Sunday, December 11, 2011

Crazy, Beautiful Life

Crazy, beautiful life. Crazily beautiful life. Beautifully crazy life.
La vida loca y hermosa. La vida locamente hermosa. La vida maravillosamente loca.
Well, that would be my life.

This is going to be a short post because I am behind with just about everything. Which is rather unfortunate, but a reality I must face. For now, I shall have to summarize what's been going on and eventually (read: during Christmas vacations) I will update in more detail on my travels.

Since I've last updated, I've had two Thanksgiving dinners, three days in Granada to visit one of my best friends (Audra), five days of having an Andalúz accent, one trip through an amazing set of Arabic palaces (La Alhambra), two meals consisting of tapas, one night with great éxito (success) in a Granada club, two unanticipated cross-country over-night busrides, one new English pupil, twelve days of iron pills, one dramatic friend-moving-piso intervention, two amazing Barça games (versus Levante, which I went to Camp Nou, and also versus Madrid, which I watched in a bar), one trip to the Christmas market, three awkward encounters with overnight guests, four hours on a bus from Barcelona to Valencia, two and a half days in sunny Valencia, three kabobs for lunch, one giant pan of authentic paella valenciana, two and a half hours on a bus from Valencia to Alicante, two days in beach side Alicante, ten minutes of sliding down banisters, one lift up to a castle on a hill, one amazing Italian dinner acompanied with a bottle of wine and the pretty-girl discount on shots, and a seven hours on a bus from Alicante back to Barcelona.

So, I told you all last post that my Granada friend (Audra) and I were planning a País Vasco trip over the December holidays, but we decided to avoid the hastle with planes and meet each other half way. This took us to the beautiful cities of Valencia and Alicante in la Comunidad Valenciana. It was a marvelous, relaxing trip, with lots of walking and some pretty good memories. And photos. If I ever get around to uploading them.

I've been back for a day now-- I literally got back into Barcelona Saturday night, showered, ate, and went to a bar with my super cool Barça jersey and scarf to watch the Barça v. Real Madrid soccer game, which is only the most important game ever and always. Tension is always high and cultural pride is on the line-- it is more than just a game. We won (duh) 3-1 because Barça is amazing and after, I promptly crashed.

This morning, I was greated by two bulldog puppies, one of which is going to live in my piso after I come back from California in January. Her name is Saphira, she is precious and adorable and I love her. I also love my roommates. They are gems amongst mankind and positively amazing to me. Sometimes, I find myself e-mailing my Barcelona friends just to tell them what cute things my roommates have done for me on a daily basis. I am so lucky to have such support from these wonderful men. One even decidedly (if in rather broken English) told my parents on Skype to not worry about me, that they would take care of me, and that I was like a little sister to them, and together, we are like a train. I'm not quite sure what the train bit was about (this is why we speak Spanish in the apartment), but as a student of literature, I would surmise that a train is a machine and in metaphorical terms, to be like a machine is to work in a cohesive, harmonized unit. (Yay college! I can make up stuff professionally!) And I suppose, then, it would be good to be like a train. So yes, my roommates are amazing. Also, my friends are amazing.

Really, when it comes down to it, I am extremely lucky. This morning, I was so happy, I quite nearly cried... much like when I hear the Catalán national anthem in Camp Nou before my first Barça game. It's just... I don't know... there's something about this city that makes me want to laugh with joy. Obviously, there are ups and downs, but I am so positively happy with the life I am leading. And the greatest part is that things can only get better. Oh yes, big plans for spring semester... it's going to be great.

In the meanwhile, before I manage to post about my Porto trip, the Barça game, and my trip to Valencia and Alicante, here are pictures of puppies. And everyone likes pictures of puppies, right?





Welcome to the family, Saphira!
(Today, she learned to not chew on my computer charger cord. Now, she is learning to not chew on my laptop. She's a charmer.)

Wednesday, November 23, 2011

Happenings: La Mercè to Turkey Day

I am shamefully behind in my blog. So, super long post to try to summarize the last two months of my life.

Thursday, September 22 to Sunday, September 25: La Mercè

La Mercè is currently the best weekend I have ever had in Barcelona. In all fairness, I hardly slept and it is pretty much meant to be one of the biggest weekends in the Barcelona calendar. La Mercè is the festa major (main/major festival) of Barcelona. On September 24th, the day is dedicated to la Mare de Déu de la Mercè (Our Lady of Mercy). But really, Barcelona goes big.

Thursday began with concerts in the old city, where the streets become a labyrinth and the night takes on a thrilling and chilling aspect that makes you wonder how anyone could ever know how it really feels to be alive without feeling what it is like to be young on a Barcelona night. (And do you want to know the amazing thing? That feeling never stops and never gets old.)

Friday night was spent in Vila Olímpica, where the clubs are free, the moon hangs over the Mediterranean Sea, and it is still warm enough to walk around in a t-shirt and a skirt. It was one of those nights where I wasso glad that the metro is open 24 hours on festivos and one of those mornings where I slipped into my piso as the sun began its ascent.

Saturday the 24th. Two words: free museums. Okay, call me a geek, but I love museums and Barcelona has pretty much a thousand of them. And yes, I walked in the door five or six in the morning, but who was I to say no to free museums? Exactly. So, I dragged my butt out of bed to hit up the Contemporary Culture Center of Barcelona, indulge in a much needed cup of café con leche, and then meandered around the city trying to find another museum and finding even cooler things in the process. Example: els gegants. Imagine a parade of giant cardboard statues parading down the old city. Actually, don’t imagine… I’ve got a video below.



Next we went into the Generalitat, the political seat of Catalunya. It is a lovely building that I think puts the White House to shame. In one room, there is a Sistine Capel-esque ceiling covered in important scenes from the history of Catalunya.



That evening, we saw fireworks on the beach, dodged the rain, watched Messi score a hat trick at a bar, and danced at a concert in Plaça Espanya, where all the young, drunk, and restless were. That night, the metro was insanely packed as we tried to follow the crowds across the city from concert to concert.


By Sunday, I was spent. I stayed in bed until noon and napped for two hours later that afternoon before going to the grand finale of La Mercè: el correfoc. Correfoc, literally translated, means “fire run.” What it really means is “Holy shit, there are people dressed up in demon costumes running through the streets with giant sparklers that shoot massive sparks that can leave burn marks and, Dear God, now there is a giant dragon with sparklers attached to it and, ahhhh, is that my heart pounding or the dozen drumlines parading through the street and, great, now I can’t hear anything because of the explosive noise of the crackling sparklers and, please, I would really really like to still have hair when this is over.” And even that doesn’t begin to cover it. It was pretty much the most terrifying experience ever; needless to say, I loved every minute of it. To get a taste of the terror, see video below.





Monday, September 26th: Positively exhausted from an amazing weekend, but got a job to tutor two eleven-year-old Catalán girls in English. They are so sassy that it cracks me up.

Thursday, September 27: Found a new roommate for November! His name is Jacobo, he’s 23, from Galicia (the north west corner of Spain), is getting his Masters, and is a nurse. Flash forward two months later and the boy has become my brother. This includes flicking my ear, poking me where I’m ticklish, and also bringing me cookies and tea when I’m holed up in my room. He’s a dear.

Friday, September 28: Went to Montjuïc Castle. We enjoyed the Archeological Museum and then hiked our way up the little mountain, enjoying the gardens and the view of the city.






Thursday, October 6th: Because Jacobo is also new to Barcelona, we decided to go to the Montjuïc Cemetary together. I know, it sounds a little creepy, but it’s actually quite cool… in a creepy sort of way. Regardless, it was not exactly a pick-me-upper, so we walked around the structures from the 1992 Summer Olympic Games before heading home.




Friday, October 7th: Exhausted by the antics of Spanish speaking boys, I declared that I hated boys and was going to be a nun. Jacobo was hardly fazed by my few found religious zeal and instead said, “Courtney, you only hate some boys—not your roommates, right?” Ah, touché. That night, I went out with a friend to a club and danced my worries away.

Saturday, October 8th: Had to rally and face the Barcelona nights once again (I know, my life is so difficult) to celebrate my former roommate's birthday. It’s great to know people (aka roomie Abel) who know every bouncer in the city so that I never, ever have to pay to get into a club.

Tuesday, October 11th: Went to walk along Barceloneta beach with Jacobo. It was the middle of October and 30 degrees Celsius. A positively beautiful day.

Wednesday, October 19th: Booked trip with my friend Ariana to go to Porto, Portugal. Cue the excitement.

Thursday, October 20th: Discovered I can make bolognaise sauce nearly from scratch. I ate a lot of food and attempted to explain to Spanish people why Shakespeare is the shit. Note: It is very difficult to explain the concept of iambic pentameter to non-lit students in Spanish. That evening, I made a trip to the police station when one of my friend’s purses was stolen as we were getting coffee. On the bright side, the police officers were really nice and helpful and with the assistance of all five of us girls, we got everything sorted. Also that night, ETA (a País Vasco terrorist separatist group) declared a permanent ceasefire. This is a monumental event in the history of Spain and I'm so fortunate I got to witness it.

Friday, October 21st: Traveled with my exchange program outside of the city to go to Montserrat, a super cool mountainous rock formation with a lovely chapel and trails to climb. Nature, how I missed thee. After, we went to the Cavas Freixenent, a cava (catalán champagne) company that gave us a tour of their facilities and a free tasting. There was a gift store as well. J











Saturday, October 22nd: Scored an interview to tutor two adorable Catalán sisters, ages 4 and 6. They are positively precious and the family was so kind. They even offered me to au pair for them in the summer. They have a house on the beach. Well, I am returning to California July 10th, so I had to decline, but this could very well work out to my advantage when (not if) I return to Barcelona one day…

Tuesday, October 25th: Lost/had stolen my three-month metro pass that I only had used for one month and my California driver’s license. Cue the bitterness.

Thursday, October 27th to Sunday, October 30th: A blissful weekend in Porto. Lots of walking up and down hills, which made it feel rather like boot camp, but with good wine. I was so in love with that city I felt like I was cheating on Barcelona with it. I’ll have a separate post about that grand adventure. Yeah, I may have filled 12 pages in my Moleskin journal to chronicle the weekend.


Monday, October 31st: Went out with the roomies for a night of Halloween fun. I have become such a bro, playing wingman with these boys: “She’s hot. You should go talk to her. Do it. Doooo itttt.”

Thursday, November 3rd: Waited six hours in an emergency room (welcome to Spanish health care!) to discover that I’m borderline anemic. Oops.

Friday, November 4th: Cooked American brunch for dinner for my Barcelona church youth group. One word: bacon.

Saturday, November 5th: Went to a Spanish friend’s birthday party at this restaurant that turns into a club after midnight. It was American night. When this was announced, just about every head in our group swiveled to face me. Not awkward at all. When we left the club, it was raining and I was the only person with an umbrella in my purse. Then again, at that point I was the only girl. Either way, we all got to the metro station rather damp, including my metro card, which was eaten by the machine at 5 in the morning. Talk about bad luck.

Monday, November 7th: Introduced my Catalán pre-teens to the world of Taylor Swift and had a study party with grilled cheese sandwiches and arroz con leche with Ariana, my Porto buddy.

Wednesday, November 9th: First real Spanish midterm. I think I got the equivalent of a B on it. Not bad, I guess, but I was hoping for a slightly higher score.

Friday, November 11th: Explored part of the old city with my class about Barcelona. Super cool. That night, I had dinner with Jacobo’s friend from Galicia. They spared me and spoke to each other in castellano instead of gallego.

Wednesday, November 16: Did laundry. Note: dryers here pretty much don’t exist. Everything is line dried. With all the rain we’ve been having, I finally got to take my clothes down today (Nov. 23).

Thursday, November 17th: Student strike at UB. I decided to stay away from campus and instead found a bagel shop with a friend and then went to a public library to do homework with friends. We passed notes in the library like the mature 20-year-olds we are. That night, I went out to a bar with friends to have a drink and listen to a cool band. It started raining right as we were walking home around 1 am and I decided to run because it felt good. I walked in the door completely soaked and attempted to get a tarp over my drying clothes, but it was a little late for that. Roomie Jacobo loaned me a towel because mine was outside.

Friday, November 18th: For my Barcelona class, we had to take a walk through part of the city and report our observations, so I enjoyed a leisurely walk down one of  Barcelona’s grand streets. I ate lunch in the Parc de la Ciutadela and then spent the afternoon at the library. That night, I went out clubbing with some friends after youth group and got churros con chocolate at 5 in the morning. When I arrived home, positively stuffed and with that glowing feeling knowing that I could check off “eat churros con chocolate for breakfast” on my bucket list, I came to a lovely realization: I have great friends in Barcelona. I couldn’t be happier with these people.

Sunday, November 20th: Election Day in Spain. The conservative party won by a huge landslide, completely shifting the government and Parliament over from the left wing to the right wing. Cataluña was a little displeased, considering they have always been on the left side of politics. The huge shift can be attributed to the economic crisis: the people wanted change and if the left couldn’t fix it, maybe the right wing will. It should be interesting to see how things change.

Today- Wednesday, November 23rd: I had a midterm today, which prompted coffee at 9 pm last night and also 10 am this morning as I did some last minute cramming. I’ve been lounging all afternoon, waiting for my body to crash. And I have the Thanksgiving Blues, but I’m feeling much better now. Nothing like a little writing therapy. Oh, I’ve started my novel. I have a good feeling about this one.

So yeah… my life in a nutshell. I hope to put up a post on Porto adventures soon. This weekend I’m going to go visit my friend Audra in the beautiful city of Granada. I can’t wait! Also, during the first week of December, Audra and I are going to Santander in Cantabria and Bilbao and Vitoria in País Vasco (Basque Country). It’s gonna be great! (Also, four weeks until I’m home for Christmas!!!)

Much love to everyone at home!

Thanksgiving Blues

Sometimes, words aren’t enough. Which is odd for me to say, considering that I call myself a writer. But it’s true: sometimes words aren’t enough.

It’s hard to form sentences in Spanish in the morning. My family and former roommates know that I’m a charming ray of sunshine (sarcasmsarcasmsarcasm) before breakfast. In Barcelona, I feel lucky if I can get out more than “Buenos días” right when I wake up.

Then of course, there are the awkward pauses when you search for the word you want to say, one that has the right feeling. This especially applies to swear words, which never quite have the zing you want them to. It’s a foreign taste of the tip of your tongue, a second instinct so to speak. And it doesn’t feel quite right.

It is also hard to put into words the feelings of homesickness. It’s hard to see Facebook statuses about heading home for Thanksgiving while in a country where Thanksgiving doesn’t exist. It’s hard to describe what I call the Thanksgiving Blues, but God knows we all feel it. And it’s not even about the turkey or the pumpkin pie, it’s about watching the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade with my sisters, bothering my mother in the kitchen, and sitting quietly with my father in the family room while everyone proceeds to panic. It’s about inside jokes relating to the Great Pie Massacre; it’s about seeing how long it takes for someone in the family to bring up the ever-occurring topic of “shit”; it’s about 30 minute long goodbyes; it’s about the dog pile of cousins on the couch; it’s about nosey relatives and suggestive winks.

These are going to be the things I will miss this Thanksgiving. Yes, I will be going to a fancy restaurant in Barcelona to eat turkey with all the other US kids and while yes, they are part of my Barcelona family, it’s not quite the same. Hence, the Thanksgiving Blues.

Yet, I have so much to not be bluesy about. Hell, I am living my dream in this city that always keeps me on my toes. I have great friends in Barcelona from California, I have amazing roommates, and I even have Spanish and Latino friends. I have a job, a bit of pocket money for traveling, and sufficient Spanish to know what’s going on in class. I have a ticket home for Christmas. This is what I’ve always wanted and I have it… so really, there is nothing to be bluesy about.

My oh my, what a sentimental sap I’ve become. I guess what I’m trying to say is this: to my friends and family Stateside, I miss you more than words can describe. Because sometimes, you know, words aren’t enough.

Saturday, November 12, 2011

Odd October Observations

Goodness, I'm almost at the three month mark of being here and I am terribly behind on updating. School, midterms, life, traveling and an apparent lack of iron have made me quite tired the last month. But I'm on the mend, so I hope to continue updating until I'm all caught up.

Here are my "monthly musings" for October... enjoy and pardon any typos (in my defense, English is a tricky language)!

University Life

·         Expectations

They are never said. You have to figure them out as you go. I had a frustrated teacher finally say what he expected from the students nearly two months into the course. Try to clarify these things early on.

·         Why it’s so damn hard to study here

It’s hard to study in the same place you play tourist. I constantly feel like I’m on vacation and therefore I don’t want to study. Or I get to my piso from school and want to do everything but study. Examples of things to do at home: talk with roommates, watch “The Penguins of Madagascar” in Spanish on the Disney Channel, cook elaborate meals, develop nostalgia for California and write to everyone at home, watch the news, stalk sisters on Facebook, do laundry, attempt to learn Catalán by watching Barça games, check e-mail…

So yeah, it’s tricky business. I find I usually get more things done away from the computer on in the library. Which brings me to my next point…

·         The glories of the library

The library is definitely one of the treasures of the university. Being the book worm I am, I fell in love with it. It smells like old books and there are literally aisles with ancient tombs about to fall apart—naturally, these books are kept locked up, just taunting me as I study. While the organization of the library is a little odd and the filing system can be rather daunting, it is always nice to find a new corner of the library.

Also, people actually respect the holy silence of the library. At UCSB talking is totally fine on the ground floor and second floor, but in the UB library, it is so lovely and quiet, which definitely increases productivity levels. Especially since everyone else is working like a beast, scribbling notes and highlighting sentences. Inspiring, really.

The downside? Pretty much no library is open on the weekend and they are never, ever open on Sundays… which in California is the day when I really could use a library. Well, beggars can’t be chosers.

·         More on grades

The Spanish don’t really tend to care about their grades. I asked my roommate about it and he explained that it is just the typical Spanish approach to everything, a qué será, será (whatever will be, will be) way of life. If they are capable of passing the test, they’ll pass but there is no need to kill themselves studying for it.

“Besides, isn’t winging it more exciting?” roomie asked. No. No it isn’t.

·         Student Strike

As a student of the Universitat de Barcelona, I ought to be more educated on this matter, but honestly, it isn’t my matter. On the 17th of November, there will be a student protest and leaders of this movement have encouraged us to not go to class. I believe students are striking about the increase in student fees (they don’t even really pay much, maybe a couple hundred euros—like Spain, many countries in Europe have free university education) and the threat of privatization. This is just what I’ve gathered from flyers and posters floating around.

Me? I would be going to class if my program had not advised that we take the day off. Why? Because I am paying easily a hundred times more than them to study. Furthermore, it’s not my place to participate in this strike.

I keep on having to remind myself—it’s not my place. I can’t judge: things aren’t better or worse, only different.

It just seems very radical to me. About 95 percent of the students, I believe, are handing this in a very mature fashion. They enter classrooms and politely inform students about meetings to better understand the problem. They hang up witty banners. They gather in the patios of the building, sit in circles, and have student lead discussions.

And then there are the jerks of the world. The people who protest for the sake of protesting, the people who build up a lot of anger and end up hurting their own movement. Students who inconsiderately barge into a classroom with masks covering their faces and cardboard guns, screaming at everyone to not come to class on the 17th.

Yep, this happened. My teacher was quite displeased to say the least and while they yelled, he tried to calmly explain to the protesters that we were all Americans and were not involved (and not to be involved) in the matter. I could have maybe taken this student strike seriously and respected those involved had it not been for this event. What these protesters didn’t know was that seeing guns in a classroom hits a little too close to home for many Americans. (One word: Columbine.)

I have resigned myself to never fully understanding certain things here. Like I said before, I just have to remind myself: things aren’t necessarily better or worse, they are just different. And that’s why I am here: the world is wide and people can learn a lot from each other. As unpleasant as this experience was, I started talking to a Spaniard and learned more about the culture of protesting: they are really just making up for all the repression during Franco’s era a lot of people protest to join in with their friends. These are just observations, not judgments. Then again, politics are universally messy.

Food

·         Manners when eating out

Eating out with friends is always super fun, but there are some things to pay attention to as a foreigner. The times I’ve eaten out at nicer places occurred when I was invited by one person and only knew that person in a group of ten or twenty. It forced me to strike up conversations with other people and was great fun, but I learned a lot.

The easiest way to not commit a faux pas is to observe other people. At restaurants in Spain, bread costs money, so wait for one person to grab a loaf before you do. Same thing with wine: it’s always better to let someone else open up the bottle. Also, wait until everyone has their plate before you begin eating.

Having lovely three-course meals are a great way to relax and meet new people. So eat slowly, talk between bites, and enjoy!

·         Traditional Catalán food

I thought I had my taste of Catalán food, but apparently, I was mistaken. In fact, I have probably had very little Catalán food because it is a tradition that is really only maintained in the home rather than in restaurants… quite sad, considering I don’t have a Catalán mommy to cook for me. (I don’t have any mommy to cook for me… saaaaad!)

However, my darling teacher for “Barcelona in its socio-cultural context” filled us in on some traditional plates. (Nonetheless, I am still convinced that the potato is considered its own food group here.)

The most classical dish is pa amb tomàquet (in Spanish, pan con tomate, in English bread with tomato). It’s delicious and simple: some bread, a little olive oil, some salt, sometimes a bit of garlic, and some tomato mushed on top. Yummy!

The typical meats of Catalunya include butifarra (pork sausage) and jabalí (wild pig). They also will eat pretty much anything that comes from the sea and refer to each kind of mushrooms by their proper names. Very few dishes are fried and they instead use herbs and spices for flavor. Chestnuts (castañas) and sweet potatoes are also a typical holiday treat.

Out of everything, the Catalan sweets are the best and are always abundant on festivos (holidays). They are often served in conjunction with moscatell, a super sweet dessert wine. Some tasty treats include crema catalana (a sweet custard), buñuelos (balls of deep fried dough) for Holy Week, panellets (balls of marzipan covered in pine nuts, served exclusively in the last two weeks of October), and pastel de brazo de gitano (the very politically incorrect name for a jelly-roll cake). Yum!!!

People

·         Police station adventures

I have been taught to believe that when things turn sour, there are usually sweet people around to help you out. This was definitely the case when my friend’s purse got stolen while a group of us girls were having coffee and we all went with her to the police station. It was an unhappy situation, but with four of us to help the girl out, things probably went as smoothly as possible. To make things even better, all the people at the police station were super kind. I mean, robberies in Barcelona happen all the time and so you would think that the people dealing with this sort of thing on a daily basis would become rather apathetic, but everyone was so kind. The police officers talked to us about their daughters as paperwork was filled out, and every policeman to walk in the door exclaimed how bien acompañada (well accompanied) my friend was and how we were all such good friends to help her out. When everything was settled, they told us to stay safe and sent us on our way. It could have been a lot worse, but these kind people definitely made things easier.

·         Maturity

This is how I explained it to a Spanish friend: “If you’re twenty-something years old and still living with your family, you have issues. Stateside, you move away from home to go to college, go to work in another city, go to grad school in another city, and then end up somewhere else.” However, not leaving the bird’s nest is totally normal for the Catalans.

I mean, who wouldn’t want having their mommy and daddy around? I have been away from mine for so long that it seems like a great idea, but I know for a fact that living on my own, getting my own jobs, taking care of school matters on my own, and paying my living expenses has made me a more independent and mature person. That being said, a 20-year-old American can easily be as mature as a 25-year-old Spaniard.

When I say they aren’t as mature as I am, I don’t mean to say that they are immature. The Spanish in general are a lot more loosey-goosey than Amercians (see “Spanish Time”), so that may have something to do with it, but sometimes I feel much older when I’m with friends my age here. Then again, I most certainly have my immature moments. Like everything, it is just a matter of cultural differences.

·         Spanish Time

It is a super convenient phenomenon, but sometimes it really pisses me off. When a teacher says that their class goes from 11:30 to 1, what they really mean is that class is from 11:40 to 1:00. This is because the class before (from 10 to 11:30) really ends at 11:30 on the dot, so you are given a ten minute break. Terrific, considering I find myself always bustling around campus to pee and grab a bite to eat.

Then there’s the downside. You ask your friend to get coffee at 2. You arrive at your meeting spot and wait five minutes. Ten minutes. You get a text saying that they will be a little bit late. Alright. You wait five minutes. You wait ten minutes. You contemplate the meaning of life and make a mental checklist of all the other stuff you could be doing at that moment. You get a phone call.

“Where are you?”
“At Diagonal.”
“The metro?”
“Yeah.”
“Well, I’m there too and I don’t see you.”
“That’s because there are about five million entrances to the Diagonal metro stop. Which one are you at?”

Indeed, no get together is complete without someone getting lost. So, coffee at 2 can mean anything from coffee at 2:15 to 3 pm. For Americans, this is the end of the world because we tend to be rather prickly about time. I know I am because I am busy and schedule time to see friends. However, the Spanish are definitely more relaxed about time so if you really are running on a schedule, ham it up so they show up at 2:10.

Style/fashion

·         Fanny packs are… in?

I don’t know if you can imagine my shock and horror to discover that fanny packs are rather cool. Not only are they cool according to the Catalán youth, but I think they look cool. Now, before I am harshly judged, these are no ordinary fanny packs: they are more like a mix between a money belt and a tool belt. Instead of looking dorky, it actually is kind of badass. Yep, I went there.

·         Sagging backpacks

Remember in middle school how it was really cool to wear your backpack so it bounced on your butt with every step you took? I am happy to announce that this movement has made it to Spain. Yay Amurrrica.

·         Converse are cool

I am so so glad I refused to leave my Converse in California because they are the coolest shoes in Spain. I have gotten so many compliments on my plain black and white Chucks. Converse are quite expensive in Spain and everyone was quite shocked when I said I got mine at the outlet for $30 (€21). For once, I get to be fashionably cool. Yep, rocking the leather jacket (also very cool in Spain, almost everyone has one) and my Converse. Woot!

·         Winter boots

Women have cute boots here. I have noticed that the over-the-knee boot is rather in this season. However, I like seeing little girls with their little boots on… so cute!

·         Tights and shorts

It may be cold, but tights cure everything here. It is not at all uncommon to see a girl wearing a skirt or shorts in the fall with tights underneath. However, one weird thing is that sometimes girls will wear nude tights under shorts. I think it’s weird, but shorts have just caught on in Spain this summer, so they are still making the transition over.

On a similar topic, one has to wear layers in Barcelona, just like in California. Why, you ask? Because the sky is bipolar. Once, it was raining so I went inside my piso to grab a raincoat and when I walked outside, it had stopped. Five minutes later, it was sunny. Well done, sky. Cue the slow clap.

·         The coat and scarf phenomenon

I don’t know how they do it, but I want to know their magic. All Europeans just know how to wear their coats and scarves. I just toss these items on, but they have an art and it is quite esthetically pleasing. Like I said, I want to know their magic.

Transportation

·         RyanAir

This is how I get around Europe. Cheap flights anywhere. Barcelona is essentially three hours maximum from any major European city, which is terrific. The only thing to be wary of is luggage. They are super strict on the size and weight of all bags and the fees for breaking these rules are horrifying. You must travel light—a backpack for the weekend and nothing more. However, the flights are always on time and you can book them even last minute for a decent price. Our grand discovery was finding out that the Spanish version of the site costs less money than the English version. Yay bilingualism!

·         Fold up bikes

Isn’t taking a bike on the metro/bus a pain? Have no fear! In Barcelona, I have seen people with fold-up bikes. It’s super cool, they end up about the size of a large backpack.

·         Metro ticket madness

Last monthly musing, I heralded the metro to the skies. This month, I am rather mad at it. You see, the metro is great until you start having trouble with your metro ticket because losing it is like losing a gift certificate. Losing a gift certificate is like losing cash, essentially. So, I’ve had rather bad luck with metro passes during October. First, I lost or got stolen my three month metro pass that I had only used for about a month along with my California driver’s license. Not cool. Then weeks later, the metro machine ate my damp metro pass (courtesy of the downpour that evening); and because it was 4 in the morning, there weren’t exactly people around to recover it. So now I have to hope that they find it in the machine and reimburse me.

Unfortunate. The people in the metro ticket office should know me by name by now.

Catalan Culture/History

·         Halloween and Día de los Muertos

Halloween is just starting to catch on in Spain. However, they celebrate it in a more innocent way, I think. My roommates informed me quite seriously that I couldn’t be an an 80s jazzercise dancer because that wasn’t scary and people had to dress in scary costumes for Halloween. Imagine their horror as I explained Halloween in Isla Vista.

But, my Halloween turned out to be super fun. It was my first time out on the town with both of my roommates (Abel and Jacobo… my boys) and it was hilarious. I played wingman most of the time and have become quite the bro—“Hombre, ella es guapa.” English: “Man, she’s hot.” However, at the end of the night I was still the princess and all my drinks were paid for. They are really too good to me.

The great thing about Halloween is that the next day is a festivo, so there’s no school and usually no work. November 1st is Día de los Muertos and in Spain, this is the day when everyone goes to cemeteries and mourns the loss of their loved ones. In Mexico, it turns into a bit more of a celebration of life rather than mourning it. However, it is very traditional to indulge in panetells and moscatell on this day (see “Traditional Catalán food”).

·         Universal health care

I had my first experience with the universal health care system about two weeks back. My lips had been super cracked in the corners for weeks and chapstick had not helped. I mentioned it to a friend and she said her friend had that symptom and ended up discovering she was anemic. I hadn’t been eating that much meat and had been rather tired lately, so I figured going to the doctor wouldn’t hurt.

There is a clinic that the American students can go to for free, but we have to go to the emergency room, which means that our wait depends on when we get their and how urgent our health situation is. Having chapped lips and being tired doesn’t rank too high, obviously, so I ended up waiting awhile. I heard it would probably be a two, maybe three hour week, so I brought a school book.

Two hours rolled into three. Three hours rolled into four. Finally, I got called into a room to talk to a doctor. Over the next hour, a couple different nurses popped in and out. During the fifth hour, they finally took a blood sample and sent me back out to the waiting room. At this point, it was about 10 pm at night and I was tired, hungry, frustrated, and was uncommonly jealous of the girl in the waiting room who had her father with her. The doctors told me I had to wait an hour for the blood results, so I waited. When the results finally came, it did turn out I was low on iron, so they told me I needed to eat more meat and gave me a prescription for a cream to heal my lips before sending me on my way.

When I got home, I was almost too tired to eat, but shuffled into the kitchen to make some eggs. Jacobo, my new Galician roommate, came in and noticed the bandage on my arm and asked what happened. When I explained I had been to the doctor to see if I was anemic, he immediately went into doctor mode. After all, he is a nurse.

“Have you been dizzy lately? Is your menstruation cycle running normal?”
I just about died of mortification.
"Jacobo, you are my roommate, not my doctor.”
“But I can be both,” he insisted with a smile. (I know, freaking adorable.) “Can I look at your test results?” And I gave them with him and he sat with me and explained everything I needed to know. Like I said, these boys are too good to me.

However, the funniest comment was when I said I had been at the hospital for six freaking hours. Jacobo merely grinned and clapped me on the back.
“Welcome to Spanish health care!”

·         Elections

Elections in Spain are November 20th, which is most fittingly the day that Franco died. Considering the man ran a horrible dictatorship and essentially put the country 40 years in the past while nearly destroying an entire generation, I think it’s totally okay that they celebrate a little democracy.

In the States, elections are horribly messy, lots of mud-slinging and campaigning in every single outlet of the media. While there is definitely news of the elections on TV here, it is nowhere near the amount in the States. This election is actually super important because it is anticipated that the conservative candidate will win, which could mean the end to a number of progressive laws, included the law that has legalized gay marriage in Spain. Needless to say, it should be really interesting to watch.

I guess I came to Spain in a really eventful year because I have been blessed to witness ETA (a País Vasco terrorist separatist group) declare the end of violence in their fight to give País Vasco, a region in Spain, independence from the rest of the country, and I also get to see the elections. I’ll let you know how they go!

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Obviously, I’m super behind in updating this blog because I’ve been really busy with school. I have had midterms the past few weeks and my iron deficiency makes me sleepy. But I’m eating more iron-filled foods and trying to rest up, so I’m making progress! I hope to update you all soon. Missing everyone so much! Besos!

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Two Kinds of Rollercoasters

Okay, I’m going to do my best to get back on track with updating my blog. There’s just been such much going on that I have a hard time keeping up with the present, let alone recalling the past and putting pen to paper, then fingers to keyboard. However, today I enjoyed the beach (80 degrees Fahrenheit in mid October—I’m in love), some dulce de leche ice cream, and a glass of rosé wine because I can, so I’m in a charming mood.

Like always, we are going to travel back in time… this time to Friday, September 16th. Yes, that was pretty much a month ago. Like I said, lots going on.

Anyway, I had to go to the police station to get my NIE (número de identificación de extranjero, Foreigner Identification Number) and was expecting a rather arduous weight. This meant showing up at the police station at 7:30 for it to allow people in at 8:30 for it to open around 9 or 10. Three cheers for bureaucracy. I brought a book with me to pass the time, but was joined by some hungover EAP California kids. We played MASH to pass the time (ah, middle school sleepovers) and I married David Hasslehoff.

When I finished up everything around noon, I went back to my piso, took a nap, and then cleaned. Plans for the evening fell through, which resulted in whining in the apartment like a five-year-old who lost their favorite toy. This made me quite determined on Saturday to go on an adventure. Where to, you ask? Tibidabo.

Tibidabo is possibly the happiest place in Barcelona. It’s the Disneyland of Barcelona, except with a panoramic view of the entire city and an immensely beautiful temple. A note to my future husband, I would like to be proposed to here, please.

Half of the adventure was getting there and none of it was as I planned. In the end, I ended up taking a bus to Plaça Catalunya, walking to Plaça Universitària, taking a bus to the base of Avinguda Tibidabo, taking a tramvia (trolley) up Avinguda Tibidabo, and then taking a funicular (sort of like a cable car, except more enclosed) up to the summit. Tickets for the tramvia and funicular were not included in my metro pass and ended up adding to €8, but it was worth it a thousand times over ago.

Tramvia Blau, built in 1901

Going up the hill...

The funicular

There were little children dashing around with face paint, calling for their parents, and licking popsicle droplets off their fingers. Couples held hands, parents chased after children, and laughter and squeals of joy wafted through the cool, summit breeze.




Tibidabo is the oldest amusement park in Barcelona. The temple, Temple Expiatori de Sagrat Cor, began construction in 1902 and finished in 1961. The amusement park was built during the same time and still has some of the original rides from the turn of the 20th century. Now, it is six stories of endless fun (there’s even a little rollercoaster!) built into the side of the 512 meter mountain in the Serra de Collserola.




I ended up spending about two hours up there, but I easily could have spent all day. All I really wanted to see was the view and the temple, and neither disappointed. I’ve been blessed to see a number of views of the city already—from La Pedrera or the Arena de Barcelona—but this was definitely the best yet… I am unsure if anything can top it… literally. Seeing the entire city stretch out before me was a humbling reminder that I’ve seen so little of the city.





I walked around for awhile, smiling at the gleeful atmosphere. The happiness was palpable and contagious, yet just meters away stood a very solemn temple. The view behind the temple was equally amazing. It seemed as though the city rolled up the hill and then came to an abrupt stop, for behind the temple were only kilometers of rolling green hills.

 



The stone steps to the temple stretched higher and higher until I reached the sanctuary. It was quite beautiful, with mosaics, gorgeous paintings, and angel’s breath everywhere.






Fact: I hate crying. Yet churches here make me a weepy mess. I’ve just always associated church with family, having gone to the same church my entire life and being used to sitting in the pews with my family. But here I was, all aloney on my owny, in the happiest freaking place in all of Barcelona, nearly crying. Pathetic. But true. Sigh.

Nonetheless, it really was a great day. I will always look back on Tibidabo with the utmost fondness. And I will probably return.



I went home in the quickest way possible—funicular, tramvia, ferrocarril (sort of trains, but underground, but not a subway), metro, went to the grocery store, and then had two friends over for dinner. We enjoyed ourselves so much that we ended up being late for a concert at our church, but because of “Spanish time,” we were just fine.

Next up on the night’s schedule was bar-hopping in the Barrio Gótico. Now, sometimes the Gòtic can be a little sketchy at night. For hundreds of years, this area was surrounded by a wall and so the streets are like a labyrinth—narrow, serpentine, and occasionally poorly lit. Because of this, there is a tendency for drug dealers and other shady creatures to lurk about here, but the Gòtic is such an interesting, colorful place that it can’t be ignored. As always in a city, one must be careful and aware.

We ended up at a bar called the Harlem Jazz Club, which did not play jazz music, but instead Portuguese reggae. It was quite fun and we all marveled at the awesome couples who made salsa dancing look extremely easy. Next stop was a new wave/jive bar called Manchester’s. We pretty much fell in love with the place, doing the twist to our heart’s content and laughing with the zealous and enthusiastic DJ. After this, everyone was quite tired except for me and one of my other friends, so we met up with my roommate at the bar he works at and then went to Mary’s Place, a nearby club where I can get into free with dearest Abel.

I got home, showered, went to bed, and then woke up three hours later for church. I pounded coffee before the sermon and then insisted upon having coffee during our weekly Café Sunday session. I had planned on our group going to a little café on a street nearby my house called Carrer de Castillejos. You literally have to take escalators/stairs up the street because it’s so steep!


However, there was no food at the café, so we walked off quickly in search of something else. It started sprinkling at this point, but we settled into a café on the corner of Carrer de Cartagena, Avinguda Gaudí, and Carrer de San Antoni Maria Clare. We had an exuberant waiter who seemed quite happy to speak English with us, even when we were perfectly capable of understand his Spanish. This happens a lot. Sometimes it’s frustrating, but one just has to take it with a smile and respond in Spanish until they get the point… because it’s easier to understand Spanish than English here.

Which brings us to Monday. September 19. At this point, I had been in Spain for just a few days over a month and I was right on track emotionally. For the first month, everything was great and exciting—I saw lots of new things, played tourist, and was moving so fast that I did not have time to stop and miss home. However, one month in: I have my piso, my classes, and a routine, which means breathing time. Month two is usually pretty hard apparently, as is month three because this is a time of adjustment. The good thing is that it will pick back up. There are highs and lows—it’s an emotional rollercoaster.


Monday was a low. I didn’t do my homework and instead ate cereal straight from the box. Pathetic. However, by Wednesday, I had learned some new coping skills. I have discovered that when I’m in a bluesy mood, I like to cook… especially comfort food, which usually means soup. So that Wednesday the 21st, I made a soup with garlic, onion, carrots, potatoes, star pasta, and love while I read my favorite Spanish book La Sombra del Viento—definitely an improvement from cereal, I believe. Roomie Abel was rather bluesy that night as well and so I stayed up talking with him. Well, more like listening.

I’m usually a talker, but Spain has taught me how to be a good listener. When it’s tricky to articulate myself, I usually keep my thoughts to myself instead of voicing them. It’s not something I do purposefully, it just works out that way—I rarely dominate conversations here unless I’m with a bunch of strangers who suddenly realize I’m from California and began to fire questions at me: Why are you here? When did you arrive? How long will you be here? Do you like it? What have you seen?

But listening is a good skill to have, so I’m glad it’s something I’m acquiring. As promised, a few pictures of my piso!

Entryway

Hallway... my room is the first on the left and next is the kitchen

My room!

Bookshelf <3




My corkboard... on the left are all the places I've been and in the middle is my Spanish bucket list

Kitchen


Living room


The heart and soul of the piso... the terrace (la terraza)



Bomb homemade crepes: with banana and Nutella, Nutella and dulce de leche, and apple compote with brie cheese! Mmmmmm!

Roomie love!!!

I included a picture of Abel and I before we stuffed ourselves with the most delicious crepes ever on Thursday before the Mercè. What’s the Mercè, you ask? Basically, it is the best weekend ever in Barcelona. But that’s a story for another post. J