This post is so everyone at home understands why I keep saying "Wichita" when I come back.

Classes are ending. The semester is almost over. It really did go fast, but at the same time it feels like I haven´t been home in years.  I'm excited to go home, but there are many things I will miss about Madrid: the city, Spanish food, the amazing friends I have made here (both Spanish and American).  And some of the professors. Okay, just one professor.

Emilio Peral Vega, known to most as simply Emilio.

He's my Contemporary Spanish Theater professor.  I wasn't especially looking forward to this class as I'm not usually one for Spanish literature, but my opinion of the class changed in the first few minutes of it.  Emilio is pure genius, and he knows it (and has 20+ published books about theater to prove it).  He told us straight out that he is very opinionated, and he has never held back any opinion. On anything. If you weren't sure how you felt about something from a work of theater to Sandra Bullock's most recent Oscar dress, Emilio will help you decide.  Still think Madonna is the reigning queen of pop? Wrong. Kylie Minogue has since taken her place on the throne.  And Lady Gaga is just an imitation of the two, so don't even go there.  Do you support American right-wing politicians? Make this known to Emilio and prepare to be singled out in class on a regular basis.  He is the self-described opposite of George W. Bush, who according to him is ugly, boring, homophobic, anti-liberal, and stupid.  Emilio and I get along quite well.  If you're wondering what the opposite of Dubya looks like, he's on the right: http://www.flickr.com/photos/ccblanquerna/5224005018/in/set-72157625381809299/  (Maybe slightly creepy of me to google him but you need an image in your head.)

I know all this makes him sound like an insufferable know-it-all who is closed to others' ideas, but the reality is he makes you think and defend your ideas, and he is just so flipping sassy you can't help but love him / become obsessed with him.  He has our class in tears of laughter (TEARS) on a daily basis, and somehow, magically, can turn a twenty-minute rant about the fashion choices of American divas into a helpful explanation of a contemporary theatrical concept.  Oh, and speaking of fashion, Marc Jacobs is the only worthwhile American designer. Period.

He is also incredibly quotable.  My classmates and I have taken to writing down things he says in class and often using them in daily conversation.  He has a tendency to use certain English phrases (the class is taught in Spanish) that are delivered with such hilarity and accent that I could never say them in the usual way again.  I shall now list for you some Emilioisms and quotes.

--"Oh my god." (Oh my GOT).

--"I kidding." (I keeding) Oh, he's a jokester, that Emilio.  Except often when he says "I kidding," he's probably not.  Conversely, once in a while he will tell us "I not kidding."  For example: "Yo tampoco sería monja si estuviera casado con Javier Bardem. I not kidding." ("I wouldn't be a nun either if I were married to Javier Bardem." This was said when he was explaining that Penelope Cruz is not actually a nun, that she just plays one in the movie Todo sobre mi madre) I would have to agree with him here.

--"Wichita." (Weecheetah) Always said with a look and gesture of pure disgust.  Wichita has become the official example a craptastic town that no one would ever live in because it is completely devoid of culture and life.  One day I asked Emilio if he had ever been to Wichita. "No," he said with a grin.  When my buen amigo and fellow Loyolan, Danny, worked "Wichita" into his and his partner Catherine's presentation, Emilio let out a high-pitched laugh and fell over. They hadn't even gotten to the Kylie Minogue dance numbers yet.

--"I love you."  (I lahve yoo) I can't remember exactly why or how many times he's said this and to whom, but I'm sure he meant it.

--"I hate you. I not kidding."  Don't think you can walk into class late without Emilio noticing.

--"¿Qué es el amor? ¿Tiene pelo rubio, con ojos azules y un dick de *este* tamaño?" ("What is love? Does it have blonde hair and blue eyes and a dick *this* big?) Hey, I'm just quoting here.  The entire class just about died when he said this, but would you believe it, he was actually asking the class a very pertinent question to the play we were reading, Los intereses creados.  He also asked the class if we believed in love.  I was stupid enough to answer.  I received a smug grin but was asked to defend my answer.  Emilio will question you, but not because he thinks you're wrong, necessarily.  I love professors that make you think seriously about things and defend your position.

--"Madonna era la reina de pop. ERA." ("Madonna was the queen of pop. WAS.")  Just so you know.

-- (translated) "Thousands of Spanish linguists without jobs and the one phrase most heard in Madrid is GRAMMATICALLY INCORRECT." <-- He's referring to the voiceover on the metro: "Tengan cuidado para no introducir el pie entre coche y anden." "Para" should be "de."  Considering he's a grammar nazi, grading our grammatically atrocious essays must be some form of torture for him.

--"CHANEL! CHANEL!" *stomps foot* The whole class really let him down when we couldn't name the designer of the suit a character was wearing in a movie we watched. I'M SORRY EMILIO, I'LL DO BETTER.

--"He's a REAL MAN." One day Danny wore a t-shirt that said "Real Men Run," which was from a fundraiser for St. Jude's Hospital.  He can never wear this shirt in class again.

--"Son geniales." ("They're awesome.") Ok, he said this just to me and it's not funny or anything, but I find it significant.  Abby wore my black patent heels for our presentation. As we were leaving class I was putting them in a bag to take home, and Emilio asked whose they were. I told him they were mine and he approved. MY SHOES have the Emilio Stamp of Approval. I should wear them EVERY DAY.

Also, previously mentioned friend Danny has a weird connection with Emilio.  It really started from Day 1 of class when Emilio used Danny as an example by asking him some more-than-slightly-awkward questions.  Since then there have been a series of coincidences and exchanges that are fairly mind-blowing:

Conversation in class, talking about different neighborhoods of Madrid and the various social classes that inhabit them:

Emilio: Danny, ¿dónde vives? (Where do you live?)
Danny: En Argüelles.
Emilio: Oh, yo vivo en Argüelles tambien! ¿En que calle? (Oh, I live in Arguelles too! On which street?)
Danny: (tells him name of street)
Emilio: (in English) Oh... Oh... We are neighbors.

Turns out Emilio lives on the cross street. Of course he does.

Even when Danny's not in Spain, Emilio is nearby:

Emilio: Voy este fin de semana a Londres para ver Kylie. (I'm going to London this weekend to see Kylie.)
Danny: Espera... tú vas a Londres este finde? (Wait... you're going to London this weekend?)
Emilio: Sí... (Yes...)
Danny: YO voy a Londres este finde. (I'M going to London this weekend.)

They do have differing opinions on Halloween costumes, however.  This is what we learned when Emilio asked the class about some of our past Halloween costumes.

Danny: Cuando tenía 5 años yo era un Power Ranger. (When I was 5 I was a Power Ranger.)
Emilio: ¿...Puedo decir algo?  ¿Está bien contigo si digo algo? (...Can I say something? Is it ok with you if I say something?)
Danny: Sí. (Yes. --how could he say no?)
Emilio: No hay un show MÁS GAY que Power Rangers. (There is no show MORE GAY than Power Rangers.)

He's got a point, what with the tight costumes and choreographed battle scenes.

It is safe to say I am jealous of their connection.  Emilio also gave Danny some recommendations on where to buy a nice suit in Madrid.  You see, Emilio is probably the most stylish person I have ever met.  Which brings me to my next Emilio opinion:

Wedding dresses are hideous.  Women should NEVER wear white.  They look much better in black.  A friend of his once asked him to come wedding dress shopping with her, however, she knew better than to ask his real opinion.  According to him, he was the best dressed one at the wedding in his new Armani suit.

He also claims he could wear the Valentino dress Gwyneth Paltrow wore to the Oscars better than Gwyneth Paltrow, due to the concave nature of her chest.  Same goes for Sandra Bullock and her apparently atrocious posture. And you know what? I bet he would look great in a Valentino.

Another fun Emilio fact: He aspires to be a vampire, and is, in fact, immortal.

Probably most importantly, he loves Chicago. As he should.  He said he has friends that live in Ann Arbor, Michigan, and when he visits them he has to take a trip down to Chicago because, according to him, Ann Arbor is nice but after three days you start to go crazy.  So he takes the Amtrak down, swearing that he is so jostled in our janky American trains that when he arrives in the Windy City he can't actually walk straight.  He told the class about a very good coffee shop in Boystown ("The 'gay' neighborhood. They've obviously never been to Chueca.") that has a name like Xanadu or something and is across from a library.  If you know what he is talking about PLEASE let me know because Abby, Danny, and I ARE GOING.

We asked him if he would be coming back to Chicago. He told us he would in the future. "No, Emilio, you don't understand. WHEN are you coming to Chicago?"  He tried to use the excuse of Spain's economic crisis, but if he can afford an Armani suit he can afford a plane ticket to Chicago, especially when he's got a free place to stay and someone who will gladly cook for him, so he doesn't have to purchase "expensive, tiny bottles" of olive oil in our supermarkets.

You see, we're going to go into withdrawals very soon after leaving him.

*EDIT* I did some audio recordings in class today. I documented some fantastic things that surely need to be shared.

*ANOTHER EDIT* On Thursday night our class is going out for dinner and drinks with Emilio. OH MY GOT. I am wearing my heels.

*YET ANOTHER Emilio Update* I recorded this in class. You won't understand it if you don't speak Spanish. I will translate... later. If I remember. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0fG2eNnnnpk  It has to do with how all the employees at Kenneth Cole in Chicago are super attractive.

Hola a todos...

(Hello everyone...)

So, blogging takes more time than I expected. I've been kind of bad about posting lately but there's lots coming... not sure exactly when though! In 2 days I leave for my Semana Santa trip, which will start in Rome and then we'll move onto Nice and Paris.  Needless to say, I'm excited, but this has been such a stressful week so far.  Presentations, papers, registering for fall classes (senior year! Ulp.), getting packing in order, figuring out when I'm flying home to Chicago, making plans with Spanish people that will involve extended conversations during which I may or may not make any sense at all... but we'll see.  Coffee tomorrow and a picnic on Thursday. I just hope I have time for everything!  Also, my hosts' daughter is coming tomorrow.  Their biological one... um, long story, ask me about it later.  She's studying in Belgium but coming home for Semana Santa, so I'll get to meet her before I leave.  This could go one of two ways: 1) She's really nice to us because she's lived abroad before, both in Belgium and the US, or 2) She's kind of nice but it's super duper awkward and now I'll be sharing my bathroom with her, which isn't a big deal as I'll be gone most of the time but I'll have my stuff in there so... I don't even know, it's almost 2am.

Perhaps I'd have more done if I hadn't gone out Monday night for mojitos and tapas? Nope, probably not, and I can never really regret going to El Tigre with my wonderful friends.

So. Blogs to come, at some point, hopefully soon:

Geneva, Part 3 (I swear I have it written, it's just such a pain to upload the cornucopia of lovely pictures)
Granada (In Which Kelsey Takes Too Many Pictures of the Alhambra)
Emilio, My Contemporary Spanish Theater Professor (yes, he gets his own blog)
You Know You're In Spain When (should include video if Rachel and I ever get the apartment to ourselves)
And probably a few blogs about my Semana Santa adventures.

Now, to do as Transfer suggest and get some rest...

A Dream

Last night, while I was sleeping in a comfy hostel bed in Granada, I dreamed that the semester was over and I was going home.  It seemed like it had gone so fast and, while I wasn't sad to return to Chicago, I felt that I hadn't gotten to do everything I set out to do this semester, or that I just didn't have enough time.  I was happy when I woke up to find myself still in Spain and with over a month and a half left.

It's still not a lot of time... didn't I just get here?

Classy Weekend in Genève, Suisse: Part 2 (March 26, 2011)

Wowza.  I cannot believe life right now.  We drove over to France today for lunch and shopping.  Annecy is unbelieveably pretty.  It’s as if someone brought a fairy tale to life.  It’s all cute old buildings and canals and mountains and loveliness.

They even have swans!

I’d say it took a little less than an hour to drive there.  It wasn’t long after we left that we crossed the border into France, which was easier than driving through a toll booth.  If I wanted to go to, say, Canada from the US, I’d have to get my passport out and stop at customs and assure them I wasn’t trafficking anything over the border.  At the France-Switzerland border, we just… drove through.  For the first time in my life, I was in France.  I became keenly aware that everything around me was French.  That’s French grass, that’s a French house, those are French hills, the sky is French…

We drove through a beautiful, green, hilly region where, during World War II, the people there had provided a hiding place for Allied soldiers and paratroopers.  There really is just so much history in Europe.  Sometimes I forget how many important events happened in its tranquil countryside.  We drove on south, watching France go by (did I mention we were in FRANCE??) and listening to Muse.  I wasn’t sure life could get much better.

Except it did, once we reached our destination.  I was suddenly surrounded by colorful, old buildings and tables full of shiny antique curios, all lining a canal.  It was sunny and warm and for a while we looked at all the old door handles and juice presses and books, though everything was far outside my price range.  I did debate buying a French comic book, but I couldn’t decide which one to get.

Shiny antiques as far as the eye can see...

For all your juicing needs

I saw lots of wooden clogs there... is there a significance?

We ate lunch on the canal, and it was amazing.  I ordered the knuckle of lamb, and it was very, very good.  It was sitting on a bed of couscous and the meat just FELL OFF the bone.  Abby and I also tried beer mixed with Sprite, which has a name in French that I have forgotten.  It was refreshing and sparkly, perfect contrast to the hot sun beating down on us.  In a good way.  I’m glad I decided to wear a sundress because it was positively summery.

What you mean, you "don't eat no meat"?! That's ok, I make lamb.

After lunch we did a bit of shopping, and Sara, wonderful person that she is, bought Abby and me matching owl necklaces.  They are friendship owls.  The only things I purchased were some post cards, one maybe to send and the other as artwork for the apartment.  I’ve been buying postcards everywhere I go.  They’re cheap and can be sent to people or used as wall decorations, provided you find good frames for them!

We also walked along the lake, which is surrounded by mountains.  I really have never seen any views as breathtaking as I have in the Alps.  The Midwest needs more mountains, for sure.

The drive back to Geneva was just as beautiful.  Back at the apartment we watched some more Perfect Couples.  You might wonder why I’d be so into watching TV while traveling, but the thing is, in Madrid, we aren’t able to just hang out on the couch and watch TV or movies, which is something that, while it’s a small pleasure, I enjoy doing.  Before dinner we had a bit of Italian ham and white wine, and then headed off to Soupçon for a fantastic meal, which consisted of a brand-new creation not yet on the menu (a zucchini and basil “cappuccino,” essentially soup with a foam on it, in a glass, with a thin strip of bacon sticking out of it. It was delicious), scallops, foie gras (yep, I’ve tried duck liver. It was pretty good actually), and steak tartare; it’s sushi in meat form! What’s not to like?

Fois Gras

I couldn't finish it, sadly. It was delicious though.

Now I’m really full of incredible food and relaxing to the max.  Tomorrow is Gruyère, where they make the cheese of the same name, as well as CHOCOLATE.  I must digest to prepare for this.

And yes, I realize that this blog is essentially about food.

Classy Weekend in Genève, Suisse: Part 1 (March 26, 2011)

Bonjour, everybody!


I'm sitting here on the world's comfiest bed in Geneva, Switzerland.

This is it. It's from IKEA, my fave.

We're leaving in about an hour to spend the day in the French Alps.  France surrounds Geneva on three sides so it'll only take us about 10 minutes by car to cross the border.


By car.  I don't think you understand how wonderful it is to say that.  To know I won't have to figure out public transportation, hoping I get a seat on the metro and praying there are no creepers there.  Yes, we will go by car because Abby and I are staying with her cousin, Sara, and Sara's boyfriend, Frank, in their beautiful apartment, which is about a block or so from the lake.

This is the dining room and kitchen. I looooove the design of everything.  Especially the red refrigerator.  Also, the brand of the kitchen appliances is "Die Dietrich," which means "The Dietrich," i.e. ME.

This, so far, has been the best weekend this semester, if not ever in my life, and it's only been a day or so in.  Our hosts are so generous, and we have been literally wined and dined since we arrived (emphasis on the "wined").  I'm pretty sure this is what luxury travel is, and I'm almost certain I will never be able to do this again, unless I marry rich or win the lottery.


We were picked up (!) at the airport and after we dropped our things off, headed out to find somewhere to eat.  Along the way we stopped at a bar for some wine, at which point (before I'd even had a sip, mind you) I bumped into Abby and spilled red wine all over her shirt... oops...  As we walked along the streets of Geneva, we ran into a couple of Sara and Frank's friends.  They spoke French, and not much English, and if they asked me a question I would just blink and smile until someone translated.  French sounds so nice, even though I don't understand anything more than "Bonsoir," "Merci," and a few other words here and there.  Sadly, I think I've forgotten nearly everything I learned in that semester of French I took.  Anyway, almost every restaurant was closed (it was 10pm, and the Swiss eat dinner at a normal time) except for a raclette place.  Raclette is melted cheese that you eat with potatoes.  That's right, for dinner we each had a full plate of melted cheese.  YES SWITZERLAND.


Yesterday morning we slept in a little bit, ate some chocolate croissants that Sara and Frank had left out for us, and watched some good ol' American television on their Apple TV (Perfect Couples is a pretty good show, as it turns out).  Around noon we walked over to Frank's restaurant Soupçon (how I had the good fortune to stay with the owner of a gourmet restaurant, I will never know), which is located in Old Town, an absolutely adorable and quintessentially European part of the city.

Très cute, n'est-ce pas?

Here we met a friend of Frank's (who did speak English and was quite entertaining), ate some amazing asparagus with fancy mushrooms, sesame-seared tuna, and sea bass atop a bed of perfectly-cooked vegetables and potatoes (and some fresh cherry tomatoes that were delicious, and I bet have never seen the inside of a refrigerator *cough*Carmen*cough*), and drank some more wine; it was white this time, don't worry, and I didn't spill on anyone anyway.

After this delicious experience, Abby and I did a tour of the UN building, where, though it is not the headquarters (which is in NYC), important committees meet, such as the Economic and Social Committee (ECOSOC, of which I was often a member in Model UN).  We saw lots of rooms where great international events occurred, such as the creation of the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (of which I am a fan).

The view alone would make anyone want to be a diplomat

"If you are being chased by fire, please run to the right."

Me with my snazzy official visitor's badge... Legit.

Protestors against Eritrea's dictator, in front of  "Broken Chair," which is a symbol of the damage land mines and cluster bombs cause.

After our tour we met up with Sara, who just got out of work at the WHO (which is right by the UN building), and we walked back to the apartment along the lake.  It was a perfect day out, the lake was clear, the sky was blue, and we could see the French alps.  We ate ice cream and I took pictures of the buildings around the lake and the swans that call it home [insert comment about "lucky ducks" here].  It was at this point that my ability to resist the macarons that Frank had brought Abby and me from Laduree failed. Soooo delicious.

This beautiful edifice is an ELEMENTARY SCHOOL. Geez.

You could honestly walk over to France if you felt like it.

"He wants to die in a lake in Geneva, the mountains can cover the shape of his nose..."

Flower clock!

After I'd attacked my macarons... 

Dinner last night was at a trendy pizzeria called Luigia.  The entrance is slightly hidden away if you're not looking straight on, and it's all lit up in red and green and white (like Christmas... or the Italian flag. I'd like to think both).  We had to wait a few minutes for a table so we went to the bar for a glass of wine.  I really should take a wine-tasting class someday so I can fully appreciate it, though I certainly enjoy it now.  We had some fantastic pizza and pasta and for dessert, fried bits of pizza dough covered in Nutella and powdered sugar, which sparked a conversation on the meaning of the word "decadent." In French it means basically the opposite of what it means in English, i.e. coming from the word "decay," as in, what is happening to the world such that this is an excuse for a good dessert? I thought it was delicious, and hey, I wasn't the one who ordered it! Nom nom nom.

mmmm pizza....

After dinner we went back to the apartment where Frank and Sara had Abby and I taste the various liquors they had that we had never heard of.  I liked Chartreuse (yes, like the color) which had an herbal flavour (pronounced "herbal" or "erbal"... you decide. But as Eddie Izzard once said, there's an effing 'H' in it, so the Brits are probably right), a Japanese plum wine, and an amber-colored port.  SO classy.

Well I'm off for now, as we're about to head over to Annecy.  Which is in France. In the Alps.


WHAT IS MY LIFE??

Dificultades

I mentioned earlier that I would do a “You Know You’re In Spain When…” post, and that’s coming, but I was thinking about this yesterday and decided to do this entry now.

Spain is great.  I’ve had so many cool experiences here, many of which I have talked about here.  But studying abroad is not all sunshine and sangría.  Here are some of the less-sparkly things about being an American living in Madrid.

Time Difference

Spain is 7 hours ahead of Chicago.  Except for a 2-week period when it is 6 hours ahead, thanks to Daylight Savings.  Daylight Saving Time has really messed me up, mostly because I forgot it existed, and partly because Spain doesn’t do Daylight Savings until the end of March, instead of the middle.  This makes things very confusing and difficult, especially if you have an appointment to call someone at a certain time in Chicago.  Which brings me to my next point:

Being in a Foreign Country While Trying to Plan Your Life

I’ve applied for a summer internship, which in itself was not terribly difficult due to distance, thanks to modern technology.  I emailed my application to my mom who was able to print it and fax it, and when that failed, mail it.  The interesting part came when 1) I needed to call the place to verify that it arrived and 2) I needed to schedule an interview.  Because I don’t have an international plan on my phone, I’ve been using Skype.  Which is great, if the person you need to contact also has Skype.  Unfortunately, I needed to call a phone, not a computer.  Skype has an option that lets you call international phones for a very reasonable price, so I put 10 euro on my account and called Chicago.  The call went through fine, until I had to be transferred, at which time the call promptly dropped due to spotty internet where I live (those four bars LIED to me).  A second try got me through to an answering machine and I left a message asking the person I called to email me, explaining that I could not be reached by phone.  Thankfully she emailed me within a few hours saying they did receive my application and would like to set up an interview.  Great! But this meant that I would have to call them.  I was given possible dates and times and chose Wednesday at 3pm, thinking that I would be home in time from my night class that ends at 8 (remember, 7 hours ahead, so 3=10). 

Then Daylight Savings appeared out of nowhere, making it dawn on me that 3 really meant 9 and I might not get home in time.  I sent an email back apologizing and asking if I could change it to the following Friday.  This wasn’t a problem until a few days later when I realized I would be in yet another foreign country on that date, without a computer and with plenty of distractions.  I had to change my interview yet again, back to its original time.  I swore via email that this wasn’t a typical representation of scatterbrainedness from me.  But anyway.  I have an interview and I only hope I haven’t made too horrible an impression.  I mentioned this blog in my cover letter, so if you’re reading: PLEASE HIRE ME AS YOUR SUMMER INTERN! I’m perfect for the job; you won’t regret it.

  

Exchange Rates

The dollar/euro exchange rate sucks.  One euro currently equals about $1.40.  This doesn’t seem like much until you take 100€ out of your account and you are now down $140.  That 20€ dress you bought is actually more like $28.  I’m not even going to think about airfare right now.  It’s too depressing.

The Siesta

They weren’t kidding when they told me that everything here shuts down from 2-5pm.  Usually this isn’t a problem, as I’ll come home from class around 2:30, eat lunch, and relax or get started on homework.  However, some days I need to go run errands.  Last week, I needed to get some things done.  I needed a book for my class and I needed to put money on my pay-as-you-go phone.  I figured I would take care of this after class, as the bookstore and Vodafone were nearby and I didn’t want to go all the way back home and back.  Unfortunately, this was a day when I got out of class after 2:00.  I waited around until 4, when I was sure the stores would be open again.  False.  I was met with dark, locked doors.  I spent an hour walking around and sitting on a bench attempting to study while trying to ignore the PDA that was going on all around me.  I guess I was already in a bad mood but I was very annoyed with this Spanish tradition.  I made my way back to the stores and when the Vodaphone employee came to change the sign from “Cerrado” to “Abierto,” I was there waiting.  Silly Americans, always in a rush.

Naps are nice, but I honestly think that Spain would benefit from getting rid of the siesta.  There is a massive amount of unemployment here, and if the shops didn’t close in the middle of the day it would create an extra work shift and more people would spend money.  There.  I just fixed Spain’s economic problems.  Someone get me the Minister of Finance’s phone number.

Did I mention that the supermarket isn’t open on Sundays?  And Spain wonders why its economy is behind the rest of Europe’s…

Class in Spanish / Only Understanding Half Of What Is Taught To You / Convincing Spaniards That You Actually Are Smart

I’m taking a class at Universidad Complutense, the huge famous university here in Madrid.  I knew I wanted to take a class there with fellow Spanish students so I would at least feel like a semi-legitimate madrileño.  Because it was interesting and worked with my schedule, I settled on Psychology of Language.  Never mind that I am not a Psych major and this was not an intro psych class.  I figured that since I was taking it with another American who is  a psych major, I would be fine.  Ah, haha, silly me!

This class is at the Somosaguas campus, which is outside of Madrid and involves taking a bus after the metro.  Fine with me really, since I’m used to taking the shuttle between campuses at Loyola.  I got to Somosaguas early my first day of class, which was good because I could not find the classroom for the life of me.  Places in Spain, whether they be streets or rooms, are just not very well-labeled.  Given my stellar sense of direction, I usually need a big neon arrow pointing me exactly where I need to go.  After swallowing my pride and asking a few people, I found the room.  I noticed a blonde, blue-eyed girl sitting at one of the desks and sat down next to her.  I greeted her in Spanish but it became apparent, as I had guessed, that she was American like me.  I know the point of taking a class at Complutense is to meet Spanish people, but I was nervous.

The professor began class and, for the most part, I was able to follow what was being said and I understood the notes on the PowerPoint.  She spoke a bit faster than my IES professors, who also teach in Spanish but know that it’s our second language, but it wasn’t too difficult.  This is easy! I can do this! I thought to myself. Those happy thoughts abruptly ended when the professor said something about an activity and us having the rest of the class time to do it.  Um, what now?  We’re doing…?  Steffani, my American friend, knew just as much as I did.  We sat there feeling foreign and clueless until the professor came around and we waved her over.  “I’m sorry,” I said to her in Spanish, “but we’re a little confused.  What exactly are we doing?”  She looked at us for a second and asked “¿De dónde sois?”  We told her where we were from and she informed us that there was a Psychology of Language class taught in English that met in the morning.  Great, but I’m here to learn Spanish and that doesn’t fit with my schedule anyway.  She was really nice though, and explained what we were doing.

Since then the three Americans in that class (Steffani, Abby, and I) have been sort of tokens for examples, which honestly, is alright with me.  It’s already obvious to the rest of the class that we’re not from here, and it only makes sense that we’d be useful in a Psychology of Language class as we’re working our psyches quite a bit learning a foreign tongue.

We have to do a group project for the class, and when it came time to get into groups of five, Abby, Steffani, and I looked around the room awkwardly to find some people to join us.  We spotted two girls sitting two rows behind us, doing the same thing.  I asked them if they had a group and after a pause they said “no.”  Poor things, stuck with the Americans!  But they are really nice and I think we’re managing to convince them that we can function in class and will not lead them to failure.  We’re doing a presentation on speech disorders and they actually suggested we analyze an episode of House about aphasia.  There was a good deal of confusion regarding what we were doing and when we were meeting up, but hopefully we’re past that now.  I showed them the “One Semester of Spanish Spanish Love Song” and they seemed to find it hilarious.  Things are going slightly smoother now, but we’ll see what happens when we actually present.  Thankfully our professor told us Americans that we could take the final exam in English if we wanted to.  While I am all for immersion, I am even more in favor of not failing a class.

Being Away From Home

Yeah, I miss Chicago.  Lots.  I don’t regret leaving it for a semester but honestly I will be very happy to return.  I miss having a huge lake to look at while doing my homework, I miss skyscrapers, I miss maple syrup, I miss being able to just have a relaxed movie night at home with my friends, I miss my cats, I miss being able to just call someone and chat without worrying about time difference or using up the minutes on my phone, and I miss knowing everyday protocol for things like ordering coffee (though I’ve almost got that down here).  I also long for a normal eating schedule, with lunch at noon or 1:00 at the latest, and dinner at 7.  I’m hungry! 

Daily annoyances/living with a señora

I don’t have a lock on my bathroom door so I always bring my robe tie with me so I can tie it around the door handle and the heater, thus preventing door-openage.  My señora nearly walked in on me once, but luckily I was standing right near the door so I could prevent her from entering, but not before she pushed on the door repeatedly and then turned out the light. Um, hola?

My señora makes coffee and then basically leaves it sitting there until it is gone.  Therefore, it’s never actually good coffee so I’ve stopped drinking it.  She’s also obsessed with microwaving things and will often microwave food RIGHT after she finishes cooking it on the stove.  I managed to stop her last night.  Apparently she couldn’t see that the pasta was still steaming.

Dear Carmen: STOP PUTTING TOMATOES IN THE REFRIGERATOR! IT RUINS THE FLAVOR! DON’T PUT THE ONES I BUY IN THERE EITHER! The same goes for oranges, pears, and strawberries.  You’re killing the fruit and it makes me triste. :(

I caught Carmen wearing my socks once.  She tried to claim that she has some that look just like them and she thought they were hers.  She took them off right away and put them in the laundry, but still.  I was short on socks and I have never seen her wear socks with green and black stripes. Hmph.

--

So there’s that.  Madrid really is a nice place to be and I know all my complaints have to do with me adjusting to living in a different place.  I know that I’ll miss things about Madrid, like cheap and delicious bar food (fried calamari and delicious ham sandwiches and croquetas) and tortilla and sangria.  Luckily I’ve learned how to make the last two.  It will pain me greatly to pay double or triple at the more expensive Spanish restaurants back home but it’ll have to be done.  And after I leave Spain I will probably suffer from acute castle withdrawal.  I’m also going to have to take great care to keep up my Spanish, as when I get back home I’ll have completed my minor and won’t need to take any more classes.  Maybe I’ll just watch Spanish TV and start hanging around Pilsen.

Barcelona: Something That's Gaudí

Yes! I'm finally posting about Barcelona! I'm sorry this is two weeks late.  I swear I'll do better in the future.  I started writing it earlier but I kept hitting roadblocks.  I decided to start over and just go place by place.  It might not be chronological.  As Julian Casablancas once said, “I can’t think ‘cause I’m just way too tired.”

The Airplane

Vueling has very little legroom, and I think it’s especially tight when you’re sitting in the very last row.  Keep this in mind when you’re considering skipping the option to choose your seat on the plane for 2€.  Since I’m short this honestly wasn’t a big deal for me, but I pitied the two guys I was sitting between (fairly young, attractive, and foreign—score!).  They were much taller than me and were probably thankful it was a short flight.  After I offered them both chicle (which they accepted) I spent most of the time talking to the guy on my left, who was Hungarian but I had just assumed he was Spanish until he told me where he was from.  Either his Spanish is really good or mine isn’t at the point where I can recognize non-Spanish accents.  Anyway, we discussed travel and Spain and learning languages.  He was in school to become a flight attendant.  You get free flights so that seems like a pretty sweet job to me.  Oh, and after the plane had landed I heard the man on my right speaking in French on the phone.  When he hung up I said “¿Francés?” He said yes and asked if I spoke it and I managed to say in French that I only spoke a little bit and that I had only studied it for one semester but really liked it.

The Cab

Our cab driver didn’t know where our hostel was.  We sat there at the airport for like 5 minutes (WITH the meter running) while he figured it out.  That should have been our clue to get out but we didn’t.  We did get out of the cab early once he got to the general neighborhood and just walked the rest of the way (thanks to Abby’s GPS).

The Hostel

Harry Potter and the Half-Blood
Prince, in Dutch

My initial impression of The Garden House Barcelona hostel was that it was adorable.  It was in a house on the outskirts of Barcelona (not the most convenient location, to be honest) and the lobby was cute, with butterflies painted on the ceiling.  The lobby had a few sleek couches and some tables, as well as a fireplace and books on the mantle.  The girl at the desk was very friendly, and spoke English (as well as Spanish and Estonian, as that was her nationality).  The two American girls who checked in just before us were in our room, and we chatted with them a bit.  While the four of us were in the kitchen preparing our dinner (for Abby and me it was the food that Abby’s señora had packed for her: entire packs of cheese and salami, and four slices of bread) the power went out.  We ate on the upstairs terrace in the dark, waiting for the power to come back on.  It didn’t, not until 1:40am, after we were already asleep.  My Kindle’s light really came in handy during this time.  This and Olaf the Creepy Swedish Guy, a.k.a. Peter Pettigrew, were the first signs that this hostel was not quite as nice as our Sevilla one, though they belonged to the same chain.

Remnants of dinner

Our room location was not the best.  It was right by the entrance and the lobby of the hostel, so I could hear people going in and out.  And, because Abby and I were both sick, we went to bed fairly early, so when I was trying to fall asleep (not very easy due to coughing attacks) I could hear the lobby music still playing and people talking loudly.  Also, to get to the bathroom meant I had to walk through the lobby in my pajamas and bedhead, pretending that no one could see me.  In the morning I was awoken by cars zooming down the street and birds.  REALLY LOUD BIRDS.  They were exactly like this:

I suppose I got what I paid for though; it was really cheap, around 13€ a night.  And they gave us extra blankets so that was nice.  I should also be grateful that the other people in the room didn’t murder me for keeping them awake with my excessively loud coughing.  Hostels + being sick = paranoia and guilt.

Passeig de Gracia

This is the main thoroughfare in Barcelona.  At least, it’s where all the big shops and pretty/important buildings are.  This includes a couple by the amazingly cool Spanish architect Antoni Gaudí.  Actually, let me talk a bit about Gaudí here:

Casa Batllo. Not my photo. Yay Google!

Gaudí was this amazing architect who designed buildings in the late 19^th/early 20^th century.  He was such an artistic genius that his work is STILL ahead of its time.  Much of his inspiration came from nature, because when he was little he had rheumatism and he couldn’t play with other kids, so he would go on walks in the country with his mother.  I really have yet to see anything quite like Gaudí’s work, architecturally-speaking.  It is, as my Spanish Theater professor Emilio would say, “mahvelous.”  I’m not sure if there are more on Passeig de Gracia but the two Gaudí buildings that I am familiar with there are La Pedrera (or Casa Milá—it’s so cool it has two names) and Casa Batlló.  Gaudí designed Casa Batlló around the story of St. Michael who slayed the dragon.  I’m not sure which dragon or what the dragon was doing to merit such a fate, but in any case the fascade of this house is scaly with skull-like balconies and the roof has ridges as if it were the back of a dragon.  The chimney is St. Michael’s sword.  I admit that I learned this all on the Travel Channel.  

La Boquería

La Boquería is this huge famous food market in Barcelona.  They really have everything you could ever want, from beautiful fresh produce to cod fritters on a stick (which I tried. Delicious), from gelato to sausage.  It's a very very bad idea to go there hungry, because you want to eat everything in sight.  I chose the aforementioned cod fritters and gelato, as well as fruit salad, bread, and avocados (for a picnic).  The avocados only cost 0.30€ for two.  Completely amazing.  If they were always that cheap I would probably eat nothing else. 

I really loved this place.  There were bright colors everywhere and I felt quite European in there.

The Dock Area/Waterfront/Bay/Port Place (Honestly I can’t think of what it’s called)

Abby and I wanted to go to Montjuic, and I knew that you could get there by cablecar, which were located near the water.  We walked across a bridge that separates the seaside area from the rest of the city to the water area, which was teeming with restaurants, a mall, and plenty of other touristy things.  It was nice to see the ocean, as I’m used to having a giant lake to stare at whenever I feel like it, and Madrid is lacking in sizeable bodies of water.  This area was nice but once we figured out that we could take the railcar to Montjuic and that it was far cheaper than the cable car, we left.

Montjuic

The view from Montjuic

This is where the 1992 Summer Olympics were held in Barcelona.  It’s a big hill on the edge of the city, and was built up essentially for tourism.  It’s a really nice escape from the busy city below, all quiet and green and covered in grass and trees.  

There are lots of museums on Montjuic, including the huge and fancy-looking Catalunyan Art Museum, which sits at the top of the hill.  We walked around there a bit, checking out the great views and taking pictures of the extraordinary edifices (ok that’s just me using fancy words to impress you) there.

We finally made it to the one place I remembered from when I visited Montjuic in high school, El Poble Espanyol.  Here you’ll find all of Spain within maybe half of a square mile.  Each section of the Poble represents a different area of Spain.  So really, if you go to Spain you only need to go El Poble Espanyol, because you’ll see everything there is to see here.  Kidding.  It’s a good place to do some touristy shopping though.

Path on Montjuic

Not Sevilla

Catalunyan Art Museum

*NOTE*

You might notice that many words of places and such in this blog do not seem exactly Spanish, such as the word “Espanyol” and “Montjuic.”  Well, they are Spanish, technically.  Barcelona is the capital of Catalunya, Spain, where the language of Catalán is spoken.  They also speak Castellano, which is what most people refer to as “Spanish.”  Other Spanish languages include Gallego (spoken in Galicia) and Euskera (that weird Basque language that I wrote about in my Bilbao blog).   Okay, end of lesson.

La Pedrera

This house was designed by Gaudi and is freaking cool.  Gaudí is a total genius.  I don’t know that I can say anything here that couldn’t be better shown in pictures. 

Inside La Pedrera

Me and my bestie, Gaudi

The roof is the best part of the house.

George Lucas's inspiration for Stormtroopers. Awesome.

Barrio Gótico and New Friends

On the second night of our stay in Barcelona, we met up with a friend of my aunt’s, Francesc.  She had told me to contact him if I was going to Barcelona so I did, not really knowing anything about him except the fact that he knew my aunt and was Spanish.  We arranged to meet for dinner on Friday night.  Abby and I got to the meeting point early and sat awkwardly for a while, trying to guess if any of the men hanging around the metro stop was Francesc, as I didn’t know what he looked like.  Once it was a few minutes past the time to meet I called him and we headed over to the front of a café where Francesc and his girlfriend (whose name I cannot remember for the life of me and if you’re reading this I’m REALLY sorry, you were so nice and lovely, I’m just bad with names) were waiting.  We did introductions and headed to a bar for wine and tapas before dinner.  I found out that he knew my aunt through work, which explained a lot; I had assumed she’d met him when she studied abroad in Spain but when we finally met I saw that he was younger than her so I wasn’t sure how that happened.  I still felt awkward but after a glass of wine my Spanish started to flow a little bit better and the four of us managed to have a nice conversation.  When I mentioned how annoying it was that many times Spanish people will recognize my accent and just speak to me in English, Francesc said that he could speak English but wasn’t, because he knew we were here to learn Spanish.  I really, really appreciated that.  After the bar we went to a restaurant in the Gothic Quarter (Barrio Gótico) that had an outdoor courtyard and a two-piece jazz band playing.  Abby and I had no idea what to order except for the “nachos” we saw on the menu (I use this term loosely), so we mostly left it up to the Barcelonans.  Everything was delicious, even the sardines, which I am always skeptical about.  As if he hadn’t treated us enough, Francesc asked if we wanted anything for dessert.  We were SO full and at first we declined, but we had been eyeing the brownie dish on the menu and he persuaded us to order it. IT WAS SO DELICIOUS. Warm dark chocolate brownies speckled with nuts and topped with a cool, sweet raspberry sorbet… Where was I?  Oh, right.  By that time I’m afraid Abby and I weren’t the most entertaining guests as we both had colds and were completely exhausted from our day of walking around the city.  After dinner we walked through the Barrio Gótico a bit more, we learned how to pronounce a Catalán word that I saw on a store window (“Rebaixas” which means “sales,” as in, discounts at a store: Ray-bye-shas – the x makes the “sh” sound.  It’s so pretty), and Francesc and his girlfriend walked us to our metro stop on La Rambla.  I would like to thank them again for being so nice to us and that if they are ever in Chicago, I hope to return the favor.

Sagrada Familia

We awoke early Saturday morning to go see the famous Templo de la Sagrada Familia, the huge cathedralesque temple designed by Gaudí (who else?).  Construction of this building started in 1882 and still has not finished.  Gaudí put literally every penny he had into this, and had no money to his name when he died after being hit by a streetcar, as illustrated by this children's book in the gift shop: 

I like the fact that there's blood and Spike from Rugrats is sniffing him

From far away this place looks like it is made of dripping wax, but up close you can see that the drops of wax are actually many sculptures carved into the concrete of the building.  One side tells the story of the nativity, and the other the story of the crucifixion.  I prefer this side: the sculptures are more stylized and angular, and, in my opinion, more expressive.  Also, there were more Stormtroopers dressed up as Romans.  We bought our tickets (note: when buying tickets there, be sure to also buy the lift ticket if you want to go up in the tower.  There is no option of just going up stairs) and entered the massive doors.  I wasn’t quite sure what to expect to find inside, but the interior is even more stunning than the outside, in my opinion.  It’s held up by huge columns that look like tree trunks and sun streams in through the best stained glass windows I’ve ever seen.  Again, pictures are better than words:

Outside on the Nativity side

Note the Stormtrooper soldier creepily emerging from the wall

Inside

Beautiful stained glass

We had to wait a while to go up into the tower, and it also cost about 2.50€ extra, but it was worth it.  The view from the tower was amazing.  We opted to walk all the way down instead of taking the lift (I refuse to say “elevator” because I am in Europe and British at heart) which might have been the best decision of the day.  We were able to see the building from many perspectives, and, most importantly, we got to walk down the coolest and scariest spiral staircase ever created.  There was a railing on only one side and I was certain that I would fall to my death down the middle of the spiral, but I survived, with some great photos to show for it.

View from a tower window

We walked down all 400 steps.  There was no railing on one side of the stairs.  O_O

Parc Güell

We decided to have a picnic at Parc Güell, so we stopped at La Boquería for supplies.  We bought some brightly-colored fruit salads, bread, and avocados (two avocados for the equivalent of 41 cents. SO AWESOME) and headed to the Parc, which was designed by guess who?  LITTLE DID WE KNOW that visiting Parc Güell consisted of walking up a nearly VERTICAL hill for what seemed to be miles and miles.  There were a couple spots with outdoor escalators, but most of the time our calves were getting a workout.  When we got to the top of the hill it looked like we were in the Southwest of the US.  It was all desert-y looking shrubs and cacti everywhere.  By the time we got up the hill we were so hungry that we just found a rock on which to have our picnic.  We had a fantastic view of Barcelona, including the Sagrada Familia.  A Barcelonan cat (or “gat” as they say) joined us briefly but left once she became bored with us and realized that we had no food she wanted.  Our picnic was delightful, and I finally tried that bright pink on the outside, white on the inside fruit (dragonfruit?) that I kept seeing in the market.  It didn’t really taste like anything, which was disappointing, but I enjoyed the chunk of raw coconut in there.  

We also kept it classy by drinking straight from the box (yes, BOX, try not to be too amazed at our utter classiness) of sangria.  After our picnic we took some Top Model-esque pictures where they did a photo shoot one season.  Here are some pictures of the place.

View from our rock

Gat!

Fierce!

Las Ramblas

This is what I’d consider the main touristy street in Barcelona.  Las Ramblas is pedestrian-only down the middle and is lined with newspaper stands selling the typical “Barcelona” bags, postcards, scarves, magnets, pretty much anything  a foreigner could want to bring back home to their friends.  There are also more street performers here than I’ve ever seen in one place.  And by street performers I mostly mean the people that paint themselves completely and stand very still so you can get a picture with them.  I do wonder exactly how much money they make.  There is another type of person that calls Las Ramblas home: the man selling squeaky mouth things.  I’m not even sure what they’re called or why they exist.  All I know is that I have the strong desire to punch them in the face when they're demonstrating their product, loudly, in the street, in your ear.  I just tried for like a half an hour to find a video to show you why I have the desire to hurt these people but I couldn’t.  I live in fear that these people will have made their way to Chicago by the time I get back.  Thankfully, I know this annoyance would never be tolerated in my fair city. 

Sorry, got sidetracked.  There are also lots of shops and restaurants lining Las Ramblas, so this is a good place to go if you want to do a bit of shopping or get a bite to eat.  The entrance of La Boquería is also just off of this street.

Barcelona By Night

While we were too tired to go out and party all night, Abby and I did make sure to see some of the city lit up.  On our last night we walked around the city taking some night pictures (which I have decided is going to be my new thing).  We started at Sagrada Familia, which is stunning and definitely worth going back to see in the dark.  They light it up really nicely.

At the front gates we met a bachelor party dressed up as cardinals and the Pope.  As the “Pope” was talking to us about the time-honored Spanish tradition of the bachelor party, he dropped his grocery bag, spilling condoms and Chupa Chups lollipops all over the concrete.  He offered us some but we declined, and just helped to pick them up (DON’T WORRY everyone, they were still in the wrappers).  Next we walked over to Torre Agbar, or Agbar Tower, which took a bit longer than we had anticipated.  This tower is in (as far as I can tell) the business district of Barcelona and it is shaped like a torpedo that’s been stuck vertically in the ground.  It just looks kind of gray during the day but at night it lights up in all different colors.  When we were there it was red and blue.  

We ended the night getting gelato (chocolate and crema catalana for me, delish) and taking picture of Casa Batlló from a bench (we were really tired). 

We definitely packed a lot into that weekend.  Our flight back to Madrid was at 7:45 in the morning and after a horrific journey to the airport (involving a very drunk man on the metro and then not being able to find the metro connecting to the airport and no open cabs), we stopped at the airport McDonalds, thanks to their brilliantly simple marketing making me want McDonald’s more than anything in the world.

What convinced me that I NEEDED a Sausage
McMuffin RIGHT NOW. I don't ever even eat
at McDonald's at home.

FUN FACT: Even McDonald’s has fresh-squeezed orange juice in Spain. And it was GOOD.

We made it to the plane just in time.  After we landed, I took the metro home and crashed on my bed and stayed there for the next three hours.  It was a great weekend, and I was utterly exhausted.