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.
Thursday, March 31, 2011
Monday, March 21, 2011
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, March 12, 2011
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.
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.
Friday, March 4, 2011
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.
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.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Video Queens
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gw8TSf2X9Jc
The wonderful Roree put this music video of us together from the past weekend.
The wonderful Roree put this music video of us together from the past weekend.
Wednesday, March 2, 2011
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
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
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