Las Aventuras de Stella, La Sevillana

mas de israel

2009-07-17T05:15:00.000-07:00

Next day: learning, kayaks on Jordan River, Prince

Today we learned in the morning, then went “kayaking” on the Jordan River in the afternoon. I could lie and say it was crazy white water rapids, as we were expecting from the safety talk and demonstration, but alas it was clearly not. My kayak partner, Inna, and I got into our blow up “kayak” and tried to control it by various paddling techniques. I swear the boat only wanted to do 360s no matter what we tried to do, so we gave up and went in circles down the river…we got quite a scenic view! There were orthodox Jews paddling, and Muslim women in full hijab wearing life vests. As we rammed into one guy’s boat he asked my political opinions on the world…”American!? How Obama? How Netanyahu? How Ahmadinajad?”

There were Israelis smoking hookah right in the water, and there were children attempting to flip over tourists. It was great. Whence we reached the end, a feeling of bonding and accomplishment filled the air. We had pizza for lunch. As usual we were late for everything, so instead of going on a hike in Banyas, we went on a secret hike in the middle of nowhere. As soon as some people saw bees and cows they turned around and headed back on the bus. But not I! Israel is my chance for self exploration and adventure…so I trudged through the bee hives and into the thistles with the Rebbetsen and co. We climbed up this beautiful canopy of trees and rocks only to see….a water pipe! It was a “natural spring,” yeah right….the way back we trudged through waist deep water, but it was great. I won over nature that time.

That evening, we had dinner and heard this famous guy who was an African prince, but found a calling to Judaism. After our session, we all went swimming in the Knerret around midnight. This must be one of the most amazing/dangerous/fun/spontaneous things I’ve ever done. The water was super dark but milky warm. In the distance, we could see the orange city lights of Tiberius to the left, and Lebanon to the right. No matter how far we went out, the water remained warm and fairly shallow. Stars shone as I lay on my back in the water and pondered the meaning of life (ok corny but so true!) It was a magical moment.

Afterwards, we went to a kostor (campfire) that some of our group made on the beach. We just sat around laughing and chatting while the magic of Israel was weaving in and out of our minds, by the stars in the sky and the beautiful views of the Knerret. I truly fell in love.

Friday June 26^th….Tsfat, Israel (Safed)

Today we went to Tsfat, the capital of mysticism in Israel. Here is where the famous Shulcan Aruch was written, and the secrets of Kabbalah permeate the hot atmosphere. We went to a couple of famous synagogues, a candle shop, and heard an American artist who discovered Kabbalah and now sells tooottallllyyy coolllll paintings. He spoke like a California surfer regarding the mystic powers of Kabbalah while our Orthodox Rabbi sat and shook his head. I bought a cool painting about lifting your spirit to do good.

Dan told us about a cool place to have lunch so we shlepped all the way up a hill to a kosher (damnit!) restaurant called Café Bagdad which was breathtaking views of the valley below. Determined to get some shopping done, I ate my falafel platter quickly and took the steps to try and find the artists’ colony below. Per usual, I got lost. But it was the best part of the day. The winding streets reminded me of Sevilla, but clearly much older and more mystical. I ran into Orthodox Jewish children laughing in the streets, a group of Israeli girl soldiers, and Hassidic men asking secular to do tefillin. Though the air was heavy with heat, I had a moment of profound connection to Judaism and Israel. Why had I gone to Spain looking for what was right here in my homeland? Though the shops were closing in preparation for Shabbat (I was like…do they have siesta here? Is that why the shops are closing at 2?) I found more meaning in just wandering and discovering hidden alleys than buying Jewish memorabilia. Glorious.

After Tsfat, I had the shortest 2 hour bus ride of my life (felt like 5 minutes!) and I mentally pat myself on the back again for buying that pillow for my head in NYC. We arrived in Hispin, our hotel in the Golan Heights, where we would spend Shabbat.

A few words about Shabbat: Never have I truly experienced the magic of even understood the magic Shabbat brings to peoples’ lives until I met the Jacobowitzs’. They are the holiest family I have ever witnessed, the wife and husband are equal…the husband adoring the wife and likewise. The respect their 9 children have for their parents is unparalleled…and the love that emanates from each smile and glance is clear for any secular eye to appreciate. Here is a family that lives for enjoying life and believe in G-d. They speak of the magic of Shabbat with breathless anticipation, as if talking about the latest gossip or a new love. Rest and relaxation, taking a day to appreciate the wonders of life…spending time unadulterated by modern technology….women bringing more light into the world by lighting Shabbos candles. This is something I will strive to emulate in my life (to soommmme degree).

However, when we saw the boys dancing around and praying, while the girls didn’t…it pissed me off. Even though, the Rebbetsen explained that women are not obligated to pray because we are spiritually higher than men and don’t need an obligation…it smacked of essentialism to me and my feminist anger swelled up. I pulled my modest shawl around my shoulders in rebellion.

After a Shabbos dinner where Lina and I had a great talk about the meaning of life, we had Oneg Shabbat where the program bought us lots of l’chaims and we sat around listening to the Rabbi tell fascinating stories about Judaism and life.

Shabbat in the Golan Heights, June 27^th

I woke up this morning with a pounding headache and nausea. Breakfast seemed light years away as I looked at the clock. 7 am. Great.

Happily I remembered that our hotel had wifi in the lobby, so I went outside with my laptop, walking through the open air courtyard to the lobby. There were Jews already in “shul” (converted conference rooms) praying. Silly little me, no sooner had I plugged in my converter that an Orthodox Jew came over and told me to respect the Sabbath. No email during the Sabbath. Seething with anger, I lamented the fact that I had no clue what was going on in the world, and apparently Newyorktimes.com was not Sabbath friendly.

Trying not to be too mad, I came back to the room, where my fabulous roommates Rita, Inna, and Masha were slowly getting up. As I recounted my tale of Shabbat injustice, they shrugged their shoulders and said I should’ve known better. Perhaps I should have, but I certainly don’t think it’s acceptable to impose your way of life on other people. Clearly, my reform Judaism, which I thought made rational sense to the secular Jew, did not appeal (and my roommates were even rather disgusted by Reform Judaism).

Finally it was time for breakfast, which was again Kosher food I could not stomach. I can stomach anything…anything….but not this hotel Kosher food. Clearly it was not my day so I said ok, time to go back to bed. And I slept the rest of Shabbat. Day of rest, right? In the late afternoon, I took a solitary walk around the water reservoir and playground of the hotel. The wind blew through my hair, and I pondered the meaning of life. It was really one of those moments.

In the nighttime, our program took us to Tferiya (Tiberius) on the shores of the Knerret (Sea of Galilee) for a cruise. We passed by the boardwalk, with its shining neon lights and hanging necklaces, and came to our ship. Where dancing teenagers awkwardly got off to..Time of Your Life….hehe.

Let the Jewish dancing begin! As our ship sailed 10 feet from the dock, and we could see the beautiful views of the light studded hills in the distance, the Orthodox in our group formed two sex segregated horas (circles) and we began swinging back and forth to Israeli music. One of the boat guys formed a drum circle and showed us how to bang on the drums Israeli style as we danced around. It was fabulous! Since basically everyone on the program were friends by now, we smiled, laughed, and hora’d away. Pure kosher bliss.

It was a 2 hour bus ride back to the Golan Heights, which I thoroughly enjoyed.

Sunday June 27^th

Today we went to the Banyas, a beautiful waterfall and park, to hike. The views were really beautiful. Afterwards, we drove up to the border between Israel and Syria, and saw the view below. Our guide told us the story of the border establishment, as we looked onto Syria below and heard about their attack during the 6 Day War. I need to learn more about Israeli history to fully appreciate what I saw I think….I know however, that having heard about the Golan Heights only through American media sources, I was astounded at how beautiful and peaceful it was. Again, when you look over at Syria…the land is completely arid and dry, but in Israel, it’s green and cultivated. Also, the Golan Heights represent some absurdly small fraction of Syria’s territory while it is a sizable proportion of Israeli land. Such crap.

In the evening, we had Rabbi J talk, and in the wee hours. Rabbi J, Vitalik and I talked about the existence of G-d until 2 am. Rabbi J astounds me in every way, he appreciates intellectual honesty and really has instilled in me this feeling of Judaism saying that Jews must KNOW G-d exists through questioning and study, while others “believe” in G-d. Really a profound thought, and an exercise in understanding Judaisms’ unfailing emphasis on scholarship. Though the Rabbi and I disagree on many things, and I couldn’t really take as fact most of what he said, it was truly interesting to hear his views. We talked about evolution vs. creationism for more than 2 hours. I’d love to hear more scientific/religious views like his…where the two don’t contradict (in the Jewish version) and also, he kept saying that “science” was just as much a religion as anything else, and you had to take more leaps of faith to believe science than Judaism…that is, if you accept the Torah as undeniable fact…..problematic.

I went to sleep thoroughly cognitively exhausted. Even talking to the rabbi was a struggle as I was so unbelievably tired and exhausted…but I saw the opportunity as completely unable to be missed…and it was worth it.

Monday June 28^th

Kfar Kedem is a place that seeks to provide visitors with a sense of what life was like in Biblical times. Our fabulous guide made us wear Biblical costumes (made us look Arab!) and then we made our own pita. We sat down and had a tasty Israeli lunch…Israeli salad, tahini, pita, hummus, and shish kebabs.

After, we went on probably the craziest hike of my life down Mt. Arbel, overlooking an Arab village. The views were astounding, however, we had to not only climb in the midday heat, but use a cord connected to the mountain, clinging to life as we walked on a cliff ledge before climbing down the mountain. A first (probably last) for me. It was challenging and fun, and a popsicle was definitely in order afterwards. Along with a nap for the 3 hour ride back to Jerusalem.

Tuesday June 29^th

Today we heard a lecture of Judaism and archeology, from an archaeologist Rabbi. Dry stuff…hehe. Then we went to this amazing place outside of Jerusalem called Har Radar, a big triumphant arch memorial to the soldiers who died in 1948. We had lunch in the midday heat (kosher!) and some climbed on tanks. We climbed up the arch, where you can clearly see Ramallah, Jerusalem and the Green Line. The Green Line is RIDICULOUS. You can literally see it because, again, Jewish land is green and Arab land is….undeveloped. CRAZY. I remember reading about this in Exodus, but really seeing it in real life affirms any doubts from before. Then we checked out some Maccabean graves and a park before going for….dum dum dummmMMMmm! Repelling. Our Israeli repel guide explained all the rules before leading us to the cliff. I was trying to calm myself and say….you can do this, you can do this. I let others go before me to build up courage, and then I put on the harness and helmet. My mind was quiet as I tried to take a step down the mountain, listening to my Israeli guide the whole time. But I couldn’t do it, and I made the mistake of looking down. My body swung over and struck the side of the cliff, and my knees buckled. The Israeli guide tried to convince me to go…”Everyone else did it!” and the funny expression, “If everyone jumped off of a cliff…would you do it too?” expounded in my head. Suddenly I realized, I did not want to do this in any capacity. And had no reason to. Though the Israelis tried to make me feel ashamed for failing, I couldn’t care less. A little embarrassment yes, but really very little.

During our bus ride back, I got into another heated argument with Max, the Orthodox organizer, about the merits of Reform Judaism. He would just not leave me alone and I was already cognitively exhausted from the repelling incident. Then he told me I had to tell the Rebbetsen about Yeshivalite. Background: I was supposed to do this Russian Trip for 2 weeks, coming in a week late due to graduation. Because I was paying a lot less for a scholarship, Max talked me into doing this other girls’ only Yeshiva program run by the Rebbetsen. My understanding was that I would join after the Russian trip but Max told me I had to leave tonight. No way. I was soooo mad at him because I really respect the Rebbetsen and in NO way wanted to let her down, so I asked him to talk to her, but he refused. Fuming, I tried to calm myself down, eat a little something, and talked to the other 2 girls in the same predicament. We decided I’d talk to the Rabbi and Rebbetsen first. Everyone in the group was aware of the situation and clearly did not want us to leave, as we were quite close now. I approached the happy couple with trepidation, my heart pounding!

Before they could even speak, I prefaced myself…I told them that in nooooooo way did I want to disrespect them because I truly appreciated and honored them so much, but that there had been a misunderstanding. They listened to me intently, and agreed without a second doubt. A huge wave of relief and excitement hit me as I walked away from the table, leaving them. It was only after I learned that they didn’t let the other two girls off the hook like me, that I started to have doubts. Honestly, I think they let me go because I was too opinionated…always during the Rabbi’s talks I asked him questions and stood up for my beliefs on a number of occasions. The Rabbi loved this and gleefully answered all of my questions, calling me smart and intellectually curious. However, in the Yeshiva, I don’t think this would have flown. But I was happy…now another extra week in Israel. Tyeta Toma asked me each day how the brainwashing was going, and laughed when I told her about the Yeshiva. Eh…oh well.

That night, since the other two girls were leaving, we decided to go out and celebrate. We went to Ben Yehuda in Jerusalem, and had drinks to celebrate new friendships. I also had my first “nargilla” in Israel which was not that great at all.

The rest of the trip’s highlights are learning to make Challah and the amazing Jeep ride in the Judean desert. When I was standing overlooking the Ashkelon Valley, in that moment I felt G-d. I think I will always remember that moment connecting me as a Jew to the Land of Israel. Brainwash or no brainwash, this trip really made me think about my Jewish identity, and connect it to Israel. Nowhere else have I felt such a connection to land (me? Nature?) even moreso to the people, who I don’t really understand. Israeli culture baffles me…even when I look around and constantly remind myself “Everyone’s Jewish! He’s Jewish and she’s Jewish…and he’s jewish….etc” Israelis look different than American Jews, act different, and have different values. It’s hard to find a balance between loving Israel but not Israelis…more to come…

Shalom de Israel!

2009-07-09T05:27:00.001-07:00

Wednesday June 24, 2009 Knerret, Israel

I arrived in Israel two days ago by saying goodbye with my present reality and looking forward. This trip was supposed to be (for practical reasons) a good opportunity to meet Russian Jews in Chicago for social and professional reasons and (for spiritual reasons) an opportunity to explore the role of Judaism and religion altogether in my life.

So, extremely mentally and physically exhausted, I boarded my flight to Tel Aviv via Rome on Sunday with no thoughts but to get some sleep on the plane. The flight was fairly turbulent, but I had two whole seats to myself so that was nice. My first nudge towards religiosity came when the flight attendant double checked to make sure I had explicitly ordered a kosher meal. Right.

In Rome, I felt a sense of familiarity (the whole 2 hours I was there) and smiled happily upon seeing a plane from Uzbekistan airways, a reminder of my journey to the past last summer. When I arrived in Tel Aviv, dazed and tired, (oh yeah make tuna with kidney beans, corn, and salsa…delicious!) I waited for my bags about an hour. Upon realizing that alas they were lost (per usual) I hurriedly walked towards the Alitalia counter to make a claim that my baggage was in fact lost. Another hour of frantic waiting ensued, altogether exacerbated by the fact that I knew that beyond those doors, a member of my family was most likely worrying to death that I had not arrived.

Finally, I made my way through the doors into the frantic tears of my Tyeta Toma, who had the whole airport alert on my disappearance. She was so shaken up, I couldn’t help but laugh at how similar she was to my own Mama, not only in appearance, but in character and franticness.

I went with her to H&O (that’s right, use your imagination) to get some new clothes for my impending trip, and then we went to her small settlement, Alfe Menashe. She explained to me that they were right on the border with Palestine (and when I was right, I mean look to the left Palestine, right Israel) and had built a house there because, in true Russian Jew style, the land was cheaper. She pointed out a taxi in front of us with a green license plate as being a Palestinian cab. Not scary at all for my first 2 hours in Israel. My cousin and uncle greeted me, and we went for my first meal in an Israel strip mall…shish kebab and Israeli salad. Yum!

Then we drove to Jerusalem to meet my group. As we drove I called the hotel to make sure everything was ok, and they claimed not to have any American groups…per usual. But in the end it was the right hotel. At this point, there was no emotion processing and I could only think of my bed, even as we entered and there were Orthodox women running around everywhere at a wedding.

The next morning I woke up in a room with three other Russian Jewish girls. When I asked them how the trip was going they said, “eh. It’s ok” This made me a tad bit nervous as their lack of enthusiasm seemed a bit daunting. Luggage or no luggage, I made my way downstairs and met the rest of my group, which was quite nice. I fit in quite well, and really liked the girls on the trip. The first lecture was a Chasidic rabbi who claimed he was not proving the existence of G-d, which in fact he was. But he was alright and a funny speaker. Soon after, my luggage arrived (thankfully!) and we took a bus to the Negev desert for a “hike.” Ladies and gentlemen, let me tell you that taking a hike over a steep mountain covered in desert sand and rocks in 95 degree weather the day after not only your graduation but an 18 hour journey…is not a good idea. About halfway up I began to get the usual signs of heat exhaustion, and decided to not be that girl who passes out in the Israeli desert on the first day by making my way down the mountain and back to the air conditioned bus. Israel 1, Stella 0.

Afterwards, we drove through the desert windy roads to a Bedouin oasis to ride camels, my Camel Buddy, Masha, and I named our camel Moshe…and he was a wily one! The desert was absolutely stunning in its enormity and the beauty of the sunset over the sand dunes. Sitting on the camels while they stand up and sit down is not an easy task. Nature’s own roller coaster?

Bedouin dinner was served in the tents and was a plov-like dish with shish kebabs. At this point I was keeling over in tiredness, and soon after the Bedouin hospitality (tea and music) I hobbled over to our sleeping tent and passed out. What seemed like a few restless minutes later, I heard screaming and woke up to find the girls giggling and scrambling around. Apparently there were bugs everywhere and a fox jumped over one of the girls, Lina. Paying no heed I turned over and fell back asleep. However, the girls had other plans. Being finicky Russian Jews, they decided the tents were not meant for human sleeping, and shlepped mattresses onto tabletops in the moonlight. I was NOT going to be the only one in that infested tent, so I took to the tabletops as well. By this point it was 1 am and our wake up time was 4 am.

We got some sleep and woke up at 4 am to go see sunrise at Masada, an ancient fortress in the middle of the desert where thousands of Jews committed suicide one night, rather than be Roman slaves. We were of course running late, and had to shlep up the mountain in lightning speed to catch the sunrise. Usually this is not my thing, but boy let me tell you. It was AMAZING. We could see the Dead Sea and mountains in the distance, and desert everywhere. There was a feeling of friendship and camaraderie amongst everyone after the Bedouin tent debacle, and I don’t know what it was, but there was something special in the air at Masada.

We toured around Masada and heard the breathtaking story, then funiculared our way down (Snake path down the mountain? Pass!) to the bus. Soon we were on our way to the Dead Sea….I had my first scuffle with the Orthodox staff upon our arrival and announcement of separate sex beaches. Seriously? But then again, as one of them pointed out, we payed a lot less than we were supposed to so we had to follow the sexist (in my view) rules. The girls beach was tinnnny in comparison with the boys, and a little wall led not enough out to the sea to swim. The poor Orthodox women had to float like 8 inches from the rocky ground to not risk being seen by male eyes.

I loved it! The warm felt milky warm but oily in texture. Things started burning everywhere because of the salt, but the view and feeling was breathtaking. After a while, the burning (don’t ask where) got too much and we made our way out. Aggressive Russian saleswomen tried to sell us overpriced creams before we managed to make our way out to the gift shop and to the bus. It was 10 am and we had already hiked Masada, had breakfast (Kosher of course) and swam in the Dead Sea. What’s next? Hike of course!

We drove to Ein Gedi, a waterfall filled climb up a mountain with natural springs. Again, hiking=not my forte, but as soon as we jumped into the waterfall spring area, it all became worth it. Although it wasn’t too large and there were a lot of people swimming, it was super fun. The water felt perfectly cold and in stark contrast to the hot Israeli sun. It was glorious! After hiking down the beautiful mountain, we got on the bus for three hours to a small city by the Knerret, the biggest freshwater lake in Israel.

Namaste!

2008-08-26T20:09:00.000-07:00

Namaste from Mumbai! 8/26/08

Where did i leave off? Oh yes, sitting at the airport in Delhi. I took a train to my Jet airways flight and got quite comfortable right away in business class. The flight attendant came around with drinks and I took the first risk of the day by trying a mango juice...and I loved it! Everyone looked at me quite strangely (which I'm getting used to) and I looked confusedly at the breakfast menu trying to figure out which choice was perfect for my first Indian breakfast. After ordering something (???) I tried to engage the businessman next to me in conversation about what exactly was on my plate....interesting to note was that his English was not that great, or maybe it's the fact that I'm used to people understanding my accent. Anywho, I tried a bit of all the foods and then stared out the window at the beautiful cloud formations above India. Soon enough, we started landing in Mumbai and I began to notice 1) how green everything was 2) how quickly countryside turned into little shacks 3) there was a huge slum right next to the airport, in fact adjacent to the runway! 4) wow, that must be so loud for the people living there, although im sure that's the least of their worries.

I got off the plane and excitedly grabbed my luggage. I tried to find a restroom but was redirected by helpful workers who must have thought I looked confused or something and pointed me to the baggage claim. Mumbai's airport was MUCH nicer than the one in Delhi, and was full of business people of all kinds (though mostly Indian). I was a bit of an anomolous traveler. Excitedly I walked out of the airport and found Neha! It was a joyous reunion, and then i met man candy himself. They greeted me with the most beautiful blue and white flowers (how did they know that those are the unofficial colors of Jewish people?). We got the car and began the first of many drives through Bombay.

Vivek and Neha pointed out a bunch of monuments and temples, while I marveled at how Vivek managed to drive without killing us in the relative chaos that is Bombay traffic. I was struck by how many people there were everywhere and how you could never expect what you saw. Sometimes there'd be a strip of slums followed by a Ferrari store, followed by a temple, followed by juice stands. The streets were fairly dirty, but even from the beginning, Bombay reminded me of an underdeveloped and exponentially more crowded Los Angeles. Vivek informed me (with Neha interrupting every two seconds) that Bombay was comprised of seven islands and as a result, it was impossible to build skyscrapers. The city can't get any bigger unless it grows out, but it can't build up. And although it is growing out, people are refusing to move to the "New Bombay" because it's too far. Anywho, at the end of this car ride, we turned into a steep and curvy driveway leading up to Neha's apartment building. A man came and opened my door, and then we stepped into an ancient elevator (you know those ones with the metal part you close and then you can see each floor pass). Even there, there was an elevator operator guy whose job was to ride up and down on the elevator all day.

We rode up to the the top floor, and I entered Neha's beautiful apartment. I was struck by how modern it was, and the beautiful view of the Arabian Sea that can be seen from each window. Auntie came and I hugged her, and commented on how pretty the apartment is. I got the royal tour of the place, starting with Neha's gorgeous room, done up by graphic designer Didi. The walls are turquoise with spongue printing, and lots of handprints. It's also ginormous, and has a beautiful swinging bench that overlooks the sea. A treadmill (very dusty) also stood by another window. Wooden cabinets conceal all the shoes and clothes Neha owns. The living room also has a bench swing overlooking the sea. I never saw the kitchen, but I did begin to see the "servants" which was greatly unsettling. I wasn't sure exactly how to address the two older ladies in saris, and the men in loose white uniforms who scuttled about the three larger rooms and then disappeared into the kitchen. The other thing I noticed right away was this little shrine room with idols of Krishna, beautifully and intricately decorated with flowers, petals, and spices as a result of a holiday the day before. It was really beautiful, with the designs forming birds, flowers, and swirls. Krishna himself was sitting on a swing with a string that you could swing him on.

We (Neha, Auntie, Vivek and I) sat down for an Indian brunch. We had idlees, the little pancakes, and sambar, a soupy dip, along with a bunch of other Indian specialties. I was struck by the servants putting food on my plate while Auntie spoke orders to them in Hindi. Honestly, I've never felt so superbly uncomfortable, or unable to respond. Lunch was fabulous, and I was on the verge of collapse from jetlag as Neha went to work. Instead of getting up and cleaning things off from the table, everything was left there for the servants to clean up. The cook came out and I complimented the food (kahana bhot ach cha). I also learned how to address people with a folded hands bow and a "namaste."

Auntie and I chatted for a bit, then I passed out for two hours. After, I found her sitting at her desk overlooking the sea, and she called for coffee and mushroom toast which a servant brought in. (danyavad) Although Neha had told me of the joyous wonders that is coffee at her house, even I was struck by how delicious it was...soon, Shweta arrived (after getting lost on the way home, the driver had to go collect her on a random street). We chatted for a bit, then went for a drive around Bombay. Again I marvelled at how people drive in this city, and said silent prayers underneath my breath and our driver (Thakur) magically kept us alive. People randomly crossed the street and cars seemed to follow no system. We passed by dilapidated apartment buildings, made to look older than they actually are by persistent monsoon rains beating down on their exteriors day after day. Bombay's skyline is absolutely breathtaking, and a street called Marine Drive (Neha has told me so much about it!) offers the opportunity to see how vast this city really is. We went to the Oberoi hotel and shopping center to get a first glimpse of Mumbai's wares. I began to notice, again, how much people were staring at me. The stores were tiny, but expensive, and I was so impressed by the beautiful jewelry, shoes, and scarves.

In a bit, we went to the Gateway of India, an arch reminiscent of Napoleonic arches built to welcome some British royalty. It is the first thing one sees upon entrance from the sea. Unfortunately, it is under restoration so I couldn't see it too closely, but we walked around the perimeter. There were a bjillion people there, like everywhere else in Bombay, and streetsellers sold their wares and made food to the tourists gathered. Thank goodness Shweta was holding my hand and could feel my initial apprehensiveness because I was so aware of the eyes staring at me so obviously because I absolutely did not fit in. This was the first time in my travels that I could be discriminated against (or favored!) just because of the way I looked. I can now sympathize with those whose skin color is noticed and noted at first glance, but honestly, after the first couple of days I got used to it.

We went to a shoe store, and bought absolutely too many beautiful shoes (can you ever have too many shoes?). The shoe shops here all have this hold in the ceiling as the shoes are kept up in the attic, and whenever a size is needed the shopkeeper (as I'm writing this, the Nepali maid just came in to sweep the floor) yells up to the hole and the right size is thrown down by a magical (I think the maid just asked me if i was hot?) seemingly invisible force (a guy sitting up there) halway across the shop. Neha joined us in the fun. Honestly, i'm having the time of my life here. Indian hospitality is insane, and I feel like a part of the family. Auntie is like my Indian mom, and we have spent so much time together. We all make fun of each other, and it's so natural. Thank you Northwestern for giving the opportunity to be sitting here in India (IN INDIA!!! halfway across the world from Chicago!) talking about my extended Indian family.

Anyway, we went down this street with tons of vendors and wanderers selling these weird slimy beads (???) and pashminas. I was told to shut my mouth and not show how much I liked things, as prices are tripled when they see you're a tourist. Auntie bargained for some wares, and Shweta held my hand in the pandemonium of the street. There are just so many people everywhere, all the time! And honestly, the poverty I've seen here is of course extreme, but it is not what I was bracing myself for, at least not in Bombay. Honestly, there are more people sitting and begging for money in Chicago than in the streets I have seen. Sometimes people sit with babies on the street and just be, playing or eating, or just generally being unemployed, but the only extreme poverty can be seen in the slums which mark the streets.

On the extreme opposite end, I seem to living the high roller life, as Neha, Shweta, and I went to the Intercontinental's open air, all white lounge for cocktails and meeting Neha's school friends. It was a gorgeous lounge, something I would have expected in New York or a scene from Sex and the City. We ordered martinis and snacked before Neha's friends arrived. I was getting quite tired at this point, but met Neerav, Deesha, Ashish, and ...Sanket...the EX BOYFRIEND!!! I exchanged looks with Neha, and hoped she saw that I approved very much more of Vivek, the charming gentleman, than Sanket, the pudgy boy sitting in front of me, ignoring eye contact.

Neha invited them over for dinner, which is served here late, like in Spain. They arrived and the servants quickly came out with water and coffee, as these spoiled kids (ok i'm sorry Neha for applying my Western viewpoint, but I could not bear to see these older men bow to kids who were joking around and didn't even say thank you) nonchalantly lounged and chatted. We had masalas and honestly, I don't even remember I was so tired. I could not wait to go to sleep.

At about 4 AM, I woke up ready to start the day, and then realized it was dark...and 4 AM. Damn jet lag! I rolled around and pretended to sleep until everyone got up. After a healthy breakfast and the delicious coffee, I began to raid Neha's closet for a suitable salwar. She pulled out one after the other and finally we found one that fit. When Auntie came in and saw me, she gave me a big hug and told me I'd fit right in. (yeah right). They are so comfy and breezy! Anyway, Neha, being the important reporter for India Today, had an important article to write about a new photo exhibition so we went to go check it out. It was all of these pictures of Bombay from the turn of the century, and all of the rich nazeem's and maharajah's. We even saw the place where the Gateway of India now stands, without the famous monument but with British ladies in huge hats sipping tea on the grass. (YES! I just told the maid I was ok and didn't need anything in Hindi!!! nehi chehi ye...me theek hoom)

Then, we went to the (former) Prince of Wales museum which is really, really pretty! Neha tried to pass me off as a local for a reduced ticket price, which obviously didn't work, so after multiple inspections and a free audio tour guide for my foreigner ticket, we went inside the museum. Neha had just written an article about it for India Today, explaining its Indian-Sarconic style (yes? Im not quite sure what that means) but it reminded me of the British Museum in London. There was an exhibition about Harappan civilization and ancient statues of gods like Krishna and Durga. It was really cool! The idols are almost identical today. We saw Chinese pottery, ancient structures, and beautiful Buddhas.

Soon we left, and Neha went to go retrieve her umbrella, as she had been forced to check it in due to security (??). The man at the desk was involved in a squabble which Neha explained to me made no sense as they were arguing over calling each other idiots. Soon Neha got her umbrella and we made our way to the Jehangir art gallery to look at some modern art (really strange) before settling down for some water at Cafe Samovar. At my request, we made our way to Fab India, a store selling kurtas (long shirts) dupattas (the scarves that go with salwar kameez) and various other Indian clothing. I was excited because in the CD's of learning Hindi which I used before coming here (utterly worthless thus far, OK untrue but I thought I knew more before coming than I actually did) there was a segment where we learned colors based on a shopping trip to Fab India. As I entered, I knew I was screwed because of 1) the variety of merch 2) the crowd perusing aforementioned merch 3) im a sucker for Indian clothes. I was literally like a kid in a candy store as Neha tried to help me be sensible and try some kurtas I would actually wear. We got a bunch and I tried them on. For some reason, my calculations came out to be about $75 for 4 pairs of pants (two breezy salwars, and two tighter chadoors both in black and white) 3 kurtas and 2 dupattas (black and white) at the cash register, it turned out to be more like $150. We left the store and I panicked, poor Neha had to take me back to return 2 pairs of pants and one kurta to make the price more manageable. Honestly, I was having a bit of a panic attack after the fab india interlude.

Thakur (the driver) met us and drove us to pick up Shweta then to a cafe called Moshe's which was started by a Jewish Indian. I kissed the mezuzah as I walked into the cute cafe, another place I could easily imagine in any other big city, and read the sign about when Madonna patronized the same restaurant only a year back. We sat down and ordered chillers, and had salads and sandwiches with nice conversation. The funniest thing happened when Vivek called and said he could see us through a security camera his company had installed right above our table! He went so far as to compliment my dupatta, and we were royally freaked out.

Afterwards the girls had to go to work, so I went off to meet Vivek in his office. Thakur dropped me off and I made my way past the confused stares of uncles and businessmen to meet Vivek. He told me about his company, LiveDarshan which he started right after college. Through five years of failures and hard work, he has come to find success and self-fulfillment as an entrepreneur. I listened with great anticipation to his story, as Shweta joined us after "accidentally forgetting her computer charger at home. I couldn't do any work!" Soon we went off as Vivek, the patient and knowledgeable tour guide, showed us around Mumbai. We saw Victoria Terminal, the beautifully British train station, and fashion street, a long (really long!) stretch of sellers vending wares rejected by the West at discount prices. Walking down the street, he pointed out the street vendors selling this popular drink made of crushing the juice from sugar canes. It was really, really dirty and there were people just lying around on the streets, not begging for money though, just sitting around. We passed by the building which houses the highest courts, and saw men with typewriters offering people to fill out forms as their livelihoods. In this part of the city, I saw the most dilapidated buildings which still held a sort of beauty, but I was glad to get in the car and get going.

Against Shweta's vehement protests, we went to the Hare Rama Hare Krishna temple, where Vivek explained to me the philosophy of this interesting and money hungry sect. I've been to a temple like this twice in the states, but it was still interesting to see how ornate and identical it was those ive seen before. After, we went to Soam for chaat, yummy yummy street food (which my Western stomach will not let me buy off of the street). It was delicious and one of my favorites of Indian food...Lord help me with these spellings...panee puri, sev puri, little fried balls which you crack open and pour things into...i can't really explain it, but it is sooo delicious!

Soon after Neha joined us, and we went to the most peculiar of places. In the middle of the city, there is a small lake called the Banganga. It is like descending into a village where children are running around and there are temples everywhere. It is a super holy place as Ram is supposed to have been here before, and it looks like what I imagined the Ganges to look like, with the ghats (steps). Here, people stared at me like never before and some even followed us around. My most inspiring moment, and a moment I will never forget, which really describes how I feel about India, came when we stepped up to a walkway by a temple which led to the sea. As we walked closer and closer, Vivek pointed out a jetty of secluded land and a private mansion where the governor of Mumbai lives. I walked closer and closer to the edge, nearing the beautiful visage of the sea at twilight...I was expecting rocks or a beach or something, honestly I wasn't expecting anything, but as I reached the banister, another slum, right underneath the temple came into view. My body responded physically to the unexpected slum with repulsion, and Vivek explained that this real estate was the most expensive in Bombay, yet it was the location of another slum. Some of the little shacks even had satellite dishes! I have read that India is full of contradictions and unexpected surprises, and in this moment I truly experienced this for myself.

To top off this magnificent day, Neha, Shweta, and I went over to Neha's Nani's house (her mum's mum) for dinner. After freshening up and changing salwars, we drove to another section of Bombay. We rode up the lift to another penthouse which was beautifully decorated. A servant answered the door, and we met Nani, a beautiful Indian grandma with always a smile on her face and the kindest of hearts. I namasted her, and we sat down as Nani smiled at me and I awkwardly sat listening to the Hindi flying around. I also met Neha's grandpa, and some other family, Didi and Auntie. They gave me a grand tour of the beautiful apartment, where Auntie grew up, and where all of Auntie's three brothers and their families live. As is traditional, Auntie went to live with her husband's family after marriage. We saw bedrooms, and the kitchen where the servants awkwardly stared as we walked by. they had beautiful art, including a pair of decorated tusks (!!) from China, a beautiful jade fountain thing, and a silver dancing Krishna statue similar to the ones I'd seen in the museum earlier. I honestly felt as if I was in a different world, yet again. I've noticed that people here have buttons that they press when they want something, and a servant walks by, or even when anyone walks in, a servant always comes with water to offer the guest...

Nani prepared a traditional Marwari dinner for us, something Neha informed us only happened a couple of times a year on festivals, so I felt supremely honored to be experience a part of longstanding family tradition. Each person had these huge silver plate/bowls with smaller bowls on the inside. Servants came around and put a scoop of rice with chick peas on the plate. Nani came around and mixed everyones food individually with her hands, adding all the different foods in the bowls for flavor, then she took a bite and fed it to Neha, me, Shweta, and Didi. It was the cutest, most grandmotherly love expression I have ever seen. And always with a smile on her face. Neha had warned me that I would be pushed to eat until the point of no return, so I made sure to say "bas" (enough) anytime servants came around with more food. We had homemade gulab jamin which I've found to be extremely tasty here. We chatted as we ate, then washed our hands. I requested a picture of the women in the family since there were three generations present, then we sat and chatted for a bit. I forgot to mention that in the beginning, Nani gave Shweta and I bracelets with little notes that said "with love and blessings, Nani" on them. It was one of the sweetest, most culturally enriching evenings of my life. Here I was, in Bombay, sitting with Neha's extended family in her grandma's apartment. I felt truly blessed and lucky.

I couldn't help but give Nani a hug upon leaving, but then noticed everyone else bowing and kissing her feet. Oops. I couldn't help it, she was too huggable. At home, we passed out and I slept my first full night in India.

Thursday August 28th.

Today I woke up fully refreshed and had breakfast with Auntie. there was this yummy corn thing with toast (corn, flour, milk, cheese and mushrooms yum) with the amazing coffee. After lunch, Auntie and I went shoe shopping after another harrowing car ride. We then went bangle shopping...we walked into the shop and i knew again, i was screwed. everything was just too gorgeous and sparkly...then i saw the price. The most beautiful of bangles was no more than 50 or 60 rupees which is like $1.20. Most of them were 15 rupees! The shopkeers kept pulling out more and more, and i got tons of bangles in varying colors, all gorgeous and sparkly. It seemed I couldn't get enough and I began to get that panicky feeling again, but Aunty encouraged my ruthless spending by offering more and more beautiful bangles i could not resist. No girl needs as many bangles as i bought. there were four huge bags of bangles. but i love every single one of them.

After the bangle buyout, Auntie and i went for tea at the Cricket Club of India, a place where until some time back there used to be a sign that read "no dogs or Indians." We sipped tea and munched on these little sandwiches, sitting next to a cricket field where workers tended to the grass, chatting for more than an hour. The place was British to the max, with leather armchairs and woodwork, I could totally have imagined the Brits here having high tea and talking politics. Neha joined us and we went to the Rhythm Room, a DVD/CD shop where bought about 100 Bollywood films. Then, at my request, we went to visit a synagogue called Knesset Eliyahu. It was gorgeous! A bright blue wonder in the middle of Bombay. Im sure people have no clue what it is, but it is one of the most beautiful synagogues I have ever seen...we went inside and I excitedly kissed the mezuzah...(more here)

The Taj is a truly majestic hotel right next to the Gateway of India. It is a five star hotel with a Louis Vuitton, Bulgari, etc. on the inside, and Auntie told me it was impossible to get a room there without a seven month long waiting list. We went to the top, to the Sea Lounge, where a man was playing "Lady in Red" and other Western pop hits on a black grand piano. Neha and I decided to go for the high tea buffet after eyeing the beauitful little desserts. It was amazing! We got a window seat and had a beautiful view of the Gateway while sipping tea and eating chaat and tarts...soon Shweta joined. It seemed my life had become some sort of a fairy tale...

A bjillion laughs and calories later, we rushed out to catch a play in the experimental theater. It was the famous Indian actor Naseeruddin Shah performing "The Prophet." The play was great, he was an outstanding orator, and the wisdom from the book was orated beautifully.

Afterwards, we walked along Marine Drive, enjoying Bombay's skyline. Then it was back to the Taj for an Indian-Chinese dinner, where i was to meet Sameer, Didi's husband, and Neha's cousin. Shweta, Vivek and i arrived first and sat down at a large square table. I got the menu and was astonished to find many grammatical errors in the introduction. Then Auntie and Neha arrived and we started complaining about how big the table was, which turned to making fun of Neha's loud and booming voice, which turned to making fun of Vivek's choice of table. It was so much fun just all making fun of each other, which yes, inevitably turned to making fun of my loud laugh. Sameer and Didi came, followed by Neha's cousin whose name I cannot spell just yet and we had Dim Sum and some chinese which is different than US Chinese. It was such a fun and playful dinner, just like a big family.

After, we came home and sat for a while. Auntie, Neha, Vivek and I got into a "discussion" (read: argument) until 4 AM about the merits of corporate choosing of products....

Friday August 29th

Today Neha and Shweta had to work, and Uncle (whom I have not seen yet) had a surgery so I just slept, read, and wrote here. Soon Neha will arrive and more adventures will come...

ITALIA

2007-12-26T08:32:00.000-08:00

3 Diciembre 2007, Lunes

Since it´s Monday, I got up early and went to volunteer at good ol´ Sacrado Corazón de Jesus. Today, I was informed that the kids were working on posters of their favorite pop stars/actors, in English. Before class, the girl who asked me to be easy on her skipped up to the table and proudly told me she received full marks on the oral test to which I replied…¨Muy bien!¨The kids were all chatting away working, and I drifted from group to group helping and chatting with all of them. The first group was sooo cute, it was about 6 girls and one 1 boy sitting stubbornly. I walked over and immediately saw why the boy was so grumpy: the girls were decorating with hearts and flowers a poster dedicated to their hero, the heartthrob Zac Efron. I asked the girls if they thought he was ¨guapo¨and of course they all melted on the spot, sighing and giggling. The solitary boy rolled his eyes. I told them that they had to learn English so they could talk to Zac when he came to Spain, hehe…The teacher informed me that last year, the class learned the final dance from high school musical and performed it for the school which was apparently ¨preciosa.¨ She asked me to talk about my life next week for the kids, which in the US is quite different from their own.

The next group was working on a poster of Bart Simpson, while other worked on a Spanish actor, a Smackdown wrestler guy, and of course, Rihanna. It was funny to read their English descriptions, because I could tell where most of their mistakes came from, knowing grammar quite well in Spanish (at least I hope so by now). The following class, which I have found quite frustrating the past few weeks due to the fact that this one boy likes to ask me about ¨carne con tomate¨every few minutes. I don´t understand what is so funny, and I totally get the whole making fun of the substitute crap, having gone through that myself. Today, I taught them about how we call ¨pop¨different things in the US.

After an increasingly boring el mundo actual class, I met up with Cristina for a delightful hour of intercambio. Today, we taught each other colloquial phrases. For example, ¨mete la pata en el gazpacho¨ (stick your foot in the soup) means to be mistaken…hmmm…The hour flew by, as usual.

After class, Natalia and I went shopping for a bit, as prices are expected to go up for the Christmas season…I came home quite late and had a fabulous dinner of lentejas and tomatoes with cheese for dinner. God I love Spain.

Oh also, in Macarena´s class we got graduation sashes which are Spanish colors and have the flag on them! Tomorrow Italia!!!!

4 Diciembre 2007, Martes…ROMA

This morning, I went to class, had intercambio with Cristina, where I taught her the wonders of Facebook, and then ran home to grab my things before the plane. My señora made me lunch, and I scampered off after eating fried shrimp, potato salad (ensaladilla rusa), and tuna with peppers. I ran to catch the bus in front of Plaza Nervion, and totally spaced out. I don´t know if I have mentioned this before, but in Sevilla, to catch a bus you must flag it down, like a taxi. I knew Natalia was coming on the special Airport route bus, but like I said, was spacing out like crazy. All of a sudden, the airport bus whizzed by….Natasha called me frantically asking why I hadn´t made the bus, and I blamed the driver for not stopping (it was my own fault). Hehe, oh well, I caught the next bus, half an hour later, and made it to the airport just in time to miss standing in line for thirty minutes.

I took a picture of this amazing sign, which once again makes me question how hard it is, really, to get a translator to check grammar before printing something…the sign said ¨do you wish a grill meat?¨On the plane, Natasha surprised me with a Hanukkah gift of Cosmo in Russian! I was so surprised, I had been wanting to buy one, but always denied myself the guilty pleasure…The flight literally flew by! Nata and I are somewhat lack in planning, we usually have a general idea in what we want to see, but let ourselves go with the flow instead of planning out every single minute of our trips. We were joking around because in the Clickair (our airline) magazine, they had recommendations for Christmas markets in Roma and Venezia, which I tore out and we counted as part of our ¨planning.¨

We landed in Roma, and searched for the train to Termini, the largest station. After finding our hostel, Lilliput Hostel, which was quite close to Termini, we tried to buzz in. It was located in this pleasant little courtyard with a Christmas tree in the middle. We called the place and were told to wait just a few minutes. We waited and waited, and then came in a young tio with the saggiest pants I have ever seen, I don´t know how many laws of gravity these bad boys were defying by not falling down. Natalia and I gave each other a ¨look,¨as baggin´ saggin´pants boy said, ¨Buena sera, I am Lorenzo, welcome to Roma¨in about as Italian of an accent as you can get. Once again I learned to never judge a man by his pants…(hehe)

The hostel was the cutest thing ever. No wonder it was called Lilliput hostel because it was tiny! It was just one room, very kitschy decorated in pink and blue, with a kitchen and 3 bedroom off of it. He gave us the keys, and since I am pretty sure we were the only ones staying there, we basically had our own apartment in Rome!! For dinner, we went to a neighborhood Italian restaurant recommended by the pants, I mean man, himself, Lorenzo. We we soooo excited to be in Italy that we ordered Waaaayyyyyyyy too much. Appetizer: brushetta. For the first course I had this amazing seafood ravioli while Natalia had minestrone soup to ease her aching throat. I let the waiter talk me into ordering a Roman specialty for the main course…oxtail…it was actually quite good, but I don´t think I would do it again. Natalia had manicotti…yum! And of course, for dessert we had tiramisu before heading back to the hotel and sleeping…

5 Diciembre 2007, Miercoles, ROMA

I woke up this morning in my warm little bed, full of opportunity and excitement. I made some tea while Nata showered and we somewhat planned our day. We stepped outside and headed in the direction of St. Maria Maggiore church. As we were crossing the street, I heard a woman say, ¨Let´s follow these girls, they look like they know what they are doing,¨in an Australian accent, to which I laughed in my mind. We walked inside the church, which was absolutely gorgeous, and a relief to the eyes after seemingly hundreds of gothic Spanish cathedrals. The church was a mix of Byzantine mosaic, baroque style ceilings, and lots of rich artwork. I remembered reading that Bernini was buried here, so I searched for a monument. Along the way, I made friends with the older Australian couple who had so much confidence in us. We wished each other luck in sightseeing and headed onwards.

Being hungry, Natalia and I stopped in a little café for breakfast, and my first Italian cappuchinno (it was FANTASTIC). As we headed out of the café we passed our Australian friends, as they saluted us, saying ¨Bongiourno!¨ heartily. I laughed so hard…imagine saying running into and saying bongiourno to the only two people you have met in such a giant city…oh fate. It turns out we were walking the wrong way, and as we tried to ask for directions to the colloseum, I realized we would have to use a mix of Spanglish to communicate with the tricky Italians.

Shaking my head in apparent disbelief and loss of faith in Natalia´s map skills, I realized we were right next to the giant theatre itself. It was the same as I last left it almost eight years ago, a testament to Roman greatness and show-offiness. ¨Gladiators¨roamed the street outside, ready for pictures while all kinds of vendors sold who knows what kind of crap. We took a billion pictures, and decided not to go inside, as I had already been, and Natalia realized that once you have seen a Roman ampitheater, you´ve seen them all. (Gosh, I feel so spoiled writing that…I only mean in styles).

We walked down to the Roman Forum, basking in the glow of ancient greatness. It was really quite beautiful, in a way that I can´t begin to describe and you, patient reader, just have to up and visit Rome yourself. I tried to solicit a student entrance into the Roman Forum by pretending to not know English (you can´t get a student discount if you´re not from the EU, damn Italians). It didn´t work, so Natalia and I headed onwards to see the monument dedicated to the unknown soldier, one of the most famous Roman buildings.

Of course, and do I even need to say this by now? It was under construction, but we still took pictures as it was quite beautiful. Next stop: Trevi Fountain, by way of a pharmacy because Natalia´s cough had gotten worse. We stopped at a market, and I bought my first souvenir, a pretty gold bracelet with blue murano glass. We headed to Trevi and were of course in awe of the complicated beauty of the transposition between water and art. Being incredibly touristy, we tossed pennies behind our backs, securing a return to Rome (I unknowlingly had been saving an American penny for three months to ultimately fulfill this purpose).

Pulling out the small scrap of paper I had torn out of the airline magazine, we headed for the Christmas market in Rome, by way of the Pantheon. I love the pantheon! I remember being in awe of it the first time when I was twelve, and intrigued to learn more about its mysterious history. Well, I´m a bum and haven´t read anything, but I will! I should mention, the weather was chilly but not unbearable, and the minimum number of other tourists made things much more enjoyable to sightsee. So after being amazed at the Pantheon and the hole in the roof and the perfect perportions, we headed to the Christmas market. After about three stalls, we decided to buy some chocolate from this grandpa who looked amazingly like Giupetto, grey moustache and all. Natalia picked out some of her beloved hazelnuts for two euros, and told me to pick whatever I wanted to share as well. Well, that is a dangerous thing to say to me when chocolate is involved, for I ended up picking out about 12 euro worth of chocolate. (it was an accident!) (ps with the exchange rate sucking as much as it has lately, that translates to more than 18 American dollars).

The market was full of witches on brooms, Italy´s version of Santa Claus. Also, lots of sweets, glass, and leather. After exhausting the market, we decided to head to the Jewish Ghetto (yes, I know, but that´s what it used to be, and I wasn´t even aware of its existence until Natasha told me she had read in a guide book that it was a good place to eat cheaply). We found the amazing and beautiful synagogue, in all of its glory, situated near the Tiber river. I almost flipped! It was so gorgeous, and there was a giant menorah standing outside. The guards searched us before we went into the Jewish museum, since there was a PLO bombing in the synagogue in 1982. We joined an English speaking tour after looking through the museum. The guide told us that the first Jewish ghetto was founded in 1516 in Venice (more info to come) and Rome´s came soon after. There were thousands of people forced into a tiny area where the doors were locked at night, and any time leaving the ghetto meant a Jewish person had to wear a yellow hat identifying them as a Jew. Since the ghetto is so close to the Tiber, there was lots of flooding each year. Also, Jews were only allowed to practice three professions, doctoring, lending money, and selling second hand stuff. (rags). That is why there are beautiful Torah covers in all colors, representing the bits and pieces of cloth the Jewish women saved, and later sewed.

As we walked up and into the synagogue, I gasped in shock and tears came to my eyes (seriously). It was absolutely beautiful! The Jewish people built it as a testament to their freedom following the Italian republic (1870s, but the building wasn’t built until the early 1900s). Since space had always been a luxury, the synagogue is large and airy, a display to the world that the old ways were over. The most beautiful part was this amazing ceiling pyramid dome thing, which was colored in all of the colors of the rainbow. Golden hanukkiahs stood at the front of the bimah, and it was just indescribably beautiful. The guide told us that many Italian Jews are neither Sephardic nor Ashkenazi, but have their own traditions, unsurprisingly called ¨the Italian tradition.¨Also, to mention, there were about 11,000 or so Jews in Italy when Mussolini and Hitler joined forces in persecution. About 2,000 were deported while the rest were saved by Christian citizens. Today, there are 13,500 Jews in Rome. (yay!)

After the tour, I bought a beautiful Star of David to add to my collection, and a mezuzah made of Murano glass. As we left, I was so happy and proud, I could have burst, but I was also quite hungry. Natalia and I began our obligatory restaurant search, but settled on a cute little place after passing by La Taverna del Ghetto. We ordered another Roman specialty of fried artichokes (yummm) and pasta. I was in my happy place.

There was so much Jewish stuff around! I took a picture with another menorah, and felt obliged to buy some Jewish stuff in the shops. They had these little one time use menorahs and candles, which I bought because of course I wanted to celebrate Hanukkah. As we left the ghetto, which was actually really gross and dilapidated, I could not imagine the more than 5,000 people who lived here at one time, all together crammed in there. Damn.

The next stop: the Spanish steps. At this point, it was almost dark, and yet again, buildings behind the steps were under construction, so we could not see too much. However, we walked the streets lined with shops and Christmas decorations. It was really cute. We decided to go back and see the Trevi fountain by night. There was this one crazy intersection where the people have to be really impudent (nagliy) or the cars will never stop, so we followed a group of Romans into oncoming traffic. As I said a silent prayer, Natalia turned to me and said, ¨You know what they say….when in Rome…¨to which we both just started laughing like crazy….

At the Trevi, we were told the ¨best gelato in Rome¨was nearby in a place called San Crispino´s. After much getting lost and looking, we found it, and were very much not impressed. The gelato, instead of flourishing out of metal bins, in curls and soft, lush goodness, was kept hidden in metal pots. We couldn´t even do the good gelato check, seeing what color the banana is (really yellow means it´s fake and colored, grey means it´s the real thing). We decided to just try it (even though it was overpriced as well). As we left the shop, I was clearly not impressed with my less than satisfactory straciatella. It was not fair to Natalia that her first Italian gelato experience was less than bellisimo…so after much debating, we decided it was worse to waste calories than money, and tossed that shit into the nearest trash can. After about a block, we saw people carrying fabulous gelato creations and asked them where they purchased the stuff. We got the good stuff and walked back to the Trevi fountain. We were sitting in Rome, eating gelato by the Trevi fountain (I repeat as an emphasis to how amazing it all was). After my butt got quite cold, we walked around for a bit before hitting the shops, which once again, I was not impressed. After a while we went ¨home,¨ (I swear it felt like home) to Lilliput. I got out my new little menorah, and lit my Hanukkah candles, feeling very Jewish, being displaced so many times (here, by choice thank goodness) but yet able to feel at home within the familiar melody of a blessing and the welcoming lights of remembrance.

7 Diciembre 2007, Jueves

This morning we got up earlier, and decided to go beat the lines at the Vatican. Everyone who had gone to the Vatican in our Sevilla program told us about how they stood in line for 3 or more hours just to get inside, so we were well prepared to handle the wait. We went to Termini and struggled through buying tickets in yet another language and finding our proper stop. We got off at the right stop, and followed the touristy looking people into the Vatican.

It was empty. There were so few people walking around that I wondered whether it was even open, or maybe it some obscure but very important saint´s day. We saw the barriers supposed to hold the tourists in, but there were no tourists, so confused but happy, we made our way into what we thought was the entrance into St. Peter´s. It wasn´t the entrance, but really the catacombs of some famous popes who we didn´t really care too much about seeing, but we did see the grave of Pope John Paul II, which was interesting. A loud voice boomed over the intercom (I know, intercoms in catacombs…weird, right?) ¨PLEASE OBSERVE SILENCE AND RESPECT WHEN WALKING THROUGH: THIS IS A HOLY PLACE¨ proclaimed a woman´s voice, while I couldn´t help but giggle at the contradiction of her announcement (my giggles echoed throughout, and I got some mean looks from fervent Catholics). Confused even more, Natalia and I walked out of the sacred pope burial area while I cursed under my breath…¨Fuck, oh wait no, shit! Oh wait still no, damn it! NO! What can I even say?¨

So we walked out and into old looking stuff (great description I know). I was so surprised by the apparent lack of security (not to mention people) that I told Natalia that maybe we should ask before just walking blatantly into St. Peter´s (the largest church on earth!). As we walked up the steps, I tripped and almost fell, while Natalia laughed and I felt like something was telling me I wasn´t so welcome here…I began to approach one of the Swiss guards when I turned and saw Natalia entering through a smaller door, not wanting to abandon my friend, I ran inside and was greeted by the immense presence of Catholicism embodied in the rich and grandiose interior of it´s most important place. I was excited to see Da Vinci´s ¨Pieta¨again, as I remember the last time I saw it, I couldn´t stop staring at its profound beauty (so ironic to think that I have been to the Vatican twice already in my life…). This time, you could take pictures so I walked around snapping photos of statues of zealous deceased popes and the like.

After a while, we headed towards the Vatican museum and Sistine Chapel. We had to ask for directions a few times because of the lack of people and directions, but finally we found our line, snaking around the corner of the wall fencing in the world´s smallest country. The line took approximately ten minutes, and was relatively unpleasant, as beggars and restaurant promoters took advantage of excited tourists to make their case. I hate to put it that way, because obvious I gave money to some of the poor souls who had nothing in the world to rely on but the good nature of tourists, but after a while here in Europe, (and I suppose elsewhere in the world this is profoundly more obvious) you realize you can´t help everybody. As idealistic as I like to think I am, it really is true.

Anywho, we entered the museum and it was beautiful, and rich and all that crap. But honestly, anytime (and I remember thinking this the last time I went to the Vatican when I was only 12) when I enter a church and the richness of it all dazzles me, I think of the poor people in the world whose lives would change forever if only a tiny, miniscule piece of the money and effort used to build these massive testaments to the church´s prosperity were used to benefit its most fervent believers. It really disgusts me, but then again, I can see how the world is a better place having such beautiful art….but I don’t think it´s worth the sacrifice….

So we walked through rather speedily, dodging the endless tourist groups, headed with one agenda…Sistine Chapel. Of course, it was spectacular. I prefer the Sistine Chapel to any gothic cathedral. One could spend days counting the details of Michelangelo´s greatest masterpiece, painted all over the walls and ceilings of the chapel, a work that took the artist more than seven years to complete.

After going through some of the other expositions, we decided we were Vaticaned out and decided to walk around the neighborhood in (very) nearby Rome. I was so hungry that when I passed by a place with the words ¨rustic pizza´´ I ducked in to have a bite…which ended up being a total tourist trap. I was expecting to pay something like 7 or 8 euros for the little food Nata and I ordered, but it was more like 20. After our breakfast, we hit the shops, me still (still!) searching for the perfect boots. Natalia still insists they are out there somewhere, waiting for me.

After a while, we returned to Termini and caught our train to Ciampino. Have I raged on about Ryanair yet? If yes, sorry, if not here goes… so Ryanair is the cheapest airline in Europe. When one books a flight they reel you in by telling you a ticket costs something like 0.10 dollars, and then once you´re through adding on all of their additional fees, the ticket can end up being 50 or 60 euros, still a steal. However, Ryanair flights are in airports far away from the city of choice, and generally are massively disorganized. So basically it´s a tradeoff between cheapness and sanity. Clear choice, no?

So the airport was more than an hour away from the city, and everything was closed for siesta in the Ciampino, meaning we went to a small café for lunch and then headed to the airport, sharing a cab with an extremely friendly Australian couple. At the airport we stood in line to check in for more than an hour (thanks Ryanair!) and met these two stereotypical American girls also flying to Venice. Once you study abroad, you begin to see where the stereotypes come from, and wonder if really they are as false as we assume they are. I don´t know how I even can describe this girl, here´s an example of something that drove me crazy…she has a Spanish roommate who says ¨no te preocupes¨(don’t worry) a lot, so this girl adopted ¨no tay pray¨as an abbreve….erggggghhhh

The flight to Venice was fine (ok I should mention that Nata´s ticket only cost 6 euro or 8 dollars which is crazy cheap for a flight). I slept most of the way, and was quite excited to get into ¨Venice.¨Once again, thanks Ryanair for landing us in Treviso, more than an hour and a half away from Venice. We stood in line at the tourist information booth while a very patient lady tried to explain to this confused Asian tourist why Padua was not anywhere near Venice….I was so anxious I wanted to hit this girl because we had to wait so long, and hear her directions so many times repeated…(patience is a virtue, I am aware)

So to get to Venice we took a bus for 30 minutes, then a train for more than an hour. But we arrived. And from the first few seconds, it was amazing. I love Venice. Who doesn´t? The directions for our hotel went something like ¨Cross the first big bridge you see. Walk a little bit then turn left after the second little bridge,¨but amazingly we found it without problems. And we went for an amazing Italian dinner during which I had my favorite pizza margherita…yum! Afterwards, we walked around the Lista de Espana, ironically the biggest street in our neighborhood, which was really nice. We had gelato for 1 euro which is the best gelato I´ve ever had, I think. Mmmmm…….

8 Noviembre 2007, Viernes VENEZIA

We woke up this morning and asked for breakfast recommendations from our hostel, and ended up going to this tiny little bakery between two canals, which was absolutely fabulous and amazingly cheap. All of the guide books I said mentioned that in Venice since there are so many tourists the prices are sky high, but since our hotel was in a non-as-touristy section, we were next to shops with less expensive prices for the same Murano glass and masks (the dominant buys in Venice).

After breakfast, we headed in the direction of the Jewish ghetto. After passing some signs in Hebrew, and crossing some bridges into a more dilapidated looking part of the city, we found it along with a large menorah in the central square. There was also a large wall with barbed wire that was a monument to the fallen Venetian Jews during the Holocaust. We went inside the musem and took the English speaking tour. The museum was filled with all things Jewish, but the tour was definitely the highlight. Venice actually had the first ghetto in the world, built in 1516 and the word ¨ghetto¨ itself (pronounced jetto in Italianio) means foundry in Italian, which is what was located on the land allotted for the Jewish ghetto. When the Ashkenazi´s arrived with their German accents, the soft ¨j¨sound turned into the hard ¨g¨of ghetto. Anywho, the ghetto is surrounded on three sides by canals which used to have walls by them, and Jews were locked inside the ghetto at night. If they wanted to go out during they day, they had to wear a yellow hat showing to all that they were Jewish. They were also only allowed to have three occupations: doctors, money lenders, and sellers of ¨second hand stuff.¨ Our guide was a stern looking Venetian woman with frizzy blondish hair (and a beautiful Star of David). We visited three of Venice´s five synagogues (I know, right) the first being a small Ashkenazi synagogue on the second floor of the museum, the second being an elaborately decorated French little synagogue, and the third a grandiose Spanish Sephardic synagogue which took my breath away. It was nice because I noticed that in our group there were not only some American tourists (who turned out to be from Wilmette!) but a large group of Germans who were definitely not Jewish as they asked what the menorah was standing outside.

After the tours I felt invigorated and ready to buy some Jewish stuff….which there was a lot of…in the first store I went to, a harsh looking man told me he made most of the beautiful menorahs, mezuzahs and other Judaica by hand, and I picked out some mezuzahs and two Stars of David to add to my collection. When it got time to pay, it was so funny because I was like, ¨How much?¨ and we wrinkled his brow and said, ¨How are you paying?¨to which I gave him a knowing smile since I knew where this was leading. He gave me a nice discount for paying cash and I took a picture with him. When I asked him if they had a lot of visitors he said, ¨Baruch hashem yes!¨

After the Jewish ghetto, we took a boat taxi winding down the Grand Canal (it was quite cold!) and saw the beautiful, grandeous but dilapidating and water damaged palaces along the canal. (time out, we actually had lunch first, and of course I had another amazing pizza margherita) When using a bit of imagination, one can see that back in the day, Venice must have been a sight, of course it still is, but more as kind of a symbol of what once was one of the most powerful and successful trading empires in the world. After getting of at San Marco, we went to see the church and piazza. Of course I told Natasha the story of how when I was little, (this is actually my third time in Venice) I peed by one of those most important monuments, the one with the symbol of Venice on it, the winged lion (I was two at the time). We went in to San Marco and once again saw an amazingly beautiful, but dark since there were few windows and Byzantine mosaics covered most of the walls and ceiling, church. San Marco is funny because mostly everything there was stolen by the Venetians, in fact, the body of Saint Mark is there, and was carried in a barrel of pig fat from Egypt in order to establish Venice as an ¨important city¨in the eyes of Christendom.

After exiting the church, we were greeted by the crazy and nagliy as hell pigeons of St. Mark´s square. These are not your regular birds, for they are smart and know exactly why they are there: to amuse tourists. They have gotten quite aggressive over the years and have no fear, flying in swarms literally attacking the poor children offering bread crumbs bought my complicit nearby sellers, while parents frantically take as many pictures of their children as possible. It´s quite a sight.

We then allowed ourselves to get completely lost, basking in the fun of wandering the narrow alleys and finding tiny canals. We were lucky that apart from the really big touristy spots like Piazza San Marco and the Rialto bridge, there were so few tourists. We ducked in and out of shops, seeing one man blowing glass and another painting masks. One shopowner told us about the Venetian heritage for masks, stemming from crazy Carnival celebrations, sometimes lasting six months! After a while we were tired, so we sat down to have a spritz (typical Venetian drink) and coffee. We ordered this amazing coffee with nutella dripping down the sides and whipped cream…yumm….In this little café the older waitress did not speak a word of English, however, for some reason they had an American rap music video channel on the TV, while cute Italian grandpas played cards in the back (unknowlingly) listening to Kanye. Hmmm….

Coming back to the hostel was a maze, and we were quite tired. I scattered all of my many Jewish purchases on the bed to glance at how it´s sometimes quite expensive to be Jewish. After resting for a bit, we headed out to walk the Lista de España, stopping at our favorite 1 euro gelato place. It was gorgeous and unbelievable, every few minutes I had to pinch myself and remind myself that I was in Venice. The beautiful Christmas decorations were hung and lit the streets with a happy glow as shoppers bustled down the sinking city, unaware of its staggering beauty. I, on the other hand, stopped and took about 1000 pictures. No joke.

For dinner, we stopped at a small restaurant which looked quite busy. I must stop and explain that the reason we could take so many days off of school was because it was a puente, or bridge meaning that in España, there was a holiday on Thursday (St. someone or other´s day) and instead of going back to work, Spaniards take a few days off. It was cool, because we saw a bunch of Spanish travelers, one couple with their noisy (but cute) baby were next to us in the restaurant. We had the best pasta ever, yum. I don´t know how they do it, but Italian food is just that much better in Italy. At the end of our meal, I was putting down my water glass when it somehow broke! I covered it with my napkin and told Natalia that um, maybe we should go? At that moment, the waiter came back with the receipt telling Natalia she had to sign, and also told her to put her address and number (he was joking but we were so on edge that we were like ¨he knows!¨) Entonces, I made a run for it, putting on my coat as fast as possible, and assumed that Natalia was right behind me….when I left the restaurant, I realized she, um, wasn’t. And only came out a few minutes later muttering ¨puta¨ (bitch) under her breath because apparently the waiter had seen and lauged it off….oops….

9 Noviembre 2007, Sabado VENEZIA-MILAN

Today we went to our favorite little bakery for breakfast again and I had the best cappuchino of my life, followed by this amazing croissant with Nutella. Mmm….we decided to spend most of the day enjoying Venice and take a later train to Milan. We, according to the Christmas market plan, began to search for the Venetian Christmas market, which turned out to be quite an adventure because it was in quite an obscure place. We passed by the most beautiful scenes of gondoliers floating by with tourists (usually giant hordes of Asians) and little alleys leading to empty piazzas. After passing through San Marco and having another go at the crazy pigeons, we finally found the little market and were somewhat disappointed. Maybe it´s that we´ve been to a million of these things by now and it takes a lot to impress. It was still cute, with the little wooden huts of vendors selling sweets, cheeses, and other goods. Red carpets lined with decorated Christmas trees filled the piazza, as lights strung from hut to hut illuminated the eager shoppers. We left that market and were wandering a bit until we ran into a real find, an antique market filled with locals. I could have spent hours looking at the old stuff lining the tables, everything from jewelry to silverware to shoes…

As we passed the Rialto, a Spanish couple heard us and asked if we wanted a picture. They took our picture, and we took theirs, speaking Spanish the whole time, and we were just happy to have been approached by Spanish speakers. Yay!

We weaved our way back to Lista de España, stopping by shops and losing our way many times, but happily. One funny thing that happened is that we could not, for the life of us find that jewelry store from the first night again, and we took many walks back and forth, recounting our first steps from the first night (¨This is where I stopped and commented that the banana gelato was too yellow for it to be good…¨) Turns out the shop closed! Natalia was quite sad, but we had to go catch our train to Milan, so we bought some wraps for lunch and hopped on the train.

To Milan the ride was something like four hours, but it didn´t seem that long, as I slept and alternated between reading Spanish and Russian Cosmo. Upon exiting the train in Milan, the first thing that came to sight was a HUGE (like ginormous) poster of Giselle Búndchen advertising for Dolce and Gabbana. I really wanted to go shopping in Milan, but we arrived right at 7:30, which in Italy is the time that shops close. (weird).

After wandering a bit, we took a cab to America Hotel, and were greeted by this very friendly little Italian gay guy. After much talking, we realized that once again, Ryanair screwed us over, and we would have to take a cab at 3:20 AM to the train station to catch a bus at 4:00 AM to the airport which was more than an hour away to catch our flight at 6:00 AM. Damn. We ate dinner at a small Italian restaurant nearby that he recommended, and had fun recounting all of the memories from all of the trips we have taken, as Italy was our last trip together. We toasted for memories made, and memories to come as an Italian chef tossed pizza dough in the background and I savored every delicious bite of my pasta.

We headed back to the hotel, and after lighting Hanukkah candles, called it a night…or so we thought. It was around 10 PM, and Natalia´s cough (pobresita) kicked in. Then we realized what the sign for ¨Rolling Stone¨on the first floor of our building was….one of the most popular discotecas in Milan. So then it started BUM BUM BUM BUM…techno house music….around 2 AM, I gave up and told Natalia we might as well catch an earlier cab to the station. We went downstairs and saw stumbling drunk jovenes outside of the club. I NEEDED a coffee so we went to a café next door and voila…they had Nutella crepes. Oy vey…that cappuccino and crepe may just have changed my life…

We got to the puta bus station, waited for the first bus, and boarded. Although we had decided earlier on that the best way to preserve our friendship was not to talk so early, we were full of laughter and chatty (I hope the people in front of us weren´t annoyed). The whole bus ride we talked about things that annoyed us in Spain, starting from no toilet paper anywhere, and ending with dictators like Franco.

When we got to the puta airport, we had to stand in line for over an hour (puta Ryanair). The highlights were a fat German baby, the girl in crazy stiletto boots, and when my phone mysteriously called Natalia´s although it was off and in my purse. So then we flew home, I slept most of the way, and felt once again at home once we got to beautiful Sevilla.

9 Diciembre 2007, Domingo

After coming back home and doing a bit of work, I passed out. Juan made lunch today as Señora left the house, and I didn´t have the heart to tell him the frozen dish he was heating up had bits of jamón in it. Oh well…afterwards, I decided to walk around (dar un paseo) which is what the whole world does on Sundays, dressing up the babies in their finest. Sevilla was playing at the stadium, so it was mass chaos in Nervión…I got off at Nervión plaza and spent the afternoon casually shopping, stopping to stare at the ice skating rink (I know!) in the center, and literally watching the ice melt.

10 Diciembre 2007, Lunes

Today was my last day at Sagrado, thank God. In my first class, I talked to the kids about my life, and being American. They did not understand me at all, and the teacher had to translate. I love that lady, Victoria, she was always really nice to me. Anywho, the best parts were when I told them that we were all mixed together in America, how some of my friends were from other countries and had other religions. One little boy pondered how someone could be Christian, but not Catholic, as the teacher (who didn´t know too much either it appeared) tried to explain what being Protestant meant, to which the boy just looked more confused. They were so surprised to learn that there were no motos in America, and I (I don’t know why) explained the concept of drive-up windows. In the end, the teacher thanked me on behalf of the class ¨Has sido muy amable, muy encantadora,¨blah blah, which was nice as the class applauded and we did the Spanish kiss (once on the right cheek, once on the left). She made me promise to come back to the school when I come back to visit. In the second class (which is the one I don’t like because the kids are cheeky) one boy asked me what ¨fuck off and die¨means...oyyyy

After leaving the school, I met up with Christina for a hearty session of intercambio. Then we had Macarena´s last class, and had coffee as a class afterwards. We reflected on our time here in Spain, and Macarena told us that we were changed forever as a result of living in a completely different culture, just as she had changed after studying abroad in Iowa over forty years ago. She told us that the easy part was coming here, the hard part would be to go back to our old lives, since we will think that time has stood still, but everyone has gone on with their lives back home as well. That struck a resounding chord with me, since I suppose in my mind, the relationships that I had with my friends have not changed, but it has been over six months since I have seen most of them. Although it certainly doesn´t feel like it at all…it was interesting to hear my American classmates´(and my American here, I mean people who grown up solely with American culture) opinions and revelations…about how life is so hectic in the States, and really, it doesn´t have to be. Reality is so subjective, but most of the time you don´t realize it until you come to another country and see that really, not everyone has the same mentality that you have.

11 Diciembre 2007, Martes

This morning I had my cine final, which was fabulous and I can´t wait to read what Luis says about my essay, since I wrote about the symbolism in Lucia y el sexo, one of my new favorite movies. During intercambio time, we all walked around Santa Cruz and I found this small antique store which had a lot of Jewish stuff, so I showed Cristina and Gloria what menorahs, the torah, a mezuzah, and ner tamid were, which hopefully was interesting for them.

We had our final presentation in Español para negocios, which was very easy. Afterwards we went to have tea at Aire de Sevilla, the Arab baths, with the teacher, Maria del Mar who I love. She told us the story of how she met her husband, which was quite interesting, and then in turn, asked each of us about our love lives…read…

Maria: ¨Y Estela, ¿tienes un novio?

Estela: ¨No, no lo tengo.¨

Maria: ¨¿Y PORQUE?

Estela: (loss of words)

Which wasn´t awkward at all you know. After tea I was fairly famished so Natalia, Petra and I stopped into Dos Columnas, a small tapas bar that is supposed to be one of the best in Sevilla, located seconds from the Giralda, for a small tapa. Yummmmmm……I should mention that I have been studying the history of the world….

12 Diciembre 2007, Miercoles

This morning Cristina invited me to come to her English Literature class where apparently her teacher is ¨loco.¨He was. They were learning about Hamlet today, and the teacher was this crazy little Spanish man who studied in Scotland so speaks in rapid English to a class of first year English students…writes speedily on the board, and erases even more speedily. I absolutely loved it, except I was the only one laughing when he made jokes, since I don’t think anyone else understood him…

I studied basically the rest of the day, coming home for lunch, and talking to my señora about xenophobia, since there is talk of a mosque being built in Sevilla. Señora told me something shocking today, apparently Velazquez, Sevilla´s most famous artist and one of Spain´s most famous, was Jewish! And yes, I wikipedia´d him afterwards and it seems to be so…

Tomorrow is my El Mundo Actual final, and then I´m done! We´ve all been reading Wikipedia articles like crazy for this class, because it´s basically the history of the whole world after World War II, so I just wikipedia random things and read about them, which I´ve found is quite a delight, and I hope to continue the trend upon my return.

13 Diciembre 2007, Jueves

This morning, we had our last cine class. Although when the professor asked everyone if they would come they all nodded enthusiastically, this morning when I walked into class, Natalia was the only one there, and I just started to laugh. Entonces, we watched a film called Los amantes del circulo polar, another Medem film, which I loved although the ending was really tragic. After class, we all Wikipedia´d things like crazy, which was very funny to me in my mind. I knew the teacher was going to ask about the Cold War for some reason, so I read a lot about that…right before the test, we noticed a huge manifestación going on outside with guns going off, it was a march of firefighters demanding something or other. I love walking through the manifestacións, it energizes me and reminds me that although my generation in America is politically apathetic and basically doesn´t give a shit about anything, not everyone is like that…

The mundo test was a breeze…it was funny actually, because we had to choose to write a six page essay from two topics (unknown before) and the two questions were either to talk about the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict, or the Cold War. Cha’ching! I wrote everything I knew for two hours, and left the exam feeling a lot lighter and carefree.

I was done! Free to enjoy Sevilla for the last few days and get everything I could out of it. I went to go have a picnic in the park with some of our Spanish friends, which was so much fun. Something on my mind since watching medem is ¨azar¨and ¨casualidades¨…which I´m not sure exactly how I feel about. Remember Tatiana? The Russian girl I met at the beginning of my trip? Well she had told me that although we probably wouldn´t benefit from being intercambios, she would give my number to a Spanish classmate who would call me, incidentally he also spoke a bit of Russian and was interested in Russian culture. WELL…today in the Park, I met him! It was crazy because we had finished lunch and were just lounging around and enjoying the beauty that is the park, when he just burst into Russian. Nata and I were astounded…it turns out, some of the younger victims of Chernobyl get to come to Spain and stay with Spanish families during the summer, because it betters their health. Alfonso´s family had been taking in a girl or two each summer, who had progressively been teaching him Russian…as we walked down to Viapol to watch a basketball game (Filología vs. Geografía y Historia) we chatted in Spussian…Russish??

La Semana Pasada

2007-12-10T05:38:00.000-08:00

Ronda on the left

26 Noviembre 2007, Lunes

Today I continued onwards with the little brats in Sagrado Corazón, I liked them in the beginning, I really did. But now, I´m getting a little sick of their little ¨carne con tomate¨

Jokes, but the neat part was telling them our Thanksgiving traditions which they cannot really understand.

Today, I went to Alicia Marquez dance studio, ready to finally take a real flamenco class. When I got there, they told me that I couldn´t dance without shoes (no one had told me this would be a problem when I checked the place out before, and honestly, she looked at me like I had fallen from the moon or something when I asked if there was a place where I could rent shoes) So, I just sat in on the dance class…..which was amazing, and I will try to give it justice…

So the teacher was this tall, self confident, curly-haired Sevillana flamenco dancer, who had this amazing way of dancing where you could feel the energy running through her body even when she wasn´t moving all that much. She not only danced and taught, but also sang, since there were also two guitarists playing flamenco for the dancers. The dancers, interestingly enough, were comprised of about 4 Asian women, one obvious American, and a few Sevillanas. They had been learning a dance combination since the beginning of the month, and were now quite far along. But I, along with everyone else in the room, could not take my eyes off of the amazing teacher. She was funny and nice, elegant and strong, even in her windpants and tshirt, when you watched her dance it was as if she was in full flamenco garb, complete with castanets. I sat, mesmorized, for about an hour and then told myself I would return tomorrow and give it a try. Her style of teaching was amazing, she smiled as if she knew that nobody was ever going to be close to her level of dancing, but she tried to impart on us the passion she felt, the passion inherent to flamenco. One minute she was totally into the dance, the next she began repeating the steps one by one, over and over, for the confused Asians.

Afterwards, I met Natalia for a café con leche and palmero. We walked around the center of the city, in full acknowledgement that we would be leaving oh so soon. I caved and went to buy flamenco shoes, fearing if I did not at least take a couple of classes, I would regret it for the rest of my life. It´s like those mastercard commercials…

Flamenco shoes….. 24.99

Flamenco classes….25

Learning an ancient dance form from the most amazing dancer you´ve seen in your life…priceless

As I was getting off the bus to go home, I thought I saw a man juggling fire, and then the bus passed, and it was…a man juggling fire. Oh Sevilla…

27 Noviembre 2007, Martes

When I came home from lunch today, I realized Inma, Sergio who came to visit for a few days and is Inma´s hubby, and cute little Claudia were leaving. Everyone in the house was visibly sad, and the niña was being rocked to sleep by her mom. As she slept, Inma and I talked a little bit about my time here in Spain. Out of everyone in my family, Inma has been the nicest to me. From the first day, she was sensitive to the fact that I was not at home, but at the same time, tried her best to make me feel cared for. Even when I did not ask, she gave me suggestions and ideas. I told her that when she comes to Chicago, she will have an excellent guide. Even Sergio was extremely kind and interested in hearing what I had to say. They seem to respect me for traveling so far, and are in awe of ever leaving Spain. In the few short visits I had with them, I honestly feel really close to them, and hope that we will someday meet again. As they left, the house became extremely quiet and I could tell señora was visibly upset. I tried to change the topic and cheer her up.

I ran to the dance studio (this is the 3^rd time I underestimated how far it was, and how the twisty turny streets always seem to look the same). Weelllll, let me tell you, flamenco looks a hell of a lot easier than it actually is. The rhythms are crazy complicated and even the teacher, once again self-confident and elegant, had a hard time counting out what she felt as she danced. I tried to look confident and just take it all in, the teacher dancing and singing, and the guitarist, improvising and mesmerized by the dance. It was really fun and amazing, and I could almost (almost) picture myself not wearing shorts and a tank top, but a beautiful red and black dress, complete with a mantilla (scarf) and castanets, dancing away to the rhythm of flamenco.

After the class, I decided to be a tourist and record everything that I felt, for after actually dancing flamenco I began to understand more deeply what it really means, and not what is seen at the surface. As I walked out of the dance studio and into the tiny streets of Sevilla, past Plaza de San Lorenzo, little children running past me and grandmas taking a paseo (walk) I felt like I had been suspended in time, living a life that had been prescribed centuries ago, a mix of every culture you can imagine. The passion that is in the very few beginning chords of Flamenco are like the first layer of history and with each chord progression, a new layer of culture and civilization is added, providing a beautiful entrance for the singer. When the singer begins to proclaim the first phrases of longing and desire in the song, this represents the people of Sevilla, who make it truly the wonderful place it is. With the little wrinkled grandmas, to the beautiful babies in old fashioned strollers, to the young and fabulously dressed youth, the people of Sevilla are its heart. Then the dancer comes in, stomping away a beautifully choreographed rhythm, representing the interaction between history and people, a tumultuous relationship, with many spins, turns, and unexpected movements. Everything together is a seemless feast for the senses, which is exactly what Sevilla represents.

To see Sevilla, one must see the Giralda, which is able to be seen in almost any part of the city. The gigantic tower represents the impact Catholocism has had on Spanish history, dominating everything and standing as a testament to its prodigious story. To taste Sevilla, one must go to a real Señora´s house and eat flan which has been made the same way for hundreds of years, tens of generations. To smell Sevilla, one must walk through the gardens of the Alcazar or Parque Maria Luisa to smell the fresh, crisp bursts of aroma that come from the beautiful naranjos, or orange trees. Or, one must feel the amazing scent of roasted chestnuts, with steam billowing from the ovens of local vendors who sell the tasty treat to passersby.To hear Sevilla, one must listen to the wandering guitarists, playing a song then asking for money, relying on the love of music that people have in order to survive. These troubadours walk around from restaurant to restaurant, showing their skills to tourists and locals alike. Sometimes, you can hear Sevilla by turning a corner into a little alley and finding a guitar shop that has stood there for hundreds of years, and hear the strains of someone practicing a beautiful piece. To touch Sevilla, one must meet a local, for there they will receive the famous Spanish kiss, first right cheek, then left, a way of saying hola that exemplifies the openness of its people. Or to really feel Sevilla, one must try to dance flamenco, really learn the technique in order to appreciate the difficulty of the intricate movements, and then feel the intense pain in the feet that comes with true effort.

I took pictures left and right, of the teenagers playing guitar in the streets, of the older Señoras gossiping after many cups of coffee, and of street vendors selling the smoky roasted chestnuts. I was heavy with the fatigue of my senses feeling completely overwhelmed, but in love with everything they encountered. I found my way to the Ayuntamiento, or government building, a beautifully decorated edifice that separates two large plazas, the Plaza Nueva and Plaza de San Francisco. Oddly enough, I noticed an interesting coincidence. (?) There were two big fairs going on, one of belén, or nativity sets, and the other of books, antique and new. The religious fair was taking place in the Plaza de San Francisco, (saint francis´s square) while the book fair took place in Plaza Nueva (new plaza), with the government separating the two, church and knowledge, representing a conflict that has existed as long as Spain has, and probably before. I laughed to myself thinking ¨Oh Sevilla,¨ I wonder if anyone else noticed.

I headed to belén first and saw thousands of little Jesus´s in their little mangers. While nativity sets were the most abundant religious relic, there were little statues of saints, and even secular pieces like little pans of paella. The speakers were blasting Sevillanas, a special kind of flamenco, as passerby went from booth to booth, enjoying the religious splendour of it all, a tradition that has lasted hundreds of years. Then, I moved on to the book fair, and relished in the luxury of browsing antique Spanish books, in an assortment of colors and authors. I must have spent quite a while going from stall to stall, because I could not believe my watch when I realized it was time to vamos for dinner.

After dinner I went to the movies…
I just got back from seeing Encatada, or Enchanted, in English. The funny thing is that the first time I heard about this movie was last week, and I felt so behind the times because apparently it´s really popular right now. Since there were no Spanish movies playing in the theatre, I decided that it might be interesting to see the dubbed version, and to see what jokes and ideas were pertinent, also to see the reactions of the Spanish.

Weellll, first of all, concurrently in Nervion there was a huge soccer match going on between Sevilla and Arsenal, meaning there were a bunch of crazy, drunk British fans roaming around Sevilla for the past day or two. I watched the match with my Señora before going to the movie, and I loved to hear the crowd´s reaction on TV as well as hear the roars of the crowd coming from the nearby stadium. Anywho, in the movie theater...there was no one to see the movie! We were laughing so hard and enjoying the luxury of having a private screening. Apparently this movie was number one in the box offices last weekend, but in Spain, only two American girls saw the American movie. It was sooo good! I can´t even imagine what it would be like in English because all of the songs were in Spanish, and it was funny. The ¨happily ever after¨ ending (or, feliz siempre jamas) put is in such a good mood, so we were literally dancing around the empty theater and singing the songs. Oh Disney.

28 Noviembre 2007, Miercoles

Class was cancelled today and for some lucky reason, my lovely construction worker neighbors had the day off, so I enjoyed the luxury of sleeping in. My day was somewhat boring and mundane, so I will not bore you with details, but I did meet Cristina again, and we talked for almost three hours straight, of course half English, half Spanish. I learned that in Spanish, your other half, like the whole falling in love and meeting your other half, is called meeting your ¨media naranja¨ or other half of the orange. We walked through the Alcazar as she made fun of my Spanish, and I made a mental note to never, ever make fun of how anyone speaks a foreign language. She noted that she was impressed with my use of the subjunctive, hehe, which made me quite happy. We then walked through the tiny streets as I showed her some of my favorite places, and she was once again surprised that I know Sevilla better than she does. (she lives in a little pueblo). I love how she called it me showing her ¨my Sevilla.¨ Which, if you can tell how much I love this city, it is. One funny thing is that we stopped to use the bathroom in Starbucks, which Cristina has never ever heard of (imagine!) I explained the American traditions and culture to a very shocked Spaniard.

29 Noviembre 2007, Jueves

Qué rico era mi día! I started off by watching Lucia y el sexo in my cine class, which I have been wanting to see for years, but apparently the reason I could not find it in the states was because it carries the rating of X in the states since our puritan heritage does not permit us to look beyond nudity as something more than carnal, but rather symbolic and natural. It was a fabulous movie, a ¨moebus strip¨combining reality and fiction, and using lots of symbolism. I´m really excited to see what our fabulous professor has to say about it on Monday. I got into a bit of a cat fight with some of the girls in the class because they wanted him to put on subtitles in English which obviously lessens the whole experience of a film, especially since we´re in Spain (duh) to learn Spanish. (I need to learn to not let my feelings show so)

After class Natalia and I discussed the film over café con leche (which I am going to miss like crazy) and then I met up with Cristina to talk a bit. After a bit of Maria del Mar, I ran off to flamenco class. This time, I was a bit early so I wandered around the studio a bit. I found a Jewish blessing for the house hanging in the doorway, and I wondered if they knew what it actually was. Class was TOUGH. If I thought the first class was hard, this was just ridiculous. I learned that I was not stamping my foot correctly (being accustomed to tap dancing) and that the way to correctly stamp your foot makes your whole leg ache. And then we had to do it faster and faster, and then add arms, and then I almost fell over. Well let me tell you, I will never watch flamenco the same way. The ease and grade with which our teacher did everything simultaneously(in addition to counting ¨bada BEEM, chick bam boon BOON!¨) just blew my mind. After class, I decided to ask the secretary about the blessing. She told me it was a hand of Fatima, mean to ward off the evil eye (which it is, I guess) but then I told her about the Hebrew inscription and how it was a blessing for the house, and she was surprised, saying someone had randomly sent it to Alicia, the teacher. As I left, I saw Alicia smoking a cigarette (of course) between classes, and I thanked her profusely for enriching me with her flamenco magic.

Afterwards, I passed through the center to meet some friends in Starbucks (yes Starbucks. Disclaimer…when coming here, I vowed never to go to Starbucks, but I have amended to the rules to allow bathroom use without purchase, and acceptance of free samples) and in fact, Starbucks was having a Christmas party which meant…Free stuff! So of course I was there, and it was fabulous. I honestly don´t understand the fascination with Starbucks that Americans studying in Sevilla have. If you think it´s overpriced in the states, try multiplying everything by 1.5, yet people still go every day, and English is the predominant language spoken. Honestly, we had quite a fun time as we tried everything for free.

Then I finally went to a flamenco show I have been wanting to see ever since I randomly found this cute little museum in Santa Cruz a while ago. It is called Casa de la Memoria and was supposed to be very pure flamenco, which it was. It is in a museum that used to hold the Jewish museum that has recently moved to Cordoba, and is comprised of a beautiful, typical Sevillano courtyard. There re, at most, enough seats for about 30-40 people, so it´s very intimate. The show began as a Sevillano informed the widely American tourist audience that they had to wait to use their precious cameras until the last five minutes of the show, and then three men came out. One was a very gypsy looking guitarist, then another gypsy looking man dressed all in black with a gold earring who was the flamenco version of the beatboxer, and the cantaor, Javier. They began the intricate rhythms of the song randomly yelling things in Spanish the way it´s supposed to be done. It was funny because I´m pretty sure we were the only ones who could understand their thick Andalucian accents because we laughed at the ridiculousness of some of their shouted phrases. (once they yelled ¨Ay que frío!¨oh how cold it is) Then came out the beautiful bailaora dressed all in red. (note, ¨bailador¨ is the Spanish for dancer, but with the Andalucia accent its bailaor, which is a word that has come to be used exclusively for flamenco dancer, same with ¨cantaor¨instead of cantador for singer). She began to dance, and holy crap, it was CRAZY. Her feet were moving faster than my eyes could process, and I just stared open-mouthed as her feet pumped out a wild rhythm. I thought I would never see anything wilder until the bailaor came out, the same beatboxing gypsy who I never thought would be the dancer. He was just ridiculous, it was as if he wasn´t human because I don´t think it´s possible to move your feet like that. He moved around the small space with such tense grace and rapid fire movement that the whole room sat shocked in awe. I cannot put into words how amazing this man was. Dear reader, you will just have to come to Sevilla and see it for yourself.

All too soon, they told us we could take pictures since it was almost the end of the show. I could not believe it, an hour had passed by in what felt like mere moments. Although we were not allowed to film, I clearly did, but they did not perform to the same level of difficulty as before because they knew everyone would diobey the rules.

After the show, Natalia and I went to meet some of our friends in Triana. As I was walking, I ate a piece of chocolate because I hadn´t eaten dinner. Now we had been told about the general Spanish taboo of not eating on the go, something completely contrary to American culture. We had been told to not eat on the bus or anything like that. This old man began to walk to toward me and starting to address me somewhat quietly, I think he was a little crazy. ¨No debes comer en la calle. Que maleducado comer en la calle. Hace falta casarte.¨ He trailed behind us and I wasn´t really paying attention until the last part, to which I absolutely FLIPPED. (Translation…¨You shouldn´t eat in the street. It´s impolite (rude, uneducated) to eat in the street. You need to get married.¨) This was my first personal run-in with the stereotypical machismo which is a problem here in Spain. Especially recently, as the commonness of domestic violence has recently been brought to the forefront of public awareness, and just last week it was National Stop Domestic Violence Day, to which thousands of people marched in the streets in protest. I was a bit in shock for the rest of the night.

We went to a tapas bar to have a snack since I was hungry, and then met up with about eight other people in our program at a café to play cards. We played this really fun game where everyone has a category, and then there´s a lot of yelling involved, to which we just proved the loud, American stereotype to the locals, but we didn´t care. It was a really fun night, I haven´t really hung out with the people in my program socially because everyone just speaks English, and I didn´t come to Spain to do that. But it was still a lot of fun, and I´m glad I got to spend some time with others.

Although, I must confess I spend a lot of time wondering why a lot of Americans study abroad. You´ve already read my disillusionment of why Americans continue going to Starbucks, paying the equivalent of over six dollars for a latte, when café con leche, the exact same thing, is next door for one euro (a dollar forty-eight today). Most of the people in my program, and all of the other Americans I´ve met, hang out in groups of Americans and speak English all the damn time. Even when our program director reminds us that we will not improve our Spanish speaking English, they continue to do it. What´s the point?

30 Noviembre 2007, Viernes RONDA

Today I went to Ronda, a town about two and half hours away by bus that was absolutely gorgeous. The main touristy attractions are the oldest bullring in Spain, and this amazing bridge which is one of the most beautiful sites in Spain I think. It stands over this gorge which has the ruins of Arab baths along with beautiful gardens snaking throughout the valley. In the background are the rolling hills of Andalucía, while lambs dot the countryside grazing on the green, lush grass. It really is a sight to see, we were lucky that the weather was so nice today, because not only was everything GREEN, (caps intended for it was that strong) but in contrast with the blue of the sky, it just took my breath away.

We got into Ronda around 12;30 and walked throughout the city, stopping in a tiny plaza to eat the bocadillos our Señoras had prepared for lunch. A city like Ronda is meant to be wandered around, for seeing the beautiful Andalucían architecture and plants is like no where else in the world. We saw the alcazaba, old fortresses, and churches. We had a cute little black kitten following us around for a while, and then we went to the old bridge to just stare at the countryside and take it all in. We had café con leche at a café literally hanging over the gorge inches away from the bridge, one of the coolest locations ever.

We hit some shops afterwards, although most everything was closed due to siesta. Then we took the bus home around 5. I got home and talked to my Señora about everything over dinner. The thing that is so crazy to think about is the fact that people actually live in pueblos like Ronda, maintaining an existence that their ancestors have done for hundreds of years. I cannot even imagine being a teenager in a town like Ronda, if we complain about nothing to do in the States….

One can argue which way of life is better, the old European way of life or the hustle and bustle of American, but they both have their pros and cons, just like anything. One thing that I can tell you for sure is that when living in a foreign country, you come to question what happiness means, and learn that is completely culturally subjective. For me, happiness is success, success is money, and money comes with hard work. (ok not just money, but generally that´s what it is in our society) In Spain it seems like happiness just is, there is no general definition. Happiness is not glitzy vacations or big houses, but growing up with all of your cousins living in one place from generation to generation, preparing food using the same recipe your great-great-great abuela used, and not worrying about things like retirement planning, college educations, and medical bills. (of course people still do, but not NEARLY to the extent as in America, since all of the above things are paid for by the state). Of course you could argue that people do not have the same opportunity to have the kind of success that people can have in American, but what is that….that is the possession of ¨things¨ and although I prefer my American existence to the antiguity of Spanish culture, I think someone like my intercambio, Cristina, cannot begin to imagine the kind of society we have in America.

VALENCIA...oranges, oceans, y ooohhh so good dessert

2007-12-02T11:08:00.000-08:00

Link for pictures:

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2105245&l=7566b&id=2409539

23 Noviembre 2007, Viernes

Valencia! Today I had lunch with the fam, playing with baby Claudia and talking to the titas. (aunties). We went to the airport and were off to Valencia on my personal favorite airline ever, Vueling. As we were getting off of the plane, we noticed that none of the signs at the airport were in Spanish. Now, Spain has 4 official languages…castellano, gallego, catalán, and euxtarra (Vasque language). And of course we knew in Barcelona that Catalán is spoken, but apparently in Valencia they also speak ¨Valencianá,¨ a close relative to Catalán. I was lucky that my sister Inma was visiting because she lives in Valencia and therefore made a list of things for me to do over the weekend. She also answered every single transportation question, since she works in the airport there. (I love Inma). We hopped on the metro and headed to our hostel, Indigo Youth Hostel, supposedly one of the top ten youth hostels in Europe. It was alright, the one in Malaga was actually exponentially better, but it was everything one comes to expect from a hostel, brightly colored exteriors meant to be ´hip´ and dorm like rooms, with a cleanly (hopefully!) simplicity. Our room had an added plus….a heater! I don´t know if I´ve mentioned this, but since it has become a bit colder in Sevilla, I sleep with at least 3 blankets, a sweater, sweatshirt, and various other layers. We cranked that sucker on high and enjoyed the sauna like steaminess in our room, before heading out to explore a bit. We ended up having dinner in a very Spanish restaurant called Jamón! Jamón! (like I said before, you can´t get much more Spanish than Jamón). We shared an amazing salad and a potato and tomato tapa. Afterwards we walked around Barrio del Carmen a bit, and saw the old Catherdral and Basilica in Plaza de la Reina. We met Natalia´s friend Liz who had flown in from Nantes, and walked around a bit more before settling on coffee and dessert in another café called Pepe Pica. Feeling quite exhausted, we called it a night and decided to get up extra early to see the sights the following day.

24 Noviembre 2007, Sábado

Today we got up at 830, with much silent grumbling in my mind because I had been having one of those amazing dreams, I recall it was something like I found out that I owned an amazing, furnished country house and then……BEEP, BEEP….

Anywho, we went to have our ¨breakfast included¨ which was toast and marmalade. Afterwards we went to the central market, full of fresh fruits, veggies, cheese, meat, sweets, and any other food you can possibly think of. The market was bustling with morning activity as we wandered around, pointing our Spanish delicacies to Natalia´s friend. Valencia is famous for its amazing oranges so we decided to try one out to see what the hype was about.

Having exhausted our senses a bit, we checked out the local shopping scene on Calle Colón, which was not that exciting since right now, I´m quite acclimated to Zara, Bershka, Stradivarius, Pull and Bear, Mossimo Datti, H and M, El Corte Inglés, Mango, Women´s Secret, Calzadonia, and all of the rest of the about 20 stores that make up the Spanish shopping scene. We also got to see Valencia´s Plaza del Toros, which was quite beautiful. We then hopped on a bus and headed to the beach, Playa Malvarrosa.

Even though it was chilly, I took off my boots and headed towards the water. The sand was quite soft and a pleasant kind of warm, which was the complete opposite of the ice-cold water. As we were walking along the beach we witnessed two interesting events, one…a group of people were painting the beach and some little boats resting on the beach. Also, one grandpa got into a fight with a passerby. As we approached I heard the list of Spanish insults, filipollo, maricon, no tiene cajones, etc. The police came to break up the fight. We decided to sit down and eat our Valencian orange. Nearby, a local was building a huge sand castle on the beach, and we watched it grow as we savored the juicy goodness which the orange totally lived up to the hype…we then searched for a recommended paella location, seeing as how paella is at its best in Valencia. We were told we had to wait until 2 o´clock for lunch, so we sat down and gossiped for a bit.

We sat outside right by the beach and ordered sangria. Note: quite interesting is the fact that the whole time I´ve been in Spain, I have only seen sangria offered in touristy locations. Unless it is typical to a part of Spain I have not visited, I really don´t think Spaniards drink it. We have something similar called tinto de verano, but it´s not exactly the same. Hmm….reminder to self to wikipedia sangria.

Anywho, we ordered the mixed paella which came with chicken, rabbit, and seafood. It took another 45 minutes to come, but it was DELICIOUS…we couldn´t finish it because it was sooooo huge. After our delicious meal, we took a bus down to the modern museum park, which has the museum of arts and sciences, and Europe´s largest and best aquarium. The whole park is quite beautiful, it had a modern design, and is all in white. Pools and fountains bring the place to life, and reflect off of the white facades. We decided to go inside the aquarium, and headed straight to the dolphin show. It was amazing! The dolphins did crazy tricks with the trainer which have to be illegal in the United States due to animal rights, but it was way cool to see the dolphins flip up their trainers and jump really high. It was also interesting to hear the whole thing in Spanish…

We wandered around the aquarium and saw belugas, penguins, sharks, and these amazing tunnel aquariums. One thing that I think is so funny in Spain are the translations of captions. You will read something in Spanish, and then the English underneath which is butchered! I don´t know how you could publish something written soo poorly. It´s not like there is no one who doesn´t know English, it´s taught in every school from a young age.

After the museum, we went back to the barrio of Carmen and ate at a typical tapas place recommended by my ¨sister.¨ We had tortilla española, queso manchego, mariscos, and pimientos. Then, we wanted to have dessert so we went inside this Italian restaurant and decided to share a dessert platter. You should see this thing! It was monstrous!!! There were about 4 or 5 different kinds of desserts, all smothered in whipped cream and different kinds of sauce.

We decided to go out and walked around the nightlife district, which of course was still dead around midnight. After having a few drinks, we saw some crazy band play at a club, and then met some interesting English guy at another club. Finally, we ended up at Bolsería, supposedly the hottest Valencian club. It was just like any other place really, but I struck up conversation with an interesting guy. He was an Sri’Lankan Australian, that is, he moved to Australia when he was a child, and now had finished studying commercial law in London to move back and start working in Melbourne. I don´t think he had met many Americans before because he asked me if America was just like American Pie, to which I sadly had to say yes. I learned a lot of things about Sri Lanka, like their main religion is Buddhism but the culture is similar to Indian.

The next morning, we got up early and had a typical Spanish breakfast of no talking until café con leche, and tostadas. Liz left to catch her flight, but Natalia and I continued onwards, exploring. We saw the Columbus marketplace, where a band was getting ready to play, and then took the metro to some place a little farther away to have horchata and fartones. Horchata is a Valencian drink made from ¨chufa,¨im not sure how to say that in English. It´s very vegetabley, and fartones are these long donutey things you dip in horchata. They, were, DELICIOUS….yummm….apparently Valencian ground is perfectly for cultivating chufa, something which the Arab conquerors discovered hundreds of years ago. When we arrived back in the center, we found we had just missed a fallero, or Valencian flamenco, show, and saw pretty little girls dressed in fallero costume, which looks very 18^th century, and just beautiful. We lunched and headed to the airport.

No tirar los papeles en el suelo. Guardar silencio en la iglesia.

2007-11-26T05:40:00.000-08:00

19 Noviembre 2007, Lunes

This morning I went to volunteer at Sagrado Corazon de Jesus and ba bum BUMMMM….I had to give an oral quiz to my little Spanish pupils. One girl begged me “Please Estela! Ask us easy questions!” and I just laughed. (not evilly hehe, ok maybe a little).

After class, I met up with Cristina and showed her pictures of my life back home. Her reactions were really interesting, as I showed her pictures from freshman year of college, which is the equivalent of what she is doing now. Her main speculation is that friends are really important, or rather, that I have a lot of close friends to which I explained, since at school you live on your own, your friends become like family. (she was not convinced, nor could she imagine living on her own, as she told me her parents do everything for her).

20 Noviembre 2007, Martes

We watched a peculiar movie en cine hoy. Después, phew it´s hard to switch languages sometimes, I was just typing in Spanish and my first few English thoughts were in Spanglish. Anywho, we had monsoon like weather today, so I stayed in the office most of the day, catching up on internet stuff. I feel so disconnected from American culture, today I got invited to see a movie with my sorority that I hadn´t even heard of but I think is fairly popular in the United States. I´ve never really felt homesick at all, but I feel it a little bit now, I don´t miss places or anything, more like experiences, feelings, and people. For example, I usually do not look forward to the Christmas season and hearing the same songs over and over in the stores, but I kind of miss all of that cheery shit. Oh well, I will be returning quite soon (sooner than I want to admit) and I am sure that I will be having nostalgia for Spain like loooocoooooooo.

My baby Spain niece is making the house a much cheerier place. I love to hear Señora laugh at the baby coos, and having Inma in the house is great. She is the nicest of the three sisters and really makes an effort to talk to me and make me feel cared for. Señora and I have grown closer also, but I still don´t understand her a lot of the time.

21 Noviembre 2007, Miercoles

In my university class about modern history, we have been learning about the history of Israel. Of course, I know the story, but hearing it in Spanish is quite entertaining. A lot of the time I look around at my Spanish classmates, frantically taking notes and wonder what they must think, never having met Jewish people, but watching documentaries about the Holocaust and subsequent creation of a Jewish state. It´s also interesting to hear my professor talk (at length and in monotone) about all of these issues, and I keep waiting for her to show some kind of bias, which so far, she hasn´t.

I went home for lunch today for the first time in over a month I think. (crazy). I had lunch with all of my Spanish sisters and we had lovely conversation. Inma, like I already said, is the nicest, and definitely the most grown up because of having the baby, but she is always smiling or tending house, or just being generally productive. Maria José, the oldest and the director of a school, is the most serious. She doesn´t really talk to me, but does yell at Juan a lot. Marion is the baby of the girls, although she is obviously a grown woman of probably 37-40 years, she is such a child! She whines and giggles, and makes fun of Señora. I´ve never seen her wash a dish, but I like her a lot, and she is quite nice to me as well. I´m also getting more used to Juan, who still weirds me out, but I´ve come to enjoy talking to him during lunchtime. Everyone is obsessed with baby Claudia, and for good reason. Imagine, Señora has 4 children but only 1 grandchild, and she probably will only have one more if Inma decides to have another kid. This is so typical of Spanish families, Señora has countless sisters and brothers in law, and talks of Christmas (actually La Noche Buena, or Christmas Eve) dinners with tables heaving under the weight of so much food, but only 2 kids to buy gifts for (one other cousin has a child). Marion and Maria Jose are the typical liberated Spanish woman, with lots of education and friends, living their own lives but choosing to not have families (which is why there´s definite population issues in Spain).

Today was our last cooking class which makes me sad. I´ve come to love Wednesday night with Isabel, our jolly Spanish teacher who doesn´t speak unless spoken to and doesn´t really let us help much. We made this amazing cream of leek (I think) soup, fried eggplant, and amaaazzziiinnnnggg flany tarta de chocolate. After class, I went home and because of the recent weather, our power went out. Poor Señora was bustling around the house trying to find candles while we entertained the baby. There was still light upstairs so we all went there, and I played cards with Juan and Señora. Señora has issues with blood pressure, so I was a little worried because she told me she wasn´t feeling well, so I entertained her with my (one) amazing card trick and shuffling, something the Spanish can´t do and are amazed by. Spanish cards are different than American cards, and Señora had never seen American cards before so I showed them to her. Juan taught me a few games, and then I taught them War (the only game I could think of).

Since Christmas is definitely in the air, we have started to talk about Christmas traditions and whatnot. Here, they celebrate La Noche Buena and Los Reyes Magos. On the 24^th, all the families get together and have turkey. At midnight everyone goes to mass, and then Papa Noel brings presents for the kids. There´s also special Christmas sweets that are very typical called polverones, mantecados, and alfajores. On the 6^th of January, more important for Spaniards, the Three Kings come and bring special gifts for the kids. The kids put out their shoes overnight, and then the Reyes Magos put gifts by them. If the kids are bad, the get coal put in their shoes. (we saw some candy coal being sold in a shop hehe)

Similar to US tradition, the kids write letters to the Reyes Magos and take them to the Corte Ingles (a huuuggeee Macy´s-esque department store all over Spain) where the ¨cartero¨ or mailman accepts them. Apparently, he has to be a black man dressed up as an elf, I saw a picture and asked Juan about why the person had to be black, and Juan just shrugged and said…¨Es tradición…¨ (I think it has something to do with Black Peter?) Kids also go to El Corte Inglés to sit on Papa Noel´s lap, but Señora crinkled her nose when she told me this, saying it was more commercial than anything.

Roasted chestnuts have been sold on the streets since early November, filling the air with a sweet smell and lots of smoke. They are absolutely delicious. Mmmm….

22 Noviembre, 2007 Día de Acción de Gracias

Thanksgiving. I was missing my family so much today, as I´m sure everyone American who can´t be home for Thanksgiving was. As I told Cristina and my Spanish family about Thanksgiving traditions, I felt the first pangs of really missing home. I didn´t do anything noteworthy today, just had class, met with Cristina to talk, and had lunch at home. Afterwards, I went and Skyped it up with my family. It was so sad to hear my nephew´s voices saying ¨Auntie Stella, come home!¨(all the more cuter because it was in Russian). But I was ok, because even this part of not being home for Thanksgiving makes one really think and learn things, about how something so big and important in one country is absolutely nonexistent in another. In Europe, each country is a lot more conscious of other´s countries traditions,´ unlike in America, where we don´t learn about anything but our own (or make up holidays like Cinco de Mayo…).

Luckily, our program had a special dinner planned for us. On my way there, I walked by the cathedral and decided to give Neha a call, figuring she was probably missing home too. As she picked up the phone, she told me she was standing at a sketchy metro stop in Washington DC. All of a sudden, I heard the strains of ¨If I was a rich man…¨ from an accordion player across the street, one of Neha´s favorite songs and one which she likes to sing constantly without knowing the real words (hehe Neha, someday we will learn them together). I thought of the true intensity and magnitude of the world and even life, imagining myself standing by the famed cathedral of Sevilla, calling my Bombayite best friend, standing on a sidewalk in DC. OK bear with me, and please don´t roll your eyes, because if you´re reading this, you know I like to think about the larger picture.

Our program decided to treat us to a Spanish dinner after realizing that imitating a true American meal would be impossible (mashed potatoes? Cranberries? Whaaatttt?). About half of our program was there, the other half was traveling. We had true Spanish fare…jamón Iberico, picos, sopa, bacalao con tomate, and (ok not so Spanish) tiramisu for dessert. I sat near Celeste, our amazing director, and some of the rest of our coordinators. I love this program so much, I feel like I really lucked out. There are some definite negatives, but overall, the quality of my study abroad experience has been…..impeccable. We toasted Lchaim, yes I know…so weird in Seville, as I explained what it meant to the directors.

photos of germany

2007-11-22T09:09:00.001-08:00

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2103608&l=bfa3c&id=2409539

Alemania

2007-11-20T05:48:00.000-08:00

Photo me and my ghetto ryanair boarding pass....

14 Noviembre 2007, Miercoles

So today, we went to Germany. In order to get there, I took a bus to Santa Justa, an hour long train ride to Jerez, a three hour flight to Frankfurt, a bus to Dreiech, and then a car ride home. “Home” for the next three days is a house in Dreiech, home to Yulia, Natalia’s childhood best friend from Latvia. Coming here, we both did not know what to expect, Natalia not seeing her friend for 9 years, and me just along for the ride. I still remember the conversation (it feels long ago but it really wasn’t) of planning our trip.

Natalia: “Hey, Stella, wanna go to Germany?”

Me: “…..OK! Why not?”

As a result of the lack of planning, the whole trip has felt surreal, especially since my parents only left a few days ago, and then it was like, oh yeah, we’re going to Germany.

The other amazing thing about this trip is the cost. It’s actually a good story so bear with me. Originally, we bought tickets for London, but then Natalia found out that the UK hates Latvians and we couldn’t go. We had to pay 50 euro each to change direction of our flight, and we only had a few choices, since Ryanair doesn’t fly to that many airports. After booking our flights to Frankfurt, we got an email saying that the flight time had been changed and if we wanted, we could refund our money. We did, and got all of the money back, even the 50 euro change fee. Then, we booked a different set of tickets to Frankfurt, but here’s the magical part. The tickets were supposed to be 74 euro each, but there was some sort of glitch in the system or something, and it turned out to be 74 euro….for the two of us. So basically my flight from Spain to Germany was 37 euro….or 50 dollars! Obviously we didn’t question anything, but were a little nervous the whole time because it was so unbelievably sketchy, but hey, it worked ‘cuz I’m in Germany.

At the airport in Jerez, there was free boarding so everyone was like an uncultured throng of wildebeasts or something, everyone pushing towards the door, little grandmas getting left behind. The whole Ryanair experience is one I would not recommend (even though, hey im not complaining! My tix were cheapppp) as they were selling us stuff the whole time. Hearing German over the intercom on the plane was interesting as well. We decided to emerge ourselves in Russian popsa and watched Goloboi Ogonyok, the New Year’s concert of Russian pop that’s held every year, since Natasha bought a DVD in Marbella, so we spent the whole our flight jamming to Kirkorov y prochi. Approaching Frankfurt, we looked outside and realized Dios Mio! We aren’t in Spain anymore…SNOW!!! (that’s when I briefly thought to myself that maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, which was quickly replaced with excitement) As we walked outside, it was freezing and felt like a completely different world from Sevilla. (maybe it was all of the dich..eich…ausgangen..ausfahrt…you get the idea)

The first person we met in Germany was Russian, the nice, young gentlemen who led us to the bus. I asked him if there were a lot of Russians and he said. *something like* “zdes na huy Russkih” (there are a fuckload). (hmmm)We met Natalia’s friend at the station after the bus ride of about an hour jamming to German faves like Hilary Duff, Alanis Morissette, and other older American pop. Natalia’s friend, Yulia, moved to Germany when she was 12, and goes to European Business School (it’s undergrad). She was very nice, and she and Natalia started catching up on 9 year’s worth of lost time while I enjoyed the scenery, and the stack of Russian CD’s in the backseat of her Mercedes. When we got to her house, we realized her parents were on a business trip to Sri Lanka, and we, three Russian girls, had the house to ourselves, and what a house! It’s small by American standards, but large by European. The decoration is all modern and extremely tasteful. As Yulia told us the plan for the next few days while making up Natalia’s and mine lovenest (ohhh yeah, once again we’re sleeping together, she’s snoring right next to me as I write this) we squealed in delight.

15 Noviembre 2007, Jueves

Photo, Bulls and Bears in front of the German stock exchange in Frankfurt

The next day, we woke up and attempted to find the metro station to get into the center of Frankfurt. We found a small bakery (bakeroi or something) and ordered in Spanglish, with the lady answering us in German. We learned the most important words one must know thanks to Mary, who I frantically messaged the night before asking for guidance….

Danke…thanks, Bitte, please and you’re welcome, Wo ist de toilette….where is the toilet

It was freeeeeeezing compared to Sevilla, but as we got on the metro and made it into Frankfurt, I realized it was well worth the pain. Frankfurt is Germany’s financial capital, and most cosmopolitan city. It surpasses all European cities in terms of GDP and skyscrapers. Since the city was virtually demolished during WWII, it’s very posh and new. The touch of old German style small streets and cottages still exists downtown in a small touristy block.

But of course we did not care too much about churches and monuments, although we did see the stock exchange…we went shopping. We walked through the central part of Frankfurt and went in to buy chocolates at a department store. (as souvenirs for friends and family of course). For lunch, we wanted something really German, so we went into this small German restaurant, which thank goodness, had exquisite pictures of all of the menu items. Apple wine is very typical to Frankfurt (thanks Wikipedia!) so we ordered some, although it came in mineral water and tasted pretty gross. Natalia had frankfurters, sauerkraut and potatoes, while I had meat and spatzle, a kind of noodles. It was really delicious.

Photo...it was really cold...

After lunch, we continued wandering around until Yulia met us, and took us home. We rested and hung out until dinnertime. For dinner, we drove to a nearby village, a true German village, with the little white and brown cottages and cobblestone streets, complete with castle and moat, although it was dark and freezing so I couldn’t pay too much attention to the beauty. The restaurant we went to was all for locals, AKA if you don’t speak German you’re screwed. It was so warm and cozy, with cute little curtains in the window, traditional German pitchers, and lots of very traditional food.We tried different kinds of German beer which was delicious and tasted nothing like anything I have tried in America. I had chicken in an apple sauce with spatzle for dinner, while Natalia had schnitzel. My dining options are fairly limited here as mostly everything is some sort of pork. After dinner we came home, which is really starting to feel like home I must confess, and caught up on Russian popsa and talked.

16 Noviembre 2007, Viernes

Queda un mes hasta el regreso. And I cannot believe it, it just blows my mind to think about going back to Northwestern. This morning we woke up and went grocery shopping, as we planned on making dinner at home tonight. We watched a bit of Harry Potter and Shrek in Russian, which was hilarious, before heading out to do tourist Frankfurt. Wherever we travel, there seem to be transportation strikes, and Germany is no exception. We were hoping to visit Heidelberg, a small village nearby but alas, as I read on the front page of New York Times, Germany’s workers were striking for a pay raise, similar to Paris.

Unfortunately (or maybe fortunately because once again, it was FREEZING) Frankfurt doesn’t do much in terms of tourism. We went to the top of a tall mall to get the city view of Frankfurt, which was gorgeous because of the blend of new, with extremely tall skyscrapers, and old Germany. Then we walked to this little German village town hall and church part which was the only place in Franfurt we encountered touristy shops. It started to snow right around here and I remember dreaming about hot apple cider while walking to a river and quickly snapping some photos. Natalia and I hadn’t eaten lunch so we settled into a table at a nearby hip coffee place to warm up with hot chocolate and a wrap for lunch. Afterwards we walked and saw the opera house before heading back to Dreiech. We stopped by their Sam’s Club or maybe Wal-Mart to buy some beer and apfelwein (apple wine) to have during dinner.

Dinner was amazing. I have missed cooking greatly, and got to indulge in planning a new dish in my mind. I would like to call it “Señora meets Mozzarella” because it was a mix of tomatoes and mozzarella, with tuna (thunfish) and corn, like my Senora makes. Hopefully picture is provided because it was quite beautiful. We put on a cooking playlist and jammed while making Tortilla Española and some chicken in tomato dish that I invented (quite delicious). We tried a few different kinds of beer which were absolutely amazing…one was a grapefruit beer (more like juice) which was my favorite, even though I don’t like beer, or grapefruit.

We were absolutely STUFFED after dinner, and watched some Russian comedy show called “Nasha Russia” (it’s hilarious) before I literally fell asleep in front of the TV. After my nap, we decided to call it quits and go to bed, but I was quite awake so I watched another movie called “Pitr FM,” which I really enjoyed.

17 Noviembre 2007, Sabado

After sleeping in, we woke up to find the strike was over, so we could go to Heidelberg! Yulia wrote everything quite clearly for us and took us to the train station, where we boarded and headed through the countryside to a small town (actually it was a lot bigger than I expected) and tourist haven called Heidelberg. When we got there, we headed for tourist information to tell us how to get to the castle, which is quite famous here. After taking the bus to “Castle Station” we took the funicular up to the castle which is a 5 centuries old dilapidated heap of bricks, which used to be beautiful, but now is an impressive former castle. The gardens were supposed to be the “8^th wonder of the ancient world” (like every other monument it seems) but of course, were quite dead seeing as how it was, once again, FREEZING.

The one amazing thing was the view……which was just incredible. The autumn colored the leaves of all of the trees on the hills surrounding the castle beautiful varying shades of green, yellow, red, orange, and every other color in between. We looked down to see beautiful bridges over the river running through the middle of town, which looked like a beautiful little village which cottages, medieval buildings, and of course, old churches. I must have started at the beautiful view in front of my eyes with disbelief at what I was seeing (I think I was in denial the whole time because I couldn’t believe I was actually in Germany, if you, dear reader, haven’t noticed yet). This of course didn’t last long because it was so cold, so we headed on to the next sight.

We took the funicular down to the village of Heidelberg and headed to the main sight, an old street with beautiful buildings, a church from the 1300s and one of the best (in terms of beauty) pedestrian shopping zones in Europe. We went inside a café for lunch, a more modern place since we didn’t want to have another heavy meal. On the TV was “Date My Mom,” the most stupid show MTV could possibly think of, and we told the people around us to please not judge America by this atrocity. Unfortunately, they could not understand us, as nobody in that entire place, not even the waitresses, spoke English. Of course, our order got screwed up because of the language barrier, and we ended up getting free hot chocolate, but less food.

We continued onwards, wandering in and out of cute little shops, and huge clothes shops. We just enjoyed the general hustle and bustle of the street, everyone dressed warmly and going in and out of the shops, carrying purchases and sometimes eating hot pretzels. Before leaving, we bought some apfelsomething (some sort of applestrudel) in a small bakery, and had to resort to fingerpointing as a means of communication. It was amazing.

We took the train back to Dreiech, where Yulia picked us up. We went back to her house, feeling more at home than ever, and prepared dinner. As I really wanted to try a frankfurter or bratwurst or something, and the kind sold in the streets is all pork, Yulia bought a special beef kind which we devoured for dinner. It was so nice to cook and just be at home…somewhat of a backwards luxury if you think about it.

And then we were off! We went to the young and hip part of Frankfurt to meet some of Yulia´s friends. They showed us this statue of a spitting Frau that is famous for drenching tourists. Luckily, she didn´t spit on us. Then, after meeting Fabian, Farima, and Moritz, we went to Sam´s Sports Bar ( you guessed it, an American place). It was interesting to hear them speak German amongst themselves, and Natalia and I rebuttled by speaking Spanish hehe. There, I began to have a conversation which mesmorized me for the next three hours, which I thought passed by in a matter of minutes. I talked to Farima, a 21 year old student studying to be a teacher of biology and religion. She was your typical blond, blue-eyed German but spoke English fairly well, and was very open with her opinions. The whole time (between drinks) we talked history and politics, and asked her openly something I have been wondering for years: How is World War II taught in Germany? How is the Holocaust taught?

And she responded that the Germans learn about the Holocaust and how massive of a tragedy it was from a very early age, and every year onwards. She told me that she, like many (not just Germans, but people around the world) struggle with the question of would she, if put in the place of her grandparent’s have helped Jews? Of course the answer is yes, but when one is talking about protecting their own family, like she told me her grandmother wanted to help, but had 5 children to care for, which one daughter had to be given away to her mother because she couldn’t feed all of the mouths. Or her grandfather who did some sort of work with documents who says he never saw anything, but Farima is sure he did (she said this with a grimace on her face). She spoke of the horrors of what American soldiers did to Germans after the war… “You know, they thought they could just go into any home, see a tall blue-eyed German and rape her. This happened to my grandmother, she was raped by an American soldier.” She also told me that German youth are plagued by foreigners placing guilt on them for something they didn’t do, “I am not responsible for the actions of my grandfather.” She said.

I openly told her I was Jewish, to which she didn’t even flinch, I think that before coming to Germany I had many, many reservations. On one hand, I knew it was foolish to be wary of something that happened so long ago in a climate so unlike today’s, however, I couldn’t help feeling that older German people I passed on the street lived through Hitler, and what exactly did they do during the war? Generations of my ancestors lived and prospered in Germany, the whole reform movement took place there, I should regard it as a place of history, and not just one of unbelievable tragedy. However, I just could not shake that nasty feeling, until I talked to Farima.

German youth (according to her) are equated by foreigners to Nazis, that is, being German means you are a Nazi. For them, there is no such thing as patriotism, for that is considered Nazism. She told me she has never seen the German flag displayed publicly, and didn’t even know the national anthem. The youth are so plagued by the country’s history, that they shy away from any form of recognition, for that might signal a repetition to the world, which they do not want. She shrugged off the neo-Nazi movement as something stupid that there is in every country, just more dangerous in Germany because of its historical implications. She told me that of course there are stupid people who believe in the purity of Germany and not letting foreigners in, but that is a tiny minority, and the rest of the people are just as open minded as she is. (now imagine that this conversation is taking place in a bar/restaurant while “Promiscuous Girl” is playing in the background”. She told me that the reason she wanted to be a teacher (especially history for this reason) was to teach children about truth and love, and help them seek it in an environment where they are told other things.

Another topic we talked about was (please do not roll your eyes, gentle reader) feminism, and women’s place in German society. Hey America…with your 9 week maternity leave…in Germany, women (and men for that matter) get 3 months paid leave, plus (and this is the killer) 3 YEARS of job security. That means mama banker can leave to raise little Heimlich (with the help of father Hans, of course) and go back to her top level job in three years. Of course, as Farima pointed out, there aren’t that many people in high positions in business, however in politics there are, like Bush’s friend, German’s minister Angela Merkel. It was amazing that she could point out so many contradictions in American foreign policy that I was vaguely aware of, yet I (and we talked about this too) an American, knew very little of international relations. It made me ashamed for American youth, and aware that I need to change my ways a bit.

We talked more and more politics, me entranced to hear all she had to say. The whole time I kept thinking to myself, “Damn Stella, you are in Germany, discussing World War II with a German peer, how amazing…” And it was. The time flew by, and even though the rest of the table was somewhat amused at such a serious topic at an all Justin Timberlake music playing place, I was in my happy world of international awareness and discussion on ideology. (one thing I really respected that Farima said was that I asked her if she ever wanted to come visit the US, and she said “not while the death penalty still is in place. I will never visit a country with the death penalty.”) It was a night I will never forget, and I looked at Germany in a completely different light afterwards.

On a side note, we had this amazing drink called a Touchdown, followed by grapefruit beer (amazing as well) and shots called B-52s (ironic). We also saw the score of NU’s loss to Illinois, which was quite funny, being all the way in Frankfurt.

18 Noviembre 2007, Domingo

Today I woke up and bid aufwiedersein to a country I had come to appreciate. The people were all very nice, and I found the culture friendly and warm (even though the weather wasn’t so nice). Living with Yulia was also a great experience in itself. Though I thoroughly love living with my Spanish family, I realized that I missed living with girls on my own a bit. The other amazing thing was speaking Russian the whole time, I’ve never had the opportunity to just hang out with Russian girls, or maybe it was the fact that Yulia didn’t speak English, but we spoke Russian the entire time. The other nice thing was catching up on Fabrika Zvezd (Russian pop show) with a person who I had just met, but had similar opinions with, regarding a TV show that was not from either of our newly adopted cultures.

Yulia dropped us off at the bus station, and we said good-bye (and an effusive thank you from me because I was so appreciative of her kindness). There we began our journey. Hour bus ride to the airport (where we ran into a squad of American teenage cheerleaders…weird), three hours on the plane, taxi to train station, and hour and some train to Sevilla, not to mention my bus ride home. Even though the journey was long and far away, it was most definitely worth it, and a trip that taught me things I will only truly appreciate in the future.

As I approached my casa, I heard the beautiful strains of baby giggles coming from my door and I remembered that Senora’s granddaughter, Claudia, had come to visit. I came in to find my Spanish family cooing over the (now walking) toddler who has the face of an angel. As I settled in to dinner, I recounted my tales of snow and schnitzel to Inma, as she prepared Claudia’s dinner. I was amazed to see her prepare a puree of boiled potatoes, carrots, olive oil, and fish in a blender. When I told her in the US people buy canned food, she wrinkled her nose in disgust and disbelief. I wandered back up to my room and unpacked my many souvenirs, and I went to sleep, dreaming of all of my wonderful adventures.

Cordoba y Casa de Cristina

2007-11-18T01:56:00.001-08:00

10 Noviembre 2007, Sabado

This morning I woke up in my own bed on 22 Francisco Pacheco to the lovely sounds of construction work at 7:30 on a Saturday morning and breathed a sigh of happiness at being at home. It’s funny that the Spanish do not have a word for home, just casa, which is the same as house. Anywho, I was surprised to learn that my bus, the 23, now does not have the same ending points as before because the tramvia, tram, has started working, and now, if I want to go to the city center, I need to take a bus and a tram.

Today we went to Cordoba. Which I have visited before, but it was beautiful nonetheless. Of course Cordoba’s main spectacle is the mezquita, or mosque, which was turned into a cathedral, but is ginormous….and I mean HUGEEEE…this thing could probably not only house a mosque and a church, but probably every religion’s house of worship. The double red columns are just absolutely breathtaking, but most fascinating is the the cathedral that is oddly out of place in the Moorish architecture, a sort of historical mistake. After the mezquita, we wandered the streets of the Juderia, or Jewish quarter, which tends to be the most fun in Andalucia, at least in Sevilla or Cordoba, but it’s somewhat sad to understand why a city’s biggest tourist attraction can be something so tragic. As the Jews in Spain’s past had to live outside city quarters and in a ghetto, they had very limited space. As the population grew, they still maintained the same amount of space, so the streets had to get narrower, and the buildings taller, creating the characteristic maze of streets which are now filled with oodles of tacky tourist shops offering fans, shawls, and castanets. We went to La Sinagoga, a tiny little synagogue with Hebrew inscriptions on the walls. Then, just around the corner, we visited the Jewish museum, which was quite interesting. The best part was this room of posters of famous Jewish woman from Cordoba with their stories. One poet was known to walk around with her poetry pinned to her clothes.

I wanted to buy a little Star of David for my “collection,” and found a little shop. Being a savvy consumer, I did not buy at the first shop and looked around a bit before realizing that I should return to the first. When wandering back, we could not find the shop, and then realized that cursed Spain was having none other than…..siesta. As I raged at the proposed anti-Semitism of this horrible event, we ran around looking for last minute stars of David. Seeing none, and being the time of return to the bus, I told Natalia to give up on the search, for she was helping me closely. On the way to the bathroom, I passed a small shop called La Mezquita, the mosque, and saw the Perfect Star of David in the window. I squealed in delight, went in, and bought it. It´s seriously perfect.

After getting back to Sevilla and meeting my padres for a last Sevillian dinner, we realized we just could not have tapas again, so we went to a famous Italian restaurant in Sevilla called San Marco. Mmmm….as I bid my parents goodbye, I was filled with a mixture of emotions. Sadness for I would miss them, happiness that they had come and had a good time, fatigue for it had been a long day, and excitement to getting back into the swing of things.

11 Noviembre, Domingo

Today was just amazing, a day where I learned more cultural differences and similarities than ever before. My intercambio, Cristina, invited me to spend the day with her and her family in her little pueblo, Olivares. I took the bus early this morning and was questioned by some people about the bus lines, being mistaken for a Sevillana…hell yeah… Cristina told me that the ride would take about 45 minutes, and that I would see her and know where to get off the bus. I was jamming to music on my iPod and reading the newspaper when I noticed a girl carrying a child frantically running down the street and realized it was her. The time had flown by and if I had not seen Cristina, I would have gone to the next pueblo…

I got off the bus and was greeted by Cristina and Esteban, the love of my life, her little 3 year old brother with enough attitude for all of Spain and an angelic smile. We walked down the streets of her pueblo to her casa, saying hola to all of the people who passed by. As I entered her casa, I was greeted by the same metal bars I have in my doorway, typical of Andalucía. Her casa was giiiiiiiiinormous compared to mine. Actually two houses joined together where she, her two brothers, sister, parents, two grandmas, and one great aunt live. It had the same architecture as most houses, a patio in the middle, bars on the windows, and beautiful tiling. I just felt this huge sense of warmth as I walked in, I can´t really describe it. The house was decorated in true Andalucían style, with beaituful tiling, pictures of all of the ancestors, wooden furniture and tiled floors. I met her brother Antonio, a kind teenager coming into his own, her sister Carmen, 11 years old, quiet but charming, and her grandmas. It´s amazing that all of the kids are so great, Esteban seems to be the only one with attitude, but that´s because no one can say no to his cute little face.

I met Cristina´s great-aunt, an experience I will remember for the rest of my life. This woman, who cannot walk because she broke both of her legs when she was 91, rides around on her wheel-chair (not a wheelchair, but literally wheels on a chair which she prefers to her wheelchair) and is about as feisty as feisty gets. She informed me that she voted the first time women could vote in Spain. (we´re talking 1931!) As I calculated her date of birth, I realized this woman was a living testament to the history of Spain in the 20^th century, and had lived through two world wars, a Civil War, the death and revival of a monarchy, and a tough dictatorship. Of course, I took the opportunity to question her about Spanish history, realizing quickly through her own words that she was a supporter of Franco, a so called ¨Franquista.¨ She told me she liked his ideas about the Spanish family, about everyone being close and caring for each other like in the old days, but didn´t like it when some men were taken out of the village and killed randomly one day, basically for nothing. Cristina´s other grandma is 81 years old and quite sprited también. The two told me stories, interrupting each other all along the way. They told me about the pilgrimage they used to make to a church each year in Huelva, where a special virgen (statue of the Virgin Mary that many churches have) is held, and even pulled out wallet pictures of the virgen and church. These women are deeply religious, as religion is the only thing they can immerse themselves in. They told me already, around 3 o´clock, they had listened to two masses on the TV, one broadcast by the Papa himself.

I can´t remember how it came about, but I told her I was Jewish. Her eyes became large and she said, ¨No! Que lastima!¨ (what a shame) ¨You won´t be saved. You should convert!¨ with such honest concern. I told her ¨you know, Jesus Cristo was Jewish¨to which she replied, ¨No!¨ I said, ¨Yes, you can read it in your bible if you like…¨ Then she proceeded to tell me I should move to Spain and marry a nice Spanish boy. (when I told my Señora about this, she said no doubt she has some distant nephew in mine). What I liked most was that she looked me straight in the face and said something along the lines of ¨I can tell by your face that you´re a nice girl, with a good heart.¨ (im pretty sure she had taken my face in her hands by this point). Mind you, this is all in pretty thick Andalucían Spanish which I am proud to say I understood very well.

After taking a few pictures, we proceeded to head throughout the town for a tour of Olivares. I met Cristina´s aunt who owns a local bakery and coffeeshop, her uncle, the local school principal, and some more cousins. We went to another house that pertains to the family which now serves as a kind of storage. They had real, live, fat turkeys in the backyard, which I´ve never seen before, along with lemon trees. We picked some lemons before heading out. Little Esteban did a good job of helping by sweeping the yard. We passed by a funeral, and we saw the church. Then we headed back to the house. It was funny because I had no clue what was going on most of the time, I was just in awe of the beauty of it all and how fortunate I was to be let in to the most intimate of another person´s life from a different culture and treated as part of the family. At the house, the family began to pack up to go out to the country. As we drove off, little grandmas waved from the doorway and bade us to have a good time.

We passed by fields and fields of olive trees, now empty from the harvest, and heaving orange trees begging to be picked and relieved of their weight. Cristina´s dad and mom occupied the front seats, Esteban, Cristina, and Antonio sat in the middle, and Carmen and I sat in the back of the large SUV. We drove on dirt roads until we got to a little house in the middle of the country. The smile on my face could not have been larger.

We were in paradise. And Cristina said they called it their ¨cielo¨. (paradise). This cute little house surrounded by orange trees and a beautiful outdoor pool sat in the middle of fields and fields of olives. We walked in to the little house, which Cristina´s dad built, and began to clean up, as they only go their at best once a week. We all helped to set the table. Rather, we began then Cristina and Antonio went outside to show me all of the variety of trees they had. It was an amazing blend of Spanglish as we tried to come to agreement over how to name different berries in Spanish and English. They have oranges, lemons, olives, pomegranates (I saw baby pomegranates!) , berries, types of lettuce, carrots, potatoes, everything! Soon we were called to lunch by Cristina´s mom, whose name is also Carmen. (And her dad is Antonio)

Lunch…oh….my…..God…..it was SOOOOOOOO good….one of the best meals ever. I don´t know if any description can give it justice. First of all, I should mention that lunch, or a big midday meal, took place around 400 or 430. There was fluffy white bread that Antonio told me their cousin had baked that morning, yummy red gazpacho in old coke containers that we drank from glasses, flavorful manchego cheese, potato chips baked in olive oil,……and the most amazing thing of all, a giant paella. The paella was the best I have ever eaten. Hands down. Full of clams, squid, chicken, rice…my mouth is watering just remembering it. It was perfect, and eating with Cristina´s family was so nice, just hearing them talk and realizing that although I couldn´t perfectly tell long stories without stumbling a little bit, I was comfortable in the atmosphere, understanding everything without having to concentrate, laughing along with their jokes, and smiling as I realized how spoiled little Esteban was, running around the room and eating whenever he wanted, spoiled baby of the family universality I suppose. For dessert, we had the best flan of my life. It was coffee flavored and perfect, I begged Cristina´s mom for the recipe although I don´t know if I can recreate it.

After lunch, at which point I was just bursting, we walked around for a bit in the fields. We played on a swingset Cristina´s father had also built. Carmen brought out a table and we began to play cards. I should mention that cards are different in Spain, with different suits and numbers. There are no aces or clubs or anything, however there are horses, gold coins, and kings. I remembered how Celeste (the teacher of my conversation class from orientation) mentioned in class that Spaniards are amazed by shuffling cards, so I showed them how I can shuffle and do the bridge. They made me do it over and over, and called over Antonio (dad) to see. We played a game that was a combination of durak and pitch, which was a lot of fun. Little Esteban ran around picking oranges from the trees, and we had a couple. They were a little sour because they weren´t 100% ready for picking, so we brought out some sugar to dip it in.

As it got colder, we headed inside for some café or colacoa (hot cocoa). We talked about differences and similarities between Spain and the US. It was beautiful. Soon we packed up and headed back to Olivares. I said hi and bye to the grandmas who made me promise to come back. Before heading back we had a drink, and a snack. (so common, cheese and a special type of crackers). Cristina´s dad drove me back to Sevilla, and the city looked so lit and cosmopolitan from afar. It took about 30 minutes to get to my house, and Cristina´s family loaded me down with paella, flan, and oranges. I thanked her profusely and hope she realizes how amazing of an experience meeting her family was for me. I hope through my tone, dear reader, you can see how fabulous of an experience I had, and how now, I am not only in love with Sevilla, but with the Spanish pueblo, the family, and little Esteban.

As I came home, I was greeted by my Señora and Juan, and I recounted the day´s adventures to them, while Señora tried the flan and agreed with me on the fabulousness of it all.

12 Noviembre 2007, Lunes

A curious thing happened today. As I was walking to the bus stop to go volunteer at Sagrado Corazón de Jesús, my phone rang. I looked to see that it was my teacher, Maria del Mar, the teacher who also teaches English classes at Sagrado. The conversation went something like this…

¨Hola Maria del Mar!¿ Cómo estás?¨

¨No estoy bien. Mira, Stella, I need to ask you for a big favor. I´m not well and need to go to the hospital. Can you please substitute all of my English classes at my school today? I know you´re very smart and a good girl and can handle it. I know I can count on you¨

¨…..of course!¨ What else was I supposed to say? I was shocked as she continued to tell me details about what I should do with her classes, as I hurriedly scribble it down on a piece of newspaper. I don´t know about Spain, but this is not how we get substitute teachers in the US. I was so shocked by the prospect of being substitute teacher that I got on the bus and missed my bus stop, then got a little lost.

I arrived at the school and went to the first class, with another teacher. Then I came to my first solo gig. Now imagine, about 30 to 40 Spanish 13 year-olds all staring at you, then turning to their friends and laughing, talking loudly, and being obnoxious adolescents. Now picture me, trying to fulfill a lesson plan, and be a good teacher, while not knowing their level of English comprehension. We began by doing some reading out loud from their books. Their pronunciation is horrible, and the nice thing that I noticed was that every time I read something over, everyone quieted down a bit in order to hear me speak. After about 40 minutes of frustrating reading, translating, and yelling over talking (teachers, I am so sorry for anytime everyone all talked simultaneously, although I was the one who shushed everyone, I know I did my fair share, and now I realize how frustrating it is) I decided to do something more fun. I told them that I would teach them some phrases young people used in the United States. I taught them, ¨what´s up dude¨ ¨cool,¨¨that´s hot¨ (spare me, I was on the spot) then I was at a loss of things to say. I started frantically looking around for inspiration when I found it on the wall. I pointed to a poster they had of useful phrases. The sentence I pointed to was ¨Can I please borrow a rubber?¨ Now, to all of my American readers, we all know this is inappropriate but Spanish children learn British English and apparently, rubber means eraser in Britain. I asked them if anyone knew what a ¨rubber¨meant in English, of course no one knew, so I wrote ¨condom¨on the board, then someone said preservativo, which I added, and then EVERYONE STARTED LAUGHING, of course, like little immature adolescents which they were. It was a useful lesson, and one which I remember learning in Spanish class. Then some kid asked me what ¨asshole¨meant, I told him it was a bad word, the literal meaning (everyone laughed of course) and that it was impolite to use. The only thing was that there was a monitor in the room, helping make these monsters shut up, and she was less than thrilled….(and apparently condom is a dirty word, preservativo is the proper, formal word) Ummm…….ooopss….

After that horrid experience, I tried to find my next classroom. It was impossible to find. Between climbing staircases, passing by multiples Jesuses and Mary´s, asking for help, and being guided by 7 year olds, I finally found my room. The funny thing was that Maria del Mar told me that it was 3^rd grade, so I figured the kids would be around 8 or so, and if things got boring, I could teach them the itsy bitsy spider song. I walked in and the kids were all about 14 or 15 years old. Great. I was only a few years older than about 35 people in front of me. This time there was no monitor….I was completely on my own. I remembered the mistakes all of my substitute teachers had made over the years, and realized I could not let these kids see I was in any way nervous. (I really wasn´t, more amused at the situation). I told them that I wanted for class to be fun, so we should get through the boring book stuff and then I could teach something more useful. Once again, I was met with giggling, though less, and talking at the same time. The class flew by and we didn´t get through everything, so I told them once again I would teach them some useful phrases that young people use. I taught them whats up dude, hey, how are you, then I told them they could ask me anything. They asked me what the difference was between shit, and bullshit, (haha this is so funny to write about) and laughed like crazy when I told them that bullshit is…mierda del toro. Then one innocent looking boy asked me what does ¨you motherfucker¨ mean…..to which I said…you NEVER, EVER say that, and if someone says it to you run….sadly, that was the last thing before class was over….

As I left the school, and the lessons went over in my head, I laughed and hoped Maria del Mar would not lose her job because, did I mention this is a CATHOLIC SCHOOL……hahahahahahahahaha

13 Noviembre 2007, Martes

Tuesday the 13^th is an unlucky day for Spain, like Friday the 13^th is in America. They say ¨trece de martes, no te cases, no te ganes¨ (thirteenth Tuesday, don´t get married, and you won´t win) I started the day with an exam in Cine. Then spent many long hours catching up on internet time.

I finally met Natalia´s Señora, Tére for coffee. What a woman she is. Natalia told me that in the course of something like two years, her mother died, her husband died, and she was diagnosed with cancer. Now she is ok, and such a strong woman, you can really tell. We had a good time just chatting, and I can see why Natalia loves her so much. I returned home for my usual dinner which I have missed I must say, of soup with fideos and pimientos rellenos con tuna.

Tomorrow I go to Germany. It´s so funny to me this whole day to think that, because I remember so clearly I suppose it was almost two months ago that Natalia said ¨hey Stella, wanna go to Germany if it´s cheap?¨ and I said ¨sure. Why not?¨ and now im actually going to Germany. Hahaha….We are staying with one of her best friends who used to live in Latvia, a Russian Jewish family. I don´t know what to expect, but I am looking forward to the adventures….

Let the fun begin……..

Amazing video

2007-11-13T06:05:00.000-08:00

ok this video is amazing because...

1) the fans are going CRAZYYYY

2) natalia and i have no clue what is going on..

3) my parents could care less because they have their sunflower seeds...

Details about the game to come...

fotos...

2007-11-13T05:31:00.000-08:00

some photos, though i promise to post more...

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2102731&l=5f0b0&id=2409539

http://northwestern.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2102733&l=7b023&id=2409539

el fin de Paris...

2007-11-12T06:46:00.000-08:00

19 Octubre 2007, Sabado, regresa a Sevilla

This morning we got up quite early and checked out of our hotel. According to the front desk man, the strike was over, so it would take us about a half hour to get to the airport. Our flight was at noon, so we figured we would give about two hours of travel time just in case. We headed out and bought some last pastries, and croissants for our Spanish families. I had to buy some boots before leaving, and no stores were open on 9 am Saturday morning, so I frantically bought some boots from a sketchy shop which was open.

We made our way to the train station and in about 30 seconds it was clear that chaos was reining…the strike, in fact, was not over. Also, I forgot to mention that during the time we were in Paris, the Rugby World Cup was going on, and this day, Saturday was the day of the final. As a result, the train station was completely FILLED with rowdy British (England was in the final) fans. We got in line for taxis, with about 200 people in front of us. After about 45 minutes in line, we realized we were going to miss our flight. I was cursing the damn strike like crazy at this point, and cursing the French for not having a better system of transportation when I realized the line behind us was about twice as long as before. After almost an hour and a half in line for a damn taxi, we got in and went to the airport. Since there was really nothing we could do, we were in high spirits, and laughing at the irony of our travel timing…We prayed that the flight was delayed, as I promise you all of our other Spanish flights had been. Alas, it was not so. We arrived right at noon to the airport, and missed our flight. We weighed our options and realized the best thing to do was take a flight back to Sevilla that same day at the other Parisian airport, Orly, for 125 euros, almost 1.5 times the price of our first tickets.

We got on the bus to Orly, much grumpier after having realized what the strike had cost us. After about 30 minutes on the bus to Orly, we picked up a bunch of Arab tourists, from Lebanon I think, who were all carrying big tubs of ¨zam zam water¨ (???). Amid the craziness of travel, I passed out because I was so tired. When we got to the airport, we went to have lunch and decided to eat our last French meal in a proper (albeit airport) restaurant. I really, really one last crepe before leaving, so we asked an airport information desk person if there was a creperie in the airport. The woman literally starting laughing at me…that was her response.

I do not remember a bit of the flight back to Sevilla because I passssseeddd ooouuuttt. Arriving in Sevilla was like arriving home. The weather was at least 30 degrees warmer and we could understand the language.

Conclusion…Paris is amazing. The food, the people, the buildings, EVERYTHING.

21 Octubre 2007, Domingo

Unpacking. Sleeping. Cleaning. Internet. El Patio Sevillano for patatas ali oli.

22 Octubre 2007, Lunes

This morning I went to go volunteer at the Sagrado Corazón de Jesus again, but with a mission. If you, dear reader, remember, I was supposed to come up with something to ¨share my cultural diversity¨ with my class of disinterested 12 year olds who did not want to learn English. The class began with this older bald guy straight up yelling as loud as he can at the kids for something that happened during recess last week. The teacher has not arrived fifteen minutes into class, so I was instructed to begin teaching the class myself. Luckily, the teacher walked in right then, complaining of how bad traffic was, and asked me if I had an activity. I got out my ordenador (laptop) and began playing ´´Unwritten´´ by Natasha Bedingfield, which is immensely popular here. Natalia told me about this activity from her class, where you just listen to the song, and then try to translate it, and I thought it would be good since the song was so popular, had a great message, and it was more fun than learning about the British royal family tree. (what we did last week) The kids got really excited as I split them up into groups to work, the teacher handed out dictionaries, and I wrote the lyrics on the board. After struggling for a bit, we worked together to unravel the meaning. I tried to ask them deep questions like ¨Qué quiere decir la cantante?¨(what is the singer saying here) and it was really great because the words of that song are so inspirational, which is exactly what these kids needed. ¨Feel the rain on your skin/no one else can feel it for you/ only you can let it in / no one else can speak the words on your lips¨ They really enjoyed it I think, and the teacher almost kissed me out of gratitude, as she got to share her grammar piece within the song as well.

I just got home from watching Las Trece Rosas, a Spanish film about thirteen beautiful young women brutally killed by Franco´s regime in 1939 for supposed anti-party sentiments. It was a beautiful film about an ugly time, about the resilience of the human spirit, and the other side of human nature….the rein of fear, something prevalent within every civilization, and a force that people must rise above in order for freedom to reign. I suppose the most interesting part for me, was being able to relate and understand the history of another country, a battle not so different from the one that is my personal family history, although it was a different country and culture, it was the same struggle. It is such an opportunity that I am so thankful for to be here and learn. Just today in my seminar, a gentleman came in who lived through Franco’s regime. He spoke of ugliness and horror, the men in his family being sent to jail for no reason at all, and of yelling through metal bars amid the shouts of other family members when visiting. It struck me quite suddenly when I saw this scene in the film that I had just heard a personal testimony of the same thing.

To summarize quite briefly, throughout the 1900s, there was a struggle in Spain between two forces, the left and the right. The left was represented by the Republicans who wanted democracy, personal freedom, and reform in all sectors, while the right was represented by followers of Franco, Nacionalists, who followed conservative ideals, military dictatorship, and strict religion. There was a short lived republic from 1931-1936 (la segunda Republica) followed by the ugly, horrible Spanish Civil War from 1936-1939 where Spaniards killed their brothers over moral ideology. Then Franquismo ruled, until Franco died in 1975. The military dictatorship was a terrible thing…strict reign of terror where women had no rights (couldn’t go out of the house with spouse/parental permission nor could they vote) and people could not congregate (one could be arrested for talking to two people in the street). Following Franco’s death, Spain went through a brilliant transition helped by its newly appointed (by Franco before death) king, Juan Carlos, and is now a constitutional monarchy.

Horrifying truth: women could not vote in Spain until 1975.

Spaniards have a very interesting approach to the past, especially Franco’s time. It’s like a bad smell in the room…everyone knows its there, but its not polite to talk about, nor does anyone really want to.

23 Octubre 2007, Martes

We are planning on having a Halloween celebration in the school where I volunteer. The kids here have no idea what Halloween is and it is our patriotic duty as Americans to show them things like carving pumpkins, mummy wrapping contests, and trick or treating.

Natalia and I wandered around Santa Cruz for a bit, and I tried these amazing nuts that are sold on street corners once the season began to change. I´m not sure exactly what kind of nut it is, but there are these steaming bins where the nuts are cooked, and I swear to you, they are so amazzzzzzzing.

24 Octubre 2007, Miercoles

I wasn´t feeling too good today, but I forced myself to go the gym this morning, as once again, I could not sleep because our lovely neighbors building new houses. I talked with Cristina today, and tried to explain to her what exactly a s´more is, and I couldn´t get past what a marshmallow is because they don´t have them here! And then graham crackers…also don´t exist...the poor girl was so confused.

Today Natalia and I went to El Aire de Sevilla, arab baths located in calle Aire, a tiny street which is known for its breezes (thus the name) because of its high location. It was stupendous. In the basement there are these absolutely amazing pools, with candles and low lighting, and various temperatures. One room had three pools…warm water, freezing water, and hot water. Another room had this amazing jacuzzi and sauna. Another had warm salt sea water in it. There was also a little room where you could drink tea or water, complete with Arabic décor and music. I have never felt so relaxed and at peace with the world.

temporary leave of absence

2007-10-30T09:22:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-22T05:27:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-17T01:27:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-15T07:43:00.000-07:00

Fotos de Macarena y Marbella...

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

La Semana Rusa

2007-10-15T05:06:00.000-07:00

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...

2007-10-11T04:16:00.001-07:00

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..

2007-10-08T04:12:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-08T03:47:00.000-07:00

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

2007-10-08T02:52:00.000-07:00

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.

La Corrida de Toros

2007-10-03T03:33:00.000-07:00

30 Septiembre 2007, Domingo

Sleep, oh amazing sleep. Breakfast buffet….glorious breakfast buffet. Then finally, the weather decided to cooperate, and the sun came out. After much preparation, we headed to the beach!! Chiclana’s beach was just gorgeous…the Atlantic provided many waves for the many (mostly German??) tourists to enjoy. Natalia braved the water while I preferred to walk along the huge beach to observe the people around me, and just get lost in my thoughts and the beauty of it all. I thought I was going crazy when I saw a beautiful black stallion galloping along the beach but no, it was actually real. I toed into the water, and decided to body surf with Natalia, which was fun…oh so fun..but we had to go back to have lunch very early so as to catch the bus. I wish so much we had more time then, it was really perfect…

Lunch was amazing…I think one of my favorite dishes here is salmorejo, a denser version of gazpacho. We packed our stuff and headed back onto the bus, for we had to keep a tight schedule in order to get back into Sevilla for the corrida de toros. (bullfight)…oh yes I did just say bullfight.

Although I thought I would be very much against the corrida, and in theory, I am…one must see it in order to see the beauty of the tradition. Cruelty to animals aside, it is beautiful. We got to see three famous toreros because it was the festival of San Miguel, and only the best matadors perform on the festival days. The corrida begins when the ring is half shadow, half sun…and we found our seats just as it was so, very high school football game style. Some people bought butt pillows for a euro, but the seats were not that bad. There was a band playing some music in the beginning as two men with plumes in their hats rode out in the middle of the room to ask the President of the corrida for the fight to begin. After the President waved OK, the audience waited in anticipation for the first bull to emerge. The poor thing came out into the ring and was obviously confused for a few minutes. Several toreros waved their red capes and the bull ran towards them as they gracefully swooped the cape. The music began again and two doors opened up for the part which I learned to hate the most. Two lanzadors, guys on blindfolded (so they don’t know what’s up or that they are in a ring with a crazy bull), horses covered in soft fabric to prevent them from being hurt by the bull, with giant spears came into the ring. They tried to get the bull to run towards them, and as the bull rammed its cuervos (horns) into the horses’s soft padding, the lanzadors injured the bull repeatedly on the back to draw blood.

After the lanzadors exited the ring, three picadors came out. Picadors are the guys who run towards the bull and each artfully stick two decorated hooks into the bull’s back. This appears to be quite dangerous and requires a high degree of skill as the picadors fully expose themselves to the injured bull, and must be extremely quick on their toes in case anything happens. Three picadors do their thing and then (drum roll please) (well, more like the band begins to play) the torero (matador) comes out. He wore a sparkly, bright suit with the black hat, which one chose to throw in the middle of the ring. The matador played with the injured bull for about ten minutes or so. Whenever there was a good pass, meaning the more dangerous the better, the crowd simultaneously yelled “Ole!” Finally, when the matador decided it was time, he went and got a special sword. He got the bull into a special position, raised his sword in a pose, and then aimed to strike the bull in an exact spot in his back, where the bull suffered the least when the blade went through its heart. Some of the matadors didn’t get the blade all the way through and had to do this multiple times. When the blade went through well however, other toreros come and wave their capes to confuse the bull so it does more quickly. The saddest part is that then these special horses come out, and they tie the bull behind the horses and drag it around the ring to prove to the audience that it is, in fact, dead. At this point, the audience decided whether or not to wave their white panuelos (handkerchief) to signify the matador did a good job. Only one of the matadors got the audience to award him an oreja, ear. He walked around the ring displaying and thanking the audience for this great honor.

There were six bulls and three matadors, two bulls for each matador. So I’m really torn on the issue after seeing a fight. On one hand, it’s awful to see such a beautiful living animal die so cruelly. On the other hand, it’s a beautifully choreographed cultural escapade which one cannot understand until one sees.

All in all, it was an AMAZING experience. Natalia and I capped off the night by having tapas in Triana, supposedly the best in the world.

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.

Chiiiiiclana

2007-10-02T03:36:00.000-07:00

28 Septiembre 2007, Viernes

I woke up to the sound of “Like breakfast is at like, 8 so we like, have almost, like, an hour before like breakfast…” as our lovely roommates were discussing their morning eating rituals. Shivering in my one sheet, and drifting in and out of sleep, I finally climbed down from my lofty location on the top bunk to discover most of the backpackers had already started their day. Breakfast was toast with jam, and coffee one had to prepare for him/herself in the little kitchen. Everyone sat in a mutual morning grumpiness that transcended language barriers. As we waved goodbye (and good riddance really) to Melting Pot, Natalia and I headed to do some damage to our carteras (wallets) and help the Malaguenan economy. I bought some postcards and engaged the kiosk owner in conversation (he corrected me on my improper use of “para” DAMN por and para!) and he told us his whole life story, and the story of Malaga’s climate for the past twenty years, which was…nice. I also bought a copy of Anne Frank’s diary in Spanish, and a Spanish classic to enjoy during our many lengthy planned travels.

In one of the shops which was blasting house music, the tag line to the techno beat was a girl’s voice saying “My name is Melissa, I am sixteen years old” over and over…’nuf said.

After a morning of browsing, we decided to try out a “menu del dia” which is when you pay a set amount and choose between several options for lunch. I swear we wandered around for an hour before we found a tiny café called La Bueno Mano, for lunch. Again Rachael Ray would be proud…for 7.30 euros, I enjoyed bread, a drink, soup, grilled fish which was amazing, and a typical Spanish dessert. I don’t know what’s it’s called, but it’s a yellow custard with a little galleta (cookie) on top.

I bid goodbye to Malaga, and basically just passed out on the train ride back. Haha, quickly: Natalia and I tried on these shirts at the station that said “YOU, do no be so fascinated, that already I know that you like me.” In huge block letters….ohhh yeahh… For twenty minutes at home, I showered and ran to meet my parent’s friends by the cathedral to tapear and receive my new camera…

It was raining as I ran to meet them, and the first thing the typical Russian-Jewish mother noticed was my lack of umbrella, to which she told me she would inform my mother. (to which I replied “Ya ne saharnaya…” [im not made of sugar]). I took them to Cien Montaditos, the little place that is so popular all over Spain where you choose from over 100 different sandwiches, then El Patio Sevillano, the place Celeste took us. During our walks, I think I pointed out at least ten different heladerias/pastry shops…it’s obvious what I’ve been doing here…

We walked down Avenida Cristobal Colon, and finished at a tapas bar in Triana. They tried: 3 montaditos, patatas alioli, pimientos con atun, croquetas caseras, salmorejo, and gambas ajillos. It was really fun to show my city to someone else, and although it seems like I have only been here a week rather than a month, I had a lot to show.

Afterwards, I met Petra and her friend Diana for a stroll down Calle Betis in the moonlight which was the perfect ending to a Friday evening.
29 Septiembre 2007, Sabado

I packed my bag for the long-looked-forward to Chiclana beach weekend. Although the weather looked anything but beachy, I still wore a beach dress and was in high spirits. The drive to Chiclana was nice, and Natalia and I finished listening to the Malaga playlist I made on my Ipod. We arrived to the Vincci Resort and descended from the bus taking in the sea breeze. The resort was very nice, four stars I think, and we walked through the maze of rooms to find ours. It was perfect…a living, separate bedroom, bathroom, and beautiful balcony leading into a lawn and golf course. The weather was a bit foreboding, so we opted to eat our bocadillo lunch on the patio. After, Natalia, Petra and I did the first thing any sensible girls would do: we headed to the local Supermercado to load up on…junk food…. We wanted to hit the tiendas for a bit, but it was siesta and there really was no town…just the beach. We had café con leche and postres…delicious…my favorite postre is this chocolate covered crunchy croissant type thing. (im going on a diet as we speak).

We basked in the glory of nothingness and mingled with the others from our program on all of our porches. Though the afternoon was gross, we went to the glorious pool in the center of the resort. Braver than me, Petra and Natalia went in, as I took pictures poolside. In the evening we totally pigged out to the amazing buffet dinner….amazing, amazing….they had every kind of tapa imaginable along with meat, fish, french fries….everything! since there was no where to go really, we just hung out in our rooms and played silly games like movie titles charades (in espanol of course…dirty dancing=bailes sucios??)
I missed my family like crazy today because it was my nephew 5th birthday, and I can only imagine the crazy over the top shenanigans my brother and sister-in-law had planned for Elliot’s birthday party…

Malaga

2007-10-02T03:24:00.001-07:00

27 Septiembre 2007, Jueves

I am in love with Spanish cine…especially my 9 AM class. How many college students can say that? My teacher, Luis Navarrete, is fabulous. He is a thirtysomething Sevillano who is obviously a film director, judging from the passion which he possesses when describing Spanish film. He is also the head of the Sevillana film jury, and apparently, Sevilla has a large film festival coming up….to which we all get into free!!! Free!!! Gratis!!! He began by explaining the differences between Spanish and American film, Spanish film is an expression of the director and has nothing to do with the actors, which is the flip side of American film. We watched two short films…one, a classic, lasted only eight minutes, but was fabulous. The other, “El Censor,” reader, if you can google it, it is AMAZING…and half English, half Spanish with subtitles. It is worth your time. The short film is about a Spaniard who moves to America in the 70’s. Especially interesting for us, was the cultural relativism we could relate to, having lived in American and Spanish locales.

The first class ended a bit early, so Natalia and I decided to book it to catch the earlier train to Malaga. With only the bare necessities fitting into my purse, I could not wait for the aventura to begin. We made the train with five minutes to spare, and settled in for the two and a half hour paseo through the countryside of Andalucia. It was fabulous…we didn’t really have a plan except for to see the city, and had booked a hostel a few days before.

The first thing we did when we got to Malaga was (of course) go to H and M, which was in the train station/mall. After making the obligatory stop, we headed to a tourist booth to grab a map, and an internet café to find out the name and address of the hostel for future purposes (note to self: do this before leaving next time). In a few minutes we got hungry, so we settled down on a cute bench to eat our bocadillos that our Senora’s made. After successfully spilling coke all over myself and the ground, I dug into my sandwich, which was as usual, Spanish tortilla with this cardboard like circular bread. Needless to say, my Senora would benefit from learning how to make sandwiches properly. (but here, I am also feeling bitchy because of an argument I just had with her about calling time, but I stray….)

We walked. And walked. And mostly I took many pictures. We made it to the main street, equivalent to Avenida de la Constitucion in Sevilla, with a bunch of shops and cool buildings. We followed the tourist path described in the map through little cafes and strolling flamenco guitarists. (insert movie clip here). We reached the location of the famed cathedral and decided to check how much it would cost to go inside. As we approached the price list, we noticed a white piece of paper covering the prices which said “hoy gratis” (today free). With burgeoning incredulity, I asked the ticket taker what the deal was. He pointed to a poster which read: World Tourism Day- September 27, 2007 in Malaga every tourist attraction free, and guided tours. I could not believe my luck. The one random day I chose to go to Malaga…everything was FREE. Thank you Spain! We went inside the gothic cathedral which was gorgeous, as usual. I swear, I could not come to turns with our lucky stroke, and I’m sure, annoyed Natalia throughout the day by my thanking the World Tourism Day Gods for our luck.

Afterwards we strolled through some narrow streets to the Picasso museum and the house where Picasso was born. Since he was born here, (along with Antonio Banderas) there is Picasso stuff all over the place. Feeling a little burned out by all the touristy stuff by this point, we sat down for a drink and a tapa. (sangria and ensaladilla rusa). Ensaladilla rusa is the funniest thing…it is literally “Russian salad” and is exactly like “olivye,” a typical Russian dish. They Spanish it up by adding tuna, however.

Onwards we walked to the Alcazaba, an ancient Moorish castle and fortress. We climbed and climbed to the very top, stopping to take pictures of the gorgeous scenery from time to time. It was interesting that most of the tourists here were not American. In fact, we had a hard time communicating with some German tourists who we somehow asked to take a picture for us. They did not speak Russian/Spanish/English and we did not speak German so the language barrier was quite obvious and QUITE frustrating.

We also met some nice Irish ladies up at the top of the Alcazaba while glancing at the beautiful port in the Mediterranean and the charming plaza de toros. After shlepping all the way up (it’s at the top of a hill for fortification purposes) we decided to go check out our hostel.

We took a cab to the Melting Pot Hostel for Backpackers, and shlepped some more up some steps. The place was very reminiscent of the Hollywood Hills in the manner of how the houses are arranged on hills. As we walked in, there was eclectic music playing and a receptionist asked us for our passports, and we looked back at her in horror. Resolving the issue by using other forms of photo ID, I explored the hostel while Natalia dealt with the paperwork.

How do I describe this place? OK, imagine a couple of rooms with 4 bunk beds. Now imagine a small kitchen. Finally, imagine a living room with a small bar. Add some beads and hippie type artwork to the mixture and you’ve got it. The novelty of such a bare location was really interesting. In our bedroom, there were huge backpacks from people who were actually backpacking across Europe. We shared a bathroom with I don’t even know how many people, but it was fun. We decided to quench our thirst with a drink, and took in the gorgeous view from the patio. When we were done, we put our drinks on the bar and proceeded to check our email from the free computer station. The bartender came up to us and asked us to put our cups in the dishwasher! Dumbfounded, I had to go and actually do the dishes…oh hostel life….

We left the hostel and wandered around the beach area, which honestly, was not that great. I would not recommend Malaga for beachgoers at all, and I’ve heard it is known more for the bars on the beach than the beach itself. Since we lucked out on World Tourism Day, we went back to the center for a special concert and guided tour. During the concert, they played Malaguena, a song I have played on the piano for years, and never really understood that a “malaguena” is a citizen of Malaga. Que suerte! I must tell Mrs. Yaw…

For dinner, we had muchas aventuras. In the hostel, I discovered a novel concept: there were these little cards that were advertisements for restaurants, but also had discounts…mostly something like “free tapa with drink…” which is a great deal if you think about it. We decided to tapear at these locations like real college students, Rachael Ray would have been proud! The first location was a tiny little tapa bar in a hard to find cute alleyway. There was Chambao (a popular band known for “flamenco chill” style music) playing in the background, and many couples enjoying romantic Malaga when Natalia and I plopped down to have our free tapa. The waitress was a nice German girl, also living in Spain to learn Spanish and we chatted for a bit. I ordered paella while Natalia opted for a montadito (sandwich). We chatted for a bit, and then headed to the next locale…

This place was called KlikWine (or something) and was fairly cute. We made friends with an elderly American couple from San Francisco. We shared pimientos con atun (peppers with tuna) and ensaladilla rusa, while talking to our waitress whose husband owned the restaurant. The last place we went to offered a taste of Malaga wine (disgustingly sweet crap) and a seafood salad (yay!). We met some Americans studying in Leon who also had the free cards. It turned out to be a really fun night because of the variety of people we met, but by the end of it, we were stuffed and TIRED. We headed back to the hostel to tuck in.

La Constitution de España (noootttt)

2007-10-02T03:12:00.000-07:00

26 Septiembre 2007, Miercoles

Today was the first day of University classes…and now, a few moments to describe the chaos that is the University of Seville: the building is a giant rectangle with two floors and two courtyards in the center. The classrooms are arranged in absolutely no numerical order and alternate between using Roman numerals and numbers for the classroom. For example, it is completely normal for Aula (classroom) IX to be right next to Aula 201. It is also completely normal for Aula IX to be on the first floor, and Aula X to be on the second. Now, there are also the same numbered aulas in different facultades, which is what we learned today. I arrived super early because I wanted to find a fun class to sit in on, and I settled for Anthropology of Symbols at 9:45. I began to search for the classroom, thinking 15 minutes was enough time to find the blasted room. Thirty minutes later, I was sure I had passed the same smirking students I asked before how to find the classroom. Cursing in Spanish underneath my breath, I resolved to put the past behind me and look for my next class in Aula IX, a class called El Mundo Actual, the actual world, about political transitions and history of 20th century governments. Somehow, mentally giving myself a high-five, I find Aula IX, and a tapa bar right next to it. (gotta love Spain) I sat down and had a café con leche while browsing the morning paper, secure in the knowledge that yes, I knew the location of my next class. A few minutes later, Natalia called me and joined me for coffee. We made a battle plan: we WOULD make Sevillano friends in the class. We WOULD NOT sit next to each other in class, like most American students. At about five minutes til, we synchronized our watches and put our plan into motion. Outside of the Aula, we met a nice Sevillana named Christina (after kissing cheeks of course) who complimented our Spanish. Little did we know what was to come. I walked into the lecture room and began to find the perfect seat. After switching two times, I settled on the third row. I knew something was wrong when an older man began speaking…our teacher was supposed to be a woman. It took me about 10 minutes to understand a word he was saying…and then another 5 to realize we were in the wrong class. We were in an upper level graduate course on specific amendments to the Spanish constitution. The professor asked questions like “Que dijo el articulo diez y ocho de la constitution?” (what does article 18 of the constitution say?) Thank goodness he did not call on us directly. All of the students around me were scribbling away pages and pages of notes, while I wrote random words like “articulo 18” down. It was one hour of pure torture. That’s when we learned there was more than one Aula IX. After that horrendous experience, we had coffee with Jaoine and her bf, to whom we recounted our experience. We tried a pastry called “bollo de leche” which looked exactly like a bulochka. (look at the similarity of words! Amazing!) (like a little pastry)

After having had two cups of café con leche (which I do not recommend in any circumstance) I decided to try out one class, while Natalia tried out the other. My professor was horrendously boring, not to mention the class was full of extranjeros. Adamant in my quest for Sevillana friends, I tried to strike up conversation with the girl sitting in front of me who, alas, turned out to be French. (her name was Cereal or something).

Later that afternoon, some girls and I decided to try a traditional Spanish dessert: churros con chocolate. (oooohhh yeahhhhh). We went to a famous little place that one of our Senora’s recommended and ordered a bunch. The churros are fried in a huge vat, and come in a giant ring which the guy cute with scissors into the long familiar shape we recognize as churros. They are served on metal platters with packets of sugar on the side which you sprinkle on top. The chocolate is thick and hot, and served in a glass. Churros dipped in hot chocolate……..you can imagine how incredibly happy I was.

After dinner, I went to go see “Casate Conmigo,” an American film dubbed in Spanish which was, as expected, a waste of time. The funny thing was that we went for a later showing, and there was no one in the theater. When we told the people working there, they pretended it was a “mistake,” when really then just didn’t play the movie ‘cuz they didn’t feel like it.

2007-09-26T05:06:00.000-07:00

We returned to the city around six, and I decided to explore around my neighborhood for a bit. That evening, we went to a club called Aqua (Antik) which is hands down, the most select, hottest VIP place in Sevilla. It’s where J. Lo and David Beckham frequent when they visit, and in order to get in, you have to know somebody. It was really interesting because at first, we were told we had to have special invites….(right). I called my friend Petra, who was already inside because she had a friend of a friend who is this famous art dealer who owns an art gallery and bar in Sevilla (He’s an American from Ohio). She came out and had to convince the bouncer to let us in, who wouldn’t because he didn’t know “Michael.” So Michael himself had to come to our rescue, with a nod from the bouncer we were in! The place was an outdoor club filled with gorgeous Sevillians, bouncing to the house music. There was lots of water from fountains and pools, adhering to the club’s name. The coolest part was this huge tank of water above the bar, which an Asian model (who looked about 6 feet tall and 90 pounds) would swim in. It was tiny and she was wearing this flowy dress, so all she did was languish in the water and do somersaults every once in a while….not bad for a weekend job, eh?

23 Septiembre 2007, Sunday

So I slept until 2. And then we had lunch right away, which oddly enough, was zharkoye. (Meat and potatoes Russian style in Spain). Natasha and I met up for a power Italy ticket buying session which took up 2 hours of sweaty internet café time. But yay! We are going to Italy for five days! Oy vey, this now means we have to book hostels and plan it out…once again…oy vey. At least it’s just us two and not 5 or 6 people who all want to do different things and have gossip and whatnot. Afterwards we walked around and got helado. The helado ritual has become both the highlight of my day, and the saddest part. At first, you start thinking about helado. Then you think about what brand of helado you want; there are a bajillion here, along with little hole in the wall ice cream shops. There’s Frigo, La Lechera, Carte D’Or, Flanela, Raya, etc. Then you think about what flavor you want, I usually try to mix it up by alternating chocolate flavor, or vanilla. Then it’s what kind of chocolate or vanilla…and if you want a mix, go for stracciatella for sure. You might think it’s over but it’s not, because then, you have to decide if it’s vasito or cucurucho (cup or cone). Then you eat it, and of course that’s amazing, but when it’s over…that’s so sad. OK moving on…

In the evening, we met up for a glass of wine and planning our trips in Santa Cruz. I want to do enough planning so that we have an idea of where we want to go and what are the main sights to see, and leave the rest up to Lady Fate.

24 Septiembre 2007, Monday

This morning, for the first time in la Universidad de Sevilla’s 500 year history, they had a meeting to welcome the international students. Which, of course, started 30 minutes late. Today one of my seminars began….it’s something like culture in contemporary Spain, and has to do with everything we are experiencing: politics, food, travels, daily life and facets of life that are different for Sevillanos than Americans. It is taught by Macarena, one of the main people in charge of the program, who is this nice little woman who looks exactly like my sister-in-law’s mom. Sometimes I expect her to start speaking Russian, but she hasn’t yet. Today’s class focused on Mileuristas… literally people who earn 1000 euros a month, which is most of Spanish young people. As a result, they cannot afford to move out of the house because renting apartments is not a concept that is accepted here. Instead, they live with their parents until they get married. Kind of like my brother Juan. We had a guy come in to talk to us about it, and it was interesting, because on one hand it’s really nice that they have someone who cooks, cleans, and pays the rent for them, on the other hand, they have no sense of independence or freedom. It’s something that is quite common in Spain, but in the US, would be considered ludicrous.

In the evening, I bought myself shoes as Sevilla has literally destroyed my one pair of comfortable sandals that were supposed to last three months. There is a huge crack going down the soles so, instead of two shoes…I have four. We also went to see a movie called “Casate Conmigo” with Jason Biggs, it was an American film, but I’m not sure if it even came out in the States because it was that bad. Before, we decided to go check out the local TGI Friday’s for fun, to watch the Spaniards indulging in greasy hamburgers, listening to old American music. They even sang a song for someone’s birthday, but it was most definitely Spanish and all the people in the booth had to stand up on the cushions…hmmm….

25 Septiembre 2007, Tuesday

Oy. I HATE EL CORTE INGLES. Those coño pundejos would not let me return my camera. Which at this point, I’m very nervous about telling my parents. Oops, that’s them calling.

I went to that horrid place with high hopes because everyone had told me that I would not have a problem returning the darn thing. The woman at the counter took out the camera and began inspecting it closely, she told me that they could not take back something that had been used. I, however, asked her how I could try the camera without opening it. To which she had no reply but, “no.” After a prolonged discussion, I headed to “servicio de los clients” on the third floor where I waited for 45 minutes before someone could handle my case. The manager of the store basically told me the same thing, but boy, would I have liked to watch that scene. I was very disgruntled and upset when I left el cono ingles.

My Señora was quite surprised to hear my story, as she was one of the main people who emphasized that with El Corte, I would not have problems. For lunch, she made macaroni soup and boquerones, those fried fish. Mmmm….

We had our first Español para Negocios (Spanish for Business) class today with Maria Boloix, our French-Spanish teacher. (who loves America and speaks perfect English). It’s a cool class because we have to come up with our own business plan, and by the end of the class, present all of the logistics of the business to the class. I have a few ideas…

After class, I had café con leche in the customary location. And afterwards, I decided to try El Corte Ingles: Round Two. This time I went to the Corte in the city center with a new battle plan. Unfortunately, all I could do was exchange the battery…Final Score: El Corte Ingles: 2 Estela:0 (but 2 cameras!)

I was so tired for some reason, I think it’s because this morning I woke up, literally, with a bang. It sounded like a bomb, but really, it was the continuing construction (torture) of the houses being built next door. I don’t know how constructive dropping large masses of weight are to the building of a house, but what I do know is that I will never be able to sleep past 8:30 on a weekday…which isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

Natalia and I decided to go to Malaga on Thursday-Friday, since we only have morning class on Thursday and no one in this city does anything on Friday. (world wide trend?)

3 New Entries Today!

2007-09-24T04:30:00.001-07:00

OK, I just discovered this video option, so I wanted to post this video of my room...but if you want to read more, you can see that I posted 2 other entries today! Oy, it sucks not having internet...this is something we take for granted in the States, (along with toilet paper in public bathrooms....you pick, which is worse?)

Oy hay mucho para decirte!

2007-09-24T03:12:00.000-07:00

21 Septiembre, Viernes

Today we got to sleep in! We had a meeting about classes starting and then a guy from the Morocco Exchange program came to speak about their program. I was very on the fence about the program until I saw the video. Although they emphasize that they are not a tour group and are different, it seems as if they are a specialized tour group aiming to prove a point to American college students. I decided that I will get to experience many similar ideas when I travel to Israel, and though I aim to not regret anything or miss out anything, I honestly don’t think I will miss out on too much.

As a group, we had lunch at San Marco, an Italian restaurant. It was deeeliiiccciiouuuss. Salad, lasagna, and an amazing dessert. Afterwards, Natalia and I spent…… THREE HOURS at an internet café buying browsing the web for ever increasing ticket prices, but we finally bought some and have most of our weekends figured out. Here goes:

October 4-7…….. Barcelona!

October 11-14…….?????

October 17-20……..Paris (staying with my friend Camille hopefully)

October 26-28…….Granada (with our program)

November 1-3……...Portugal with my parents

November 8-10…….Cordoba (with program)

November 15-17….. Frankfurt, Germany (we’re staying with Natalia’s friend)

November 21-23….Valencia

November 27-30….???????? (maybe north Spain)

December 5-9…..ITALY!!!

So we have two weekends free, one of which Natalia’s “hermano” is getting married, so I threatened her with brutal words if she does not, somehow, get me invited to the wedding. So, you’re probably wondering, what ever happened to London? Well, gentle reader, Natalia was not permitted to enter London. So we had to pay to change our tickets, but it’s ok, because we are saving mucho dinero going to Frankfurt, where her friend lives, and we will stay with…not to mention, she’s going to show us around. I didn’t really care to go to Frankfurt, but it seems too good of an opportunity to pass up considering we have someone to stay with and really introduce us to the city.

Phew! That’s how I felt after those 3 hours…plus uber sweaty. I returned to the casa for dinner, which Senora has been really skimping on lately. Tonight, and I kid you not, she tried to prepare a frozen pizza. I found this highly comical because we get made fun of in the States for not cooking, and here I am in Spain, threatened with the idea of frozen pizza. Luckily (or unluckily), she burnt the crap out of it, but even though it was charred and black, she was like “Cena esta lista! Juannnnnnnnnn!” (dinner is prepared.) Juan comes downstairs, looks at the pizza and says, “Mama! Esta quemada! No puedo comerlo!” (mom it’s burnt, I can’t eat this) Senora’s like… “No, no,no! Esta bien…” and I was like… “Uhhh….” At this point I began to poke it to see if there was any nutritional value left in the carcinogenic black disc… Juan huffily ran back to the ridiculously loud techno music blasting from his room, and Senora muttered something about paninis as she was on the phone when this occurred. She reached down into the deep freezer and pulled out this frozen tuna panini thing we had the other night and began to open the box. My blood turned cold at the thought of eating the nutritionally devoid cardboard tasting “panini” again… I asked Senora to make a sandwich instead. OK, I realize I’m totally spoiled, but hear me out, this is really odd compared to what all the other kids tell me. For example, on Saturday, our Senora’s were supposed to pack us a “bocadillo” (sandwich) for our excurusion. Senora made me an omelet (very tasty) and put it between two pieces of bread. (not tasty) That was it. Natalia’s on the other hand, made her enough food for 3 people…and that’s how everyone else’s were….not that I need that much food, I suppose, but I guess I just feel like she doesn’t really care…

Anyway…..after talking to my parents, I left to go for a super exciting evening. It was La Noche Larga, an event where all of Seville’s museums opened their doors to the public for free, literally translated as “the long night.” There were also buses transporting people from museum to museum, and special performances throughout the night. I met Natalia at Plaza de Cuba and checked out the Mueso de Carruajes (carriage museum) before beginning La Noche Larga, which they should have called La Cola Larga because that’s all it was….liiinnnnnnnnnesssss and linnnnnnessss of people….(cola is line). We went to Plaza de America to see the museum of Spanish customs. There we ran into Jaoine and met some of her Sevillano friends. The museum was pretty cool, the exterior actually being cooler than the interior, since it was a mudejar palace (remember mudejar? The style that is a mixture of Christian and Moor design) complete with beautiful arches and terraces. There were these crazy teletubby characters performing melodramatic scenes, which was very interesting.

Now for the best part: I saw, hands down, the most raw and amazing performance of my life. In the patio, there was a flamenco performance by local professionals. Let me emphasize that the goal of La Noche Larga by the local ayuntamiento (city govt) was to promote cultural excursions for local Sevillanos, so this was not aimed at tourists at all. We entered the patio, which had an open part in the center for a bailaora, flamenco dancer, and cantaor, singer. (the words are interesting because bailador means dancer, but in the local Andalucian accent, it is pronounced “bailaor” so the word evolved to mean specifically an Andalucian flamenco dancer). The performance began with a guitarist and vocalist, of musical quality which was fabulous. The woman sang with the sorrow and passion that flamenco is supposed to embody, and I could feel goosebumps on my arms from the beautiful resonance of her voice. Everyone was in awe of the caliber of the performance, but then, the bailaora stepped out, a beautiful Sevillana wearing a black flamenco dress with flowers covering the sides and ruffles on the bottom. She danced with such feeling, such raw emotion. She danced as is nothing else in the world mattered but the dance itself. One could tell that she was dancing for no one but herself, and she was dancing from her soul. Flamenco, it seems, is a metaphor for life. It is beautiful and sad, intoxicating and delightful, filled with raw passion that cannot be described with words. The smooth and languid gyrations of the bailaora’s hips followed in stark contrast by the loud and precise clapping and stamping clearly emphasized how quickly life can change course. Neither the bailaora nor the cantaora smiled; flamenco is not about obvious emotion, it is about digging deep into one’s soul to find true meaning and passion. The proud stature and confidence of the bailaora displayed something most people strive for: the complete acceptance of one’s self, regardless of any outside influence. This performance really made me think, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so honest in my life. I stood transfixed for the longest time.

We wanted to go to the flamenco museum, so we waited for the bus for about 30 minutes, and then the bus gave us a nice hour long tour of Sevilla before stopping at the flamenco museum. The line for the flamenco museum was a mile long, and there was only an hour left to the program so we opted to hit Alfalfa for a few minutes, and then went home.

22 Septiembre 2007, Sabado

This morning I shlepped to the bus stop to meet the group by 9:30 AM in order to go to Jerez, then Cadiz. The drive was about an hour and a half through the Spanish countryside. Natalia and I rocked out to Russian popsa (ooohhh yeahhhhh)…

Jerez is a small town known for its extensive vineyards and wineries, called bodegas or vineros. We went to a vineyard called Gonzales Byass, known for its signature label, Tio Pepe. We ran into our American friend from last week there (the one who thought we were locals) which was quite comical, and quickly gave him an hola before scurrying off.

A cool part of the vineyard was this little building designed by none other than Gustav Eiffel, of Eiffel tour fame, which housed old barrels of wine with escudas (coat of arms) of all the countries which the vineyard had done business with. After our guide finished speaking, I ran over to take a picture with the Israel barrel. But as I was striking a pose, I actually knocked it over (mierda!). Natalia got it in a picture: (I fixed it, it was ok)

The fragrance in the air was intoxicating in itself, and the whole place just felt so relaxed. We went into rooms filled with brown wooden barrels stacked up and down, side by side, each over a hundred years old, and the ceilings were covered in grapes with the sun peeking through the lush green foliage. Cool fact: they make amazing sherry there, and the word “sherry” actually comes from the word “Jerez…”

After the tour, complete with a little train ride and video, we sat down for a wine tasting. They let us try a tio pepe sherry, and a dulce (sweet) which lived up to its name. Of course, everyone bought a souvenir in the gift shop. Oh so touristy…

We boarded the bus and headed to Cadiz, which is famed for being the port where Columbus came to, and in that time period, the port through which anything was shipped to and from the Americas. The city was actually founded realllly long ago, Macarena mentioned it was founded around the same time Moses led the Judios out of Egypt.

Now though, Cadiz is famed for its beaches. Playa Victoria is gorgeous and the sand es muuy suave (soft). There were lots of people on the beach, old ladies gossiping, young women tanning (sometimes topless) old women tanning (also sometimes topless) kids playing soccer, one woman playing paddleball with her son while smoking a cigarette…the water was blue and warm, and one could see the outline of the city in the distance. Needless to say, it was gorgeous. So of course, we walked along the shoreline, me stopping every so often to pick up a seashell, and then…….we had helado. Of course.

Mas de Sevilla

2007-09-24T02:48:00.001-07:00

Can I just say that I have been mistaken for a Sevillana at least a dozen times now. I’m really starting to feel at home here, in that I can find my way pretty easily without a map. The only sad part is that someone will ask me a question in Spanish, and as soon as I open my mouth to answer, I am discounted as an American who knows nothing because of my accent. *sigh* I hope this isn’t how immigrants are treated in the States…(ok I know they are, but one can’t help being idealistic) I want to get rid of my accent so badly, but it seems to just be getting worse….help!

19 Septiembre 2007, Miercoles

What an ammmaaaazzziinnnnggg day! After classes, I had café con leche with Petra and another girl from our program. We have a “place” now that we go to every day after class, it’s in a hidden archway by the cathedral…the coffee is amazing and only costs one euro! (cheapest in the city I’ve found).

We bought some postcards…to add to the collection no doubt. During lunch, which was me, Marion, Maria Jose, and Juan because Senora had to go somewhere (her cousin Jose Maria, had died in a distant pueblo so she went to his funeral, Marion helped me with the subjunctive. Oh by the way…the way you pronounce Marion is ma-ree-AHN. My parents called after lunch, but somehow the phone was in Senora’s room which she locked before leaving the house. (who locks their bedroom?) Everyone was searching for “the hidden key,” and finally, after about 15 minutes it was found…somewhere…

After lunch, Natalia and I explored Plaza de Armas, another part of the city. We walked by the river Guadalquivir, and sat down at a café to go over grammar. It was glorious…

You might be asking…What do Sevillanos eat?

Sevillanos are on a Meditteranean diet….everything is doused with olive oil. They eat lots of seafood and lots of fruit. They eat a little bread, but not too much. Rice is eaten occasionally, but the main grain is…probably bread even though we don’t eat it much. We eat a lot of garbanzo beans. We eat chicken every so often, but ham and pork are the norm here. It’s everywhere! Sevillanos eat a little piece of bread with olive oil for breakfast, then eat a large lunch around 2:30…then for dinner, usually a sandwich around 9:30. Tapas are obviously HUGE here, one of the main things the city (region) is known for. But tapas here are done differently than tapas in America. Here, people go out for a drink and get a tapa, kind of like a snack, to go with their drink. If tapas are eaten for dinner, people can go to multiple tapa bars that each have something they are famous for. Otherwise, they get “raciones,” bigger sized tapas. Ice cream is also really popular during the summer, but usually, fruit is eaten as dessert after meals. Obviously each house/person is different. Family lunch is common around here, I love the fact that my Senora makes lunch for her 3 grown children every day. It’s so hard to believe each day, sitting in the little white kitchen, and sharing a meal with four people who you don’t know well, but to each other, are family. To be in on their little jokes or just to observe the family dynamics, to me, is very interesting. Sometimes I think about people like, hmmm, I wonder what my parents, brother, or even a random friend might be doing this very moment. And then, my thoughts do this cool map of the world bit where I imagine where I am geographically in relation to them….ok you have to trust me on this one, its pretty cool…

After leaving Plaza de Armas, which was just a pathetic excuse for a shopping mall, playing old American music (for example, that song from Ghost…ooh my love, my darling…and time can mean so much…which Natalia and I definitely sang along to). We walked along the little streets, and I came across more Jewish stuff! I saw these little decorated plates with menorahs and Stars of David in the window of a small hardware store, so of course I went in and bought one. I doubt the Sevillanos even know the significance of the symbol, and I wonder how long my little Jewish plate sat in the store before a nice JAP came and picked it up…

Then, seeking more adventure, Natalia and I began to search for “el mejor helado de Sevilla,” (the best ice cream) supposedly by the Plaza de Incarnation called Raya. I’d never been to that Plaza, but a little farther, they are building these massive moderney tubes. They are huuuuuugeeee, and look completely out of place in the skyline of such a historic place. Finally, after asking many locals, we found Raya…and it had about 4503985 flavors…the girl behind the counter, with a sour look on her face, informed us we could only try ONE flavor each…I got stracciatella (of course) and Natalia got something weird, I don’t remember. We crossed the street and sat down at a bench in the park. Vale, I’m going to try to describe this scene as best as I can, because I want you, gentle reader, to be able to close your eyes and imagine….a small plaza, complete with small trees lining its four corners, a playground with adorable little Spanish children running around like crazy and screaming, little benches lined with tourists and their maps, old Senoras, widows, fanning themselves with their abanicos, (fans) and young Spanish teenagers with their piercings and weird haircuts, all sitting and enjoying a nice breeze and the scenery of little streets winding all around them. And there was us…two Americans chowing down on helado in cucuruchos (remember? Ice cream cones…) “This is life…” I remember cheesily saying that to a Natasha who was more concerned with the ice cream that was melting all over her bag, than observing two widows chilling on a bench with their puppy, sisters I’m sure, with their identical wrinkled faces scowling at the rebellious teenagers across the way from them.

We wandered some more and ended up, unknowlingly, on our favorite Alfalfa street and took a picture of it by day. There are so many little shops for vestidos de novia (wedding dresses) in this part of the city, but we decided to make our way into a shop of real flamenco dresses, and when I say real, I mean they were heavy and expensive, not the tourist cheap rip-off version. We decided to try on one of the dresses, and Natalia chose a gorgeous green and pink dress with huge ruffles at the bottom while I opted for a red and white polka dot dress. Mine didn’t fit me (I still can’t figure out what size I am on this continent) but Natalia’s fit her perfectly and was gorgeous, and I’m sure that if the dress hadn’t cost 600 euros (about $900 dollars) she would have bought it.

Leaving behind an annoyed shopkeeper, we decided to stop at a café called Cien Montaditos (100 little sandwiches) which is popular here. You get a menu of 100 different choices of tapa style sandwiches, all costing 1.80 euro. We chose a gamba (shrimp) con Philadelphia montadito, which turned out to be cream cheese…who knew. It really was a fabulous day of exploration and adventure, and by the time I got home to my customary dinner of an oh so Spanish style (not really) sandwich, I was ready to go to bed.

20 Septiembre, Jueves

Today we had pruebas (quizzes) in each of our classes to mark the end of orientation. Afterwards, Petra and I had our customary café con leche at Rayuela, and I decided to do the unbelievable… I walked home. After an hour of speed walking, I arrived at the casa covered in sweat from the hot Iberian sun. Senora made these amazing atun en rellenos, tuna salad inside roasted red peppers, for lunch. After lunch, some of the girls came to Nervion to check out the shops. We walked around, and of course, had the amazing and cheap helado that I have been bragging about since I found it…

When the majority of the girls left, Natalia and I decided to roam around and settled on a café to have a fanta/coca cola lite. There were the cutest Spanish babies around, and lot of Spanish grandpas/grandmas to comment on the cuteness of their babies. We tried to participate in enjoying the cuteness…fun fact….in Spanish, “mono” means monkey, but “mono” also means cute…so you say, “Que mono!” which can mean “what monkey?” or “how cute!”

That night, we Natalia, Petra, and I witnessed the craziest thing. We were walking down Calle Betis, which is the street right by the river Guadalquivir which is filled with little cafes and bars, and some of the best tapas places in the world, enjoying the beautiful view of the Puente Triana, all lit up at night. As we began to cross, I noticed something strange. From a tower right by the bridge, a waiter at a restaurant was throwing bread rolls into the river. Now mind you, this restaurant was pretty high from the river. At first I discounted it as a troublemaker, but then I looked down at the river. Schools of fish began to appear in swarms from underneath the black murkiness of the river. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of crazy fish fighting for these bread rolls and carrying them on their backs to whatever secret places fish have. It looked like something from a horror movie because of the blackness of the water and the ridiculous quantity of fish emerging. After a few minutes of amazed open mouthed wonder, I noticed ducks beginning to get in on the action. Now, when the ducks arrived, the fish figured they were screwed, so they either gave up, or took the bread away even faster. Weird.

Look, to the right, there is a blog above the yellow building....that's the bread...

Anyway, we went to a sitio (place) called Rubec, where Petra somehow knew the owner, a random art gallery owner from Ohio, and had a glass of champagne. The place was super trendy and hip, but the people were not that friendly, and we wanted to leave but it started to pour like crazy. We ended up going to another place, and then another, on Calle Betis, and met some nice Americans from Chicago…who worked in the financial district downtown…small world…

El Mejor Noche...

2007-09-20T02:07:00.000-07:00

Permit me on more photo which is really cool...me descending into a ancient grave...

16 Septiembre 2007, Domingo

Vale. Last night was the best night ever. It was for nights like the last one that this blog is named “Las Aventuras…”

Natalia and I met up and walked around the center a bit around 11 PM, which contrary to what you might be thinking, is extremely early for a Sevillano. Like, I’m- eating- dinner- and- not- even –beginning- to- think –about- what- I’m -going –to- wear- when -I –go- out early. It was empty but full at the same time, with the tall buildings and pedestrian walkways providing the perfect avenue for casual walking and talking. Everything in Seville is well lit and extremely safe. Even I, the psychotic overprotective girl who always has pepper spray in her hand, must admit that the environment here is just incredible in terms of safety…there is always a police car within sight, there are no weird people roaming the streets, most of the center is pedestrian, and everything, like already mentioned, is well lit. Of course, this is just the center to which I’m referring, there are definitely sketchy neighborhoods, just like any city, but obviously, you just don’t go there.

We sat down at a café around 11:40, randomly choosing one of the many lining the tiny streets. Our waiter did not even approach us until 12. We ordered a tapa and a drink, and proceeded to wait another 30 minutes until we were served. In typical European fashion, we watched the waiter, an elderly gentleman Sevillano, take several drags of his cigarette instead of serving us drinks. And then, he answered his ringing cell phone as we were ordering. Oh Sevilla….we had croquetas which oddly enough, came with French fries, something I have not eaten since the states, but surprised me as being real comfort food, and a seafood ensaladilla.

We then headed to Alfalfa…have I described Alfalfa? Ok if I haven’t, here goes…it’s a tiny narrow street with bars and restaurants where people go to stand outside and mingle. Our favorite bar there is this tiny hole in the wall place with these two amazingly efficient bartenders…young girls who cannot be any older than eighteen or nineteen, who are just amazing to watch. Tes, the one who really astounds me, can be doing 3 different things simultaneously…and the bar is tinnnnyyy…Paloma, the other girl, is quite pretty and somehow the two manage to harmoniously serve throngs of people without running into each other.

Pointing to the traditional outfits of people in parades during Semana Santa, it may look sketchily familiar because they were adopted by the KKK

Natalia and I met some of our friends there…but first we ran into Juan Carlos, Jaoine’s boyfriend, and co. We can barely understand Juan Carlos, and his friends, not even at all…we just kind of guess at what’s going on, and when worse comes to worse, just laugh. When they found out Natalia was from Latvia, one yelled…”Latvia! Ten points!” which for some reason, must be really funny or come from somewhere, but soon became the anthem for the night. As we were mingling with people, we met some people from the UK, one from London who told us all of the good places to visit when we go there, and some others from Dublin. They thought we were locals because they came up and asked for directions. (Speaking Spanish in cockney! So amusing!)

We met so many people! It was crazy, before in Alfalfa we nervously wondered who we could speak to in order to practice, but tonight, everyone was talking to us! I don’t know what it was, really, but it was spectacular. We met people from Sevilla and visitors from Cadiz. Our friends went to Catedral, the discoteca Natalia and I checked out the night before, so we went to just chill for a bit before exploring a different part of the town.

Haha, on the way to a different place, I had to sit down and rest my feet. We were just sitting enjoying the nighttime splendor of the cathedral when this Americano came up to us and started blundering in Spanish that he was wondering if he could talk to us, in order to improve his Spanish. It soon became painfully obvious that he thought we were locals, and was asking for tutelage from native speakers. As I mentioned before, there are a few strategic ways of appearing local (looking very posh, maintaining an air of confidence, and the use of “vale…vale..vale…”) . When we told him we were also American, the situation became very comical. This city is so full of Americans looking for the true Andalucian experience, sometimes it feels too small for such loud, obnoxious, college students.

After Catedral, we cabbed to Chile, a bar/discoteca Jaoine recommended and man…that was a cultural fiesta…NEVER…ever…EVER in my life, have I seen so many amazingly gorgeous, good-looking people in one place. EVERYONE there was impeccably dressed and naturally blessed with good looks. It was fun to just sit and stare. Unfortunately, it was somewhat loud and people were already mingling, and we didn’t know how to approach the close-knit groups of gorgeous model types speaking rapid Spanish. Observation was definitely fun, and we resolved to return to this locale a little earlier next time so as to meet people in the beginning.

Outside of nightclubs here, of which there seem to be hundreds, vendors sell hamburguesas and tortillas to hungry (sometimes drunken) nightclub-goers. The little stands are portable and look exactly like those carnival things in the States. As I eyed the hamburguesas in one stand, I knew I had to have it. It….was….amazing….that’s all I have to say, and I promise myself NO MORE HAMBURGUESAS while in Spain. (ok let’s be realistic…maybe one more).

Since we were already in one of the club districts, Natalia and I decided to check out one of the hottest, most selective clubs to see if we could get in. It’s called Casino and the queue was quite long as we approached. There, we met some guys from Granada who were celebrating a bachelor-esque night with one of their friends, who was about to get married. We told them we were students and after I told them I was a psychology major, one of the guys decided to test my psychology-ness. He told us that one of the four friends was a “foot doctor” (medico del pie)…and I had to guess which one. … they were astounded when I guessed correctly and with certainty. (oh logic…I picked the oldest looking one because I know the doctor process is quite a lengthy one…) Picture on the right: Jumping for joy at Avenida de Constitucion...

We met some girls also standing in line, who were especially nicely dressed after attending a wedding. Finally we nervously approached the entrance. They let us in without a problem…the cover was 25 euros (about 38 dollars!) but as usual, girls get in free. The atmosphere inside was very posh, it was lots of hot Sevillanos, tending to be a bit older in this place, but extremely well dressed. They mostly stood around with drinks in their manicured hands, bopping a bit to the beat, laughing at jokes, or just rapidly speaking Spanish. Older American songs were playing, (think “Don’t Phunk with my Heart”). It was a nice place, a little overcrowded but not hot because it was outdoors! We arrived too late to enjoy, and not being accustomed to being out so late, I was yawning all over the place. We decided to come back at a later time.

Sunday morning, which turned out to be 1 o’clock, which, by the way…is amazing to be able to sleep when you are used to Spanish construction workers with cranes yelling outside of your window every morning….I immediately had lunch with the fam, which turned out to be Juan and Senora because the girls, as usual, have gone to the beach. Mark that by “girls” I am talking about women well into their forties.

Have I talked about Senora’s daughters before? Marian is my favorite…I think she is youngest of the three girls. She is probably around 38-40, but is rubia (her hair is dyed blond) and has amazing layers (like most Spanish women). She is a teacher of English at a high school and is very cool. She acts really immature for sometimes, for example, one time she was looking to see what Senora made for lunch and made a face when she saw it… “Verdura! Me odio verdure! Mama!” (“Greens! I hate greens!”) She lives in her own little piso and is obsessed, like the rest of the family, with her little one-year old niece. Marian always talks to me and answers my questions and is just generally nice.

Maria Jose is older and more mature. She seems like the mom type but is not married. I’m not exactly sure because this was told to me at a time when I barely understand “hola, como estas?” in Andaluz, but I think she is the director of a school. She talks sooooooooo rapidly, even now, sometimes when she’s yelling at Juan, I can’t understand what she’s saying. We don’t really talk all that much but she seems very nice.

And then there’s Imma, who only visits once a month but I love her. Her little daughter Claudia is the apple of everyone’s eye. And man, this baby is sooo cute. She has these cute little cheeks and eyes like a doll. Whenever anyone talks about her, Senora starts laughing this jolly giggle that fills the whole house with happiness. Man this kid is gonna be sppoooiiillleeedddd………

Anyway, Monday I carried everything to an internet café almost an hour in transit from my home in order to actually use my laptop. There must be one nearby….come on Sevilla! Every American this side of the Gaudalquivir was at this café. Natalia came and we went to have a pastry in a café and just wander for a bit. We went to Santa Cruz, the really old barrio with all of the twisted streets that Sevilla is known for, to look for the Cabeza del Rey Don Pedro…

The story Maria Jose (our culture teacher) told us is that the king Don Pedro the Cruel, for whom the Alcazar was built, wanted to marry this one girl. The problem was…she was married. In true King David style, he killed her husband, who was a soldier, in a random street one morning. The whole town was shocked and could not believe a soldier had been attacked. The King proclaimed that whoever killed the soldier would have his head displayed in the street where the murder occurred. One day, a boy was found guilty for the crime. His mother came to court and told the king that her son was innocent, and she knew who the real killer was….the king himself! So in true kingly fashion, the king said yes, she was right, and then had a bust made of himself to fulfill the edict.

Natalia and I searched for this bust for about 2 hours, asking tens of Sevillanos where to find it, and we finally did! The problem was getting back…

17 Septiembre 2007, Lunes

Natalia and I bought tickets for London today! We almost went to Dublin because it was cheaper, but at the last moment, we opted for London. About five minutes after, Natalia realized she had a big problem…she is not a citizen of the U.S. nor of Latvia or anywhere for that matter, but is a non-citizen (whatever that means) of Latvia. And apparently, the snobby English do not let Latvian non-citizens into their privileged country. So now, she must appeal to the consulate and all of this other bureaucratic bullshit.

After lunch, I went out to explore Los Remedios and Triana, two other barrios in Sevilla. We just walked around and went into all the little shops and such, which was nice. Of course, I had helado, which unfortunately, has become somewhat of a daily ritual. Whoever said that you lose ten pounds while studying in Sevilla because of all the walking did not seem to take into account the fact that you eat helado while you walk. *sigh* oh well…as the legendary poet Sheryl Crow croons, “All I wanna do, is have some fun..”

In the evening, I was going to catch a movie with Petra, but the time she arrived at the cine, we realized we would get back too late to watch something. So we strolled around, and in true European style, had drinks and a montadito (a small sandwich, also considered a tapa). My favorite so far is “gamba con aioli” which is shrimp with aioli sauce, a kind of tasty mayonnaise.

18 Septiembre 2007, Martes

Today, we went out with Celeste, the director of our program, a true Sevillana. She is so amazing, and was telling us everything about everything. She came to a small town in Virginia as an international student when she was in college, and for her, it was fuuuuuuuullllllll immersion because there was no such thing as cell phones or internet. But apparently, she loved it because now, she spends about six months in the States, and six months in Sevilla. First, we went to El Corte Ingles to buy los dulces navidenos, a vocab word from class…polvorones, mantecados, y alfajores, in order to share them with the class. There were 5 of us girls who invited Celeste. After, she took us to a small tapas bar where we each had a drink and a tapa. (paid for by the program woohoo!) She told us a lot about the whole process of setting up the program, how our Senora’s get picked, and whatnot. After that place, we went to a really popular Sevillano hideout, this tapas bar where you sit on beautifully tiled steps on the inside.

Flamenco en Sevilla! (y proche)

2007-09-17T00:29:00.001-07:00

Check out my awesome hat!

13 Septiembre 2007, Jueves

Not much to report today. We went to the famous (not to mention ginormous) cathedral in Sevilla today. It is the main architectural touristy draw for the city, aside from the Plaza de Espana. It started out as a mezquita (mosque) sometime around the year 1100 and then got converted to a gothic cathedral in the 1400s and they just kept adding more and more…gothic architectural stuff to it. Like the Giralda…a huge bell tower that had to have been the tallest building in medieval Europe sometime. It has a huge weather vane at the top of it, which is where the name comes from: “girar”=to spin…giralda. I have been to (it feels like) thousands of gothic cathedrals and they all seem to mesh into one in my mind, so I hadn’t realized that I had actually been to the cathedral until I saw the tomb of Christopher Columbus, which is very distinct since it is this huge bronze statue of four Spanish kings carrying a coffin. Right around that time, Natalia and I ran into a huge Russian tourist group from New York, which was interesting.

Senora made the most interesting thing for lunch which was stuffed aguacate (avocado) with shrimp..mmm…..

I found the best helado in Seville today. The word for ice cream cone in Spanish is “cucurucho,” which just sounds like you’re ordering ice cream in a rooster.

In the evening, I vegged out by watching “Gran Hermano” which is like the American show Big Brother. Already, the transvestite in the house, a very attractive “girl” named “Amor” is causing issues between some of the characters. Spanish TV, along with most TV in the world, is complete trash….even the Spanish are known to call TV “telebasura”…(teletrash) They look up to American TV and most TV shows are dubbed versions of House, Friends, etc. That should tell you something.

14 Septiembre 2007, Friday

Today we had an interesting assignment in Celeste’s class…she gave each of us a deck of cards, so we can ask a Sevillano to teach us how to play a card game.

In the afternoon, Natasha and I went shopping for a bit so I could buy my old camera for 20 euros cheaper in El Corte Ingles (gotta love El Corte Ingles). In the evening, we went to a flamenco show in El Palacio Andaluz, definitely one of the most touristy things I’ve done since coming to Sevilla. It was interesting, the place was beautiful, and flamenco is always fun to watch. The guys all had this straggly hair that made them look like hobos, which was not the most attractive look. I suppose the look they were going for was the stereotypical latin love type, but it wasn’t working. Flamenco dresses are so pretty…I cannot WAIT to take classes….

Afterwards we went to this cute as hell little hole in the wall tapas place, complete with hanging jamon legs. We tried a typical Andalucian drink, I think it was a kind of wine called remujito. The tapas were seriously amaaaazzzinnngggg….I had this ensaladilla (little salad) tropical, complete with pineapple and shrimp. Then patatas aioli, which my Senora makes much better than most tapas places. Also, I had this montadito (small sandwich) with shrimp and aioli, which is kind of like a mayonnaise type of sauce. Then we headed to Calle Alfalfa for mingling with Sevillanos, which I still have not gotten the hang of. Jaoine, our chaperone, is dating this Spanish guy called Juan Carlos. (yes, like the King of Spain) We could not understand A WORD of what he was saying. We also checked out this discoteca called Catedral which was trying so hard to be selective and pretentious, but didn’t really do it for me. The nice thing about Sevilla is that girls don’t usually have to pay cover, but guys do.

15 Septiembre 2007, Sabado

Oh so early this morning we went to Carmona, a small city about 20 minutes from Sevilla. We looked at Roman ruins there….a necropolis, or graveyard, of tombs and whatnot. A cool part was climbing down this ladders into an actual tomb which only a few people could do at a time…

We also went into the town to see (what else) the church there, which was actually very pretty. It had this creepy lifesize statue of Jesus which had a curious story. One guy asked the Jesus to cure his daughter of some illness. When she got better, as a way of saying thanks, he cut off her hair and made Jesus a wig. So this statue has real hair. Like I said…creepy…

The streets in this part of Andalucia are tiny and narrow, and buildings high, in an effort to beat the heat….so the sun won’t be able to shine into narrow alleyways. Buildings are exclusively white to also beat the heat, which makes for a nice view from a high point which we also did. Carmona is famous for churros con chocolate, which we had at a small café…it was really nice…the churros weren’t really anything special, but the whole experience was.

Back in Sevilla, during lunch, Senora and Juan were reminiscing about girls who had lived here previously, and Juan brought in this giant book about America to show me. He opened to the first page which was this huge map of America with little X’s to show where each girl who had lived in their house was from, complete with her name so they would not forget. It was kind of funny, there was an X in central Illinois with no name, and they couldn’t remember who it was…..which is a shame. I proudly made an X and wrote “Estela” somewhere (I hope) in the general vicinity of Galesburg.

This afternoon I had coffee with Roberto, my intercambio (kind of like an exchange program with the University of Seville). He was…interesting, kind of watered type goth type. He arrived wearing all black, complete with beard and earring. He is a student of English and spoke it quite well. (we alternated between ingles and Spanish). Somehow my conversations always end up being on the deep side, and we started to talk about G-d and religion. He says that most people are just baptized and have first communion because that’s how it’s always been, but most people are really uneducated about religion and really don’t care. (or go to church or anything, in the case of young people). He had never met a Jewish person before, so I took the opportunity to inform him a bit, and we talked about the similarities between religions. I also asked him what stereotypes Sevillanos had regarding Americans and he said that they were self-centered, in regards to education, since they do not know anything about Spain and cannot even locate it on the map. He asked me about what stereotypes Americans had about Spain, and I had to think hard because HA HA we don’t really think about other countries in the states. So of course I said the flamenco and bullfighting bit. I don’t think I will meet him again, but it was still a nice opportunity to talk to someone. (he also fulfilled my homework of learning a card game, which was not exciting because it was a game called “bullshit” that I have played since about twelve years of age…called “mentiroso” (liar) in Spain.

Just in case you were wondering, the Spanish word for “piercing” is…. “piercing,” said in a Spanish accent otherwise you will not be understood. It seems as if they are QUITE popular here, among the young people one can say they are indispensable. Among girls…lip piercings seem to be all the rage…Christy, you’d fit in quite easily. They like the Marilyn, and all sorts of variations. I don’t people are quite as creative with lip piercings in the States.

Vale.