extra cash. Thank god you´re with people who are going to buy you food, lend you a phone, some money for the taxi ride home (because once you get everything sorted out, it´s too late to ride the metro).
Try not to think about how almost everything, everything, was in there. Try not to think about how you´re going to have to tell your señora, whom you met three days ago, that some creep has her keys, that you were stupid and didn´t watch over it closely. Try not to cry. And when you do cry, to your señora at three in the morning after you get home, try to cry in Spanish. Try to explain everything in broken spanish between shaky breaths.
I´ll be fine. I´ll be fine. I´ll be fine. Actually, everything worked out pretty quickly. They tell me that sometimes a theif just takes the money and chucks the bag and that later the police will find and that sometimes, sometimes, it just shows up at the office one day, with your things in it.
So I´ve pretty much resigned myself to the fact that i´m not getting it back.
Other than that, now that it´s Friday and classes have started and I´m finally getting my bearings, Madrid is fantastic.
02 October 2007
Vale, pues nada, guay
Where to begin?
The plane ride? Bumpy.
Madrid? Bumpy also.
Everything is pretty crazy when you first arrive. To be honest, I really haven´t had time to slow down and enjoy most of the city, but I´m sure that will come once I get settled. I live in a small flat with one other girl from the program and a señora, who speaks no english, which is what I was hoping for. But zero is zero. As in nada, meaning no little english words, no figuring out what I mean when I say an english word with a spanish pronunciation (although it´s pretty funny the first time you hear an english word that is unrecognizable in it´s Spaniard-ized form). I think half of the conversation on my first night here was spent nodding at things we didn´t understand.
I came here determined to speak as little english as possible, which is proving to be difficult. English is easy. Familiar. Everyone in the program speaks it, and not everyone is at the same level of spanish. Some people (who are also living with non-english-speaking families) have never spoken the language before. I can´t imagine.
If I could think of a good story right now, I would write it here, but my brain is on low. I´ll explain--yes, the Madridleños stay out until all hours of the night. How do I know? I got home at 7 this morning.
And the three words in the subject line? Three words you need to know for a conversation with a Spanaird--in order: ok, anyway (?I think), cool (only used by the younger people, as far as I can tell).
¡Ciao!
The plane ride? Bumpy.
Madrid? Bumpy also.
Everything is pretty crazy when you first arrive. To be honest, I really haven´t had time to slow down and enjoy most of the city, but I´m sure that will come once I get settled. I live in a small flat with one other girl from the program and a señora, who speaks no english, which is what I was hoping for. But zero is zero. As in nada, meaning no little english words, no figuring out what I mean when I say an english word with a spanish pronunciation (although it´s pretty funny the first time you hear an english word that is unrecognizable in it´s Spaniard-ized form). I think half of the conversation on my first night here was spent nodding at things we didn´t understand.
I came here determined to speak as little english as possible, which is proving to be difficult. English is easy. Familiar. Everyone in the program speaks it, and not everyone is at the same level of spanish. Some people (who are also living with non-english-speaking families) have never spoken the language before. I can´t imagine.
If I could think of a good story right now, I would write it here, but my brain is on low. I´ll explain--yes, the Madridleños stay out until all hours of the night. How do I know? I got home at 7 this morning.
And the three words in the subject line? Three words you need to know for a conversation with a Spanaird--in order: ok, anyway (?I think), cool (only used by the younger people, as far as I can tell).
¡Ciao!
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