So, I lied. That WASN'T my last post. This one most probably is, though. I have such a long time to kill in Newark that I figured I would write about myself, instead of reading Cien Años de Soledad.
I remember when I got in from Buenos Aires being totally shocked by everything (even though I - presumably - knew it already): the size of everything, the way people dress, the ridiculous over-use of the flag in and around customs. But this time it doesn't seem so weird. Maybe Barcelona isn't as different as Buenos Aires was, or maybe I got used to seeing weird stuff all the time since I traveled a lot. Either way, my re-entry has (thus far) been decidedly less dramatic.
I was sad on the plane though - I stared at Barcelona from my window until I couldn't even make out Mt Tibidabo. But now I just want to get home to some turkey meatloaf and my bed. I'm relearning to use my phone again, and am excited to be able to text and call all of my friends! Now I think I'm going to go order a cheeseburger. It'll be great. And I could order a beer! I was thinking about it, and I don't know how to order drinks in English. I assume it's much the same, but still. How do you order beer on tap? Do you say beer on tap? I could say caña, but I doubt it would get me very far. Weird, I don't know why that n-yay (oh spanglish) was italic. Anyway, yay America! I'm almost home. I miss Spain.
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
One last post
Well, I've come to the end of the semester. I can't believe it went by so quickly, and I can't believe I have to leave. Packing has been less stressful than I thought it would be, but "appreciating Barcelona" has been extraordinarily stressful. Due to a rather long evening last night, I didn't make it to MNAC in the morning today as I had planned, but I am slowly accepting the fact that I just don't have any more time here. In fact, my plane leaves in only 13 hours. It's a sad realization, but the more I think about it the more I believe I will make myself come back.
For all the moments when I haven't been completely happy with IES, with the unfriendly nature of the Catalans, or anything else, the last three weeks have been so blissful that it has pretty much erased any less than ecstatic memory. I know that I will be happy to be home, but I also know that around January 3rd I will probably sit around saying "If I was in Barcelona right now, I could be-" eating tapas/beginning an evening out with a jarra of sangria/people watching on Las Ramblas... etc.
The things I neglected to do: go to MNAC, Fundacio Joan Miro, Local Bar, the Dow Jones, and Razzmatazz; take the gondola to Montjuic, and see one last sardana. Well, I guess I just have to come back.
Today I finished my Christmas shopping. It was a MADHOUSE. It was literally like being in a mob, because you couldn't choose where you wanted to walk, you just walked until someone near you moved far enough to a side so that you could edge your way out of the stream. I literally stood trying to leave a store for nearly a full minute before there was an opening in the crowd. Also, because it's Barcelona, you not only have to fight the crowds, but also the riot police. Why would they choose to protest on the busiest shopping street at the busiest time of the day on the Saturday before Christmas? Search me. Actually, it's quite obvious, because 10 million people will see them protesting. I hadn't been in such a large and overwhelming crowd since Mom and I went to the Palio in Siena.
So this is the end. I'm all packed (minus toiletries, pajamas, laptop, and clothes for tomorrow), I did nearly everything on my "last month in Barcelona" list, I had an epic last night (last night- since I can't really go out tonight because of my morning flight), I have presents for everyone but Kyle (who wants boring, non-Spanish things), and I have said goodbye to all of my friends save one, who I'm eating some final tapas with this evening. I still just can't believe it though. Even though several of my friends are already settled back in the states, I'm in disbelief that everything is over and that regular life has to resume. Regular life. Psh. What fun is it speaking your native language? None. And knowing where you are all the time? And driving places? What a boring life. Give me a nit bus, a crowd of people who speak just quickly enough that I think I understand but I probably don't, and a cosmopolitan city made up of tiny swerving medieval streets any day of the week.
For all the moments when I haven't been completely happy with IES, with the unfriendly nature of the Catalans, or anything else, the last three weeks have been so blissful that it has pretty much erased any less than ecstatic memory. I know that I will be happy to be home, but I also know that around January 3rd I will probably sit around saying "If I was in Barcelona right now, I could be-" eating tapas/beginning an evening out with a jarra of sangria/people watching on Las Ramblas... etc.
The things I neglected to do: go to MNAC, Fundacio Joan Miro, Local Bar, the Dow Jones, and Razzmatazz; take the gondola to Montjuic, and see one last sardana. Well, I guess I just have to come back.
Today I finished my Christmas shopping. It was a MADHOUSE. It was literally like being in a mob, because you couldn't choose where you wanted to walk, you just walked until someone near you moved far enough to a side so that you could edge your way out of the stream. I literally stood trying to leave a store for nearly a full minute before there was an opening in the crowd. Also, because it's Barcelona, you not only have to fight the crowds, but also the riot police. Why would they choose to protest on the busiest shopping street at the busiest time of the day on the Saturday before Christmas? Search me. Actually, it's quite obvious, because 10 million people will see them protesting. I hadn't been in such a large and overwhelming crowd since Mom and I went to the Palio in Siena.
So this is the end. I'm all packed (minus toiletries, pajamas, laptop, and clothes for tomorrow), I did nearly everything on my "last month in Barcelona" list, I had an epic last night (last night- since I can't really go out tonight because of my morning flight), I have presents for everyone but Kyle (who wants boring, non-Spanish things), and I have said goodbye to all of my friends save one, who I'm eating some final tapas with this evening. I still just can't believe it though. Even though several of my friends are already settled back in the states, I'm in disbelief that everything is over and that regular life has to resume. Regular life. Psh. What fun is it speaking your native language? None. And knowing where you are all the time? And driving places? What a boring life. Give me a nit bus, a crowd of people who speak just quickly enough that I think I understand but I probably don't, and a cosmopolitan city made up of tiny swerving medieval streets any day of the week.
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Things I will miss
As promised. To be clear, many of these are food items that are probably available at home (or I could make at home), but certainly not as easily. Also, some items (#26) are very available in Portland but not available at all in Walla Walla. So you may have to do some guessing work as to where I will be missing each item.
1. chorizo
2. jamon iberico
3. pan con tomate
4. tapas
5. walking to school through a bustling metropolis
6. hearing at least four different languages most days
7. always having at least seven different concerts I could (conceivably) go to each night
8. patatas bravas... french fries will never be the same. Nor will ketchup.
9. palm trees (weird, right? What am I, Californian?)
10. being of legal drinking age... OH WAIT, I WILL BE TOMORROW!
11. dressing up all the time (yet never as well-dressed as the Catalanes)
12. using a hand towel as a toilet seat cover
13. tortilla espanyola
14. learning new words every time I try to do ANYTHING
15. being able to bogart tables at restaurants for as long as you feel like it
16. being able to go to a restaurant and order nothing but a soda (and then, because of #15, stay for three hours)
17. the ability to go anywhere I want using nothing but public transportation (and occasionally my feet)
18. being constantly interrupted by protests (it's sort of endearing)
19. shops that stay open until 10 (or 11)
20. seeing different people every day, even on the same path at the same time
21. ColaCao (I may be bringing this home. It's like Spanish Ovaltine)
22. breathtaking (and often weird) architecture on every block
23. bakeries on every corner
23a. fresh bread every day
24. chocolate con churros
25. techno music
26. falafel
27. tiny, old people everywhere, usually complaining, but always well-dressed
28. an interest in sport, singular (I would say "sports" but I don't see anyone following anything but futbol)
29. los punkis
29a. mullets & mohawks
29b. super short bangs
29c. brightly colored skinny jeans
30. the accent ("pero que di(th)es")
31. the old men that play a weird bocce-like game in the park I pass on my way to school
32. a clean, efficient, on-time metro system with a countdown to the next train (ok, Portland's got clean and on-time, but I love these timers. They never lie.)
33. euros - they are color-coded AND size-coded. Have you ever considered the fact that a blind person couldn't tell a $1 bill from a $20 bill? Well, they couldn't.
34. cafe con leche
35. good quality vino and cava for less than 7 euros a bottle
36. GAUDI and Parc Guell
37. my wonderful friends here
38. my KICKASS host family
39. our proximity to the metro, the grocery store, the bakery, cafes, bars, and everything else I could ever need
40. no one bothering themselves with me, ever
41. HARLEM JAZZ CLUB
42. sangria
43. meeting people from all over the world (recently: Sweden, France, Argentina, Ecuador)
I'll keep thinking... I'm sure there are more.
1. chorizo
2. jamon iberico
3. pan con tomate
4. tapas
5. walking to school through a bustling metropolis
6. hearing at least four different languages most days
7. always having at least seven different concerts I could (conceivably) go to each night
8. patatas bravas... french fries will never be the same. Nor will ketchup.
9. palm trees (weird, right? What am I, Californian?)
10. being of legal drinking age... OH WAIT, I WILL BE TOMORROW!
11. dressing up all the time (yet never as well-dressed as the Catalanes)
12. using a hand towel as a toilet seat cover
13. tortilla espanyola
14. learning new words every time I try to do ANYTHING
15. being able to bogart tables at restaurants for as long as you feel like it
16. being able to go to a restaurant and order nothing but a soda (and then, because of #15, stay for three hours)
17. the ability to go anywhere I want using nothing but public transportation (and occasionally my feet)
18. being constantly interrupted by protests (it's sort of endearing)
19. shops that stay open until 10 (or 11)
20. seeing different people every day, even on the same path at the same time
21. ColaCao (I may be bringing this home. It's like Spanish Ovaltine)
22. breathtaking (and often weird) architecture on every block
23. bakeries on every corner
23a. fresh bread every day
24. chocolate con churros
25. techno music
26. falafel
27. tiny, old people everywhere, usually complaining, but always well-dressed
28. an interest in sport, singular (I would say "sports" but I don't see anyone following anything but futbol)
29. los punkis
29a. mullets & mohawks
29b. super short bangs
29c. brightly colored skinny jeans
30. the accent ("pero que di(th)es")
31. the old men that play a weird bocce-like game in the park I pass on my way to school
32. a clean, efficient, on-time metro system with a countdown to the next train (ok, Portland's got clean and on-time, but I love these timers. They never lie.)
33. euros - they are color-coded AND size-coded. Have you ever considered the fact that a blind person couldn't tell a $1 bill from a $20 bill? Well, they couldn't.
34. cafe con leche
35. good quality vino and cava for less than 7 euros a bottle
36. GAUDI and Parc Guell
37. my wonderful friends here
38. my KICKASS host family
39. our proximity to the metro, the grocery store, the bakery, cafes, bars, and everything else I could ever need
40. no one bothering themselves with me, ever
41. HARLEM JAZZ CLUB
42. sangria
43. meeting people from all over the world (recently: Sweden, France, Argentina, Ecuador)
I'll keep thinking... I'm sure there are more.
Monday, December 15, 2008
Things I can't wait for
Speaking of lists...
1. Netflix (attention Kyle, I'm reclaiming it)
2. Pandora
3. lots of food
4. my wonderful double bed
5. central heating
6. my North Face
7. access to a gym
8. carpets
9. delicious clean tap water
10. peanut butter
11. evergreens
12. not looking like a fool in flared jeans (speaking of which, I bought skinny purple pants that are so euro I want to hurl - in a good way)
13. serving my own portions at dinner and not being chided for eating too little
14. rain (though I'm told to expect snow)
15. math classes
16. my ipod speakers!
17. my room which neither shares walls with anyone else's nor is in the front hall
18. coming home without reeking of cigarette smoke
19. a dryer
20. lines of 6 people that take less than 30 minutes to get through
21. oh yeah, all those people I love
Stay tuned, tomorrow is things I will miss.
1. Netflix (attention Kyle, I'm reclaiming it)
2. Pandora
3. lots of food
4. my wonderful double bed
5. central heating
6. my North Face
7. access to a gym
8. carpets
9. delicious clean tap water
10. peanut butter
11. evergreens
12. not looking like a fool in flared jeans (speaking of which, I bought skinny purple pants that are so euro I want to hurl - in a good way)
13. serving my own portions at dinner and not being chided for eating too little
14. rain (though I'm told to expect snow)
15. math classes
16. my ipod speakers!
17. my room which neither shares walls with anyone else's nor is in the front hall
18. coming home without reeking of cigarette smoke
19. a dryer
20. lines of 6 people that take less than 30 minutes to get through
21. oh yeah, all those people I love
Stay tuned, tomorrow is things I will miss.
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Live vicariously through me!
Just a quick note to say pictures are up! All 811 of them. Check them out: http://s426.photobucket.com/albums/pp347/lindsermyra/
SO PRODUCTIVE
Would you like to know how many things I crossed off my "last month in Barcelona" list this weekend? 
Well, I'll tell you. Seven. It would have been nine, but the gondola was closed due to weather conditions and the Fundacio Joan Miro is at the other end of that gondola.
I went to the TOP of Mt Tibidabo this time, I watched the Real Madrid-Barca game from a local bar, I had churros and chocolate (again), I went inside the statue of Columbus at SUNSET, I found Placa del Pi and the market in it (mostly food), I went to the modernist Hospital de Sant Pau, designed by Gaudi protege Lluis Domenech i Montaner, I saw the oldest church in the city, Sant Pau del Camp, and tonight I will be able to cross off Placa de la Revolucio and the Gracia neighborhood when Stacey, Danielle and I go wander the squares. Then it will be eight. Stacey and I also went to no less than three new bars this weekend: Milk, L'Ascensor, and Bodega Tio, and also the totally random one where we watched the game. By the way, you should know that we not only learned the fight song, we tried to sing it when Barca won, but no one else in the bar was singing. We assumed they would immediately break into song each time a goal was scored, or at the very least when they won, but we were sorely disappointed. It was better this way though, because we only learned about seven of the words, where to clap, and when to yell "BARCA! BARCA! BAAAAAAAAAAARCA!" It was great nonetheless.
I'm very into my lists right now: lists of food to eat when I get home (apples, broccoli, asparagus, salads, artichoke
, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and sweet potato waffles, skim milk, orange juice, chocolate peanut butter ice cream, bagels, cream cheese, avocados, turkey sandwiches, omelets and all other egg products, Thai Orchid, Montage, Chinese, Sandoval's, Fat City, Kraft mac & cheese, Papa Haydn's, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, Burgerville, Indian cart), lists of things left to do in Barcelona (MNAC, Joan Miro, patatas bravas from L'Ovella Negra, Razzmatazz, see Groove Juice at Harlem, gondola to Montjuic, Palau de la Musica, Dow Jones, maybe the chocolate museum?), lists of school work left to do (study for poetry final, take-home lit final), and lists of people to buy presents for (it's even longer than my list of food to eat when I get home). I like lists.
The weather has been fantastic every day until about 4 pm, when the clouds roll
in and all of a sudden it's windy and freezing. But at least the leaves are falling. Most of them. Last night it rained, which was unfortunate for several reasons: the most prominent being we were on our way to an ice bar at the moment. Yes, we went to a bar made completely of ice, where the temperature is kept at -5 degrees Celsius and the cups, tables, and decorations are all ice. They give you parkas, hats, and gloves at the door. Unfortunately, the bottom two inches of everyone's jeans were wet, and some were wearing flats (not I), so it was an extremely icey experience. You're only allowed in for 45 minutes, but we took about 900 pictures in the 30 minutes we were able to stand. I am obsessively photo-documenting every moment now, so I have tons of new pictures which are making their way onto Photobucket. On our way back from Hospital Sant Pau, Stacey and I found ourselves at La Sagrada Familia just as they lit it up for the evening. I thought I had seen enough of the building, but it is even more incredible at night... as you can see!
The pictures I included in this post are (in order): Columbus statue at dusk, Las Ramblas as seen from the Columbus statue, Barcelona as seen from Mt Tibidabo, and La Sagrada Familia lit up at night. The day we went to Mt Tibidabo started with clear, blue skies, but by the time we got up to the top it was decidedly less clear and gorgeous, as seen in the cloudy, smoggy photo. Anyway, I am doing my best to make use of all of my time in Barcelona, and getting ready to come home as well (mentally - it's too early for packing). If you can think of a present that someone (maybe you!) would like from Barcelona, you should comment and leave me suggestions, because I have no idea what to get anyone but I assume it should be something Spanish! It would be quite the cop-out to get Christmas presents at home when I've been in Europe all this time.
Well, I'll tell you. Seven. It would have been nine, but the gondola was closed due to weather conditions and the Fundacio Joan Miro is at the other end of that gondola.I went to the TOP of Mt Tibidabo this time, I watched the Real Madrid-Barca game from a local bar, I had churros and chocolate (again), I went inside the statue of Columbus at SUNSET, I found Placa del Pi and the market in it (mostly food), I went to the modernist Hospital de Sant Pau, designed by Gaudi protege Lluis Domenech i Montaner, I saw the oldest church in the city, Sant Pau del Camp, and tonight I will be able to cross off Placa de la Revolucio and the Gracia neighborhood when Stacey, Danielle and I go wander the squares. Then it will be eight. Stacey and I also went to no less than three new bars this weekend: Milk, L'Ascensor, and Bodega Tio, and also the totally random one where we watched the game. By the way, you should know that we not only learned the fight song, we tried to sing it when Barca won, but no one else in the bar was singing. We assumed they would immediately break into song each time a goal was scored, or at the very least when they won, but we were sorely disappointed. It was better this way though, because we only learned about seven of the words, where to clap, and when to yell "BARCA! BARCA! BAAAAAAAAAAARCA!" It was great nonetheless.
I'm very into my lists right now: lists of food to eat when I get home (apples, broccoli, asparagus, salads, artichoke
, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes and sweet potato waffles, skim milk, orange juice, chocolate peanut butter ice cream, bagels, cream cheese, avocados, turkey sandwiches, omelets and all other egg products, Thai Orchid, Montage, Chinese, Sandoval's, Fat City, Kraft mac & cheese, Papa Haydn's, peanut butter & jelly sandwiches, Burgerville, Indian cart), lists of things left to do in Barcelona (MNAC, Joan Miro, patatas bravas from L'Ovella Negra, Razzmatazz, see Groove Juice at Harlem, gondola to Montjuic, Palau de la Musica, Dow Jones, maybe the chocolate museum?), lists of school work left to do (study for poetry final, take-home lit final), and lists of people to buy presents for (it's even longer than my list of food to eat when I get home). I like lists.The weather has been fantastic every day until about 4 pm, when the clouds roll
in and all of a sudden it's windy and freezing. But at least the leaves are falling. Most of them. Last night it rained, which was unfortunate for several reasons: the most prominent being we were on our way to an ice bar at the moment. Yes, we went to a bar made completely of ice, where the temperature is kept at -5 degrees Celsius and the cups, tables, and decorations are all ice. They give you parkas, hats, and gloves at the door. Unfortunately, the bottom two inches of everyone's jeans were wet, and some were wearing flats (not I), so it was an extremely icey experience. You're only allowed in for 45 minutes, but we took about 900 pictures in the 30 minutes we were able to stand. I am obsessively photo-documenting every moment now, so I have tons of new pictures which are making their way onto Photobucket. On our way back from Hospital Sant Pau, Stacey and I found ourselves at La Sagrada Familia just as they lit it up for the evening. I thought I had seen enough of the building, but it is even more incredible at night... as you can see!
The pictures I included in this post are (in order): Columbus statue at dusk, Las Ramblas as seen from the Columbus statue, Barcelona as seen from Mt Tibidabo, and La Sagrada Familia lit up at night. The day we went to Mt Tibidabo started with clear, blue skies, but by the time we got up to the top it was decidedly less clear and gorgeous, as seen in the cloudy, smoggy photo. Anyway, I am doing my best to make use of all of my time in Barcelona, and getting ready to come home as well (mentally - it's too early for packing). If you can think of a present that someone (maybe you!) would like from Barcelona, you should comment and leave me suggestions, because I have no idea what to get anyone but I assume it should be something Spanish! It would be quite the cop-out to get Christmas presents at home when I've been in Europe all this time.
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Three to go!
GREAT NEWS! My oral exam today went very, very well. So hopefully that will make up for the written this past Tuesday, which was less than perfect. Also, I turned in my term paper on Tuesday, and got it back today with a 9.5 (out of 10)!!! So things are looking up.
Next I have a Spanish final tomorrow morning, a poetry final on Tuesday, and a take-home final for lit due on Thursday, which I will turn in early so that I don't have to worry about it on my birthday. And then EVERYTHING WILL BE DONE! I can't wait.
Just moments ago, a student arrived at the door who is going to move in with the family next semester. She arrived - suitcase in hand - speaking very little Spanish and is currently in the living room bonding with the family. As much as she can. I can hear Paula asking "Entiendes?" every few minutes. But she does that to me too, so I guess I shouldn't judge. The suitcase debacle was kind of hilarious though, because everyone was like - um... do you think you're moving in now? Lindsey lives here now. I'll probably offer to grab coffee with her or something, and tell her about the family. Lucky thing, gets to be here all year. Hmph.
I thought that as the day got closer, I would be more and more excited to come home, but every day I am more convinced that I can never leave. I will be glad to be home, but now every time I ride the metro or eat a chorizo sandwich or see the moon rising over the castle-like building on my walk home from IES, I just ache thinking that it's one of the last times. Soon it really will be the last time. As much as I want Wednesday to come as fast as it can, each day I spend wishing my schoolwork would hurry up and be over I realize is a day I should be enjoying down to the last second. Also, Wednesday is my birthday, so it's tougher than ever to not want it to be here NOW. But no, I have far too much to do in Barcelona to be dreaming of a day even six days away. Today I went to the CCCB (Contemporary Cultural Center of Barcelona) with Stacey, which was one thing off my list, and this weekend I did four others: Mt. Tibidabo (but I'm going back, since we missed the funicular), Boadas (the oldest cocteleria in Barcelona), the Plaza Espanya magic fountain show, and the best Thai restaurant in Barcelona. I'll give you a brief summary of the rest: museums left on my art ticket, the gondola to Montjuic, the big modernisme hospital, go inside the statue of Columbus, a few more barri gotic landmarks I've missed, and four or five bars that have been recommended to me but I've never been to. I think it's manageable, but the four days after I'm done with classes may be full of self-guided walking tours (through places like the Jewish quarter and the Gracia neighborhood).
Things I wish I could've done this semester:
1. Go to Madrid, Prague, Morrocco, and France. But being gone half of the weekends of the semester was more than enough.
2. Somehow magically secure tickets to the Real Madrid/Barca game (on Saturday. I'll be watching it from La Tapilla Sixtina, on my block)
3. Figure out the public libraries
4. Make friends with some catalanes (I probably could've done more, but I thought I made a good effort)
5. Take a Catalan class - none of them fit with my schedule
6. Gone to the beach more when it was 85 out
There are probably more. But I'll leave my other remembrances of the semester for next week! I have much more time to blog but leaving will probably be the theme of the next 10 days.
Next I have a Spanish final tomorrow morning, a poetry final on Tuesday, and a take-home final for lit due on Thursday, which I will turn in early so that I don't have to worry about it on my birthday. And then EVERYTHING WILL BE DONE! I can't wait.
Just moments ago, a student arrived at the door who is going to move in with the family next semester. She arrived - suitcase in hand - speaking very little Spanish and is currently in the living room bonding with the family. As much as she can. I can hear Paula asking "Entiendes?" every few minutes. But she does that to me too, so I guess I shouldn't judge. The suitcase debacle was kind of hilarious though, because everyone was like - um... do you think you're moving in now? Lindsey lives here now. I'll probably offer to grab coffee with her or something, and tell her about the family. Lucky thing, gets to be here all year. Hmph.
I thought that as the day got closer, I would be more and more excited to come home, but every day I am more convinced that I can never leave. I will be glad to be home, but now every time I ride the metro or eat a chorizo sandwich or see the moon rising over the castle-like building on my walk home from IES, I just ache thinking that it's one of the last times. Soon it really will be the last time. As much as I want Wednesday to come as fast as it can, each day I spend wishing my schoolwork would hurry up and be over I realize is a day I should be enjoying down to the last second. Also, Wednesday is my birthday, so it's tougher than ever to not want it to be here NOW. But no, I have far too much to do in Barcelona to be dreaming of a day even six days away. Today I went to the CCCB (Contemporary Cultural Center of Barcelona) with Stacey, which was one thing off my list, and this weekend I did four others: Mt. Tibidabo (but I'm going back, since we missed the funicular), Boadas (the oldest cocteleria in Barcelona), the Plaza Espanya magic fountain show, and the best Thai restaurant in Barcelona. I'll give you a brief summary of the rest: museums left on my art ticket, the gondola to Montjuic, the big modernisme hospital, go inside the statue of Columbus, a few more barri gotic landmarks I've missed, and four or five bars that have been recommended to me but I've never been to. I think it's manageable, but the four days after I'm done with classes may be full of self-guided walking tours (through places like the Jewish quarter and the Gracia neighborhood).
Things I wish I could've done this semester:
1. Go to Madrid, Prague, Morrocco, and France. But being gone half of the weekends of the semester was more than enough.
2. Somehow magically secure tickets to the Real Madrid/Barca game (on Saturday. I'll be watching it from La Tapilla Sixtina, on my block)
3. Figure out the public libraries
4. Make friends with some catalanes (I probably could've done more, but I thought I made a good effort)
5. Take a Catalan class - none of them fit with my schedule
6. Gone to the beach more when it was 85 out
There are probably more. But I'll leave my other remembrances of the semester for next week! I have much more time to blog but leaving will probably be the theme of the next 10 days.
Sunday, December 7, 2008
desembre
Well, it's been a while, and I once again find myself with homework to do, so what better time than now to blog?
My UPF classes ended on Tuesday, so I now have inordinate amounts of free time, which I somehow almost always end up wasting. This does not bode well for me, since I now have only 14 days left in Barcelona. FOURTEEN! I also have a very long list of things to do while I'm still here, so I should be at the very least doing things from that, if not actually studying. Tuesday I also had my final exam in Art History. It wasn't too bad - I think that I could have done better if I had remembered the names of some "Die Brucke" artists. But life goes on.
I was supposed to have the oral part of my Islam History final on Monday, but the professor said he was too busy to conduct any finals that week, and would have to reschedule them all for next week. So a good 35 out of the 97 people in my class had to reschedule. Mine is now on Thursday, and the written is on Tuesday. My Borges term paper is also due on Tuesday, my Spanish essay is due on Wednesday, and my Spanish final is on Friday. What a fun week.
Last week though, I did lots of fun things. Like buy a Barack Obama caganer!
I also went to Mt. Tibidabo with Stacey and Danielle, but we were too late for the funicular, which closes at four, so we watched the sunset from a cafe half way up the "mountain." Barack is posing in front of Barcelona at dusk - the view is from that cafe. I also saw the magic fountain show at Placa Espanya, which was GREAT. I saw it during La Merce, but because of all the people and all the fireworks, I didn't get to see as much of the fountain as I would have liked. This time we were standing literally right in front of the fountain, and it was definitely magical. I also went to the Thai Lounge with Stacey, which is supposed to have the best Thai food in Barcelona, and had some amazing pad thai and some weird dim sum. They were both delicious, although not exactly what I was expecting. I also had the best cocktail of my life at a bar called Cabart - the femme fatale. It's rum, ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, sugar, lime, and bitters. Amazing. On the same evening, we saw a Portland band called Yacht at the Apolo! Danielle and I wanted to somehow communicate to them that we were from Portland, but they didn't give us a good opportunity to scream after they said "Portland," so it didn't work out.
I also went to Mt. Tibidabo with Stacey and Danielle, but we were too late for the funicular, which closes at four, so we watched the sunset from a cafe half way up the "mountain." Barack is posing in front of Barcelona at dusk - the view is from that cafe. I also saw the magic fountain show at Placa Espanya, which was GREAT. I saw it during La Merce, but because of all the people and all the fireworks, I didn't get to see as much of the fountain as I would have liked. This time we were standing literally right in front of the fountain, and it was definitely magical. I also went to the Thai Lounge with Stacey, which is supposed to have the best Thai food in Barcelona, and had some amazing pad thai and some weird dim sum. They were both delicious, although not exactly what I was expecting. I also had the best cocktail of my life at a bar called Cabart - the femme fatale. It's rum, ginger, cardamom, cinnamon, sugar, lime, and bitters. Amazing. On the same evening, we saw a Portland band called Yacht at the Apolo! Danielle and I wanted to somehow communicate to them that we were from Portland, but they didn't give us a good opportunity to scream after they said "Portland," so it didn't work out. Maddy's friend from UO, Leah, is in Barcelona this weekend with some friends from her Sevilla program, so I have hung out with them a bit. We had some delicious Italian food in El Born, and they met us at the magic fountain show as well. I should hang out with them right now - but even more than that, and even more than blogging, I should be writing about metafiction. But it has been so long since I've written a paper! I don't know where to begin. I mean... I've totally begun already. Please. My paper is due in two days, of course I've begun.
Anyway, only seven more "things" to do before I am done with school, and only fourteen more days to do the forty more things on my "Last month in Barcelona" list.
Monday, December 1, 2008
Ez dakit euskaraz hitz egiten.
According to Google, that means "I don't speak Basque." I have no way of knowing if Google is right or not, but I do know that "euskara" means the Basque language.
Let's talk about Basque for a moment. Having lived in Catalunya for a good three plus months now, I am very used to the bilingualism in daily life - not understanding the advertisements, street signs, or the people talking around me; having announcements and important signs in both Catalan and Spanish; and a general confusion as to whether or not I should be understanding things. Of course, all of this has improved with the ever-so-insignificant gains in my knowledge of Catalan. But I was prepared for it to happen all over again, with renewed force and a great deal less ease in San Sebastian (also known, in Euskara, as Donostia). For one thing, Basque is the craziest language I have ever seen. It doesn't look like anything. It isn't related to anything. It is just alone in the world, doomed to a life of lunacy. Catalan is at least a Romance language that looks considerably like Spanish some of the time - Basque is... not. But from what I saw, Basque is not nearly as strong a presence as Spanish in San Sebastian. The street signs are all in Basque, and the restaurants mostly have Basque names, but as far as people speaking on the street, I only overheard Spanish. With the exception of one group of school-aged kids, I didn't hear Basque spoken at all. I was expecting a much more hardcore obsession with their native language, since the Basque country, unlike Catalunya, actually has a terrorist group demanding freedom from Spain. The Basque country seems to be more proactively seeking independence, yet Catalunya seems to not only be complaining more, but also clinging to their culture a lot more.
Donostia, in turns out, is a much lovelier city in the summer. Having been there in June of... 04? with my family, I was able to see it in full swing. The last weekend of November is considerably less exciting. A beach town is just decidedly less pleasant in 45 degree rainy weather. I should note, I have spent a good deal of time at the Oregon coast in 45 degree rainy weather, but for some reason it was ok then. Stacey and I did, however, squeeze in a great hike to the top of Monte Urgull, where a very large statue of Jesus awaited us, while the weather was good. On Saturday we went to Bilbao for the day, where we saw the Guggenheim (which was AWFUL. The entire second floor was this horrible artist, Cy Twombly, who appears to have done little more than smear canvasses with paint directly from the tube, scribble whatever thoughts he is having over them, or write out some random measurements. I was literally pained that people appeared to appreciate them. I mean, I liked a few of them. He had about thirteen pieces in the entire collection that I think were worthy of being in a museum - I don't know what the hell the Guggenheim was doing with the other ninety two. Wow, am I still inside my parentheses?). And on Sunday, we went to the Palacio de Miramar, which isn't open to the public. The guide book said it was a lovely stroll around the grounds though - perhaps. Perhaps on a nice day, when you only have ten minutes but want to see something, anything. The grounds take exactly that long. There was a nice view, and it was lovely to hear the ocean, but they were small and not very interesting. That isn't to say I didn't like San Sebastian - I did, a lot. It just wasn't that exciting.
But our meals! Oh my. For lunch on Friday we braved a pintxos menu, and after a bit of confusion as to how to order, I had tortilla and a bocadillo de jamon iberico, both of which I eat all the time, but that doesn't diminish their brilliance. Friday night we happened upon a random place in the old town, and had an excellent menu del dia which came with an entire bottle of wine, rather than just a glass. This appears to be standard in the Basque country, as it happened to us at lunch and dinner the next day as well. I had a fish cake that was good minus the fact that it was drowning in mayonnaise, and some incredible beef and potatoes, followed by an Euskara dessert. I don't remember what it was called, but the bottom layer was cuajada, a custard-y curd thing, topped with apple preserves, then whip cream, then honey, and finally walnuts. It was outstanding. The wine we had was great too. Saturday, we had lunch in Bilbao, and had another fantastic menu, where I had chicken paella and a white fish which I will never know the name of, along with a bottle of rioja. More dessert (I looove menus) - this time I had natilla, which is a way better custard than flan is. For dinner that night we went to La Perla, thanks to the recommendation of MTV Spain, which was right on the beach. It was again, FANTASTIC, and they brought us shots of pumpkin soup as an appetizer, along with delicious bread. I had an incredible hake and potatoes dish, and for dessert we had some sort of incredible lava cake with bitter orange ice cream. I pretty much died.
The hostel was kind of weird though - it was just one guy that ran it, and it felt like we were all just staying in his apartment. It was his birthday the first night we were there, and they had a huge party. The girls in our room came home reaaaally drunk and woke me up at four with "oh my god, I fell! I fell! The floor is so slippery... if only the floor wasn't so slippery. I fell, and Michael saw it all. Oh, Michael. Michael saw it all," followed by, "Shut the [fudge] up, the girls are trying to [fudging] sleep, Jesus Christ, would you just shut the [fudge] up!" And then Michael, roommate #3, turned on the television and watched for a good... hour? All of this at four am. Once he fell asleep, however, the fun was not over, since Michael snored with such power and volume that the room was practically shaking. The breakfast was a little sketchy too - there were eggs and milk - but they sat out on the "breakfast counter" 24 hours a day, unrefrigerated. Anyway the point is it was weird. But San Sebastian on the whole was cool. Bilbao was cool too, but we saw less of it.
The night before we left was Thanksgiving, what I thought would be a very sad day. NOT SO! Ana made turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes (from a box... but it's the thought), and I made a chocolate pie (which I am shocked to report actually worked out, even with the difficulty of converting to metric and finding things like vanilla extract, graham crackers, and buttermilk). Erik and Bea (cousins, 21 and 23) came over, and we had a great feast of the whole thing. First course was a noodle/meatball soup they have on Christmas (so we could combine our respective countries' holiday traditions), then the turkey + stuffing + potatoes + broccoli (way over cooked, but oh man! Broccoli! How I love thee!), and finally the pie, which we accompanied with a Catalan dessert wine. It was incredible. I have the best host family ever. I even came home on Sunday to homemade chocolate for merienda. Long live the Huergas.
So now all I have to do is pass my classes (two finals a week for the next three weeks - starting tomorrow, plus a paper and two presentations), complete my "last 20 days in Barcelona" list, and then cry with both sadness and elation at the prospect of coming home.
Let's talk about Basque for a moment. Having lived in Catalunya for a good three plus months now, I am very used to the bilingualism in daily life - not understanding the advertisements, street signs, or the people talking around me; having announcements and important signs in both Catalan and Spanish; and a general confusion as to whether or not I should be understanding things. Of course, all of this has improved with the ever-so-insignificant gains in my knowledge of Catalan. But I was prepared for it to happen all over again, with renewed force and a great deal less ease in San Sebastian (also known, in Euskara, as Donostia). For one thing, Basque is the craziest language I have ever seen. It doesn't look like anything. It isn't related to anything. It is just alone in the world, doomed to a life of lunacy. Catalan is at least a Romance language that looks considerably like Spanish some of the time - Basque is... not. But from what I saw, Basque is not nearly as strong a presence as Spanish in San Sebastian. The street signs are all in Basque, and the restaurants mostly have Basque names, but as far as people speaking on the street, I only overheard Spanish. With the exception of one group of school-aged kids, I didn't hear Basque spoken at all. I was expecting a much more hardcore obsession with their native language, since the Basque country, unlike Catalunya, actually has a terrorist group demanding freedom from Spain. The Basque country seems to be more proactively seeking independence, yet Catalunya seems to not only be complaining more, but also clinging to their culture a lot more.
Donostia, in turns out, is a much lovelier city in the summer. Having been there in June of... 04? with my family, I was able to see it in full swing. The last weekend of November is considerably less exciting. A beach town is just decidedly less pleasant in 45 degree rainy weather. I should note, I have spent a good deal of time at the Oregon coast in 45 degree rainy weather, but for some reason it was ok then. Stacey and I did, however, squeeze in a great hike to the top of Monte Urgull, where a very large statue of Jesus awaited us, while the weather was good. On Saturday we went to Bilbao for the day, where we saw the Guggenheim (which was AWFUL. The entire second floor was this horrible artist, Cy Twombly, who appears to have done little more than smear canvasses with paint directly from the tube, scribble whatever thoughts he is having over them, or write out some random measurements. I was literally pained that people appeared to appreciate them. I mean, I liked a few of them. He had about thirteen pieces in the entire collection that I think were worthy of being in a museum - I don't know what the hell the Guggenheim was doing with the other ninety two. Wow, am I still inside my parentheses?). And on Sunday, we went to the Palacio de Miramar, which isn't open to the public. The guide book said it was a lovely stroll around the grounds though - perhaps. Perhaps on a nice day, when you only have ten minutes but want to see something, anything. The grounds take exactly that long. There was a nice view, and it was lovely to hear the ocean, but they were small and not very interesting. That isn't to say I didn't like San Sebastian - I did, a lot. It just wasn't that exciting.
But our meals! Oh my. For lunch on Friday we braved a pintxos menu, and after a bit of confusion as to how to order, I had tortilla and a bocadillo de jamon iberico, both of which I eat all the time, but that doesn't diminish their brilliance. Friday night we happened upon a random place in the old town, and had an excellent menu del dia which came with an entire bottle of wine, rather than just a glass. This appears to be standard in the Basque country, as it happened to us at lunch and dinner the next day as well. I had a fish cake that was good minus the fact that it was drowning in mayonnaise, and some incredible beef and potatoes, followed by an Euskara dessert. I don't remember what it was called, but the bottom layer was cuajada, a custard-y curd thing, topped with apple preserves, then whip cream, then honey, and finally walnuts. It was outstanding. The wine we had was great too. Saturday, we had lunch in Bilbao, and had another fantastic menu, where I had chicken paella and a white fish which I will never know the name of, along with a bottle of rioja. More dessert (I looove menus) - this time I had natilla, which is a way better custard than flan is. For dinner that night we went to La Perla, thanks to the recommendation of MTV Spain, which was right on the beach. It was again, FANTASTIC, and they brought us shots of pumpkin soup as an appetizer, along with delicious bread. I had an incredible hake and potatoes dish, and for dessert we had some sort of incredible lava cake with bitter orange ice cream. I pretty much died.
The hostel was kind of weird though - it was just one guy that ran it, and it felt like we were all just staying in his apartment. It was his birthday the first night we were there, and they had a huge party. The girls in our room came home reaaaally drunk and woke me up at four with "oh my god, I fell! I fell! The floor is so slippery... if only the floor wasn't so slippery. I fell, and Michael saw it all. Oh, Michael. Michael saw it all," followed by, "Shut the [fudge] up, the girls are trying to [fudging] sleep, Jesus Christ, would you just shut the [fudge] up!" And then Michael, roommate #3, turned on the television and watched for a good... hour? All of this at four am. Once he fell asleep, however, the fun was not over, since Michael snored with such power and volume that the room was practically shaking. The breakfast was a little sketchy too - there were eggs and milk - but they sat out on the "breakfast counter" 24 hours a day, unrefrigerated. Anyway the point is it was weird. But San Sebastian on the whole was cool. Bilbao was cool too, but we saw less of it.
The night before we left was Thanksgiving, what I thought would be a very sad day. NOT SO! Ana made turkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes (from a box... but it's the thought), and I made a chocolate pie (which I am shocked to report actually worked out, even with the difficulty of converting to metric and finding things like vanilla extract, graham crackers, and buttermilk). Erik and Bea (cousins, 21 and 23) came over, and we had a great feast of the whole thing. First course was a noodle/meatball soup they have on Christmas (so we could combine our respective countries' holiday traditions), then the turkey + stuffing + potatoes + broccoli (way over cooked, but oh man! Broccoli! How I love thee!), and finally the pie, which we accompanied with a Catalan dessert wine. It was incredible. I have the best host family ever. I even came home on Sunday to homemade chocolate for merienda. Long live the Huergas.
So now all I have to do is pass my classes (two finals a week for the next three weeks - starting tomorrow, plus a paper and two presentations), complete my "last 20 days in Barcelona" list, and then cry with both sadness and elation at the prospect of coming home.
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
FELIZ NAVIDAD!
First of all, a hearty BONES FESTES and BON NADAL to all, the Christmas lights are on in Barcelona! I am so incredibly happy. I thought I was really wanting to be home, but considering the lighter-than-air ecstasy I am currently experiencing, I think I just wanted it to be Christmas. OH MY GOD. Barcelona looks so good! The "Christmas tree" (it's a palm. I know.) and the nativity set are still in the process of being put up, and the Christmas fair doesn't open until this weekend, but THE LIGHTS ARE ON! I was bummed this morning because I tried to listen to Christmas music on my walk to school, but since it was 55 and extremely sunny, I just couldn't get into the mood. But after my 5:30 class today, I walked out into Placa Catalunya and it was cold, windy, cloudy, and COVERED IN CHRISTMAS LIGHTS, so I knew the time had come. I spent an hour just wandering around the city, listening to Bing Crosby, Johnny Mathis, Perry Como, and of course Elvis (haha), and admiring all the wonderfully tacky and over-the-top decorations. The city is at least twice as bright now. Also! It started to rain on this walk! Barcelona was basically giving me everything I wanted - now if it could transplant my friends, family, and Rimsky's over here, I would never leave.
I had coffee with a girl from my lit class and my Spanish class today to "work" on our presentation, but we ended up just talking about Barcelona for an hour. She lives in a dorm with other Spanish students, and even she said that she can't make friends with them. She says the other students avoid them and clearly don't want to be friends, with the exception of a couple 16 year old boys from southern Spain who want to be more than just their friends. So that made me feel much better about the fact that 13 weeks have passed and I have no Catalan friends, unless you want to count Paula, Gonzalo, Pablo, and their cousins who stop by relatively often, Erik and Kirian. And of course, Carlota and Tomas, but I do prefer having toilet-trained friends.
School is stressing me out hardcore right now. Not so hardcore enough that I am studying much, but just enough to make me want to eat Nutella from the jar while hiding in my bed. Ha, this semester. Oh dear. Next semester will be ROUGH. Anyway. My grades are all riding on the events of the following two weeks, and that is very stressful. There is literally nothing else to balance them out, except in my Spanish class, where I have gotten As on everything so far (woo hoo for Spanish class). This brings up several points I have been wanting to make about school here. Actually, the points are completely unrelated to grades and finals, except that they're about school. One. Students drink beer all the time. You wouldn't think this would be so weird, but it is. Because when I leave my first class at 11 am, there are beer cans literally strewn about the quad-like thing. AT ELEVEN AM. Two. I think I've said this, but everyone speaks Catalan around me. And in my art history class, people give presentations in Catalan all the time. Bilingualism is weird. Three. Everyone smokes. I have seen groups of four or five people literally leaning against the giant (7 feet high), red no-smoking sign. Ummm there were many more, I'm sure. I can't remember right now. Oh! How about that about half the class has their motorcycle helmet on the desk next to them!
Anyway I feel bipolar because I just went from a morning of "sad, I can't even listen to Christmas music because it's so nice out... if only I was at home..." to an evening of "OH MY GOD CHRISTMAS IN BARCELONA I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE HOW GREAT THIS IS." But since it's ending on a high note, I feel no need to question it.
I had coffee with a girl from my lit class and my Spanish class today to "work" on our presentation, but we ended up just talking about Barcelona for an hour. She lives in a dorm with other Spanish students, and even she said that she can't make friends with them. She says the other students avoid them and clearly don't want to be friends, with the exception of a couple 16 year old boys from southern Spain who want to be more than just their friends. So that made me feel much better about the fact that 13 weeks have passed and I have no Catalan friends, unless you want to count Paula, Gonzalo, Pablo, and their cousins who stop by relatively often, Erik and Kirian. And of course, Carlota and Tomas, but I do prefer having toilet-trained friends.
School is stressing me out hardcore right now. Not so hardcore enough that I am studying much, but just enough to make me want to eat Nutella from the jar while hiding in my bed. Ha, this semester. Oh dear. Next semester will be ROUGH. Anyway. My grades are all riding on the events of the following two weeks, and that is very stressful. There is literally nothing else to balance them out, except in my Spanish class, where I have gotten As on everything so far (woo hoo for Spanish class). This brings up several points I have been wanting to make about school here. Actually, the points are completely unrelated to grades and finals, except that they're about school. One. Students drink beer all the time. You wouldn't think this would be so weird, but it is. Because when I leave my first class at 11 am, there are beer cans literally strewn about the quad-like thing. AT ELEVEN AM. Two. I think I've said this, but everyone speaks Catalan around me. And in my art history class, people give presentations in Catalan all the time. Bilingualism is weird. Three. Everyone smokes. I have seen groups of four or five people literally leaning against the giant (7 feet high), red no-smoking sign. Ummm there were many more, I'm sure. I can't remember right now. Oh! How about that about half the class has their motorcycle helmet on the desk next to them!
Anyway I feel bipolar because I just went from a morning of "sad, I can't even listen to Christmas music because it's so nice out... if only I was at home..." to an evening of "OH MY GOD CHRISTMAS IN BARCELONA I CAN'T EVEN BELIEVE HOW GREAT THIS IS." But since it's ending on a high note, I feel no need to question it.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Vinho? Obrigado!
Those are the two words of Portuguese I know. There are some others I know by accident, because they're the same as Spanish, but pretty much the only one I ever said was "obrigado." All the time. (It means "thank you")
So Lisbon is amazing! Seriously. There's a castle, a river, the ocean, a bridge that looks suspiciously golden and gate-like (see very small picture),
a boatload of references to the age of Portuguese dominance of the seas, lots of very friendly people, literally acres of Christmas decorations, and a ton of delicious food and wine. Basically a winner in my book. The majority of buildings in Lisbon are covered in colorful ceramic tiles (azulejo), which makes wandering around even more gorgeous than it is in Barcelona. Also, the city is built on seven hills (as you might have heard), which makes it more... shall we say 'heart-healthy' to get around than Barcelona, which only has a gentle slope down to the ocean, and a ferrocarril up the hill. To add to the San Francisco parallels, Lisbon is also covered with trolley tracks, and lots of both antique and new trolleys make up a good portion of the public transportation system. Basically, there wasn't anything about Lisbon I didn't like. Even our hostel was incredible - it had a kitchen we could use to cook meals (if we wanted), delicious breakfast MADE TO ORDER, linens and towels provided, free internet 24 hours a day, 
and the friendliest staff I have seen in any place of business in all of Europe. Plus it was on one of the main pedestrianized roads in the middle of downtown, so it was close to everything! This hostel pretty much had it all. They even had a tv room and a DVD collection. Still, the fresh eggs in the morning were my favorite.
I was traveling with Stacey, a friend of mine from IES, and her friend from high school, who is studying in Paris. They remembered their passports, so they were there on Thursday. But on Friday, when I arrived at the hostel at 8:30 am, we set off to conquer the city. We saw the castle, the remains of which date from the 13th century, which is on top of the tallest hill in Lisbon, and took in a beautiful view of the entire city. From there we happened upon a church from the 12th century, and wandered around the neighborhood of Alfama, just a few steps behind a tour group. Actually, we only followed them for about a block and a half before seeing an adorable old man playing with some dogs and had to stop to admire the picturesque-ness of the situation. We had lunch in a big praça (another
Portuguese word I know, but can't pronounce, but it means plaza) which was decked out with Christmas decorations, just like nearly every street we saw. From there we were pretty beat, myself especially, since I had left my bed in Barcelona at 4:15 that morning, so we napped in our wonderful hostel before heading out. We wandered around Chiado and the Bairro Alto, and found some delicious Italian food for dinner. I had tagliolini with mascarpone and black truffle - I nearly died, it was so epicly amazing - and we tried some Portuguese vinho verde. Although that translates to green wine, it was actually white. Also, in Lisbon, restaurants put out bread bowls, butter, olives, etc, but if you eat from them, they charge you about two euros per person. Um... not cool. It's times like these when I miss America - wonderful America, with overflowing bread bowls, free water without even having to ask for it, and prompt service. Regardless, our dinner was outstanding, and our waiter did give us some free limoncello, which Stacey's friend Lekha had some trouble drinking. It also made it so we spent an extra twenty (or thirty) minutes at the table, but that's the beauty of Europe! That table is yours, no matter how many people feel like waiting for it! We felt like we ought to hit the bars, since Bairro Alto, where we were at the time, is the area to go out in, but it was still early, and so we got ice cream instead. Then we decided we were all too tired anyway, and went back to the hostel where we watched Love Actually and dreamt of Christmas.
Saturday, we went to Belém,
where there is a big monastery built by King Manuel I for himself in the 16th century. It is STUNNING, but I've been to my share of old, religious buildings. Maybe someone else's share as well. I was hoping for some pretender to the Holy Grail or perhaps the body of a king, but I was denied. From there we walked to a huge monument dedicated to Portuguese sailing prowess (Monument to Discoveries) - you can sort of see it in the first picture, and you can definitely see it in the nine others on Photobucket. It's very cool - it has 30 extremely gigantic figures of important explorers and cartographers and such, all clamoring on the sides of a comically undersized ship. I don't know - I have trouble thinking of Portuguese as a huge exploratory force (even though I know they were), because the effect of the Spanish, British, and the French is so much more prominent in the sheer volume of countries they colonized. But I guess Brazil is really huge. From there we went to the Tower of Belém, a tower that is on the river, near the confluence(?) of the river with the Atlantic ocean. It used to be used for defense, and now it is a national monument. It is a really cool building but was literally empty, so it wasn't that exciting. There was a spiral staircase to the top, but it was also the staircase to the bottom, so we had a rough time getting up and then back down through all the foot traffic. From there, I nearly died of hunger, and we had some incredible falafel and batatas fritas (see, I know TONS of Portuguese), before slowly making our way back downtown. We stopped at a covered market that had closed only an hour before, where there was a dance going on upstairs! It was filled with adorable old Portuguese couples. We made it back to town, tried the traditional Portuguese pastéis de nata (cream tart), and decided we couldn't make it to dinner without a nap. Rejuvenated, we headed up to one of the many parks in the city to see the lighting of the city's giant Christmas tree! In fact, it is not a tree at all, but a 72 meter high metal and light contraption which glows green, gold, blue, or multi-colored, and also has animations (of sorts) of doves flying, and of a dove hanging a ribbon or tinsel or something around the tree. It was GREAT. The lighting was accompanied by tons of Christmas music, which was all in English. That was sort of surprising to me, but a wonderful surprise! From there we headed back to Bairro Alto and found one of the restaurants that was suggested on wikitravel (since I now get ALL of my information from wiki sites, apparently). We asked how long the wait would be, since the twelve tables were all full, and she said a table had already paid, so probably ten minutes. We decided to wait, and enjoyed a glass of wine on the street outside as we waited a good forty five minutes, never thinking to change our plans (we had wine! What were we supposed to do, leave our glasses and run?). Dinner was delicious once we were seated though, and I had the special, which was octopus served with roasted potatoes and spinach - and it was amazing. I was nervous about it being octopus, but it was delectable. For dessert, we had chocolate pudding, and then, exhausted from the wait, the meal, and the wonderful conversation, we headed back to the hostel, fighting the crowds of bar-goers (that can't be a word) who were all in the street. Apparently the good bars are too small, so you just order and stand outside all night. Not bad in Lisbon, where it was 65, but that could be rough in other places.
The next morning we once again enjoyed some freshly scrambled eggs, then headed out to do some last minute shopping before heading to the airport. I was glad to be back in Barcelona, but it is much colder than it was in Lisbon, and also I have to go to class here! That dose of Christmas was wonderful though, and I can't wait for them to turn on the lights in Barcelona! All of the Christmas lights are up, but they sit there sadly, just like me, desperate for the Christmas season to be in full swing. Only 27 days until I come home - I'm so happy to be here, but I definitely miss Portland right now. Especially knowing that a lot of my friends are home for Thanksgiving! But I have much more important things to focus on - like the term paper, the presentation, the five written exams, and the oral exam that are all due or taking place between Dec 1 and 18. Oh dear Jesus.
Sorry this one was so long - Lisbon is just THAT awesome.
So Lisbon is amazing! Seriously. There's a castle, a river, the ocean, a bridge that looks suspiciously golden and gate-like (see very small picture),
a boatload of references to the age of Portuguese dominance of the seas, lots of very friendly people, literally acres of Christmas decorations, and a ton of delicious food and wine. Basically a winner in my book. The majority of buildings in Lisbon are covered in colorful ceramic tiles (azulejo), which makes wandering around even more gorgeous than it is in Barcelona. Also, the city is built on seven hills (as you might have heard), which makes it more... shall we say 'heart-healthy' to get around than Barcelona, which only has a gentle slope down to the ocean, and a ferrocarril up the hill. To add to the San Francisco parallels, Lisbon is also covered with trolley tracks, and lots of both antique and new trolleys make up a good portion of the public transportation system. Basically, there wasn't anything about Lisbon I didn't like. Even our hostel was incredible - it had a kitchen we could use to cook meals (if we wanted), delicious breakfast MADE TO ORDER, linens and towels provided, free internet 24 hours a day, 
and the friendliest staff I have seen in any place of business in all of Europe. Plus it was on one of the main pedestrianized roads in the middle of downtown, so it was close to everything! This hostel pretty much had it all. They even had a tv room and a DVD collection. Still, the fresh eggs in the morning were my favorite.I was traveling with Stacey, a friend of mine from IES, and her friend from high school, who is studying in Paris. They remembered their passports, so they were there on Thursday. But on Friday, when I arrived at the hostel at 8:30 am, we set off to conquer the city. We saw the castle, the remains of which date from the 13th century, which is on top of the tallest hill in Lisbon, and took in a beautiful view of the entire city. From there we happened upon a church from the 12th century, and wandered around the neighborhood of Alfama, just a few steps behind a tour group. Actually, we only followed them for about a block and a half before seeing an adorable old man playing with some dogs and had to stop to admire the picturesque-ness of the situation. We had lunch in a big praça (another
Portuguese word I know, but can't pronounce, but it means plaza) which was decked out with Christmas decorations, just like nearly every street we saw. From there we were pretty beat, myself especially, since I had left my bed in Barcelona at 4:15 that morning, so we napped in our wonderful hostel before heading out. We wandered around Chiado and the Bairro Alto, and found some delicious Italian food for dinner. I had tagliolini with mascarpone and black truffle - I nearly died, it was so epicly amazing - and we tried some Portuguese vinho verde. Although that translates to green wine, it was actually white. Also, in Lisbon, restaurants put out bread bowls, butter, olives, etc, but if you eat from them, they charge you about two euros per person. Um... not cool. It's times like these when I miss America - wonderful America, with overflowing bread bowls, free water without even having to ask for it, and prompt service. Regardless, our dinner was outstanding, and our waiter did give us some free limoncello, which Stacey's friend Lekha had some trouble drinking. It also made it so we spent an extra twenty (or thirty) minutes at the table, but that's the beauty of Europe! That table is yours, no matter how many people feel like waiting for it! We felt like we ought to hit the bars, since Bairro Alto, where we were at the time, is the area to go out in, but it was still early, and so we got ice cream instead. Then we decided we were all too tired anyway, and went back to the hostel where we watched Love Actually and dreamt of Christmas.Saturday, we went to Belém,
where there is a big monastery built by King Manuel I for himself in the 16th century. It is STUNNING, but I've been to my share of old, religious buildings. Maybe someone else's share as well. I was hoping for some pretender to the Holy Grail or perhaps the body of a king, but I was denied. From there we walked to a huge monument dedicated to Portuguese sailing prowess (Monument to Discoveries) - you can sort of see it in the first picture, and you can definitely see it in the nine others on Photobucket. It's very cool - it has 30 extremely gigantic figures of important explorers and cartographers and such, all clamoring on the sides of a comically undersized ship. I don't know - I have trouble thinking of Portuguese as a huge exploratory force (even though I know they were), because the effect of the Spanish, British, and the French is so much more prominent in the sheer volume of countries they colonized. But I guess Brazil is really huge. From there we went to the Tower of Belém, a tower that is on the river, near the confluence(?) of the river with the Atlantic ocean. It used to be used for defense, and now it is a national monument. It is a really cool building but was literally empty, so it wasn't that exciting. There was a spiral staircase to the top, but it was also the staircase to the bottom, so we had a rough time getting up and then back down through all the foot traffic. From there, I nearly died of hunger, and we had some incredible falafel and batatas fritas (see, I know TONS of Portuguese), before slowly making our way back downtown. We stopped at a covered market that had closed only an hour before, where there was a dance going on upstairs! It was filled with adorable old Portuguese couples. We made it back to town, tried the traditional Portuguese pastéis de nata (cream tart), and decided we couldn't make it to dinner without a nap. Rejuvenated, we headed up to one of the many parks in the city to see the lighting of the city's giant Christmas tree! In fact, it is not a tree at all, but a 72 meter high metal and light contraption which glows green, gold, blue, or multi-colored, and also has animations (of sorts) of doves flying, and of a dove hanging a ribbon or tinsel or something around the tree. It was GREAT. The lighting was accompanied by tons of Christmas music, which was all in English. That was sort of surprising to me, but a wonderful surprise! From there we headed back to Bairro Alto and found one of the restaurants that was suggested on wikitravel (since I now get ALL of my information from wiki sites, apparently). We asked how long the wait would be, since the twelve tables were all full, and she said a table had already paid, so probably ten minutes. We decided to wait, and enjoyed a glass of wine on the street outside as we waited a good forty five minutes, never thinking to change our plans (we had wine! What were we supposed to do, leave our glasses and run?). Dinner was delicious once we were seated though, and I had the special, which was octopus served with roasted potatoes and spinach - and it was amazing. I was nervous about it being octopus, but it was delectable. For dessert, we had chocolate pudding, and then, exhausted from the wait, the meal, and the wonderful conversation, we headed back to the hostel, fighting the crowds of bar-goers (that can't be a word) who were all in the street. Apparently the good bars are too small, so you just order and stand outside all night. Not bad in Lisbon, where it was 65, but that could be rough in other places.The next morning we once again enjoyed some freshly scrambled eggs, then headed out to do some last minute shopping before heading to the airport. I was glad to be back in Barcelona, but it is much colder than it was in Lisbon, and also I have to go to class here! That dose of Christmas was wonderful though, and I can't wait for them to turn on the lights in Barcelona! All of the Christmas lights are up, but they sit there sadly, just like me, desperate for the Christmas season to be in full swing. Only 27 days until I come home - I'm so happy to be here, but I definitely miss Portland right now. Especially knowing that a lot of my friends are home for Thanksgiving! But I have much more important things to focus on - like the term paper, the presentation, the five written exams, and the oral exam that are all due or taking place between Dec 1 and 18. Oh dear Jesus.
Sorry this one was so long - Lisbon is just THAT awesome.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Irony killed Lindsey
Well, I get to blog tonight because I made the colossal mistake of trying to fly to Portugal without a passport... you would think that if I were to remember any single item, it would be my passport, but no. I am not quite that smart. I think I may have been a little ahead of myself when I said "I am normally a good traveler" - it appears I may just be absent-minded (and a terrible estimator of time, to boot). I got to the airport on time, yes, but I have had too many close calls of late to leave that out of my (abbreviated) list of shortcomings.
ANYWAY I got home and thought I should go to the class I had previously planned to skip in order to go to Lisbon - and found it was canceled because my professor was sick. So if I had actually been on that plane instead of in IES, I wouldn't have missed any class! But no.
Today, Catalan students all across the state walked out of class in order to protest the Bologna Declaration. I had been warned (over and over) by posters, professors, and students, but nothing could prepare me for what was at UPF when I arrived this morning. Mind you, the protest was at the University of Barcelona at noon, and I arrived at UPF at 8:45 to find the doors CHAINED SHUT with students guarding them (two lines of students, in case you somehow get through the first in your desperate attempt to learn). Students who chose to cross the picket line and go to class had to go down a back staircase that leads to the lower floor, and then back up to the main building. Of course, even this entrance was crowded with people handing out flyers (in Catalan) about everything that was wrong with the Bologna Declaration. From what I can tell, it is a plan to regulate European education and make it more similar between countries. A girl in my class said it would increase the cost for Spanish students and increase the workload so that there is more than a simple final exam to determine your grade. There is a different division of higher education in Spain than in other countries, so it would also change degrees and the definitions of the concentrations somehow. My classes were all at about half-attendance (and those of us in my poetry class got a postcard containing one of our professor's poems to reward our dedication). The same girl told me that in her 8:30 class, the protesting students burst into our class, blowing whistles and talking into a megaphone, and wouldn't leave even after complaints from both students and the professor. Anyway, it was really odd, and between my classes there were students walking around the "quad" with a banner, the whistles, and the megaphone, building up a crowd for the march to UB. According to La Vanguardia (a Catalan newspaper), over 4,000 students protested and they tried to walk down the Ramblas but were stopped by the police.
Speaking of La Vanguardia, when Jane was here we were talking about how cool Barcelona is (obviously), and we decided that Barcelona is just undeniably hip. You can't have a city whose newspaper is "The Avant-Garde" without being altogether too cool for your own good. That's why all the cool people leave Madrid and go to Barcelona to create weird art, write, and do other mold-breaking things. And then they went to Paris. But still. This also translates into the Catalan attitude - they're just too cool, and hence are not so friendly. Just a thought.
I also wanted to comment more about London and how awesome it is. I love cities. I want to live in a place where I can go to the theatre all the time, and where there are zillions of different cuisines available, and where I hear four different languages walking down the street. London actually blew my mind because I heard English on the street about as often as I hear it in Barcelona. There were SO many people speaking goodness-knows what else (caught myself there - sort of), and I heard Spanish again, about as often as I hear it on the street here. Of course, both of those are affected by the crazy amounts of tourists and the fact that I mostly overhear Catalan rather than Spanish. Still. I'm going to go ahead and say it - London is cooler than New York. It's cleaner, has better parks, better tea, and nicer people.
Also, the difference between British English and American English is so interesting. I know I have already commented on this (binky v. toddy), but I would like to note some others. For instance, instead of an "exit," there is a "way out." Instead of yielding, the British give way. Instead of a train stopping at x, y, and z; the train calls. Instead of trucks in the road, there are lorries. You get the picture. Anyway, I liked chuckling at each of these individual things every time I saw them, which was often.
Lastly, since this post is so random already, I may as well include the story of my dinner tonight, in which Ana told me that Paula used to be nice and helpful around the house, and now she is sassy, rude and disrespectful. She then kicked Gonzalo out of the room for repeating what Paula had said about nine times, and tried to feed me a fourth serving of meat. When I said I couldn't eat it and Paula took it, Ana yelled - quite strongly I might add - at her for taking what was mine. I told her that I didn't want it, and was glad for Paula to eat it instead, and Ana continued to yell at her! I also learned that many Catalan actors live in our neighborhood, and Paula has seen quite a few while walking less than 4 blocks from our apartment. I also had Chips Ahoy, because Ana bought them for me for my trip (so cute), and then I ate too many and got sick. Also, I felt sick after EVERY meal in London, I kid you not. Every meal except the one we made ourselves. I think this is due to the fact that they use butter in England, and my digestive tract is used to the delicious monounsaturated fats in olive oil. Not actually sick sick, just sort of tummy-rumbling sick. Anyway, tomorrow I am off to Lisbon PASSPORT IN HAND at six am. Good times. See you next week!
ANYWAY I got home and thought I should go to the class I had previously planned to skip in order to go to Lisbon - and found it was canceled because my professor was sick. So if I had actually been on that plane instead of in IES, I wouldn't have missed any class! But no.
Today, Catalan students all across the state walked out of class in order to protest the Bologna Declaration. I had been warned (over and over) by posters, professors, and students, but nothing could prepare me for what was at UPF when I arrived this morning. Mind you, the protest was at the University of Barcelona at noon, and I arrived at UPF at 8:45 to find the doors CHAINED SHUT with students guarding them (two lines of students, in case you somehow get through the first in your desperate attempt to learn). Students who chose to cross the picket line and go to class had to go down a back staircase that leads to the lower floor, and then back up to the main building. Of course, even this entrance was crowded with people handing out flyers (in Catalan) about everything that was wrong with the Bologna Declaration. From what I can tell, it is a plan to regulate European education and make it more similar between countries. A girl in my class said it would increase the cost for Spanish students and increase the workload so that there is more than a simple final exam to determine your grade. There is a different division of higher education in Spain than in other countries, so it would also change degrees and the definitions of the concentrations somehow. My classes were all at about half-attendance (and those of us in my poetry class got a postcard containing one of our professor's poems to reward our dedication). The same girl told me that in her 8:30 class, the protesting students burst into our class, blowing whistles and talking into a megaphone, and wouldn't leave even after complaints from both students and the professor. Anyway, it was really odd, and between my classes there were students walking around the "quad" with a banner, the whistles, and the megaphone, building up a crowd for the march to UB. According to La Vanguardia (a Catalan newspaper), over 4,000 students protested and they tried to walk down the Ramblas but were stopped by the police.
Speaking of La Vanguardia, when Jane was here we were talking about how cool Barcelona is (obviously), and we decided that Barcelona is just undeniably hip. You can't have a city whose newspaper is "The Avant-Garde" without being altogether too cool for your own good. That's why all the cool people leave Madrid and go to Barcelona to create weird art, write, and do other mold-breaking things. And then they went to Paris. But still. This also translates into the Catalan attitude - they're just too cool, and hence are not so friendly. Just a thought.
I also wanted to comment more about London and how awesome it is. I love cities. I want to live in a place where I can go to the theatre all the time, and where there are zillions of different cuisines available, and where I hear four different languages walking down the street. London actually blew my mind because I heard English on the street about as often as I hear it in Barcelona. There were SO many people speaking goodness-knows what else (caught myself there - sort of), and I heard Spanish again, about as often as I hear it on the street here. Of course, both of those are affected by the crazy amounts of tourists and the fact that I mostly overhear Catalan rather than Spanish. Still. I'm going to go ahead and say it - London is cooler than New York. It's cleaner, has better parks, better tea, and nicer people.
Also, the difference between British English and American English is so interesting. I know I have already commented on this (binky v. toddy), but I would like to note some others. For instance, instead of an "exit," there is a "way out." Instead of yielding, the British give way. Instead of a train stopping at x, y, and z; the train calls. Instead of trucks in the road, there are lorries. You get the picture. Anyway, I liked chuckling at each of these individual things every time I saw them, which was often.
Lastly, since this post is so random already, I may as well include the story of my dinner tonight, in which Ana told me that Paula used to be nice and helpful around the house, and now she is sassy, rude and disrespectful. She then kicked Gonzalo out of the room for repeating what Paula had said about nine times, and tried to feed me a fourth serving of meat. When I said I couldn't eat it and Paula took it, Ana yelled - quite strongly I might add - at her for taking what was mine. I told her that I didn't want it, and was glad for Paula to eat it instead, and Ana continued to yell at her! I also learned that many Catalan actors live in our neighborhood, and Paula has seen quite a few while walking less than 4 blocks from our apartment. I also had Chips Ahoy, because Ana bought them for me for my trip (so cute), and then I ate too many and got sick. Also, I felt sick after EVERY meal in London, I kid you not. Every meal except the one we made ourselves. I think this is due to the fact that they use butter in England, and my digestive tract is used to the delicious monounsaturated fats in olive oil. Not actually sick sick, just sort of tummy-rumbling sick. Anyway, tomorrow I am off to Lisbon PASSPORT IN HAND at six am. Good times. See you next week!
Monday, November 17, 2008
With each step I am more certain
SO. Rodgers & Hammerstein are pretty much my personal heroes.
This seemingly random factoid comes to you as a way of introducing my London trip this weekend! On Saturday night, Charlotte and I (on a complete whim) bought tickets to see The Sound of Music in the London Palladium, which I SWEAR is famous somehow. I know it is the first place that the Beatles performed live on TV, but I thought maybe there was more? Anyway, it was magical (except that Captain von Trapp sort of was awful), and completely rekindled my love of all things musical theatre-related.
London!
I left Barcelona on Thursday night, immediately after my Latin Am Lit class. Unfortunately, we went on a field trip to the middle of nowhere, and I only got back to Placa Catalunya in time to catch my bus because I ran ahead of the group on the way home. I also ran across the airport to the check-in gate, where I found that the exceedingly slippery marble floors combined with my exceedingly slick black flats make for a very precarious running situation. And, just like last time I had to run to the airport, my flight was delayed. I sat next to a wonderful woman who is American but has lived in Spain on and off for the last 16 years. She lives with her daughter in a little pueblo on the beach just outside of Barcelona, and works in the city. Her mother, who is still in the states, sends them "love boxes" every month packed with US goodies that they can't get here - so we met when she turned to me and asked if I wanted anything from her giant bag of Halloween candy. Three Snickers, two Mars bars, and one Milky Way later, we were pretty much best friends. I lent her my copy of the Economist (I caved and bought it this past week because it not only had Obama, it also had a special report on Spain), we bonded over how difficult the Catalans are to befriend, and we shared the bond that only two stressed women eating chocolate together can really share.
I got to London about 40 minutes later than expected, and took a train into town from the airport, arriving just minutes after the tube closed. Weird side note: while on the train I was listening to my iPod and it froze at about a minute into "Tiny Dancer." This crushed me. I restarted my iPod, but I was desperate to hear the rest, so I went back to "Tiny Dancer," only to have it freeze again at the exact same moment! So basically I was very depressed because I had a taste of Elton but was DENIED. Anyway, I arrived at Liverpool St, David and Charlotte were there to greet me, and we began the very long and painful experience of finding our hostel. After no less than three buses, at least 40 minutes of waiting for buses, and a good 20 minutes of walking, we arrived at about 2:45 am. Char had already checked us in, and we went to bed - only to be woken again every hour by either someone coming back late or the EPIC snoring man in the bunk across from me.
The next day, David carted us around to all the touristy things, after having a delicious English breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and tea (oh eggs!). We saw Big Ben & Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, a bunch of parks, St. Paul's cathedral, Millennium bridge, the Globe theatre, London bridge, Harrods (where we had afternoon tea), and then we absolutely died and had to have a nap post-tea. It was all cool, but both Char and I had been to London before with our families so neither of us really FREAKED OUT at seeing Big Ben or Buckingham Palace. That night, we made a delicious salad and pasta dinner in David's building (ps I miss chopping things. Weird?), and headed home so we could hopefully fall asleep before snoring man. Unfortunately, snoring man was gone and replaced by NEW snoring man, who snored less frequently but with similar intensity. I fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Amos Lee, and dreamt of Whitman in the spring.
Saturday, we went to Notting Hill, to the Portobello St market. Although I had a mission (candlesticks for Mom!), I was cut short by the impressive price tag on all of the good ones. Antiques are expensive, it seems. The market was incredible though, with basically anything old you could ever want. At the end there were some non-antique stores and food stands, and the entire thing was absolutely amazing. I would venture to say it was the best outdoor market I have ever been to. Definitely the best antique one, because I haven't been to many outdoor antique markets. I bought a gorgeous green & black pashmina, but didn't find the ideal chunky candlesticks I had in mind. I did bullshit my way through a discussion of 1870s style candlesticks, though, with a man asking 400 pounds for the candlesticks I was pretending to still be interested in after seeing the price.
From there we went to SoHo, which is DEFINTELY where I would want to live if I were to have billions of pounds. We wandered a little and had curry for lunch (so good), before discussing where exactly all our money had gone. We walked to Carnaby St, which was apparently THE place for mod people in the 60s (can people be mod? I don't really know how to use that), but now is just obscenely crowded and posh. Or yuppie. However you like. At one end though, is the Palladium, where we were enticed by the Sound of Music, and we bought tickets immediately. We asked about prices and availability, said we'd come back, and turned around before even leaving the building and decided we HAD to go. We killed some time pre-show by heading to Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, where we had a bit of difficulty getting on the very large and slippery lions. Next we had a beer at a bar where Allison could watch the rugby game, and headed to the theatre, where Allison decided she had to see it as well. The Sound of Music just has a magical power like that. The Mother Superior was SO good, and Maria was good as well, but Georg just failed in line delivery and with his extremely nasal singing. It was the only time I have ever disliked Edelweiss. YEAH. Also, the couple next to us and their very chatty toddler had Chinese takeout and were eating it during the show! So inappropriate! It filled the entire area with the undeniable stench of noodles. After the show, we had Cornish pasties in Covent Gardens and took the tube back to West Kensington before it closed.
Another wonderful night... new snoring man - who by the way when we left that morning had been reading the paper in his bed, surrounded by sleeping people, even though there's a huge, nice lounge that was EMPTY - woke up at 4 am and started getting ready to leave, which involved turning the overhead light on and leaving it on, shaving in the room even though there is a bathroom next door, and generally making altogether too much noise. RUDE.
Sunday, we went to the British Museum, where literally the first thing we saw was the Rosetta stone. Everything else (minus Cleopatra's mummy) was kind of a let down after that. It was amazing but so so huge and we didn't have time to see everything I wanted to see, and we never got to go to the National Gallery, which is similarly huge and amazing. So basically I just want to go back to London. Museums are free there too! What is up with charging for museums? It shouldn't happen. Donations, yes. Admission, no.
We had lunch in Covent Gardens, went back to the hostel for our stuff, and headed back into town where I was told by my cab driver that trains weren't running to Stansted airport because of a breakdown! This turned out to be untrue, but certainly didn't help my Pepto Bismol-levels of stress at the time. Then I was kicked out of security for my contact solution because I didn't have a note from my doctor (airports I have declared and carried it through so far: Amsterdam, Milan, Barcelona), and I bought two little bottles which I was informed were not sterile and not appropriate for contact solution, and went back through. I got to my gate in time for final call, and made it back to Barcelona exhausted and shocked at how cold it was (55 degrees!).
My entire host family is extremely sick, and I have only three weeks until finals and only five weeks left in Spain. All of the Christmas decorations are up in the city but they aren't lit yet, so I am feeling very teased with the prospect of the holidays. Also, I went to Flash-Flash today, a bar/tortilleria where Boom writers like Garcia Marquez used to hang out when they were in Barcelona. It was all white and super mod. I think.
I'm at a weird place, because I am feeling not at all ready to leave Barcelona, but I want it to be Christmas RIGHT NOW. Going to London felt like going half-way home, since everyone spoke English and I had access to a lot more American things I can't get here, and it made me miss home, but I'm so happy to be back in Barcelona. Every time I walk to class I just die of happiness from the beauty of the city and the intense fabulousness of my life.
This seemingly random factoid comes to you as a way of introducing my London trip this weekend! On Saturday night, Charlotte and I (on a complete whim) bought tickets to see The Sound of Music in the London Palladium, which I SWEAR is famous somehow. I know it is the first place that the Beatles performed live on TV, but I thought maybe there was more? Anyway, it was magical (except that Captain von Trapp sort of was awful), and completely rekindled my love of all things musical theatre-related.
London!
I left Barcelona on Thursday night, immediately after my Latin Am Lit class. Unfortunately, we went on a field trip to the middle of nowhere, and I only got back to Placa Catalunya in time to catch my bus because I ran ahead of the group on the way home. I also ran across the airport to the check-in gate, where I found that the exceedingly slippery marble floors combined with my exceedingly slick black flats make for a very precarious running situation. And, just like last time I had to run to the airport, my flight was delayed. I sat next to a wonderful woman who is American but has lived in Spain on and off for the last 16 years. She lives with her daughter in a little pueblo on the beach just outside of Barcelona, and works in the city. Her mother, who is still in the states, sends them "love boxes" every month packed with US goodies that they can't get here - so we met when she turned to me and asked if I wanted anything from her giant bag of Halloween candy. Three Snickers, two Mars bars, and one Milky Way later, we were pretty much best friends. I lent her my copy of the Economist (I caved and bought it this past week because it not only had Obama, it also had a special report on Spain), we bonded over how difficult the Catalans are to befriend, and we shared the bond that only two stressed women eating chocolate together can really share.
I got to London about 40 minutes later than expected, and took a train into town from the airport, arriving just minutes after the tube closed. Weird side note: while on the train I was listening to my iPod and it froze at about a minute into "Tiny Dancer." This crushed me. I restarted my iPod, but I was desperate to hear the rest, so I went back to "Tiny Dancer," only to have it freeze again at the exact same moment! So basically I was very depressed because I had a taste of Elton but was DENIED. Anyway, I arrived at Liverpool St, David and Charlotte were there to greet me, and we began the very long and painful experience of finding our hostel. After no less than three buses, at least 40 minutes of waiting for buses, and a good 20 minutes of walking, we arrived at about 2:45 am. Char had already checked us in, and we went to bed - only to be woken again every hour by either someone coming back late or the EPIC snoring man in the bunk across from me.
The next day, David carted us around to all the touristy things, after having a delicious English breakfast of scrambled eggs, toast, and tea (oh eggs!). We saw Big Ben & Parliament, Westminster Abbey, Buckingham Palace, a bunch of parks, St. Paul's cathedral, Millennium bridge, the Globe theatre, London bridge, Harrods (where we had afternoon tea), and then we absolutely died and had to have a nap post-tea. It was all cool, but both Char and I had been to London before with our families so neither of us really FREAKED OUT at seeing Big Ben or Buckingham Palace. That night, we made a delicious salad and pasta dinner in David's building (ps I miss chopping things. Weird?), and headed home so we could hopefully fall asleep before snoring man. Unfortunately, snoring man was gone and replaced by NEW snoring man, who snored less frequently but with similar intensity. I fell asleep to the dulcet tones of Amos Lee, and dreamt of Whitman in the spring.
Saturday, we went to Notting Hill, to the Portobello St market. Although I had a mission (candlesticks for Mom!), I was cut short by the impressive price tag on all of the good ones. Antiques are expensive, it seems. The market was incredible though, with basically anything old you could ever want. At the end there were some non-antique stores and food stands, and the entire thing was absolutely amazing. I would venture to say it was the best outdoor market I have ever been to. Definitely the best antique one, because I haven't been to many outdoor antique markets. I bought a gorgeous green & black pashmina, but didn't find the ideal chunky candlesticks I had in mind. I did bullshit my way through a discussion of 1870s style candlesticks, though, with a man asking 400 pounds for the candlesticks I was pretending to still be interested in after seeing the price.
From there we went to SoHo, which is DEFINTELY where I would want to live if I were to have billions of pounds. We wandered a little and had curry for lunch (so good), before discussing where exactly all our money had gone. We walked to Carnaby St, which was apparently THE place for mod people in the 60s (can people be mod? I don't really know how to use that), but now is just obscenely crowded and posh. Or yuppie. However you like. At one end though, is the Palladium, where we were enticed by the Sound of Music, and we bought tickets immediately. We asked about prices and availability, said we'd come back, and turned around before even leaving the building and decided we HAD to go. We killed some time pre-show by heading to Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, where we had a bit of difficulty getting on the very large and slippery lions. Next we had a beer at a bar where Allison could watch the rugby game, and headed to the theatre, where Allison decided she had to see it as well. The Sound of Music just has a magical power like that. The Mother Superior was SO good, and Maria was good as well, but Georg just failed in line delivery and with his extremely nasal singing. It was the only time I have ever disliked Edelweiss. YEAH. Also, the couple next to us and their very chatty toddler had Chinese takeout and were eating it during the show! So inappropriate! It filled the entire area with the undeniable stench of noodles. After the show, we had Cornish pasties in Covent Gardens and took the tube back to West Kensington before it closed.
Another wonderful night... new snoring man - who by the way when we left that morning had been reading the paper in his bed, surrounded by sleeping people, even though there's a huge, nice lounge that was EMPTY - woke up at 4 am and started getting ready to leave, which involved turning the overhead light on and leaving it on, shaving in the room even though there is a bathroom next door, and generally making altogether too much noise. RUDE.
Sunday, we went to the British Museum, where literally the first thing we saw was the Rosetta stone. Everything else (minus Cleopatra's mummy) was kind of a let down after that. It was amazing but so so huge and we didn't have time to see everything I wanted to see, and we never got to go to the National Gallery, which is similarly huge and amazing. So basically I just want to go back to London. Museums are free there too! What is up with charging for museums? It shouldn't happen. Donations, yes. Admission, no.
We had lunch in Covent Gardens, went back to the hostel for our stuff, and headed back into town where I was told by my cab driver that trains weren't running to Stansted airport because of a breakdown! This turned out to be untrue, but certainly didn't help my Pepto Bismol-levels of stress at the time. Then I was kicked out of security for my contact solution because I didn't have a note from my doctor (airports I have declared and carried it through so far: Amsterdam, Milan, Barcelona), and I bought two little bottles which I was informed were not sterile and not appropriate for contact solution, and went back through. I got to my gate in time for final call, and made it back to Barcelona exhausted and shocked at how cold it was (55 degrees!).
My entire host family is extremely sick, and I have only three weeks until finals and only five weeks left in Spain. All of the Christmas decorations are up in the city but they aren't lit yet, so I am feeling very teased with the prospect of the holidays. Also, I went to Flash-Flash today, a bar/tortilleria where Boom writers like Garcia Marquez used to hang out when they were in Barcelona. It was all white and super mod. I think.
I'm at a weird place, because I am feeling not at all ready to leave Barcelona, but I want it to be Christmas RIGHT NOW. Going to London felt like going half-way home, since everyone spoke English and I had access to a lot more American things I can't get here, and it made me miss home, but I'm so happy to be back in Barcelona. Every time I walk to class I just die of happiness from the beauty of the city and the intense fabulousness of my life.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Teaching English, the caganer, and CHRISTMAS
So I have now been teaching English to Carlota (age 4) and Tomas (age 5) for two weeks. It is really fun, and I wish we had set it up earlier because I would have loved to do it for much longer. It's really fun, except that I often find that I speak much less Spanish than I think I do, because they start rambling in this odd castellano/castalan mash-up and I just smile and nod. Also, their books are all in British English, so when I read "dummy" for pacifier, I thought to myself, "What a weird word. Please! We all know it's a binky." And then I felt like an idiot. Or when I teach them words like "wastepaper bin" and think I should be teaching them "garbage can." There are other funny ones I can't remember - but dummy v. binky was my favorite. Some were just such weird words I can't even remember them. I'll write them down next time.
Also, playing with toddlers is like playing with a puppy - tone of voice and facial expressions say it all. They don't care what I'm saying or what language I'm saying it in. In fact, they rarely notice at all. The first time I went, all we did was blow up balloons and then let them fly around the room for a full hour. They learned about three words: "Please," "balloon" and "thank you," and those only because I refused to blow up the balloons unless they said please and then thank you, and everytime they let go of the balloon they would yell, "BALLOON!"
This week, Tomas cried for about fifteen minutes when I had to leave. He made such a huge scene and kept demanding "two more minutes! Two more minutes!" I was flattered but also embarrassed because then I left and they had to deal with a screaming monster child.
WARNING: The following may be inappropriate for those who don't like to talk about bowel movements.
Now. I don't know how much y'all (I wish English had a collective "you") know about Christmas in Catalunya, so let me tell you about
my favorite tradition. It's part of the nativity scene, and it's a character that doesn't really appear in the Bible version of Jesus' birth. It's called the caganer - Catalan for "crapper" - and it is a figurine in the nativity of a person pulling down his pants and pooping. It comes complete with a little bit of poop too, in case his stance alone doesn't make it clear. Huge, life-size nativity scenes are apparently traditional (it hasn't made it's appearance yet), and the caganer is apparently a staple in Catalunya (and the Basque Country as well?). Now, the book I read about Barcelona before coming didn't explain this very well, except with the fact that the catalonians are "obsessed" with scatological humor. Wikipedia cites many reasons:
Anyway all this talk of nativity scenes just makes me hungry for CHRISTMAS, which Barcelona is already prepared for (minus the city-wide nativity scene I am told is on its way) - nearly all the streets have lights that say "Bon nadal" and "bones festes" and other things I assume mean "Seasons Greetings." PS How lame is that phrase? Seasons greetings? It's also getting colder - my comforter got upgraded to a big comforter, but it's not really cold enough for this massive mountain of down. So I have to sleep with one leg freezing and the other sweating. I'm sure everyone can relate to this drama. Tonight I'm going to an FC Barca game, which I'm extremely excited about, except for the fact that I have to get up and go to poetry at 9 am tomorrow. AND a bunch of people are already starting their oral exams for my history class, and I am not at ALL prepared for mine yet. It's not for a few weeks, but still.
In better news, my Catalan Thanksgiving dinner, courtesy of the Huerga househould, is only two weeks away - which also means the semester is only three weeks from being over. Not that I want to leave, but I also want home to be here. So... if everyone could just relocate? Thanks.
Also, playing with toddlers is like playing with a puppy - tone of voice and facial expressions say it all. They don't care what I'm saying or what language I'm saying it in. In fact, they rarely notice at all. The first time I went, all we did was blow up balloons and then let them fly around the room for a full hour. They learned about three words: "Please," "balloon" and "thank you," and those only because I refused to blow up the balloons unless they said please and then thank you, and everytime they let go of the balloon they would yell, "BALLOON!"
This week, Tomas cried for about fifteen minutes when I had to leave. He made such a huge scene and kept demanding "two more minutes! Two more minutes!" I was flattered but also embarrassed because then I left and they had to deal with a screaming monster child.
WARNING: The following may be inappropriate for those who don't like to talk about bowel movements.
Now. I don't know how much y'all (I wish English had a collective "you") know about Christmas in Catalunya, so let me tell you about
my favorite tradition. It's part of the nativity scene, and it's a character that doesn't really appear in the Bible version of Jesus' birth. It's called the caganer - Catalan for "crapper" - and it is a figurine in the nativity of a person pulling down his pants and pooping. It comes complete with a little bit of poop too, in case his stance alone doesn't make it clear. Huge, life-size nativity scenes are apparently traditional (it hasn't made it's appearance yet), and the caganer is apparently a staple in Catalunya (and the Basque Country as well?). Now, the book I read about Barcelona before coming didn't explain this very well, except with the fact that the catalonians are "obsessed" with scatological humor. Wikipedia cites many reasons:- Tradition.
- Perceived humor. [Perceived? This shit is hilarious. GET IT? Excuse my language.]
- Finding the Caganer is a fun game, especially for children.
- The Caganer, by creating feces, is fertilizing the Earth. However, this is probably an a posteriori explanation, and few cite this reason for including the Caganer in the Nativity scene.
- The Caganer represents the equality of all people: regardless of status, race, or gender, everyone defecates.
- Increased naturalism of an otherwise archetypal (thus idealised) story, so that it is more believable, taken literally and seriously.
- The idea that God will manifest her/himself when s/he is ready, without regard for whether we human beings are ready or not.
- The caganer reinforces that the infant Jesus is God in human form, with all that being human implies. [Oh HO! Those italics say it ALL]
Anyway all this talk of nativity scenes just makes me hungry for CHRISTMAS, which Barcelona is already prepared for (minus the city-wide nativity scene I am told is on its way) - nearly all the streets have lights that say "Bon nadal" and "bones festes" and other things I assume mean "Seasons Greetings." PS How lame is that phrase? Seasons greetings? It's also getting colder - my comforter got upgraded to a big comforter, but it's not really cold enough for this massive mountain of down. So I have to sleep with one leg freezing and the other sweating. I'm sure everyone can relate to this drama. Tonight I'm going to an FC Barca game, which I'm extremely excited about, except for the fact that I have to get up and go to poetry at 9 am tomorrow. AND a bunch of people are already starting their oral exams for my history class, and I am not at ALL prepared for mine yet. It's not for a few weeks, but still.
In better news, my Catalan Thanksgiving dinner, courtesy of the Huerga househould, is only two weeks away - which also means the semester is only three weeks from being over. Not that I want to leave, but I also want home to be here. So... if everyone could just relocate? Thanks.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Reasons I Will Never Need Prozac.
Besides the fact that I am living a DREAM LIFE; there are so many things that immediately make me extremely happy, that as long as I can maintain a few, I will never need anything else to keep me elated. An abbreviated list:
1. SUNSHINE. I realize that I have no control over this, but even when the sun breaks through the clouds on an otherwise cloudy day, I am instantly euphoric (beware: this post may need the use of a thesaurus in order to not say "happy" a thousand times).
2. Music. Seriously, even if I am in a horrible mood, all I have to do is pull out my ipod and put on Queen and BAM! Good mood.
3. Thinking about President Elect Barack Obama. Granted, this is short-lived, and may not last even through his presidency, but BY GOD I WILL ENJOY IT NOW.
4. Hearing my boots or heels click on pavement.
5. Leaving the house in the morning. I like to see how the day is turning out.
6. Large bodies of water. They're very calming. And the ocean is exactly two blocks from my university. HOW ABOUT THAT.
Anyway this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am just in the most fantastic mood ever.
This weekend, Jane, Natalie, Alex Cassidy, Mel and Charlotte all came to Barcelona from their programs in Madrid, Rome and Florence. It was so much fun to be with not just one person from home but five - with three of Mel's friends from her Rome program as well we became quite the group. But it was just a wonderful dose of Whitman and made me wistful for the days when I will be back... but not really, because when we're back at Whitman we won't make friends with Turkish econ grad students and extremely drunk "Japanese" students in crowded bars at 2 am. He was clearly European, but was dead-set on his Japanese heritage. At first. "Ok, I was lying, I'm actually Korean. But I am adopted. My parents are Pakistani." Anyway the point is, Whitman should probably move to Europe. Barcelona would be good, but anywhere would be better than Walla Walla.
Coming back to classes from fall break was a huge let-down, mostly because I keep realizing how intensely screwed I am for finals. But you know, then Obama was elected, and the sun came out, and I put on my ipod, and walked out of the house in my boots, and wandered down the beach after class, and all of the sudden life was outrageously amazing again.
1. SUNSHINE. I realize that I have no control over this, but even when the sun breaks through the clouds on an otherwise cloudy day, I am instantly euphoric (beware: this post may need the use of a thesaurus in order to not say "happy" a thousand times).
2. Music. Seriously, even if I am in a horrible mood, all I have to do is pull out my ipod and put on Queen and BAM! Good mood.
3. Thinking about President Elect Barack Obama. Granted, this is short-lived, and may not last even through his presidency, but BY GOD I WILL ENJOY IT NOW.
4. Hearing my boots or heels click on pavement.
5. Leaving the house in the morning. I like to see how the day is turning out.
6. Large bodies of water. They're very calming. And the ocean is exactly two blocks from my university. HOW ABOUT THAT.
Anyway this is all a roundabout way of saying that I am just in the most fantastic mood ever.
This weekend, Jane, Natalie, Alex Cassidy, Mel and Charlotte all came to Barcelona from their programs in Madrid, Rome and Florence. It was so much fun to be with not just one person from home but five - with three of Mel's friends from her Rome program as well we became quite the group. But it was just a wonderful dose of Whitman and made me wistful for the days when I will be back... but not really, because when we're back at Whitman we won't make friends with Turkish econ grad students and extremely drunk "Japanese" students in crowded bars at 2 am. He was clearly European, but was dead-set on his Japanese heritage. At first. "Ok, I was lying, I'm actually Korean. But I am adopted. My parents are Pakistani." Anyway the point is, Whitman should probably move to Europe. Barcelona would be good, but anywhere would be better than Walla Walla.
Coming back to classes from fall break was a huge let-down, mostly because I keep realizing how intensely screwed I am for finals. But you know, then Obama was elected, and the sun came out, and I put on my ipod, and walked out of the house in my boots, and wandered down the beach after class, and all of the sudden life was outrageously amazing again.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
Election Day
Both the happiest and saddest day of the semester so far - I'm so excited for the direction America is headed in, but so so so depressed that I wasn't there to be part of it. Today is the first time I am actually PROCLAIMING IT to Spain: YEAH I am American!
Tuesday, November 4, 2008
Escocia: Extremely Cold.
Ok, picking right back up where I left off, I flew from Hamburg to Glasgow on Monday, arriving in Glasgow International Airport at around 6 pm. There was a jewelery ad in the baggage claim that had a picture of earrings and said, "It's not like you came for the weather." That was to be my first omen. The second omen was when I walked outside. I headed towards the "bus" sign, hoping to find my way to Central Station, and as soon as I walked outside a bus pulled up that said Buchanan Bus Station, via Central Station. I got on, paid, and sat nervously watching through the window so I would be able to tell when we were actually at Central Station. Oddly enough, I didn't already know what it looked like, and this proved to be entirely fruitless. I ended up asking the people in front of me where we were at every stop until they told me Central. It's a good thing someone knew what was going on. I then sat in the freezing cold train station wrapped in as much clothing as I could bear until Cara arrived, and Terry Feeley came to pick us up!
Now. For those of you who don't know the Feeley's, they may in fact be one of the best families I have ever met. Terry drove us to their home in Bearsden, a suburb in north Glasgow (which is eerily lit with green spotlights at night), where Eva had a hot dinner waiting for us. YES. We had butternut squash soup followed by pasta and delicious bread and then rhubarb apple pie and tea for dessert. I knew then that the trip wouldn't be anything short of magical. They pulled out dozens of brochures on Glasgow, Edinburgh, the highlands, Loch Ness, Loch Lomond, and Stirling Castle, and helped us begin to plan the week. Cara and I each had our own room, with what was the greatest continental quilt I have ever encountered in my life on my bed. It seemed to just bounce all of my body heat right back at me - I want to buy one. Except it's not cold enough to really merit one, but it was so great.
The next morning we decided to conquer Glasgow, and Eva drove us into town and helped us get set up on one of those double-decker bus tours. It started off well enough, but we soon realized that 4 degree weather (Celsius, remember) combined with the wind on top of a bus was not a good combination. We didn't move, but we realized we had made a horrible mistake. We saw about half of the tour, marking places we wanted to go back, and then got off at the University of Glasgow. We stopped to go to the bathroom and try to regain feeling in our limbs, then went up to the Hunterian Museum, which is the collection of stuff William Hunter gathered throughout his life. It was really cool, and very crazy. There was one part where he had preserved the bodies of disfigured animals - so weird. There were conjoined twin baby deer, and squirrel things with eight legs, and other weird things like that. From there we went to the Hunterian Gallery, which is the art part, and I made up for the fact that I was missing art history by seeing lots and lots of James Whistler. From there we got back on the bus and saw the second half of the tour, then got off and had lunch at Cafe Gondolfi, a recommendation that came courtesy of Cara's "Top 10: Escocia" travel book. From there we went to the cathedral, the necropolis, and then a medieval house that was built in 1471! It is the oldest house in Glasgow. The cathedral has the tomb of St. Mungo, Glasgow's patron saint, in the bottom. It was all really cool, although the necropolis wasn't as old as I was hoping - they were all from the 1850s. After that we got some tea and found out that all museums close at 5 pm in Glasgow, so we were stuck. We met Francis and Terry at Terry's building, and Francis gave us her keys so we could go home, where we vegged out and watched the Simpsons on their couch for... far too long.
The next day, we took the train to Stirling Castle, which was built in the TWELFTH century. Definitely old enough for me. There are lots of additions from other eras, but still. It was gorgeous and the town of Stirling was really cute too. We found this basement part sort of by accident and it seemed like it could have been a prison, or a tomb, or something. SO COOL. Also, all I could think of the entire time was either Monty Python or Black Adder. That continued through most of the trip. Then we went back to town, had lunch at Martin's cafe, and Terry drove us out to the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. We drove around to several parts before heading to Lomond Shores, where there is a mall, and we had a cup of coffee. We had to head home though, because Eva had bought HAGGIS for us for dinner! We had haggis with mashed potatoes and turnips (tatties and neeps), and I was shocked to find that it was actually delicious. I just don't want to think about what's actually in it: "sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally boiled in the animal's stomach." BLEH. But it was delicious! Kind of like hot dogs that way. For dessert we had sticky toffee pudding with cream and more tea. I could get used to life at the Feeley's house.
On Thursday we took the train to Edinburgh, where we saw the Edinburgh Castle, the Royal Mile, the National Gallery, and the Royal Museum of Scotland, and we may have climbed Arthur's Seat, or we may have climbed something similar but smaller? Either way, we got an incredible view of Edinburgh until I fell in mud on the way down - so cute. Cara got a good picture. The castle was amazing, but a little more kitsch than Stirling, because it had a bunch of fake recreations - things like mannequins in the rooms and recordings of them talking. The prison was REALLY cool though, and they had three of the original doors, which prisoners had carved their name, the date (1770s!), and sometimes their ship or something else into. Those were really cool. The National Gallery was so so amazing - I could have spent twice as much time in it than we did, but I think Cara was ready to go? And we hit the Royal Museum only an hour before closing, so I missed a ton of cool stuff. But I did see some canister that historians actually know belonged to Bonnie Prince Charlie. How they find out that stuff, I'll never know. For lunch, I had steak and ale pie with mashed potatoes and an incredible beer (I think it was Belhaven Burns Ale... not sure but by god I will find out) and Cara had fish and chips. Delicious. We took the train back into town, but the train to Bearsden was severely delayed, so Terry came out and picked us up! Basically they just took such wonderful care of us all the time. We had a delicious dinner again that night, of minestrone soup, a Tuscan salad, and orange chicken. (Sorry I'm talking more about the food than the sights, but my GOD the food was good) Also, John's daughter Roisin (pronounced Rosh-een) was staying with them that night, and she is almost two and the CUTEST CHILD ALIVE. She kept saying "I see you girls!" when she looked through her little binoculars at Cara or I. So cute I didn't even know what to do with her.
Friday we took a bus tour of the Highlands - it was a small tour, limited to 16 people but there were only 6 of us plus the driver and his wife. It was really cool, and we got to see some incredible views (don't get your hopes up - my camera battery died back in Berlin. I have NO photos of Scotland. I'll get what I can from Cara, but we... have very different photo taking styles?) that we wouldn't have seen any other way, unless we had rented a car. We also saw the sight of the Glencoe Massacre, Loch Ness, and the tallest mountain in the United Kingdom. It was a gorgeous day, so we had magnificent views, and even drove through the snow in one particularly high part of the Highlands. That night the Feeley's were at a wedding reception, and we heated up some delicious leftovers and watched more tv before going to bed.
Saturday, we went back to Glasgow to finish what we had missed on Tuesday, and saw Pollok Park, which is a huge gorgeous park that used to belong to some rich family until they gave it to the city of Glasgow. When they donated it, the city put up the Burrell Collection, another art gallery that was incredible and I could've spent days in, and turned the home into the Pollok House, which has mostly original decorations and tons of art. They were incredible. The park also has lots of Highland cows roaming around, and there's a river that runs behind the gardens of the house, and there are Clydesdales somewhere - but we couldn't find them. It was amazing. From there we went back into the center of town and had lunch, and walked out to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, a HUGE collection of art and artifacts and tons of other things - again with only an hour to cover it. We literally ran through it, so I "saw" everything but didn't get to enjoy it as much as I would have liked. Also, an interesting fact I noticed is that the museums we went to in both Edinburgh and Glasgow are set up for children to enjoy them as well. There are lots of interactive exhibits, even about things that don't normally cater to children, say, French impressionist exhibits. ALSO the best thing EVER is that all the museums in Glasgow are free. The castles are spendy, though. That night we ordered in some amazing curries and watched The X Factor with Eva and Francis, which is the UK version of American Idol. It was AWESOME, and they get way better sets than American Idol. PLUS they get back up dancers! Hello!
We got to linger in bed on Saturday morning, then had porridge with Roisin before she, Eva, and Frances dropped us at the train station to head back to the airport.
So that was Scotland... I probably left out some details, but you get the jist I'm sure, since that was plenty long. To sum up: it was freezing and I rarely felt my toes between leaving the house in the morning and getting into bed that night, the Feeleys are SO INCREDIBLY NICE, and it's much easier to get around when the spoken language is your native language - even if the accents are tough sometimes.
More pictures are up in Photobucket! Not of Scotland, but there are about 270 of the two and a half days in Berlin. Just think what I could've done with six days in Scotland. Sad.
Now. For those of you who don't know the Feeley's, they may in fact be one of the best families I have ever met. Terry drove us to their home in Bearsden, a suburb in north Glasgow (which is eerily lit with green spotlights at night), where Eva had a hot dinner waiting for us. YES. We had butternut squash soup followed by pasta and delicious bread and then rhubarb apple pie and tea for dessert. I knew then that the trip wouldn't be anything short of magical. They pulled out dozens of brochures on Glasgow, Edinburgh, the highlands, Loch Ness, Loch Lomond, and Stirling Castle, and helped us begin to plan the week. Cara and I each had our own room, with what was the greatest continental quilt I have ever encountered in my life on my bed. It seemed to just bounce all of my body heat right back at me - I want to buy one. Except it's not cold enough to really merit one, but it was so great.
The next morning we decided to conquer Glasgow, and Eva drove us into town and helped us get set up on one of those double-decker bus tours. It started off well enough, but we soon realized that 4 degree weather (Celsius, remember) combined with the wind on top of a bus was not a good combination. We didn't move, but we realized we had made a horrible mistake. We saw about half of the tour, marking places we wanted to go back, and then got off at the University of Glasgow. We stopped to go to the bathroom and try to regain feeling in our limbs, then went up to the Hunterian Museum, which is the collection of stuff William Hunter gathered throughout his life. It was really cool, and very crazy. There was one part where he had preserved the bodies of disfigured animals - so weird. There were conjoined twin baby deer, and squirrel things with eight legs, and other weird things like that. From there we went to the Hunterian Gallery, which is the art part, and I made up for the fact that I was missing art history by seeing lots and lots of James Whistler. From there we got back on the bus and saw the second half of the tour, then got off and had lunch at Cafe Gondolfi, a recommendation that came courtesy of Cara's "Top 10: Escocia" travel book. From there we went to the cathedral, the necropolis, and then a medieval house that was built in 1471! It is the oldest house in Glasgow. The cathedral has the tomb of St. Mungo, Glasgow's patron saint, in the bottom. It was all really cool, although the necropolis wasn't as old as I was hoping - they were all from the 1850s. After that we got some tea and found out that all museums close at 5 pm in Glasgow, so we were stuck. We met Francis and Terry at Terry's building, and Francis gave us her keys so we could go home, where we vegged out and watched the Simpsons on their couch for... far too long.
The next day, we took the train to Stirling Castle, which was built in the TWELFTH century. Definitely old enough for me. There are lots of additions from other eras, but still. It was gorgeous and the town of Stirling was really cute too. We found this basement part sort of by accident and it seemed like it could have been a prison, or a tomb, or something. SO COOL. Also, all I could think of the entire time was either Monty Python or Black Adder. That continued through most of the trip. Then we went back to town, had lunch at Martin's cafe, and Terry drove us out to the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond. We drove around to several parts before heading to Lomond Shores, where there is a mall, and we had a cup of coffee. We had to head home though, because Eva had bought HAGGIS for us for dinner! We had haggis with mashed potatoes and turnips (tatties and neeps), and I was shocked to find that it was actually delicious. I just don't want to think about what's actually in it: "sheep's 'pluck' (heart, liver and lungs), minced with onion, oatmeal, suet, spices, and salt, mixed with stock, and traditionally boiled in the animal's stomach." BLEH. But it was delicious! Kind of like hot dogs that way. For dessert we had sticky toffee pudding with cream and more tea. I could get used to life at the Feeley's house.
On Thursday we took the train to Edinburgh, where we saw the Edinburgh Castle, the Royal Mile, the National Gallery, and the Royal Museum of Scotland, and we may have climbed Arthur's Seat, or we may have climbed something similar but smaller? Either way, we got an incredible view of Edinburgh until I fell in mud on the way down - so cute. Cara got a good picture. The castle was amazing, but a little more kitsch than Stirling, because it had a bunch of fake recreations - things like mannequins in the rooms and recordings of them talking. The prison was REALLY cool though, and they had three of the original doors, which prisoners had carved their name, the date (1770s!), and sometimes their ship or something else into. Those were really cool. The National Gallery was so so amazing - I could have spent twice as much time in it than we did, but I think Cara was ready to go? And we hit the Royal Museum only an hour before closing, so I missed a ton of cool stuff. But I did see some canister that historians actually know belonged to Bonnie Prince Charlie. How they find out that stuff, I'll never know. For lunch, I had steak and ale pie with mashed potatoes and an incredible beer (I think it was Belhaven Burns Ale... not sure but by god I will find out) and Cara had fish and chips. Delicious. We took the train back into town, but the train to Bearsden was severely delayed, so Terry came out and picked us up! Basically they just took such wonderful care of us all the time. We had a delicious dinner again that night, of minestrone soup, a Tuscan salad, and orange chicken. (Sorry I'm talking more about the food than the sights, but my GOD the food was good) Also, John's daughter Roisin (pronounced Rosh-een) was staying with them that night, and she is almost two and the CUTEST CHILD ALIVE. She kept saying "I see you girls!" when she looked through her little binoculars at Cara or I. So cute I didn't even know what to do with her.
Friday we took a bus tour of the Highlands - it was a small tour, limited to 16 people but there were only 6 of us plus the driver and his wife. It was really cool, and we got to see some incredible views (don't get your hopes up - my camera battery died back in Berlin. I have NO photos of Scotland. I'll get what I can from Cara, but we... have very different photo taking styles?) that we wouldn't have seen any other way, unless we had rented a car. We also saw the sight of the Glencoe Massacre, Loch Ness, and the tallest mountain in the United Kingdom. It was a gorgeous day, so we had magnificent views, and even drove through the snow in one particularly high part of the Highlands. That night the Feeley's were at a wedding reception, and we heated up some delicious leftovers and watched more tv before going to bed.
Saturday, we went back to Glasgow to finish what we had missed on Tuesday, and saw Pollok Park, which is a huge gorgeous park that used to belong to some rich family until they gave it to the city of Glasgow. When they donated it, the city put up the Burrell Collection, another art gallery that was incredible and I could've spent days in, and turned the home into the Pollok House, which has mostly original decorations and tons of art. They were incredible. The park also has lots of Highland cows roaming around, and there's a river that runs behind the gardens of the house, and there are Clydesdales somewhere - but we couldn't find them. It was amazing. From there we went back into the center of town and had lunch, and walked out to the Kelvingrove Art Gallery, a HUGE collection of art and artifacts and tons of other things - again with only an hour to cover it. We literally ran through it, so I "saw" everything but didn't get to enjoy it as much as I would have liked. Also, an interesting fact I noticed is that the museums we went to in both Edinburgh and Glasgow are set up for children to enjoy them as well. There are lots of interactive exhibits, even about things that don't normally cater to children, say, French impressionist exhibits. ALSO the best thing EVER is that all the museums in Glasgow are free. The castles are spendy, though. That night we ordered in some amazing curries and watched The X Factor with Eva and Francis, which is the UK version of American Idol. It was AWESOME, and they get way better sets than American Idol. PLUS they get back up dancers! Hello!
We got to linger in bed on Saturday morning, then had porridge with Roisin before she, Eva, and Frances dropped us at the train station to head back to the airport.
So that was Scotland... I probably left out some details, but you get the jist I'm sure, since that was plenty long. To sum up: it was freezing and I rarely felt my toes between leaving the house in the morning and getting into bed that night, the Feeleys are SO INCREDIBLY NICE, and it's much easier to get around when the spoken language is your native language - even if the accents are tough sometimes.
More pictures are up in Photobucket! Not of Scotland, but there are about 270 of the two and a half days in Berlin. Just think what I could've done with six days in Scotland. Sad.
Monday, November 3, 2008
Adios a mis padres
WELL. It has been quite a while! I have been roaming Europe, but more on that later: I have so much to say that I will have to divide it up between blog posts. For now, we'll finish the saga of having Mom and Dad here, and then later you can here about my adventures in Scotland!
So, as I said several blog posts ago, the weekend that we were all in Barcelona together, we went to Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown. We spent the morning in the epic Dali museum (Dad's comments: "So when did they lock him up in the loony bin?"), and the afternoon was split between lunch, a walk in the rain to a castle that was closed, and a train ride back to Barcelona. Figueres was very cute, and the Dali museum was INCREDIBLE, and the castle looked nice from the outside... it was no consolation to learn that it is the largest fortress in Europe after we learned it closed at 3 pm. We had dinner at an iffy restaurant by the cathedral after Mom and I did some more exploring (I had the joy of having rather undercooked shrimp in my risotto), and then I joined them at their hotel for breakfast the next morning before they headed off to Mallorca.
Flash forward now to Friday, when I met them in El Prat to catch a plane to Berlin! Germany started off with a bang when we schlepped out to the car rentals to find our lovely VW awaiting our arrival... complete with NeverLost (which has proved difficult for us in the past - "Please return to the highlighted route." "If possible, make a U-turn." bing bong! You're screwed! - are just some of our favorites). However, we made it to the hotel easily and quickly, and found that it was EPIC. Dad booked it, of course, and we both had "penthouse" junior suites. It was SO GREAT and I was so happy to have a room entirely to myself - I'm not going to lie, I talked to myself a little and sang along with my iPod a lot. We went down to the bar, where we rang up a sizeable tab (in price, not quantity) of mojitos, manhattans, rasmopolitans (best drink EVER) and long island ice teas, and Dad threatened to dance along with the two man band - a drum set and a synthesizer. Luckily, other people were already making fools of themselves so we were able to show him just what it would look like if we were to join in. Then, I took a shower AND dried my hair AT NIGHT, because I can do anything I want when I'm not sharing a living space with other people. I also left the bathroom door open. AND put my iPod in the iHome and fell asleep with James Taylor playing to the WHOLE ROOM.
The next morning, we began our fun-filled adventure with a walk through Tiergarten, the huge park, which brought us to the Brandenburg Gate. The park was AM
AZING because fall is the best season ever (when it isn't spring), and Mom talked to some random German woman on a bench, showing off her impressive German chops. On our way to the gate we stumbled upon a Russian monument to those killed in World War II - although confusing, since it was all in Russian, it was also pretty spectacular. The gate was pretty cool as well - Dad walked through the largest opening, his appropriate path, because in the early days of the gate, only royalty could use the widest one. I don't know if Polish princes counted as royalty in Germany though, Dad. From there we saw the German Parliament, or the Reichstag, and then headed down to the Holocaust memorial. Not before Dad stopped for some Gluwein though, which is hot wine and rum - I will remind you it was maybe 10:30 by this time. In his defense, I think we thought it was hot coffee with rum.
The memorial was incredible - it is (literally) thousands of concrete columny things (they're square. Wikipedia says they are steleae. Refer to the photo for further information) in a grid in a city block, and the ground they're on slopes
up and down. It's wild, you get totally lost, and as Mom commented, there were hundreds of people in it but you would never know - it's silent even when people are yelling, and totally isolating. Creepy. Also ingenious. From there we went to Hitler's bunker. It is not open to the public, and the post declaring where it is was surrounded by British school children, so all I know is that there are apartment buildings over it now. Next we walked to the Topography of Terror, which is a section of the Berlin wall over the remains of some Nazi buildings, and a sort of outdoor museum about it. It was pretty cool, and it was the first part of the wall we saw. It was totally trashed, and didn't look that exciting. From there we walked to Checkpoint Charlie, where we saw some salvaged parts of the wall, signs indicating the entrance to the American sector, and actors posing as soldiers at the actual checkpoint. We headed to the former east side for a delicious lunch of currywurst for Mom and Dad and something schnitzel for me, followed by a big slice of chocolate cake. Reluctantly braving the weather again, we headed up to a square containing a German church, a French church of the exact same design, and an opera house between the two. From THERE (I'm just now realizing how long this day was), we walked to some more old churches, conveniently located next to Humboldt University, where Albert Einstein and the Brothers Grimm taught, and then up to the location of the old palace. It was destroyed several times for several different reasons, and now there's not much left but some bricks in the ground and cement staircases in the air. It was also across from a huge old church (probably has a name) and an art museum (presumably also with a name). We wandered through a little market before conceding defeat and heading back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Incidentally, here is where I first began to feel feverish - a theme that would continue for a while before leveling off into the worst cold EVER which is still hanging on as I type. 
We went to a wonderful little German restaurant where I had a giant roll of meat, then collapsed into bed.
Sunday, I felt much better after a night of rolling around in my own sweat, and we started off with a trip to an old church which was severely damaged by the war. It has a big tower which is blown out and on either side is the new church which they actually have services in. It was really cool but closed on Sundays... can we discuss how ridiculous that is? Afterward we took a bus up to Sophie Charlotte's Berlin summer house (NOT in fact a castle), where we went on a tour of the old section and Mom and I made up a tour of the new section ("We are now entering the Green Damask room, called such for the green damask used to expressively color the walls. Please, remember not to lean on the door frames or touch the works of art."). Dad ditched us in favor of some apple tart, and Mom and I quickly wandered the grounds. Dad decided the afternoon would be better spent off of his feet (we did cover a lot of ground on Saturday), and we took a cab back towards the hotel. After dropping off Dad, our driver got very chatty and he and Mom started blathering about in German - IN FACT, Mom was so good that he asked her where she had studied German, and he DIDN'T BELIEVE HER when she said the US. He was sure she had studied at the Hague (we considered this a compliment, since Dutch sounds just like German to me), and told her she didn't speak German like most Americans do. She bragged about this for the next 36 hours - it may have continued, but I went to Scotland, so I'll never know. Anyway, he dropped us in town and Mom and I trudged on, successfully taking the metro out to the East Side Gallery, a section of the wall which artists painted murals on and then everyone else decided to be punks and graffitied on top of it. It was amazing, but also supremely disappointing that it was covered in names and dates and graffiti and a surprising number of "Catalunya no es Espana!" declarations. The Catalonians just can't leave a tender moment alone. It was really cool though, and we walked all the way down it and back, with the sun setting somewhere in that time. We went to Alexanderplatz from there and saw the giant TV tower which dominates the skyline from all directions, as well as some more old buildings. We also had bratwurst! Delicious. We walked partway home before deciding a cab would serve us better, and our extremely friendly driver took us by a bunch of landmarks which were lit up with crazy colors and light shows as part of the Festival of Lights. We had dinner in the hotel, and I savored my last night in a room all to myself. (I do have my own room in my host family's home, but the walls are like paper. Just thought I should clarify.)
The next morning, we drove to Hamburg, where I thought I was flying out of, only to discover that I was very, very wrong. After a bit of confusion, we ended up just buying a British Air flight through Heathrow for me, and I had two lovely flights - complete with free drinks and snacks - before arriving in the freezing cold city of Glasgow.
More may have happened... Mom and Dad, let me know if there are any stories I forgot (I already mentioned your awesome German skills TWICE, Mom). Next will be a similarly epic post on Scotland - sorry to keep you waiting, but this has exhausted me enough for today. Not that I didn't spend all day in bed with my cold and a box of tissues, but still - all this writing is really wearing me out.
So, as I said several blog posts ago, the weekend that we were all in Barcelona together, we went to Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown. We spent the morning in the epic Dali museum (Dad's comments: "So when did they lock him up in the loony bin?"), and the afternoon was split between lunch, a walk in the rain to a castle that was closed, and a train ride back to Barcelona. Figueres was very cute, and the Dali museum was INCREDIBLE, and the castle looked nice from the outside... it was no consolation to learn that it is the largest fortress in Europe after we learned it closed at 3 pm. We had dinner at an iffy restaurant by the cathedral after Mom and I did some more exploring (I had the joy of having rather undercooked shrimp in my risotto), and then I joined them at their hotel for breakfast the next morning before they headed off to Mallorca.
Flash forward now to Friday, when I met them in El Prat to catch a plane to Berlin! Germany started off with a bang when we schlepped out to the car rentals to find our lovely VW awaiting our arrival... complete with NeverLost (which has proved difficult for us in the past - "Please return to the highlighted route." "If possible, make a U-turn." bing bong! You're screwed! - are just some of our favorites). However, we made it to the hotel easily and quickly, and found that it was EPIC. Dad booked it, of course, and we both had "penthouse" junior suites. It was SO GREAT and I was so happy to have a room entirely to myself - I'm not going to lie, I talked to myself a little and sang along with my iPod a lot. We went down to the bar, where we rang up a sizeable tab (in price, not quantity) of mojitos, manhattans, rasmopolitans (best drink EVER) and long island ice teas, and Dad threatened to dance along with the two man band - a drum set and a synthesizer. Luckily, other people were already making fools of themselves so we were able to show him just what it would look like if we were to join in. Then, I took a shower AND dried my hair AT NIGHT, because I can do anything I want when I'm not sharing a living space with other people. I also left the bathroom door open. AND put my iPod in the iHome and fell asleep with James Taylor playing to the WHOLE ROOM.
The next morning, we began our fun-filled adventure with a walk through Tiergarten, the huge park, which brought us to the Brandenburg Gate. The park was AM
AZING because fall is the best season ever (when it isn't spring), and Mom talked to some random German woman on a bench, showing off her impressive German chops. On our way to the gate we stumbled upon a Russian monument to those killed in World War II - although confusing, since it was all in Russian, it was also pretty spectacular. The gate was pretty cool as well - Dad walked through the largest opening, his appropriate path, because in the early days of the gate, only royalty could use the widest one. I don't know if Polish princes counted as royalty in Germany though, Dad. From there we saw the German Parliament, or the Reichstag, and then headed down to the Holocaust memorial. Not before Dad stopped for some Gluwein though, which is hot wine and rum - I will remind you it was maybe 10:30 by this time. In his defense, I think we thought it was hot coffee with rum.The memorial was incredible - it is (literally) thousands of concrete columny things (they're square. Wikipedia says they are steleae. Refer to the photo for further information) in a grid in a city block, and the ground they're on slopes
up and down. It's wild, you get totally lost, and as Mom commented, there were hundreds of people in it but you would never know - it's silent even when people are yelling, and totally isolating. Creepy. Also ingenious. From there we went to Hitler's bunker. It is not open to the public, and the post declaring where it is was surrounded by British school children, so all I know is that there are apartment buildings over it now. Next we walked to the Topography of Terror, which is a section of the Berlin wall over the remains of some Nazi buildings, and a sort of outdoor museum about it. It was pretty cool, and it was the first part of the wall we saw. It was totally trashed, and didn't look that exciting. From there we walked to Checkpoint Charlie, where we saw some salvaged parts of the wall, signs indicating the entrance to the American sector, and actors posing as soldiers at the actual checkpoint. We headed to the former east side for a delicious lunch of currywurst for Mom and Dad and something schnitzel for me, followed by a big slice of chocolate cake. Reluctantly braving the weather again, we headed up to a square containing a German church, a French church of the exact same design, and an opera house between the two. From THERE (I'm just now realizing how long this day was), we walked to some more old churches, conveniently located next to Humboldt University, where Albert Einstein and the Brothers Grimm taught, and then up to the location of the old palace. It was destroyed several times for several different reasons, and now there's not much left but some bricks in the ground and cement staircases in the air. It was also across from a huge old church (probably has a name) and an art museum (presumably also with a name). We wandered through a little market before conceding defeat and heading back to the hotel for a rest before dinner. Incidentally, here is where I first began to feel feverish - a theme that would continue for a while before leveling off into the worst cold EVER which is still hanging on as I type. 
We went to a wonderful little German restaurant where I had a giant roll of meat, then collapsed into bed.Sunday, I felt much better after a night of rolling around in my own sweat, and we started off with a trip to an old church which was severely damaged by the war. It has a big tower which is blown out and on either side is the new church which they actually have services in. It was really cool but closed on Sundays... can we discuss how ridiculous that is? Afterward we took a bus up to Sophie Charlotte's Berlin summer house (NOT in fact a castle), where we went on a tour of the old section and Mom and I made up a tour of the new section ("We are now entering the Green Damask room, called such for the green damask used to expressively color the walls. Please, remember not to lean on the door frames or touch the works of art."). Dad ditched us in favor of some apple tart, and Mom and I quickly wandered the grounds. Dad decided the afternoon would be better spent off of his feet (we did cover a lot of ground on Saturday), and we took a cab back towards the hotel. After dropping off Dad, our driver got very chatty and he and Mom started blathering about in German - IN FACT, Mom was so good that he asked her where she had studied German, and he DIDN'T BELIEVE HER when she said the US. He was sure she had studied at the Hague (we considered this a compliment, since Dutch sounds just like German to me), and told her she didn't speak German like most Americans do. She bragged about this for the next 36 hours - it may have continued, but I went to Scotland, so I'll never know. Anyway, he dropped us in town and Mom and I trudged on, successfully taking the metro out to the East Side Gallery, a section of the wall which artists painted murals on and then everyone else decided to be punks and graffitied on top of it. It was amazing, but also supremely disappointing that it was covered in names and dates and graffiti and a surprising number of "Catalunya no es Espana!" declarations. The Catalonians just can't leave a tender moment alone. It was really cool though, and we walked all the way down it and back, with the sun setting somewhere in that time. We went to Alexanderplatz from there and saw the giant TV tower which dominates the skyline from all directions, as well as some more old buildings. We also had bratwurst! Delicious. We walked partway home before deciding a cab would serve us better, and our extremely friendly driver took us by a bunch of landmarks which were lit up with crazy colors and light shows as part of the Festival of Lights. We had dinner in the hotel, and I savored my last night in a room all to myself. (I do have my own room in my host family's home, but the walls are like paper. Just thought I should clarify.)
The next morning, we drove to Hamburg, where I thought I was flying out of, only to discover that I was very, very wrong. After a bit of confusion, we ended up just buying a British Air flight through Heathrow for me, and I had two lovely flights - complete with free drinks and snacks - before arriving in the freezing cold city of Glasgow.
More may have happened... Mom and Dad, let me know if there are any stories I forgot (I already mentioned your awesome German skills TWICE, Mom). Next will be a similarly epic post on Scotland - sorry to keep you waiting, but this has exhausted me enough for today. Not that I didn't spend all day in bed with my cold and a box of tissues, but still - all this writing is really wearing me out.
Wednesday, October 22, 2008
School: just as boring abroad
I wish I could describe to you the immense difficulty of anyone holding my attention for a full two hours, let alone an elderly, balding man telling me in a fast paced, mumbling tone about Lebanon. But it is indescribable. TWO HOURS IS SO LONG. I miss my quick little fifty minute math classes. Luckily I have to take three of them next semester (bleh). Classes are just so different here, for a number of reasons besides the epic lengths. First of all, my UPF classes have about 70-80 students in them. My art history class is half lecture, half discussion, but both Islam history and poetry are pure lecture. At least in poetry we get a break in the middle. The other, most notable difference for me is that when I am in class or walking around campus, I don't know anyone. At Whitman, it was impossible for me to cross campus (or even walk between two classes on the same floor of Olin) without seeing someone I knew and probably wanted to talk to. But here, I'm taking classes with sophomores and juniors who have all the same classes together and who have been in classes together for more than a year. They're all already friends, and not very friendly. Plus they stand around speaking Catalan to each other, so it's not even like I could awkwardly jump into their conversations. I was talking to some of the IES girls who live in residence halls, and they say they haven't even made friends in their dorms, with the exception of a few kids from southern Spain, where people are actually friendly. It doesn't really bother me that much, since I do have friends - just not at UPF, but it feels so weird to go into the cafeteria or sit in the quad and not know a single person around me. I sort of miss Whitman's tight little community, however suffocating it can be. And I'm determined to go to the south.
In other news, I finally figured out the websites for my classes, only to discover that the art history class is the only one that actually uses it. But I did find information about most of my finals, except poetry. By the way, the real professor still hasn't made it to class. I don't know what's wrong, but he probably should've just not been teaching classes at all this semester. We have a different teacher each week now, which is fine but sort of frustrating. They all seem to be pretty smart though.
Also, people take notes in very odd ways here - most people just sit there writing full sentences, and full paragraphs, of what I can only assume is verbatim from the professor's mouth. True, mine are dented by the fact that I don't always catch everything they say, but still, I prefer bullets and short points to paragraphs upon paragraphs. It seems like it would be hard to study from. AND I have noticed several people taking notes in Catalan. This bilingual world is so odd to me. We will conduct class entirely in Spanish, but someone will ask a question in Catalan, and the professor will (usually) respond in Spanish. They can take notes in an entirely different language. I mean, I could probably take notes in English, but there are still a lot of words I don't know the meaning of, and I would get caught up translating and then get way behind in listening.
Everyone is extremely respectful of the professors at UPF, which is an extremely notable difference from my classes at IES. Not in my Spanish class, but in my Latin American lit class - people talk through class (and this is a class of 15-20 people, not 80, so it's very obvious), and openly talk about the things we do being a waste of time. Maybe it's just because I really like that class, but it annoys me. A lot. The worst is this one girl who spends the entire class asking her friends what the professor just said, presumably because she doesn't understand? I don't know. But it kills me to hear them talk, in English, over our professor for the entire class. And they can be really immature - about half the class was groaning in disgust when we watched an interview with Onetti and he had yellow, rotting teeth. Ok, yes, his teeth were gross. Chill out and maybe shut up so we can hear the interview we're supposed to be listening to? Not that I can ever understand the interviews we watch anyway, since everyone important seems to mumble. Anyway I just miss people who respect their professors, even if the class is a waste of time or the professor isn't deserving of their respect, they still usually shut up when class is in session.
OH MAN in poetry the other week, these two girls were talking and the professor asked them to be quiet and they kept talking through her asking them to be quiet - drama. She got really mad and said that she doesn't care if they don't pay attention, she's only talking for the benefit of those who want to hear her, but when they don't listen when she is speaking directly to them it is rude and disrespectful, not because she's a professor but because she's a person. WOW it was intense. I think they were Americans, and had been asking each other about the meaning of something, and therefore didn't understand immediately that she was talking to them. But it was very intense.
Anyway, now that I have figured out the class websites, I have the list of twelve books which are listed as "recommended reading" for two of my classes. I'm assuming I should read them. My poetry class, on the other hand, doesn't have anything listed but in our dossier, at the end of each poet's section, there's a section of recommended reading that lists about ten books for each poet - that's not happening. We've already done four, and have at least four more to do - I don't think I'll be reading eighty books for this class. Maybe I'll pick one that looks good for each poet or something. I really need to start doing this immediately though, because this "no" work until the exam thing is way too easy to get into, and I have completely forgotten that I will actually need to do work for the exam. Especially since I don't learn a ton in class, since I am either a. spacing out and taking distracted notes (Islam) b. feeling like this class is in media res (art history) c. analyzing a specific poem but learning nothing about the poet. In short, I need to catch myself up outside of class a lot. Also I should be writing my midterm for Latin American lit instead of writing blog posts. But which is more fun?
In other news, I finally figured out the websites for my classes, only to discover that the art history class is the only one that actually uses it. But I did find information about most of my finals, except poetry. By the way, the real professor still hasn't made it to class. I don't know what's wrong, but he probably should've just not been teaching classes at all this semester. We have a different teacher each week now, which is fine but sort of frustrating. They all seem to be pretty smart though.
Also, people take notes in very odd ways here - most people just sit there writing full sentences, and full paragraphs, of what I can only assume is verbatim from the professor's mouth. True, mine are dented by the fact that I don't always catch everything they say, but still, I prefer bullets and short points to paragraphs upon paragraphs. It seems like it would be hard to study from. AND I have noticed several people taking notes in Catalan. This bilingual world is so odd to me. We will conduct class entirely in Spanish, but someone will ask a question in Catalan, and the professor will (usually) respond in Spanish. They can take notes in an entirely different language. I mean, I could probably take notes in English, but there are still a lot of words I don't know the meaning of, and I would get caught up translating and then get way behind in listening.
Everyone is extremely respectful of the professors at UPF, which is an extremely notable difference from my classes at IES. Not in my Spanish class, but in my Latin American lit class - people talk through class (and this is a class of 15-20 people, not 80, so it's very obvious), and openly talk about the things we do being a waste of time. Maybe it's just because I really like that class, but it annoys me. A lot. The worst is this one girl who spends the entire class asking her friends what the professor just said, presumably because she doesn't understand? I don't know. But it kills me to hear them talk, in English, over our professor for the entire class. And they can be really immature - about half the class was groaning in disgust when we watched an interview with Onetti and he had yellow, rotting teeth. Ok, yes, his teeth were gross. Chill out and maybe shut up so we can hear the interview we're supposed to be listening to? Not that I can ever understand the interviews we watch anyway, since everyone important seems to mumble. Anyway I just miss people who respect their professors, even if the class is a waste of time or the professor isn't deserving of their respect, they still usually shut up when class is in session.
OH MAN in poetry the other week, these two girls were talking and the professor asked them to be quiet and they kept talking through her asking them to be quiet - drama. She got really mad and said that she doesn't care if they don't pay attention, she's only talking for the benefit of those who want to hear her, but when they don't listen when she is speaking directly to them it is rude and disrespectful, not because she's a professor but because she's a person. WOW it was intense. I think they were Americans, and had been asking each other about the meaning of something, and therefore didn't understand immediately that she was talking to them. But it was very intense.
Anyway, now that I have figured out the class websites, I have the list of twelve books which are listed as "recommended reading" for two of my classes. I'm assuming I should read them. My poetry class, on the other hand, doesn't have anything listed but in our dossier, at the end of each poet's section, there's a section of recommended reading that lists about ten books for each poet - that's not happening. We've already done four, and have at least four more to do - I don't think I'll be reading eighty books for this class. Maybe I'll pick one that looks good for each poet or something. I really need to start doing this immediately though, because this "no" work until the exam thing is way too easy to get into, and I have completely forgotten that I will actually need to do work for the exam. Especially since I don't learn a ton in class, since I am either a. spacing out and taking distracted notes (Islam) b. feeling like this class is in media res (art history) c. analyzing a specific poem but learning nothing about the poet. In short, I need to catch myself up outside of class a lot. Also I should be writing my midterm for Latin American lit instead of writing blog posts. But which is more fun?
Friday, October 17, 2008
The Witcoskys are going to Spain!
First of all, let me profusely apologize for having gone five days without writing - I recently learned that my blog has quite the following among members of St. Luke's? Now that I know I have an audience (hey Googins) I will think more about what I'm writing, rather than blathering about my random thoughts. Although apparently those have been garnering interest as well. Plus I love my random thoughts. Also, I have been told to refrain from using the Lord's name in vain. So sorry about that. If I didn't hate emoticons so much, I would include a winky face right here.
NEXT, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW GREAT MY PARENTS ARE. They arrived on Wednesday, and I tried (and failed) to meet them at the airport at 8 am. From the moment they got here, it has been absolutely fantastic, and I don't think I have ever enjoyed their company quite as much as I do here. Not that I don't always enjoy it. Ok, I don't always enjoy it. But most of the time I do. But here, it's a million times better than it has ever been before! We have been having so much fun, and getting along so well, and eating such wonderful food, and it just makes me so so appreciative of my fabulous family and how lucky I am to be here AND that they are able to come visit me. I mean wow. On Wednesday we were able to spend a lot of the day together, when they weren't recovering from jet lag, and we had an incredible dinner of paella after about two hours of drinks and tapas. Herein lies the secret to having so much fun with my parents - we can drink together. It's like a magical recipe for success, as long as Dad keeps both feet (and no hands) on the ground. Ha, I can't wait for them to read this - it will probably be a while. Thursday I had class most of the day, but we were still able to have lunch together and then after class we explored a little more then went to Els Quatre Gats for dinner, where Picasso used to hang out and discuss cubism. After dinner, we went to the Harlem Jazz Club (Mom was very curious, after my rave reviews in past entries), and saw a funk & soul band called Groove Juice that was SO AMAZING I COULDN'T EVEN STAND IT. We walked in, and I said to Mom, "So this is my fabulous life now... I listen to jazz in bars in Spain. Yeah." Mostly kidding. But seriously. How cool am I? Today we had chocolate con churros for breakfast, saw some Gaudi architecture before I went to class, then met back up for a delicious lunch of tapas while we took cover from the rain. Wednesday and Thursday were so beautiful, 70-75 and far too humid, so even though the rain was unfortunate, I was glad the humidity had broken. Afterward we split up for siestas, and then went out for some sangria before perhaps the greatest two hours of my life: dinner at the Huerga household. The apartment was all decorated for guests - candles lit, the fancy place settings, and snacks and drinks in the living room. We had a magnificent, LONG meal in which I talked so much I hardly remembered to eat - having to say everything twice for all parties is quite the chore. But it was so much fun, and everyone loved everyone else, and it was so wonderful to see my Spanish family and my actual family together and laughing and attempting (though often failing) to understand one another. Dad used his excellent Spanish skills to say "muy bien" and "excelente" while eating, and even asked a couple questions! Mom was a little more nervous, but also did very well, and the kids all speak a little English so we got along fine. As long as I was translating. I tried my best but there are some things that are pretty hard to explain - "He asked me if he could tell you what I have told him about you" is one of those gems. That's hard enough in English, actually. Or how do you say (or should you say), "My dad says you give a pretty good stink-eye to your brothers." That's the sort of thing I'd rather not say at all, actually, but I just made it up as I went along, as I do everyday, and it seemed to go pretty well. Afterward Mom & Dad told me how lucky I was to have such a great host family, and Ana told me how much she loved meeting them and how I was so lucky to have such friendly, easy-going parents. She said she instantly felt comfortable around them and thought they were a lot of fun to have over. It was SO SO SO GREAT. I don't feel that I have a vocabulary large enough to express it - it was outstanding, magnificent, divine, fantastic. Or "so so so great." However you like.
Among the other highlights so far:
1. Accidentally convincing Dad we should go to Las Vegas this Christmas to celebrate my 21st birthday.
2. Dad saying "perro grande" to every big dog we saw on the street.
3. Discussing how Bill Schweitzer would be an ideal one-of-my-first-legal-drinks companion (but on second thought, why not ALL of Christcare?!?).
4. Dad saying "Who is Gaudi again?"
5. Dad wearing his Ashland hat. (Pictures to come)
6. DAD ALL THE TIME (sorry Mom, I love you, but you're less entertaining - you know what I mean)
7. Explaining things I hardly thought I knew until I started explaining them.
8. THE GIANT PILE OF REESE'S PEANUT BUTTER CUPS THAT THEY BROUGHT ME
9. Can't deny it; having them pay for things.
10. Asking my mildly inebriated father about the economic crisis and learning about it in (an appropriate amount of) depth for the next 40 minutes.
11. Who am I kidding? Groove Juice. And the fact that my parents are cool enough to like it too.
More to come. This weekend we're going to Girona, a historically Jewish town outside the city, and Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown. Then maybe a flamenco show? And they're off to Mallorca... so sad. But then next weekend we're going to Berlin, where MOM has to do all the translating! It's times like these when I seriously can't believe my life is real.
NEXT, LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT HOW GREAT MY PARENTS ARE. They arrived on Wednesday, and I tried (and failed) to meet them at the airport at 8 am. From the moment they got here, it has been absolutely fantastic, and I don't think I have ever enjoyed their company quite as much as I do here. Not that I don't always enjoy it. Ok, I don't always enjoy it. But most of the time I do. But here, it's a million times better than it has ever been before! We have been having so much fun, and getting along so well, and eating such wonderful food, and it just makes me so so appreciative of my fabulous family and how lucky I am to be here AND that they are able to come visit me. I mean wow. On Wednesday we were able to spend a lot of the day together, when they weren't recovering from jet lag, and we had an incredible dinner of paella after about two hours of drinks and tapas. Herein lies the secret to having so much fun with my parents - we can drink together. It's like a magical recipe for success, as long as Dad keeps both feet (and no hands) on the ground. Ha, I can't wait for them to read this - it will probably be a while. Thursday I had class most of the day, but we were still able to have lunch together and then after class we explored a little more then went to Els Quatre Gats for dinner, where Picasso used to hang out and discuss cubism. After dinner, we went to the Harlem Jazz Club (Mom was very curious, after my rave reviews in past entries), and saw a funk & soul band called Groove Juice that was SO AMAZING I COULDN'T EVEN STAND IT. We walked in, and I said to Mom, "So this is my fabulous life now... I listen to jazz in bars in Spain. Yeah." Mostly kidding. But seriously. How cool am I? Today we had chocolate con churros for breakfast, saw some Gaudi architecture before I went to class, then met back up for a delicious lunch of tapas while we took cover from the rain. Wednesday and Thursday were so beautiful, 70-75 and far too humid, so even though the rain was unfortunate, I was glad the humidity had broken. Afterward we split up for siestas, and then went out for some sangria before perhaps the greatest two hours of my life: dinner at the Huerga household. The apartment was all decorated for guests - candles lit, the fancy place settings, and snacks and drinks in the living room. We had a magnificent, LONG meal in which I talked so much I hardly remembered to eat - having to say everything twice for all parties is quite the chore. But it was so much fun, and everyone loved everyone else, and it was so wonderful to see my Spanish family and my actual family together and laughing and attempting (though often failing) to understand one another. Dad used his excellent Spanish skills to say "muy bien" and "excelente" while eating, and even asked a couple questions! Mom was a little more nervous, but also did very well, and the kids all speak a little English so we got along fine. As long as I was translating. I tried my best but there are some things that are pretty hard to explain - "He asked me if he could tell you what I have told him about you" is one of those gems. That's hard enough in English, actually. Or how do you say (or should you say), "My dad says you give a pretty good stink-eye to your brothers." That's the sort of thing I'd rather not say at all, actually, but I just made it up as I went along, as I do everyday, and it seemed to go pretty well. Afterward Mom & Dad told me how lucky I was to have such a great host family, and Ana told me how much she loved meeting them and how I was so lucky to have such friendly, easy-going parents. She said she instantly felt comfortable around them and thought they were a lot of fun to have over. It was SO SO SO GREAT. I don't feel that I have a vocabulary large enough to express it - it was outstanding, magnificent, divine, fantastic. Or "so so so great." However you like.
Among the other highlights so far:
1. Accidentally convincing Dad we should go to Las Vegas this Christmas to celebrate my 21st birthday.
2. Dad saying "perro grande" to every big dog we saw on the street.
3. Discussing how Bill Schweitzer would be an ideal one-of-my-first-legal-drinks companion (but on second thought, why not ALL of Christcare?!?).
4. Dad saying "Who is Gaudi again?"
5. Dad wearing his Ashland hat. (Pictures to come)
6. DAD ALL THE TIME (sorry Mom, I love you, but you're less entertaining - you know what I mean)
7. Explaining things I hardly thought I knew until I started explaining them.
8. THE GIANT PILE OF REESE'S PEANUT BUTTER CUPS THAT THEY BROUGHT ME
9. Can't deny it; having them pay for things.
10. Asking my mildly inebriated father about the economic crisis and learning about it in (an appropriate amount of) depth for the next 40 minutes.
11. Who am I kidding? Groove Juice. And the fact that my parents are cool enough to like it too.
More to come. This weekend we're going to Girona, a historically Jewish town outside the city, and Figueres, Salvador Dali's hometown. Then maybe a flamenco show? And they're off to Mallorca... so sad. But then next weekend we're going to Berlin, where MOM has to do all the translating! It's times like these when I seriously can't believe my life is real.
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