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.

Mi abono...

Our first week, Miguél Angél told us one thing, over and over. We all have abonos, or monthly bus/train/public transportation passes, and it was free, and he told us: DO NOT LOSE THIS. It costs close to $100US to replace.

Guess what?

I was unnaturally nasty to myself as I tore apart my room searching for the bright red card. I was yelling at myself, calling myself and idiot (and worse), and then, to boot, I was a grumpy, ignorant, and "emo" Griffin around my Alcalá friends. Sorry everyone.

Yea...that sucked.

But my program director just told me that he has an extra in his office, just in case we lost it. So it's all good.

But I was so nasty to myself, and so nasty around others, and I don't like it when I get that way.

I guess all I want to say is...SORRY. To my Alcalá family...and to myself.

Reminders

I went to the gym today, and the radio decided to play Candyman, Can't Stop, and Number One. Therefore, I miss sQ!.

I turned on the television this morning, and Walker, Texas Ranger was on. Walker had to save Alex from terrorists and CD was stabbed and Trivette stood outside the building as it all went down. Therefore, I miss Eric.

I bought a book of poetry today. Not Whitman, but close enough. Therefore, I miss Katie.

I have a picture of my brother in my wallet. Therefore, I miss Logan.

I listened to music last night as I fell asleep, and three Hanson songs came on in a row. Then Coldplay. Then Lucy. Therefore, I miss Lucy.

I have jamón and red wine almost every day. Therefore, I miss Dad, Susannah, Mom, and Gary.

There are reminders of home everywhere in Spain...

El Prado, Aceitunas, y Los Niños

It’s been difficult keeping this blog up to date, especially when my internet access is unreliable and, when it does work, I’m in a room with my Spanish brother and mom, who are usually watching American movies dubbed in Spanish and would probably prefer not to hear the clicks of typing. But I’ll try to recap the last week…

We had our first art class. We toured the different colleges (facultades) of the university. We went out to bars. We picked olives off the tree and saw an olive oil factory. We had a botellón. I went to my host nephew’s 2nd birthday party. And we watched the Superbowl.

The professor who took us on our tour of Toledo’s sights, Arturo, teaches our art class. He speaks slowly, sometimes painstakingly so, but it’s better than the alternative. He seems genuinely concerned with our understanding of the course material, which is refreshing. And this class requires bi-monthly trips to Madrid’s museums to see the works we’re discussing in class. I was going to take a theater class, but to take an art history class that requires us to go see the originals in museums was an opportunity I wasn’t going to pass up on.

Going into Madrid is quite a long process, and even though it isn’t overwhelming, it’s not something I want to do more than once in a day. On Friday we took a brief tour of the Prado, one of the big three art museums in Madrid. It was a bit disappointing to only spend an hour and a half in one of the best museums in Europe, but at least we’ll have more chances later in the semester to go to the other exhibits. We saw lots of Velazquez and Goya, and compared the two, which was interesting, but our tour guide was much too concerned about finishing the tour rather than making sure we understood everything or had enough time to admire these priceless works of art. She almost sprinted from one painting to the next, and looked pissed off if we didn’t answer her questions promptly. I feel as though tours with Arturo will be much more interesting.

Saturday we visited an almazara, or olive oil factory. It’s our tutor, Jorge’s, family’s almazara, so he took us around the orchard. We gathered around a tree, and Jorge handed us long sticks, and demonstrated the ancient method of de-olive-ing the tree by whacking at the branches. We all had a shot at beating the tree down with all our combined might, and by the end, its broken limbs lay lifeless at our victorious feet, and we gathered all of its fruit into large sacks (called sacos, conveniently enough) to take back to the almazara.

The factory itself was like any other refinery: you clean the olives, then heat them, then extract the oil, the refine it again and again and again, then age it. The best part was tasting the crude oil and comparing it to the refined stuff. The crude, opaque oil burned the back of my throat, and the refined extra virgin oil was smooth and delicious. We had aperitivas after the tour, with chorizo and manchego and plenty of vino. But we were lucky to have two Spanish students come with us, and I got to talk to one of them, Estela, about her favorite music, hobbies, and palabrotas (curse words). It was quite an education, since, as she said, you aren’t fluent until you know how to use the language’s curse words.

Botellón: a public gathering, usually in a park, during which young people drink wine and socialize.

And it’s fun. But the nights have been too cold to really enjoy walking around late. But we went to a bar afterwards and met Estela and her boyfriend, Norberto. They were incredibly sweet to us clueless Americans.

It was my host-nephew, Alan’s, birthday party yesterday. He turned two, and his friends and cousins all came to his house to play, so I felt right at home with the kids. I spoke a bit to some of Pilar’s brothers-in-law and other random family members, but I spent most of the time eating olives and jamón and making funny faces at the kids. Alan is a sweetheart, and it took him no time to warm up to me. He ran to his room numerous times to show me another of his favorite dinosaur toys, but there was a lot going on, so we didn’t really get to know each other too well yet. There was a little 6 year-old girl there (her name was something like Calatina…not Catalina…I forget…) who was laughing at my broken, awful Spanish, but was surprisingly helpful. She was a smart girl, and for a few moments I thought she knew more Spanish AND English than I did. But being around kids reminded me about my similar position. They probably don’t really understand their parents, and they might have a difficult time expressing themselves. I’m a Spanish baby, delivered by those Alcalá storks, just getting used to life in a new place with fast-talkers and later bedtimes.

And I still don’t know who won the Superbowl. It started at 12:30am last night, and we couldn’t make it past the halftime show. But The Boss was pretty sweet.

Also, I’ve only Skyped twice. Whoever is reading this…let’s set up a Skype/iChat/phone date.