Falling off the face of the Earth

Yes, it's been sixteen days, and I have at least a dozen posts to catch up on. I hope you'll hang in there until they are done because it's been an exciting month of travels, saying goodbye to friends, and looking forward to seeing those back home. Tomorrow is my last day in Sevilla. After that Mom and I will return to the USA. By the following Tuesday I will have stayed with my sister and her family for a few days, gone home to Hudson to see more friends and family, moved to Madison, and started a new job.


So, I apologize that it may take me well into June to wrap things up, and forgive me if this post's format is goofy. I'm composing it on my mom's iPhone because my computer charger decided to melt itself into two pieces in Italy. Hopefully I'll score a used charger at the Apple Store in Milwaukee and get this blog up and running again soon.

What in the world...?

What in the world is happening to me?

I’ve been downing coffee like there’s no tomorrow, with barely any sugar.

I’m not only drinking red wine but am starting to prefer it, depending upon what I’m eating.

Last week, I think I ate anchovies, and I definitely ate octopus. I’d eat both again.

My favorite part to eat of a duck is the gizzard.

I’ve gotten used to eating lunch at two or three o’clock and dinner at ten.

I traversed on my own through Paris without a real map or any French speaking skills, and not once did I feel apprehensive or lost.

People stare at me all of the time, and I don’t care. I am constantly embarrassing myself, and I don’t care.

Hmm. Looks like someone might be growing up.

Looking forward

In twelve days:

o   Mom

o   Curling iron

o   Big breakfasts

o   Being a travel tour guide (look out, Samantha Brown)

o   No school

In twenty-four days:

o   Family, especially meeting Brock soon

o   Friends

o   Peanut butter

o   Yogurt and granola

o   Driving, although I will apparently go bankrupt doing so the way the price of gas is rising

o   Oatmeal

o   Crossing the street at the intersection

o   Caribou

o   My bed!

o   My pillow!

o   Cooking

o   Doing my own laundry

o   Not cornflakes

o   Having an income

o   Taking pictures of my nieces and nephews

o   Fresh milk

o   Grilling out

o   Not getting weird stares at cafes when I talk into my computer

o   Not being stared at like a freak when I go for a run (or at least not as often)

o   Not wearing shoes all around the house (I am such a Midwesterner.)

o   Carpet/rugs

o   Chocolate chip cookies

o   A full keyboard on my phone

o   Shoes that come in my size

o   Petite clothes

o   PBS

o   What Not to Wear

o   Target

o   Walgreens

o   Baseball—usually I think it’s boring unless I’m watching it at the ballpark, but I’ve been dying to watch a Twins game!

o   Consistent nutrition labeling (not that I’m happy with you, FDA, but here they lack more)

o   Bookstore with Dad (hint hint!)

Spring Break 1 Part 5: La Tele

Since I did not have much to do outside during Semana Santa, I had no problem spending my evenings in with Charo and Lourdes. Now, although they had a stack of DVDs sitting right next to the television, they only seemed to be interested in whatever nightly movie the television channels provided. It seems that they will settle for anything.

For example, on the first night we watched an awfully mediocre film called El manuscrito secreto, in Enlgish, The Bible Code. It was a terrible Davinci-Code spinoff that was so drawn-out and painful that I could not bring myself to finish it. Another night we watched Streetfighter: The Legend of Chun-Li. Remember that these are all dubbed in Spanish. It was unclear to me why Charo and Lourdes wanted to watch these movies over the other ones they had brought. Perhaps they had already viewed the others twenty times each. I don’t know.

One show that I did enjoy watching with them was "Atrapar un millón", a trivia game show that goes through several rounds of questions, each round requiring the contestants to place money on whatever answer they think is correct. They may split the money among multiple answers if they are not sure which is the right one. Money placed next to wrong answers falls away into a bin underneath the platform the contestants stand upon, and money on the right answer is used for the next round. Eventually the contestants reach the final round and can keep the money that hasn’t been trapped by the wrong answers.

I like trivia, but I’ve decided that I should definitely not try out for this show because I did not know the answers to most of the questions due to popular culture differences. I did, however, answer correctly that Shrek was the monster who made candles out of his own earwax and that people from New Zealand are nicknamed Kiwis after the flightless bird native to their land. Neither Charo nor Lourdes knew those ones.

Spring Break 1 Part 4: The Worst Coffee Date Ever

Upon returning to Puerto de Santa María, I had to take a city bus from the train station back to the apartment complex. After getting off at my stop, I was approached by a guy who had also gotten off at that point who asked me if I spoke English. I said that I did, and he replied that he thought so, that I looked different, like I was from the UK or something. I told him I was from the States. He asked if I was vacationing here because he was. I said yes, and he said that he wasn’t usually so bold, but he had seen me on the bus and thought I was beautiful and asked if I wanted to grab a beer or a coffee.

My first reaction was no, like it always is. I started making up excuses about lunch or having work to do, but he wasn’t really having any of it. Then I thought, well, it takes a lot of guts to do what he’s doing, we are in a very open and public place with lots of people, and it’s clearly way too early for lunch despite my lame excuse. So, I said yes.

It turns out that he was from Turkey but has lived all over the place and was currently living in Madrid. He bought me coffee, we continued chatting, and everything seemed to be going well...until he started talking about EVERY ex-girlfriend he’s ever had. Awkward. I really don’t care. Then he started asking me about ex-boyfriends. Um, hi, none of your business! Also, I just met you thirty minutes ago. Twice during all of that I tried to switch the topic to the weather, and twice I failed. Fortunately, the conversation eventually turned around to more normal topics.

After finishing coffee he asked if I’d like to take a walk, and since it was actually somewhat nice out and there is a nice walkway along the beach, I said yes. While we were walking he tried to hold my hand and put his arm around me. Again, awkward. Remember how we just met? He asked me what kind of music I liked, and I said that I liked almost any kind—rock, acoustic, rap, hip hop, whatever—it just depends on who’s singing and what it’s about. Apparently my open-minded attitude to music meant that I also like Turkish music, because that is what he started singing to me. I kind of blame myself for that one.

Once the song was wrapped up he told  me that I was unlike other girls my age, that I was very mature, that I seemed to care very much about other people, that I was beautiful and that he liked my green eyes. Well, I mean, I’m not going to disagree with you, man. But, then he said that he really wanted me to be in his future, that I should come to Madrid soon. Excuse me? Are you nuts? I said that I had to go, and he told me that he knew that this seemed strange because he knew my personality but that I shouldn’t feel that way. Oh really? You know my personality? Then you should have known that I would be super creeped out by all of this and that I would be enraged that you would think that you could know everything about me within one hour of meeting me. NOT okay.

That’s not the last of it. As I started to turn away, he tried to kiss me—tongue first. Are you fricking kidding me? I said thanks for the coffee and adios, but he said that we should meet up tomorrow, that he’d wait for me right there at noon. I told him he shouldn’t do that. He asked why not. I replied that I was not coming, so he should not waste his time. Even as I was halfway back to the apartment he asked if he could get my number or look me up on messenger. NO! It’s better that I look you up anyway, dude. What name will you be under? Crazy McCrazersons? I am glad that I have met nice, non-crazy guys here so that I do not take back that stereotypical image of the much-too-forward European guy.

For those who will ask me out for coffee in the future, good news: I can assure you that it will never be worse than this.

Spring Break 1 Part 3: No Pasos

On Tuesday of Semana Santa, I woke up early to a seaside view in order to catch a train to Sevilla for the day. I was hoping to see some of the processions in Sevilla, and the weather forecast had said that Tuesday was looking like the best bet for a day without rain.

Wrong. It rained almost all day, but I still walked around for a few hours taking in the toned-down yet still festive atmosphere. I also bought Annie and me an Easter egg to share on Sunday. Easter eggs here are not the same as at home. They are usually made of chocolate and can be the size of your hand or bigger than your head. The tradition is that godparents give their godchildren these eggs for Easter. No Easter bunnies around here!

I don't even think that one front row center would fit into my Easter basket. Good luck hiding that bad boy.

The trip back was not a total loss. Plus, I had not packed any cold-weather clothes because it had been so hot in Sevilla the previous week, and I did not take into account that the wind would make temperatures feel much chillier than what the actual forecast was. Way to go, chief. I swapped out my shorts and dresses for jeans and sweaters, spent the night at my normal apartment (internet functioning all the while), and caught a train back to Puerto de Santa María the following morning.

I wish that I had been able to see a paso (procession), but at least I was able to experience the atmosphere. Processions from other cities in Spain were also broadcast on live television throughout the week if they were able to get out onto the streets without rain interference. The reason that rain ruins these processions is that the statues and details on the pasos are so old and subject to damage caused by rain. People wait all year for these processions, and when they can’t leave, many people ranging from small children to grown men openly cry. It’s a big deal to them.

This is the mantel of one of the Virgin Mary pasos being restored. You can see why the rain would be a disaster for such a paso.

One of the depictions of the Crucifixion that had yet to be placed on its paso.

Spring Break 1 Part 2: Passing the Time

While the thought of spending seven days at the beach sounded like just the relaxing break I needed, Mother Nature had her own opinion on the matter. In fact, it seems she had it out for the entire country over Semana Santa. It rained almost every day in Puerto de Santa María as well as in Sevilla, not to mention that high winds provided a constant chill. (I know, Wisconsinites, I’m ungrateful; it wasn’t really cold, just not warm enough to be at the beach.) The wind was so strong most days that it almost knocked me over and once took my t-shirt halfway off. I know, I don’t understand how that worked either, but it happened.

I tried to be a trooper that Sunday and make it out to the beach after the clouds gave way to afternoon sunshine, but that turned out to be a foolish ambition. Though the sun came out, the wind did not die down. Sand was flying everywhere, including all over me. After about fifteen minutes of trying to tan and read, I decided to get up and take a walk along the shore. I though that would at least keep the sand out of my face. Turns out that was a false assumption. Plus, when the wind picked up it would whip sand so forcefully against my legs that my skin hurt and turned red. I gave up and walked back to the apartment to shower off the sand that was all over my body. Some of it remained until the next shower, though. It’s a stubborn, fine breed of sand they have there.

So, what does one do at the coast when the weather is inclement? Perhaps peruse the internet? A nice idea, assuming there is internet in the apartment. There was not. Homework? Only for about the first three days before motivation had been tapped. Knocking off some school work still took a great amount of stress off of this week, though. Clean out all of the files on one’s laptop and actually organize the remaining ones into folders for the first time in three years? Check. It definitely took a while, but now I know where everything is. Hey, so it’s not the most exciting thing to do on Spring Break, but I like when my environment is organized. On the flip side, I seem to have rather talented clothes, papers, and electronic files that will breed until it looks like an explosion of said articles has overtaken my life. So, I’m just trying to set myself up for success. Other than that I spent most of my time completing job applications and getting hooked on Jillian Michaels podcasts.

I won’t pretend like I didn’t have any internet; I was able to go to cafes with Wi-Fi nearby for as long as my laptop battery would last. It would have been nice to have had an outlet for my charger, but those can be few and far between in many Spanish buildings. At the start of the week I frequented The King of Paella, a paella and pizza parlor with outdoor tent seating and virtually no patrons. It was the perfect quiet setting for me to sip coffee while I talked to family and friends over Gmail and continued my summer job search. I would take a break from homework every once in a while to study the little brown sparrows hopping across the floor or to take in the seaside view.

Much to my dismay, the King’s Wi-Fi network stopped functioning midweek, forcing me to seek other internet sanctuaries. The other cafes were more popular, and couples enjoying cocktails would stare at the American weirdo who was talking into her computer with no one else at her table. Come on people, cut me a break! It’s not like you have never heard of people having voice conversations over computers before, and I clearly look like a foreigner who would need café internet to communicate with others. I dislike how much my life here depends upon internet connection. Without it I cannot call my family, make travel plans, do research for homework (at least not very efficiently), or keep up with job applications. I am not used to being so in love with and dependent upon my laptop. I cannot wait until my Mac and I get back to the States and spend some much-needed time apart.

Spring Break 1 Part 1: Family Road Trip

During Semana Santa, my study abroad program shuts down for our first "spring break." My señora has a beach house (apartment, really) that she planned to go to during Semana Santa, and since I had no other travel plans, she graciously invited me along. Had I stayed in Sevilla she would have had to stay with me anyway, so it was a win-win.

Charo’s good friend and neighbor, Lourdes, also came with us. We took Charo’s car, a little silver Ford Focus, to the beach in Puerto de Santa María, about an hour and a half’s drive from Sevilla to the Atlantic coast. Now, not only did we have to fit Charo, Lourdes, me, and all of our luggage into the car, but Charo also had to bring a new kitchenette table for us to eat on. Squeezing all of that into a Focus is not easy.

We managed to figure it out in the end, but we had some struggles with the configuration at first. You should have seen Charo and me trying to figure out how to fold down part of the back seat in order for the table to fit. It would fold down about 80% of the way and then just stop. We tried several arrangements but did not succeed. We accepted the 80% for what it was and fit in all of the supplies, even the table.

After picking Lourdes up from a nearby restaurant, we set off down the highway to Puerto de Santa María. I was ecstatic to finally be in a car for a long ride. Other than short trips in taxis, I have not ridden very long in a car since mid-January. What’s better, we did so in my style: windows down, music up. Please imagine me rocking out with two women in their fifties to the likes of Katy Perry, Puff Daddy, and David Guetta, with them attempting to sing along more than I did. Hey, I wasn’t in control of the radio. I just wonder if they understood the songs at all.

Once we arrived in Puerto de Santa María, we dropped our things off at the apartment and then drove directly to the grocery store. On Saturday afternoon, at least that Saturday, and every Sunday, the stores are closed. One had better stock up before then. Charo poked fun at Lourdes as she pondered over which red wine to select while I wished that I could take charge of the shopping. Seriously, it’s been so strange to not control what I have to eat even though I usually enjoy what is put in front of me. Much to my dismay Charo picked up 2% milk--I’m all about the skim, and let’s face it, I certainly don’t need any extra calories when I’m here--as well as THREE packages of hot dogs. For one week. I thought, “Dear Lord, please help me. Please don’t let all of those be for me.” Unfortunately, most of them were.

Upon returning to the apartment complex to drop off groceries, Charo announced that the kitchen was closed and that we would be eating out for lunch. No complaints here. The first place we went to she grabbed each of us a beer, letting me know that I should be very comfortable because we were, after all, on vacation, and on vacation there are less rules. As we drank the last of our beers and rose from the table, I managed to knock over a glass that fell to the ground and shattered. Man, I’m smooth.

When we walked into our second stop on the lunch tour, Charo asked if I wanted another beer. Now, sad as it may be, I was already feeling a little buzz from the last one and really did not feel like getting tipsy in front of those two ladies. I opted for the Coca-Cola Light (aka Diet Coke). We split a platter of langostinos, one of my favorite things to eat now. I am not sure whether they are prawns, squat lobster, or something else, but in any case they are darn tasty. At our third stop, I was offered yet another drink but again opted for the Coke. There we shared a real, fresh paella.

Many restaurants in Spain advertise paella, but most of the time it is pre-packaged stuff that simply must be warmed up before serving. Our paella was no impostor. This bad boy was the real deal in a big old pan, fresh from the kitchen. Paella is another one of my favorites here, but I had not had one like this before. There were all sorts of seafood in it, and I slurped things from shells having no idea what they were. Keep in mind that I never slurp things from shells or even come close to doing so. It was absolutely delicious. I did managed to spill some rice trying to pry a piece of something from a shell, though. Again, so smooth. No matter how much education I receive, I never fail to look like an idiot.

That afternoon was a great way to begin my vacation. I certainly loved being on a break, but on the other hand I had to pay close attention at all times because everything was in Spanish. If I had been zoning out or daydreaming (not unusual) and Charo or Lourdes had spoken to me without using my name, I would not have had a clue that anyone was even speaking to me. It makes me aware that I still have a ton of work to do regarding my Spanish skills, but a week with those two talking to me simultaneously and at a speed faster than the Road Runner employs when escaping Wile E. Coyote was excellent practice. You know me; I’m always learning.

Besitos

Last week as I chatted with some friends after class in the sunny courtyard, I ran into my intercambio and her friend whom I had previously met. As is customary in Spain, I exchanged a kiss on each cheek with both girls as a greeting. As we began to discuss possible plans for meeting up the following week, two more of their friends showed up. I was introduced to them, and we all exchanged kisses on the cheek. As my intercambio had to go to her class, we did not have much time to talk. We agreed to email each other and then exchanged kisses on the cheek. 

After saying goodbye to my intercambio, the two friends who had showed up second also had to head to their class. We expressed how nice it was to have met each other and gave kisses on the cheek. We talked for one more minute with my intercambio's friend, and then she too had to go. We exchanged kisses on the cheek and wishes to see each other soon.

Ready for the tally? For me, that was sixteen kisses given and sixteen kisses received in a span of just over two minutes. I think we all spent more time exchanging kisses than actually making plans for meeting up later on. Oh well! I suppose it's still faster than same intricate handshake that ends in exploding knucks.

When my room is clean

When my room is clean, when no stray papers conceal my desk, when clothing is not strewn across every furniture surface, and my sheets are not crumpled in a ball but are safely tucked under the comforter, you may assume that one of two scenarios is playing out. The first is that things are going very well in my life and that I am not suffering from lots of stress. The second situation is that I am pretending I am in the first scenario by completely ignoring an impending deadline for an important project or obligation.

Well, my room looks fantastic, so which is it now? Number one or number two? In a sense, it is both. Should I be working on homework right now? Probably. Should I be continuing to tirelessly apply to every job for which I am qualified since I have no means of making money yet this summer? More than probably.

I can tell you, though, that I have not regretted one minute of how I have spent my day. Some things have not been going as expected this spring (though I should be used to such things after almost 21 one years), and it has been stressful time. Nonetheless, I am pushing that out of my mind as much as is responsible. I have just over a month left in Europe. I have traveled to many parts of Spain, to Portugal, and to Morocco. I improve my Spanish skills every day. I have met wonderful new people from my program and from Sevilla. How can I let anything get in the way from simply soaking this all up and being grateful for what I've experienced and for what is to come in the next few weeks?

Pushing through the next two days will be tough, but after that I have a long break over Holy Week. Charo has graciously invited me to stay at her beach house about an hour from Sevilla with her and our neighbor, Lourdes, a good friend of Charo's who has been known to liven up a few meals in this apartment. Most other students that I know are doing a whirlwind tour of other parts of Spain or other countries during the break, but I am excited to have a week of no obligations or structure. I will certainly frequent the beach, book in hand. Viewing some of Semana Santa in Sevilla is on the list, too. Charo will give me some Spanish cooking lessons like we've been talking about but haven't gotten around to yet. I can take a day to sit in a café to tranquilly apply for more summer jobs and work on final projects. Who knows, perhaps I'll even be able to catch up on blogs and posting pictures of where I've been the last couple of weeks.

As I sit here in this immaculate bedroom, productively procrastinating with this entry, I am at peace. The uncertainty of my future plans is killing me, but I am choosing to focus on the inevitably wonderful six weeks to come.

La Peluquería

Last week, the vanity in me was making fun of my hair more than usual. It had its reasons. I have not had a haircut since December, and trying to tame my hair with a flat iron every day only facilitates more end-splitting and breakage. No matter what I do, my hair is a tangled, limp mess within fifteen minutes of leaving the house each morning. Or so Vanity was telling me. To make Vanity pipe down, I caved and scheduled a hair appointment at my señora’s salon two blocks away. Last time she came home from the salon she looked great, and the salon’s website looked very professional. I figured that was as sure as I could get, judging by appearances.

Accordingly, Vanity comes with Fear. I am very particular about who cuts my hair, and I am fortunate enough to have not one but two hairstylists who exceed expectations with each visit I make to their salons. They are so good at their jobs that all I need to do is sit in the chair and tell them not to cut too much off, and they somehow give me something new but perfectly to my taste every time. (And now my plug for these two ladies: If you stop by Embellish in Bayport, Minnesota, ask for Mandy. If you are in Madison, Jenny will take good care of you at Anaala.) I was afraid of a new pair of hands wielding scissors, fearing that they would be poised to chop off all of the hair I have managed to finally grow out.

To alleviate some of this fear, I looked up all of the necessary words for layers, no bangs, split ends, etc. I do not know if I was afraid I would be bald by the end or what, but everything turned out just fine. In the end, it is just hair. It does, begrudgingly, grow back. Once I was in the salon, I just went with the flow and enjoyed feeling fabulous this afternoon.

I like my haircut, but the experience was certainly different from what I am used to back home. Per the hair care clause in my contract with my parents for attending Madison (an entirely different story which I can tell you some other time if you like), I get to be spoiled and enjoy Aveda salons. My hairdressers pay me 100% of their attention and are very amiable. We usually end up chatting the majority of the time, and they respond to everything I say, interesting or not.

Today no one at the peluquería was in a conversational mood, which either had to do with my obvious trouble in understanding them or is a de facto condition in Spanish salons. Upon arriving they kindly stored my bag for me and then proceeded to wrap me in a gauzy white robe. At the shampoo station, a good amount of water ended up in my ears, some even running down my neck. That’s definitely a no-no back home. After the shampooing I sat in the normal chair, described what I wanted, and my hairdresser went to town. She was seriously fast! Scissors and hair were flying, and she finished in one third of the usual time it takes to cut my hair. I was a bit stunned but certainly impressed. During all of this, two girls who looked to be training stood behind my chair to observe the process, all of which I saw in the mirror. Only one other woman was in the salon, so to have so much attention concentrated around my chair was a bit uncomfortable. I very intently studied my black cape.

While the hairdresser started to dry and style my hair, one of the girls brought over two fashion magazines for me to read. I started flipping through the Spanish Vogue. It isn’t my usual reading choice, but I like to look at the fashion spreads and think about how ridiculous it would be if I saw people on the street actually wearing such crazy clothing. I ended up finding a tribute to Spanish dancer Antonio Gades, written by his friend Carlos Saura who directed the flamenco version of “Bodas de Sangre” which featured Gades. I just watched that movie in class last week. Who knew I would find something relevant to my studies in Spanish Vogue?

During the whole cutting and styling process, a cup of hot chocolate they had brought me was sitting in front of me just out of reach. Now, it isn’t easy to drink hot chocolate while someone is cutting your hair, especially if you take your hot chocolate sans hair strands. Once my hairdresser was done, she looked at my cup of hot chocolate and asked if I was going to drink it. I tried to say that I was ready to go, but she insisted that I relax, finish my hot chocolate, and read more of the magazine. I did as I was told, but I think I did so too quickly. When I went up to pay, I thanked my hairdresser once again for doing a great job, especially because I had been so nervous beforehand.

I am glad that I got this process over with. It's interesting to be able to observe cultural differences even in such small sectors as salon services. Plus, my hair hasn't had this much volume in months! Am I sitting out in public right now in order to show off a little bit? You bet I am. 

Before

After

Intercambio

I am not a reject--I finally have friends! I am, of course, referring to Spanish friends. I have made some great friends here who feel more like close siblings than people I met just a few months ago, and I will always have Annie, who, at the very least, must pretend she wants to be my friend as long as we live together through the program's duration. I admit, though, that I have been lacking in Spanish acquaintances. My program facilitates intercambios, which literally refers to an exchange between speakers of different languages. Ideally, half of the time I would speak with my intercambio in English, and the other half of the time we would speak in Spanish. This way, both of us get to spruce up our language skills while sharing our cultures. 

As of last week, I still had not met my intercambio even though my term here was half-over. Actually, make that intercambios. It was a struggle, and unfortunately that happens for a majority of students on my program. I had never connected with my first one, and was pursuing a second one. Finally, on Monday we were able to meet up for some lunch. I was with another friend who had already met this intercambio, a girl my age who studies business at the Universidad de Sevilla in the same building where I take my business classes. Our intercambio also brought another friend along, who is originally from Barcelona. Her native language is Catalan, but she also speaks Castellano (Spanish). We grabbed some bocadillos from a shop near the business school and walked to a little plaza to warm up in the sun during lunch. 

Both girls are extremely nice, and my friend, the first intercambio, Annie, and I went to see Cisne Negro (Black Swan) last night. It was more intense than I had anticipated, and apparently our intercambio felt the same way. We still liked the film and had a good time, though. (I think that having popcorn for the first time since I came here added to that.) We are hoping to meet up again before I head to Morocco next week.

I am thankful that I finally met someone who is my age and can help me out with Spanish and getting to know even more about Sevilla. I regret that I did not make it work out sooner, but for now I will enjoy what time I have to get to know these girls and let them teach me about their lives in Sevilla. Rumor has it that cooking, learning sevillanos (traditional dance), and trying on dresses for Feria will be involved.

Eric calls me out on Facebook

Well, I called it, didn't I? I apologize that I have not posted anything for three full weeks. My brother called me out about this on Facebook, and I did not realize that it had really been that long since my last post. I have been busy with midterms, summer job searching, program activities, summer job searching, and traveling (and a little more summer job searching). Last weekend Annie and I were in Madrid, and right now we are in Barcelona, from which I am writing to you from our hostel on a computer with a very fat old Phillips monitor and a somewhat greasy black keyboard whose shift key is resistant to being pushed. Thank goodness for hand sanitizer.

In addition to all of that activity, I have also been planning a trip for my mom and me when she comes to Spain after my program ends. We are spending a few days in Sevilla and Granada as well as going to Italy for a few days. It is a lot of work to book everything, but that does not even matter because I am so excited that she is coming! I know that any one of my family members would love to jet across the ocean for a little vacation guided by yours truly, but with kids and jobs it is no easy task. I am so grateful that I will be able to share parts of my experience here firsthand with someone in my family. I am going to absolutely love being a tour guide! I have already said many times during this past week that Mom is going to have to handle filming my tours so that I can send the footage in to the Travel Channel, inevitably landing a position there and working my way up to becoming Samantha Brown's protégée.

My hope in the coming week is to be able to give some recaps on my recent travels at the very least, but I can make no promises. It has been hard enough keeping up with my hand-written journal, which has been looking rather lean during the past three weeks as well. By Thursday I will be in Morocco with my program for the weekend. On top of that, I only have three real weeks left of class (we must pardon the rather welcome interruption of two weeks off due to Semana Santa and Feria). That means time to get cracking on final projects and studying for finals. Where in the world has my time here gone?

General Observations

As I am studying and will do anything to procrastinate a bit more, allow me to describe to you some of the things I have noticed here that are different from home and/or generally surprising. The first is that people here seem not to drink much water, at the very least not to the extent to which I am accustomed. Maybe this is just my experience, but I seldom see people in restaurants drinking water, usually beer, wine, or coffee. In almost all establishments water does not come with a meal like in the United States.

Also, Charo has never offered me anything to drink during mealtimes. Unfortunately, once I had packed both of my suitcases and successfully weighed each of them in at 49 ½ lbs (50 lbs being the checked baggage weight limit) with some careful rearranging courtesy of my mother, I looked into the kitchen and saw my Sigg water bottle drying next to the sink. Rats—that thing goes everywhere with me! I thought it wouldn’t be that big of a deal because I could just buy a water bottle once I got to Spain. It turns out that the only metal water bottle I could find was somewhat like a Sigg, only it looks more like something I would take on a mountaineering stint. I don’t really mind though because my first days without it were rather thirsty ones.

Another detail that I had never thought about before coming here deals with accents. Not Andalucían or other Spanish accents but British accents. Although it took me a while to catch on, I realized after a couple of days that oftentimes when Spaniards speak in English, they do so with a British accent. This makes perfect sense as the proximity of the British Isles mean that most English teachers actually come from this side of the pond rather than ours and that those who want immersion in English can attain their goals in the United Kingdom. Nevertheless, I am for some reason still amused when British accents come out of Spanish mouths.

The most intriguing surprise I have come across are the dogs in Sevilla. So many dogs accompany their owners down the streets, and they are so well-behaved! They never bother other people, and I can count on one hand the number of times I have seen two dogs bark at each other. Sometimes they do not even have leashes on and simply faithfully trot by their owners’ sides without one misstep. On occasion I have seen owners and dogs jogging together sans-leash. It’s astounding, considering that any dog I have ever had wouldn’t last five seconds in such a situation without going nuts. I wonder if this is a Spanish dog thing, or just urban dogs or Sevillan dogs, but I want to know what people are doing to get these dogs to behave so well.

While the dogs impress me, some of their owners do not. I don’t know if they are stupid or just plain lazy (probably the latter, which is worse than stupid), but people here need to step it up and pick up their dog’s poop. Seriously, if you are ever walking on a Sevillan sidewalk, I advise you to not get too caught up in the architecture above you and to pay attention to what’s below. I feel like little piles of #2 are everywhere. I have not stepped in any yet, but I certainly fear doing so every day.

My last observation of the day has almost nothing to do with Sevilla and almost everything to do with how much of a braggart I am about to be. Yesterday, sort of on a whim, Annie and I bought tickets to Sevilla FC vs. FC BARCELONA (!!!) for Sunday night! I can barely contain my excitement. For those who couldn’t care less about soccer, FC Barcelona is considered to be the best club football team in the world. Many of their players are part of the reigning World Cup-champion Spanish national team, and they also employ a certain Lionel Messi, who is widely considered to be the best footballer in the world. Needless to say, I’m pretty stoked! But for all of the excitement over Barcelona, I’m still rooting for Sevilla, obviously (and we can’t forget about Charo’s feelings on the matter, now can we?). My red and white is ready to go—I can’t wait for Sunday!

Spanglish

Last night, I reached a milestone. I had my first dream in Spanish. Well, kind of. It was a mix of Spanish and English, but still, I've never even dreamt one little bit in Spanish. I do not vividly remember what the dream was about, only that several of my friends and Annie were in it with me, along with my señora and other Spaniards. It was actually a little stressful because the main gist of the dream was that half of the time I kept accidentally speaking in English instead of Spanish and was continuously apologizing to my señora and the other Spaniards for doing so. I am not allowed to speak English in my home stay, so my dream-self was continually preoccupied with the disapproval of my dream-señora. Sheesh, even my dream-self can’t stand to be in a little bit of trouble—I have problems.

Stressful situation notwithstanding, this is still a pretty exciting deal for me. Hopefully in my dreams to come I will remember to speak Spanish to the dream-Spaniards.

Café

Sunday afternoon was quickly fading into evening, and I needed to get out of the apartment. I decided to get some homework done (midterms are coming up), so I packed up my bag and headed outside. I wandered around looking for a café, no café in particular, just anything that I should come across that seemed somewhat quiet.

After twenty minutes I found it. It was nothing special and wasn’t my first choice, but it was less noisy than the more popular spot one block away. In reality, it was just a little sandwich shop. Nothing too fancy or stylish, but it was clean and had an open table and coffee, which was all I was really asking.

I seated myself next to a table of three señoras whose group increased to six by the time I was done working on vocabulary readings and sipping coffee. They chatted the whole time, most of them at the same time. The talking/listening ratio was pretty imbalanced, but none of them seemed to mind. Wrapped up in their (faux?) fur coats, they would lean forward and stick their chins out toward the window in order to observe passers-by, of course commenting on each one. Sometimes their neighbors or friends would walk past, and everyone would try to communicate through the storefront window. I wondered why those on the sidewalk didn’t just walk through the door four feet away and come inside, but their conversations through the glass were certainly entertaining.

The señoras weren’t the only observers. As I was facing the window as well, I couldn’t help but be distracted by people-watching every so often, although most of the time when I looked up, someone was already surveying me. Their looks were not judgmental and did not communicate anything other than genuine curiosity, the same way I was looking back at them. After a few seconds, people would pass on, and I would turn my attention back to word morphology, that is, unless I was turning my attention to the flat screen TV above my head playing the FC Sevilla game.

As darkness began to blanket the city and it was time for dinner, I strolled back to the apartment feeling absolute contentment. Those couple of hours in an unassuming café watching people go through their everyday lives left me in great mood (although I think caffeine also had something to do with this). Such scenes will stand out more vividly in my memory than any random castle or artist’s masterpiece.

Lisboa

After staying overnight in Lagos last Friday, Annie and I rode another bus to Lisbon, Portugal’s capital city. We were only able to spend two nights and one day there because our bus ride back to Sevilla was approximately seven and a half hours long, using up most of our Monday holiday (Día de Andalucía). We were champs, though, and packed as much as we could into what time we had.

Not long after we arrived to Lisbon Saturday night we went on a pub crawl with our hostel. This turned out to be a really good idea because we went to Bairro Alto, one of the districts well-known for its nightlife, and it was absolute insanity. People literally packed the streets all night, but it was definitely a fun atmosphere. We had to call it quits before it got too late, though, because we wanted to spend the one full day we had exploring the city, not sleeping in.

When we woke up on Saturday, we loaded up on a big breakfast of toast, apple-cinnamon pancakes, juice, and coffee at the hostel. Those pancakes were honestly one of the best breakfasts I’ve ever eaten, so I need to try to replicate them when I get home. After breakfast we hopped on a bus to Belém, another part of Lisbon, which is Portuguese for “Bethlehem”. After about 30 minutes on the bus we got off in front of the Jerónimos Monastery, a Manueline (Portuguese late-Gothic, named after the king of the time) monument that survived the Great Lisbon Earthquake.

To provide a little historical background for you, most of Lisbon was destroyed during an earthquake on November 1, 1755.  If building weren’t destroyed by the quake itself, chances are that they caught fire. (You can imagine all of the candles that were burning in churches on All Saints’ Day.) And if neither the earthquake itself nor the fire had affected parts of the city, then the enormous tsunami that hit about forty minutes later followed by two more waves left its mark. Talk about a catastrophe. 

So, although Lisbon is a very old city, most of its current architecture is actually post-1755. The monastery is one of the surviving pre-1755 structures. Since many museums and attractions in Lisbon provide free or discounted admission before 2:00 p.m. on Sundays, Annie and I checked it out before walking along the riverfront. Once we had built up an appetite, we stopped in at Pastéis de Belém, a famous pastry shop, as evidenced by the constant line of people waiting to get in. It is actually bigger than most restaurants I’ve ever been in, but there is good reason. These people know what they are doing. Their famed product is the Pastel de Belém, is a little circular pastry filled with cream, yet it is so much more than that. Only three people know the recipe, so I couldn’t tell you what was in it, but it definitely agreed with me! Annie and I split a lunch of café, two little ham and cheese sandwiches (on the flakiest bread ever), one duck empanada (never had duck before, but I liked it), and a Pastel de Belém each for less than 8 euro. It was worth the 30-minute bus ride.

Outside of Jerónimos Monastery

Inside the monastery

San Francisco and Rio over the Tagus?

Line outside the famed Pastéis de Belem

Sustenance for the second half of our day

We boarded a train after lunch back to the downtown area. From there we trekked up a hill to our destination of the Castelo de São Jorge (St. George’s Castle, but you probably figured that one out on your own). This castle is another survivor of the earthquake and dates back to Medieval times. We were there on a gorgeous, clear day, so the views over the terracotta rooftops and Tagus River were spectacular. We thoroughly explored the fortress until the last lookout point, where we encountered a couple exhibiting some exceptional PDA. I’m sure they wouldn’t have minded us coming down to the platform, or even noticed us really, but as we already had about 50 photos each of the city view from the castle, we left the enamored couple to their business and descended the hill back to the downtown area.

And once we had descended, we started ascending another hill! Lisbon is sometimes called the City of Seven Hills, so if you want to multitask by combining tourism with toning your lower half, I highly recommend visiting this city. Its hilly nature, trolley cars, and twin of the Golden Gate Bridge contribute to comparisons often drawn between San Francisco and Lisbon. I can’t really provide consensus or disagreement with that because I would need to visit San Francisco first.

So, up on another hill, we found ourselves in Bairro Alto again. After a long day of almost non-stop walking, we had earned a relaxing night. We started it off watching the sun set over the city and Tagus River from a rooftop bar, at which I enjoyed my first glass of port (another one of my drink cliches fulfilled—you have to have port in Portugal!). After dark, Annie and I had hoped to find a good place to eat where we could also enjoy some fado, a traditional Portuguese music genre. Unfortunately, the affordable place we knew of at which anyone will strike up a tune was closed for remodeling, and we only encountered the expensive tourist-directed dinner-and-a-show establishments. I wasn’t about to drop $50+ on that (I’m thinking of saving it for something more along the lines of a Messi jersey), so we found a quiet little restaurant instead. I tried lamb for the first time there, and though it’s not my favorite, I’d certainly eat it again. After dinner we headed back to the hostel and crashed because we had to catch an early bus the next morning. 

The perfect way to end a long, eventful day

Although the bus trip was long, it was a great way to see the Portuguese and Spanish countryside. Parts of Portugal actually remind me of some hills just outside of Dodgeville, Wisconsin, dotted with oak-like trees and streams running through the valleys. Who knew?

After the constant traveling, catching up with homework, and applying for summer jobs, I was kind of burnt out. Thus, the week-late blog finally arrives. I just passed a relaxing weekend in Sevilla, though, so I should be back on my writing game soon enough.

The "Study" in Study Abroad

From the content of my previous writing, you would hardly know that I am indeed going to school. Now, I am in the thick of the regular session of my semester. I am taking four classes, two business, two liberal arts. In my European Economy class we have so far been talking about the effects of World War II on Europe and the gradual progression of agreements that led to the formation of the European Union as it is today. My professor for that class likes to recommend movies to us and list off European cities for us to visit (Prague, Lisbon, Venice, and Berlin seem to be his top four outside of Spain). Similar to a Spanish professor I had last year in Madison, he also likes to  reference Pink Floyd and the occasional glass of whiskey, and those shared qualities strangely provide me with a sense of familiarity.  

My other business class is Operations, which is not exactly the most interesting topic but is necessary. My professor in that class is friendly and likes to engage students in discussion, so that helps the time pass by more quickly. Many professors here lecture through the hour-and-a-half class without asking one question of the students. That’s not really my style of learning, so it’s hard to not get a little sleepy during those classes.

My liberal arts classes deal with the semantics and lexicology of the Spanish language and the traditions of Andalucía. Semantics and Lexicology will definitely be my most demanding class, but it is a combination of studying the make ups of words and their histories. Talk about the perfect nerdy language/history combination for me! It’s a nice break from the numbers of business. My Andalucían culture class, which is titled, I kid you not, Arte and Fiesta, is a little slow at this point because we are reviewing the history of the Iberian Peninsula in order to better understand the region’s current traditions. I have already studied much of this information last year, so class has proved to be a bit boring so far.

The upside to this, of course, is that I have little homework for that class. I cannot complain too much about that. Another perk is that some days we take walking excursions through the old parts of the city to see first-hand examples of the history we are studying. That’s one of my favorite things about studying Spanish history in Sevilla. We don’t have to study from a book or a slideshow presentation—we can just step outside and see it with our own eyes. I’m enjoying it while it lasts.

All in all, the semester has been such a welcome break from the way I operate back at UW, and I will keep that in mind when I go back. I’ll be around for a couple more years, but I will be better able to balance myself and keep in mind what my time priorities really are. Going back in the fall will probably be quite the rude awakening, but I’ll enjoy my surreal experience while it lasts.

Lagos, Portugal

Today started off with waking up very early to catch a bus to Portugal for the four-day weekend (Fridays I never have class; Monday is Día de Andalucía, so again I have no class). Annie and I set off for Lagos for a day before we move north to Lisbon for the remainder of our mini-vacation. When I wasn’t dozing off during the bus ride, I stared out into the countryside of Portugal. The hills are dotted with little white towns and orange groves. It is so gorgeous here. I can feel myself starting to fall in love with yet another region here—will it ever end?

Right before the bus crossed the border into Portugal, we were halted by the Guardia Civil, Spain’s law enforcement agency charged with police duties among civilian populations on a national level. Several members armed with assault rifles were stopping every vehicle intending to cross the Portuguese-Spanish border. One officer came onto the bus, walked through twice, and then let us pass. A woman sitting near me on the bus told others that this was not at all normal procedure, that they were mostly searching for someone. I tried to find news on the internet about it but was unsuccessful.

Map zoomed in on area including Sevilla, Lagos, and Lisbon.  
http://www.sitesatlas.com/Maps/Maps/506.gif

Actually passing through Portugal’s border control was much easier. While boarding the bus this morning, everyone was told that they must put all bags except small purses in the luggage area under the bus so as not to cause a hold-up at the border. This was pretty much unnecessary because, after the bus driver waited about three seconds for Portuguese officials to check out the bus, we were waved on and sped off down the highway once again. I have to say that the EU definitely works in my favor for travel to multiple countries. It is so simple to not have to deal with money exchange and strict customs. The only downside is that I am missing out on some pretty cool stamps in my passport. Shucks.

Once we were in Lagos, we took an inexpensive taxi ride to our hostel, Dina’s Guesthouse. Dina (I’m just assuming she named the place for herself, but maybe not) speaks very little English but provides a cozy, clean place complete with computer, kitchen, and really fast WIFI. The guesthouse is only a couple of rooms, and the door downstairs is unmanned by any staff.

Before setting out for lunch and the beach today, I thought it would be a good idea for Annie to test out opening the door with the key while I stayed inside just in case we did something wrong and could not get in later. Annie was struggling with it, so we traded places. As I attempted to lock and then unlock the door, I somehow ended up locking Annie inside of the hostel. For some reason she couldn’t even open the door from the inside because the handle was stuck, while at the same time I could neither turn the key left nor right no matter how hard I tried. Annie was stuck inside for about five minutes as I continued to fumble with the key. Finally, I figured out that I had to pull the door really hard toward myself while simultaneously fitting the key not quite completely into the lock, then turning it and pushing the door open. It's quite the apparatus. 

With Annie free and the key/lock situation figured out, we set off for some lunch. While dining we met a friendly old British couple that took a picture of the two of us on Annie’s camera. Lagos is heavily geared toward British tourists who flood the place during the holiday season (British vacation time during warm weather, that is), so there are quite a few Brits around. The plus side to this is that English is widely spoken, so we haven’t stumble too much through communication. The English couple chatted with us for a while about our travels here and their travels in the States. The husband mentioned that he had visited an old friend in Massachusetts some years back who had been a GI in the war. That was about as far as our conversation went, though, before the couple moved on with the rest of their day. Now, I’m thinking that “The War” means WWII, and I can feel your disappointment in me already, Dad. Yes, I am absolutely kicking myself that I did not inquire into this further. The man is probably full of some amazing stories, and to be frank, not many from his generation are left to tell their histories. Next time I promise not to be so daft.

After lunch Annie and I hit up a supermarket for yet another poor-students’ breakfast. What I discovered is that supermarkets in Portugal have WAY better selection, especially pertaining to cereal, than those in Spain. I am not sure if this disparity is a localized Lagos thing heavily influenced by the tourism, or if Honey Nut Cheerios really can be found in all parts of the country. Either way I’m super jealous. Corn Flakes are so not cutting it in Sevilla. Then, we laid out on the beach listening to the Atlantic waves and soaking up some sun. It was barely warm enough to do so, but that didn’t stop me from being a beach bum in February. 

When the breeze really picked up, we decided to trek along the cliffs above the beaches in Lagos. When we'd had our fill of sand and stone, we headed back to the guesthouse before grabbing dinner at a local family restaurant named Os Lambertos. We split a tray of garlic-baked shrimp and a dish of Portuguese steak, both of which were insanely delicious. Topped off with some vinho verde, characteristic Portuguese white wine, it was the perfect meal to end our day.

Tomorrow we set off for Lisbon, but probably not before some café and pastry. I’ve been running during the week, and I walk everywhere, but the weekends are sort of anything-goes as far as trying local cuisine is concerned. You’ll be able to view my new reality TV show on TLC, The 900-Pound Study Abroad Student, early this June.