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 16^th. 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

Stupendous Stuff from September

SEPTEMBER MUSINGS

So, throughout the month of September, I took notice of some interesting stuff/observations/tips that never quite made it into my blog entries. As a result, I’ve decided that every month I will have a post where I simply describe interesting cultural/societal things in Spain, Catalunya, and Barcelona. Here we go!

University Life

 ·         Teachers calling students out

“Joan, why don’t you have your handout with you?” “Helena, are you chewing gum?” “Manuel, did you even do the reading?” Yep, these are normal things to hear. Professors really have no qualms calling students out. These professors are here to teach, not to do hand holding; however, they are passionate about their field and are eager to have students participate and ask questions.

How to avoid getting called out? Don’t give them a reason. Show up to class attentive and prepared.

·         Expectations

Professors have high expectations. Like I said before, there’s not a lot of hand-holding. You are expected to come to class having done your reading and any further research to fully understand the text. Most of the time there is a “required” reading list and a “supplementary” reading list; also most of the time, the “supplementary” list might as well be “required.” You are expected to do things on your own; a lot of the time, professors don’t spell out quite clearly what you should be doing to prepare yourself for midterms.

So, what should you do? Honestly, I’m still trying to figure it out myself. There is an ideal way to take notes, to do the readings, and to study and I’m still picking up on what I should be doing. I’ve decided I’m pretty much going to live in my professor’s office for the next few weeks once I have myself all caught up. In the meanwhile, I’m going to class (with print-outs of the reading, because it is expected—I caved a bought a printer), taking notes, and trying to keep up with the readings… sigh. Easier said than done.

When in doubt, ask.

·         Lack of emphasis on grades

American students care a lot about their grades. In Spain, there is definitely less of an emphasis on grades. I don’t know why or how, but that’s just how it is. So, don’t be a point whore. These classes are harder because they are in a different language and that’s going to reflect in your grade in all likelihood. Instead, just try to learn—that’s sort of what the year is about.

·         Taking notes

The Spaniards take notes like beasts. They will go through pages of legal sized printing paper in an hour and a half class. Sit next to someone who seems diligent about writing notes. When they write, you should be writing too. Also, it is quite helpful to sneak a peek when you missed a point or if you get lost during the lecture. J


Food and Dining

·         Orange juice

Zumo de naranja… orange juice. It’s a hit or miss sort of thing. Usually it’s not too good from the grocery store unless it’s not from concentrate, but there is nothing like going to a café and getting a bocadilla and fresh OJ. Don’t be surprised if it comes with a pack of sugar. I don’t know why.

·         Pay for bread on table

You know when you go to restaurants and they put out bread on the table? Stateside, I’m squealing with joy: “Yay! Free carbs!!!” Here, not so much. You touch your bread and you pay for it. So, unless you are starving and willing to pay the extra euro, wave over your waiter and tell them you don’t want the bread. Or, shove the bread clearly onto the other side of the table.

·         Ofertas and judging cafés

When going out for coffee with friends, always look at the ofertas. These are combo deals that let you know what the prices of the café are like. Things like café con leche and a croissant, una bocadilla and zumo… these deals are usually written on a chalk board outside the café.

If you’re going to a café for lunch, check out the menú del día. This a meal (usually one or two plates), dessert, and a drink all for a set price, usually between 8 and 12 euros. When you’re in the mood to sit down and have a real Spanish lunch and thoroughly enjoy your siesta, this is the way to go.

·         Coffee is damn good

Coffee here is universally good because they make it the right way. Yes, there is Starbucks here, but let’s face it: Starbucks makes shitty coffee. Do yourself a favor and go to a café. Any café. You will be irrevocably changed.

·         Bars and prices

Bars are wonderful places, especially on nights when there are Barça games… but get there early so you have a seat! Also, if you are at a bar/restaurant and want to get a drink, get it from the bar. Oftentimes on menus, you will see that food/drinks are different prices depending if you get them from the bar or from a table. The bar is usually cheaper.

·         Bread

Bread is always fresh. Which means it’s ten times better. Don’t be lame and buy sliced loaves of bread at the grocery store—instead, pick up a baguette or fresh round bread. You will never go back.

Also, it’s totally not uncommon to see a person walking down the street with five baguettes in a grocery bag. Yeah, they take their bread seriously.

·         Waiters

It is not customary to tip in Spain. Tips are included in the waiter’s salary, so they are not going to brown-nose in hopes for a little extra dough. This means that if you want a waiter’s attention, you will have to vigorously flag them down, usually by waving a hand and saying, “Disculpe,” which means, “Excuse me.” Also, waiters will be outwardly angry if you come in at a meal time, take up a table, and only get drinks and tapas. So try not to.

People

·         Rolling cigarettes

Most people here roll their own cigarettes. It’s really cool to watch.

·         On getting sick

If you tell a Spanish friend, “Oh, I have a cough,” their next question is always, “Do you have the flu? Have you taken anything for it?” Your response is usually, “No and, um, no, it’s only a cough,” but they will have none of that. If you tell them that you just need some more sleep and a little vitamin C, they will laugh at you. However, if two weeks later you still don’t feel fabulous, suck it up and go to the pharmacy. Don’t worry: cough syrup is universally disgusting.

·         Swearing

The Spanish like to swear, so it’s very easy to pick up on swearwords here—all you have to do is listen to normal conversations… which is easy, because the Spanish tend to yell. A bit like Italians, really, so I ought to be used to it with my big Italian family, but it’s a little scarier because you only understand 50 percent of the words with how fast they are speaking. Nonetheless, one catches on. Good stuff. Swearing is so wide spread, that it’s not even uncommon to hear a newscaster swear. Yep, welcome to Spain.

·         PDA

PDA: Public Displays of Affection. In Spain, it is not uncommon to see couples continuously—and passionately—making out on a street corner. Or a restaurant. Or a bar. Or (my favorite) the metro. I explained to one of my friends that this is a big no-no stateside and that it makes people, including myself, quite uncomfortable.

“So what do you do?” he asked.
“Holding hands is fine. A quick kiss. But nothing too long,” I responded. He thought about it for a moment.
“How frigid!” he at last cried out. “Here in Spain we are a little more passionate.”
Passionate. Well, that’s one way to look at it, I suppose.

·         Touchy feely

Fact: people here are a little more touchy-feely. This can go one of two ways. The first way is great: close friends are really affectionate. Cheek kisses all around, hugs, back massages… it’s nice. The other way? You’re in the club, getting your groove on, and guys are grabbing your hand, pulling on your arm to direct you, making awkward physical contact as they pass by… not fun.

However, this sort of comes with a culture. If a guy thinks you look good, he’ll let you know. My friend and I were walking down the street at night and every time we passed a group of guys, they would shout to get our attention: “¡Guapa! ¡Oye, rubia!” (Yes, apparently I’m considered “blonde” in Spain. Dislike.) No harm in shouting, but it’s really hard to continue a conversation when someone is shouting that you’re blonde. Just sayin’… however, it’s just something to get used to.

·         In da club

Unless you’re in a salsa club (great fun, by the way), people dance a little more reservedly. Also, people dance face-to-face, which is not at all like in the States. So, don’t go grinding on other people or your friends unless you want strange looks.


Style/fashion

·         Half shaved head

This is one of those things that I cannot give reason to and only explain. There is a trend with the girls here to put a deep side part in your hair and simply shave off the side of the part with less hair. It’s quite a badass look.

Among other interesting styles are the Mohawk, the mullet, dreadlocks, or even better, the mullet/dreadlock combination. Can you say súper sexi?

·         Heels

Fear not thy heels, ladies! In Spain, there are more options on finding cute shoes with heels. No longer will you have to pick between stilettos and flats, because there is a happy medium. Same thing with boots. Plus, with all the walking you’ll be doing, you’ll go through shoes surprisingly quickly. Invest in a good pair.

·         Makeup

Makeup seems to be kept fairly simple here. However, there is definitely a hopping punk culture here. (Think Avril Levine.) One thing I’ve noticed is that girls like to wear dramatic lipstick—a bright pink or red.

·         Blackberry

Blackberries seem to be the phone of choice because like iPhones, they have that texting-via-internet doo-da called “Wassup.” Terrific name, I know. But, future exchange students, you will probably have the cheapest, shittiest phone possible. Embrace it.

·         Jewelry

You can never have too many bracelets on your arm here. Seriously.

·         Fashion as a social marker

Fashion is definitely a social marker here, but perhaps not as much as in Madrid. Brand names are very important and people like having that logo show. However, clothing is not as “loud” in Catalunya as it is in Madrid. Reasons for this phenomenon will be provided in “Catalan Culture/History: On money.”


Transportation

·         Crossing streets

Cross when you see the little green man. Or if you see the red man, look one way and walk if you see no cars. Note: the second part does not apply to large streets. Also, the blinking green man to warn you that you don’t have enough time to walk is not shitting around. You have three seconds if you’re lucky.

·         How to stand in the metro without dying

In the metro, the best way to stand is so that you are parallel to the tracks. Keeping your feet shoulder-width apart and slightly staggered should keep you fairly well balanced. Having a rail to hold onto is also nice.

If you are sitting on the metro and you see an elderly person, a pregnant woman, or kids get on, you should always offer your seat to them. It’s a nice thing to do and I see it all the time.

·         Dealing with skirts

Skirts are lovely to wear when it’s 30+ degrees Celsius outside, but one must be wary in the metro. Moving trains + drafty tunnels = billowing skirt. Also be careful walking up and down stairs in the tunnels because the air can get up your skirt. Also, avoid the metro vents when walking on the street. It only took me about three weeks to learn.

·         Fun with hills

Depending where you live, you may have the blissful joy of walking up and down hills to get anywhere every single day. Wear good shoes and stay positive: “My butt is going to look awesome!”

·         Orienting yourself/context clues

If it weren’t for the high risers, it would be pretty easy to orient yourself in Barcelona. When giving directions, many Catalans will either tell you to go toward the mountains or go toward the beach. National monuments, like the Sagrada Familia or Montjüic, are also helpful.

For me, the hardest part about orienting myself is right when I get off the metro—here, I get all turned around. There are usually street maps of the blocks surrounding the metro near the exit, but they are not oriented properly. However, they do show building numbers so you can figure out if you are heading in the right way.

And as always, carry a map. I have three. No shame.

·         Lanes

Car lanes are tiny and drivers don’t always manage to stay in them. However, a super cool thing is that the furthest right hand lane is designated for buses and taxis. Also, the streets in the district of L’Eixample are cut at a 45 degree angle, which is also perfect for taxis to pull aside.


Catalan Culture/History

·         Flags and symbols

Flags and symbols are very important in Spanish and Catalan culture. For instance, the flag of Spain under Franco is absolutely illegal. Also, there are two Catalan flags: one official flag and one independista for those who want Catalunya to become independent from Spain. Because of this popular mentality, it is sort of rare to see a Spanish flag in Catalunya. 99 percent of the time, you will see the Catalan flag.

Another symbol is the national hymns. Like the Franco flag, the Franco hymn is illegal to play. However, our teacher did play a little for us, but only got about fifteen seconds into the song before he shuddered and stopped. Our teacher is young and was probably not even born during Franco’s time and it still brings out bad feelings in people. These things are to be taken quite seriously.

·         On old people

Old people are great. On weekend afternoons they practically live at cafes and watch Barcelona yawn and bustle (depending on the time). They talk to you on buses and are always super nice if you help them out or lend your seat. However, these old people are deceptively badass.

With a higher quality of life, advances in medicine, and the lowering of the mortality rate of children, the average woman in Spain is expected to live until 84 and the average man to 77—a pretty big difference when compared to the early 1900s, when men were only expected to live to 36 with all the wars. Hence, Spain is sort of becoming a more “antiquated” city because there are more older people than younger people.

But, these people have lived through Franco’s regime, so they are tough cookies. Also, they are quite mobile, always walking around the streets. Don’t be surprised to see them in the middle of a protest, just as passionate as the 20-something-year-olds. Indeed, these old people are cool.

·         On money

Catalunya has always been a fairly industrial area, which means lots of new money. It’s a battle between the old aristocracy and new bourgeoisie. While aristocrats are seen as idle money-flaunters, the bourgeoisie tended to view money more as a form of security rather than a bragging right. The latter mentality is typical of Catalunya and can be reflected in a number of ways, especially in how people dress. While brands are quite important, Catalans will not mind this as much and tend to dress a little more conservatively (without as many intricate details) than people in Madrid.

·         On politics

Politics are complicated, so I’m only going to try to explain a few things. Republicans here (republicanos) are not conservative, like in the States—instead, they support the Republic of Spain. Also, you have centralistas and autonomistas. The former supports a central government in Madrid, while the latter is more in favor of have the different autónomas in Spain govern themselves (Catalunya is one of Spain’s 17 autónomas).

Politics are complicated and messy. There is a liberal and a conservative party in Spain, but I think more of the problems they have are between the autónomas and Madrid. Many autónomas, such as Catalunya, Pais Vaso, and Navarra, seek independence and dislike taking orders from the central government in Madrid, causing a huge rift. That’s why people here take Barça v. Madrid games super seriously—it’s not just about the game. It’s about national pride.

·         On protesting

Protesting seems to be a national hobby. As foreign exchange students, we are to avoid it at all costs, but it’s interesting to watch at a distance. Police block off the streets and the protesters do their thing as everyone else simply continues on with their lives, not grumbling about the blocked street, noise, or anything.


Welp, that’s all I got for the month of September! I’ve been crazy busy lately, but I’ll try to get back to my usual posts. I’m still weeks behind. Oops.

Besos!!!!!