temporary leave of absence

dear readers, my parents are currently here, so all of my prior shlepping laptop and posting stuff plus writing efforts are now going towards demonstrating the extraordinary beauty that is sevilla to my parents...

my blog will be updated after november 10th

besitos!
estella

Crepes y pasteles---PARIS

The first of many Paris pictures: (I took 521 in two days):

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2099039&l=eee3d&id=2409539
http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2099042&l=4f06a&id=2409539

17 Octubre 2007, Miercoles

I woke up today with the giddiest feeling and only one thought in my mind…. “Me voy a Paris!” After the usual, I met Cristina for our marathon interchange session, and today we hung out with some of her friends, which was quite interesting. After finding out I was American, they began to test their English on me…which consisted of what all 17 year-old know…curse words. One boy pointed at another and said, “He is very faggot…” to which I had a lengthy talk about how you can’t say that, it’s not PC, and you would basically get beat up or sued in the US for saying something like that. Then we moved on to the obligatory other phrases such as “F you” (I was chuckling in my head the entire time because the pronunciation was so funny)

I packed my bags and had a leisurely café con leche in the afternoon, all the while nursing my giddiness, and then I headed to cooking class. It was in Las Carmelitas, a school where one of my teachers, Macarena, is the principal. About twenty of us walked into the kitchen and sat down as the teacher, Isabelita, a cute and chubby older Spanish abuela with a lunch lady hat began to show us how to make gazpacho. Everyone was a little wary, as we expected each person to be able to help and prepare their own food, but this is Europe, and not everything is as glitzy and organized as America…by the time we realized class had started, she was halfway through the gazpacho…which included pureeing bread, tomatoes, onions, olive oil, and vinegar all together. We also made tortilla Española, which is immensely popular here. It´s very much like an omelet, eaten cold, with potatoes, sometimes onions and peppers también. Natalia and I had to leave class early to catch our flight.

We got to the airport around 2020 and our flight was an hour later. We flew Vueling, which is about the coolest airline ever. You might be wondering about the name, dear reader, and here is the explanation… The airline is a hip, young low cost airline, and the name is Spanglish…yes, a mix of “flying” and “vuelo” (flight). The signs are all half English, half Spanish, the music is also half…and the in flight magazine is “In Style”…in Spanish. It’s fabulous. We were enjoying our flight immensely (watching Will and Grace and then The Pink Panther cartoon in Spanish) when we noticed the couple sitting next to us beginning what was very short of copulation…to which we just sighed and said “Oh Europe…”

I overheard the copulating couple say something to our flight attendant and then reply with a hearty “Spasibo!” (French accent included) so I affirmed my sneaking suspicion that our lovely flight attendant Maria, was in fact, Russian. We talked to her for a bit and then asked her how much a drink costs…she smiled and said. “Dlya vas….” (For you…) oh yeah, free wine on our flight to Paris…what could be better?

We landed in Paris in hopes that the big strike would not start until the next morning. It had begun. A word about the strike: So like I mentioned, public transportation was close to nill. The Parisian metro, which is known to be one of the best in the world, known for its extensive use and punctuality, was not working, neither were the buses…I suppose you don’t realize how important something is before it’s gone…Why was there a strike, you may ask? Well, in the past, being a conductor on the metro basically sucked because you had to deal with shoveling coal and whatnot, so the government let you retire four years before everyone else in the country. Now, everything is automated and the government told the conductors they had to work the same number of years as everyone else (40) before retirement, to which the lovely Parisians replied… “au revoir” and went on strike…the day we flew in. And apparently, as my French friends informed me, going on strike is fairly common in France, almost like the American equivalent to the prevalence of lawsuits, “They went on strike…” the French say as they roll their eyes.

As we walked through the airport, we expected to go through customs or something, expecting our passports to get stamped or checked before coming into France..ummmm, guess not ‘cuz we just walked straight through the airport and to the taxis. We got into our taxi, and realized very quickly that our cab driver knew little or no English. He was talking on his cell phone, and I was telling Natalia the story about the Spanish kids cursing at me, to which I tried imitating their accents upon saying “F you…” All of a sudden, the cab driver was like, “Excusez moi???” and we were laughing, so I said “ooh, Thank you!” As the money counter clicked higher and higher prices, and our minds worked double time to multiply by 1.43, I began to have a headache, but at the same time, enjoyed immensely the feeling of being in Paris.

We checked into our hotel, Hotel Camelia on Rue de Darcet, a very cute little kitschy hotel, and basically crashed on our wonderful red bed. There was literally no room in the bathroom, just enough space to decide whether you need to use the toilet, step up to the shower, or brush your teeth. Once again, oh Europe. We set up our alarms for quite early, and went to sleep, as I counted little Eifel Towers in my sleep…

18 Octubre 2007, Jueves PARIS

Crepe or Pastry? That was the main question in my mind, one for the ages you know, as I got up this morning only to realize that yes, it wasn’t a dream, I was in fact, in Paris. Natalia and I got up, and unaccustomed to this whole being cold thing, got suited up to brave the cold (50-60 degree) weather outside. I put on my tennis shoes praying that they wouldn’t kill my feet and would conquer the strike conditions.We strolled out of our hotel and began our search for the perfect breakfast….once again, crepe or pastry?

We settled on a small pastry shop on Rue Amsterdam I think, and I chose a chocolate croissant while Natalia went all out and got this beautiful strawberry work of art. It was fabulous. Afterwards, we began our long day of walking. First stop on our menu del dia de Paris: The Eifel Tower.

By the time we reached the Eifel Tower, I’m pretty sure I had taken at least 100 pictures because we passed such beautiful buildings and plazas, and stopped to take at least 20 pictures on the bridge passing the Seine near the famed tower. Everything was just breathtakingly beautiful, in a Paris kind of way. The buildings were distinctly French, in the way that Andalusian buildings are distinctly Andaluz….not something you can describe really, just understand and appreciate the beauty. We reached the Eifel Tower and took another 50 pictures or so. I really don’t want to talk about the Eifel Tower too much because it’s beautiful, you know that, I know that, Pierre knows that, and his mom as well, so I will focus on some aspects that enchanted me.

Paris in the fall….the day was beautiful. Not too cold, but kind of a crisp, clean feel in the air. The leaves on the trees were all different colors, and the children visiting the Eifel Tower on field trips were busy jumping in piles of leaves while the park workers looked on warily, constructing more piles as their previous work was being destroyed. Throngs of Asian tourists congregated by the tower, taking obligatory pictures. One Chinese (I think?) man approached me and handed me his camera. I was like, oh ok, you want me to take a picture of you and your friend (in a crazy mix of Spanglish which I’m sure he did not speak). After more confused finger pointing, it turned out that he actually wanted a picture with me and the Eifel Tower (?). Maybe he thought I was a French girl? I don’t know, but somewhere in the Eastern hemisphere, there is a photo floating around of me, him, and the tower, and I can only wonder what he will tell his friends when they sit down to watch vacation pictures.

Natalia and I, being Sevillanas, only spoke Spanish, and were therefore approached by Spanish-speaking tourists when a picture needed to be taken. This was one of my overall favorite parts of traveling this time, the change of identity. It is, once again, so easy to pick our Spaniards by their use of “vale” every other word. (I promise you im not making it up). Anywho, we took about a million pictures and decided to continue onwards to the next tourist destination: the Champs Elysees and Arc de Triomphe.

More wandering and picture taking ensued, and then we decided to sit down and have a crepe….Crepe’s (the best I think) are sold by street vendors on corners, and nutella is the most popular crepe filler it seems. They cost about 3 euro (about $4.40) but like the Mastercard commercial says, tasting one is priceless. They are also hand-held and eaten on the go, so Natalia and I shared one, sitting on a bench at the start of the Champs E. I almost died, I swear to you, this thing was amazing. I wonder what exactly about that crepe it was that made it so much better than any other I’ve eaten, or suspect will ever eat. I guess I’ll never know.

We continued up the Champs E trying not to go into too many stores, and watched the mix of tourists and elegant French walk quickly down the busy street. Finally, we reached the Arc de Triomphe, and wandered around until we finally found the underpass to actually see the darn thing. We wanted to climb up, but as the sign said “exceptionally, the monument will be closed today.” (Strike….strike one) Sad but still determined, we took many pictures and decided to come back another time.

Right around this time, Natalia called her friend who was studying in Paris to come spend the day with us. I, on the other hand, was trying to develop a plan for how we would get to Notre Dame (strike….strike two) and had a brilliant idea. There are these city bikes that people ride around on, and there are stops where you can return the bikes in many locations around the city. (the same exists in Sevilla) I was pestering Natalia greatly to rent the bikes, while images of flying by the Seine on bike were in my mind, but alas, her friend told us that you have to have a European bank card to rent them. Oh well.

We decided to at least TRY the metro, as apparently there was a skeleton system working, and were extremely lucky to catch a crowded ride down to Notre Dame. The only nice thing about the strike was that when we used the metro, it was free…. We walked around by Notre Dame while Natalia’s friend told us some of the history, and then went in. It was beautiful, blah blah, nothing really compared to Sevilla’s cathedral (I know I sound ridiculously snobby right now, just humor me because I’m trying to be a Sevillana). It seems like a huge tourist trap, as there are other churches much more beautiful than Notre Dame, and really, it is only popular (not to mention clean and visited) because of Victor Hugo’s book, The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Around this time, we realized we were seriously hungry and began the obligatory “Natalia and Stella search for food.” The prices for food, and just about everything really, are ridiculous! R-i-d-i-c-u-l-o-u-s. We finally sat down at a café and ordered a glass of wine. As I began my usual “what doesn’t have pork” search, I realized that answer was, “not much.” Natalia’s friend mentioned there was a vegetarian option, so I settled for that, not knowing what it was…well, let me tell you what it was…a cheese sandwich…literally, half a baguette cut in half, with cheese. As I lamented not bringing a French dictionary, I resigned myself to the idea of “when in France, eat baguettes” and convinced myself that nothing could be more French that bread, wine, and cheese…sigh….After lunch, we headed to the Louvre and were sad to see that, once again, the strike had screwed things over for us (strike…strike three!!) and it was closed. We still enjoyed the beauty of the Plaza de Concorde and gardens of the Tuileries, not to mention an interesting modern art exhibition.

We walked the streets of Paris, enjoying the crisp autumn weather, and began to search for a suitable pastry shop. I love how in Paris, everything is all divided up. One buys cheese in a fromagerie, bread in a boulangerie, wine in a…wine shop…(take that Wal-Mart!). We saw some pretty breathtaking pastries… but decided to meet some of Natalia’s friend’s friends (?) for a bit. We wanted to do a Baton Rouge (a cruise by barge down the Seine) but by this time the sun had started to set, so we decided to be very touristy and buy some pastries and wine to have by the Eifel Tower by night.

One of my obligatory Paris stops had to be Bir Hakeim. To understand why, you need to understand my love for food, especially Italian pizza. When my family was in Paris when I was about 13 I think, we went to this fabulous Italian pizza place by Bir Hakeim, a metro stop, every night. Afterwards, my father and I would dream about that pizza with smiles on our faces, and lovely memories of pizza in Paris. (oh so French I know). I had to find that place….

Natalia and I bought our pastries after much searching for the…perfect….pastry, and headed towards Bir Hakeim. We were lucky that there was only one Italian restaurant among the many Chinese or French in the neighborhood, so I happily walked in and had my long awaited for Bir Hakeim pizza. It was fabulous…

Afterwards, we walked to the Eifel Tower and realized…it was really cold!!! We were discussing our plans when all of a sudden….the tower started sparkling!!! We were flipping out for the whole ten minutes on the hour because it was sooooo beautiful. Sooooooo beautiful!!

We decided to walk down the Champs Elysees to have a coffee and crepe perhaps. After sitting down at a restaurant and seeing the prices, (think almost $10 for a cup of coffee) we bolted! The metro was not working, so we tried to catch a cab….which was IMPOSSIBLE. (strike….strike four!) There were absolutely NO FREE CABS. So, we decided to walk, and walk we did. Thank goodness Natalia is fabulous with maps and directions because by the point, I was wiped out, cold, and dreaming of sleep. About halfway, we stopped to have a coffee in a café, thinking it would be a lot cheaper since we had left the pricey Champs Elysees. WELL, let me tell you, our lousy little crap crepe cost 6 euro ($9) and the coffees just as much, so our little coffee break cost more than dinner…interesting…

We FINALLY got back to our hotel, and showered. Then attacked our beautiful pastries….the only good thing about the strike was that I didn’t feel guilty not even a little bit to be eating pastries as I think I had walked at least 10 miles all over Paris…

MARBELLA y esta semana

Yes, i took this picture, no it is not a postcard although, yes, it could be...Marbella....

12 Octubre 2007, Viernes

As I was leaving the casa today, it was literally before dawn. All the stars were still out, and it was chilly as I walked to the bus stop. I got to the bus station before the other girls and bought my ticket. I was hanging out in the cafeteria, and struck up conversation with some surfers from Australia who were traveling around Europe searching for killer waves. They asked me about what fiesta it was because today was Spanish Constitution Day, meaning basically everything is closed, and people were out quite late-early last night.

We got on the 8 o´clock bus to Marbella, a little city by the sea that was supposed to be gorgeous. We all passed out for two hours until the first stop in Ronda. A bunch of people got on the bus there, and I was still sitting alone when I noticed a little Spanish old lady yelling at her male accomplice who was sitting a row behind. In order to make the ride more tranquil and be nice, I asked her if she and her husband would like to trade spots with me so they could talk. She started laughing her great belly laugh and said, ¨Marido? HA….yo soy una viuda. Mira, yo voy a sentarme con la jovencita.´´ (Husband, I´m a widow. Look, i´m going to sit down next to the young girl) Which she did, and talked to me for a bit, before reverting to yelling at her male friend, now two rows back. The whole bus learned about her many grandchildren. The bus ride was quite interesting, as we were going through the mountains and the roads were all twisty and turny. There was many a time when I thought we would teeter over the edge of a cliff. I closed my eyes to try to overcome the nausea I was feeling, but the little Spanish lady next to me hit me repeatedly on the knees and cried, ¨No puedes dormer! Es el día de la fiesta, no puedes dormir!¨ (you can´t sleep, it’s the day of the fiesta). This happened multiple times, so I tried to occupy myself by talking to her. She was headed to meet her daughter and go to the feria (festival) in the next town, she told me she was going to dance flamenco and had her gypsy costume safely packed. She was surprised to learn I was from the US, and I asked her if she had lived her whole life in Ronda, the small medieval town where we stopped. She had. As she got off on the next stop, we kissed good-bye on the cheeks as it is done here in Spain, and I was sad to see my new friend leave.

I turned now to talk to the Slavic couple behind me. The woman had been talking loudly to her companion the whole bus ride, and though it wasn´t Russian, I could easily understand what they were talking about. When I heard them listening to Okean Elzi, I realized they were Ukrainian. They were another of the many people who came to Spain to work, and since it was a fiesta, the woman was on the way to visit a friend in Marbella. She had lived in Spain for a year, and lived with a Spanish family, taking care of the kids. She was actually really nice and told me that although Seville was ok, it was the ¨skovorodka´´ of Spain (frying pan) and the summers held unbearable heat. In the beginning I spoke Russian and she answered in Ukrainian and we carried on quite well, which was quite interesting. Then she switched to Russian.

After passing some literally breathtaking views of the sea meeting land from the mountains, we arrived in Marbella. I bid my Ukrainian friends goodbye, and turned to the problem of finding our hostel. We decided to take a taxi, which dropped us off in what looked like a small alley. We walked the small path, surrounded by white buildings, flowers and beautiful Andalucian style iron bars and balconies into our hostel, Hostal Berlin. It was….amazing. For our measly 23 euros a piece, we got a large room with three beds, sparkling clean bathroom, internet, breakfast, and an amazing friendly and informative staff. Not to mention the little puppy in the lobby. Putting our stuff down and changing into beachgear we headed to the beach.

How can I even describe the beauty we saw? The sea was a dark blue, hitting the sandy shores of a beach full of little tiki shade umbrellas and sunworshippers. The beach stretched out into the horizon, which revealed the beautiful mountains. We strolled down the boardwalk which was full of touristy shops and cafes. After walking for a while, we settled on the beach, Natalia and I choosing lounge chairs which we thought were free (they weren´t as we soon found out) and Petra choosing the sand. Taking our own sandwiches prepared by Señoras in Sevilla, we chowed down. It was fabulous. We chilled for a while, Natalia braving the cold waters of the Mediterranean for a photo´s sake. After a bit, we grew restless, and walked around Marbella. The city has a old city within it, which is full of tiny winding streets, cafes, and general beautiful Andalucian buildings, complete with flowers. From my pictures (of which there are um, quite a few) you will be able to see what I mean, dear reader. We literally stumbled into what happened to a Russian store, and Natalia and I spent, a lot of time looking through DVDs, Cds, and generall Russianness, which we both miss. I bought sushki, a CD, and a couple of DVDs.

We found a nice little place by the beach to have dinner. It turned out to be the best decision ever, as tapas were only 1.50 euro, the cheapest I´ve seen in a while, we shared a bottle of wine, and paella. We had patatas ali-oli (Natasha´s obsession) salpicon de mariscos (my obsessions) chicken curry (the obligatory new tapa) and mixed paella. Add a beautiful view of the sun setting over the mountains of Andalucia and the Mediterranean Sea…once again, it was fabulous. After dinner, we went back to the old city and after a while, went to a téteria to have some tea and dessert.

We were pretty tired at this point, but had another drink at a trendy little bar before heading back to the hostel. Petra turned in for the night, but Natalia and I decided to take a walk along the boardwalk to enjoy the night sea air….

13 Octubre, Sábado

After much snooze pressing, we finally got up around 10 AM to have breakfast. We debated the validity of Al Gore´s Nobel Peace Prize (which I am still skeptical over) over bread, butter, and jam. Today, we headed to the old city with one goal in mind…shopping. Wandering in and out of shops, I finally bought myself castañuelos (castanets) before finding an amazing tourist shop. After buying gifts for about everyone I know…yes, expectant reader, you can probably expect to receive something from Marbella, and finding an amazing shoe store, it somehow was around lunch time. We decided to head back to the boardwalk for a little bit, and sat down on the rocks by the beach, similar to the one´s at NU, but oh so different.

For lunch we walked about a mile to SuperCor, a grocery store, and bought bread, tuna, a tomato, cheese, chocolate, pudding and coca-cola lite….the lunch of champions. We took a taxi to the bus station, for it was already 3 o´clock and the bus left at 4. We settled on a table and spread out our goods, Natalia making sandwiches, while I fished out the spoon I keep in my purse (in case of emergency, or occasions such as this). We somehow managed to choose the best tuna I´ve ever had, soaked in vinegar, and the sandwich was one of the tastiest I have ever had. Maybe it was the fact that we were really, really hungry, or the adventure of the situation, or the fact that we were at the bus station…but that lunch was just indescribably good…

The bus ride home I cannot tell you about because I slept the whole three hours.

As we pulled into Sevilla, we passed by a Russian store that I have never seen before, and we visited it before heading to the bus stop. We said good-bye as I headed off into the opposite direction. I noticed someone talking to Natasha though, and she called me over to help an elderly couple find a hotel. She walked away and I tried to give the couple directions in English, but then I realized that they were Russian, so I switched over to Russian. Boy, you could see the relief in their faces. They were a cute elderly couple hailing from Haifa, Israel in Sevilla for just a couple of days while on a whirlwind tour of Spain lasting a week. They were so lucky to find me because I told them EVERYTHING…I think it would take at least a week in Sevilla to go to all of the places I told them to. It was interesting because the gentlemen´s brother lived in none other than Skokie, which is about 3 minutes from Evanston, if that. I was so excited, I didn´t get their names (which is stupid now that I think about it) but I gave them my name and number in case they needed anything.

I don´t know what it was but I was sooooooo happy after meeting them.

I returned home to shower and have dinner. Sometimes I wonder what Señora must think of me because I am really never home, only to eat and shower. But she must understand that this is a temporary only once in Europe type of thing. Everytime I am home for more than an hour, I start to think about the whole world waiting for me outside of my little casa and I feel the urge to explore.

14 Octubre 2007, Domingo

I slept until 2 PM today, unwillingly, cursing my inability to set the alarm as I realized what time it was when I got up. I had lunch and wrote in you, my little blog, until leaving to explore the Russian store from yesterday, which wasn´t that exciting, and then Santa Cruz. I swear, I have been to Santa Cruz so many times, and it is always different, with hidden streets and little alleys.

We had pastries at Campana and walked Tetuan, the main street. As we were walking down Avenida de Constitución I heard some banging from drums, so we went to check out the action.

It was ridiculous. The noise came from an orchestra which was leading a huge religious procession, very similar to the ones during Semana Santa. There was the Virgen de Rosario (we asked) on a huge golden float intricately decorated and filled with flowers. The streets were filled with incense and tourists, as the beautiful float made its way down the street. The way the floats move is by costeleros, men who carry the float on their shoulders, it usually takes about 50 of them to carry the darn heavy thing at once, and they must practice for months in advance in order to move all in unison. I stood openmouthed, amazed at my luck and in awe of the grand sense of tradition. I took about 8312098 pictures and videos. As the Virgen made its way close to the Cathedral, the bells in the Giralda started to ring, and the people around us began to sing, raising their voices in prayer. I got goosebumps down my arms as I looked around me at the spectacle. I hope this crazy tourist luck of mine continues…

It´s interesting, but I want to record that I have noticed that my thoughts are in Spanish now. Even my memory is, because I was thinking about some memories today which were in Spanish, but definitely now at the time. Though in the beginning I complained about my lack of speaking ability, I need to note that I can now officially call myself fluent because I have no problems communicating and understanding local people, although sometimes there are accent issues, which is common no matter where you are. It´s a nice feeling to have, I mean, I have a looooong way to go in terms of improvement, but aside from writing this, I have no English in my life. And it´s nice. I love being able to just go between Spanish and Russian.

Also to note, those yogurts which I thought were the solution to my ice cream problem….were definitely Juan´s which Señora told me yesterday, as I greedily ate the last one. She made it clear they were expensive and she wasn´t going to buy them. Sigh, oh well…..

15 Octubre 2007, Lunes

Today I returned to el Sagrado Corazón de Jesus to share my Americanness with the little Spanish children. I volunteered in two different aulas (classrooms) today. The first was a class of about 35 children ages 10 to 12, a very elementary class where they were reviewing uses of ¨to be¨ in English. The teacher was nice, but really ridiculously impatient with the children and made fun of them, making me, an American used to much praise and a classroom full of love, candy, and happiness, very uncomfortable, as if I was witnessing something illegal. After class, I talked to the teacher who was frustrated because the kids had forgotten everything over the summer. I promised her I would try to think of something to share my cultural diversity with the class and make it fun next week. The next hour, I worked with older kids, age 12 to 14, who were much smarter and more interested in learning. I learned all of the names in my group, who I think enjoyed me, because I was ¨cool¨ and let them talk instead of doing the stupid book exercises, I think they learned a lot more just talking with me about America and practicing. Let´s see, there was…Pablo, Javi, Manual, Maria, Nuria (?), Elena, and two other I cannot remember. I honestly enjoy going to that school because there are so many things that are different between this culture and America´s, which just gets amplified when I talk to the kids. For example, today I was telling them how most of the time, American kids go away and live far from their homes during university…one girl asked ¨but don´t they miss their parents?¨ while Pablo I believe and looked at me in wide-eyed wonder and said ¨joder…¨ It was also somewhat shocking to see that these kids made the same errors in English that we made in Spanish class, over and over again. When I think about my classes in GHS halfway around the world, it makes my head spin…

I also had quite the hefty conversation with my intercambio, Cristina, who I am absolutely falling in love with. For seventeen, she is quite mature, and we talked for almost an hour and a half about religion today. She participates in her pueblos religious processions during Semana Santa, but recognizes the hypocrisy in giving money to make a statue that one worships more beautiful while there are hungry people asking for money outside of the church. I told her about being Jewish and some customs we had, she of course, loved the 8 presents per night concept of Hanukkah, and told me about some of her Navidad customs, which they don´t celebrate Christmas here, it´s the three king´s day, I´m not sure what it´s called in English.

We also talked about Spanish democracy in Macarena´s class today which was very interesting. I was talking to my Señora about the Monarchy today, and her thoughts about the royal family. Señora prefers not to talk about politics, but to talk about how much she hates the Prince´s wife, a journalist who was divorced when she met the Prince. I swear, Señora talks with disgust about how the Prince should have chosen a princess with royal blood to be his wife, not some common person. I swear to you, shocked reader, that she said this, and this is the year 2007. And apparently, most of the country feels this way. She told me that when she talks about this with other ¨chicas Americanas¨ they tell her it´s romantic. I just think that the monarchy has no place in modern government, although I do recognize the luck this country had with such a great king during a time of political

upheaval in the ´70s when Franco died…

Anywho, I´m still searching for a dance studio…

16 Octubre 2007, Martes

This morning in cine we began to watch La Lengua de las Mariposas, a magnificent film that I have seen once before for a Spanish class, about the history of the beginning of the Spanish civil war. It’s amazing though, now that I am watching it and know so much about the history (thanks to Luis, my fabulous teacher) it’s like watching a brand new film, full of symbolism I totally missed the first time. In my El Mundo Actual class, we learned how to say “kolhos” (a kind of Russian communal farm) in Spanish, coljosa, as we are studying the economic and political structures of the world (yes, the world) in the 20^th century. I’m a little worried because sometimes I can’t keep up between listening, translating, and writing notes, but I think I will be ok.

There was a healthy living campaign inside the university today, and they were giving out free bags of bread, olive oil, and fruit, which was quite nice. They were always weighing and measuring people, but I ran the opposite direction when I saw that…although it wouldn’t have meant anything to know since I have no sense of the metric system, thanks to America. I met up with my intercambio, Cristina, who I am ABSOLUTELY IN LOVE WITH. (caps lock necessary to express enthusiasm). Today we had the most interesting conversation about stereotypes…the same ones exist in Spain as the States! For example, gangsta types, who wear caps (gorras) sideways and have their pants hanging to their knees are called “canes” (con-EEs) and preppy girls with popped collars are called “pijas,” although unlike the states, being preppy is not associated with being rich, just stuck up. There are also goth people called “goticos” but there is no such thing as emo. It was so much fun talking about this, and I mentioned Mean Girls to Cristina when I realized we jumped another cultural hurdle…the only American movie Cristina has ever seen is Titanic…um yeah….

She lives in Oliveras, south of Sevilla, and just 10 km from her house is her family’s farm which has thousands of olives, grapes, oranges, plums, apples, tomatoes, onions…basically everything, even farm animals and rabbits….to eat. And the most exciting part is: she invited me over to her house to meet her family!!!! Yes!!! I get to go and meet all of her cousins and grandmas and everybody, none of whom have ever met an American, not to mention a Russian Jew American…haha, I will be representing like crazy…

The only other notable thing I did today was go to spinning class, which is always fun…also, I came to the realization today that perhaps the reason the gym classes are not as strenuous as the States is because everyone smokes, so therefore there lung capacity does not equal that of a healthy American….

Vocabulario para tomar clases de “spinning” en España:

“SIGUE!!!!” ....continue pedaling as hard as you can

“detras”………bent down over the handles

Arriba……up

“SIGUE!!!!”…..ditto

Tomorrow I go to Paris….the city of love, crepes, and apparently transportation strikes as there will be no public transportation on Thursday….ahhh Pareeee…

link de fotos

Fotos de Macarena y Marbella...

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2098009&l=0688a&id=2409539

La Semana Rusa

Photo...picking out teas at the teteria

8 Octubre 2007, Lunes

This morning, I woke up early to go volunteer at el Sagrado Corazon de Jesus, a small primary school where one of my teachers works. I arrived an hour early and had café con leche nearby while reading a newspaper to pass the time. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I walked into the loud classroom filled with the chatter of 13 year-old Sevillanos. On the side wall there were banners of English phrases, just like the Spanish ones in our school in the states. One of them said, “Can I borrow your rubber, please?” (with a picture of an eraser…poor misguided children) It was another one of those moments when I wondered how, with so many Americans traveling all over Spain, such a simple semantic error could be made.

We introduced ourselves to the class of about thirty or so, and then we divided up into groups to read a story and basically just talk. I had eight or nine kids in a group, and it was so interesting to hear them read in their thick, thick Spanish accents. One of the words we had to practice saying over and over was “favorite…” they kept wanting to say fah-vorit like in Spanish it’s favorito/a, or they could not say “my” it was always, “mi.” They obviously did not want to do the work allotted so we went around and spoke in English (though just like Spanish class in America, these kids DID NOT for the life of them want to speak English, I had to keep yelling at them to stick to ingles) Their favorite singers were Rihanna and “cincuenta cent” which took me a minute to figure out that that meant 50-cent, and then, I tried to explain that if you wanted to be “chullo” (cool) you say “fiddy” which they tried to imitate. I actually learned a lot of Spanish because there were a lot of words that they didn’t know how to say in English and we had a few moments where we didn’t understand each other at all, but overall it was fabulous. There were some cultural things that did not match up, like I asked them what they did over the weekend and some answers were “mi amigos y yo salimos a la calle” (my friends went out into the street, which is something really common in Spain, just hanging out in the streets, but you can’t do that in the states, obviously) or these kids could not remember that futbol in Spain doesn’t equal football in English. I can’t wait to go back, it was so much fun…

During my break between class and class, I went and signed up for an intercambio, a student to practice Spanish with, and was distracted by some very Russian handwriting. It was a girl named ‘Tatiana Smirnova,’ of course I called her and we arranged to meet. I was really excited, but also wrote down a Spanish girl for posterity. (Cristina Perez or something)

Photo...Me holding a form directed ´´only for sevillanas´´ that someone gave me...thereby solidifying my status as a Sevillana...

After class, dance class (which I decided that is not worth my time because it’s just a bunch of Americans trying to learn from a Spanish teacher who cannot teach very well in a small room, apparently this teacher just believed in somehow knowing the rhythm of things without counting, something that was frustrating…but I will search for authentic classes with other Sevillanas so I cannot be tempted to speak English)

9 Octubre 2007, Martes

Wow. Wow. I just cannot believe what just happened. I met my intercambio today, Tatiana Smirnova. We met up at the university, she didn’t know what I looked like and I had no clue what she looked like, but we decided we would recognize “our own people.” Which we did. I didn’t know what to think when I first saw her, she obviously looked Russian, she had dark dyed hair, was wearing a see through shirt and Capri pants, and also looked quite mature. It’s just mind blowing to think that we really cannot relate to each other’s worlds at all, but in a way there are some common threads which allow you to share your experience with others. Anyway, I digress. She met up with me and we decided to speak Russian, which she commented on my American accent…damn. She told me she is in her first year, but is 31 and had been working before, and had lived in Spain for five years now. She said, “We are studying English so obviously, I told some of my classmates that the best way to learn a language is to speak so we made a list of intercambios. In fact, one boy met with two American girls yesterday, but they turned out to be Jewish. I guess that’s how it is in America, everything is mixed.” I was dumbstruck by the ease with which she said this, just off the top of her mind, thinking it was OK between two Russians. I couldn’t even say anything or recover for awhile, but she had moved on to something else before I could comment. Also interesting is that, as usual, I had my Star of David on and in full display, but she obviously didn’t know what it meant.

She described herself as a simple worker, working as a waitress and cleaning lady as apparently many Russians here do. And according to her, there are a huge number of Russians here, who all aggregate in the local park and drink vodka. Like her, they are here without any sort of paperwork and work as illegal immigrants. Many of them have very high levels of education, but cannot find employment in Russia and the former Soviet states, so they must resort to cleaning Spaniards’ homes. In the south of Spain in Andalucia, it is much easier to obtain employment “sin papeles.” (without paperwork).

She is from Belarus, I don’t remember which town, but I hadn’t heard of it. When we was younger, she worked in Japan twice for six months in order to get money. It is obvious when talking to her that that is the sole motivating force for her in terms of how she thinks, but not in the capitalistic American way, more of the need to survive kind of way. She is learning English in order to get a better job, but will not finish school for five more years.

As we walked down Avenida Constitución, we decided to go to Café de Indias, the local monopolizing force in coffee sales, but because all of the outdoor tables were taken she pointed to the Starbucks next door.

“How about here? I’ve never been here before. Do you have Starbucks in America?” she asked me. You can imagine my reaction.

“Of course, Starbucks is an American company. There is a shop on every corner in America.” She kind of shrugged her shoulders and didn’t think any more of it, as she ordered café con leche and I struggled to explain my decaf, nonfat, latte to the poor Sevillano barista, still in shock. That was definitely one of the biggest cultural shocks, which is somewhat ironic, that someone didn’t know anything about Starbucks.

Anyhow, we passed the time by speaking in Russian, then Spanish, then English. She complimented me on my Spanish, but was very timid to speak English with me. I always feel so ridiculously American when I speak English with foreigners. It’s something about the ugliness of the accent, I don’t know. She told me that most Sevillanos are too timid to talk to Americans, but like them. It was interesting because she had a pleasant Russian accent when speaking Spanish, something I had never heard before.

Sometime around here, some random Spanish man came up and offered to sell Tatiana earrings. She said no, but he would not stop bothering her, so she told him she would call the police. He, obviously crazy, started yelling at her like a madman, until the man sitting at the next table intercepted. The crazy man began to yell and threaten the unassuming gentleman. At this point, the frazzled Starbucks baristas ran out to see what was going on. (Tatiana and I retreated to the safety inside of Starbucks) They called the police while the man yelled some more, and threatened to throw a chair into the Starbucks. I got a great lesson in Spanish curse words. He walked away still yelling while everyone shook their heads in dismay, and Tatiana told me she had never, ever experienced anything like this in her life, especially in Sevilla, which is known to be safe. Rather shaken, we retreated back to our tables to charlar (chat) some more.

Tatiana is engaged to be married to a Sevillano construction worker in about two weeks. They aren’t having a wedding now because cash is tight and they are working on their piso. (apartment). He called her a few times during our little cita, and it was interesting to hear her talk to him. She hopes that it will be easier to obtain Spanish citizenship when she is married, though I think she doesn’t care too much. Her mother and sister both have moved to Sevilla in search of a better life and have adjusted well. Whenever she talked about her old life, I could tell it was very hard.

She walked me to my bus stop and we said goodbye. Before leaving I mentioned that (OK I haven’t really told anyone this, but I have been seriously giving thought to doing a consulting internship in Russia next summer…it would be easy to get one at a top consulting firm as Russia is a developing country and not too many people speak the language) I might work in Russia next summer, to which she advised me not to. She mentioned that nobody really respects the police and it’s not too safe.

Conclusion: Russia is a completely different world than I know, or could even imagine at this point in my life, where more and more I realize how privileged of a little bubble I live in. Although speaking the same language as a person brings you much closer than one expects, it doesn’t bridge the gap of what one considers as normal, everyday life. However, no matter your level of lifely experience, you can always, always find something to talk about and relate to. Personally, I’ve learned that when talking to Russians I feel oddly American, and when talking to Americans I feel oddly Russian.

I got on the bus to go home and called Natalia to relate everything that happened, being in Russian mode, I explained in Russian. As I got off the phone, I didn’t notice that there was a woman sitting next to me. She turned to me and in Russian said something like, “Yes, that’s right, everything she said is true.” I was SHOCKED, now let me tell you, I have never, EVER run into Russian people besides once hearing a loudly yelled phone conversation on the bus, and Tatiana, and here was this woman, not only Russian but oddly choosing to sit next to me. I felt shame creeping up as I tried to remember everything I had said, then realizing I hadn’t said anything to be embarrassed about. She told me she was an economist from Moldova who now cleaned Senora’s houses, and was deeply depressed, after living in Spain for a year. This was a woman probably in her 40s or early 50s, talking to me about her kids assimilation and how much she wanted to go back, but at the same time didn’t want to. As the bus neared my stop, I didn’t really know what to say. I thanked the woman for her insight, and got off the bus, really shocked. It’s moments like these when you really wonder about fate, and if fate is (excuse the language) fucking with you…and what fate is trying to say.

10 Octubre 2007, Miercoles

Today I met my actual Spanish intercambio, Cristina. We met in the bar-cafeteria, me recognizing her by the peach-colored scarf she said she would wear. She had darker olive colored skin, and long, dark curly hair…and braces. She introduced me to her friends and we sat down to talk. She is seventeen and just started the university, wanting to be an English teacher when she finishes. She lives in a pueblo not too far from Sevilla and takes the bus each day to study. Her parents are also teachers and her whole family, grandmothers and aunts included, live in a house together. We talked about everything you can imagine, she showing me pictures of her siblings while I shared pictures of my sobrinos (nephews). Later, her friend Imma came up and joined the conversation. This first time we spoke Spanish the whole time, but the next time it will be English. She complimented my Spanish which was nice, but there were a lot of things I said incorrectly, which I´m glad she corrected me on.

After lunch and a long siesta, Natasha and I met up to explore a part of the city we hadn´t seen before…the Macarena. This neighborhood is quite old and proud of its traditions which date back hundreds of years. The most famous aspect is it´s virgin, the Virgen de Macarena, a porcelain statue of Mary that´s supposed to create miracles. Later, I asked my señora what the story of that particular virgin is, (there are like a million of them all over Spain and Europe, and they all have interesting stories about why the dolls are so sacred) She didn´t know exactly but told me that one time a while ago, a borracho (drunk guy) threw a glass bottle at the virgin´s porcelain face, which should have broken, but instead, developed a bruise. Does that make you holy? I need to Wikipedia the true story…

Photo...the float the Virgen is carried on, the costeleros, or men carrying the darn thing have to practice because its quite heavy

Anyway, so the tradition in Sevilla is that during Semana Santa, the holy week during Lent that Sevilla is so famous for, where all the people walk in processions wearing those creepy conehead outfits the KKK is modeled after and carrying huge, ridiculously heavy floats through the winding streets. The floats all flaunt a virgin that has a veil that is decorated to match the age and prestige the church represented has obtained, for example, the oldest churches carry virgins that have veils yards and yards long, with gold threads weaving through intricate designs, which describes the Virgin of Macarenañs veil. The float is also all gold and crazy decorated. The men carrying the float (usually 50 or so) have to practice for months at a time how to carry this monstrous contraption in unison through all of the turns in the ancient streets of Sevilla.

It cost some nominal fee to enter the museum dedicated to the Virgin, but surprisingly, Natasha crept her way inside, me following her a little shocked, I mean it is a church, right? We tried to join a guided tour, but realized quite quickly it was in Portuguese. Afterwards, she wandered around the Macarena, stopping at a modern tea house so Natasha could satisfy her tea craving and continued on, through the little streets and hundreds year old shops. We passed the Rinconcillo, which I cannot wait to go back and try. It is the oldest tapareria (tapas place) in Sevilla, dating back to 1670, meaning that people here were eating patatas ali-oli and drinkining vino more than a hundred years before my country even began thinking about independence. Speaking of patatas ali-oli, we went to the best tapas place, El Patio Sevillano, and had some, along with this seafood cake, following the promise of trying a new tapa each time which we made a few days ago.

11 Octubre 2007, Jueves

We had film class today at 9 AM, and finished watching Belle Epoque, an Oscar winning film about the Second Republic in Spain…Natasha and I now have a tradition of snacking on chocolate in film class to keep us awake. It´s an amazing class, but dark room plus 9 AM, plus rapid fire Spanish can equal tuning out. Anywho, after class, I went home for lunch and Señora´s cousin from a nearby pueblo was back for the day, so we were talking for a bit. It turns out, she had a Russian boy named Misha living with her each summer for a few years through some sort of Spanish-Russian pueblo intercambio, and she was talking about him with much cariño (caring). She mentioned how much she wanted to write him but the translation services in her little pueblo are less than ample, so I suggested if she write a card, I could transpose it into Russian for her. She was so excited, she kissed me and called me ´hija´(daughter).

After lunch, Natalia and I walked around Nervion plaza for a bit, and then I went to go work out in my gym. In the evening we went to see a Spanish film called Mataharis about three female detectives in Madrid. I really enjoyed it, the cinematography was original and the story development had a European twist, slow but interesting. Another accomplishment worth mentioning is that I think I have found the solution to my ice cream addiction….yogurt. Today a magical kind of yogurt appeared in our fridge that was stracciatella flavored, my favorite, so I thought I´d give it a shot…it was FABULOUS. And only like 120 calories! I hope Señora buys more…

Mas de Barcelona...

We were told that there would be promoters on Las Ramblas handing out coupons to clubs, so we were not surprised to receive many discuentas and ofertas. As usual, we made a battle plan of which places to hit to receive the best possible discounts…we ended up being approached by two promoters who offered to put our names down on a list to go into this club for a jazz show. When we arrived there was a huge line of people all dressed to the nines, but instead of getting into the line, I grabbed Natalia and took her to the front where I told the bouncer we were on “la lista, Estela y Natalia…” and he unhooked the red velvet thingy and let us in! It wasn’t that great, as usual a case of a huge line of people and semi-empty club.

We began to look for a taxi to the hostel, which we could have walked to, but decided to be safe and get a cab. After a while of searching we got into a cab and told our cab driver the street. He was this nice looking elderly man, but was confused and didn’t understand our street. So we explained it to him a few times, and Natalia even got out her map to show him. (he should have known it’s a pretty important street) He started yelling at us rudelyfor some reason to get out of his cab and basically pushed us out into the street. We were so shocked I said, “Gracias, senor, gracias PARA NADA!” (thanks for nothing) then as Natalia got out after me she said quietly under her breath but loud enough so that he could hear… “Jodete.” Which means…well, a profane expression. I laughed so hard because coming out of cute little Nata it was fairly hilarious.

6 Octubre 2007, Sabado

This morning the first thing we did (after much complaining from me as we got up at 8 am) was visit el Museo de Xocolata. (chocolate museum!)The lady working told us it opened at 10 (we got there at about 9:58) and continued to smoke her morning cigarette grumpily. She let us in at about 10:03. It sounds cooler than it actually was, maybe because the workshops which we were so looking forward to doing were only for people under 12. Come on man, just because you’re 20 (or 80 for that matter) doesn’t mean you don’t want to play with chocolate to make statues and stuff. The museum had the history of chocolate and lots of different chocolate structures, like a chocolate corrida del toros. We took as many free samples of the chocolate (or xocolata in Catalan) as we could without the grumpy lady noticing and headed off into the gothic quarter. We walked around searching for a beautiful bakery like the one yesterday, walking through tourist shops and wandering musicians. As this walking around for hours trying to find the ideal place to eat thing was getting a little old, we opted to eat at the same place from the day before. By this time it was around 11 and I was hungry…so I ordered a bocadillo de atun (tuna sandwich) with café bonbon, which was an interesting mix of coffee on top of condensed milk. (oooh yeahhh Pamela, I was thinking of you the whole time). Natalia got a chocolate croissant, so of course, we shared.

Ready to take Barcelona by storm, we headed to the Russian store we found the night before. It was a typical Russian store, a little bigger though and with less products. I read about the significance of being named “Stella” in a name dictionary, which was really interesting. Apparently I am cold and success oriented, and won’t stop until I get what I want. Also, I take trust in friendships very seriously and hold grudges. Now that doesn’t sound like me at all does it? Also, apparently Jonathan Swift (of Gulliver’s Travels fame) was obsessed/married to a girl 15 years younger than him named Stella….hmm….We were so tempted to buy something, like the frozen pilmeni or ice cream, but decided carrying stuff around all day might be a bad idea.

In the store window there were little notes posted by people searching for jobs, written in Russian for other Russians to find, and as we were leaving, there were a bunch of people looking…

We decided to walk to Plaza de Espana because Andryusha had informed us the day before that were some nice marketplaces to explore…so we walked….and walked….and walked….I noticed a little store with Stars of David so of course I went in…to find a grypsy/fotune tellers shop, selling devil worshipping stuff, tarot cards, crystal balls along with menorahs and Talmuds. There was incense burning and little dolls dressed up like witches standing on the shelf above where they sold Torahs. I thought it was quite funny, and a reflection of the fact that they had no clue what any of the Jewish things meant…

A little creeped out, we ventured further until we hit the Plaza de Espana. As we neared the street we saw there was some sort of street festival going on, and found it was Medeival Fiesta day in Barcelona, something that happens only once a year, where vendors line the street dressed up in medieval clothes selling their old-fashioned wares. There were little booths of people selling olive oil, pickled food, fresh baked bread, jewelry, cheese (this cheese was home-made and the best I have ever had) (the free samples of everything was the best part) fresh baked desserts…

We first tried an exotic dessert in the Exotic Orient tent, which was a rip off because it cost 1 euro and we ate it in about 1 second. Then we neared a tent where a lady was piling on fruit on a stick, then dipping the whole thing in chocolate, finished off with sprinkles. It took about a split-second for Natalia and I to agree we wanted one…it was ammaaazzziinnnggg

We saw an avery and my first ever up close bald eagle (in Spain, oh the irony). We tried champagne for 1 euro from a local bodega which was fabulous. There were basket weavers and burro rides for the kids. The next thing we ate (we shared a lot) was this amazing crepe like thing, then we bought some home made sweets (chuchos) for later. It was all in all, the best random find possible, and we toasted to our random luck…may it lead us to more world tourism days and general free stuff… J

After thoroughly stuffing myself and lamenting the fact that I could not buy a huge round thing of cheese to take with me (Natalia insisted it would not pass security damnit) we decided to go on the funicular by the sea, which is supposed to have great views of Barcelona. Being extremely far from anything and already noticing a gant blister forming on my foot, I insisted we take some sort of transportation. We decided to surreptitiously try to enter the Bus Touristic since the day before they NEVER checked our tickets, and we already knew the route. As soon as we got on the bus, the first time ever, the bus driver asked for our tickets to which I began to search furiously through my bag for the nonexistent ticket (“Damn, where did I put it?”) and got off the bus. We took the local bus to the port right next to the statue of our old friend, Colon. There was a little market right by the sea so we took a look. They were selling antiques and I almost (almost!) bought these beautiful wooden castanets. The seller played his guitar and told me to play the castanets (I can actually do it! Though somewhat pitifully). He complimented my “playing,” but I think it was a ploy to sell the castanets. I also saw some bronze menorahs among the trash..ahem, antiques…
OK i realize the picture is upside down, but i have no clue how to turn it, so use your imagination...the funicular tower

As we were walking…and walking…because of course we could not find the station for the funicular, we saw a bike taxi and decided to ask how much it cost. The driver (?) was a German guy who started chatting with us, and he asked me about my Star of David. I told him I was Jewish and he was like, “me too! My mom is an Iranian Jew and my dad is a German..” Interesting combination, of course this whole conversation was in Spanish with heavy German accent…so I think that’s what he said..

We finally found the funicular tower and began climbing to find that the elevator was not functioning and we could not take it. I sat down to rest my little aching toes on the funicular tower and cursed Barcelona. The day was beautiful however, and we were sitting on this huge tower overlooking the sea. After finally agreeing to walk further, we went to Maremagnum, a huge shopping center by the sea which I remember visiting before, as my dad had ordered “beero” in a restaurant on the second floor. We visited our old favorites like H and M, Mango, and Stradivarius and headed back for a coffee on Las Ramblas. We walked around for a bit more, buying some souvenirs and just enjoying the breeze.

Paella was for dinner in a nice restaurant. We each opted for menu del dia which consisted of gazpacho, sangria, paella, and espresso for 12 euro. Not too bad. The paella was really good, and I cannot WAIT to have some real paella in Valencia…

Our flight was at 6:45 am the following morning, and our lovely travel partners did not want to pay for a night at a hostel since we had to get up so early, so we had to go to the airport before the last bus left at 12:15. We bought a tuna sandwich and some magazines to prepare for the long night ahead. After arriving in the airport, we found a nice little corner and set up camp. I realized how thirsty I was, and luckily, saw a water vending machine nearby. I put in money, and after about 20 seconds of pounding I realized I would not receive my water. “Great start,” I thought and began searching for someone to complain to. (Don’t you worry, I ended up getting some)

7 Octubre 2007, Domingo

The night was long and awful. The other girls knew they were going to pass the night in the airport so brought towels to lay on. Natalia and I did not have that luxury, so we tried to make the most of our belongings my using our bags as pillows. We both had our boarding passes and could have gone into the terminal, but we (Natalia) decided we should be nice and stay with the other girls on the hard, cold floor. We also decided to take turns sleeping, but at around 3 AM I noticed everyone was sleeping but me and Natalia…we were chowing down on tuna and reading a Spanish tabloid…

At around 4 AM, I decided I could not take anymore and passed through security to fall asleep on a nicely padded couch by the gate. I was woke up at at 6:30 to take the flight home…

As I walked back into good ol’ 22 Francisco Pacheco, I walked straight into the kitchen to turn on the hot water to shower. Of course I looked into the fridge and saw that senora had made my favorite seafood salad, obviously I had to have some. As I was chowing down, senora walked in to find her American boarder eating leftovers at 8:30 on a Sunday morning looking quite frazzled…I mumbled something like “gracias, buenas dias,” showered, and passed out until about 4 pm.

Later, I walked through parquet Maria Luisa which is one of the most beautiful places in Sevilla. I honestly felt like I had arrived home…

Photo links..

Check out some of my photos...(i took 425 so im not going to post them all hehe)

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2096982&l=aab69&id=2409539

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2096986&l=8a401&id=2409539

Turismo en Barcelona

5 Octubre 2007, Viernes

TOURIST DAY…today we headed out to find a good breakfast place, which after asking some locals, we found this AMAZING bakery with a bunch of different pastries and coffees for dessert. I opted for a chocolate pastry filled with crème and Natalia chose a big croissant with jelly type thing. Afterwards, we wandered around Barrio Gotico for a bit, and found our way to the old cathedral. (All I remembered about that place was the gothic architecture in ducks in the courtyard). Outside of the cathedral is just beautiful as there are plenty of musicians making gorgeous music, little alleys leading to different parts of the gothic quarter, and little shops filled with mosaics emulating the style of Gaudi. I took some amazing pictures in the church with my new camera, and we passed through rather quickly, being somewhat acclimated to amazing church architecture by this point. After passing the ducks in the courtyard, we decided to walk to the Sagrada Familia, which was a looooong walk, but fun because the weather had cleared and was quite beautiful. By the time we got to the Sagrada Familia, it was midday and full of tourists. This was amazingly, my third visit to the church, and I can clearly report that it has not been completed yet. It is just as striking as ever, and this year marks the 125th anniversary of its beginnings. I think it is set to be finished in 2020… we walked around a bit, although I wouldn’t recommend going inside because there’s really not too much to see as it is covered by scaffolding.

Tourism is a booming industry in Barcelona, and one of the leading monopolies of sightseeing is this bus called Bus Touristic, which is somewhat of a common trend in Europe now, a bus that takes you to all of the main tourist attractions and lets you hop on or hop off whenever you want, and also has an audio option to listen to the history of the attractions you pass. In Barcelona, it is a RIP OFF, as it costs almost 20 euros, and only lasts a day, as opposed to the usual 24 hours which means you can use the pass for a couple of days.

After receiving free samples of Starbucks (as if we didn’t know what a double chocolate macchiato tastes like…) we got on the bus and toured the city. We saw EVERYTHING…and listened to the tour in Russian, English, and of course…Spanish. The Russian narrator was amazing, and we lovingly named him Andrusha. We got off and began what became known as the Great Restaurant Search…we didn’t want anything too touristy or expensive…which makes things a bit difficult. We headed in the direction of Park Guell, and finally, after much, much walking…decided on a little place not too far from the park. It was kind of gross…there is a trend in Spain of restaurants serving Schwan’s type (I suspect it comes frozen to them) food. It makes the restaurant do the least work possible as the companies already have menus, posters, and the food is delivered to them. There’s Paellador which we made the mistake of trying in Café de Indias once, and an Italian one too…it’s not bad, just not fresh, which is what you want when you go to a restaurant. By this point though, we were so hungry we didn’t care. We, or I should say me, have this bad habit of rejecting everything in sight for the possibility of their being something better….for hours at a time. The lasagna we ordered was really gross though, and didn’t feel like food. Oh well…

We went to Park Guell, which I must say was just crawling with tourists, and sat on the (rather sad that it’s so cliché by now because it really is beautiful) world’s longest bench by Gaudi. The weather began to get ugly, so we decided to hop on the bus otra vez and complete the guided tour. We saw the Plaza de Espana, Park Montjuic, Olympic park, Colon statue, basically everything…

Now it was dark, we were tired, and so we decided to find a place to eat. We sat down at this restaurant called…oh I don’t remember, something in Catalan because there were a lot of X’s in the name… we shared the menu del dia again, this time having salad and PAELLA…I looove paella….and it was fantastic. The only thing that wasn’t fantastic was that when we got the bill, the Coca-Cola lite’s we ordered were 3.85 euro each!!! That’s a 5 dollar glass of coke!!! Natalia took a picture of me making an obscene gesture at the glass, and right then, the waiter came up and was like “Que haces??” (what are you doing?) which was little embarrassing but quite funny. After dinner, we just walked down Las Ramblas, enjoying the many street performers, artwork, tourists, and general nightlife. We got ice cream at this little café (vowing this would be the last time until Paris).

Octubre...el Primer dia en Barcelona

1 October 2007, Lunes

Today I decided to try out a French class…why not? After searching for blasted room 201 for thirty minutes I finally found it in a secluded corner of the second floor which I did not know existed. (room 200 was on the first floor thank you very much). It was French I, but as I found out from the Sevillana sitting next to me, you are expected to be fluent by French 1, or have acquired sufficient fluency to understand the teacher speaking French…I was out of that classroom before you could say “Eifel tower…”

I spent the rest of the day searching for lodgings in Europe for our travels, and Macarena’s class which was a bit boring…again about the Spanish constitution. After class, a group of us headed to TGI Friday’s to fulfill some long awaited American cravings…happy hour and enchiladas. Once again…..oh yeah…….

There was a fashion show occurring at Plaza Nervion which was nice.

2 Octubre 2007, Martes

Cine, Sevillanas and West Side Story. Boring class. Salad lunch. Boots and purple shoes from Marypaz. Espanol para negocios. Coffee and tapa with Petra. Rain. Dinner with Senora and her prima.

3 Octubre 2007, Miercoles
As a result of my helado fascination, I decided to join a gym. It took me a while to find an affordable one, but my senora told me about one only five minutes away so I decided to go check it out. It’s this tiny cute little lime green building, with about five treadmills, three ellipticals, two studios for classes, and lots of techno workout music. The owner was intrigued by my Americanness and asked me where I was from. When I said Chicago, he inquired whether that was on the West coast, and without trying to sound too shocked that he hadn’t heard of Chicago, I informed him it was a rather large city in the center of the country. After checking out the locker rooms and class schedules, I bade him farewell.

It was so interesting, in El Mundo Actual today, we watched a Spanish documentary about the beginning of the Cold War. Therefore, the narrator of the film was a Spaniard, but all of the old footage they showed was either in Russian or English, with subtitles in Spanish for their Spanish speaking audience. So for me, I could understand the original of everything, and therefore compare and contrast the translations. It was just entertaining and nice to know that I can truly understand three languages…

After an extremely long siesta (I don’t seem to do siesta much, but when I do it, I do it hardcore) I decided to have a leisurely afternoon coffee in one of the numerous local cafes. It was supposed to last more than 30 minutes, but my Americanness made it last a mere 10. That’s when I decided to throw in the towel, and walk over to my Sevillana class.

Sevillana is a type of flamenco dance that is native to Seville. It is usually danced in pairs, but has all the pride and individuality one thinks of when referring to flamenco. The dance is accompanied with guitar and singing, and usually the dancers use castanets.
Finding my teacher’s apartment was interesting, as it is in one of the many Franco-esque high rises, similar to Russian style apartment buildings which all look the same. Some friendly little Sevillanas helped me find the room, and after walking through the teacher’s bedroom into a little door that led to a basement studio, I looked around to discover full length mirrors and concrete floors in the little room. The girls in this class are all from our program, which honestly, I don’t really like because I need to take advantage of every opportunity to practice my Spanish, and it’s really annoying (but somewhat comforting at the same time) that Americans will always speak English together. (unless there’s a smirking profesora nearby). We started by learning the footwork for a Sevillana, and then added the graceful arms, and then fooled around a little with the castanets. I really like the dance, or should I say TO dance, as I haven’t really had a true dance class in a while and learning the culture behind the dance is intriguing. Speaking of culture, I noticed an interesting difference from the way the class was taught. As the teacher was going through the steps, and since for some reason the electricity had been turned off so we had no music, I tried to count it in my mind. Every time, however, the teacher would add or subtract a few beats so it was never the same. When I asked her what the count was, she looked at me quizzically and said it always changes and I would be able to hear it with the music. Apparently, keeping a steady rhythm and counting off, which is the staple of learning any kind of dance, is thrown out the window here.

After that, I headed to my gym (oh yes, it is my gym now) for a hip-hop workout class, which blew my mind. Walking in, I was immediately greeted by my now friend, Sergio, the non-Chicago knowing owner, who introduced me to the teacher, Alejandro, a twentysomething true hip-hop guy with many piercings, braces, sagging pants, a baseball cap thrown to the side….the whole shebang. It was interesting that Sergio introduced me as “the American” and for once, that actually made me cool. The class itself was amazing for the cultural stuff I picked up on, but not so hot in terms of exercise, which I suppose is a cultural lesson as well since, as an American, I expect intense crazy-sweating-calorie burning-cardio-make the most of my time-workout instead of, feel the music-sweat because it’s hot-loosen up and move your body hip-hop style-kind-of –sort- of workout. We danced to “My Goodies” and other hip-hop rap music that was popular a couple of years ago, and as weird as it is to confess, it made me feel very at home. The combination we learned was so basic, and everyone was falling over their feet which was interesting. We repeated the same few steps for an hour, going back to “al principio” a thousand times. After the class, Alejandro invited me to hip-hop night at Antik, the really nice club, which was very kind of him.

After a quick shower and dinner, I met up with Natalia on Calle Betis for a drink and tapa, where we watched as about a thousand Americans walked by. It was international night at Boss, the other really popular night club here. We had free passes to get in, so after a while, we joined the large line outside of the exclusive club. Interesting to note is the tendency of clubs to keep large lines of people waiting outside, while once you enter the locale, it is actually quite empty. Boss was really nice on the inside, I didn’t stay too long because of big plans tomorrow, but I did see Petra and her friend Diana and about every other American studying in Sevilla. There were a lot of Sevillanos too, I should say.

4 Octubre, Jueves

Today we watched El Otro Lado de la Cama, a Spanish musical from a few years ago which was so extremely Hollywood in its design, I’m surprised it’s not been converted into a Matthew McConaughey (how do you spell his name? who cares?)-esque romantic comedy. I will be interested to hear what Luis says about the movie on Tuesday.

Picture: Me with my lovely Luxiq bag...aren't you proud Papa?

After class, we went to the office to do a bit of internet before catching our flight. I decided to check the reviews on the hostel we were to be staying at on a whim, and was very glad I did so, as they were HORRIBLE. I made sure to write down some names of other hostels before leaving, just in case.

In the airport, I ate my lovely atun y pimiento bocadillo my senora made me, and then boarded my flight. The weather was very stormy so the whole flight was one big chunk of turbulence, praying, and I do remember saying “I can’t die…my parents will kill me!” to Natasha’s amusement. Also amusing was Spanair (the airline’s) magazine which had articles in Spanish, then translated into English. I would love, love, LOVE to meet this person who “translated” the articles just to ask where they went to school…it was ridiculously poorly transcribed…to the point of humor…it’s amazing to think they could publish and mass produce something which they do not check first. I think this makes for an interesting business opportunity as poor translation is somewhat of a theme in Spain…

Take for example, when getting off the plane in Barcelona (thank goodness we arrived in one piece) they had signs for the Exit in Spanish, Catalan, and English. “Sortida=Catalan, Salida=Spanish, Way Out=English…” Literally, these signs were all over the airport…way out…

We found out train and took it to central Barcelona. Right as we got off the train (gotta love RENFE) it started POURING. I did have my umbrella, but I also had my heavy bag and my lovely Marypaz ballet flats which turned out to be ridiculously slippery and uncomfortable when trudging through the puddles of Barcelona. We found our way down Plaza Catalunya, past the famous Gaudi buildings, down Las Ramblas into the confusion which was the BCN Loft office. There were about four people serving two, and all of these people had no clue what they were doing. They made me sign some sort of contract to which I wrote down incorrect information since I did not want to pay for something I had not seen yet, and was fairly skeptical about. Their credit card machine did not function anyway, so we asked them to show us our room before we could get more cash out of an ATM.

A tall blonde girl from Holland led us through the rain for about twenty minutes, complaining the whole time about the incompetence of her colleagues, to an apartment building. We entered the piso and walked into our room, which was supposed to be a 6 bed private room, of which we would occupy 5 of the beds, as three other girls from our program were planning on taking a later flight to Barcelona. Four of the beds seemed to be occupied as the German guy on one of the (disgusting) couches told us that he did not know who some of the suitcases in the room belonged to. The blonde girl shrugged this off and told us there was a cot in the hallway and that we should ask the office people as they may or may not have extra sheets. She left, as I stood open mouthed staring at the horrible disorganization and general miserableness of the room. I grabbed some paper towels and began drying off my poor little suede flats which had taken in about three times their weight in water.The German guy told us one of us could sleep on the couch, and really, it wasn’t as bad as it looked. I was about ready to peace out right then and there, so we began to call other hostels to check availability. One hostel, which Hostelworld (thank goodness for this fabulous website) recommended, had a really nice receptionist, Mario, who offered us rooms. After sharing a bocadillo that Natalia’s senora made her, (we needed the strength) we left and began the Great Taxi Search, as just about everyone in the city had taken a taxi to avoid the general inclement weather. Before we left, I put on a pair of gold high heels I had brought to go out in and rolled up my pants a bit, so I can only imagine how ridiculous I looked…gold heels, huge bag, general fatigue, and all. We arrived at the hostel and dumped our things there, thankful that someone was nice enough to offer us space for the night. I cursed the gal who had the fabulous idea of booking the other place, and Natalia and I decided we had to go back, return the keys the awful other hostel had given us, and tell them we refused to stay there. (also that they shouldn’t charge us for the night even though technically they couldn’t because I wrote down an incorrect credit card number). We walked down Las Ramblas, as the rain had lessened at this point, and went into the office. The manager, who had decided to drop in, flat our refused to listen to us, saying the situation could not exist. He asked us if we had gotten the names of the people who were staying in the room, and we were like..ummmm, isn’t that your job? Finally, some of the office people told him that we weren’t lying and he stormed off, leaving us standing there kind of shocked. We returned the keys and peaced out….ready to actually begin enjoying the city.

Left=me REALLY angry with Barcelona

We met Natalia’s friend who was studying in Barcelona, after searching a bit for shoes since I was still wearing high heels with my little flats left to dry in the hostel. I was a bit disappointed because I thought she would know the city a bit by now, and would know a good dinner place, but she hadn’t even really walked around the main streets which we decided to do. I was really disillusioned with Barcelona, even though I had been there before and was expecting higher prices than in Sevilla, I am now realizing how amazing Sevilla is and how much of a gem the city is. The tapas in Barcelona were RIDICULOUSLY priced and, generally everything was ridiculously expensive. Natalia and I opted to share a “menu del dia” in an Italian restaurant, which we have grown accustomed to doing as it is always enough for two people and usually ends up being really cheap…this night it was salad, steak and fries, and dessert for 6.50 euros….meaning 3.25 a person…or something like 5 bucks…not bad for Las Ramblas.

By this time, Natalia and I were soooooo tired, but I was like it’s 10:30 in Barcelona…we need to stay out a bit, come on….so we had ice cream (almost falling asleep over the ice cream cones)…and then went back to the hostel and passed out. On the way home, we had a Pakistani cab driver who we chatted with about how there are apparently a lot of Pakistanis coming to Barcelona. When we told him we were American he asked us if he could ask a serious question…was American full of “negroes running around with knives?” (sorry for the ridiculously politically incorrectness of this comment but it is a direct translation “negros con cuchillos”) We tried to educate him on how ignorant of a question this was, but he seemed pretty set in this idea of America.