Ain't No Mountain High

Today was an early, but very early day. The earliest I have had in a really long time. Apart from having to get up so early to travel it has been years since I got up at six to get my day going. In a certain way it was really nice. In another way, it was like trying to drag 2 ton rocks with my pinky toe across sand. My brain was working in slow motion, and I had to get dressed in warm clothes, eat breakfast, and take care of my morning breath all before I could even really open my eyes properly. Then, the part that probably makes at least a couple of you cringe is that I had to get onto the bike I used yesterday and trek the same hideous hills into town. Lucky I have such a good motivator in my life. Helena is a tennis coach and is used to bullying little kids into running long distances through the Swiss forests. Well, I was probably worse than any one of those little kids, but her very kind bullying did in fact get us to the train station on time to buy my eight day pass (which paid for itself in just today’s travels), and then get us on to the train itself.

We had to make a train change, and then another to get up the mountain. We were on our way to Toblerone Mountain, more commonly known as Matterhorn. If any of you have heard of the chocolate that is called Toblerone, they are formed in pyramid shapes, made with the shape of this mountain in mind.

It was cloudy up there, so the view was a bit limited, but we wandered around with the hundreds of other tourists taking pictures anyway. A few turned out decent, so when I can put the pictures on my computer I will attach them to this blog. There was a really chilly wind and so not to much time passed before we decided to go in and soak up the warm in a cafeteria they have on top of the mountain, along with some other shops where you can buy various Swiss trinkets, as well as the watches and knives that are so famous.

We went into the cafeteria and a sweet old lady and her maybe-daughter had just finished eating, so they gave us their table. Random acts of kindness are so wonderful. We sat down and opened up our “snack pack.” Helena had put various bread things into a Tupperware, including some slices of my beloved rock bread. We munched on that and waited around a couple hours hoping the clouds would go away so we could see Matterhorn.

With time and luck it started to come out. We went immediately outside, making sure a sweet old couple got our table first, and waited around. For ten whole seconds we got a clear view of the mountain, which I managed not to catch on camera. Oh well, life is better seen through our own eyes.

We caught the next train down the mountain and spent a bit of time in the town, had a coffee and headed back. While were still in that town though, we picked up a few ingredients from the supermarket. Making dinner when we got home was our plan.

Argentine food was the cuisine. Attempting to mimic the delicious things we ate while on our exchange, Sopa Paraguaya was on the menu as well as Chipa, Empanadas Criollas (spiced ground beef) and Empanadas of Ham and Cheese. For dessert we would be whipping together the very simple Chocotorta. This is a cake make of milk dipped chocolate cookie layers with a cream and dulce de leche filling separating them. Everything turned out edible and more! It was such a delicious meal, and fairly simple to make as well. I am very proud of our success.

The heavy and delightful Argentine meal was greatly enjoyed by all, and the following day was going to be Helena’s tennis tournament. I don’t know anything about tennis at all, so I watched very passively and periodically would start reading my book…do not get angry tennis fans. I am not opposed to learning about it when I get home, if you are so inclined to teach me.

After one of Helena’s games, her friend Salome came to get me at the match and show me around Bern. It was a perfect day. Maybe it was even too hot. I did get a sunburn, and now, my face looks a bit like my electric stove’s burner right before it gets to cooking temperature.

Salome took me to the Bear Garden, where there are bears kept on a large hillside for passerbys to stare at. There was a huge confusion as my understanding of Swiss German is non-existent and her English, although really good, sometimes is a tad hard to understand because of her strong accent. It took us near ten minutes to figure out the animal she was talking about. First, I thought she was saying beer garden. She said many people liked to go there because there were many beers. I assumed it was a park people got together in to drink. Then she was talking about how the beers can bathe there, and I realized, beers do not bathe. So, I was on to thinking she was talking about birds, and birdbaths. Like, a birdwatcher park. When I asked her if Swiss people really like to bird watch she said she guessed so. I wanted to know if they tended to use binoculars or just go to this park, and she said that the birds were so close no one needed them. That didn’t really sound like a bird watching park and I had the suspicion she did not want to say bird. I acted out what a bird was. That helped, because in that moment, we were finally able to figure out that what she wanted to say, was in fact, BEAR. Ah…the miscommunication learning languages can bring.

We also went to the famous Rose Garden of Bern, which was a treat. If I were here for more time, I would absolutely go there to hang out on a blanket all day and picnic with friends. There were hundreds of types of roses, and the whole park smelled of them.

We also went to the very top of Münster. That is the cathedral of Bern, and the highest tower goes 100m in the air, from what I heard. She and I were doing quite a bit of huffing and puffing to get to the top of those baggillion stairs. Once there, we got to see an incredible view of the entire city. The breathtaking Aare River was a turquoise color. Mississippi River, step your game up.

A coffee later, I headed home with her first on a train, then a bus. My plan was to rest and then try to convince Helena to go out for drinks with me. Solome and I had wandered through a craft fair, and I saw a bag that will never leave my mind. I stopped and asked the price just out of curiosity, knowing that it would be too expensive. It was a handcrafted leather side bag with a very large piece of pure turquoise for decoration attached to the front. It is the most beautiful bag I have ever seen in my life. The guy working there spoke Swiss German, however, he looked like he might have Central or South American. Out of curiosity I asked where he was from, and he told me Ecuador. I was intrigued because my brother will go to study there next year. I was planning on forcing him into an apprenticeship with the man I came to find out was named Favio. He was nice, and his friend in the booth next to him wandered over and it came out he was from Costa Rica.

They invited my friends and me out to a drink and some international/latin music clubs. We planned on going out that night after they had packed up their booths. In the end, Helena had to stay in to study, but I went. I biked and bus rode on my own to the center to meet up with them. I mention this only because this time I navigated without a single glitch. Go me.

They took me to this club that is fairly famous here because the police aren’t allowed to go in. I don’t understand clubs and bars and social clubs that can break laws here in Switzerland because they are independent of the government somehow. You can smoke weed in one part of this bar, there are great concerts there, and there are ALL types of people there. Usually, the drug dealers and doers are out in front. Don’t be worried though because once you are past them, everyone else looks significantly less threatening. This place used to be a stable for horses, but now is covered in graffiti ranging from beautiful artwork to “FUCK POLICE!”

Speaking of drugs, I found out last night that the drug addicts of the city have special houses where they can go and get their fix. The government pays for this. Sometimes it happens in hospitals even. The guy that informed me of this, a Swiss man who was also out with us, said the government’s idea is that it is better to have them off the streets and using sanitary needles so AIDS does not spread.

This morning we got up early again, and Helena, her boyfriend Andreas and I went to a place called Stockhorn. Andu drove us and then we took a cable car up to the top of this mountain and had the best buffet breakfast of my life looking out the windows that gave us a panoramic view of the Alps in that area. After eating far too much, we hiked about an hour and a half to get down the mountain again. I was exhausted, so this late afternoon, I have just been lazing around the house.

Guns, Dirty Looks, and Switzerland

The adventures continue…I am now in Bern, Switzerland. Getting here was a trial, but I made it. If you know me, getting lost is something that I do very well, and finding my way somewhere without a glitch is not.

I got on the plane from Barcelona without any problem. Then, I was arriving in Zurich before I even knew it. I had been up since five thirty a.m. and was exhausted, but I knew I only had a small bit of the trip left. All I had to do was follow the masses to the train station, which is attached to the airport. This was not too difficult, and I managed not to get lost. When I got there I saw the ticket machines, and thought I could manage. I saw the word “Welcome” on the main screen, so I figured they would help out a little-ole-tourist like me by having English as well as Swiss German. This was not the case. A few minutes later I gave up and wandered over to the surprisingly short ticket line. I didn’t have to wait a full minute before I was getting helped. The orderliness and efficiency of the Swiss is something I greatly appreciate.

I was helped by the distant, but helpful, Swiss man behind the bulletproof glass window. I bought my ticket and to my surprise it turned out to be only eight dollars. I was dumbfounded and kept on rambling in a friendly way to Mr. Straightface about how I thought that it was going to be closer to 50 dollars. Man was I pumped! Switzerland wasn’t going to turn out to be as expensive as I thought.

I wandered in a wide-eyed way down to the track that I needed to be on to catch the next train, and as I was standing there I was trying to soak up my surroundings. My eyes passed over many beautiful people (the Swiss, in my opinion, are incredibly good looking folks), they passed over the pastel grey concrete platform, the salmon pink ticket in my hand, the train destinations, the ticket in my hand, the train destinations, the ticket in my hand…

Blanch.

I was going to Zurich main station. Why was I going there? Why had I asked for that ticket? What the heck…eight dollars down the drain. I needed to go to Bern. A fair bit of bumbling around followed which I will not describe because it was neither fun nor funny. What I will say is that the “less than one minute line” had turned into a “more than 15 minute line,” and now my credit card wouldn’t even work in the ticket machine (I got help from a nice Swiss girl to push the right buttons). I decided just to go to the main station and get the right ticket there.

I got on the train, which was very full already and wiggled my way through the aisles looking for a seat that was open. By open I mean not containing a person or a bag. People were not inclined to move there stuff out of the seat next to them so I could have a place to sit, so I wandered down, and down, and down and then finally, I saw a spot across from two little old ladies. My backpack weighs about 7 tons because it was the only piece of luggage I was allowed to take for free on the airline I took, and so it contains about half of my wardrobe rolled in to tiny little balls, my laptop, and all the various electronic nonsense that I need for my various trinkets. I was really eager to get this monstrous bag off of my back, so I plopped down heavily into the seat and smiled a big smile at them to be friendly. I was not expecting the reaction I got. Let me tell you what “stank-face” is just in case you don’t know.

Stank-face: noun
1. A frown that involves raising the upper lip in a way that suggests a bad smell is present in the air
2. A look of disgust common to people of bad humor, usually executed in a way that makes the receivers of this look very aware of their shortcomings

So, I got a full powered stank-face from each of these ladies. I wasn’t sure what I had done wrong exactly, but later I came to find out the social custom is to ask to sit down. I was now a social reject.

Socially rejected, unable to speak a lick of the language, tired and smelly I finally arrived at the main station. I got off the train, tried one of those machines again to no avail and hopped in the line to get my ticket from a real person.

Speaking of the high cost of travel, I had been wrong to get excited about the 8 dollar trip. I bought my ticket for Bern, which turned out to be almost 70 US dollars. The city bus turns out to be five dollars each ride. I want to SEE Switzerland since I made it all the way here, but if a 1.5 hour train ride costs that, I won’t be taking any day trips. Helena and her mother helped me find an 8 day tourist pass which is a very good deal. For just a bit less than 300 dollars I can travel free on almost any form of transportation here in Switzerland for eight days straight. I will get that tomorrow and also wave goodbye to my social life for the next year, and become a slave to my credit card bill as so many other Americans are.

I got to Bern and ran into Helena as she was walking down the other side of the walkway in the train station. I snuck up on her and we hugged for years. Teary eyed smiles and a billion happy exclamations later we finally made it upstairs to the open air where her sister was waiting with the car. I cannot explain to you how much those two laughed at me for the small amount of stuff I had with me. They could not wrap their heads around how I was going to travel with that one tiny backpack for three weeks straight.

We were driving to their house, which is right outside of Bern, and I was checking out what the houses looked like. They are so wonderful. Nothing like the houses from the US or Spain, obviously, they have a ton of windows, are usually built up on hills and they have wonderfully lush gardens. We got to her place and the cobbled staircase to get up to her house was literally so long that my cheeks were all pink and I was panting, but it was like walking through a green hallway of plant life. Something you might read about in a fairy tale. The house itself is my dream house. Almost one entire wall of the house is just windows. There is so much open space and light. The architecture is like nothing I have ever seen before. The only way I can describe it is, refreshing.

That night we had tea and chatted and then it was time for bed because Helena had an exam the next day and I was exhausted from my travels. The next day was a very relaxed one. We got up and had a leisurely breakfast, Swiss style. Lots of different types of granola were set out with yogurt. Espresso. Fruit. Jam. Then, there was this bread. An entire loaf is about the size of your spread hand, but it is so dense that it probably weighs about a pound. It has entire nuts in it, and I fell in LOVE. Sorry Ricardo, but it looks like you are going to have to compete for my affections with a loaf of bread.

I spent the day lazing around and conjuring the rest of the last blog that I put up and later that evening Helena’s sister, Sabina, came home and invited me to go to a dinner with her and her friends. Afterwards, Helena came to find me (she had the exam and then had to teach tennis) and she took me to the bar where she works as a bar tender. There I met her boyfriend and some of his friends. After a while there we wandered on to a disco. It was very nice, and also VERY empty compared to the Spanish discos. I was extremely lucky and was treated to my drinks all night long by various people, but I don’t even want to think how much I would have had to spend otherwise. To give all of you an idea, a shot in Granada costs a euro usually, which is about the same as one franc. Here, a shot costs between 7 and 9 francs. A drink costs about 12 francs in the clubs, as opposed to the 6 that it costs in Granada.

We caught the moonlighter home, a bus that runs super late so the drunk clubbers can make it home safe and sound. There are so many options here for the people who have been drinking. There is never a reason to drive drunk. Ah, the US could learn a few things from the European folks.

An interesting thing about many places here, for example the airport and the clubs, is that they have a smoking room. It is a glass room where people go to smoke. I assume it is really well ventilated because it does not get cloudy with smoke inside as far as I could tell. I was talking to one of the friends of Helena and he told me that he is part of a special “smokers club.” What this means is that he pays ten francs a year to this club which is based in one of the Swiss “states,” and this way, when he visits that state he can smoke in any of the bars or clubs. He does not have to go outside or into the smokers’ room. All he has to do is flash this club ID if anyone asks about his smoking and he is then allowed. There are more than 110,000 members now, he told me.

This same guy also informed me that every Swiss household has a gun, basically. It is compulsory for Swiss men to go to the army for three months after they graduate their “high school.” After this training, they receive a gun, which they can bring home. The problem is that almost all of the murders committed here, are done using one of the army issued guns. There are many people trying to get them all recollected, however, the problem is that these guns were never documented and so no one has any idea how many there are out there or who owns one for that matter.

Today, we woke up late and had breakfast. It was mostly a lazy day for me once again, but Helena and I did make it into town. We rode bikes in, and let me tell you, my body was protesting every single one of those hills we had to go up. I thought my heart was going to burst. No wonder everyone in Switzerland has a super bod. Their cardio workouts last all day long.

I should be asleep now because tomorrow at six am we will get up to buy my train pass and head over to the mountain that the Toblerone chocolates are modeled after.

Marcos and the Mad Dog

So, a while back a new friend and I decided to take a trip up into the gypsy hills of Sacromonte. This friend is named Marcos, is Chilean, and the way we met is also a story. One, I believe I have not recorded yet, so I will start there.

Paula and I took a trip to Malaga, one of the biggest cities in the south several weekends ago. It was at one time the coolest trip and the most horrible I have taken here yet. This could be classified as the coolest trip thusfar because Marcos and Mehdi (his Moroccan best friend) started talking to us at the bus stop and invited us to the Alcazaba which is the Malaga version of the Alhambra. Very interesting conversations ensued, as well as very interesting food trying. Mehdi suggested we try eating raw almonds off of a tree...which I did...which I regretted. He knew so much about plants it was incredible. As for other cool things that happened, Paula and I had done no planning so we had to "hostel hunt," which turned out very well in the end. We found a beach front one for $25 dollars a night. There, we met two guys, one of whom was from Madison, Wisconsin and actually goes to Lacrosse. Imagine that! All the way across the world and we bumped into some fellow midwesterners. We also got to eat some GREAT Italian food. As for the next day, it was a perfect beach day. All greatness, but then, I was groped. A crazy gypsy man grabbed me in plain sight, on a main street, in front of a restaurant. It was scary, and horrible, and I screamed and swore at him, but he ran away. Anyway, overall it was mostly a wicked great trip. And that is how I met two of my favorite people in Spain. Marcos and Mehdi, Mehdi and Marcos.

So, to get back to the story that this blog is named for. One day, Marcos invited me to explore the hills where he and friends like to go and look out on the Alhambra and the city. What I didn't understand was to get to this lookout we would have to traipse through the gypsy neighborhoods that are known for being, well, dangerous. Tourists are told not to ever bring anything valuable, never go at night, and women especially should not walk there alone. This neighborhood isn't normal though. The houses are man-made caves that have been carved into the hills. From what I hear, there is a man whose job it is to carve these out, and it costs about $1500 euros or $2200 dollars. I did not feel any danger whatsoever on our way up because Mehdi and Marcos happen to be friends of some of the gypsies around there. I met a few, and the stereotype that gypsies have extremely raspy voices turns out to be 100% true.

We spent several hours soaking up the honey and lemon sun, the graham cracker crust Alhambra, and the bittersweet greens of all the surrounding trees and brush. Once the sun started to set though, we realized it was probably a good idea to head down the mountainside though because we had no flashlight, and the idea of streetlamps in a place like that is laughable. Unfortunately, it was too late. It not only had gotten dark, but all the gypsies had gone inside, locked up, and put their guard dogs out. Let me tell you, I am not scared of dogs, but that night I almost died of a heart attack. They were not happy when we would walk by the front of their cave.

I was hyperventilating after getting barked and lunged at various times, but the worst was yet to come. My heart dropped when I saw the large German Shepherd up ahead. The cliff dropped off this point though so we couldn't step further away as we so badly wanted to. His growls were terrifying. He showed his teeth and started lunging and half circling around us. I wasn't sure if it was a bluff or not, but I remembered that you should never run from a dog so I took deep breaths, power walked and tried to act as if I was not scared. It didn't work. I was about to break down in tears when Marcos fronted with the dog and told me to go. I didn't want to leave him there but I had no idea what to do if the dog attacked. I went up ahead and a few seconds later I heard him running up behind me. At that point we must have been out of the dog's territory because he did not follow. We half ran down the rest of the mountain and when we made it to the bottom I was shaking and felt sick from the intense amount of adrenaline that had been coursing through my body. This is probably the most terrified I have ever been in my life. All I could think of was how it would feel to get attacked by a dog, and how I would never be able to get it off. Anyway, at least it makes for a great story in the future. Although, I will never feel relaxed around german shepherds again.

Corrida de Toros

Originally, I was not going to see a bull fight. Animal cruelty and whatnot trumped the fact that it is a supremely Spanish tradition. Then, a friend of mine named Katie suggested we go. Vitty and Paula had left for the weekend to go to Ibiza, so in an effort to drown my bitterness, I changed my mind and decided to go.

After classes the next day we hopped on bus number 33 over to the Plaza de Toros where they were selling tickets. I asked for "the cheapest ones, please," and the ticket salesman kindly obliged. Cheap means seats in the sun. Cheaper, means seats in the sun about three miles from the action. Equatable to buying major league baseball tickets, I suppose. Except instead of a game that sometimes feels like life or death, it actually IS a game of life or death. Always ending in someone's death in fact.

Now, to explain the process of this strange ceremonious entertainment. There are always six bulls, and can be as many as 3 torreros, which are the "bull fighters." In the case of three, as there were at this bull fight, each man fights two bulls. If there is only one though, he has to kill all six bulls on his own. Well, not on his own exactly.

Each bull fighter has his own team. Towel boys, mini knife men, big knife men, long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men, man on armored horse, cape waver guys. Sometimes, if he is a particularly daring bull fighter though he kicks the long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached men off his team, and does that part himself. This part of the bull fight involves him enticing the bull in to charging him and jumping into the air to plunge the banderilleros (long-arrow-with-ribbon-attached), two at a time, into the nerves of the bulls spinal cord.

All of various stabs taken at the bull are aimed for the spinal cord. This is done to weaken it. Before any of the banderilleros are inserted though, they play with the bull, drawing its attention to various parts of the ring using capes. One side is hot pink, and the other yellow. Before the bull is weakened too much from various puncture wounds, it is actually surprisingly fast, as well as extremely dangerous. For that reason, the measly humans have wooden barriers to scurry behind once the bull starts charging them.

This goes on for a while, then the man on his armored horse comes out and is allowed one good, hearty, stab between the bulls shoulders. This is the most crippling blow for the bull (besides the death blow, of course) and makes the physical competition more equal between man and beast. Sometimes if this blow goes wrong, it can make it impossible for the bull to stand up. Usually, if the bull falls to the ground twice after that they will bring in a group of lady cows to lure him out and he gets to go live in a pasture for the rest of his life. These bulls weren't so lucky.

After this stab I believe came the banderilleros. Then, the Torrero plays with the woozy beast. The idea is to be as close to the bull as possible when he charges. This is the showmanship part. The torrero could be compared to a ballerina. His posture is exquisite. Posing with squared shoulders, in lunges, tiptoeing towards the bull, making pelvic thrusts on occasion, and when he gets really confident he will even turn his back on the bull after a charge.

Eventually, assuming the torrero wasn't fatally stabbed by the bulls horns, the bull will be fatally stabbed by a sword. Well, really, the sword incapacitates the bull and as the torrero looks out at the crowd waving, one of his team members comes up with a small knife and severs some necessary something in the back of the bulls cranium. Sometimes once doesn't work though. So it is done again. And again...as the life twitches right out of the bull. The audience knows he is dead when his legs stretch out stick strait.

Then come the prizes. If the audience feels the torrero has done a good job he gets the bull's ear, sometimes two. A great job deserves the tail. The decision ultimately is left up to the President of the bull ring who waves a handkerchief to signal what he thinks the torrero should get.

Then, the hero, icon, sex symbol makes his way around the ring while audience members throw things such as hats, flowers, even canteens. Everything but the flowers do get tossed back up to their owners, though in the past I don't believe that was the case.

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I found this tradition extremely interesting, although repulsive. I am no crazed animal rights activist or anything, but it seemed to me to be a very primitive display of human power. Yes, it is clear that brains can often beat brawn. Though, stabbing an animal repeatedly while people look on and cheer just doesn't seem very brainy to me.

Salsa Class

So, despite the fact that every Spanish man I have met so far claims he cannot dance, I managed to find a bunch of places where there are free salsa nights. Today Paula, Vitty and I wandered around the corner from their soon-to-be-new-apartment (they are moving out of the family homestay, which turned out to be an enormous rip off). There, we timidly entered a bar called Merengue, which we had been to before, but that had been stuffed to bursting (sarcastically speaking). This time there were more people, the youngest being mid forties. I quickly threw myself into the looooooonnnnnggggg line of middle aged women who were busting out their best latin dance moves. The professor was leading them in a previously practiced choreography that I tried, without success, to pick up. Vitty and Paula sat on the bench that first bit and smiled uncomfortably as their strangely large, blonde friend was knocking elbows with the local salsa biddies. As usual, we were stared at. There is no social rule here that one cannot outright stare at someone. It has literally happened that an entire restaurant turned to stare at our group as we walked in. I have gotten very good at staring, without ever really seeing anything. If I don't "space out stare" I tend to turn extremely red. But so red that sometimes my eyes even tear up. Not attractive.

Soon the instructor wandered off behind the bar and it was free dance time. Vit and Pau got up and we busted a move on the dance floor. The old men could not keep their toupets from flipping up. The old women could not control the ridiculous flapping of the tassels on their too-short salsa dresses. What it comes down to is that it turns out we are the BEST latin dancers in Spain.

BAM.

Father's day in Spain

Saturday here was father’s day. Enqui, my roommate, asked me if I would like to go have lunch with her whole family, and of course I jumped at the opportunity. She has taken me under her wing, and there are no words to describe how wonderful it is to have this woman in my life. She is so good to me.

The lunch was incredible in all senses. We went to this restaurant up the “Sierra Nevada Highway” which seemed very fancy. I got to meet everyone little by little, as I rode up with her father, mother, brother, and sister-in-law. They were all very sweet, and her dad I had a ball chatting about western films…or really he talked and I listened because I have never seen one. That is something they know way more about here in Spain than we do in the US, our own westerns. A bunch of them were filmed very near by here.

There were probably about 20 of us around the table. The food took so long to come. That is something one should definitely expect when in Spain. Do not ever be in a rush to do anything because it will most likely take about 4 times longer than expected. We were eating lunch for 6 hours, for example. Although, I have to give the post office credit. The other day when I went I was in and out in less than 5 minutes.

let's celebrate spring and throw a HUGE party.

I am suffering greatly. The internet has been out all day, and so I am currently writing this as a word document. Internet has taken over my life completely. I am “plugged in.”

Sorry for the lack of writing lately. I am making a promise to myself to put up at least three blogs a week now.

This weekend was the Granada “Spring Party.” Party, as thought of by most US Americans would be between 10 and, at the very maximum, 100 people. Rather than try to build effect, because I don’t really think I need to, I will just tell you that at this party, there were around 30,000 people.

It was held in an area that has been permanently designated the only place one can legally drink in the street in Granada. About ten years ago it was not against the law to drink where you pleased here, but because of the thousands of youngsters that would flood public places on weekends, and the extreme mess they would cause, and the enormous amount of ruckus…well, quite obviously someone complained and got a law enforced. Now, in this place called the Botellodramo, people get together to drink, laugh, listen to music, enjoy the outdoors, but without being a menace to the entire city.

Friday, around one p.m. some people started showing up…though not me. Paula, Vitty and I went around six with our backpack of supplies. Drinks, snacks, toilet paper, and jackets for when it got cold. Toilet paper, for the record, should never be taken for granted readers. When in Spain or South America, I have found that you are lucky to find a place with toilet paper. Some bathrooms don’t even offer the luxury of a toilet seat. The longer you put off going to the bathroom, the more intense your workout.

When we got there we spent a good amount of time wandering around looking for some classmates of Paula. When we found them, we were proudly informed that they had in fact managed to bring a table along so we could play beer pong. They were teaching some Spaniards the art of putting a high arc on their ping-pong ball. Globalization at its best!

We soon realized we had to go to the bathroom. Now, here’s an equation for all of you:

30,000 people + 3 full bladders = _________ desperation

Extreme desperation is the answer folks. Especially after spending almost a half hour wading through all of the people just to find out that every public bathroom around is locked. But you can’t lock a bike trail authorities! And that is where everyone who wasn’t just dropping trou amidst the crowd went. This is obviously very rude, but for some reason in Spain portapotties don’t exist. At least this kind of non-sensical contraption has not made an appearance at this party yet.

Then, there was the garbage. Literally, hundreds or maybe thousands of pounds of garbage were left on the ground. And the fights. Lots of them. Never stopped by any police. I can’t imagine anything like this would ever be able to happen in the US.

This Spring Party was mind boggling and, I had a ton of fun. As gross as it was in certain ways, it was so great to be surrounded by thousands of people having a good time. In the future I would just make sure to stay on the outskirts of the crowd, that’s all.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSTvHmtjVx8

IF u are interested in getting an idea of the amount of garbage there was.

Blessing: Making memories.

Health Syckstem

I have had a really bad cold for a week now. I was hit mid saturday night party last week, like I have never been hit before. I swear, from one minute to the next my throat started hurting, my nose running...it was something incredible. I usually get over colds fairly fast, or at least the really terrible part of being exhausted, unable to breath, and headache. I kept on keeping on until Wednesday when I woke up and was having trouble breathing. At this moment in time, I asked if my roommate would take me to a clinic. I knew that it was common to go to the doctor's office here in Spain, even when all one had was a bad cold. The reason for this, my public, is because they have a general health care system. Everyone pays higher taxes to have great health care that is available for everyone at an EXTREMELY LOW COST. Imagine that, a United States of America where everyone can be healthy. A country where no matter what your income, you know you won't die of something curable because you CAN get the surgery that you need. What a concept. It disgusts me that our country, one of the richest and most advanced in the world, can't get it together and follow the form of other European countries. It works you know. And for all of you who wouldn't want to be cared for as the masses are, you could pay the bit extra for private care.

Obviously, if you totally disagree with this, as I know many US Americans do, I would love to receive a comment as to why. I am very curious about your point of view because it honestly just does not make sense to me.

I never made it to the clinic because my roommates sister (who just had leg surgery) had fallen to the ground and couldn't get up. So up to this point I have no report on how good the system actually is...although there is a general annoyance among the Spanish people that patients from all over the European Union are taking advantage of their care. This demonstrates that there must be something to this social system.

Accidentally in...drunk?

I have discovered the best drink in the world here. It is only equaled by Sparkling Cider. It is called mosto. The other name for it is "wine without alcohol."

Yesterday, I was contemplating around noon what I wanted to cook myself for lunch. I had finished class at eleven thirty and so I began wandering the streets. The easiest choice would have been to run down the street from CLM and pick some ready-made thing up from the bakery, but I was in the mood to cook. Instead of taking my normal route home I went down a different street to see what I would come across. I knew I would be pleasantly surprised as Spain has a mountain of little shops waiting around every corner. I figured I should mention this because no thanks to WALMART this wonderful phenomenon has been eliminated in the US.

Luckily, I had chosen my street wisely and I saw a sign that made me die and go to heaven. "We Sell Mosto." I thought, "Hey, great! I will buy a bottle of that and pretend it is wine while I cook lunch. That way I won't have to be sleepy for class." When I bought it I was especially pumped because it wasn't the normal white grape color that mosto usually is. It was reddish, which meant a new flavor experience...always an exciting thing for me.

I got home with my first-ever butcher shop purchase of "less-than-five-euros-please" of ground beef, and commenced my cooking adventure. As the butter and mushrooms were combining and sizzling over the flame I poured my first glass of mosto. It was tangy, so delicious, and surprisingly, it tasted almost as if it had alcohol in it. That is something that the white kind doesn't live up to. YAY red non-alcoholic wine! You win the prize.

I was boiling my noodles in very salty water (Italian style) and frying up my ground beef with some fresh cut garlic and oregano, and was really thirsty so I had a second glass of this while I waited. All these good smells were making me a little dizzy...I am still not accustomed to eating at three in the afternoon. The hunger sometimes overwhelms me.

The food was finished and at this point I poured myself one more glass to drink with my meal. I was feeling a little drunk though. Strange, seeing as this wine has no alcohol. I chalked it up to my thoughts having way to much power over how my body feels. A very good example I thought of how a positive outlook can actually make you live longer.

When my flat mate came into the kitchen before going out though, I figured I would ask out of curiosity whether it was possible it actually did have alcohol. Her response was, "No, you are right, mosto is non-alcoholic." When I mentioned that I was feeling funny though she said, "Ooh, wait. What kind of bottle was it in. A plastic one? And it was a red color? Oh Eleanor, mosto on occasion can actually just mean a really young wine. Like a few weeks old. You had three glasses already?! You are going to have a really great siesta today I guess."

And that I did.

Video Queens

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gw8TSf2X9Jc

The wonderful Roree put this music video of us together from the past weekend.

Love Poem to a Pigeon

Love Poem To a Pigeon

Sweet bird of mine
I do not know why you stay behind
My bedroom window
The cooing, the desperate attempts
To come inside

You are the color of a rain cloud
Your eyes like hot embers
You sit across the abyss
Stares as cold as a Minnesota December

Every morning your calls wake me
Every afternoon your struggles exist
They say when you are in love
You close your eyes and The One is there
I must love you
Because every time I close my eyes
You, you force them open again

You must love me too
Because you made your home next to mine
Dying to be close to me, you carved it into the wall
But really, almost dying to be close to me, you can hardly fit there at all
Skydiving into a Par 4 hole
Your devotion actually defies the whole “gravity law”

Oh the things you do for me, sweet bird of mine
You never let me forget you are there
Reminding me of your love
Every moment of the day
At any moment of the night
Yanking me from my dreams
And back to you

Old friends

When I was in Argentina I met a girl named Roree from California. She was blonde, beautiful, and she turned me on to a bunch of new musicians. We laughed a lot and spent summer afternoons tumbadas in the hammock my family had hanging on the back porch. Sipping on terere, a form of Mate that is cold, we would talk about anything, laugh a bunch, listen to good music and enjoy spending time with each other. We saw the world in a similar way and so we quickly grew close. As life has moved forward for both of us, we have gone in different directions (quite literally) but still have kept in touch. We discovered recently that we were once again in the same continent. A visit was in order without a doubt. Obviously, I thought of going to Florence, but what ended up working better was for her to come visit. As planning usually goes for me, we powered full steam ahead and she had her ticket the next day. That Sunday, we picked her up from the bus station and gave her her first taste of the south of Spain. TAPAS. Yum!

Now a few sun rays, a dip in the ocean, and an incredible weekend later we are back in my bed reviewing all of the great pictures she captured on her fancy camera. A fun loving group of us took a trip to the south coast where many Granadinos have beach apartments. If you are middle class family here it is quite common to have a weekend place on the south coast because it is only about an hour from here. Roree, Juan Mi, Vitty, Paula, Rafa (a new friend), and I spent one night at Rafa's place and the next at Juan Mi's. When we got there we enjoyed Rafa's guitar playing and duets with Paula, while I joined in here or there to ruin a song.

The next day we woke up fairly early and traipsed to the beach to soak up the rays. It was a mind blowing kind of day. Warm wind, sunshine to boot, and a calm Mediterranean Sea. That night we raced back there after a trip to the supermarket to pick up Sangria ingredients. Wily Rafa whipped it together in less than five minutes and we spread out on towels and watched the sunset. Guitar was played and soon enough we were dancing to the beat of a very popular song, Danza Kuduro, that was blasted over ipod speakers.

This song Danza Kuduro is quickly becoming the theme song of this abroad trip, as overly played club songs tend to do. So, of course, the only logical thing would be to make a music video. The starring actors: four very foreign girls. The video clip had to include a bit of dancing so we decided to film on the beach today. It was deserted because it is still not tourist time. Quite honestly though, half of Spain's population decided to drive by as we were trying to film this scene. Embarrassing is an understatement. Whistles. Honks. Shouts. In the end, we finally did achieve our goal.

Que cojones!

Today I had coffee with my friend and conversation partner, Juanmi, which is short for Juan Miguel. It is common here in Spain that people have more than one first name, usually both of which are saints. Sayings are a significant part of what we end up discussing because we both have a fairly advanced level and grammar is a smaller issue for us. Since our conversation tends to be pretty fluid, and we can both forget at times that the other is not a native speaker, colloquial sayings come up...and then must be explained when a look of confusion rolls across the other's face. Today, we discussed a certain saying that most everyone would know...and I feel I have to mention only because of the hilariousness that ensued because of it. This is rather awkward for me because I believe the main audience of this blog consists of mostly members of my church, certain wonderful professors of mine, and my dear family. Sorry Mor Far (grandfather in Norwegian)!!

E: "....that they have the balls to actually go through with it."
JM: "Wait. Have ball to do it? What do you want to say with that?"
E: "It means to have the courage, the strength. Que tiene los cojones hacer algo."
JM: "Oh, ok. Yeah, its a saying we have here too. It is obviously something I should use formally in my English exam. When I walk in I will say, 'I am Juanmi, and I will use my balls to pass this test."

Here is where said hilarity ensued.

Valentines Dayte

As I was walking down Wide Virgin Street this morning (it is less funny in Spanish, I promise), I remembered today is Valentines Day. I have NEVER seen so many men walking the streets with bouquets of flowers as I have today. Spanish women must be ecstatic. Where are my flowers? I have to thank my mom for being the clever little thing she is because she bought some really retro Valentines back when they were on sale and buying them made no sense at all. These came in very handy because I was able to give little love notes to all my friends on this day. They aren't flowers, but who needs flowers when you have feisty little notes that say things like, "If I can't have you, I think I will explode," or "I have been watching you Valentine." Go commercial holidays! Nobody ever feels bad getting a love note.

Couch Surfing

Yesterday night I went with one of my conversation partners to a "couch surfing" meeting. It is a not for profit website that makes it possible for people to travel around the world and get to know new people and cultures. It is a form of social globalization that I personally appreciate very much. The idea is that people form their profile and get recommendations, certified and can get together with local clubs to hear about people's experiences. I heard about it from an Albanian friend when I was still back home, but the whole thing was a bit overwhelming and so I never fully made my profile.

The way the meeting worked last night is that we all went to a bar that has a back room for large groups. Basically, a group of about twenty people from all over (Poland, US, Spain, Italy, Thailand) came together to chat. It was alright. I will go again next week though and stay a little longer. I left at 1030 which is far too early here. Next week though I will be arriving late though because...

I will start taking Portuguese classes at that time next week.
Today I took a  placement exam, without ever having done classes to learn it. I was hoping that my chatting with a Brazilian friend once in a while would have taught me a thing or two. Despite people being very skeptical about what kind of level I could possibly have after hearing background chatter, and maybe a word here or there, I made it through the test. Granted, almost every grammatical thing I saw on there I invented...and I am pretty sure I got almost everything wrong. However, in the writing portion I managed to get my point across and then, I showed off my stop and go verbal skills. The professor was actually impressed and I convinced her that putting me with the students who have studied for a year and a half would not be a bad idea. We will see how that goes....!

here we go again

Classes started again yesterday. I am so glad actually. A week of Spanish oblivion, as relaxing as it was, got pretty tedious. Plus, I started running out of excuses as to why I wouldn't go out with the girls clubbing week nights. It came down to me just being a cranky old lady and bailing to go to bed. Vitty was SOOOO pleased.

So I have a couple of literature classes, one of which is over 18-19th century lit, and the other which is about 20th century lit. XIX is taught by the witch who did my placement exam, the reason I had to move up classes and feel hassled. Turns out, after having three weeks of intensive grammar that the witch thing is just a front. She is hilarious, and quite lovable in a very sandpapery teddy bear kind of way. I am pumped to be back with her again. It will make for an interesting and challenging class. Then, for XX I got a new professor who is incredibly terrifying. He is brilliant. I am sure of it. Seriously though, I cannot imagine talking in his class though because he ridicules and has extremely strong opinions. The first interaction we had went as follows...

P: "I want everyone to say who they are, where they study, and what."

ME: "I am Eleanor and I study in Minnesota, USA. I study Spanish, International Business and Global Studies."

P: "Yeah. Whatever that is."

ME: (RED RED REDDD FACE)

Another thing worth mentioning is that I have become acquainted with the fruit store man by my house. I go in almost everyday to buy some new fresh thing and he is now getting to know what I like. He made a recommendation for this very yummy olive oil that I incorporate into almost every meal. Even breakfast sometimes. It is a very common breakfast here to have olive oil on toast. YUM!

The City of Children

If Granada is one of the best university cities, I will say that Cordoba is one of the best cities for pedofiles. Seriously, there are so many middle school kids roaming the streets. I do not get it. All day yesterday Paula and I walked around Cordoba visiting various touristic spots and hanging out like true Spaniards in the plazas people watching. It was an INCREDIBLE day of sun. I think I actually got a little brown...for a Norwegian.

We will return to Cordoba at some point though because we found out we failed on our questing. We thought we had seen the Mezquita which is a mosque that contains a Catholic church inside of it, very very famous, but we did not realize we had to enter. We looked at the outside and took some pictures, but we never went in. We missed out on the biggest tourist site in the city...waaam waaaaaaaa!

Not only did we miss out on that though, we missed out on several other places too. Fail. Anyway, we will go back and take Vittoria with us next time because my flat mate's brother invited us back. He and his family were so incredibly nice! They tried to send us in the right touristy directions and we just were not savvy enough to figure them out.

Another place we went was the Museum of Archeology which was incredible. Beneath this museum they discovered the ruins of a Roman theater. There were still steps intact. It was so cool to imagine the whole thing standing at one time. Over the years new things had been built on top of it, but at one time it was such an incredible piece of architecture that the whole city was basically built around it. They had immense underground piping to draw the water away from the city and this theater that would then flow into the river. BAMFS those Romans were!

Also, all of the pigeons were white. In the whole city I hardly saw a grey or brown flying rat. Just doves. It was rather nice...although I suspect it was some strange city improvement project that went on behind public eyes.

Blessing: Awesome trip with Paula (a really great travel buddy), and the fact that we can RETURN!

Don´t Ride Motorcycles

When I was in Argentina I saw a dead man with his body spread on the road. He had fallen off of his motorcycle and was never going to get up. Today, I once again saw this horrible sight. Except, instead of Argentina, I was in Spain just arriving (but seriously, still on the bus) to Cordoba. My friend Paula, mentioned in previous entries, agreed to adventure with me to this new city and get a taste of Spain in a different way. As we were coming to the center of the city there was a big commotion outside of the bus and all the pedestrias has stopped to stare. As we drove by, this quite possibly dead man was laying just below my bus window. Same sick feeling as two years ago. Please brother and sister, if you listen to one thing I say, never get on a motorcycle.

Anyway, now that that is done and over with I can start from the beginning. I have not be blogging lately because seriously nothing of interest has been happening. You might moan and groan that I am in Spain and there is always something to say but really, there was not. The past few days have been hellishly boring and so when we decided to take a relatively spontaneous trip to Cordoba I was ecstatic. I can actually say I am looking forward to having classes, and some schedule to my life. The last days were extremely lazy, meaning I woke up and lollygagged around, maybe took a walk to enjoy the sunshine and late afternoon would meet up with a conversation partner.

The past week was good for meeting some new folks. One new convo partner who was really sweet and is named Ethel. She and I had coffee at this super bohemian coffee shop and chatted for a couple hours. Lots of coffee dates...thats all I have to say. There was another one Jesus, who is extremely sweet and chatty AND the best part is that he is part of the "couch surfing" community. It is basically a not for profit website where people who are travel lovers can make profiles and get certified as travelers and hosters. When you travel to a place you can search peoples´profiles and then you have a local host who will show you around to their favorite spots. Obviously, most people shy away from this idea, but I heard about it from my Albanian friend Noar last semester, and he said that he has met some of the best people of his life doing this. Traveling AND hosting. I got on and made a profile but never followed through to get certified or fill in details. I may have to now that I have met Jesus who has also hosted. Every Wednesday he tells me between 40 and 50 people get together at whatever local bar and hang out and chat about their COUCHSURFING experiences. YAAA! Can´t wait to go with him to the next one. Here I come new friends!!! The last convo partner was very nice. Very tired. He is "the perfect example of the results of the economy fail here in Spain" as my friend Juan Miguel put it. He got transferred from the city where he has spent his whole life to Granada to work. Now he worries every day about getting layed off. He spends every minute working, studying English (so he has a better chance of keeping his job), or taking classes so he can renew his teaching degree (in case he ends up getting laid off). To top it off, his wife cannot work because she is extremely pregnant. The new baby will come in one month. Life is hard.

Blessing: So many things I cannot count. For one, I have no explained need to ride motorcyles.  I am traveling with an amazing friend right now. I do not have to feel the horrible pressures of the failing economy.

Will talk about my trip more tomorrow! Must share computer...

Like a Gypsy

I woke up today at an unbelievably early hour for the weekend. That is, ten a.m. I had a very productive morning. I made myself breakfast, swept and mopped my room, did some laundry, had a shower...I was happy. What was even better was that Paula and I made some adventures afterward. We had a couple hours before she needed to be home for lunch so we met in the center and set off towards the gypsy neighborhood called Sacramonte.

We meandered through the skinny one-way streets where you die if you don't press yourself to the wall as a car passes. Wandering along across a bridge we saw the Alhambra to our right up on the hill tops, and on the left small shops of artesania. We stopped in a place Paula and I now refer to as the Garden of Eden, but is really just the garden of some very fancy house from back in the 1500s. When we were getting ready to leave I saw a man standing in just the perfect position so that the fountain in front of him made for a very strange picture. So I had to copy him. Paula captured it perfectly on film.

Working our butt muscles in a way we never had, we panted heavily and climbed the steep streets to a gorgeous lookout point also facing towards the Alhambra. She pointed out where there is a discoteca built into a cave in the side of the hills we were standing on.

On our way back toward home, and food, we stopped at the Bath House that is one of the last ones so well maintained. It is in a neighborhood that was considered one of the best back in the day. There they had hot, cold, and warm rooms. It was used as a meeting place, people go there to get haircuts, relax, and get massages. The hot room had an underground heater. It was beautiful, and the vent holes in the ceiling were stars. The doors were very tiny and it blows my mind to think how much bigger people are today.

Flamenco Show

I was worried about being able to say I had done everything that people consider essentially "Spanish" such as seeing the Alhambra, seeing a bull fight, enjoying Flamenco (a traditional dance from Andalucia). Although my professor completely convinced me out of going to a see bull fight, I have to say my other cultural activities are coming naturally. Thanks Juanmi for the free visit to the Alhambra! As for this Flamenco experience...

A girl from China is in my grammar class and she lives with a Granadina (a woman from Granada that is) who is friends with a Flamenco singer, otherwise known as cantaor. And no, for those of you who know Spanish, I did not mean to write cantador because they use different words for a singer vs a flamenco singer. There is a bar in town here where every Tuesday they have people perform Flamenco music, aaaand it is free! Most any Flamenco you can watch in Spain has been completely commercialized for the tourists and you pay a ridiculous amount of money to see a performance. When my classmate invited the whole class to go with her and her roommate I jumped at the chance. Performances at local bars are where you will meet the coolest people, be most likely to make connections with locals, etc.

Paula, one of my friends from the WSU program came with me and we met in front of the most well known meeting points in Granada...Burger King. Sick, I know. There was the rest of the group waiting, and so we headed off walking towards the bar. My classmate's roommate and I hit it off. She was very nice, and when we arrived to this little hole in the wall bar she was so excited to show us part of her culture, as most Spaniards really are. The ones I have met so far at least love a curious foreigner. She introduced us to the guitar player and the singer that would be performing that night.

Of course, it is expected you will buy drinks because it is a free show, so we did the traditional cerveza y tapas combination. Hamburgers. And the second round was bbq chicken sandwiches. And the third round was grilled cheese and french fries. The key to finding places where they serve a lot of tapas is to follow the masses. However, I don't mean the blonde, originally dressed masses...

Then the singing started, and wow, I have never seen a man sing with so much feeling. Flamenco is either ecstatic or depressed. Never in between. Its about the hardships of being a wanderer, opressed, or in love I believe, although I found it really difficult to understand any lyrics. As percussion, feet were stamped, hands clapped, tables tapped, and then there was the guitar. Oh, the guitar. You cannot imagine the amount of talent a guitarist must have to play flamenco. His fingers looked like they were hardly touching the strings sometimes, and he watched the singer to know how to make the music flow. It was like moving water, and I was entranced.

In this picture the guitarist is on the left, then Paula, then Sara (la granadina), then the singer, then me. Behind all of us is the bartender who gave me and Paula sexy eyes all night, as well as free food and drinks. We came to find out later he is Italian. It made sense then. The Italians I have met so far are extremely flirtatious, and aggressive in a way that even Latin American men are not.

Some photos of my trip to the Alhambra

what a shame.

I have done what I said I wouldn't. I re-immersed myself in Facebook. I originally got rid of it for many reasons, mostly because I was embarrassed about the ridiculous amount of information people could extract from my profile about my personal life. I hate how much time that people spend analyzing others' lives and not living their own. It is such a weird social phenomenon, but oh-so-human. Gossip, envy, it all comes so naturally to us, and I definitely think its worth it to fight our nature in those cases. Facebook makes all of that seem so much more acceptable. And then we have the crazies out there who use their statuses to update the uncaring world about how many times they have brushed their teeth that day. The worst part is that I am guilty of all the crap I make fun of. This is why it was deleted in the first place. I feel embarrassed. Anyway, its back. I just had to confess.

The blessing of this story is that at least it is easier to get in contact with friends back home.

Cinderella (the unedited version)

CAUTION: This story is highly inappropriate, Spanish, and told by one of the funniest people I have met from Granada thus far. He was a substitute professor when I was in level 7. I tried to stay in his class just because he was so funny, but he did not let me...what a shame. This story was told and then the activity was that we had to correct what the incorrect parts of the fairytale were using subjuctive. For those of you who don´t know, subjunctive is where the devil hangs out in the Spanish language. It exists only to torture poor estadounidenses. Impossible, it is not...but it sure makes a fool of me on a daily basis.

Once upon a time there was a girl named Ella, but her father had died and so she had to live with her horrible stepmother and stepsisters who called her Cinderella. They made her clean the house like a slave everyday, and so she was always dirty. Her life was sad, but she accepted her duties. One day, the most amazing thing happened. The whole family was invited to a ball where the prince would choose his wife. She almost cried with happiness. This would be the most fun she had ever had, and no one was stopping her from attending...until her Madrastra (stepmother, an ugly word no?) told her all of the chores she would have to do before attending. An impossible list.

After the horrible women left for the ball, she sat down on the floor and cried, but as her tears hit the floor she heard the tinkling of bells. She looked up and there before her was a fairy.

"Hello, my sweet. I am your fairy godmother. Why are your crying?"

Cinderella said, "I want to go to this ball, but I will never be able to get all these chores done, I have no dress, and I do not even have a way to get there."

In the blink of an eye the house was sparkling, she was in an incredible ball gown, and a pumpkin from the garden had been turned into the most wonderful carriage she had ever seen.

The fairy godmother advised her then, "Now go out and have the time of your life but be sure to return before the clock strike 12 or your...or your...your *cough cough* will turn into a mellon. ¿Entiendes? Do you understand?

"Oh, yes! Fairy godmother, I would never want that to happen so I will be very careful to make it home."

Cinderella then went to the ball, but when she got there she realized the prince had insisted on a dinner instead of a dance. She was seated to his right because he thought she was absolutely the most beautiful creature he had ever laid eyes on. For dinner, it was a traditional Spanish dish, mellon and cheese, which was his favorite.

She watched as he dug in, and as they conversed she lost track of time. His words entranced her, and as he devoured mellon after mellon she realized this man was for her.

After a time, he turned to her and asked, "What time did you say you have to be home?" She looked down in to her lap, and when she looked up again she just replied, "Oh, I don´t know. I guess it is not so important now. Four or five?"

muajaja! Vulgar Granadinos. I guess the joke makes less sense in English, but I thought I would share because I was greatly amused at the time.

Snow White and the Seven Blankets

I am sitting here with my second-hand hot waterbottle in my lap looking out my floor to ceiling apartment windows at the people of Granada walking by with their umbrellas. They are befuddled and confused as to what to do about this confounded weather. They think, "Its like rain, so I guess I need this...but then again, it hardly gets me wet." That is to say,

IT´S SNOWING IN GRANADA.

My mind is blown, and my body is freezing. I was thinking about going out for a long walk today through the Gypsy neighborhood, Sacromonte, but this now seems like more of a torturous trek than anything. I do not know if I have the guts. I mean, I know I am a Norwegian, who grew up in Chicago, Iowa, Minnesota but I am still such a wimp with the cold.

It has been discovered that it is very cheap to travel to the Canary Islands, so that is what the WSU kids are planning to do over our week of vacation before our real classes start. Sunshine, beaches...it makes me drool to think of it.

I can´t stop laughing as I see all of the umbrellas walking by below me on the street.

The other day I visited the actual Alhambra, not just the lookout point. It was so amazing. I wanted to eat all of the hand carved walls because they looked like they were carved out of sugar. Imagining individuals spending months, or years on one piece of that wall, it made me grateful that it wasn´t me. The rediculous measures that humans go to to enjoy beauty. I cannot imagine having that kind of passion or patience. Go artisans! Go MOM!

Seriously Incredible

In this case I totally agree that a picture is worth a thousand words...and I DONT HAVE ONE!

Yesderday my conversation partner took me to the the place that Bill Clinton himself claimed was the most gorgeous view in the world. It was a surprise where we were going though and like a dummy, I did not grab my camera.

Sitting on a sun warmed wall, legs dangling I looked to the left and there were tree covered hills. As my eyes scanned right, I layed eyes on the snow cover Sierra Nevadas. Just right of that mind blowing view though, was one of the wonders of the world, La Alhambra. It was golden and magnificent  as it is in all the pictures on postcards. Just to the right of that all of Granada spread out below us. As a back drop a setting sun.

It was like rainbow sherbet for the eyes. We spent sever hours there just chatting in English and Spanish.

I think its pretty clear where the blessings are in this entry.

It must just be Spain...

I am having a great time, let´s be clear about this. However, could things keep going wrong? Please? I mean, having an awesome exchange group, going out, enjoying Spanish cuisine is great and all but the dramas of this trip is what is SOOOO awesome.

I have not written in a few days because my laptop is now broken. How, why, I do not know. I bought a new part today and it didn´t work. The next possible solution will cost me a serious hunk of money I am using my flat mate´s ordenador.

Not to mention the rediculous back and forth about everything concerning our classes at CLM.

Sorry. No more complaining, I promise.I moved into my new apartment which is definitly something to celebrate. This flat mate of mine is a middle aged hottie who is so chatty and kind. When I saw this place I thought, I just have to have that. So even though I said I was going to look elsewhere, I totally didn´t and called her the next day about moving in. She has never rented before, is single and lost her daughter about 11 years ago now in an accident. Her apt is amazing. I have a room to myself which is so cute. What a shame my laptop does not work parental units, so I could show you guys. The whole apt. is very modern and has art work and books from other parts of the world. I knew I liked her when I saw the kinds of books on her shelves. She is learning English and is totally spunky.

Man...I just can´t even focus to think of what I can mention from these last few days. There has been so much. Sparadic thoughts then it is I guess...

I went grocery shopping for the first time here. It was pretty cheap I thought.

The last night we had a free food tasting, the SOL kids. At least we didn´t feel so SOL once we had gotten to eat our fill of Serrano Ham, stuffed olives, Spanish wine, Christmas treats called mantecados which I feasted on, and home made french bread dipped in several olive oils made around the country. I was in heaven. I think I probably ate half of what was on the table for everyone. That is no exaggeration either. When they didn´t like it they passed it down to me. I love food. Exotic, expensive food that we eat for free, especially.

Today I met a shop owner, who offered to tour me around the Alhambra. I absolutely accepted because he has been four times and loves it, so I figured he would be a bit knowledgable. Then I asked if my friends could come along too. Muajajaja! No date for you, Persian shop owner.

The most amazing sunshine lit up Granada today, so I took advantage of it and read my book Mil Soles Esplendidos in a plaza. I moved around for more than an hour just soaking it up. I felt like a cat. A fat, happy cat.

Yesterday I visited the bar across from my school for tapas. The reason I went in was because I heard the most beautiful guitar playing. I could resist. Like a moth to light, I had to check it out. It was this little Japanese guy, also the bartender. While waiting for customers he just plays around with his guitar. He is in the process of mastering the art of Flamenco music. I ordered a beer, and how tapas work is that when you order a glass of beer or wine, you get free food with it. It usually costs about two euros. That day, was sushi. The man was also a sushi chef! And boy was it goooOOOOooood. Food and music, and then to top it off two strange Spanish women came in and we got to chatting. So I made my first real contact with locals. It was a beautiful experience.

They moved me up again, to level 8 at school. Now I have classes in the morning again which I am very pleased about.

Alright, so I suppose I will wrap this up now. My hands are freezing. Spanish homes rarely are heated and when they are, usually a space heater does the job for the whole house. I never take my outside jacket off. I may or may not climb under my covers to read my book again, until the party begins again tonight!

Thinking of you, my lovely family and friends. Hopefully Skype will be possible again in the near future.

Entrance Exam

Yesterday was the first day of school and we had to take our placement exam. I woke up and managed to find a rather large group of mostly blonde kids hanging out in the center and so I followed them to the CLM (Centro de Lenguas Modernas). Without them I would have arrived lost, and late as I did to the Palacio de Congreso just the other day. When we showed up there were probably close to one hundred US Americans milling about, waiting nervously to start the exam. We got to our assigned classrooms and were told we would have a 40 min. writing exam. I thought that went great, and I tried to give semi creative answers...to show off a bit, I admit. Then came the grammar part. I flew threw it, although the last section of the 9 section test definitely threw me off a bit. I must have just skipped the lesson about subjunctive in high school. I swear I do not remember learning that EVER. However, I had learned how it worked mas o menos in Argentina. I left feeling confident and ready to chat it up in my oral exam.

Then I actually got into the oral exam. This was not an exam but more of an interrogation. I was questioned where I was from and when the professor found out we were a group of seven from WSU she then moved on to ask what I had done in the many days I had been there (let me mention that 5 days in my opinion in a new country is not what I would call many). I told her I had walked around the city a lot, gone out to see what the Spanish night life was like and had eaten some great food. I think she wanted to know if I had made sure to do some touristy things right off the bat. Strike one. Strike two was when she asked if we spent all of our time together, the WSU students. Yes. We do, considering we are brand new here and haven't had a way to meet any Spaniards. Then, as I was trying to explain that having each other is comforting in such a new place, she interrupted to ask if we speak English all the time. I said no we didn't, but we spoke it a lot. Eyebrows raised she says that we will talk about my test scores now.

Level 9 being the highest possible level of fluency, aka a Spaniard, I had gotten a six on the grammar part of the test. I was disappointed but could believe that the grammar was the thing that I have the most trouble with. When she commented how my writing was better than my test score though she said that I could possibly handle being in a level seven class but that I should know if it was too hard they would move me down. All of this might sound fine, but I was mad. I left feeling completely decepcionada because I wanted a really great score. I couldn't help but feel like, so much for a year abroad to learn the language. A level six is what most kids were in. This assumption being based upon the eavesdropping I proceeded to do after getting my score and moving out into the cluster of other students.

So I can admit I acted like a spoiled brat about this whole thing, possibly overestimating my Spanish skills. I was humbled when I got to class today to find out that I really did not know much about the subjunctive tense at all. Even so, everything else in the class was stuff I knew and so I requested to be moved up a level which my professor gladly did for me. That means now I will have classes from 4-8pm now.

I also looked at an apt. yesterday which seems like a great option. I would live with a Spanish woman and her boyfriend right in the center. Washing machine, my own room with a wardrobe, kitchen, a grocery store just to the right of our building, wifi, heat, air...all for just 270 euros a month. Today I will look at a couple more just to compare.

SUITCASES ARRIVED!!!!!!!

Blessings: That I could see where I struggle with the language a lot. That my professor today complimented my skills and said she would definitely move me up a level. That my suitcases arrived today!!! That I have at least one good apartment option. :)

Blessings

Before I left home one of our family dinner conversations got a debate going. My mom said she had read somewhere a quote that said something like, "There are those in the world that see everything in the world as a miracle, and those who see do not see anything as being a miracle." I decided I am definitely one who sees everything as being miraculous. I mean, this topic got my brother riled up and chatting at the dinner table, which at this point is DEFINITELY a miraculous thing in my opinion! (Love you boy. Haha) Although I am not religious, I have some sort of faith. Sorting it out though and putting rules on it does not make sense to me though at this point. However, I do believe there is reason to do good. That conversation inspired me to focus my blog on the blessings, miracles, or just GOOD things that happen to me on this study abroad.

I decided the other day that because I do not have a home yet, lost luggage was a good thing. Nothing but a backpack to lug around. "Free baggage check" as my father put it. Although, the same clothes for five days in a row now...well that's not true. My fellow girl exchangers have all been willing to share their everything with me. Right down to the underwear. Seriously though. Vittoria gifted me a couple of never-worn pairs. Friends are GOOD! Corrin (another one of the WSU program, housemate of Vittoria and Paula) lent me her MAC charger so as to keep in touch with family and friends at home and write this.

The other day the security guard that made all the phone calls for me went truly out of his way to help me. Phone calls, bathroom access, a place to sit and comforting words went a long way to console me.

So. Although it might be truly cheeseball, I intend to mention at least one amazing thing that happens to me every blog. Yay blessings!

So Foreign

I am about to embark on the journey of a life time. It feels strange though to be going away for six months and not really feel it at all. I got to the airport and said one of my very well known "crappy goodbyes." I have heard from many that my farewells are known for leaving people wanting more. The hanging around and moaning and groaning are just so difficult for me though. Anyway, kisses to my mom, dad, and grandfather who came with to shoo me off on to another time abroad. As I walked away I trusted completely that all of the disorganization this trip was would come together. I know I tend to need a plan and sometimes life just does not work that way.

When I got to Chicago though I started to get skeptical that the disorganization would just sort itself out. I was told my carry on was too large and that they would have to check it to Madrid for me. I made the mistake of not getting a change of clothes out of there to take in my backpack because of course when I got to Madrid I found out the bad news. Not only had my carry on been lost, but my other bag had been lost as well. Great. Me, my backpack full of random semi-useless items, and a few "emergency phone numbers." Here's the thing about emergency phone numbers, they are useless when you are hours away from any of the emergency help that they offer. They are especially useless when one technologically disabled girl cannot figure out how to use the Spanish payphones.

I filed the luggage claim and moseyed around, rather desperately actually, trying to figure out how to buy a ticket for the bus that would leave the airport at 1030 for Granada. Finally, I figured it out. After sitting in front of the closed ticket booth for quite a while, the couple next to me informed me they had just found out it was closed for the holiday. There goes my best bet of getting to Granada. On to option number two...finding the bus station.

I asked a lot of people how to do this. Got sent in a million directions, but eventually found out I would have to take the metro. On my way there I realized I was on the verge of collapsing from hunger so I stopped at this airport cafe where they had fresh made sandwiches to buy and various hot foods. I chose a sandwich because finding food is one of the more intimidating things for me in other countries. I decided to begin my time in Spain with a Prosciutto ham and cheese sandwich. Let it be known that it is a very delicous, however tough, kind of ham well known in Spain.

As I sat down to eat, I could not wait to take my first bites of the long awaited food. Then I noticed the Spanish man watching me. Staring. No shame. I became nervous, and then worse, I realized I was making crumb fireworks all over my table every time I bit in to the ever so crusty bread. Not to mention me and this Prosciutto ham were in a downright brawl. Seriously, this ham was taking me down. I swear I broke a sweat, and I don't know if it was because I was working so hard to tear through this meat or because of the embarrassment of being examined in all of my foreign inability to consume a sandwich. I gave up after half of this foot long meal and removed the ham. Cheese and bread would have to suffice I decided.

More wandering of course, but I finally did come across the Metro. The directions I had received from some airport worker were clear and easy which is always a good thing for me. If you know me at all you know about my directional disability. I am forever getting lost. The Metro took me to the bus station where I bought a ticket to Granada, no problem. A few hours later I was on my way.

The trip went smoothly I would say. I was seated next to a formal little lady who greeted me cordially as I sat down next to her. Behind me I could hear a group of Asian students conversing excitedly. I was exhausted though so I covered my face with my scarf and then passed out. A few dreams later I awoke with a start. Not because anyone had touched me or called out. I had snored SO LOUD that I woke me self up. Worse then was I was imagining everyone staring at my scarf covered head wondering what the hell that noise had just been. So then I tried to sigh as if that would mask the crazy loud "ronca" that had just ripped through that area of the bus. I am sure the glow of my red cheeks probably shined through my scarf.

Break time came around and I met a musician. We got to talking and he was from right outside the city of Granada. He had moved there so as not to disturb neighbors with his loud practicing. Very cool guy, and he plays a some bar around here. Not to mention, he told me about a few places to watch live jazz. I have to say, so far every person I have met in Spain has done an incredible job of helping me out. I had heard about how the Spanish people can be kind of cold, but that has been the opposite of my experience so far.

I made it to Granada great, and the taxi driver who works with our support system came to get me at the bus station (SOL is our exchange support group here. Yes. That really is its name. Although it does mean "sun" in Spanish, those of you who speak English fluently might find that name to be rather amusing.) When I got in he asked me where to go, and I had to tell him I had no idea because all of the housing stuff was a complete disaster. A hostel I supposed, but we call my program director who found me a house to stay at for cheap and that would feed me.

The next day we had orientation, which is where I would find out I actually would be finding my own apartment. Renting as if I were a student from Spain. No luggage, no house. I was feeling a bit overwhelmed. We were told to meet at the Palacio de Congreso at 11. The other students were escorted by their host parents, and I followed the directions of the woman I was staying with, but still managed to show up late. I looked around. And I looked some more. And the I asked if the security guard had seen any students gathering and when he said no I looked some more. Then I went back to him to ask about calling my director. When I got no answer I went outside. I cried. I remembered I had the number of the woman I was staying with. We called her and she called the director. Finally, I found out he would come find me at the government building where I was currently having a minor breakdown.

An hour after the original meeting time he showed up and we walked to his office where everyone else was waiting and as we walked in all the other students let out minor cheers because we were all there. Then I lost it. Uncontrolled sobs. Forty-eight hours and many-a-stress later, finally some familiar faces. I managed to get myself under control though as we learned that it is completely rude in Spanish culture to walk around the house without house shoes on, and that shoes never ever go on beds or chairs. It was raining, but the director, Vitty and I all went to pick up my list of apts. I could choose from. Lunch was in order and Vitty and I ate a delicious Falafel sandwich stuffed with the worlds most heavenly ingredients and then went to buy cell phones.

That night we tried to get the whole group together, but when that didn't work, four of us girls went and got some food and a bottle of local wine before heading out for a night of fun. We ended up in a bar that played some good music, we danced a lot, and even got enticed to stay a while longer by the bartender. A free round of drinks to the foreign girls so they stick around and bring in business? I think yes...