Semana Santa

Again, the blog-upkeep has been difficult, especially when planning and executing a 10 day vacation through Italy, France, and northern Spain. However, there was one thing that happened before Semana Santa. I attended my first fútbol game. It was a religious experience. How fitting for the weekend before a holy week? It was a Spanish National game against Turkey, which explains the fervor before, during, and after the game. There were no real "sides" to root for. There was España. And Turkey. It was ironic that Jake and I started the night off sharing a kebab from a local Turkish restaurant. But I was wearing my Spanish jersey, so I don't think anyone cared. The atmosphere was electric, and España won, and I felt more Spanish than ever before.

Ok...Semana Santa. I traveled with some of the most wonderful people on my program, including Andrew, Ethan, Callie, Lara, and Kate. Andrew, Ethan, and I flew into Milan, and on the bus from the airport to the train station where I would hop on a train to Bologna. Unfortunately, I left my money bag on the bus, which contained my passport, money, credit cards, and my soul. That first night in the train station, with the help of Katie, the Tufts girl that Ethan and Andrew were staying with, I was able to get some information about the bus company. She was also sweet enough to let me sleep at her apartment in Milan for the next two nights. During the day, I called the bus company, which was completely unhelpful, and went to the US Consulate in Milan, which could see my desperation clearly in the tears that inched down my cheeks. But they were sweet if not confused (they asked me nearly a dozen times for a form of identification, to which I replied, each time they asked, “I have NOTHING.”). My mom in the States was an angel; she wired me emergency money, which I got the same day in Milan.

But for all of the inconvenience, for all of my absent-mindedness, I never lost it. I stayed calm and made a list of things to do, did them all, and wasn’t afraid to ask for help, which I did many times, sometimes in broken Italian/Spanish. I was proud of myself for handling something so awful so quickly, and was especially grateful to my friends for being so supportive, and most of all my mom, who got up at 3:00am her time to help her son a million miles away until she had to go to work at 8:00am.

I had my emergency passport, money, and my friends to support me. So we celebrated our last night in Milan by going to a discoteca and dancing the night away.

The next day, Saturday, we hopped on a train to Venice, where Andrew and I split off to check in at our hostel, which was about 35 minutes outside the city, through an industrialized lagoon and across the ugliest part of Italy I had seen (aside from Milan, which was also surprisingly unimpressive). But Camping Fusina Hostel was good enough, and Andrew and I bused to the main city, where we met up with our Milan girls and promptly got lost in the labyrinthine streets of the ancient, sinking port. We spent three days there, lost in the twisting allies and breathtaking bridges over teal canal water (which I fell into…just my luck, right?), taking a few seconds to drink a spritz in a piazza, or watch a street performer fall off of his tight rope. By Sunday, we had joined up with Lara and Kate.

Highlights from Venice include:
1. Meeting Turkish tourists at our bus stop and indulging their drunkenness with tall tales.

2. Finding a glassblowing shop and watching an old Italian woman create something out of small rods of glass. Turned out to be miniature glass elephants, and being the Jumbos we are, we bought all four pink elephants we saw her make.

3. Our bargaining with gondoliers, salesmen, and others over prices which were mostly negotiable.

4. Gelato, especially when it was out first meal of the day.





Monday night, we hopped on a plane to Paris, where Emma met us at our bus stop. I was again housed in Le Petit Amercaine, Emma’s refuge next to Bastille. The next morning, we met early to go to the Louvre, which was closed on Tuesdays, so instead, we were led by Callie, who had gotten to Paris earlier than us, down through the Champs Elysee to the Arc d’Triomphe, getting crepes with Nutella along the wayy. Then, we got a call from Katherine, who met us under the Eiffel Tower. We sat down in a park next to the gigantic triangle of brown iron, referred to by many Parisians as the eyesore of the city. Katherine took us to Montmartre and showed us a gorgeous view of the city from the hill, then treated us to a French baguette before we went to the Fondue Refuge. There were two pots in front of us, one filled with melted cheese, and the other with boiling oil. We used bread to soak up the cheese and put raw beef into the oil to fry. And there were unlimited baby bottles of red wine. HEAVEN. Then we went to a club until the wee hours of the morning.

The next day in Paris we museum hopped, from the Picasso museum to Notre Dame to the Louvre, never forgetting our crepes. At the Louvre, we met up with Emma and Lori, two familiar and welcome faces. That night, we had to get to the train station to catch an overnight train back to Spain. But, having lost my credit cards, I was not allowed to retrieve my ticket. Katherine was with me, and, being my sister, argued with the train station officials in French, until the conductor allowed me to sneak onto the train into the sitting area, warning me to avoid any train officials, since I didn’t have actual ticket. I felt like I was in a Hitchcock film, like Cary Grant in “North by Northwest,” sneaking onto a train and running into bathrooms to avoid the police.






But we made it back to Spain safely, and with signs in a familiar language, we felt more at ease. By this time, the group had dwindled down to just Andrew, Kate, Callie, and I. We arrived in San Sebastian, in País Vasco, early on Thursday morning, with the sun shining its orange dawn light. We sat outside a café next to the Cantabrian Sea, eating the traditional Semana Santa breakfast of torrijas, basically a caramel French toast, with familiar café con leche. The weather was the best we had seen all week, and we spent the day walking the peninsula of the city, sunbathing at the beach, and renting bikes. That night, we went out for pintxos, Vasco tapas. These were much more ornate than the tapas I am accustomed to in Alcalá (sandwiches of ham and tortilla mostly), complete with different shrimps and anchovies and all other marine life. We ended the day with a walk on the beach at midnight.

The next day it rained all day long, so we decided to go the aquarium to keep dry. It had exhibits about San Sebastian’s port history, which goes back for centuries, and many touch tanks. The rest of the day we stayed inside, except for the short visit to the cathedral. Our day in the hostel was a bonding experience over personal stories from high school days past, and a viewing of new episodes of Lost and The Office.






The next morning, Callie, Andrew, and I caught a bus to Santander in Cantabria, the region in the north next to País Vasco. We went on a great hunt for paella, and found some after a lengthy search, and we were lucky to avoid the heavy rainfall and hail. Our friend from Alcalá, Estela, and her boyfriend, Norberto, were visiting family in Santander, so we called her. She and Norberto showed up with three of their Spanish girlfriends, who drove us to the sights of the costal city, including the lighthouses and the castle. That night, they took us out to bars where we met other Spaniards, then accompanied them to the Santander discotecas, where we danced until 5:00am, when we went to the bus stop to catch a bus to the airport. We got our flight back to Madrid, then took the train to Alcalá at about 11:00am on Sunday morning, running on a half hour of sleep.

It was an adventure, with definite ups and downs, but now, I have traveled through Western Europe. And I did things I would never do otherwise, including sleeping in bus stations, eating ice cream for breakfast, falling into Venetian canals, and sneaking onto trains. And I don’t regret any of it.

¿Cuánto tiempo ha pasado?

It has been WAY too long since my last post (exactly two weeks to the day) and I'd just like to give you all my lousy excuses for not writing.

1. My internet access is unreliable.
2. There's a lot to do here. If I'm not in class, I'm eating comida, then going to class. Or, as on Wednesdays and Thursdays, I go into Madrid in the afternoon and usually don't come back to Alcalá until bedtime.
3. Last week, I was studying for a test all week, then went to Amsterdam over the weekend, then had to rehearse this past week for the talent show in Alcalá. Details will follow.

So I'm sorry. I don't even know if people still check this thing to see my progress. But hopefully someone does. More thoughts on time...

I feel so separate from everything. There's so much to do HERE, and so much to do THERE, in the States, like worrying about internships, applying for financial aid and to be an orientation leader, and trying to update all of my individual friends on all of my escapades...it's hard to personalize these things for everyone, so for that, I'm sorry. I still have postcards from Barcelona waiting to be sent. I suck at communicating. I'm supposed to have a pen pal, and I've written her once.

All right...since I don't want to write all that much, I'll try (try, mind you) to keep it short, without sacrificing too many details.

First of all, if you haven't already heard, I got a haircut, and now my hair is as short as it's ever been. I didn't like it at first, but it's grown on me (pun intended) and I think I'm going to keep it like this for a while.

Now, Amsterdam highlights.

1. The Girls. I spent the weekend with three wonderful, beautiful girls, and we had a phenomenal time together.

First of all, I met Emma, who has successfully evaded meeting me for the past three years. We made up for that lost time with a conversation that lasted all Thursday night, allowing us only twenty minutes of actual sleep. Then, we had an entire afternoon in Amsterdam before Gina and Katherine showed up, which gave us a few hours to enjoy a boat ride through the canals of the city and see 14th century watchtowers and the richer part of town.

Then Gina and Katherine arrived, and the group was complete, and life seemed complete. It was difficult getting away from Alcalá and Spain, but the break was a pleasant one, and made even more heavenly with these three goddesses.

We walked to streets of Amsterdam, getting lost between the Red Light District and Leidseplein, Anne Frank's house and the Van Gogh Museum.

2. The traveling. I wouldn't exactly call it a "highlight," but it certainly was memorable. I flew into Paris on Thursday, and the transportation workers, being French, decided to go on strike, which severely limited my access to the city. Luckily, I had two goddesses to guide me to the one bus that went from De Gaulle Airport to the middle of the city. Katherine and Emma were so helpful, and after working my way through the airport and waiting in the cold for this bus, I arrived at the Arc de Triomphe, which was quite a sight, never having been to Paris.

Then, the next morning, Emma and I had to sprint to the train station in Paris to catch our 6:30am train to Amsterdam, which was another adventure.

The trip from Amsterdam back to Madrid was frustrating. I took the train from Amsterdam to Paris with Katherine and Gina, and we got to the RER (Paris's commuter rail) which didn't accept my credit cards, but Gina was a sweetheart and bought me my ticket to the airport. I got the airport in perfect time, an hour ahead of the flight. I went through security once, then discovered an hour delay for my flight. Then, they changed gates, so we had to move, go through security again, and arrive at the gate to discover another delay. The plane couldn't get to the gate for some reason or another, so we had to take a bus from the jetway to the runway, where the plane was waiting. The flight was fine, but due to the delays, I couldn't take the train home from Madrid, and had to run to catch that last Metro at 12:30am to Avenida de Americas, where I can catch a bus that leaves every hour on the hour. I got there at 1:02am. The bus left as I arrived. I had to kill an hour before the next bus showed up, so I did a little homework. Long story short, I travelled for 12 hours that day. 2:30pm to 2:30am.

3. Chipsy King. The best french fries I've ever had.

4. My life-changing experience walking through the Red Light District. Seeing prostitutes shaking their bodies in their windows at potential clients was...striking. Susannah would know what I felt...and if you've read John Irving's "A Widow for One Year" you would know too. All they needed was a "For Sale" sign to complete the complete forfeit of their self-esteem. I had an interesting conversation about the legalization of prostitution with the girls. But mostly, seeing foreign women who came to Amsterdam to pursue a legal career in this field...it was sad and intriguing and odd.

And now...pictures.







I wish I had more time to write, but sadly, I'm in Spain. So, as always, I'm on the go. Miss you all, as always. And expect a postcard soon...maybe.

Madrid está pateando mi culo

Last weekend, the program treated us all to an excursion in Extremadura, the autonomous community of Western Spain, right next to Portugal. We took a bus and left early on Friday morning from Cibeles in Madrid at 8:00am, which meant that us Alcalá kids had to wake up at 6:00am or 6:30 to catch a train that would get us there in time. I’m used to getting up at 10:30am in Spain, like most other Spaniards, so this was a surprisingly difficult thing to do. A few of my companions in Alcalá woke up just five minutes before our first train left (there were four possible trains to catch…), which made for an interesting/stressful morning.

Our first stop in Extremadura was Trujillo, the birthplace of the murderous conquistador of the Incan people, Cortes. There are statues of him everywhere, and his home is a museum, so perhaps I shouldn’t mention that he was a murderer while I’m in Spain. But the town was beautiful, of course, with old castles and bell towers in cathedrals, which offered gorgeous views of the town from above and the Extremeño landscape. We had lunch in Trujillo (an odd mix of breadcrumbs, judias, and carne picante…the traditional Extremadura meal) and walked around the town for a while, admiring the small twisting streets and cute little plazas perfect for sunbathing and relaxing.




Next was Cáceres, the capital of Extremadura. Again, we visited the sights with Arturo, our art professor, and he told us about the gothic, Arabic, and Roman architectures of the various buildings. That day, however, was the day of an enormous food fair, so after our tour, and just as the sun’s light took on that mustard yellow hue, we hit the fair and tried various types of chorizo, jamón, vino, and queso.





Then, we decided to buy a bottle of wine, but we didn’t have a corkscrew. We walked down the main street, looking for a place that would sell them, but after thirty minutes, we had nothing. I went into an expensive jamón store and asked the employee if he knew of a store that sold them. He took me to the back of the store and showed me professional-grade corkscrews with meters to read the temperature, humidity, God knows what. And for 30€?! I asked for something more simple…something that JUST opens bottles of wine. He ran up to his inventory room and brought down a little box with the perfect corkscrew. He handed it to me and I said, “Perfect! How much?” He replied, “Go ask the cashier.” I said, “Thank you so much!” And he started to laugh, and revealed his joke by saying, “No, no, it’s free. Take it. Have fun!” I love Spain.

Saturday, we went to a modern art museum full of odd sculptures and audiovisual exhibits, which mostly just confused me and gave me a headache. Outside of the museum there was a manmade lake and a beautiful walking path. On our walk, we saw flocks of sheep and a group of donkeys that we befriended.




After the museum, we drove to Mérida, one of the Roman Empire’s most important outposts, and the town in which Russell Crowe’s character from “Gladiator” lived. We walked through the ruins and saw the coliseum and the theater, both of which were astonishing. That night, we stayed in a monastery in the city of Guadalupe, and made a little too much noise.




Sunday morning we toured the monastery, which was incredible, with Arabic influence and a great story about St. Guadalupe. After, we sat on the steps of the monastery and some us sunbathed while others sang songs for an hour.



Monday, I woke up late and enjoyed a quiet day in bed, not really doing work. I was excited to go to my salsa class again, after missing the previous week due to my ankle injury. But, at 7:00pm, I got a call from Emily, who was in Madrid for a few hours, and convinced me to ditch my salsa class and instead walk around Madrid with her, getting some tapas at El Tigre, enjoying delicious chocolate and churros, and sitting in the gardens outside Palacio Real. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend a Monday night. She told me all about her adventures in Morocco with her friend Sarah, and now, I really want to get down there, if only for an afternoon.

Now, I am nursing my newest injuries from our fútbol game yesterday, during which I tripped and fell on the jagged rocks of the park, and ripped open my knee and hands. So…yea…I’m too clumsy here. As Erica so eloquently put it, “Madrid is kicking your ass!” It’s the truth. And I want it to stop. I felt like a baby at the beginning of my time here because of my inability to communicate. Now I can pretty much understand everything, but I still feel childish. Like I’m going through a giant growth spurt, and I’m just getting used to my height. I’m always tired, and I’m always hurting myself. I still need to find my feet.

Barcelona y Montserrat y MÁS

This past weekend was our adventure in Barcelona. And it WAS an adventure.

Let's start off by saying that I should never plan things on my own. My upcoming trip to Paris/Amsterdam was planned almost entirely by Emma, and I didn't realize how much work and...you know...common sense went into this sort of thing. I decided to take it upon myself and book the hostel in Barcelona when we planned this trip a few weeks ago. I booked a cheap one that got good reviews, even though it was outside the city. The week before we left, we started to rethink its location (the last stop on one of the Metro lines...) and Thursday night, the night before we left, I made an impromptu decision to change our hostel to something closer to the center of the city. I found a great one, made a reservation, and called the other hostel to cancel the reservation, where I was told that I would be charged for the first night's fees because I cancelled the reservation less than 24 hours ahead of the time of arrival. Which turned out to be the policy of all hostels. So...long story short...I cost my friends an extra 17€, because I decided not to read the terms of the hostel. I felt like a dope, and was a bit of a Debbie Downer (no...not a bit...I was really disappointed in myself...), but my friends were very supportive.

But before we get to the adventures in Barcelona, there's something I'd like to address about myself. Something that was revealed to me through this experience by my friends. One my of the Alcaláños told me, "Don't get mad..." I responded, "Don't worry...I never get mad. I get frustrated, but I never get mad." I think that's pretty much the case all the time. But I was mad at myself after this hostel debacle. This friend told me that I was wrong. I do get mad. But only at myself. I save my anger and project it all on myself. Because that's what makes other people happy, right?

Well...no more. I'm always afraid to speak my mind and tell people how I feel, and I never ever show others that I am upset with them. Things might change from now on. Or at least, I'll try to change my ways.

Ok...sorry for the rant...it was a big realization, and it needed to be said.

Barcelona is a beautiful city. Truly magnificent architecture, a completely different attitude toward life and Spain, and a type of machismo and aggressiveness not seen anywhere else I've been to.

Highlights:
1. We walked down Las Ramblas, the main tourist drag from Plaça Catalunya to the ocean, and went to La Boqueria, the most wonderful market I've ever seen. There were stands after stands after stands of fresh fruits and vegetables, jamón ibérico and manchego cheese, spices and curries, shellfish and whole fish, and so much more. So, going from experience, we bought ingredients for another picnic, this time by the sea. It was a beautiful day, and we snacked on jamón and strawberries and chorizo and cava and surprisingly tasty 5€ rioja wine.







2. We ventured up to Parc Güell, Gaudi's awesome park overlooking the city. Full of mosaics and twisted towers and open market space, Güell was another spectacular sight. The view was great, the lighting would have made Gary squeal with excitement, and it was a great time. See here:







3. We met up with Tara and Lucy and Connor in the Gothic Quarter. It was great to see Tara and Lucy (and Connor of course, but I see him every week...) but us Alcaláños were beat from our long day, so we said goodnight pretty quickly and went back to hostel. On Saturday, we rendezvoused with them again, and they brought along the lovely Nissa, who was a sight for sore eyes. However, at this point, I had a sore ankle (more on that later), so she was really a sight for sore...ankles? Whatever...the point is, it was great to see her as well, even though she kinda guilt-tripped me into organizing a trip to Bologna soon. But my ankle was throbbing, so I had to say goodbye to her and Tara and Lucy almost as soon as we had reunited again. Sunday night, Tara took a break from her studies and joined me for a late-night coffee, where we reminisced about how we both miss sQ! so much, and how the abroad experiences are going. I didn't really realize how much I miss Tara...but I did, and I still do.

4. Saturday we visited Montserrat, a monastery built into the mountains right outside of Barcelona. We had to take a cable car/gondola up the mountain, an exhilarating ride both ways. The food was mediocre, the sights were incredible, and there's not much else to say.







5. We were guided by Ethan's friend Hallie to many wonderful spots in Barcelona, particularly on Sunday morning to a small plaça to witness the Catalan sport "castellers," in which teams build towers or castles (castle = castell) of people. There's a large base at the bottom full of strong men, and as you go up the tower, the team members become progressively smaller. At the top is usually a 7 or 8 year-old girl, who will smile all the way up, then blow a kiss to the audience, then slide down the tower. It's an incredible declaration of Catalan pride, and a great way to spend a Sunday morning.




6. We spent some time late Sunday night, early Monday morning with Emily and Santi. Not nearly enough time, but still very fun. We dodged drug dealers and creepy homeless men and prostitutes, and laughed the whole time. Out of fear.

Lowlights (?):
1. There was only one, really. We went to see this awesome fountain show in front of a palace. It was choreographed to Disney music. It was great. Then, a nasty curb attacked my ankle and twisted it in every wrong direction. Saturday night I could barely walk, but the thought of seeing Tara, Lucy, Connor and Nissa gave me the strength to get to Las Ramblas. But Erica and Andrés had to carry me (literally...) back to the hostel. After an ibuprofen on Sunday, I felt like a million bucks, but my left ankle is now three sizes too big, like the Grinch's heart after he learns to love the Whos. And there's some internal bruising. Yummy. Which means, and here's the kicker, no gym, and no salsa for at least a week. But Pilar was a goddess and gave me some German lotion to rub on my foot and an Ace bandage. I really love her. I hope she knows that.

And as for all of you out there, I kindly ask that you comment on the blog, just to say hi or something, because I miss you all so much. If you want to inform me about your life (because even though it may seem like I'm too busy to care, I still do) please send me an e-mail. Much love to you all...I think about you always.

Otra semana dura y larga

It's been way too long again...time just flies by in Spain, especially because I'm always on the move. This past week was especially hectic. Let me recap:

1. No Streptease this week...instead, the Alcalá group went for our first night out in Madrid. We had a great time with the other Madrid kids, hopping from bar to bar, dancing where we weren't supposed to dance, scaring middle-aged Spanish men with our incredible dance moves, and much more. However, getting back to Alcalá is a bit annoying...at night, there are late buses that leave from Madrid on the hour every hour. We were walking through Chueca at 1:50am, and made an impromptu decision to grab a taxi, wave goodbye to our Madrid chaperones, and book it toward the bus stop. Of course, we got there just after it left. So we had an hour to kill. In Madrid, a foreign city. At 2:00am. So, being the resourceful kids we are, we found a bench, and Andrew and Lisa took a relaxing (ha!) nap while Andrés and I kept Rachel awake with slightly inebriated a cappella renditions of Queen songs. And although it was quite cold, it was still...fun... And we made it back to Alcalá in one piece.

2. This weekend was the beginning of Carnaval, the weeklong celebration preceding Mardi Gras and the start of Lent. So, obviously, the culturally Catholic Spain was in a frenzy. It reminds me of a weeklong Halloween, with kids in animal costumes (especially cows and chickens) and adults parading around with their group of friends in themed disfraces, my favorite being the group of sixty-something men dressed as women in bikinis, banging on drums. But six of the nine Alcaláños decided to go to Cadiz, which is to Carnaval as New Orleans is to Mardi Gras (one travel book actually claimed that Carnaval in Cadiz makes Mardi Gras in New Orleans look like Tuesday night bingo at the rec center...so you know they had to go...). But the remaining three, Callie, Andrés, and I decided to spend Saturday, the biggest day of Carnaval, in Madrid, and explore the city a little with Andrés's friend Sam, who was in town to visit from Aix-en-Provence.

I woke up on Saturday morning and as I got ready I got a call from Callie, who generously surprised us by renting a hotel room in Madrid so we wouldn't have to worry about any late bus debacle again. We got to Madrid, checked into our hotel, and looked for a restaurante and a menú del día, the menu with three courses and wine, water, and bread for under 10€. But we had no luck. We were struck with an amazing idea, one that shall go down in the history books as the greatest idea anyone had on Calle Goya in Madrid on Saturday, February 20, 2009. We went into a market, bought lots of jamón, bread, cheese, pears, raspberries, chocolate, olive oil, and cava (champagne), and took it to Parque Retiro, the enormous park in the center of Madrid. We had the most lovely picnic, basking in the warm Spanish sunlight, gorging ourselves on jamón and bread soaked in olive oil, and drinking from a bottle of cava in front of police officers, who didn't mind us at all. After the beautiful picnic, we walked around Retiro, found the large pond, and decided to rent a row boat on the pond. 45 minutes of exciting boat-dodging and duck-chasing and sun-bathing. Later, we saw a clown juggle torches and ride his unicycle and tell jokes in Spanish, which we understood!







We returned to the hotel to change into our costumes. Sam, Andrés, and I were 20th century Venetians.



Callie was a flapper girl. We ran to El Tigre for a few rounds of wine, then met up with Lara, Tara, and Kate in Sol. They escorted us to some Spanish friend's, Julio's, piso, where he and his floormates were hosting a costume party. Soon, other Tufts madrileños showed up and the party got started. There was dancing, there were falling cabinets (some blame me, but I know what really happened...), there were people falling down staircases (I was one of them, but this most certainly was not my fault...). It was great fun.

Andrés, Sam, and I got a cab at 3:30am back to the hotel, but Callie stayed. We returned to the hotel, and we tried to stay awake to wait for Callie, but we dozed off until 6:30am, when she returned. We then began a two hour laughing fit, speaking in Scottish-accented old English ("Thou hast bin gröüghnding ons mees," among other ridiculous phrases), then promptly falling asleep, the four of us on two double beds, pushed together, at 7:45am. When we woke up at 11:45am, we treated ourselves to hot chocolate (which in Spain means hot chocolate pudding...YUM) and croissants, then headed back to Alcalá.

As Andrés said, "Great day? Or greatest day?"



3. I've been in a funky mood recently, mostly after Saturday in Madrid. It might be the sudden realization that nothing will ever top our amazing day. But it's other things too. I haven't talked to Logan in a while...that might make me feel a little better, even though our conversations are a bit one-sided. It's difficult to talk to my parents...time difference+expensive phone calls+busy lives= sucky communication. And Spain isn't home, you know? It hasn't really been that big a deal yet. I like living elsewhere...it's still weird.

We go to Barcelona tomorrow...should be AMAZING. That'll be a post for the ages. Until then...thanks for reading...and I miss you.

¡No me digas!

This has been a disgrace. I have not updated this thin in over a week and a half. Sorry for the delay, but obviously I've been on the move. I won't bore you with the minute details of my past week and a half, but I'll make an exciting list and elaborate on some:

1. El Escorial, Phillip II palace outside of Madrid, was beautiful to look at outside, but surprisingly uninteresting inside, except for the tombs. The tombs, carved out of red and gray marble, held the bodies of the kings and queens since Phillip II until Franco took over in 1939. The ornate tombs of royal children (one of which held only 15 or so of a kings 70 illegitimate children) were a sight as well.



2. Classes began, and culture shock set in as I realized that professors actually speak in Spanish. Every professor singled me and my Tufts amigas out as "los rubios," or the blonde kids. And in one class, I unwisely told a professor that I majored in political science, and he immediately anted me to answer every one of his questions about medieval Europe and city-state politics, about which I know nothing. I decided to avoid PoliSci and instead focus on my minor and take a class about the history of cinema and another about Spanish theater.

3. We discovered the best places for tapas in Madrid AND Alcalá. El Tigre in Madrid and Tapón in Alcalá. I don't think I've successfully expressed to my Alcalá compañeros just how incredible El Tigre is. Let me put it into perspective: Usually, 2-3€ is a decent price for a drink and a bocadillo (sandwich), the normal tapas experience. El Tigre pours half a bottle of red wine into a goblet, and supplies plates full of chorizo, patatas bravas (potatoes in spicy sauce), croquetas, and manchego, all for 1,80€. And it's always packed, but no surprise there. It's the best place in town.

Tapón in Alcalá was a pleasant surprise. It's a little hole in the wall, and the boss likes to politely scream jokes at his customers, and the female bartender is very patient with our extensive 8-person orders, but this place makes the tapas on the spot. Other spots will have cold tortilla or jamón bocadillos on hold, but Tapón prides itself on fresh tapas. And there are more than twenty choices, which makes it interesting for an adventurous eater like myself.

4. We played fútbol in Alcalá, and we won. WELLNESS TUFTS SWEDEN. Sorry if that doesn't make any sense, but it's really not worth explaining. Suffice it to say, it was great fun.

5. I spent some more time with my host-nephew, Alan, who loves to show me Mr. Potato Head (who he calls "¡O-ta-ta!") and a cartoon about horses.


6. Katherine visited Madrid! Andrew and I went into Madrid yesterday to spend time with her and Jake, and we had a blast, getting lost in Madrid, finding mediocre food, sitting in a sunny plaza, singing a cappella (God, I miss sQ! so much), and meeting up later in the day with Emily Code! We got coffee with Emily and Ethan, then bid a fond farewell to Katherine (who I will see soon in Paris and Amsterdam! Did I mention that? I booked a trip for a weekend with Katherine, Gina, and Emma in Amsterdam. It's going to be RIDICULOUSLY fun.) and Jake (who I see every week, but I want to see more...) and took Emily back to Alcalá where this happened:

7. OK, backstory first. At my gym this past week, the trainer Javi, an enormous jolly bodybuilder, approached Erica from my program and told her to come to his discoteca in Alcalá over the weekend. She showed me a poster of this place, which featured two almost-naked models (a man and a woman), and highlighted the word "Streptease." That's not a typo. So we decided not to go, obviously.

Cut to last night. Andrew, Emily, and I met Rachel, Erica, and Andrés in a bar in Alcalá, and we hung out for a while until Mónica, one of our intercambios, showed up with her Spanish friends. Rachel, Erica, and Andrés were "sleepy" (I didn't buy their excuse, though), and the rest of us met up with the tail-end of a botellón, then started to walk toward some club I had never heard of. Turned out to be Javi's Streptease joint. And it was AMAZING. And yes, the models from the poster "strepped" (which sounds so gross...). Probably the most fun I've had in Alcalá...it was what a discoteca is supposed to be: uncomfortable, sweaty, loud, and exciting. Mónica and her friends Marta and David were awesome people, and I hope to see them soon.

But I had an amazing time with Emily and only wish she had more time in Madrid.

This morning, I told my señora about the streptease, and all she could say with disbelief was "¡No me digas!"

And that pretty much catches us up to date. I'll try to be more prompt with my posts. Miss you all still.