Jueves el 30
So, I just got back from Granada on Sunday night, on our second and final excursion (essentially a group of 20-somethings shoved on a bus for 5 hours, then spending 3 days and nights together wreaking havoc on whatever city we’re in). On the way there, we made a stop over in Córdoba, to see the mesquita (it’s a really old mosque, at least it was a mosque until the Christians took it over, now it’s a cathedral, but still really big and cool). Amazing little city, and gave us a peek into how Granada was going to be. Granada is this crazy city in the mountains, and it’s full of hippies, gypsies, sweet Arab shops (this obviously means kebabs, too). The most important part), and la Alhambra, which is a huge Arab palace that’s still standing. It has big, pretty gardens, tons of different rooms and buildings, and lots of cool things to see. We spent our full day exploring that, and the other two nights struggling not to get kicked out of the hotel we were staying at. Something about a group of 30 Americans really rattles old Spanish people. For one thing, they pulled the same shit on us that they did in Ubescubeda, complaining about us being there before we actually did anything. And I’m pretty sure they were pulling room numbers out of hats and calling in complaints. I will tell you why. Marisa and I roomed together. We were in room 122. Room 114 (which is surprisingly far, I have a theory that the hotel we stayed at is an old crazy house, and they made the hallways super narrow so they could fit in even MORE shitty little rooms into the shithole. Seriously, I think they paid someone off to earn that second star) is where a group of about 15 people were hanging out and having some drinks before we left to go out the first night. I should add screaming to that, too. We all went out after this at about 11, and groups of us came home at various points of the night. Marisa, Jimmy and I were one of the early groups, returning at about 2. The three of us sat in our room, listened to some quiet music on my laptop (laptop speakers are the anti-loud, they suck), and chatted, quietly. We were rudely interrupted by the hotel manager coming up in through our door, telling Jimmy to get out and for us to go to bed. I said sorry, this is in Spanish, and he says, “NO, no sorrys, you guys have already caused enough problems for us! We’re going to call the police!”
Ok… well, didn’t know it was a crime being 21 and going to bed after Jeopardy gets done. We followed his instructions, because none of us really feel like getting arrested for a dumb reason like that. The next morning, our director, Ciara, pulls Marisa and I aside telling us that our room had gotten multiple complaints the night before (if you got more than 5 calls, you get called up and scolded, or as we liked to call it that weekend, black-listed). Seems strange, considering that from about 8 until 2 our room was completely empty. And I KNOW Spanish people don’t have good hearing, because they’re always too busy yelling and listening to themselves talk. This will remain a mystery. I mean, if I would’ve known we were gonna get complaints like rock stars, I probably would’ve at least broken some shit and flooded something while throwing a rager of a party.
The rest of the half days we had, we spent looking through all of the Arab shops, and the little street vendors, dodging gypsies, and seeing how many kebabs we could each eat in one weekend. I ate 4 I’m pretty sure. Could be 5. Gross…
Now, I’m sitting in the Madrid Barajas airport, remembering how much I hate this place. I woke up at 4:30 this morning to catch at train to Jerez, where I caught a plane to here, Madrid. Here I will catch my plane to London, where I will get really fucking lost and probably cry a couple of times before I get to my hotel.
I also just bought a 7 euro sandwich, which was the cheapest thing I could find in the airport that still had vegetables on it.
At least Yumi lent me her iPod so I can pretend I always know where I’m going. People don’t think you don’t know where you’re going when you look straight ahead and have headphones in. Trust me, I do it a LOT.
Cheers.
martes, 12 de mayo de 2009
jueves, 23 de abril de 2009
I Fought the Wall, and the Wall Won.
Jueves el 23
So, Lagos. A group of 8 of us set out for Lagos, Portugal last Thursday afternoon to have our own little weekend getaway. That is exactly what it turned out to be. We arrived via 2 hilarious looking cars (some sort of Opel model) which essentially looked like metal boxes on wheels. Jimmy and I had a caravan going the entire way, a 4 hour drive full of lots of green, trees, hills, and little white houses with orange roofs. Portugal is an incredibly beautiful country, and it costs next to nothing to live like a king there. We each paid just over 20 euro for the entire weekend in an enormous and luxurious apartment. Whoever let us do that obviously didn't know that a group of 20-somethings were about to invade and take full advantage of such freedom.
Every day we would make a trip to the grocery store, buy food essentials for each of our themed dinners (which included Mexican fiesta, spaghetti night, and a good ol' all AMERICAN BBQ), get some fresh ingredients for drinks, and Jimmy and I went to town in the kitchen, cooking and bar tending for our friends. After our enormous, once-a-day meal, we would head out and check out the night life, which was awesome, and I got to practice one of my favorite pastimes, meeting people.
The last day was by far the best. After enjoying our American-sized American all American BBQ, we decided to start up an intense game of wiffle ball. This game started with Jimmy, Paul and I in our living room. Our apartment was THAT big. Somewhere in there Paul tackeld me in to a wall, where I hit my head and got what we all believe was a mild concussion. No matter though, after the first injury of the day, we decided to continue the game outside, where everyone else managed to hurt themselves in some other way throughout the rest of the day/night. Scraped and bloodied knees seemed to be the theme of the day, luckily I escaped without any external bleeding (who knows about the internal though). Paul managed to get his pants so grassy that he changed into Jimmy's bright red, skin-tight pants. He wore them out that night (one of the many reasons that I love my friends here). To shake of the injuries, we electric slid the night away. Good warm up before hitting the bars downtown.
The drive home was a bit more brutal than the one there, but we made it in one piece. One of my favorite vacations to date. If you're ever in Europe, Portugal is another one of those places that you have to make a stop through.
At this point, I have little left of the welt/egg on my head. Wiffle ball. It's a power sport.
So, Lagos. A group of 8 of us set out for Lagos, Portugal last Thursday afternoon to have our own little weekend getaway. That is exactly what it turned out to be. We arrived via 2 hilarious looking cars (some sort of Opel model) which essentially looked like metal boxes on wheels. Jimmy and I had a caravan going the entire way, a 4 hour drive full of lots of green, trees, hills, and little white houses with orange roofs. Portugal is an incredibly beautiful country, and it costs next to nothing to live like a king there. We each paid just over 20 euro for the entire weekend in an enormous and luxurious apartment. Whoever let us do that obviously didn't know that a group of 20-somethings were about to invade and take full advantage of such freedom.
Every day we would make a trip to the grocery store, buy food essentials for each of our themed dinners (which included Mexican fiesta, spaghetti night, and a good ol' all AMERICAN BBQ), get some fresh ingredients for drinks, and Jimmy and I went to town in the kitchen, cooking and bar tending for our friends. After our enormous, once-a-day meal, we would head out and check out the night life, which was awesome, and I got to practice one of my favorite pastimes, meeting people.
The last day was by far the best. After enjoying our American-sized American all American BBQ, we decided to start up an intense game of wiffle ball. This game started with Jimmy, Paul and I in our living room. Our apartment was THAT big. Somewhere in there Paul tackeld me in to a wall, where I hit my head and got what we all believe was a mild concussion. No matter though, after the first injury of the day, we decided to continue the game outside, where everyone else managed to hurt themselves in some other way throughout the rest of the day/night. Scraped and bloodied knees seemed to be the theme of the day, luckily I escaped without any external bleeding (who knows about the internal though). Paul managed to get his pants so grassy that he changed into Jimmy's bright red, skin-tight pants. He wore them out that night (one of the many reasons that I love my friends here). To shake of the injuries, we electric slid the night away. Good warm up before hitting the bars downtown.
The drive home was a bit more brutal than the one there, but we made it in one piece. One of my favorite vacations to date. If you're ever in Europe, Portugal is another one of those places that you have to make a stop through.
At this point, I have little left of the welt/egg on my head. Wiffle ball. It's a power sport.
lunes, 13 de abril de 2009
WHAT WOULD RICK DO?
Ok. I know that I suck at blogging. I kind of figured this would happen. But, along with traveling and studying comes a shortage of time and internet. So really, it makes sense.
WHERE. IN. THA WORLD. IS. MA RA ZANDIEGO? If you didn’t grow up watching PBS, you won’t understand that.
This is where I’ve been for the past weeks. Contrary to popular belief, I haven’t just been frying myself at the beach.
Barcelona, followed by Valencia (which included a trip to Baeza and Úbeda[scubeda-dubeda]), and 9 days in Italy, including Pisa, Cinque Terre, and ROMA! I just got home yesterday. I am still trying to get all the pasta and gelato out of my small intestine.
Ok, we’ll go in order here.
Barcelona. Hands down one of the coolest cities in Spain. Although the people there are a little stand-offish (people there speak Cátalan, which is a Spanish dialect, but you can’t understand it. If you ask someone a question in Spanish, they will answer you in English), but the city has a lot to offer. We saw all of the incredible architecture of Gaudí, which if you’ve never heard of him, look him up. He died before finishing one of his biggest projects, Sagrada familia, which is an insane cathedral. It won’t be done for about another 75 years because of the amount of detail that goes into it. Seriously. Insane. He also has 2 apartment buildings, equally amazing, and a park, where he lived for a while. Besides all of that, we spent a lot of time walking around, exploring las ramblas, which is a main stretch of street covered in little booths and about a million street performers (which, by the way, freak the fuck out of me). Along here you’ll also run into the most amazing market in the world, filled with fresh fruit and veggies, fresh squeezed fruit juice, meat fish, and all of that. There’s more to see around the city and port, too much to write. Guess you’ll have to go see it for yourself.
The nightlife there was amazing too. Although we had a little mishap the first night, which resulted in us jumping about 23 metro gates and being lost for 2 hours underground, the second night made up for it. We saw Girl Talk, live in concert, in the best club in Barcelona, Razzmatazz. If I could write about how cool that guy is, I would, but I can’t. You just gotta see him.
Valencia. We took a group trip here with all the people from our program. By “trip.” I mean 10 hour bus ride that left at 1 am and made us all want to kill ourselves. Once there, we made up for it in having fun together. We played some drinking games the first night, and a group of about 5 of us headed out to try and find some nighttime activities to participate in. Apparently, Valencia doesn’t do anything on Thursday nights. We ended up stumbling upon a bar called Beer (probably the best name I could ever think of for a bar. It’s really all you need to know), and stayed there about 30 minutes when we realized we were the only people in the joint. The walk home consisted of us throwing oranges across the road to see if we could hit the other side of the median, and failing at this. The next day, we went to an amazing aquarium, which I couldn’t get enough of, and saw a dolphin show. It’s not as stupid as you think. I am now seriously considering changing my career path to dolphin trainer, easily the sweetest job in the world. You hang out with dolphins all day, get tan and fit and hot, and they throw you up in the air and do flips with you. Think of a better job, I dare you. After that was the science museum, and a quiet afternoon. We stayed in the new part, which resembled something out of the Jetsons, and later explored the old part, about 30 minutes away and WAY sweeter looking at night. If you go there, stay in the old part. The new part kind of makes you wonder what planet you’re on.
Whew. Ok, Baeza and Úbeda (Jimmy nicknamed Úbescubeda, because calling it that is the coolest thing you can associate with the city) which are essentially two little mountain towns that probably hate having anyone under the age of 50 in their presence. We found this out when we arrived at around 7 pm, and some old Spanish guy warned us that if we made any noise, he would call the cops on us. Mind you, we were opening our doors to our rooms, and we were under the influence of water and bocadillos, dead sober. We tried to go out that night, but we ended up sitting around in a gazebo and having some drinks and deep conversation in the pouring rain. I only wish I were joking about that.
So, finally, ITALIA. We lived and breathed Rick Steves: the best of Italy during this trip. He is a god among men, and he told us all of the best places to go, and how to not spend money. He was right. Because he is a god. A group of about 10 of us went for Semana Santa, which is a crazy festival (festival in Cádiz? NEVER!) they hold here to celebrate all the pre-funk to Easter. We started out our journey on RyanAir, the shittiest airline in the universe. Somehow my bag made weight for the plane (you can only take 1 carry on, meaning I had to stuff my purse into one bag, and this bag can only weigh 10 kilos, or about 20 pounds. I was packing for 9 days. Let’s just say I wore the same thing a lot, and smelled REAL bad), but they somehow sucked 20 euro out of me for checking in at the airport? I was livid. Lauren looks at me when I come back from the counter and says, “Mara, you got some color from the beach this week!” “Nope, just really fucking pissed,” says I. I could write an entire other blog about how much I hate that airline, but I’ll spare you. So, we get to Pisa, where we stay in the nicest little B&B. It even had a CAT, with 3 legs mind you, but still cute. We only spent a night there, just long enough to experience our first encounter with real Italian food, and see the leaning tower of Pisa and all that jazz. I’m glad I didn’t study abroad in Italy. I would come back weighing at least 80 pounds more.
From Pisa, we headed up to Cinque Terre. If you’ve never heard of it, wiki that too. It’s this small coastal town that consists of 5 pueblitos, which you can hike to and from. It’s the kind of place that makes you believe that there is a god out there somewhere. Incredibly beautiful, right on the Mediterranean, trees, greenery, the most amazing hiking (and hard too, Rick didn’t lie when he said they were strenuous), AND, it’s the birth place of PESTO, so lord knows I ate about 2 times my body weight every day. We ended the amazing 5 days of hiking, eating, and having an all around blast by jumping in the Mediterranean at 9 in the morning. Probably could have though this through a little better, I’ve never felt so close to hypothermia in my life, but it was also quite refreshing. And luckily, it’s really salty, so when I lost control of my limbs and my heart stopped, I kind of just floated to the shore. Marisa said it best, right before her, Lauren, and I jumped off our little rock. “1, 2, 3…” (jump off ledge and look at each other) “Fuck.”
If you ever go to Italy that is one place you have to see.
Lauren and I ended our trip in ROMA where we met up with Yumi, when Paul and Marisa broke off and went to go play in the adult candy land, Amsterdam. Rome is one of the most incredible cities on the planet. Being there blew my mind, seeing ruins from hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and just trying to fathom how much history it held. We saw everything, thanks to Rick, we bought the Roma Pass, which allowed us to get into 2 places free (Coliseum and Forum, which are both around 10 euro) and then we got discounts on all of the rest. We also visited the museum of Rome, which is filled with the largest collection of artifacts, old coins, statues, even pieces of paintings and walls, mosaics, the craziest things ever. Also, the Trevi fountain and Spanish steps. Seeing all of these places is impossible to describe. It made me want to time travel. That’s really all I can say. I took over 200 pictures, so you’ll all see what I did. We also got to go on an awesome pub crawl, and meet lots more people from all over the U.S. and U.K. The only downfall was that I went to bed at around 4 that night, and then woke up at 6 to go sit outside the Vatican until it opened. As pissed off as I was that I was awake, it was totally worth it. We got to see everything without waiting in any 3 hour lines, which we saw as we were leaving. The Sistine Chapel, the statue collections, the Vatican museum, and the biggest cathedral in the world. I tried to find the pope, but it was harder than I thought it was going to be. I did find the dead one they have in the cathedral though, that counts right?
We flew back, making a 3 hour stopover in Frankfurt, where we had a beer and a brat (DUH), and spent most of our 20-hour day of travel trying to sleep on the food trays on the plane and on cement floors.
And I didn’t get mugged ONCE. Knock on wood..
So here I am, back in the Diz. I leave for Lagos, Portugal on Thursday. I’ll be sure and let you know how that goes, and anything else cool that may happen in between.
Ciao! Italia! Grazie! Tos! Pizza! Latte! Penne! Arrabiatta!
That’s all of the Italian I picked up. I’m basically a polyglot now.
WHERE. IN. THA WORLD. IS. MA RA ZANDIEGO? If you didn’t grow up watching PBS, you won’t understand that.
This is where I’ve been for the past weeks. Contrary to popular belief, I haven’t just been frying myself at the beach.
Barcelona, followed by Valencia (which included a trip to Baeza and Úbeda[scubeda-dubeda]), and 9 days in Italy, including Pisa, Cinque Terre, and ROMA! I just got home yesterday. I am still trying to get all the pasta and gelato out of my small intestine.
Ok, we’ll go in order here.
Barcelona. Hands down one of the coolest cities in Spain. Although the people there are a little stand-offish (people there speak Cátalan, which is a Spanish dialect, but you can’t understand it. If you ask someone a question in Spanish, they will answer you in English), but the city has a lot to offer. We saw all of the incredible architecture of Gaudí, which if you’ve never heard of him, look him up. He died before finishing one of his biggest projects, Sagrada familia, which is an insane cathedral. It won’t be done for about another 75 years because of the amount of detail that goes into it. Seriously. Insane. He also has 2 apartment buildings, equally amazing, and a park, where he lived for a while. Besides all of that, we spent a lot of time walking around, exploring las ramblas, which is a main stretch of street covered in little booths and about a million street performers (which, by the way, freak the fuck out of me). Along here you’ll also run into the most amazing market in the world, filled with fresh fruit and veggies, fresh squeezed fruit juice, meat fish, and all of that. There’s more to see around the city and port, too much to write. Guess you’ll have to go see it for yourself.
The nightlife there was amazing too. Although we had a little mishap the first night, which resulted in us jumping about 23 metro gates and being lost for 2 hours underground, the second night made up for it. We saw Girl Talk, live in concert, in the best club in Barcelona, Razzmatazz. If I could write about how cool that guy is, I would, but I can’t. You just gotta see him.
Valencia. We took a group trip here with all the people from our program. By “trip.” I mean 10 hour bus ride that left at 1 am and made us all want to kill ourselves. Once there, we made up for it in having fun together. We played some drinking games the first night, and a group of about 5 of us headed out to try and find some nighttime activities to participate in. Apparently, Valencia doesn’t do anything on Thursday nights. We ended up stumbling upon a bar called Beer (probably the best name I could ever think of for a bar. It’s really all you need to know), and stayed there about 30 minutes when we realized we were the only people in the joint. The walk home consisted of us throwing oranges across the road to see if we could hit the other side of the median, and failing at this. The next day, we went to an amazing aquarium, which I couldn’t get enough of, and saw a dolphin show. It’s not as stupid as you think. I am now seriously considering changing my career path to dolphin trainer, easily the sweetest job in the world. You hang out with dolphins all day, get tan and fit and hot, and they throw you up in the air and do flips with you. Think of a better job, I dare you. After that was the science museum, and a quiet afternoon. We stayed in the new part, which resembled something out of the Jetsons, and later explored the old part, about 30 minutes away and WAY sweeter looking at night. If you go there, stay in the old part. The new part kind of makes you wonder what planet you’re on.
Whew. Ok, Baeza and Úbeda (Jimmy nicknamed Úbescubeda, because calling it that is the coolest thing you can associate with the city) which are essentially two little mountain towns that probably hate having anyone under the age of 50 in their presence. We found this out when we arrived at around 7 pm, and some old Spanish guy warned us that if we made any noise, he would call the cops on us. Mind you, we were opening our doors to our rooms, and we were under the influence of water and bocadillos, dead sober. We tried to go out that night, but we ended up sitting around in a gazebo and having some drinks and deep conversation in the pouring rain. I only wish I were joking about that.
So, finally, ITALIA. We lived and breathed Rick Steves: the best of Italy during this trip. He is a god among men, and he told us all of the best places to go, and how to not spend money. He was right. Because he is a god. A group of about 10 of us went for Semana Santa, which is a crazy festival (festival in Cádiz? NEVER!) they hold here to celebrate all the pre-funk to Easter. We started out our journey on RyanAir, the shittiest airline in the universe. Somehow my bag made weight for the plane (you can only take 1 carry on, meaning I had to stuff my purse into one bag, and this bag can only weigh 10 kilos, or about 20 pounds. I was packing for 9 days. Let’s just say I wore the same thing a lot, and smelled REAL bad), but they somehow sucked 20 euro out of me for checking in at the airport? I was livid. Lauren looks at me when I come back from the counter and says, “Mara, you got some color from the beach this week!” “Nope, just really fucking pissed,” says I. I could write an entire other blog about how much I hate that airline, but I’ll spare you. So, we get to Pisa, where we stay in the nicest little B&B. It even had a CAT, with 3 legs mind you, but still cute. We only spent a night there, just long enough to experience our first encounter with real Italian food, and see the leaning tower of Pisa and all that jazz. I’m glad I didn’t study abroad in Italy. I would come back weighing at least 80 pounds more.
From Pisa, we headed up to Cinque Terre. If you’ve never heard of it, wiki that too. It’s this small coastal town that consists of 5 pueblitos, which you can hike to and from. It’s the kind of place that makes you believe that there is a god out there somewhere. Incredibly beautiful, right on the Mediterranean, trees, greenery, the most amazing hiking (and hard too, Rick didn’t lie when he said they were strenuous), AND, it’s the birth place of PESTO, so lord knows I ate about 2 times my body weight every day. We ended the amazing 5 days of hiking, eating, and having an all around blast by jumping in the Mediterranean at 9 in the morning. Probably could have though this through a little better, I’ve never felt so close to hypothermia in my life, but it was also quite refreshing. And luckily, it’s really salty, so when I lost control of my limbs and my heart stopped, I kind of just floated to the shore. Marisa said it best, right before her, Lauren, and I jumped off our little rock. “1, 2, 3…” (jump off ledge and look at each other) “Fuck.”
If you ever go to Italy that is one place you have to see.
Lauren and I ended our trip in ROMA where we met up with Yumi, when Paul and Marisa broke off and went to go play in the adult candy land, Amsterdam. Rome is one of the most incredible cities on the planet. Being there blew my mind, seeing ruins from hundreds and hundreds of years ago, and just trying to fathom how much history it held. We saw everything, thanks to Rick, we bought the Roma Pass, which allowed us to get into 2 places free (Coliseum and Forum, which are both around 10 euro) and then we got discounts on all of the rest. We also visited the museum of Rome, which is filled with the largest collection of artifacts, old coins, statues, even pieces of paintings and walls, mosaics, the craziest things ever. Also, the Trevi fountain and Spanish steps. Seeing all of these places is impossible to describe. It made me want to time travel. That’s really all I can say. I took over 200 pictures, so you’ll all see what I did. We also got to go on an awesome pub crawl, and meet lots more people from all over the U.S. and U.K. The only downfall was that I went to bed at around 4 that night, and then woke up at 6 to go sit outside the Vatican until it opened. As pissed off as I was that I was awake, it was totally worth it. We got to see everything without waiting in any 3 hour lines, which we saw as we were leaving. The Sistine Chapel, the statue collections, the Vatican museum, and the biggest cathedral in the world. I tried to find the pope, but it was harder than I thought it was going to be. I did find the dead one they have in the cathedral though, that counts right?
We flew back, making a 3 hour stopover in Frankfurt, where we had a beer and a brat (DUH), and spent most of our 20-hour day of travel trying to sleep on the food trays on the plane and on cement floors.
And I didn’t get mugged ONCE. Knock on wood..
So here I am, back in the Diz. I leave for Lagos, Portugal on Thursday. I’ll be sure and let you know how that goes, and anything else cool that may happen in between.
Ciao! Italia! Grazie! Tos! Pizza! Latte! Penne! Arrabiatta!
That’s all of the Italian I picked up. I’m basically a polyglot now.
martes, 17 de marzo de 2009
Just TRY doing squats in a 4x4 room
Miercoles el 18
As the weather gets nicer, I become increasingly worse at updating. My apologies. If it makes you feel any better, I do have a great tan.
I think part of it also may have to do with the fact that I’m getting used to Spain. Not necessarily the people, but the country.
A great place I get to go to observe said Spaniards is Millennium gym here in Cádiz. I need to go to a gym in order to avoid gaining an extra 50 pounds, and it’s usually too hot to run outside, but whenever I’m there (with my trusty sidekick Paul), we usually just find ourselves getting enraged by all of the ridiculous Spaniards.
Spaniards are a delusional race. I’m convinced. Anyone who wakes up in the morning, puts on a pair of pants that make you look like you pooped your diaper, match your shoes to your shirt to your belt to your purse, poof up your mullet with blunt bangs, and then proceed to look at yourself in the mirror and say “DAMN, I look good, I’m gonna go take on the day now,” has mental issues. They will never look good. They probably shouldn’t take on the day until their hair grows out.
Millennium gym is where the worst of the worst gather on the daily. The bad Spaniards times two. I’m talking ultimate pichas, who are forced to start growing their first mullet/fohawk/rat tail as soon as they leave the womb, and the angry bitchy Spanish women who aren’t actually allowed to leave the womb unless they have a chip on their shoulder. On top of this, the men all have really disproportionate huge muscles, so it looks like they’re smuggling a rolled up mattress on their shoulders that can’t be supported by their little chicken legs. They don’t care, they still think they’re shit don’t stink. If you don’t believe that, simply look at their bicep, where you will find their name tattooed, and you can ask them, “Excuse me, Nacho, I know you’re busy working on ONLY your arms this year, but how cool are you?!”
The women are almost worse. Even if you can find their name tattooed on their lower back surrounded by roses in a tribal design, don’t ask them if they think their shit don’t stink. They are an angry breed. This only makes it even harder for me to not laugh at them. When women go to the gym here, first things first, sports bras are for pussies. You need to wear a wonderbra to bike for 10 minutes, and then struggle with the hip adductor/abductor for another 20. I swear to you, I’ve never seen one wear a sports bra, and I know, because their bras and boobs are always hanging out. It gets funnier though, and harder to not laugh. They usually show up with full jewelry/makeup, hair done, and somehow manage to transfer their “style” over to “workout clothes.” The most common outfit you’re likely to see is a pair of stretch pants, colored or grey (grey is a big no-no if you’re sweating, ESPECIALLY pants. You’re just asking for buttcrack sweat. But they don’t sweat at the gym, because they don’t actually work out, so it’s ok I guess…), a shirt from baby gap or osh kosh b’gosh (made for a 4-year-old, this is why you can see their boobs and push up bras) that’s usually rolled up? Hoop earrings, and really, REALLY weird tennis shoes, usually of the Peter Pan fashion, or high tops. It’s very confusing. I’m just trying to get rid of my fat ass, and these women are trying to…dear God I have no idea what they’re trying to do. It’s even more confusing to try and figure out why the hell they're at the gym in the first place. My conclusion is trying to attract Spanish guys. If that’s the case, and if Spanish guys are ACTUALLY attracted to that, then shit. Match made in heaven I guess.
Bottom line is, Spain, stop trying to work out. You have the highest rate of eating disorders and smokers in the world, yet somehow have a longer life expectancy than us. Don’t ruin the one American type thing that Paul and I have here in Spain.
Until then, I’ll continue to be baffled. Marisa tells me that when I get frustrated with Spanish people (which happens, like, all of the time), I have a very violent face. I can only hope it’s violent enough to make some of the picha masters and angry Spanish women think twice about going in to Millennium gym that day.
Paz afuera.
As the weather gets nicer, I become increasingly worse at updating. My apologies. If it makes you feel any better, I do have a great tan.
I think part of it also may have to do with the fact that I’m getting used to Spain. Not necessarily the people, but the country.
A great place I get to go to observe said Spaniards is Millennium gym here in Cádiz. I need to go to a gym in order to avoid gaining an extra 50 pounds, and it’s usually too hot to run outside, but whenever I’m there (with my trusty sidekick Paul), we usually just find ourselves getting enraged by all of the ridiculous Spaniards.
Spaniards are a delusional race. I’m convinced. Anyone who wakes up in the morning, puts on a pair of pants that make you look like you pooped your diaper, match your shoes to your shirt to your belt to your purse, poof up your mullet with blunt bangs, and then proceed to look at yourself in the mirror and say “DAMN, I look good, I’m gonna go take on the day now,” has mental issues. They will never look good. They probably shouldn’t take on the day until their hair grows out.
Millennium gym is where the worst of the worst gather on the daily. The bad Spaniards times two. I’m talking ultimate pichas, who are forced to start growing their first mullet/fohawk/rat tail as soon as they leave the womb, and the angry bitchy Spanish women who aren’t actually allowed to leave the womb unless they have a chip on their shoulder. On top of this, the men all have really disproportionate huge muscles, so it looks like they’re smuggling a rolled up mattress on their shoulders that can’t be supported by their little chicken legs. They don’t care, they still think they’re shit don’t stink. If you don’t believe that, simply look at their bicep, where you will find their name tattooed, and you can ask them, “Excuse me, Nacho, I know you’re busy working on ONLY your arms this year, but how cool are you?!”
The women are almost worse. Even if you can find their name tattooed on their lower back surrounded by roses in a tribal design, don’t ask them if they think their shit don’t stink. They are an angry breed. This only makes it even harder for me to not laugh at them. When women go to the gym here, first things first, sports bras are for pussies. You need to wear a wonderbra to bike for 10 minutes, and then struggle with the hip adductor/abductor for another 20. I swear to you, I’ve never seen one wear a sports bra, and I know, because their bras and boobs are always hanging out. It gets funnier though, and harder to not laugh. They usually show up with full jewelry/makeup, hair done, and somehow manage to transfer their “style” over to “workout clothes.” The most common outfit you’re likely to see is a pair of stretch pants, colored or grey (grey is a big no-no if you’re sweating, ESPECIALLY pants. You’re just asking for buttcrack sweat. But they don’t sweat at the gym, because they don’t actually work out, so it’s ok I guess…), a shirt from baby gap or osh kosh b’gosh (made for a 4-year-old, this is why you can see their boobs and push up bras) that’s usually rolled up? Hoop earrings, and really, REALLY weird tennis shoes, usually of the Peter Pan fashion, or high tops. It’s very confusing. I’m just trying to get rid of my fat ass, and these women are trying to…dear God I have no idea what they’re trying to do. It’s even more confusing to try and figure out why the hell they're at the gym in the first place. My conclusion is trying to attract Spanish guys. If that’s the case, and if Spanish guys are ACTUALLY attracted to that, then shit. Match made in heaven I guess.
Bottom line is, Spain, stop trying to work out. You have the highest rate of eating disorders and smokers in the world, yet somehow have a longer life expectancy than us. Don’t ruin the one American type thing that Paul and I have here in Spain.
Until then, I’ll continue to be baffled. Marisa tells me that when I get frustrated with Spanish people (which happens, like, all of the time), I have a very violent face. I can only hope it’s violent enough to make some of the picha masters and angry Spanish women think twice about going in to Millennium gym that day.
Paz afuera.
lunes, 2 de marzo de 2009
How Glitter Ruined My Life
Domingo el 1 de Marzo
I apologize for not writing for so long, but if you happen to make it through this entire entry, you will understand why. Carnaval in Cádiz, and Marisa and Mara’s adventure to Madrid. Every day, the worst thing that could have possibly gone wrong, went wrong. Let me elaborate.
It all began last Saturday. None of us had any idea what we were getting ourselves into. Marisa and I were at my house around 2, getting our costumes perfected and organizing where we were going to meet up with everyone. I was Marilyn Monroe, and she was an Indian, and we left the house accompanied by a cow (Paul, amazing) and a construction worker (Ben). This is where the madness begins.
It is almost impossible for me to describe what goes on during Carnaval. The city is very small, and normally very manageable, but during Carnaval it shoots up by almost 5 times. We all met up in the Plaza de San Antonio, which was absolutely crammed with people. Babies dressed up as ducks and old men, guiris (foreigners) for days. At this point, the only plan we have is to throw ourselves into the thick of it without losing each other. This quickly became easier said than done.
We made our way to the outskirts of the city to have some drinks on the beach and avoid the massive crowds. The trip that would normally take us about 10 minutes took probably 3 times as long as that, weaving through oceans of drunk Spaniards and avoiding the piss that covered the ground (this is a story in and of itself). On top of that, I was literally stopped every minute for a picture. For once I had a name other than just La Rubia, I WAS Marilyn Monroe that day. This continued on throughout the night, even though my costume became increasingly less authentic as it became covered in mystery smudges and dirt, and my false eyelashes began to migrate away from my eyes. I think the fact that everyone was so drunk compensated for that, as they still called me “MARILIIINNN!” all night.
Around 10 we ended up outside of la Catedral. I have never seen anything like it before. Thousands of people were crammed together, singing and drinking and peeing. We all literally stood on the stairs for hours, watching the crowd and chatting with Spaniards. Then, the worst thing that could have happened happened. I lost a contact. I rarely lose contacts, but it just had to happen in the middle of complete chaos. In my panic, I rubbed my other eye and the other contact fell out. I was fucked. I have horrible eyesight, so someone had to lead me home like a drunken blind baby so I could see again. After successfully restoring my sight, we returned to the madness. I made it out til 4 am. Jimmy holds the record; he stayed out until 8 in the morning, AND went to la punta.
The next day was essentially the exact same, except this time Marisa and I wore neon wigs and wings. After getting dressed, I decided to bust out my bottle of glitter spray. It turned out more disastrous than we had imagined. I managed to get glitter in my contacts, where it stayed and scratched my eyes for next three days in Madrid, when I failed to take them out even one time. We made our way to la caleta to watch fireworks, and spend the next 5 hours sitting on corners of the street and drinking. On our way back, I decided I wanted to change into some flops, so Marisa and I and another girl swung by my house. This is where disaster number 2 happens. The girl, who I shall not name, asked me if I could show her where the bathroom was. Sure girl! C’mon follow me! We hardly made it out my bedroom door when I turned around and saw her hand over her mouth. And then she did it. She projectile vomited on me. Luckily it was only one heave, and I shoved her into the bathroom so she could finish up, and I could wash the chunks off my sweatshirt. I pretty much had no idea what to say, because I figured that when you have to yak, you tell someone first, so I was completely taken off guard. We went back to my room, where I grabbed a new sweatshirt and remained completely silent on the entire walk back to the plaza where we met back up with Jimmy and Ben. I had to wait for the girl to excuse herself back to her house so I could tell everyone why I looked so pissed off. Of course they understood, and apparently she didn’t say a word about it to anyone because they had no idea. If I were in that situation where I had to barf, I would go about it completely differently. We ended up sitting in the empty plaza shooting the shit until the basura trucks and cleaners came out.
Monday consisted of 5 hung-over useless people attempting to play beach volleyball. It didn’t really work out so well, but I’m sure whoever was watching got a kick out of it. At around 6 we all went home to pack and head to the bus station where Marisa and I would catch our 8-hour bus from hell. We took off at 11, and the following hours consisted of me having the shittiest sleep of my life. I woke up about every 15 minutes, shouted some obscenity about how fucking badly my back and ass hurt, and then tried to change my position. Nothing worked. Also, Marisa has this condition where she gets paranoid about having to pee, and the bus just happens to not have a bathroom. Every time we had a stop over, she would get up like 3 times and go pee (granted, these stopovers were about 15 minutes). Hilarious. We finally pulled into Madrid at 7 in the morning. We had made it! In order to get to Cat’s, our hostel, we either had to take the metro or a taxi. Being the savvy (and when I say savvy, I mean not savvy) travelers that we are, we decided to try the metro. The whole thing started off badly. We bought the wrong ticket, so we had to go to the other side and buy the right one. We knew we had to get on the 1 line, but instead of following the signs, we sort of just wandered to one of the platforms… a metro pulled up, so we kind of just got on it… when inside, Marisa looks at the wall and says, “We’re on the wrong one!” Here is where the worst thing possible happens. In response to her comment, I turn around and run back out the door as it’s closing. Marisa tries, but there is no time. The door closes. I look at her through the glass as we bang on the doors and try to pry them open. This of course doesn’t work, and the metro begins to move. I watch Marisa’s face disappear as she holds up her hand to her head like a phone and mouths, “I’ll call you?” At this point I just start laughing, because I don’t know what else to do. A metro pulls up, and I sort of just wander on, because I have no idea what is going on. I got off at the first stop, which luckily proved that Marisa and I have the same instincts, because there she was. The only problem was I was on the other side of the tracks, because I can’t catch a fucking break. The next metro pulls up and I decide to go for it, run through as the doors are open. I ran through as fast as I could, body checking all of the Spaniards and just barely made it through the doors. Stupid Americans. Worst thing that could have happened.
We made it to the center of Madrid, god knows how. We still had hours before we could check in, so we decided to get coffee. 2 cracked out Americans trying to order and talk to people. Marisa orders a ham and cheese sandwich, which I find odd, and then realizes it’s still 7:30 in the morning and changes her order to coffee and toast. Post-coffee, we are less cracked out, and ready to take on the city. Kind of.
We finally make it to Cat’s hostel. Amazing. It’s the cleanest one I’ve ever seen, and there’s a courtyard for people to gather in, a sweet bar downstairs, and free internet and breakfast, for 20 euro a night. People come from literally all over the world, and we got to meet them all.
The first people we met were 2 Brazilians who spoke Spanish and English, so we got a good solid amount of intercambio in with them in the bar downstairs. Then, the Brits and Scots and Irish start pouring in. After meeting a big group of them and chatting we found out that there was a huge football game the next day, Real Madrid versus Liverpool. Watching football fans in action is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. There are no Americans who are as passionate about a sport as people from Europe are, NONE. They randomly start breaking out in song, and they ALL know the words and join in, no matter where they are. It’s absolutely incredible. One of the guys we met, Sean (a drummer from Ireland who is going to school in Austria) made a very good point. He said that when he went to a baseball game in the states, the only reason anyone ever cheered was when people would throw them free shit. It’s funny because it’s true. We never break out into song or cheers together. Anyway, it’s quite a sight to watch these fans in action. Marisa ended up putting herself to bed around midnight, and I went out with the group of English guys. We somehow found our way home at about 4, and passed out.
The next morning was interesting. Marisa and I woke up at about 9 so we could go start doing some touristy things. The only problem was that I was hung-over, and she wasn’t. We made it to el Prado and let me tell you, looking at art when you’re hung-over is really fucking hard. I did get to see some good stuff though, Goya and El Greco, and all of these paintings that are like 500 years old. Marisa and I realized that we’re really bad at describing things, so every time we saw a cool painting, we would just say, “Man, that’s so cool! Like, it’s crazy!” At least we understood each other.
We spent the rest of the day walking around the city and looking at cathedrals and parks, and made it home for a much-needed siesta before going out again. After all the guys got back from the game (Liverpool won, which you need to know) we decided to go on a pub crawl that the hostel organizes. This was an interesting experience. We shelled out 10 euro and followed around some weird Spanish guy in a crew neck and tight pants. Aaron, one of the English guys, called him Gippeto, which wasn’t his name. The walk to the first pub was where the madness began. Gippeto wanted to kill us, literally. He had to lead around a group of 20 something loud, excited, singing and screaming people. Every now and then he would try and hush us, but it never worked. You can’t keep people quiet after they’ve won a football game, it is literally impossible. One will start singing a song, and everyone immediately joins in, screaming and clapping. This continued on for the entire night, at pubs, walking to pubs, probably even on the toilet. I got to learn a few, which made me feel slightly as excited as everyone else. We made it home at about 5. Great night.
Thursday, Marisa and I wake up at 1:30, because we suck. We made our way to the Reina Sofia to see some more hung-over art. This place was awesome, we saw shitloads of Picasso. Unfortunately, by the time we made it to Dali, his paintings kind of made us want to barf. It was still amazing to see. We walked around a bit and went back to siesta before our last night in Madrid.
The guys invited us to go out with them again, and we took the “tube” (metro, British people are always making up fake words) to another part of the city. We didn’t end up staying out very late, as our bodies were beginning to rebel against us, but it was still great fun. I spent the majority of the night chatting with the guys and translating for a guy from Glasgow, who was trying to talk to Marisa, even though she had no fucking idea what he was saying to her. After this bar, we took a taxi back to the center of the city with Aaron and Sean so they could get some food. We had some beers and talked about South Park and Family guy and football songs, and how Americans and British people both say weird shit. Things like, “Are you taking a piss on me?” instead of “Are you kidding me?” and rubbish and bollocks and all of those words they make up. One thing they do have figured out is humor. They’re very witty people, always one step ahead, and they love sarcasm and dry humor, so obviously I was thoroughly entertained for the rest of the night.
We finally said goodbye to Madrid on Friday, and Marisa and I decided to take a taxi to the bus station to avoid fucking up again. The ride back was about 309 times worse as the bus there. It was full of people from Madrid who were headed to Cádiz to catch the tail end of Carnaval, so they were all getting drunk and being obnoxious. 8 hours of hell that I will never go through again, with the only upside being that it cost 40 euro round trip. We came back to the madness of Carnaval, which is the same as it was in the beginning.
Last night was our final night of Carnaval participation. I am retiring as Marilyn Monroe and probably not drinking ever again in my life. The rest of my Sunday will consist of me staying in my bed and watching Spanish TV.
If you made it through this blog, I’m shocked. If you survived Carnaval and Madrid, I am shocked. er.
I apologize for not writing for so long, but if you happen to make it through this entire entry, you will understand why. Carnaval in Cádiz, and Marisa and Mara’s adventure to Madrid. Every day, the worst thing that could have possibly gone wrong, went wrong. Let me elaborate.
It all began last Saturday. None of us had any idea what we were getting ourselves into. Marisa and I were at my house around 2, getting our costumes perfected and organizing where we were going to meet up with everyone. I was Marilyn Monroe, and she was an Indian, and we left the house accompanied by a cow (Paul, amazing) and a construction worker (Ben). This is where the madness begins.
It is almost impossible for me to describe what goes on during Carnaval. The city is very small, and normally very manageable, but during Carnaval it shoots up by almost 5 times. We all met up in the Plaza de San Antonio, which was absolutely crammed with people. Babies dressed up as ducks and old men, guiris (foreigners) for days. At this point, the only plan we have is to throw ourselves into the thick of it without losing each other. This quickly became easier said than done.
We made our way to the outskirts of the city to have some drinks on the beach and avoid the massive crowds. The trip that would normally take us about 10 minutes took probably 3 times as long as that, weaving through oceans of drunk Spaniards and avoiding the piss that covered the ground (this is a story in and of itself). On top of that, I was literally stopped every minute for a picture. For once I had a name other than just La Rubia, I WAS Marilyn Monroe that day. This continued on throughout the night, even though my costume became increasingly less authentic as it became covered in mystery smudges and dirt, and my false eyelashes began to migrate away from my eyes. I think the fact that everyone was so drunk compensated for that, as they still called me “MARILIIINNN!” all night.
Around 10 we ended up outside of la Catedral. I have never seen anything like it before. Thousands of people were crammed together, singing and drinking and peeing. We all literally stood on the stairs for hours, watching the crowd and chatting with Spaniards. Then, the worst thing that could have happened happened. I lost a contact. I rarely lose contacts, but it just had to happen in the middle of complete chaos. In my panic, I rubbed my other eye and the other contact fell out. I was fucked. I have horrible eyesight, so someone had to lead me home like a drunken blind baby so I could see again. After successfully restoring my sight, we returned to the madness. I made it out til 4 am. Jimmy holds the record; he stayed out until 8 in the morning, AND went to la punta.
The next day was essentially the exact same, except this time Marisa and I wore neon wigs and wings. After getting dressed, I decided to bust out my bottle of glitter spray. It turned out more disastrous than we had imagined. I managed to get glitter in my contacts, where it stayed and scratched my eyes for next three days in Madrid, when I failed to take them out even one time. We made our way to la caleta to watch fireworks, and spend the next 5 hours sitting on corners of the street and drinking. On our way back, I decided I wanted to change into some flops, so Marisa and I and another girl swung by my house. This is where disaster number 2 happens. The girl, who I shall not name, asked me if I could show her where the bathroom was. Sure girl! C’mon follow me! We hardly made it out my bedroom door when I turned around and saw her hand over her mouth. And then she did it. She projectile vomited on me. Luckily it was only one heave, and I shoved her into the bathroom so she could finish up, and I could wash the chunks off my sweatshirt. I pretty much had no idea what to say, because I figured that when you have to yak, you tell someone first, so I was completely taken off guard. We went back to my room, where I grabbed a new sweatshirt and remained completely silent on the entire walk back to the plaza where we met back up with Jimmy and Ben. I had to wait for the girl to excuse herself back to her house so I could tell everyone why I looked so pissed off. Of course they understood, and apparently she didn’t say a word about it to anyone because they had no idea. If I were in that situation where I had to barf, I would go about it completely differently. We ended up sitting in the empty plaza shooting the shit until the basura trucks and cleaners came out.
Monday consisted of 5 hung-over useless people attempting to play beach volleyball. It didn’t really work out so well, but I’m sure whoever was watching got a kick out of it. At around 6 we all went home to pack and head to the bus station where Marisa and I would catch our 8-hour bus from hell. We took off at 11, and the following hours consisted of me having the shittiest sleep of my life. I woke up about every 15 minutes, shouted some obscenity about how fucking badly my back and ass hurt, and then tried to change my position. Nothing worked. Also, Marisa has this condition where she gets paranoid about having to pee, and the bus just happens to not have a bathroom. Every time we had a stop over, she would get up like 3 times and go pee (granted, these stopovers were about 15 minutes). Hilarious. We finally pulled into Madrid at 7 in the morning. We had made it! In order to get to Cat’s, our hostel, we either had to take the metro or a taxi. Being the savvy (and when I say savvy, I mean not savvy) travelers that we are, we decided to try the metro. The whole thing started off badly. We bought the wrong ticket, so we had to go to the other side and buy the right one. We knew we had to get on the 1 line, but instead of following the signs, we sort of just wandered to one of the platforms… a metro pulled up, so we kind of just got on it… when inside, Marisa looks at the wall and says, “We’re on the wrong one!” Here is where the worst thing possible happens. In response to her comment, I turn around and run back out the door as it’s closing. Marisa tries, but there is no time. The door closes. I look at her through the glass as we bang on the doors and try to pry them open. This of course doesn’t work, and the metro begins to move. I watch Marisa’s face disappear as she holds up her hand to her head like a phone and mouths, “I’ll call you?” At this point I just start laughing, because I don’t know what else to do. A metro pulls up, and I sort of just wander on, because I have no idea what is going on. I got off at the first stop, which luckily proved that Marisa and I have the same instincts, because there she was. The only problem was I was on the other side of the tracks, because I can’t catch a fucking break. The next metro pulls up and I decide to go for it, run through as the doors are open. I ran through as fast as I could, body checking all of the Spaniards and just barely made it through the doors. Stupid Americans. Worst thing that could have happened.
We made it to the center of Madrid, god knows how. We still had hours before we could check in, so we decided to get coffee. 2 cracked out Americans trying to order and talk to people. Marisa orders a ham and cheese sandwich, which I find odd, and then realizes it’s still 7:30 in the morning and changes her order to coffee and toast. Post-coffee, we are less cracked out, and ready to take on the city. Kind of.
We finally make it to Cat’s hostel. Amazing. It’s the cleanest one I’ve ever seen, and there’s a courtyard for people to gather in, a sweet bar downstairs, and free internet and breakfast, for 20 euro a night. People come from literally all over the world, and we got to meet them all.
The first people we met were 2 Brazilians who spoke Spanish and English, so we got a good solid amount of intercambio in with them in the bar downstairs. Then, the Brits and Scots and Irish start pouring in. After meeting a big group of them and chatting we found out that there was a huge football game the next day, Real Madrid versus Liverpool. Watching football fans in action is the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen. There are no Americans who are as passionate about a sport as people from Europe are, NONE. They randomly start breaking out in song, and they ALL know the words and join in, no matter where they are. It’s absolutely incredible. One of the guys we met, Sean (a drummer from Ireland who is going to school in Austria) made a very good point. He said that when he went to a baseball game in the states, the only reason anyone ever cheered was when people would throw them free shit. It’s funny because it’s true. We never break out into song or cheers together. Anyway, it’s quite a sight to watch these fans in action. Marisa ended up putting herself to bed around midnight, and I went out with the group of English guys. We somehow found our way home at about 4, and passed out.
The next morning was interesting. Marisa and I woke up at about 9 so we could go start doing some touristy things. The only problem was that I was hung-over, and she wasn’t. We made it to el Prado and let me tell you, looking at art when you’re hung-over is really fucking hard. I did get to see some good stuff though, Goya and El Greco, and all of these paintings that are like 500 years old. Marisa and I realized that we’re really bad at describing things, so every time we saw a cool painting, we would just say, “Man, that’s so cool! Like, it’s crazy!” At least we understood each other.
We spent the rest of the day walking around the city and looking at cathedrals and parks, and made it home for a much-needed siesta before going out again. After all the guys got back from the game (Liverpool won, which you need to know) we decided to go on a pub crawl that the hostel organizes. This was an interesting experience. We shelled out 10 euro and followed around some weird Spanish guy in a crew neck and tight pants. Aaron, one of the English guys, called him Gippeto, which wasn’t his name. The walk to the first pub was where the madness began. Gippeto wanted to kill us, literally. He had to lead around a group of 20 something loud, excited, singing and screaming people. Every now and then he would try and hush us, but it never worked. You can’t keep people quiet after they’ve won a football game, it is literally impossible. One will start singing a song, and everyone immediately joins in, screaming and clapping. This continued on for the entire night, at pubs, walking to pubs, probably even on the toilet. I got to learn a few, which made me feel slightly as excited as everyone else. We made it home at about 5. Great night.
Thursday, Marisa and I wake up at 1:30, because we suck. We made our way to the Reina Sofia to see some more hung-over art. This place was awesome, we saw shitloads of Picasso. Unfortunately, by the time we made it to Dali, his paintings kind of made us want to barf. It was still amazing to see. We walked around a bit and went back to siesta before our last night in Madrid.
The guys invited us to go out with them again, and we took the “tube” (metro, British people are always making up fake words) to another part of the city. We didn’t end up staying out very late, as our bodies were beginning to rebel against us, but it was still great fun. I spent the majority of the night chatting with the guys and translating for a guy from Glasgow, who was trying to talk to Marisa, even though she had no fucking idea what he was saying to her. After this bar, we took a taxi back to the center of the city with Aaron and Sean so they could get some food. We had some beers and talked about South Park and Family guy and football songs, and how Americans and British people both say weird shit. Things like, “Are you taking a piss on me?” instead of “Are you kidding me?” and rubbish and bollocks and all of those words they make up. One thing they do have figured out is humor. They’re very witty people, always one step ahead, and they love sarcasm and dry humor, so obviously I was thoroughly entertained for the rest of the night.
We finally said goodbye to Madrid on Friday, and Marisa and I decided to take a taxi to the bus station to avoid fucking up again. The ride back was about 309 times worse as the bus there. It was full of people from Madrid who were headed to Cádiz to catch the tail end of Carnaval, so they were all getting drunk and being obnoxious. 8 hours of hell that I will never go through again, with the only upside being that it cost 40 euro round trip. We came back to the madness of Carnaval, which is the same as it was in the beginning.
Last night was our final night of Carnaval participation. I am retiring as Marilyn Monroe and probably not drinking ever again in my life. The rest of my Sunday will consist of me staying in my bed and watching Spanish TV.
If you made it through this blog, I’m shocked. If you survived Carnaval and Madrid, I am shocked. er.
sábado, 7 de febrero de 2009
I got pwned by a 1st grader.
Viernes el 6
So, the grandkids come over about 4 days a week to eat lunch, right? I usually try to avoid them, because they make me feel stupid. My madre usually just feeds me before they even get here, but today I was late. Awesome. I got served by that little girl.
Me: (takes a bite of soup, then a little nibble of salad)
Ana: Why are you eating your salad and your soup at the same time?
Me: (smiles) I just eat them at the same time usually
Ana: Well, you’re supposed to eat one before the other. It’s better to eat your soup, AND THEN eat your salad.
Me: (smiles awkwardly and pushes soup to the side)
I’m waiting for the part when it gets EASIER to communicate, and I feel LESS stupid all the god damn time.
So, the grandkids come over about 4 days a week to eat lunch, right? I usually try to avoid them, because they make me feel stupid. My madre usually just feeds me before they even get here, but today I was late. Awesome. I got served by that little girl.
Me: (takes a bite of soup, then a little nibble of salad)
Ana: Why are you eating your salad and your soup at the same time?
Me: (smiles) I just eat them at the same time usually
Ana: Well, you’re supposed to eat one before the other. It’s better to eat your soup, AND THEN eat your salad.
Me: (smiles awkwardly and pushes soup to the side)
I’m waiting for the part when it gets EASIER to communicate, and I feel LESS stupid all the god damn time.
Fear Factor: Cádiz
Jueves el 5
Today, my soup had eyes.
I have encountered and eaten many things that I never would have thought of even putting near a dinner table. I tasted sea urchin. Fish egg sacks. Things that still have their heads. I never had a mental thing with food, but I’m starting to get one.
Sea urchin was the easiest. It was during a pre-carnaval festival, and everyone was drinking beer and doing it. So why not. Like I said before, tastes like sand and dead fish. Had one bite, never again.
My madre puts this thing (I can’t remember the name, but I’ll ask again) in a lot of random salads, or just by itself. It is essentially an egg sack of some fish. It looks like a veiny ball, and it is filled with tiny fish eggs. At first, I had a hunch that that was what I was eating, but I couldn’t really tell since it was cooked, and so it was white all the way through instead of that vivid, orange color. I’ve eaten this many times, and I don’t mind the texture or anything, but it tastes like shit.
AND THEN, I accidentally ate liver. I thought it was a fillet, but after chewing a couple bites, I realized what it was. That nasty mealy texture. I will eat pate, like in a spread for toast or something, but I don’t like cutting up the intact organ and eating it bite by bite.
I think the worst thing here is that a) the majority of meat is seafood (which I don’t really consider meat) and b) everything still has heads/extremities. I don’t really trust mollusks or crustaceans, or anything that has a main diet of shit and garbage (literally) and carries its house around with it for its entire life. The problem is that every meal includes either one of those two, or fish, which I don’t really mind. It’s just the fact that all the fish still have heads and eyes, and all the mariscos (shrimp or monster shrimp the size of my arm) have eyes, feelers, feet, everything. I literally have to shell them before I eat them, and pop the heads off. Today my madre made a veggie soup, which I loved, but it had whole mariscos, which I didn’t love. When I say whole, I mean each one was cut into thirds, so some pieces had the ass, some pieces had the torso with little legs, and my favorite, the ones that have the faces and eyes still on that look back at you, point their feelers at you, and say “PWEASE DON’T EAT ME MAWA!” She told me to just chew them a lot, because the shells were still on, and she forced me to try them in front of her.
I am not down with that.
Today, my soup had eyes.
I have encountered and eaten many things that I never would have thought of even putting near a dinner table. I tasted sea urchin. Fish egg sacks. Things that still have their heads. I never had a mental thing with food, but I’m starting to get one.
Sea urchin was the easiest. It was during a pre-carnaval festival, and everyone was drinking beer and doing it. So why not. Like I said before, tastes like sand and dead fish. Had one bite, never again.
My madre puts this thing (I can’t remember the name, but I’ll ask again) in a lot of random salads, or just by itself. It is essentially an egg sack of some fish. It looks like a veiny ball, and it is filled with tiny fish eggs. At first, I had a hunch that that was what I was eating, but I couldn’t really tell since it was cooked, and so it was white all the way through instead of that vivid, orange color. I’ve eaten this many times, and I don’t mind the texture or anything, but it tastes like shit.
AND THEN, I accidentally ate liver. I thought it was a fillet, but after chewing a couple bites, I realized what it was. That nasty mealy texture. I will eat pate, like in a spread for toast or something, but I don’t like cutting up the intact organ and eating it bite by bite.
I think the worst thing here is that a) the majority of meat is seafood (which I don’t really consider meat) and b) everything still has heads/extremities. I don’t really trust mollusks or crustaceans, or anything that has a main diet of shit and garbage (literally) and carries its house around with it for its entire life. The problem is that every meal includes either one of those two, or fish, which I don’t really mind. It’s just the fact that all the fish still have heads and eyes, and all the mariscos (shrimp or monster shrimp the size of my arm) have eyes, feelers, feet, everything. I literally have to shell them before I eat them, and pop the heads off. Today my madre made a veggie soup, which I loved, but it had whole mariscos, which I didn’t love. When I say whole, I mean each one was cut into thirds, so some pieces had the ass, some pieces had the torso with little legs, and my favorite, the ones that have the faces and eyes still on that look back at you, point their feelers at you, and say “PWEASE DON’T EAT ME MAWA!” She told me to just chew them a lot, because the shells were still on, and she forced me to try them in front of her.
I am not down with that.
miércoles, 4 de febrero de 2009
So un chino and una rubia walk into a bar...
Miercoles el 4
I'm going to talk about Marisa's family.
Marisa's and my mother are friends, which in Spain means that our families will automatically know everything about each others weird foreign students. That's cool I guess, since Marisa and I already broke the ice by breaking into the kitchen and getting caught.
Our friend Ben is Chinese, however, he doesn't look very Chinese. Like, if we were in Seattle, he would look not very Chinese at all. He is probably the only Chinese person currently in this city, and I am one of probably 4 real blondes. For this reason, and the fact that we're all friends, when Marisa's family asks about us, we are referred to as el chino y la rubia. And, Ben and I live in the same building, so all the people who live in our edificio need to get used to living with some "American" freaks.
Also, Marisa has been having some trouble with her madre. It's not too terrible, but from what I gather the woman is what some may refer to as... passive aggressive. It's hard to fight this in English, but imagine trying to ask "Why did you line my floor with newspaper?" in Spanish.
So. The madre. My mom is a pretty authentic Spanish cook. That means I get everything fried in olive oil, and lots of seafood. I think Marisa's madre is too, but instead of feeding her the same thing that the family get, Marisa gets tortullini. Tortullini covered in spaghettio sauce. When Marisa asks, "Madre, why did you give me something different?" madre says "Oh, well I thought you wouldn't like this!". The "this" was this really good tomato soup that my madre makes, with pan and spices. This was the first instance that lead us to the conclusion that Marisa is a puppy.
Puppies get trained, and we are all currently being trained to speak Spanish.
Marisa gets tortullini all the time. Puppies get puppy chow.
This last one is my favorite. Marisa is a very good person, and very positive, so she took it a lot better than I would have.
Marisa walks in her front door the other day after trudging through a hurricane flash flood. She gets some water on the floor, and her hermana reminds her to wipe her feet before she comes in the door. Marisa is a smart puppy, and she learns this right away. So, later that night, after we had been out for a couple drinks, Marisa returns home to find that the front door is stuck. She finally manages to shove it open and finds that it wasn't stuck, but rather blocked by a towel laid out on the ground by the door, and turns to see the entire hallway lined with newspaper. I don't care how weird they think we are, that shit is WEIRD. I could never see an American family who is hosting an exchange student from Spain doing that.
We are all like little, baby puppies. We don't know how to talk yet, even though we can understand pretty well, we must eat all of our puppy chow to please our madres, and if we piss on the floor, we'll get beaten with a rolled up newspaper.
Just kidding. Kind of.
I'm going to talk about Marisa's family.
Marisa's and my mother are friends, which in Spain means that our families will automatically know everything about each others weird foreign students. That's cool I guess, since Marisa and I already broke the ice by breaking into the kitchen and getting caught.
Our friend Ben is Chinese, however, he doesn't look very Chinese. Like, if we were in Seattle, he would look not very Chinese at all. He is probably the only Chinese person currently in this city, and I am one of probably 4 real blondes. For this reason, and the fact that we're all friends, when Marisa's family asks about us, we are referred to as el chino y la rubia. And, Ben and I live in the same building, so all the people who live in our edificio need to get used to living with some "American" freaks.
Also, Marisa has been having some trouble with her madre. It's not too terrible, but from what I gather the woman is what some may refer to as... passive aggressive. It's hard to fight this in English, but imagine trying to ask "Why did you line my floor with newspaper?" in Spanish.
So. The madre. My mom is a pretty authentic Spanish cook. That means I get everything fried in olive oil, and lots of seafood. I think Marisa's madre is too, but instead of feeding her the same thing that the family get, Marisa gets tortullini. Tortullini covered in spaghettio sauce. When Marisa asks, "Madre, why did you give me something different?" madre says "Oh, well I thought you wouldn't like this!". The "this" was this really good tomato soup that my madre makes, with pan and spices. This was the first instance that lead us to the conclusion that Marisa is a puppy.
Puppies get trained, and we are all currently being trained to speak Spanish.
Marisa gets tortullini all the time. Puppies get puppy chow.
This last one is my favorite. Marisa is a very good person, and very positive, so she took it a lot better than I would have.
Marisa walks in her front door the other day after trudging through a hurricane flash flood. She gets some water on the floor, and her hermana reminds her to wipe her feet before she comes in the door. Marisa is a smart puppy, and she learns this right away. So, later that night, after we had been out for a couple drinks, Marisa returns home to find that the front door is stuck. She finally manages to shove it open and finds that it wasn't stuck, but rather blocked by a towel laid out on the ground by the door, and turns to see the entire hallway lined with newspaper. I don't care how weird they think we are, that shit is WEIRD. I could never see an American family who is hosting an exchange student from Spain doing that.
We are all like little, baby puppies. We don't know how to talk yet, even though we can understand pretty well, we must eat all of our puppy chow to please our madres, and if we piss on the floor, we'll get beaten with a rolled up newspaper.
Just kidding. Kind of.
miércoles, 28 de enero de 2009
Speak softly and carry a big pizza. So you don't get caught trying to eat the entire contents of a frigo.
Miercoles el 28...again
So...today we didn't have school. All of the year long program kids came back, so we all decided it was a good reason to all go out together. I didn't want to go out, because I was trying to get up and go running today, but I caved because I wanted to meet everyone and mingle. Always trust your gut.
We started out the night in a normal way, tintos in the plaza together (tinto de verano is a really popular drink here, essentially it's red wine mixed with a sweet sparkling water, it sounds sick, but it's really cheap and really good. If 8 people get the supplies to have a few drinks each, it's less than a euro per person. That saves money at the bars). So we were all chatting and slowly started moving along to Nahu, the guiri bar that we all go to. The night wasn't not fun, we got some free drinks because we've befriended the bartenders and bouncers there, so we were all having a great time. Somewhere in between there, a group of people left to go get burgers. AND DIDN'T TELL HALF OF US. Extremely disappointed. After a night of going out, usually all we want to do is have some good food, drink some water, and wake up ready for the next day, but by the time we realized people had left, everything was closed (Cádiz doesn't understand that people who have been drinking usually like to eat afterward. The bars are open til like 4...so...yeah. It doesn't really make sense). So, finally, Michelle and Lauren and a few of us had one free round before we left. I didn't really want it, because I don't really like hard alcohol, but we all did it. If you were to put an orange into a bottle of nail polish remover, that is roughly what it tasted like. Upon smelling the little shot glass before we drank it, we assumed that it was just a shooter (practically juice, very little alcohol) because it smelled like fruit juice. Well it wasn't, and upon realizing we had been duped, we all got really ANGRY. I DID NOT WANT TO DRINK THAT, THAT WAS DISGUSTING, LET'S GO LEAVE AND GET SOME FOOD BECAUSE NOW WE'RE ANGRY THAT THEY DIDN'T TELL US. That's what we kind of said. So, after standing outside and realizing that everything was closed, Marisa and I decided to go to my house, because my madre always has tons of food, and it's really good.
After stomping up 3 flights of stairs, Marisa suggested that we take our boots off, so we didn't make so much noise. My padres sleep really heavily, so I say "Marisa, don't worry, they CAN'T EVEN HEAR US." I proceed to kick off my boots, not quietly, and we get into the house. Awesome, everyone is sleeping, clearly, because it's like 3 in the morning. We put our stuff down and made our way down the hallway to the kitchen, which is on the other side of the flat from my room. AWESOME, we were in. I turned on the light and closed the door and started to lift the lids off of pots and pans on the stove, while Marisa started to stick her hand into a box of chocolate cereal. At this point, we hear a noise (when someone turns the light on in the bathroom, the radio goes on to. The radio went on). I kind of look at Marisa while I turn around with a pan of rice in my hand, and she's holding onto a box of cereal about to reach in, and my madre opens the door. We were two very hungry deer in the headlights. "Oye qué pasa? Tatatat tata?" At this point, she doesn't see Marisa, until I panic and look at Marisa, then she sees what is going on, kind of. She didn't meet Marisa yet, because people don't really have people over to each other's houses here. We were both kind of buzzed and completely taken off guard, so we couldn't really speak Spanish, or English. I'll translate.
Madre: Hey what is going on here? It's like 3 in the morning.
Me: Uhhhh... (look at Marisa and blow her cover)
Madre: Who is this?
Me: My friend who...
Marisa: From the program!
Me: The one who lives on Frances Shaw!
(Frances Shaw is not a real street, but Fernandez Shaw is, so I'm just fucking up all over the place)
Marisa: Yeah from the program!
Me: My friend!
Madre: Well ok...
As soon as she leaves for the bathroom, we put everything down, switch off the light, and sprint back to my room, where we proceed to look at each other and laugh so hard that we cry, and throw our arms up in a questioning manner, like, "What the hell just happened?"
But, considering I'm already weird, because I'm American, I guess it wasn't a big deal to her. So that's cool. She was just probably wondering why I need to eat more than she already feeds me.
Note to self: next time, smuggle the food BEFORE you go out.
So...today we didn't have school. All of the year long program kids came back, so we all decided it was a good reason to all go out together. I didn't want to go out, because I was trying to get up and go running today, but I caved because I wanted to meet everyone and mingle. Always trust your gut.
We started out the night in a normal way, tintos in the plaza together (tinto de verano is a really popular drink here, essentially it's red wine mixed with a sweet sparkling water, it sounds sick, but it's really cheap and really good. If 8 people get the supplies to have a few drinks each, it's less than a euro per person. That saves money at the bars). So we were all chatting and slowly started moving along to Nahu, the guiri bar that we all go to. The night wasn't not fun, we got some free drinks because we've befriended the bartenders and bouncers there, so we were all having a great time. Somewhere in between there, a group of people left to go get burgers. AND DIDN'T TELL HALF OF US. Extremely disappointed. After a night of going out, usually all we want to do is have some good food, drink some water, and wake up ready for the next day, but by the time we realized people had left, everything was closed (Cádiz doesn't understand that people who have been drinking usually like to eat afterward. The bars are open til like 4...so...yeah. It doesn't really make sense). So, finally, Michelle and Lauren and a few of us had one free round before we left. I didn't really want it, because I don't really like hard alcohol, but we all did it. If you were to put an orange into a bottle of nail polish remover, that is roughly what it tasted like. Upon smelling the little shot glass before we drank it, we assumed that it was just a shooter (practically juice, very little alcohol) because it smelled like fruit juice. Well it wasn't, and upon realizing we had been duped, we all got really ANGRY. I DID NOT WANT TO DRINK THAT, THAT WAS DISGUSTING, LET'S GO LEAVE AND GET SOME FOOD BECAUSE NOW WE'RE ANGRY THAT THEY DIDN'T TELL US. That's what we kind of said. So, after standing outside and realizing that everything was closed, Marisa and I decided to go to my house, because my madre always has tons of food, and it's really good.
After stomping up 3 flights of stairs, Marisa suggested that we take our boots off, so we didn't make so much noise. My padres sleep really heavily, so I say "Marisa, don't worry, they CAN'T EVEN HEAR US." I proceed to kick off my boots, not quietly, and we get into the house. Awesome, everyone is sleeping, clearly, because it's like 3 in the morning. We put our stuff down and made our way down the hallway to the kitchen, which is on the other side of the flat from my room. AWESOME, we were in. I turned on the light and closed the door and started to lift the lids off of pots and pans on the stove, while Marisa started to stick her hand into a box of chocolate cereal. At this point, we hear a noise (when someone turns the light on in the bathroom, the radio goes on to. The radio went on). I kind of look at Marisa while I turn around with a pan of rice in my hand, and she's holding onto a box of cereal about to reach in, and my madre opens the door. We were two very hungry deer in the headlights. "Oye qué pasa? Tatatat tata?" At this point, she doesn't see Marisa, until I panic and look at Marisa, then she sees what is going on, kind of. She didn't meet Marisa yet, because people don't really have people over to each other's houses here. We were both kind of buzzed and completely taken off guard, so we couldn't really speak Spanish, or English. I'll translate.
Madre: Hey what is going on here? It's like 3 in the morning.
Me: Uhhhh... (look at Marisa and blow her cover)
Madre: Who is this?
Me: My friend who...
Marisa: From the program!
Me: The one who lives on Frances Shaw!
(Frances Shaw is not a real street, but Fernandez Shaw is, so I'm just fucking up all over the place)
Marisa: Yeah from the program!
Me: My friend!
Madre: Well ok...
As soon as she leaves for the bathroom, we put everything down, switch off the light, and sprint back to my room, where we proceed to look at each other and laugh so hard that we cry, and throw our arms up in a questioning manner, like, "What the hell just happened?"
But, considering I'm already weird, because I'm American, I guess it wasn't a big deal to her. So that's cool. She was just probably wondering why I need to eat more than she already feeds me.
Note to self: next time, smuggle the food BEFORE you go out.
Las ratas del aire
Miercoles el 28
I have made 4 general observations about Cádiz thus far.
1) I hate pigeons. My teacher from K2 called them “las ratas del aire,” which means air rats. That’s what they are. Disgusting. And they’re everywhere. Every plaza that they visit, they surround you, fly around on you, and poop all around you. One took a shit on Paul’s computer the first day that he was here, and they have yet to redeem themselves. When god made pigeons, he messed up big time. Marisa and I plan to spike bread with alka seltzer and watch them all explode. I’ll let you know how it goes.
2) Cádiz has an amazing citywide sanitation program. I will tell you why. There is probably 1 dog to every 10 people here, and every single day, dogs shit in the streets. There is no grass for them to poop on, so they just do it wherever they want. Owners do not ever bother to pick it up, so it’s just everywhere. Also, if people can’t make it home to go to the bathroom, they pee in the streets, so we never know if the pee on the streets belongs to an animal or a human. A mixture of cigarette butts, pee and dog shit. However, every night, amazingly, the magical sanitation fairies clean up all the garbage from the streets, like, literally there are vacuum cars and trucks that wash the streets. It’s awesome. My only concern is Carnaval. I don’t know if they clean during Carnaval, but they really should, because after one day of the pre-celebration the streets were literally covered in pee and garbage. Either they’ll clean it, or we’ll be up to our knees in basura. I will also let you know how this goes.
3) Babies and dogs. Merz, listen up. Dogs here are the cutest dogs in the world, all sizes, breeds, ages. Some are scruffily, some are really unfortunate looking, but they’re all the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life, hands down. Not just the dogs, but the babies too. I kid you not, American babies suck compared to Spanish babies. THEY ARE SO F ING CUTE. They all ride in strollers until they’re like 5, and they’re parents bundle them up in sleeping bag type things and hats and scarves, so they’re sitting in their strollers with all of their limbs sticking out like cute little starfish. They probably all have heat stroke, but they’re so cute while they’re having heat stroke. And they all have little bikes and toys that they play with and scream Spanish words in their cute little baby Spanish voices. God they’re cute. Marisa is trying to start an album of cute babies and dogs, but it’s really hard to take pictures of peoples’ babies and dogs when you’re already weird for being American. We will have to think of a good way to get around this without getting arrested.
I can now understand pretty much everything my family says, and what people in the streets are talking about. The challenge now is being able to speak back.
Last weekend we all went to Seville. It was AMAZING. We saw la catedral, which is enormous and beautiful. The ceilings had to be about a million feet tall and there were old paintings and various religious artifacts from the 17th century. I’ve never seen anything like it. Also, Alcazar, which was the craziest most amazing building I’ve ever seen. It’s over 1000 years old, like pretty much everything is here. It used to be a Roman fortress, but the Spaniards took it over and turned it into a palace. I have pictures of everything that I will post as soon as I get my package with my USB cord!
I miss and love you all! You’ll be hearing from me soon, because I usually do something really stupid every day.
I have made 4 general observations about Cádiz thus far.
1) I hate pigeons. My teacher from K2 called them “las ratas del aire,” which means air rats. That’s what they are. Disgusting. And they’re everywhere. Every plaza that they visit, they surround you, fly around on you, and poop all around you. One took a shit on Paul’s computer the first day that he was here, and they have yet to redeem themselves. When god made pigeons, he messed up big time. Marisa and I plan to spike bread with alka seltzer and watch them all explode. I’ll let you know how it goes.
2) Cádiz has an amazing citywide sanitation program. I will tell you why. There is probably 1 dog to every 10 people here, and every single day, dogs shit in the streets. There is no grass for them to poop on, so they just do it wherever they want. Owners do not ever bother to pick it up, so it’s just everywhere. Also, if people can’t make it home to go to the bathroom, they pee in the streets, so we never know if the pee on the streets belongs to an animal or a human. A mixture of cigarette butts, pee and dog shit. However, every night, amazingly, the magical sanitation fairies clean up all the garbage from the streets, like, literally there are vacuum cars and trucks that wash the streets. It’s awesome. My only concern is Carnaval. I don’t know if they clean during Carnaval, but they really should, because after one day of the pre-celebration the streets were literally covered in pee and garbage. Either they’ll clean it, or we’ll be up to our knees in basura. I will also let you know how this goes.
3) Babies and dogs. Merz, listen up. Dogs here are the cutest dogs in the world, all sizes, breeds, ages. Some are scruffily, some are really unfortunate looking, but they’re all the cutest dogs I’ve ever seen in my life, hands down. Not just the dogs, but the babies too. I kid you not, American babies suck compared to Spanish babies. THEY ARE SO F ING CUTE. They all ride in strollers until they’re like 5, and they’re parents bundle them up in sleeping bag type things and hats and scarves, so they’re sitting in their strollers with all of their limbs sticking out like cute little starfish. They probably all have heat stroke, but they’re so cute while they’re having heat stroke. And they all have little bikes and toys that they play with and scream Spanish words in their cute little baby Spanish voices. God they’re cute. Marisa is trying to start an album of cute babies and dogs, but it’s really hard to take pictures of peoples’ babies and dogs when you’re already weird for being American. We will have to think of a good way to get around this without getting arrested.
I can now understand pretty much everything my family says, and what people in the streets are talking about. The challenge now is being able to speak back.
Last weekend we all went to Seville. It was AMAZING. We saw la catedral, which is enormous and beautiful. The ceilings had to be about a million feet tall and there were old paintings and various religious artifacts from the 17th century. I’ve never seen anything like it. Also, Alcazar, which was the craziest most amazing building I’ve ever seen. It’s over 1000 years old, like pretty much everything is here. It used to be a Roman fortress, but the Spaniards took it over and turned it into a palace. I have pictures of everything that I will post as soon as I get my package with my USB cord!
I miss and love you all! You’ll be hearing from me soon, because I usually do something really stupid every day.
viernes, 23 de enero de 2009
It's Breetnee!
Today, we finished up our 2 week "intensive" Spanish course. Next week we actually start formal classes at the University. They're every day from about 9 until 2, depending on the day. Once the weather gets better, I will be at the beach everyday afterwards. Every day.
First thing's first. Carnaval. Last Sunday we had a little sneak peek into what it's going to be like. Carnaval is a week long celebration that happens at the end of every February. Everyone comes from all over just to see it and experience it. It's kind of like Halloween, but it lasts a week instead of one night. Everyone dresses up in costumes, and there's lots of beer and food and music and singing. Pretty much the coolest thing ever. So on Sunday, the whole city met up in the Plaza de San Antonio and kind of did that, minus the costumes. Since Cádiz is so close to the sea, they have a lot of seafood (go figure). We decided to be like the locals and try the sea urchins (little hard balls with spikes poking out, otters eat them). Bad idea. It tasted like I went up to the shore of the beach where the water met the sand, and then licked the sand, and immediately licked a dead fish. When in Rome... As the day went on, people moved towards the beaches and the streets, which is where we ended up as well. Before we made it to the beach, we passed through one of the streets, jam packed with people and drummers and everyone dancing. You literally cannot move through the crowds, which is fine, because it was really fun being stuck in the middle of it. I cannot wait for Carnaval.
Oh, and apparently, everyone here thinks I'm Britney Spears, because that's what everyone in the crowd was calling me. I guess it's ok now that she's made her comeback.
Other than that, we've all been trying to explore the city more. It's growing on all of us. I'm still waiting to get my USB cord from my mom so I can put up pictures, but it will happen. This weekend we are going to Sevilla, so I'm sure I'll have plenty more to talk about after that...
One more note. Mullets are back too. All kinds of mullets. Mullets with dreadlocks in the back, fohawk mullets, long ones and short ones. It's sick. And I don't mean in the good way.
Not like the ph phat.
I miss you all and love you lots!
First thing's first. Carnaval. Last Sunday we had a little sneak peek into what it's going to be like. Carnaval is a week long celebration that happens at the end of every February. Everyone comes from all over just to see it and experience it. It's kind of like Halloween, but it lasts a week instead of one night. Everyone dresses up in costumes, and there's lots of beer and food and music and singing. Pretty much the coolest thing ever. So on Sunday, the whole city met up in the Plaza de San Antonio and kind of did that, minus the costumes. Since Cádiz is so close to the sea, they have a lot of seafood (go figure). We decided to be like the locals and try the sea urchins (little hard balls with spikes poking out, otters eat them). Bad idea. It tasted like I went up to the shore of the beach where the water met the sand, and then licked the sand, and immediately licked a dead fish. When in Rome... As the day went on, people moved towards the beaches and the streets, which is where we ended up as well. Before we made it to the beach, we passed through one of the streets, jam packed with people and drummers and everyone dancing. You literally cannot move through the crowds, which is fine, because it was really fun being stuck in the middle of it. I cannot wait for Carnaval.
Oh, and apparently, everyone here thinks I'm Britney Spears, because that's what everyone in the crowd was calling me. I guess it's ok now that she's made her comeback.
Other than that, we've all been trying to explore the city more. It's growing on all of us. I'm still waiting to get my USB cord from my mom so I can put up pictures, but it will happen. This weekend we are going to Sevilla, so I'm sure I'll have plenty more to talk about after that...
One more note. Mullets are back too. All kinds of mullets. Mullets with dreadlocks in the back, fohawk mullets, long ones and short ones. It's sick. And I don't mean in the good way.
Not like the ph phat.
I miss you all and love you lots!
jueves, 15 de enero de 2009
HAMMATIME!
They say that Europe is one year ahead of America when it comes to fashion. If that's true, I'm scared.
MC Hammer pants are back. I kid you not.
It all began at the Madrid airport. I think I saw a total of two girls there wearing hammer pants, both purple. At first I thought maybe they were just baggy sweat pants, but upon further investigation it was clear.
If you don't know what hammer pants are, I'll try and explain. If need be, look up a picture of MC Hammer. I think he's bankrupt now, so I mean, even if you were famous for wearing these pants at one time, you're screwed in the end. Anyway, they're really tight from the ankle to around the knee area, and all of a sudden they balloon out, so it looks like your crotch is at your knees. Aladdin wore them better than anyone. I don't care who you are though, seeing people in hammer pants makes me feel better about leaving the door in sweats (when Marisa and I went running yesterday, I think people wanted to push us into the ocean because our sweatpants didn't match our random oversized t-shirts. Europe makes you feel bad about what you wear in America).
It gets worse. They have hammer jeans here. They are EXACTLY what you think they are.
The grandkids came over again today for lunch. I hope there's some truth in what they say about things getting worse before they get better, because this is the "conversation" I had today.
Ana: Oh it's so cold outside!
Me: Yes.
Ana: You have something on your face that looks like blood.
(I popped a zit earlier and I guess it was red. I don't know the word for zit, and I don't know how to say pop, and that's none of her business, plus she's too young to know about zits, so if it's not embarrassing enough that I popped a zit, I can't even fucking explain it)
Me: (point to face) Here?
Ana: Yes.
Me: Oh, I don't know why.
Oye, picha, ya es la hora. Cervesita time.
MC Hammer pants are back. I kid you not.
It all began at the Madrid airport. I think I saw a total of two girls there wearing hammer pants, both purple. At first I thought maybe they were just baggy sweat pants, but upon further investigation it was clear.
If you don't know what hammer pants are, I'll try and explain. If need be, look up a picture of MC Hammer. I think he's bankrupt now, so I mean, even if you were famous for wearing these pants at one time, you're screwed in the end. Anyway, they're really tight from the ankle to around the knee area, and all of a sudden they balloon out, so it looks like your crotch is at your knees. Aladdin wore them better than anyone. I don't care who you are though, seeing people in hammer pants makes me feel better about leaving the door in sweats (when Marisa and I went running yesterday, I think people wanted to push us into the ocean because our sweatpants didn't match our random oversized t-shirts. Europe makes you feel bad about what you wear in America).
It gets worse. They have hammer jeans here. They are EXACTLY what you think they are.
The grandkids came over again today for lunch. I hope there's some truth in what they say about things getting worse before they get better, because this is the "conversation" I had today.
Ana: Oh it's so cold outside!
Me: Yes.
Ana: You have something on your face that looks like blood.
(I popped a zit earlier and I guess it was red. I don't know the word for zit, and I don't know how to say pop, and that's none of her business, plus she's too young to know about zits, so if it's not embarrassing enough that I popped a zit, I can't even fucking explain it)
Me: (point to face) Here?
Ana: Yes.
Me: Oh, I don't know why.
Oye, picha, ya es la hora. Cervesita time.
miércoles, 14 de enero de 2009
Please get online. WAAAHHH
Miercoles el 14
The internet situation is really starting to become a problem. If I'm at home, I'm either eating a meal, taking a siesta, sleeping (those are two different things), or doing homework. The rest of the time, we all sit out in the plazas, patiently awaiting to hear the fun noises that come out of skype to tell us that someone is online! NO ONE IS EVER ONLINE! WAAAHHHH.
I'm really beginning to realize how much we take the privilege of having internet in our bedrooms for granted. So for now, I will sit in the plaza until my fingers freeze off and I can't type anymore.
My skype name is mosz1987, and my cell phone number is (34) 669 277 339. Please. Contact me.
Today after lunch, I told my madre that I was going to go running. I don't know if I've written much about her, but she's really funny, and I'm starting to understand her better. She's really loud and talks super fast, not weird for people from Andalucía. So anyway, I told her I was going to go running...
Me: So, I'm going to take a nap and then go for a run with my friend
Madre: Oh good! Did you like your lunch?
Me: Yes of course, you're the best cook in Spain
Madre: Well clearly! You're going to have to go running if you don't want to get a fat ass!
And at this point she sort of taps each butt cheek with her hands. People are very close here, as you can see.
Marisa and I went running by the ocean. Even though it is shitty weather still, it's beautiful, and it'll be that much better once I can remember what the sun looks like.
So it's off to the new part of town tonight. We'll see how that goes.
Adios picha
The internet situation is really starting to become a problem. If I'm at home, I'm either eating a meal, taking a siesta, sleeping (those are two different things), or doing homework. The rest of the time, we all sit out in the plazas, patiently awaiting to hear the fun noises that come out of skype to tell us that someone is online! NO ONE IS EVER ONLINE! WAAAHHHH.
I'm really beginning to realize how much we take the privilege of having internet in our bedrooms for granted. So for now, I will sit in the plaza until my fingers freeze off and I can't type anymore.
My skype name is mosz1987, and my cell phone number is (34) 669 277 339. Please. Contact me.
Today after lunch, I told my madre that I was going to go running. I don't know if I've written much about her, but she's really funny, and I'm starting to understand her better. She's really loud and talks super fast, not weird for people from Andalucía. So anyway, I told her I was going to go running...
Me: So, I'm going to take a nap and then go for a run with my friend
Madre: Oh good! Did you like your lunch?
Me: Yes of course, you're the best cook in Spain
Madre: Well clearly! You're going to have to go running if you don't want to get a fat ass!
And at this point she sort of taps each butt cheek with her hands. People are very close here, as you can see.
Marisa and I went running by the ocean. Even though it is shitty weather still, it's beautiful, and it'll be that much better once I can remember what the sun looks like.
So it's off to the new part of town tonight. We'll see how that goes.
Adios picha
martes, 13 de enero de 2009
Is it raining in Seattle? Because it’s pissing in Cádiz.
Martes el 13
If I were to write that I’m not sad right now, I would be lying. In my attempt to escape the rain of Seattle, I’ve managed to stumble upon more rain…and thousands of people I can’t understand. It’s a recipe for me to be blue. And to miss my friends, Brian, and my family.
Right now, it is 8 pm, so I don’t eat dinner for another 2 hours. I just finished my homework, and since my house doesn’t have any internet I have to find other ways to entertain myself. My family here is pretty old, they have grandkids that come over for lunch sometimes. Today, they came over again. There is a little girl who is probably like 7, and a little boy who’s 2ish- my Madre calls him “tu hermano!” because we both have blonde hair and blue eyes. I would totally love to play with them and talk to them, but frankly, the 2-year-old little boy can actually speak better Spanish than I can. It’s really fucking depressing. Today I tried to strike up a conversation with the little girl, Ana. I will translate it for you into English:
Me: Do you go to school here?
Ana: Where?
Me: You.
Ana: Oh yes, I go to school in blah blah blah.
Me: Oh, very nice. Do you like it?
Ana: Yes, but I don’t like that we have to wear uniforms on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
Mara: So the other days it’s whatever you want?
Ana: No, on Thursdays we have P.E. Did you have P.E. today?
(I’m wearing sweats. I thought you could just wear them, but apparently it’s only if you have P.E.)
Me: Well, no. I changed out of my other clothes. I need to change my clothes…
Ana: I like the braid in your hair!
Me: Thank you!
Ana: Tatat tat a tata tte te totatata
Me: Haha, yes.
I quickly finish my food and change and leave for school again. Everyone here dresses in extremely nice clothes every single day, so if the fact that I have blonde hair and blue eyes doesn’t make me look foreign enough, I wore Shox to class today. Sinner…
The other day, when Marisa and I were trying to find the internet, her host dad led us to the plaza. He talks faster than anyone I’ve heard here, so every time he said something to me, I would either say “Qué?” or just smile. There was one thing I did understand though. He points at Marisa and says, “You, you have the face of a Spanish person, you have the face of a person from here!” Points at me and says, “You, you have the face of an American!” I guess I can’t really argue with that. Fuck.
Little by little, I understand a tiny tiny bit more. I think today I was extremely tired considering that Ben and I went to the Plaza at 3 to use the internet, and I have to wake up at 8 for class. Being jet lagged and tired and frustrated and homesick makes it really hard to look on the positive side of things, but I’m still trying. It will get better.
Until then, I will sit in my 4 degree Fahrenheit bedroom and cry myself to sleep as I attempt to recite the day’s Spanish lesson in my head.
SER Y ESTAR. SER. CUALIDAD. LA CAJA ES CUADRADA. LA PELOTA ES REDONDA.
If I were to write that I’m not sad right now, I would be lying. In my attempt to escape the rain of Seattle, I’ve managed to stumble upon more rain…and thousands of people I can’t understand. It’s a recipe for me to be blue. And to miss my friends, Brian, and my family.
Right now, it is 8 pm, so I don’t eat dinner for another 2 hours. I just finished my homework, and since my house doesn’t have any internet I have to find other ways to entertain myself. My family here is pretty old, they have grandkids that come over for lunch sometimes. Today, they came over again. There is a little girl who is probably like 7, and a little boy who’s 2ish- my Madre calls him “tu hermano!” because we both have blonde hair and blue eyes. I would totally love to play with them and talk to them, but frankly, the 2-year-old little boy can actually speak better Spanish than I can. It’s really fucking depressing. Today I tried to strike up a conversation with the little girl, Ana. I will translate it for you into English:
Me: Do you go to school here?
Ana: Where?
Me: You.
Ana: Oh yes, I go to school in blah blah blah.
Me: Oh, very nice. Do you like it?
Ana: Yes, but I don’t like that we have to wear uniforms on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday
Mara: So the other days it’s whatever you want?
Ana: No, on Thursdays we have P.E. Did you have P.E. today?
(I’m wearing sweats. I thought you could just wear them, but apparently it’s only if you have P.E.)
Me: Well, no. I changed out of my other clothes. I need to change my clothes…
Ana: I like the braid in your hair!
Me: Thank you!
Ana: Tatat tat a tata tte te totatata
Me: Haha, yes.
I quickly finish my food and change and leave for school again. Everyone here dresses in extremely nice clothes every single day, so if the fact that I have blonde hair and blue eyes doesn’t make me look foreign enough, I wore Shox to class today. Sinner…
The other day, when Marisa and I were trying to find the internet, her host dad led us to the plaza. He talks faster than anyone I’ve heard here, so every time he said something to me, I would either say “Qué?” or just smile. There was one thing I did understand though. He points at Marisa and says, “You, you have the face of a Spanish person, you have the face of a person from here!” Points at me and says, “You, you have the face of an American!” I guess I can’t really argue with that. Fuck.
Little by little, I understand a tiny tiny bit more. I think today I was extremely tired considering that Ben and I went to the Plaza at 3 to use the internet, and I have to wake up at 8 for class. Being jet lagged and tired and frustrated and homesick makes it really hard to look on the positive side of things, but I’m still trying. It will get better.
Until then, I will sit in my 4 degree Fahrenheit bedroom and cry myself to sleep as I attempt to recite the day’s Spanish lesson in my head.
SER Y ESTAR. SER. CUALIDAD. LA CAJA ES CUADRADA. LA PELOTA ES REDONDA.
We are weird.
Lunes el 12
I really need to learn Spanish better. Last night, before dinner, mi madre me preguntó something about the first day of class (that started this morning). I kind of understood her, I remember her saying something about what time I want to wake up, and I asked her what time the class started, and she told me either it started at 9, or I had to get up at 9, or 8, or something. She asked me if I had an alarm clock, but I had absolutely no idea what she was saying, so I asked her to repeat herself 2 times until she finally had to point at a clock and say “DA DA DA DA DA,” such as an alarm clock would do in the morning. I am a stupid American.
Marisa made a really good point the other day. I don’t know if any of you have ever known an exchange student in high school or anything like that, but it’s like that one person who just sticks out like a sore thumb, and for some reason, everything they do is really really weird. You could just watch them do whatever they’re doing and you just think, “They’re SO WEIRD.” I am that weird person now.
Anyway, I managed to make it to class today on time. For the next two weeks, before formal classes start at the University, we are taking a daily intensive course that lasts 3 hours every morning, and then in the evenings we usually have some other meeting for whatever. I’m getting used to the place little by little, but I still would love to come at home tonight to my madhouse in Seattle and see my best friends. Engie, SJ, Steph, and Merz. I miss you guys like crazy and I wish you could be here to see how bad I fuck up. It’s pretty funny actually.
Also, even though I’ve found the internet, I can’t be out there very late to use it, which is horrible considering my family and friends are all 9 hours behind us. According to Marisa’s padre, he knew a girl who was sitting out en la plaza alone and someone just straight up jacked her laptop from her lap. Unfortunately she forgot the word for robber or thief (ladron!) so all she could do (sorry internet went out…imagine that. I posted an incomplete story because I am a stupid American) was sit there and watch her laptop get stolen. I’m trying to use Skype. Skype is free and I like free stuff. But the time difference is murder right now.
You guys would not believe the daily schedule here. Spanish people drink and smoke all day every day, and eat 5 meals a day. However, they are skinnier, healthier, and have longer life expectancies than any Americans do. How, you ask? No stress. There is absolutely no stress here, and it is amazing. The only stress I am suffering from is not being able to understand 50 percent of what comes out of people’s mouths. I’m ok with that for now. It will come to me.
Days go like this: I wake up for class at 8 and need to be there at 9. I have desayuno somewhere in between, which consists of coffee and a little pastry (mi madre makes me eat them. Weird). Then, I go to school, and at 11:30 we have another half hour break, when people usually eat again. I just have another cup of coffee and some fruit (coffee here is amazing by the way. Amazing). Finish up classes by 1:30 and you guessed it, we eat again at 3. A really big meal. A lot of people in Spain eat somewhere in between comida y cena (lunch and dinner), but I’m still full from lunch usually. Stupid American! Then, after la comida, we take ciestas, which is fucking awesome. They encourage sleep during the day here. I sleep for one or two hours, go to another class or meeting, then come home, do a little homework, and have dinner at 10. Super crazy. Most people are sleeping or going out by then, but not us. We eat (they always eat). Then, at around 11:30 or 12, we start walking around the streets, brown bagging and open bottling. Spain also encourages drinking and socializing in the streets. We do this until about 2, when everyone starts actually going to the bars and the nightlife starts. We obviously can’t be out that late on school nights, but on the weekends, this is normal.
Mi madre told me that on the weekends, todas las jovenes (all the young people) go out and come home at 5 or 6 in the morning. Sleeping til 3 is totally ok. SHIBBY!
I really need to learn Spanish better. Last night, before dinner, mi madre me preguntó something about the first day of class (that started this morning). I kind of understood her, I remember her saying something about what time I want to wake up, and I asked her what time the class started, and she told me either it started at 9, or I had to get up at 9, or 8, or something. She asked me if I had an alarm clock, but I had absolutely no idea what she was saying, so I asked her to repeat herself 2 times until she finally had to point at a clock and say “DA DA DA DA DA,” such as an alarm clock would do in the morning. I am a stupid American.
Marisa made a really good point the other day. I don’t know if any of you have ever known an exchange student in high school or anything like that, but it’s like that one person who just sticks out like a sore thumb, and for some reason, everything they do is really really weird. You could just watch them do whatever they’re doing and you just think, “They’re SO WEIRD.” I am that weird person now.
Anyway, I managed to make it to class today on time. For the next two weeks, before formal classes start at the University, we are taking a daily intensive course that lasts 3 hours every morning, and then in the evenings we usually have some other meeting for whatever. I’m getting used to the place little by little, but I still would love to come at home tonight to my madhouse in Seattle and see my best friends. Engie, SJ, Steph, and Merz. I miss you guys like crazy and I wish you could be here to see how bad I fuck up. It’s pretty funny actually.
Also, even though I’ve found the internet, I can’t be out there very late to use it, which is horrible considering my family and friends are all 9 hours behind us. According to Marisa’s padre, he knew a girl who was sitting out en la plaza alone and someone just straight up jacked her laptop from her lap. Unfortunately she forgot the word for robber or thief (ladron!) so all she could do (sorry internet went out…imagine that. I posted an incomplete story because I am a stupid American) was sit there and watch her laptop get stolen. I’m trying to use Skype. Skype is free and I like free stuff. But the time difference is murder right now.
You guys would not believe the daily schedule here. Spanish people drink and smoke all day every day, and eat 5 meals a day. However, they are skinnier, healthier, and have longer life expectancies than any Americans do. How, you ask? No stress. There is absolutely no stress here, and it is amazing. The only stress I am suffering from is not being able to understand 50 percent of what comes out of people’s mouths. I’m ok with that for now. It will come to me.
Days go like this: I wake up for class at 8 and need to be there at 9. I have desayuno somewhere in between, which consists of coffee and a little pastry (mi madre makes me eat them. Weird). Then, I go to school, and at 11:30 we have another half hour break, when people usually eat again. I just have another cup of coffee and some fruit (coffee here is amazing by the way. Amazing). Finish up classes by 1:30 and you guessed it, we eat again at 3. A really big meal. A lot of people in Spain eat somewhere in between comida y cena (lunch and dinner), but I’m still full from lunch usually. Stupid American! Then, after la comida, we take ciestas, which is fucking awesome. They encourage sleep during the day here. I sleep for one or two hours, go to another class or meeting, then come home, do a little homework, and have dinner at 10. Super crazy. Most people are sleeping or going out by then, but not us. We eat (they always eat). Then, at around 11:30 or 12, we start walking around the streets, brown bagging and open bottling. Spain also encourages drinking and socializing in the streets. We do this until about 2, when everyone starts actually going to the bars and the nightlife starts. We obviously can’t be out that late on school nights, but on the weekends, this is normal.
Mi madre told me that on the weekends, todas las jovenes (all the young people) go out and come home at 5 or 6 in the morning. Sleeping til 3 is totally ok. SHIBBY!
lunes, 12 de enero de 2009
Wait...So, we have to sleep on the floor, again??
Saying goodbye to my family, my best friends (who I live with and adore), and my boyfriend (who I love to death) for five months was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Once I made it through the 9 hour flight to London full of screaming babies and 3 glasses of wine (gratis) I thought that catching connecting flights to Madrid, Jerez, and finally Cádiz would be cake.
Wrong.
A group of 11 of us took the British Airways flight together to Heathrow. We flew out of Seattle at 7 pm, and arrived in London the next day at noon (due to the 8 hour time difference). All of us were extremely jet lagged and completely ready to catch our connecting flight to Madrid, which was supposed to leave at 2:30. This is where the disaster of 3 days of travel on 4 hours of sleep began.
We quickly got off the plain at Heathrow and made our way to our gate. If you’ve never been to Heathrow, it is roughly the size of the city of Seattle. We had to take a 10 minute bus ride to get to our terminal and catch our connecting flight, which gave us plenty of time to make fun of how British people drive on the wrong side of the road, and say things like ‘wanker” and “cheerio” (which they do, I heard both). Up until actually going to the UK, I kind of always though British people were imaginary. They’re accents were so cute, I’ve seen lots of them on TV, and even if they were cussing you out it would still be impossible to get pissed at someone who calls you a silly ninny. Anyway, we finally got to our gate and tried to relax before boarding our next flight. Flying makes me really REALLY thrirsty, which is really unfortunate in Europe, because apparently they don’t believe in water fountains. At every airport they have tons of Duty Frees, random liquor stores and wine shops, but they don’t sell water for less than your first born. I decided to run to the bathroom to fill my water bottle up, since they kept throwing my water bottles away at security I didn’t want to buy another one. I started to fill it up in the sink and the cleaning lady who was mopping my feet told me to move over, so I went to the other sink. It took me roughly 36 minutes to fill my little 16 ounce bottle, since the faucet was motion censored I kept having to move the bottle in and out and line it up perfectly with a 2 second stream of water. I was just about to quench my thirst when the cleaning lady screamed “YOU can’t DRINK DAT! What are you tinking??” Well, I’m tinking that there are no fucking water fountains in this country and I don’t want to spend 20 pounds for a bottle, so I’m going to drink this luke-warm free water, thank you. Yum. “Dat water no is for drinking! Es for wash your hands!’ “Oh, really?” I say, sounding surprised, like this woman had just enlightened me, because I don’t know what else to say, and I really don’t know why I’m talking back in the first place. “YES! Where you from anyway?” Fuck fuck fuck fuck I panic and say “America.” She looks back at me and says, “MMMMMHMMMMM!” God damnit, I’ve been out of the country for like an hour and I’m already making an ass out of myself. And I’m not even in Spain yet, I’m in LONDON, THEY SPEAK ENGLISH THERE. I was thirsty, and we can do things like drink tap water in America. I should’ve said I was from Canada. Whatever.
So I go back to the gate to sit down. After about an hour all of us realize that we haven’t seen anyone up at the desk of the gate, which is odd because we were supposed to board the plane fairly soon. 3 of the girls in our group had tickets for a plane that was supposed to leave an hour after ours, so they were checking their baggage. A few minutes later they come back to our gate to inform us that their flight has been cancelled, because the entire Madrid airport is shut down.
We are screwed.
The following events quickly turn into a blur. We had to go find someone to confirm that the Madrid airport was shut down because if it snows in Madrid, or Spain for that matter, the country riots, and airports completely shut down without telling a single person what the hell is going on. Next we had to go collect our baggage, which was supposed to be checked all the way through to Madrid. Keep in mind we’re all supposed to be in Cadiz for 5 months, so I have a shitload of bags, and I packed light. For the next 5 hours, we dragged our asses around all 4 billion square miles of Heathrow, trying to get our flights changed. The group quickly dwindled down to 8 people, who all managed to get onto a flight for 8 the next morning. This either meant that we would have to get a hotel for the night, or sleep in Heathrow. When we asked the manager at British Airways if he would put us up for the night he laughed. HE LAUGHED. We didn’t think it was that funny, and we didn’t think that we should have to pay 50 pounds to sleep in a bed for less than 6 hours.
Well, we did.
Trust me, we attempted to avoid spending that money. From about 6 til 10 pm, our group wandered around, looking for corners or nooks to sleep in. We would then pile up our baggage awkwardly and try and sleep on top of it, but considering that we had all of our shit with us it became comparible to sleeping big uncomfortable boulders. Plus, wherever we went, after finally getting settled, someone would come in and tell us we couldn’t sleep there. I think we were tarninshing Heathrow’s reputation by trying to sleep in public. That’s for bums. On one had we did look a lot like homeless people, but on the other hand we hadn’t slept in like 30 hours, so a bench in a café looks like a California King size bed.
In the end, 10 at night, Marisa, Samantha, Ben and I gave in and got a hotel. Well, the bus ride there was free, so we got that goin for us... We immediately passed out once we hit our beds, but due to the time difference found ourselves waking up every hour convinced that it was the next day and we missed our flight. It also didn’t help that we didn’t have a clock in our room (I know, what the fuck right?). I got 4 hours of sleep. Better than zero I guess.
Fortunately we did catch our flight in the morning, and got into Madrid at around 11. The plan was to then catch a flight to Jerez de la Frontera at 4 because it’s the closest airport to Cádiz. The only problem here (actually there was more than one problem) was that no one speaks English in Madrid, clearly, and no one has cute little British accents. They have crazy accents that are near impossible to understand. If you are from Madrid or Barcelona, many of the c’s and s’s turn into “THS” (like a lisp) if they’re follwed by a certain vowel, and people from the Cadiz area completely drop s’s out of the middle and ends of verbs, so the 7 years of Spanish I’ve taken quickly becomes kind of useless. Shit. So, we’re looking at the board trying to figure out what gate or flight is on, but it isn’t listed. This is bad, this means we actually have to try and speak Spanish already, on zero sleep. I ask a man at information if he knows anything about the Iberia flight 158 (apparently he understood, amazing) and he said some crazy shit back to me. I got the words “I don’t know” and “probably won’t know until 5”. Well that’s funny, because our flight leaves at 4… hmm. Whatever. So we found a spot on the cold marble floor (Spain believes a little bit more in water fountains, but they don’t believe in carpet) that was close to the flight board. We wait here. And wait. And wait. Finally we see that our flight has been delayed until 6, but there’s no gate listed. At this point it’s 4, then 4:30, then 5, still no gate. We run into some more of the people from our group who got separated and they tell us where one of the gates is that the Jerez flights have been going out of. We go there. At this point, walking is extremely difficult. None of us have eaten anything but the little tiny meals on our flights, and have had barely any water because apparently if you drink the tap water you will die. After 3 gate changes we got to our final gate, but there was no information about the time when we would be taking off. I was not going to sleep on the floor again, and this time be laughed at in Spanish and have no idea what people were saying about me. Rachel and I dedided to try and find some food and coffee. As we were leaving the café, we saw a flight board right outside of the café, and Rachel looks at me and says, “We’re boarding?” Of course, because that would only make sense based on our trip thus far. We sprint back to our gate and are literally just in time to make the flight. I’m still confused.
We landed in Jerez at about 9:30, but we still need to get to Cadiz, which is another 45 minute drive. We all have to take taxis, 3 or 4 to a car, which ends up being about 20 euros per person. I attempt to talk to our taxi driver, to try and warm up my Spanish a little bit. I guess it worked, because he seemed to understand me. When we arrived in Cadiz, I was kind of blown away. Partly because the city is so beautiful, but it is also very compact, and at this point I’m extremely tired so I don’t really know what to think. It’s also freezing butt ass cold. GLOBAL WARMING IS REAL. Ben and I, who live in the same building, somehow find our houses. Since Cadiz is over 3 thousand years old, they preserve the old part of the city by not really building anything, so all of the buildings are built up higher. We walk into our building at around 11, and we honestly don’t know if it’s the right place. Thankfully, Ben’s host dad, Pepe, sees us and says “TATATA TATA TA TA ESTUDIANTES? TATATATATA” or something. Sí sí sí somos estudiantes! We made it. Our family came and brought us into our houses, and we were finally left alone to fend for ourselves with people who we cannot understand at all. I still have barely any idea what anyone says around here, but I’m hoping I will start to understand soon. Until then, I will walk around with a smile on my face that says “I’m American and nice! But I have no idea what the fuck you are saying to me! Yeah! ☺ “
Today, I woke up at 12. I definitely could have slept for longer, but I felt bad and lazy, So I woke up. Oh my god, you would not believe how much food the people try and make you eat here. My host mom is a great cook, but my stomach is only so big. Last night, I’m not kidding, the second I walked in the door she grabbed my hand “Venga venga!” C’mon let’s go! I was sat down at the table and she asked me “tienes hambre?” Hell yeah I’m hungry! She brought out a bowl of soup and I’m thinking yes, food, this is perfect. Through bites I tried to answer questions that I didn’t really understand in my broken Spanish. I was almost done with my soup and trying to talk to my host Dad, Neno, when Francisca brought me arroz, like a paella, with seafood (Cadiz is surrounded by ocean, lots of fresh seafood). She wasn’t done. Pan (bread), Carne (pork), and some vegitable thingie. Holy shit, I thought I was good with the soup. Everything is delicious but my stomach is not that big. The only reason people aren’t fat here is because you walk EVERYWHERE. I went to bed full for the first time in 3 days.
So this morning, I had my café con leche a las 12, and my host mom made me eat some dulces which is fine but I’m still full from last night. Next, I got to shower finally. The downside is that water is really expensive and we can only take like 5 minute showers. I have a problem with this. I obviously will have to learn to adjust, as well as learn how to shave my legs in 30 seconds. Shit.
Next, we went out to walk around the city, and my host parents tried to teach me some things. I listened, but I didn’t learn much, because I can’t understand them. We had some more food in el centro, and cervesitas (little glasses of beer) and walked around some more. The problem was they kept running into people and I would have to introduce myself and make an ass out of myself in front of more people. At around 3 we walked to get some tapas and cervesas, and the food is so good but I’m telling you, my stomach is not that big. After we eat, we walk home to sleep. Spain is awesome. I just need to learn how to talk to people.
Ben and Marisa and I all live really close, which is nice. We found the internet today! There is free WiFi in la Plaza de Palilleros, about 5 or 10 minutes from my house. Thank god.
Wrong.
A group of 11 of us took the British Airways flight together to Heathrow. We flew out of Seattle at 7 pm, and arrived in London the next day at noon (due to the 8 hour time difference). All of us were extremely jet lagged and completely ready to catch our connecting flight to Madrid, which was supposed to leave at 2:30. This is where the disaster of 3 days of travel on 4 hours of sleep began.
We quickly got off the plain at Heathrow and made our way to our gate. If you’ve never been to Heathrow, it is roughly the size of the city of Seattle. We had to take a 10 minute bus ride to get to our terminal and catch our connecting flight, which gave us plenty of time to make fun of how British people drive on the wrong side of the road, and say things like ‘wanker” and “cheerio” (which they do, I heard both). Up until actually going to the UK, I kind of always though British people were imaginary. They’re accents were so cute, I’ve seen lots of them on TV, and even if they were cussing you out it would still be impossible to get pissed at someone who calls you a silly ninny. Anyway, we finally got to our gate and tried to relax before boarding our next flight. Flying makes me really REALLY thrirsty, which is really unfortunate in Europe, because apparently they don’t believe in water fountains. At every airport they have tons of Duty Frees, random liquor stores and wine shops, but they don’t sell water for less than your first born. I decided to run to the bathroom to fill my water bottle up, since they kept throwing my water bottles away at security I didn’t want to buy another one. I started to fill it up in the sink and the cleaning lady who was mopping my feet told me to move over, so I went to the other sink. It took me roughly 36 minutes to fill my little 16 ounce bottle, since the faucet was motion censored I kept having to move the bottle in and out and line it up perfectly with a 2 second stream of water. I was just about to quench my thirst when the cleaning lady screamed “YOU can’t DRINK DAT! What are you tinking??” Well, I’m tinking that there are no fucking water fountains in this country and I don’t want to spend 20 pounds for a bottle, so I’m going to drink this luke-warm free water, thank you. Yum. “Dat water no is for drinking! Es for wash your hands!’ “Oh, really?” I say, sounding surprised, like this woman had just enlightened me, because I don’t know what else to say, and I really don’t know why I’m talking back in the first place. “YES! Where you from anyway?” Fuck fuck fuck fuck I panic and say “America.” She looks back at me and says, “MMMMMHMMMMM!” God damnit, I’ve been out of the country for like an hour and I’m already making an ass out of myself. And I’m not even in Spain yet, I’m in LONDON, THEY SPEAK ENGLISH THERE. I was thirsty, and we can do things like drink tap water in America. I should’ve said I was from Canada. Whatever.
So I go back to the gate to sit down. After about an hour all of us realize that we haven’t seen anyone up at the desk of the gate, which is odd because we were supposed to board the plane fairly soon. 3 of the girls in our group had tickets for a plane that was supposed to leave an hour after ours, so they were checking their baggage. A few minutes later they come back to our gate to inform us that their flight has been cancelled, because the entire Madrid airport is shut down.
We are screwed.
The following events quickly turn into a blur. We had to go find someone to confirm that the Madrid airport was shut down because if it snows in Madrid, or Spain for that matter, the country riots, and airports completely shut down without telling a single person what the hell is going on. Next we had to go collect our baggage, which was supposed to be checked all the way through to Madrid. Keep in mind we’re all supposed to be in Cadiz for 5 months, so I have a shitload of bags, and I packed light. For the next 5 hours, we dragged our asses around all 4 billion square miles of Heathrow, trying to get our flights changed. The group quickly dwindled down to 8 people, who all managed to get onto a flight for 8 the next morning. This either meant that we would have to get a hotel for the night, or sleep in Heathrow. When we asked the manager at British Airways if he would put us up for the night he laughed. HE LAUGHED. We didn’t think it was that funny, and we didn’t think that we should have to pay 50 pounds to sleep in a bed for less than 6 hours.
Well, we did.
Trust me, we attempted to avoid spending that money. From about 6 til 10 pm, our group wandered around, looking for corners or nooks to sleep in. We would then pile up our baggage awkwardly and try and sleep on top of it, but considering that we had all of our shit with us it became comparible to sleeping big uncomfortable boulders. Plus, wherever we went, after finally getting settled, someone would come in and tell us we couldn’t sleep there. I think we were tarninshing Heathrow’s reputation by trying to sleep in public. That’s for bums. On one had we did look a lot like homeless people, but on the other hand we hadn’t slept in like 30 hours, so a bench in a café looks like a California King size bed.
In the end, 10 at night, Marisa, Samantha, Ben and I gave in and got a hotel. Well, the bus ride there was free, so we got that goin for us... We immediately passed out once we hit our beds, but due to the time difference found ourselves waking up every hour convinced that it was the next day and we missed our flight. It also didn’t help that we didn’t have a clock in our room (I know, what the fuck right?). I got 4 hours of sleep. Better than zero I guess.
Fortunately we did catch our flight in the morning, and got into Madrid at around 11. The plan was to then catch a flight to Jerez de la Frontera at 4 because it’s the closest airport to Cádiz. The only problem here (actually there was more than one problem) was that no one speaks English in Madrid, clearly, and no one has cute little British accents. They have crazy accents that are near impossible to understand. If you are from Madrid or Barcelona, many of the c’s and s’s turn into “THS” (like a lisp) if they’re follwed by a certain vowel, and people from the Cadiz area completely drop s’s out of the middle and ends of verbs, so the 7 years of Spanish I’ve taken quickly becomes kind of useless. Shit. So, we’re looking at the board trying to figure out what gate or flight is on, but it isn’t listed. This is bad, this means we actually have to try and speak Spanish already, on zero sleep. I ask a man at information if he knows anything about the Iberia flight 158 (apparently he understood, amazing) and he said some crazy shit back to me. I got the words “I don’t know” and “probably won’t know until 5”. Well that’s funny, because our flight leaves at 4… hmm. Whatever. So we found a spot on the cold marble floor (Spain believes a little bit more in water fountains, but they don’t believe in carpet) that was close to the flight board. We wait here. And wait. And wait. Finally we see that our flight has been delayed until 6, but there’s no gate listed. At this point it’s 4, then 4:30, then 5, still no gate. We run into some more of the people from our group who got separated and they tell us where one of the gates is that the Jerez flights have been going out of. We go there. At this point, walking is extremely difficult. None of us have eaten anything but the little tiny meals on our flights, and have had barely any water because apparently if you drink the tap water you will die. After 3 gate changes we got to our final gate, but there was no information about the time when we would be taking off. I was not going to sleep on the floor again, and this time be laughed at in Spanish and have no idea what people were saying about me. Rachel and I dedided to try and find some food and coffee. As we were leaving the café, we saw a flight board right outside of the café, and Rachel looks at me and says, “We’re boarding?” Of course, because that would only make sense based on our trip thus far. We sprint back to our gate and are literally just in time to make the flight. I’m still confused.
We landed in Jerez at about 9:30, but we still need to get to Cadiz, which is another 45 minute drive. We all have to take taxis, 3 or 4 to a car, which ends up being about 20 euros per person. I attempt to talk to our taxi driver, to try and warm up my Spanish a little bit. I guess it worked, because he seemed to understand me. When we arrived in Cadiz, I was kind of blown away. Partly because the city is so beautiful, but it is also very compact, and at this point I’m extremely tired so I don’t really know what to think. It’s also freezing butt ass cold. GLOBAL WARMING IS REAL. Ben and I, who live in the same building, somehow find our houses. Since Cadiz is over 3 thousand years old, they preserve the old part of the city by not really building anything, so all of the buildings are built up higher. We walk into our building at around 11, and we honestly don’t know if it’s the right place. Thankfully, Ben’s host dad, Pepe, sees us and says “TATATA TATA TA TA ESTUDIANTES? TATATATATA” or something. Sí sí sí somos estudiantes! We made it. Our family came and brought us into our houses, and we were finally left alone to fend for ourselves with people who we cannot understand at all. I still have barely any idea what anyone says around here, but I’m hoping I will start to understand soon. Until then, I will walk around with a smile on my face that says “I’m American and nice! But I have no idea what the fuck you are saying to me! Yeah! ☺ “
Today, I woke up at 12. I definitely could have slept for longer, but I felt bad and lazy, So I woke up. Oh my god, you would not believe how much food the people try and make you eat here. My host mom is a great cook, but my stomach is only so big. Last night, I’m not kidding, the second I walked in the door she grabbed my hand “Venga venga!” C’mon let’s go! I was sat down at the table and she asked me “tienes hambre?” Hell yeah I’m hungry! She brought out a bowl of soup and I’m thinking yes, food, this is perfect. Through bites I tried to answer questions that I didn’t really understand in my broken Spanish. I was almost done with my soup and trying to talk to my host Dad, Neno, when Francisca brought me arroz, like a paella, with seafood (Cadiz is surrounded by ocean, lots of fresh seafood). She wasn’t done. Pan (bread), Carne (pork), and some vegitable thingie. Holy shit, I thought I was good with the soup. Everything is delicious but my stomach is not that big. The only reason people aren’t fat here is because you walk EVERYWHERE. I went to bed full for the first time in 3 days.
So this morning, I had my café con leche a las 12, and my host mom made me eat some dulces which is fine but I’m still full from last night. Next, I got to shower finally. The downside is that water is really expensive and we can only take like 5 minute showers. I have a problem with this. I obviously will have to learn to adjust, as well as learn how to shave my legs in 30 seconds. Shit.
Next, we went out to walk around the city, and my host parents tried to teach me some things. I listened, but I didn’t learn much, because I can’t understand them. We had some more food in el centro, and cervesitas (little glasses of beer) and walked around some more. The problem was they kept running into people and I would have to introduce myself and make an ass out of myself in front of more people. At around 3 we walked to get some tapas and cervesas, and the food is so good but I’m telling you, my stomach is not that big. After we eat, we walk home to sleep. Spain is awesome. I just need to learn how to talk to people.
Ben and Marisa and I all live really close, which is nice. We found the internet today! There is free WiFi in la Plaza de Palilleros, about 5 or 10 minutes from my house. Thank god.
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