Send me Something in Barcelona!

Katie Cardenas
c/ Clara Rodes, Resident Director Liberal Arts
CIEE Barcelona Study Center
Passatge Permanyer, 10
08009 Barcelona
Spain

Monday, February 21, 2011

Bilbao and San Sabastian

Hey guys,

So I know that I am very behind on my blogging, especially since I haven't written about how Dublin was last weekend. But I will get a round to it sooner or later...I hope. I just that with each of my blogs I try not to leave anything out and I like to think a lot about what I want to say and how I want to phrase it, so things can take awhile. I do want to get in my thoughts for my weekend that just ended oh ya, about a hour ago. Shaun and I just got back from our trip to pais vasco this weekend, and rolled into Barcelona a hour before our CIEE class started. So since I have been up since 4 am (that seems to be the story of my life now, when am I not up early for traveling?) my poor body is still running on adrenaline. So might as well do a blog post right?

I also realized I really haven't talked about classes that much here in Spain. Its not that they are boring or anything, they are just more like a nuance I have to deal with and plan my traveling around (actually, that how all of us here think of them). Dah, actually one reason my bank account is RAPIDLY depleting is because CIEE wanted to try to discourage traveling on the weekends (don't ask me why, they have to go suck the fun out of everything) and decided to give us just one class on Friday. So, that means that we always have to work around getting ryanair/easyjet tickets after a specific time on Friday and coming back Sunday, which are usually the most expensive and busy travel days. But I am going off on a tanget. Here are the classes that I am currently enrolled in at Universidat Pompeu Fabra:

1) Literatura Española Contemporánea
2) Imágenes de España en el Cine Contemporáneo
3) Comunicación y Sociedad en España y Europa

My one other class is a CIEE class, called Language and Culture. So far, my communication class has been my favorite, just because my Spanish teacher is really into the history of communication and the way that media in Spain has been a reflection of Spanish society throughout the years. Its really interesting because I have never taken a communications class before, and never thought of where we get our information from, and who influences what is considered 'newsworthy'. Even more interesting is the way that the Spanish grupos mediaticos and metodos de comunicacion were affected by the dictatorships of the 19th century (Franco and Rivara, for example). Its also fascinating because we talk a ton of Spanish history, which ties into things I notice about Spain on a daily basis. My literature teacher is also one of my loves-she is pretty much the equal of a Spanish Professor Trelawney from Harry Potter. If you have no idea what I am talking about, the basic idea is that she is totally spacy, with crazy blond hair and really fragile figure, and has this really high voice that is completely mesmerizing. Like every time she starts reading poetry or explaining something, I can't pay attention because her voice is what I would imagine a wood nymph or siren from Greek mythology to sound like. My Spanish cinema teacher is also really cool. She is pregnant, but still really alternative and always wears these punk rock band t-shirts and has a cool spiky and funky haircut. Professors here are so much more chill and almost like stereotypical manifestations of the subjects they teach. While I know that is true in the US too, maybe taking classes in a different setting/culture allows you to see and notice things you never would at home. In a way, maybe strangers really are more apt to study a culture that is not their own. Its weird, because I have always thought the opposite, even though the idea of the uninvolved third-party spectator is the basic dogma of all anthropological ethnography. Such a method has just always lead the way for racism and intolerance (at least in my book). However, once again being abroad has made me question my previous assumptions about my area of study, and what anthropology in general really entails.

Anyways, to the trip. 

Shaun and I left for Bilbao at wait for it...4 am. The flight was so short-only about 30 min at the most. We arrived in Bilbao tired, but surprisingly found the bus we were suppose to catch, and then the metro, and then *shocker* our hostel without any major turnarounds, freakouts, or general confusion. We were staying in a place called Pension Manores. The owner was a rather fat guy, but nice and very helpful. We came to find out we were sharing the 'matrimonial suite" which Shaun had said meant queen bed. Well as you know, nothing is Spain is as it seems/arrives when it says it does. So when we actually got into the room , we found that the 'queen' actually meant 'a large twin' and that bathroom was not included. So we had a great time joking about sharing our tiny matrimonial bed. We did have a balcony though, with weaving flowers that snaked around the iron railing and gave a birds-eye view to the street below. Bilbao is a beautiful city. The whole entire Shaun and I were there, we couldn't get over how calm and slow paced everything was. Barcelona is such a city of crowds, where you always have to be aware of who is around you, where you bag is, and where you are going. Bilbao felt so much safer. We noticed a lot more children and families than the grungy teenage street groups and sketchy arab immigrants that characterize Barcelona. It was such a nice reprieve to not have to fend of piropos (cat-calls) and stares (I blame Shaun, she had incredible long beautiful red hair, so we get attention wherever we go). Bilbao was clean, quiet, and placid. After unwinding a little, we took our  homemade lunches (I am all about packing lunch for the first day in anyplace) and had a pbj lunch in a park close to our hostel. After that, we decided to head to the Guggenheim. The Guggeneheim is a museum dedicated to modern and contemporary art (thus, already a favorite). It was designed by Frank Gehry and was built in 1997. It was amazing to just stand and look at the ingenious way Gehry has railing, paneling, glass and steel (all interconnected) to create a completely organic and beautiful framework. Shaun said that the steel panels were suppose to resemble fish scales, and the building was suppose to be inspired by the movements of a fish. Because Bilboa is on the sea and once was (still kinda is) a fishing town, I like to think that explanation is right on. I also heard that the Basque government had literally poured everything they had into the building and funding of the museum, in hopes to put Bilbao on the map. I would say it did, since it is represents a "single moment in architectural culture". One art historian Matt Tyrmauer said the Guggenenheim was "one of those rare moments when critics, academics, and the general public were all completely united about something." While the outside was neat, the inside was filled with weird and enticing art from abstract expressionism to minimalism. Some of my favorites included:

Joan Jonas:

Andy Warhol: 150 Multi-colored Marilyns (much bigger than this of course-150!!)

Robert Rauschenberg: Barge 
However, I think Shaun's and I favorite part of the Guggenheim was a installation piece called the Matter of Time, by a American minimalist sculptor called Richard Serra. Basically this is the work below:

 

Its these giant sheets of rusty sheet metal that you are able to walk through. However, they all cave away from you, towards you, as you walk around and around, space becomes bigger, smaller, slanted, sideways, and crooked. In the end you get really thrown off. Shaun and I ended up getting really dizzy and walking into the sides of the walls at multiple times. It was so COOL! According to Serra, he wanted to create a work that captured the layered temporalities of reality, the diversity of the durations of time and how temporal passage is activated by rhythm.  In the art piece however, there is no preferred succession of views but rather a unlimited range of experience. Time is perceptually aesthetic, psychological, emotional, non-narrative, discontinuous, fragmented, decentralized, and disorienting. Phew. Serra's work lets the spectator to perceive evolution through the sculpted forms, from his relatively simple double ellipse to the more complex spiral. The final two works in this evolution are built from sections of toruses, spirals and spheres to create environments with differing effects on the viewer's movement and perception.Wow.

After the Guggenheim, we were mentally worn out. Too much modern art can make your brain hurt a lot. So we went back and napped. Afterwards, we had our first pinxchos experience. The pais vasco, aka Bilbao, San Sebastian, is famous for their amazing food. It is know as the best culinary experience of all of Spain (seafood, sun, and fuuuunn). Pinxchos are basically like tapas. They are small and snack-like, and are stuck with a small stick in the middle. In the old days, you would just go into the small little caverns that line the cobblestone streets of Bilbao, pick up whatever pinxchos you like that are spread out on the bar and at the end, would count up how many sticks you have to pay for your meal. Today, as we learned, its a mix of just pushing your way through the crowd of drinking Spaniards, pointing at something that look vaguely good, or asking for a plate and just going at it yourself. You can imagine how intimidating this is. First, being American means being polite and having lots of personal space. That is the first two things you have to get over. As Shaun and I learned, walking into a crowded bar with about 100 Spaniards socializing, drinking, and yelling orders in Spanish/ Basque is intimidating to say the least. Just to get to the bar most times required pushing, perdonas, and strategical navigating. Then once you get there, you are like "oh crap, now what?". Most of the time we ended up just saying "uno de este" or "algo con queso", and got whatever was handed to us. Sometimes, the person behinds the counter just says "cogalo" aka, grab its yourself, or they would take it away and it flew off the the kitchen to be heated (or where the magic was worked) until it arrived at us 10 min later. I have never had so many good things at one time in may life. I will get to that more later. Actually, the first night we were so tired we ended up eating at a Asian Place called Old Shanghi, where I was actually able to find tofu! As later, we found a hot dog place (for Shaun of course) and a tex-mex place for me! Haha, very unexpected to see "tex-mex" written in basque. But there was a sign with a little Mexican guy in a sombrero riding a donkey, which is like the universal image for "cheap mexican food". Later we walked around, got some drinks, and took in the Spanish night life. Basically this consisted of people cramming into pinxcho places, and when there was no more rooming, spilling in the streets to smoke, drink and generally hang out. It was rowdy and festive, but most awesome because it was the first completely local experience I have had here in Spain. There were generally no tourists, as its still winter and the off season. 

The next day we had breakfast at the most AMAZING dairy place I have ever eaten from. Like literally, I think they had a whole bunch of cows literally behind the counted just churning out yogurt, arroz con leche, and other glorious dairy foodstuffs. Add that to the crescent rolls that they were backing right in front of the window, and we found ourselves in a dangerous situation of overstuffing ourselves. We made it to the bus station to catch our bus to San Sebastian with time to spare, though it was a little stressful actually figuring out what bus was ours. Since Spain functions on a whole different timetable than that of the US, you can really never expect anything to arrive on time. Couple that with the fact that there really is no board or anything announcing when buses are coming or leaving, and you can find yourself in a difficult situation. We finally realized that of course, the bus we were taking was not going to say a destination name on it (since that makes sense) but rather some different weird route number and then random towns that the bus passes through. But we got on finally after a minor freakout, and were on our way to San Sebastian. The drive through the Spanish countryside was beautiful. Shaun said she was getting homesick (a native of Boise, Idaho) since the hills and mountains reminded her of the Montana and Idaho. So there is some reference as to how beautiful the mountains were. We once again, were able to find out hostel just from taking the city bus from the bus station without incident (we are getting pretty good at this!). Strangely, as soon as a say I am from Texas to the hostel guy as we are checking in, he pulls out at UT shirt! Literally, he had gotten it from a UT professor that comes to San Sebastian every summer for the surf. I just thought it was the most random and hilarious thing ever. Since it was off season, we were able to have a whole room to ourselves (no sharing a cramped 'queen' sized matrimonial suite this time). But as it turns out, we later find that there is no hot water (guess how that first shower was) and that the lights turn out every 10 seconds. Oh hosteling....

That night it was raining pretty hard, but Shaun and I decided to brave the elements and go out for pinchxos. And boy did we. We hit up three pinxcho places, each time fighting our way to the bar, being brave and ordering whatever looked appetizing. If only I could remember the real names for everything, but I will sum it up as how our conversation went: 

Me: "That fried cheese-blob thing with the green stuff looks good" 
Shaun: "Ok, and how about some of that shrimp with hair of it?
Me: "Ew, what is that?"
Shaun: "I dunno, but it looks like they cover it with some kinda sauce, can't be that bad" 
Me: "Alrighty, how do you say 'is that cooked?'. Wait, how about that mayonnaise-shrimp-bread combo over there?" 

And so the conversation goes. As you can imagine, its easy to get carried away with pinxchos. Which we did. We also ended up going to a seafood place, where there were mussels from 3E. Not my favorite, and I quote Shaun when we decided there "was to be no Spanish lovers tonight" because of how much vinagre (vinager) the seafood was covered with. Mmmmmm. San Sebastian is also famous from its drink called Kalimotxo, which is basically red wine mixed with coke and lemon. Followed with  a glass of Sidria, or the famous sweet and tangy basque cider, I say we were feeling pretty good at this point. With one last pinxchos stop were we were greeted by a familiar exclamation "guapas guapas!!" (pretty girls, pretty girls!). That night ended with two very fully stomachs and a change from jeans into more forgiving leggings, which were our pants of choice for the rest of the trip.

 
 Pinxcho time!
Thankful the next day it was beautiful outside, and the seaside harbor the San Sebastian tempted us to walk to up to Monte Urguell, a outcropping and beautiful mirador that offered views of the main beach, La Concha, and the small island within San Sebastian's bay. It was so entirely relaxing, with no crowds or city-hassling vendors. Instead, we came upon families lying on the grass in the sun, or couples sitting together on the rocks just enjoying the view. In fact, for the first time I was liking a place outside of Barcelona more so than the city I have spent the past 2 months in. Maybe I just needed a break from the city atmosphere, or maybe I just forgot what it is like to be surrounded by trees and grass, but the walk up the old battalion-fort of Monte Urguell, and the mossy rocks, azure water, and salty spray had me thinking about living in San Sebastian. After lunch (and as I worked in a giant chocolate gelato cone), we walked to the other side of town called Gros. While not a touristy area, we were amazing to find that almost nothing was open. While we knew that it was Sunday, we couldn't believe that how so many people stop working all together, and just simply strolled along side the harbor either smoking or eating a croissant. I tell you, the Spanish may not have the best economy, but they sure know how to enjoy life. We continued to walk along the shore line, and spent our last hour before our bus was to take us back to Bilbao with our faces in the sun, commenting on the bella epoca architecture, and overall taking the colorful boats that bobbed up and down on the clear water.

 San Sebastian, view from Monte Urguell

We returned to Bilboa and made our way back to our first hostel Sunday night. We were greeted by the owner again, and realized that like San Sebastian, people just didn't work on Sunday. So for dinner, we got pretty lucky when we actually found a buffet place that offered a huge salad and pasta bar down a random side street- they actually had mac and cheese!!! That night, we had a girls night in and shared a bottle of 2E wine on our balcony while watching a movie on Shaun's iphone. Yup, you can imagine the fun that was. Coming back this morning was nothing eventful, other than our cab driver was 15 min late to pick us up for the airport. I don't think Shaun has gotten the idea that when you say "5:10 am" people, aka cab drivers, arn't going to show up till 5:25 . I think she about to have a break down if our guy didn't come when he did, thank god he finally showed because there was no one on the road when we finally were driving to the airport.

Well that is the super condensed version of my weekend. I actually have to go study for my first actual test I have this year (*gasp* what I have to do work?!?!), which I am not looking forward to in the least. I should put pictures up soon, so stay updated on the side links.

PS: will I still be accepted into the family when I am 20 pounds overweight? Thanks pinxchos...

Wednesday, February 9, 2011

Madrid and Toledo: Part 2

To continue...

After Shaun's sickness Friday night, you can imagine how tired both of us were when we had to be up at 8. The hotel breakfast was wonderful, especially since it was all you can eat. My friend Libby actually brought a Tupperware to steal bread, yogurt, and apples for lunch. After breakfast, we all meet in the lobby to get on the bus to Toledo. During the ride,the tour guides just kept talking the whole entire time, even though everyone pretty much slept through it. It was a bit of information overload, especially when you have to process it in your head. We finally got to Toledo, which is most famous for being the city of El Greco. While he was Italian (born in Crete) El Greco was called "the Greek" because of his residence in Greece during the Spanish Renaissance. Toledo is also famous because of its many Jewish, Arabic and Christian influences. We first went to la Sinagoga del Tránsito which had some intersting ties to Toledo's jewish history. Later, we went into the Igelesia de Santo Tomé, a beautiful mosque with delicate arabic designs that was later turned into a church. We were walking alot during this time, as Toledo is pretty much all uphill and small streets, like a prototype Italian town. So we were all pretty tired and complaining, much to our tour guide's despair. The complaining got a lot worse once we entered La Catedral, the city's main architectural focus and cultural heart. The cathedral was absolutely stunning, and massive. Huge pillars shot straight up to the sky in the gothic style, illuminated by the mutlicolored light let into by the stained glass windows and domed pendentives. There was a beautiful old organ, which our tour guide told us was only reached by a spiral staircase enclosed inside a hollow piller. The church also housed a small room with more ancient works of art and church relicis. However, I most remember the church because it was absolutely freezing. Literally, it dropeed about 20 degrees once we walked inside. It was so cold that I could see my breath and I think lost feeling in my toes after being in there for about 5 min. My friend Nikki was joking about polar bears running around, and I think it was actually one of the reasons I got really sick the day after.

Once we were done with the church we went and saw one of El Greco's most famous works, The Burial of Count Orgaz. The painting was commissioned by Andrés Núñez, the parish priest of Santo Tomé, for the side-chapel of the Virgin of the church of Santo Tomé, and was executed by El Greco between 1586–1588. It is very clearly divided into two sections, that of the heavenly realm and that of the earthly one. Apparently, the small boy who stands by the corpse of the count was El Greco's son, who he couldn't name as a heir because his mother was a mistress of the artist. So while he never recived any of El Greco's fortune, his illegitimate son was painted into one of the most reknown works of Toledo (a win I say). There is also apparently a extra set of hands that float behind that count's head, which are suppose to belong to the artist himself as a way to memorialize himself into the memory of Toledo's artistic provenance.

Toledo offered great views and scenic plazas, but it is defiantly a day trip kind of place. Maybe it was because we were so tired and so cold, but it didn't really stand out that much, at least compared to all the other places you can go in Spain. After seeing the painting, we went tried and warm ourselves up with chocolate con churros, and did some shopping after. Toledo is great for jewelry, and I got some beautiful earrings that remind my of the arabesce church/mosque we saw earlier in the day.

After coming back to Madrid, Shaun and I discovered this great vegetarian place called Maoz. Even better, is that it is a chain in Europe and there is one is Barcelona I walked by everyday. Basically all that you really have is the option of falafel in a pita or salad. But then you have a entire salad bar where you can go crazy and put as much lettuce, cauliflower, garbanzo beans, quinoa, or whatever else into your dish. Shaun accidentally put some really hot green sauce all over hers, and had to get another one because her stomach was still really sensitive from the night before. Later, we took a nap and then walked with the other girls into the Plaza Mayor of Madrid, and stopped at our favorite candy shop (it only takes us a day to get our food places down). After walking out, we were approached by these Spanish guys. It was weird because at first they didn't think we spoke Spanish, but before long, realized that we were all pretty proficient in keeping up a simple conversation. However it was strange because while we could understand everything they said, they didn't know any English at all. So when we would talk amongst ourselves in English, they has no idea what we were saying. They kept saying "Español por favor?" and were worrying that we were making fun of them right in front of their faces. While we kinda of were (not in a mean way of course, it was just a really random situation) it was strange to be on the other side of the language barrier. Usually I am the one who is totally clueless, who never understands what is going on as people jabber about in other a bazillion languages. It is definitely very powerful when you have the language advantage in your hands. How odd to finally be on the other side...

The next day in Madrid, Shaun and I chose to do the alternative activity that CIEE offered, which was to go to the Reino Sofia, Madrid's modern art museum. I loved loved loved the Reino Sofia. Usually trippy Spanish surrealism/expressionism/dado art kinda creeps me out. But I was thinking, and it was probably because when we did the whole modern art chapter my senior year of art history it was that time of year in school where you just don't give a crap anymore. And once again, being able to see all the art in real life totally changes things. Just thinking about how all this art from the late 19th century through mid 20th century paralleled what was happening in the world gives me goose bumps: the end of aristocracy, the rise of modernism, the spheres of abstract expressionism and the paradigms of pseudoscience, the oncoming global war and later backlash of postwar society. Ahhh, its so cool when everything lines up and unrolls into a neat cause-and-effect linear time scale. Anyways, my favorite piece of art at the Reino Sofia was La Guernica by Picasso:


Picasso painted the work as a response to the bombing of Guernica, in the Basque country by German and Italian war planes by Spanish national forces during the Spanish civil war of the 1930's. The work captures the sufferings of innocent victims and the trageties of war, thus, it is universally reknown as a peace and anti-war symbol. On the left, a mother cries over her dead child (the bull representing Spain). In the middle triangle, a horse with a spear in its side, and a dead solider on the floor. Picasso's intended symbolism in regards to the light bulb at top is related to the Spanish word for lightbulb; "bombilla", which makes an allusion to "bomb" and therefore signifies the destructive effect which technology can have on society. On the right, a figure with upraised arms screams in a perpetual cry for help as he/she is engulfed in flames. There is much, much more symbolism and hidden images in Picasso masterpiece, but the basic summary is this: the futileness of war and its aftermath. I think I am in love after all these museums visits with Spanish art, hopelessly romantically in love. I got yelled at by a very rude Spanish security lady for taking a picture of Guernica, but got the last laugh because I didn't delete the pictures. It is pretty much my talisman/relic from the Holy Land of Spanish art history. So she is going to have to deal. (oh p.s., to my mother and Matt, The Dream by Picasso is also at the Reino Sofia...)

After the museum, we explored the crazy bustling streets of el Rastro, a market in the Plaza de Cascorro. Once again, I managed to resist up till the very end where I broke down an bought another pair of earrings. The market showcased odds and ends form everywhere including table clothes from India, leather goods from the North, and Spanish pride boxers from...Madrid? I'm kinda sad I didn't get a picture (or a pair) of them actually. Anyways, after that we ate at the vegetarian place again before going back to the hotel and packing up for the return to Barcelona. I was once again glad to be back when the train finally docked and had that overwhelming feeling of being safe in a city where I know how to get around, know the metro stops, and recognize the vibe. Even with Catalan making me illiterate like 75% percent of the time, good ole' Barca was a relief from the crowded and technical center of Madrid. I love my Spanish hippies and sketchy 3 a.m. night walks back to my home-stay, my modernista architecture and university beach-front location. Barcelona, home sweet home.

Tuesday, February 8, 2011

Madrid and Toledo: Part 1

Que Tal?

Well its is Monday, which is pretty unfortunate since it means the end of the weekend, especially sad since my weekend was very, very fun. Even worse is the status of my health and the weather. Its dark, cold, and grey outside and I could pretty much describe myself the same way. I started to feel bad last week, and went to a pharmacy hoping to find something that would zap the cold that I felt coming on. The thing about Spanish pharmacies though, is that everything is a behind-the-counter-process. So you can't just walk in a pick up some Tylenol, or cough syrup. You have to know the name of the product and then go and ask a pharmacist to get it for you. I am really missing just being able to pick up some Sudafed, my go to sleep aid/ cough suppressant/ pain reliever at my local Vandy CVS. Of course, there are no American brand names here, so I just ended up buying the equivalent of Ibuprofen when I explained to the lady behind the counter that my whole body hurt: me duele. I don't really think the medicine has been working though, especially since I now have a worse cough and a runny nose on top of my headache and body pains. To top it off, last night I woke up, and realized I couldn't open my eye, on account of it being shut together by goo and crusties. Yup, I think I have pink eye. Yayyyy which means I get to where my glasses for the next week at least (I am not a fan of the glasses). Oh well. Luckily, I was able to schedule a doctor appointment today at 7 (so late!) so hopefully before I know it I will be too doped up on drugs to realize anything is wrong.

Anyways, so I got up to leave for Madrid at 6:45 on Friday which wasn't too early, though it felt like it at the time. Inma had said she would leave me a lunch in la niviera, and sure enough, I found a huge bag with two sandwiches, two fruit drinks, two oranges, and a box of oreos. God bless that woman. Shaun and I met up, and headed to the train station. Our whole group was already there, and when we arrived, Clara (the CIEE director) gave us each a envelope with train tickets, maps, and food stamps. So much for planning on not eating in Madrid: free meal coupons!!! The train we took to Madrid is called Renfe, and super fast (300 mph). Like a streamlined speeding bullet that shoots through the Spanish countryside. It was really nice too, but I mostly slept during the ride there. Once in Madrid, we arrived at our hotel, located right off of the Plaza Sol (the main plaza in Madrid). My first impression of Madrid: I was underwhelmed. It was defiantly bigger, cleaner and more industrial than Barcelona. I think the best way I could describe Barcelona v. Madrid is comparing Houston to Austin. While I loved Madrid, and everything we did there, all any of us could talk about was how glad we were that we choose a bohemian and artsy city like Barcelona for study abroad, rather than a more serious and technical urban center like Madrid. After settling in to our nice, comfortable hotel (this is when I love when programs pay for trips, I would never be able to afford a three star hotel anywhere in Europe unless it was on another person's bill, I'm strictly a hostel girl), we went on a tour of el barrio Madrid de los Austrias. It was a great intro to the city, and we walked by the Teatro Real, the Palacio Real (president's palace), Catedral de la Almudena (seemed interesting, it was only just finished after almost 400 years), Plaza Mayor (where almost 40 victims of the Spanish Inquisition were killed, while the kings and queens watched from balconies) and Plaza de Ayuntamiento (where a revolutionary once threw a bomb disguised as roses from a tower to a imperial wedding parade below on the street). I'm sure we went more places, but as you can imagine, we were really tired by this point, so my memory is kinda blurry!

After walking around the city in the surprisingly warm weather, we were scheduled for a guided tour of the Prado, Madrid's museum for art of the 17th and 16th centuries. The Prado is super spacious and laid out in a very neat and organized manner. I liked the main entrance room because the walls were painted in a bright organgey-red. Like a huge accent wall. Our tour guide took us room by room, and explained the history of each painting through the audio head set well all received. Yes, we were that group of people who obnoxiously walk through museums with a headset and guide. The Prado has a ton of great paintings that I remember from my art history days including:

The Annunciation by Fra Angelico

La Maja Vestida and La Maja Desnuda by Goya (Goya almost got killed after he was found to have painted a woman in the nude; nobody knows her real identity, but she is believed to be a duchess that still has a great great great grand duchess alive today in Spain).


Satan Devouring His Children by Goya (Apparently, this was part of a series of drawing called the Black Paintings that Goya started to draw on the walls of his own house once he became deaf in his later years. All are very dark, and deal with themes about insanity and the artist's decent into madness. They are haunting, but a provoking look into what his was feeling at the end of his life).

And last but not least, Las Meninas by Velasquez. I had such a inexplicable reaction when I saw the Prado's most famous work for the first time. It really hit me what a absolute genius and master Velasquez was, and how revolutionary this work was for his time. For those unfamiliar with art history, Las Meninas depicts the daughter of Philip IV, La Infanta Margarita, surrounded by her maids and court jesters. However, if you look closely, you can also see that Velasquez painted himself into the picture, looking out at the viewer. In the  background, one can observe the faint outline of Reuben's painting, and the king's chamberlain entering (or his leaving? A ongoing debate among art historians) the king's room. Look even closer in the mirror in the background, and you can make out the faint silhouette of the king and queen reflecting back at the viewer. This being said, the work is supposedly painted from the viewpoint of the king and queen; this scene is what they would have been witnessing as the had their self-portraits painted. It really is fascinating how Velasquez's work ties the viewer into a scene of court life, and transfixes attention on the La Infanta Margarita, who would be looking on as her parents sat for their portrait. Our tour guide described the work as a "snapshot of 17th century royal Spanish life". For this reason, I think people are fascinated. That, and because the whole composition is so enigmatic, with many questions between illusion and reality, and a uncertain relationship between the viewer and the actors in the painting. There is no universal agreement among art historians about what Velasquez was trying to depict/attempt/capture when he painted Las Meninas. I think he goal was to create a work that would mystify and puzzle people for ages to come and in the process carve himself a niche as a master artist. I say he accomplished his goal rather well, as it is still the most viewed work at the Prado today.

Another very famous work at the Prado is the El Tres de Mayo by Goya. As you can imagine, seeing this painting is real life is breathtaking. Its huge, and more than anything I would say, profound. Goya painted it to commemorate the murder of the Spanish by Napoleon's army during the occupation in 1808. Notice how none of the faces of the murderers are shown. The Spanish victims are characterized as the opposite of the monolithic firing squad, irregular, disorganized and thus more human-like. Illuminated by a Baroque inspired lantern, the main figure in white and yellow (reminiscent of the colors of the papacy perhaps?) stands dramatically with his arms spread eagle, in a familiar Christ-like pose of martyrdom (if you are ever at the Prado, look closer at the mans hands, and you can make out a stigma on his palms, just like the wounds Christ suffered on the cross). Is he appealing or is he defiant to his executioners? Goya does not shy away from the brutal subject matter, but rather paints without shame, the horrors of war. For this reason, his work is revolutionary, unforgiving, and intensely personal.

After the Prado, the girls and I headed back to the hotel, and stopped and got some water and other supplies. Later, we headed out to dinner at a Argentinean place where we ended up having pizza (what?) which has become our go to food (even outside of Rome). Afterward, we walked around the small streets and entered into one or two candy stores before deciding that we needed to have some Chocolate con Churros. Once again, this is nothing new to me as people in Peru eat Chocolate con Churros on a daily basis. But I will explain, as it has been something new to most american students in Spain. Churros are basically fried bread stick covered in sugar (mmm) which are accompanied by a large cup of chocolate (I am talking not American hot chocolate, but literally a cup of thick, solid chocolate). And so there you go, all Spanish people love to hang out after dinner and dip their chocolate into churros and chatter about in rapid Spanish. Because it is my duty to investigate and learn all the rituals and practices of Spanish culture as a exchange student, I have to take part in the daily meal of chocolate con churros. Yes, this is how I justify eating pure chocolate.


Since I was beginning to become sick at this point (and so was my friend Nikki), we decided to call it a early night and head back to the hotel. So begins the night of gastrointestinal tales thanks to my friend Shaun. Before we went to bed that night, Shaun had been complaining of her stomach being queezy, and had made several trips to the bathroom so far. However, we both decided to just try to go to bed, and thought she would be able to sleep it off. However, at 1:30 I woke up, and sure enough Shaun was in the bathroom again. As you can probably guess by this point, she was having major diarrhea issues. Thanks to my time spent in South America, and the lovely parasites I acquired while roughing it in the wonderful countries of Peru and Guatemala, gastro-intestinal issues don't phase me anymore. In fact, I have a general rule that as long as you are not vomiting and diarrhea-ing (I am making that a verb) simultaneously (yes, this is what my time in Xela, Guatemala basically was like), you are fine. Nonetheless, I was starting to get worried about Shaun and her becoming dehydrated since her bathroom runs had been happening every ten minutes for the past two hours. So at 2 am, I run down to get our program director Clara, where she sticks to her "Spanish only" policy (in fact, I am beginning to think she just really doesn't speak English at all). Word I learned: "diarrhea" is basically the same pronunciation in Spanish and English. This is how you learn another language. Real world experience abroad: when you have a friend in a dire medical situation and you must explain in whatever way possible (including hand motions and bathroom noises). Anyways, our director was able to get Shaun some prescription strength meds by running to a 24 hr pharmacy around 3 am. By this time, Shaun and I found it totally hilarious that diarrhea and diarrea were pretty much the same word. So we spent about an hour rolling around dying of laughter on our bed. During this time, I tried to comfort her with my sicknesses stories from abroad, including projecting vomiting at a restaurant in Peru, naming my parasite back while in States, and clogging my host family's toilet in Guatemala. Man, it sucked then but its pretty fun now when my digestive experiences can give make someone else feel better when they are going through the same thing. Anyways, we eventually feel asleep around 3 am, after our entire tour around Madrid and  journey there nearly 20 hours before. To continue reading about my adventures in Madrid and Toledo, wait for part 2....

Friday, January 28, 2011

Rome & the Sad Tale of how I ate my weight in Food

Buenos Dias!

Well since it is now Thursday, I feel it adequate to post a little bit on my trip to Rome this last weekend. Before I do that though, I wanted to give a quick update of my past week. Since I have been here, my program CIEE makes all students take a introduction class in Spanish for three hours everyday. Basically, the class is a joke and since it pretty much doesn't count for anything at Vandy (I'm not going to lie) I have done nothing for it. Up until yesterday, which was my first presentation. We had to watch a Spanish movie, and then present it in power point and make a handout. Since technology is never a problem at Vanderbilt (my first mistake was assuming that it would be the same here) I totally wasn't prepared when literally EVERYTHING I put together movie clips, youtube pieces, power-point presentation failed to actually work when it was my time to present. So it pretty much sucked. Oh well. I am having such trouble doing the whole school-work thing again, or the actual study part of my study abroad. Could you imagine trying to take basic Spanish class seriously in Barcelona after you literally had to have debates in Spanish class the semester before about citizenship for illegals, human trafficking in Mexico, and Fascism in Spain? Now you see my problem. Our regular classes at the University of Pompeu Fabra start next week. While I am ready for a change (three hour classes are rough), having to be serious about school again is going to be miserable. I never realized how much stress really detracts from your overall happiness. At Vanderbilt, its like a constant revolving door, as soon as you get through with one thing, another one pops right up. I forgot how enjoyable life is when you don't have a 12 page paper hanging over your head. Its amazing. Being abroad has defiantly put a lot of things into perspective for me. 1) I have learned I am not a naturally miserable and stressed human being. That would be the prestigious institution of Vanderbilt and its quality education doing its job 2) You can actually learn more about life when you are not cramming worthless knowledge into your head (Materiality v. Corporeality of the body, structure/agency, panoptic control mechanisms, anyone? PS: if you have no idea what I am talking about, welcome to what I learn about. Yup, I still have no idea what they are about either) 3) I have no idea how I have made it to 'senior' status at a real college. Yesterday, it literally took me 3 hours to write one paragraph for my Spanish presentation. In between I took a nap, had dinner, look up restaurants in Barcelona, and planned some more trips. I guess its good that there is proof I once had a work ethic.

But anyways, onto Rome. So I went with two of my friends here, Libby and Grace. Our flight was super super early, as in it left at 6:45 am on Friday. So to get there we had to take the 4:00 am night bus to the airport. Once again, I found myself walking down the desolate and deserted streets of Barcelona in the a.m., reminding myself that while I was going off of two hours of sleep, I could still swing my bag with enough force to take out someone if that situation presented itself. Luckily, I made it to the right bus stations, and somehow managed still half-asleep to get on the right bus that headed to the airport. It was all our first time on Ryan air, and I now understand why the flights are so cheap. If you think Southwest herds people like cattle, just wait to you travel discount airfare in Europe. Since checking in bags costs a fortune, we all just brought carry-ons. However, the flight attendants bring around this cart thing and make you place your bag inside to make sure it fits. My friend Grace was frantically pulling stuff out of here bag and before we boarded, was wearing three coats, some scarfs, and whatever else she managed to put on to make her bag fit. The flight was short, less than a hour and a half. It amazing that it takes longer to get from Nashville to Houston than it takes to get from  Barcelona to Rome. Once we got the airport, we headed to Rome's main train station, Termini. Termini holds fond memories because it was where Adam and I got lost when we first arrived in Europe. Seems so long ago!

Our hostel had a mix up, since I booked separately than Libby and Grace, and thus they ended up putting us in nicer accommodations than we originally had, in their sister hostel called Alessandro Downtown. Nicer I say, because we got a room with 6 beds instead of 12, and because it had a awesome little bar and free (while, not amazing) pizza every night. When we first got to the room however, we only saw three beds. Our hostel guy was like "Oh, well two more girls are coming in later tonight". We were super confused though, and said "Are they sleeping on the floor or something?" Then, he just goes to each of the beds and bam! pops each mattress up to reveal another below it, so that there were now 3 sets of make-ship bunk beds. Gotta love Europe and their knack with making everything miniature and foldable.

Since we were starving and pretty tired our first goal was, naturally, to find a authentic Italian restaurant and being the carb-ingesting process that is allowed when in Italy. Or should I saw 'when in Rome'...( you can imagine how many times we processed to rely that phrase for the rest of the trip. Most to justify the amounts of food and wine we enjoyed). Our wandering eventually lead us to a small neighborhood that bordered the edges of the mythological Tiber river. I feel it not necessary to explain the charm and enchantment of the cobblestone streets, dilapidated old building, and tarnished iron balconies of Italy. Its not that they are not worth describing, its that I feel the picturesque ideal that exists in everyone head about Italy is one of the few archetypes that is actually accurate. We proceeded to a inconsequnetial and unassuming little wooden door, with umbrellas outside and mopeds parked on the railing, out of curiosity and more than anything, hunger. A limp and wet little menu hung from a wooden pole, and we took the red flowers and worn looking windows as a good sign that whatever inside was a welcome retreat from the increasingly blustery and cold Italian wind. Walking through the door, we found a squat middle age woman with pleated hair down her back, having a passionate conversation in Italian with a cook over a shelf (I don't think Italian have un-passionate conversations). It took her a good thirty seconds to notice us, but when she did, I noticed her eyes first. They were bright sea-green-blue. They were so striking and made me realize, despite age, eyes are eternal; they always remain the same. She hurried over to us, and despite the fact it was clear within two seconds that we didn't speak Italian, carried out a non-stop conversation in Italian as if we were completely fluent. She lead us to a side room, still talking to us about something and not needing a response, and sat us by a cloudy window next to the outside enclave. The really only decorations in this place were faded prints of famous posters, paintings, and drawings. All were reduced to blue and cream hues, the kind of undertones that reveal themselves when they are exposed to the sun for long amounts of time. Since we had been up forever, we thought it appropriate to order a liter of wine, considering it felt like 6 at night. However, once we communicated our order to 'mama' she gave us a sharp shake of the head and said something to the extent "I don't think so! You are getting 1/2 a liter, and its because I know better. And I'm Italian". So we got a 1/2 liter. That, along with homemade pasta (Grace and Libby), the best Roman-styled Gnocchi I have ever had in my life, fresh bread still warm from the oven, and salty vinger-soaked brushetta. I don't know it it was because we were all just starving, or if we were still half-crazy from two hours of sleep, but we all agreed it was one of the best meals of our lives. The meal was accentuated by the later consumers who flooded in around 1 pm, including a old man with round glasses who sat and read his newspaper, and a group of older woman who ate their pasta such with sophisticated, style, and fabulousness, I concluded it must be a inherent trait inscribed in only Italian genes.

After our amazing lunch, we continued to wander and soak up la vida dulce de itlaia. We wondered for a bit, but became discouraged as it grew cloudier and rainier. We head back to the hostel, and decided we need a nap, because after such a meal like ours, it was pretty much the only alternative. Later, we headed down to the bar to get in on the free pizza action (see what I said about the food thing?). I love hostel bars, because everyone there is there to meet, talk, and hang out. We made friends with some Australians, and I met a girl from Austin who goes to Texas State. We had a Texas moment of "Omg, have you been blah blah blah, do you know blah blah blah, etc". Quite nice. I liked the bar because all around were version of famous Italian masterpieces painted on the walls, from the Sistine chapel, the Vatican, and from masters like Raphael, Da vinci, etc. Except, all were painted in bright neon, like vibrant tones of pink, magenta, and lime. With only the multi-colored-hanging lights creating a warm glow in the otherwise shadowy room, all the decorations had a really ethereal and trippy quality. The free pizza was served in buckets. Once again, not great quality but combined with a even cheaper and fizzier bottle of the hostel wine made for a pretty good start to the night. We later ended up at a Irish pub, but spent a lot of the night at a Pizza and Crepé  joint on the side of a alleyway, where you guessed it, we binged on more Pizza and nutella crepes. I wasn't lying when I said I ate my weight this trip. But hey, when in Rome....

The second day, and my last in Rome started out with the Museo Borghese. On the outskirts of 17th century Rome, the villa Borghese houses painting, sculptures, and antiques of the collection begun by Cardinal Borghese in 1644. Most of the paintings I recognized were by Titan and Caravaggio, one of my favorites of Italian renaissance artists. However, there was also a special exhibition of the German artist Lucas Crananch, who I had never heard of before. His work was very interesting, especially since it was meant as a didactic tool for teaching about immorality and sin. He was especially insistent on denouncing soliciting love for money, among both sexes. The extravagance and lavishness of the Museo is not only found in the precious painting and sculptures that blanked the walls and spaces of the building, but in the the building itself. From the ceiling frescoes, to the the lavish molding and inlaid marble, the place is work of art. I though it almost seemed like a wedding cake, with frilly bordering and whipped cornices that decorate every window, door, and outcrop. It was amazing, but very difficult to take in all at one time. Almost like a dessert to rich to enjoy for the sheer amount of sweetness and sugar. Wow, look now I am even talking about buildings like food. After the Borghese, we ate at a touristy place. Defiantly not the same quality pasta that 'mama' had served us the day before. However, it was nice to sit right next to the Trevi fountain and watch the rain start to come down, scattering the tourists and leaving and dark brooding sky. The weather didn't stop us from eating. In fact, after lunch I felt it necessary to keep eating, on top of the spaghetti and pizza I just attacked, I added a gelato, and probably the best nutella crepé I had ever had in my life. The most authentic experience I say you can have in Rome is exploring its tiny streets with powered sugar all over your face and a warm dripping chocolate pancake creation in your hand. I really should stop talking about my explorations of mastication, but as my friend Libby out it when we were going over our pictures later, "OMG all this proves is how much we ate during this trip. I think I am gonna be sick." Later, we made our way to the Pantheon and got to watch the rain fall through the giant open hole at its votex. I have always like the Pantheon, just because its so ancient, yet still so impressive and formidable. None of this falling apart brick or ruin-status, it pretty much looks the exact same as it did when it was built 4 centuries before the birth of Christ. After discovering some cool shops around the Pantheon, we headed back to the hostel, and finally meet the two others girls in our room, one from New Zealand and one from Brazil. They ended up coming out with us that night, for a crazy bar crawl that began at the Colosseum. I will gloss over the detail, but since my flight was at 6:30 a.m. the next morning, I pretty much got around 1 hr of sleep. Yet I am still impressed that at 4 a.m., I was able to remember to get all my things from the room and make it my bus at Termini, and then actually get on the plane back to Barcelona. I have to say, it was such a welcome feeling to be back in the city. After being lost multiple times in Rome (in the rain I might add) the sunny Spanish weather, and the familiar jabbering of Spanish was oddly comforting. The overwhelming relief of being back surprised me, but I welcomed it. It nice to come back to a place that already hold meaning, where you feel like you have a place.

In other words, I still can't believe how much I ate in Rome. Because all my clothes are getting bigger, its making me think that I am losing weight. Really, Inma just doesn't have a dryer, so she hangs everything outside. So in reality all my clothes are just getting larger because they aren't being shrunk by our fast and convenient all-American dryers. While there is still much to tell (including a night at Bosque de las Faldas, a famous Barcelona bar, and my Spanish skills) I have to go get ready for class (or pretend class at least). Besos y abrazos...

Tuesday, January 18, 2011

Hospitalet v. Hostpital clinic, and street called Casanova

Hello to all,

Sorry I haven't posted anything in awhile, it has been busy around here in Barcelona. Let be begin with last week. My program CIEE hosts these things ever once and a while called intercambios, which is basically a night at a bar where English students and Spanish students get together, and speak Spanish then English for a hour each. Shaun and I decided to go to try and meet some local Spanish students from the university (not to mention, the club hosting that was it was also giving away free drinks). So we meet outside Shaun's residencia an hour early, but both totally forgot to check the metro stop of the Bar Paris (the bar where we suppose to go to). However, I thought I had a vague recollection that the stop started with "Hostpital..." something. And I knew it was 187 Casanova street. So we both thought that it must be the "Hospitalet" stop that is on the end of the red metro line. The first clue that we were wrong should have been that it took us nearly 30 minutes to arrive. Further, the stop was on the edge of Barcelona city limits. When we finally got off the metro, we realize were not exactly in the best part of town. However, I assure Shaun that it is not "Guatemala sketch" aka, not as sketchy as the whole entire city of Xela, so it can't possibly be that bad. Ironically enough, we look on the map coming up from the metro, and low and behold, there is a Casanova street just a few blocks down. This is God laughing at me at this point. As I am sure you can guess, we realize after 45 minutes of walking around and multiple failed phone calls to our friend Grace, that we were totally took the wrong stop and have the wrong Casanova street. Funny right? We would go to the one stop in all of Barcelona that has the only other Casanova street in the entire city. Later, we find out that the metro stop we took was the stop or GA's (spanish speaking mentors) told us to not go to at night at the beginning of our program. No big. Kinda sad when you get so used to having creepy guys making passes at you in neighborhoods with abandoned tallers (warehouses) that it no longer bothers you. Once again, I owe my thanks to Guatemala. Even if there was a pack of stray dogs following us (a novelty of my nightly walking back to my casa in Xela, usually in the rain), Spain could never be as scrappy as central America. However, we finally did arrive at the right stop, "Hospital Clinic" in the chic urban area of downtown Barcelona (and the right Casanova street), almost two hours later, and did get to have some conversation with a few Spanish students so the night wasn't copmletely wasted. Lessoned learned: 1) Always double check for the right metro stop 2) If a area is sketchier than Guatemala in Spain, your'e in trouble.

Shaun and I were also very distressed to see the neighborhood Domino's on the corner of our street (Paral-lel) literally disappear into thin air. The location of many of our plans for future early morning snacks after a night on the town, we both were distraught after coming home to find the place totally wiped. Sign gone, windows painted over, furniture removed. Just that morning we had walked right by some happy Spaniards eating pizza at 11:30 in the morning (don't know who eats pizza that early, but I respect them) on our way to school. And then BAM. Totally gone when we came back from class 4 hours later. It was like the site of some government cover-up or something. Confusion, distress, and anxiety ensues from both of us. It was such a comfort to know a homey (is that a word?), predictable, always constant, delicious American Domino's was just right down the street. Now I think I am going to have to make Shaun's favorite Falafel place (where we ate a memorial meal of papas bravas at 3:00 in the a.m. , because, well why not?) run by a Muslim guy my new hangout. Still tasty and maybe with more authentic, gritty, Spanish crowd, but nonetheless, no the same as Domino's. RIP

I slept alllllllll day Saturday, and watched reruns of Bones due to the fact that we went out to a five story club on Friday. The metro stops running at midnight, and doesn't open till 5 a.m. 'Nuff said on that one.

So after a restful Saturday, Shaun and I decided to take a trip a little outside city limits to the mountain monastery of Monserrat. A couple of girlfriends went the day before and highly recommended it. Brief run down of the history of Monserrat: Fifty years after the birth of Christ, St. Peter was said to have deposited a icon of the virgin Mary in one of the hermitage caves high up in its scraggly cliffs. La Moreneta (the black virgin icon) was then lost after a series of invasions, wars, epidemics...basically in the confusion that is antiquated history. However, it reappeared in 880, and was subsequently placed in the position of honor in a monastery built as a pilgrimage shrine  in the mountains of Monserrat. Now it is the main cult image of Catalunya. To get up the mountain, we had to take this all-glass ski-life thing, which was quite fun, up the mountainside. Once there, we first went to the Monastery. After taking my Early Christian and Byzantine art class this semester, it was quite entertaining to visit my first Medieval church/monastery in Europe. Everything was so ornate, covered in decoration, and dripping with intricate design and antique establishments. There was always a pervasive scent of incense and that smell of old throughout the church (in a good way though, like years and years of candle wax, holy water, and wood). To visit and touch the sacred virgin icon, we had to stand in a line that wrapped under the church, around back, through private chambers, and mosaic passageways. While it took forever, it was quite cool to get to see other more intimate parts of the church. I find that I am constantly intimidated here, simply by the sheer history and prestige that characterizes everything in Europe. While Shaun and I joke that Europe is like Disney world (it is Disney world), I think its more a coping mechanism we utilize to deal with the sheer amount of antiquity and art provenance indicative in everything (from buildings, churches, even streets) we see on a daily basis. When I finally got up to place my hand on the shiny gold globe that baby Jesus holds in his hands, I found I was amused, humbled, curious, and frightened. It was a personal moment, I can't really describe it. I can just say I understand how people for decades traveled for miles for a simple touch and have a brief encounter with the icon. Due to art history, I was able to comprehend the full effect of a room comprised of all gold mosaics and incised naturalistic motifs, high ceilings and flickering candles, and framed compositions with encased elevated icons. Its wonderful when what you learned in school actually provides some useful insight in real world experiences.

After going to the monastery, we hiked to the tiny church of Santa Clara, where the icon was said to be originally found. Literally clinging to the side of the mountains, this little salmon colored church was the end result after a steep hike down (yes, as you can image the hike back up was not pleasant, I defiantly felt all that Spanish food from the Boqueria, and Inma's homemade bread weighing me down). On the hike to the church, we passed by little scenes carved into the side of the mountain, from generations of patrons who walked to the church to leave a homage to Mary. They varied from iron crosses, to marble statues, to whole works from the bible composed in a rocky outcropping. I found the integration of these works of art into the mountains completely organic, like they just were natural attractions you would pass on any other mountainside. The church itself was small and intimate, and we were the only ones there for awhile. One whole wall was dedicated to offering pilgrims had left for Mary like crosses, rosaries, motorcycle helmets, shoes, scarfs etc- a very diverse and personal collage of mismatched effects. I was lucky enough to snap a photo of the one priest that inhabits this church reading his bible by the window and next to a montage of candles. Shaun and I bought and lit a candle, and I like to think its our little way of leaving a record of our visit, and a gift for Mary.

After coming back from Monserrat, Shaun and I stopped to grab dinner and then went off to catch the FC Barcelona v. Malaga Fútbol game in the Camp Nou, Barcelona's fútbol stadium (and the third largest in the world after Mexico and Brazil). It was pretty easy to get to, and we got there early and found our seats quickly. Fans were all wearing their blue and red Barcelona jerseys. Striped scarfs with the team name in lime green were also a fan favorite. It kinda reminded me of a Harry Potter Quitatch match. While I am not a huge fútobal fan (and Shaun isn't either, thank god because we both decided to leave at half time), it was fun to sit and watch the game and study who was there (kinda like a anthropological ethnography). More than anything, it was entertaining because we sat next to this rambunctious Spanish family. They were all quite large, and the son kept eating these hot-dog sandwich the entire time, while screaming at the refs simultaneously. The father (who was my personal favorite) had this curly, slicked-back totally European gel-hair thing going on and was wearing his Barcelona scarf, which barley fit around his fat neck. Lets just say, I learned a lot of Spanish curse words in the stands, thanks to this stand-out father figure and his son. However, Shaun and I were tired and it was really cold, so we left around 10. But at least now I can say I attend a real Spanish fútbol game and saw Lionel Messi (one of the best fútbol players in the world) in real life!

On another note, I think I am going to go buy a gym membership tomorrow, and get a youth pass for the metro. hopefully, that will give me some incentive to work out. I went running last week, and I realized its very hard to run in the city, on the account that I nearly killed myself multiple times on the cobblestones. Also, this Friday I leave for Rome with my friends Libby and Grace, and despite a stupid mistake about the airplane tickets on my part, I am really excited! Well that is it for now, I think I am going to take a nap until the next adventure. Hasta Luego!

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Barcelona: " A Sexy City"

 Its 10:50 here. And Shaun and I just had an incredible, unexpected, and culinary adventure- aka the best kind. Yesterday we decided to explore our neighborhood tapas bars, restaurants, and hangouts. Turns out, Shaun's guide book mentioned the name of a place just two streets down from us. So tonight we go walking and before we know it, we come upon a small, almost completely hidden, hole-in-the-wall enclave. I frame from using the word 'resturaunt' because this was no sit down establishment. At first we were a little intimidated to enter. There were no tables in sight and it defiantly was a neighborhood haunt, at least from the rapid pace of the Spanish being spoken. It was impossible to sit down for every wall was lined with hundreds and hundreds of wine bottles extending to the ceiling, floor, and every nook in between. It reminded me of a vast library of ancient books, each which held the tales of countless adventures, legendary characters, and impossible feasts. The wine glasses looked down upon us with the wisdom of ages, experience of masters, and authority of celebrity. They were objects with history and repertoire out of my realm; they held something enigmatic beyond the capacity of a simple college student. I watched my reflection pass in and out of their concave glass facades, while musing over their romantic, bittersweet, archaic names and enchanting origins. A man and woman worked behind a small counter running back and forth stacking fish, caviar, cheese, vegetables, and whatever else one desired on top of small bread pieces soaked with oils and spices. Everyone else just casually stood about drinking from deep burgundy glasses while snaking on bites of these creations. So we go up to the counter, and I manage to communicate in Spanish that we have no idea what we want, but we want something with cheese accompanied by cheap wine. The man (who we later come to kind out is named Keith) creates two little 'mountains' (there is a word for this, but I have no idea what it is). On top of bread he places some type of delicious brie, bright red tomatoes, subtle relish of some sort, followed by some type of pickled fish (sounds gross, in reality to-die-for), and adds more magic ingredients that I can't remember (the richness of Spanish food exceeds my cuisine comprehension ). We choose a wine from Catáluyna. The little mountain is unexpectedly tasty, tangy, and crunchy. Its amazing. We order 4 more from the woman behind the counter. Fill out wine glasses two time more. Every dish we receive is so different from the next (caviar, pepper, paprika, shrimp...its all there). I get yelled by the woman for taking apart the little mountain on time (I thought she put meat on it), but she just laughs at me when I turn bright red, and says 'Im joking'. All in all, we passed more than a hour and a half having no idea what we were ordering or eating. Yet it was exhilarating to taste the unknown, to let go on grasping every detail and just enjoy whatever is being given to us. I am so glad Shaun has no problem stuffing obscure, mysterious into her mouth like I do, because you defiantly have to get over that fear to taste and experience the full flavor of a simple little neighborhood joint like this. Overall, I was sad to walk out of the already comfortable and familiar atmosphere of the little tapas bar back into the dark, dimly lit streets of our down and dirty barrio (though nothing as bad a Xela, Guatemala let me assure you). It amazing how fast you can be attached to a place and how quickly one small, crowded alcove on a non-descriptive neighborhood street in Spain can enchant you with intoxicating charm, character, and possibility.

On another note, apparently we all came to Barcelona because supposedly it is "sexy". At least this is what one of the directors at UPF who gave a speech at our orientation yesterday stated. I swear, from the way the directors at the UPF stress to us they we CAN NOT skip class and that we must take our classes SERIOUSLY and that any rude behavior will NOT BE TOLERATED and if anything does occur it will result in the harshest DISCIPLINARY consequences, makes me feel that all Spaniards think American's all live in the 90210 and just sleep all day and party all night. Rather, most students here are from the top 20 university in the country. Further, the students that are studying abroad represent the individuals who put themselves out of their comfort zone and are most willing to go beyond and above the challenge for the benefit of a holistic academic education. It was very off-putting. But at least now I know that I choose Barcelona because is "sexy". Good to recognize. Shaun and I actually got lost for 45 min. on the way to the orientation (because when have I never been lost on my first day?) and I wish we stayed lost after finally hearing this gal talk. My first class yesterday was fine, my teacher is really nice and pretty down to earth. She wears a lot of colors. Its hard sitting through 3 hours of Spanish everyday though. We are starting right from the grammatical beginning, aka working with ser v. and estar. While its good to review (and lord knows I need it), it drags. Especially when I look outside and see the city moving without me.

After class today Shaun, Grace and I went to explore La Boqueria, the biggest market in Barcelona. Having and obsession with markets already (I dragged Rachel through even know market in Peru), there was nothing I could do to prepare for this. First, every type of fruit you could image was there. Piles and piles, mountains and flowing baskets like Carmen Meranda's fruit headpiece. The colors exploded into patches of tangy orange, pale yellow, vibrant greens, deep purples. Even better, were the fruit juices. Yes, flavors upon flavors of yummy fruit juice that unlike Peru or Guatemala you can ACTUALLY DRINK!!!! I had 5. Shaun, Grace and I went crazy, we lost control.  I HAD 5 JUICE CUPS. How is that healthy? I am going to have citrus overload (Am I planning on going tomorrow? Absolutely). We couldn't stop drinking them. To tell you how delicious they were let me give y'all some possible combination: 1) kiwi, coconut, pineapple 2) strawberry, watermelon, orange 3) mango, tangerine, raspberry. I was in heaven, and I was drinking ambrosia. But the fruit was not even the best part. No, no it was not. It was the chocolate. There were heaps, accumulations, hoards of chocolate, just laid out for the taking. Like dragon's layer, but instead of the gold the dragon's hoards, it was chocolate. Chocolate with raisins, chocolates cataluynas, dark truffles, chocolate dipped in more chocolate, baked into brownies, covered in nuts...I could go on and on. I feel it is not necessary to say how much I bought, and then processed to eat. This is still the same girl who had 5 juice cups before this. THEN, we proceed to come upon a organic stall of vegetable, wraps, tortillas, pizzas, and of course, we couldn't pass that up. So finally here we all out sitting outside in a random back street of el barrio gotico: me with a wrap and chocolate, Shaun with her falafel and juice, and Grace with a giant bag of nuts. All of us are just going at it, stopping at points to lament about how fat we are all, and then starting again. We get a !que aproveche! (enjoy your meal) from one old woman, and them !chicas preciosas! (cute girls) from another frail, hobbling woman. It was hilarious. I am in love with a market.

Well I am quite tired from all my enterprises, but for sure will keep everyone update with my food adventures in the "sexy" city of Barcelona. Ughhhhhhh I am going to be a gordita (I'll let you infer what that one means) when I return, and I claim no responsibility.

Ps- I put my Google calender on the side bar (I am very proud of actually getting this to work) because I know that some were interested on visitng.  Obviously, the days I don't have tests/projects/trips to other places would be the best days to come. Please check it out and let me know!!

Sunday, January 9, 2011

Un Domingo Perezoso

Hola hola,

So this Sunday was a pretty laid back day. As I said before, Barcelnoa is a metropolis that seems non-stop and the energy definitely begins to wear on you after while. If you try to keep up with the city's mad pace, you tire fast. I guess I didn't realize how much change is involved in adjusting to a new schedule. This included a new horario for eating as well. Typically, most Spainards don't eat anything like we do in the states. Breakfast, or el desayuno is very small, maybe just a piece of fruit or some bread. At around 11 or noon people go out for la cafe, coffee and usually a pastry of some sort. Next around 3 in the afternoon comes la comida, or lunch which is typically the biggest meal of the day. Around 5 or 6 you have a late-afternoon snack called la merienda, typically una bocadilla, or more coffee. Then around 9 or 10 la cena, or dinner is served. Unlike the heavy meal we eat in the states, dinner is often lighter. I have actually begun to like this dining schedule more and more every day. It makes sense to have the biggest meal of the day during the afternoon puncuated by sugary snacks until a easy dinner course. The phenomeon of tapas begin after dinner, and most Spainards like to go ir de tapas, or tapas/bar jumping having maybe just one plate at each tascas (place that serves tapas)

Grace, Shaun and I today decided to journey up to Montjuic, another look-out point  that is conveniently located right next to where I am living (aka this is why I have to walk uphill to get home). Barcelona had a great public transportation system with the metro, and all we had to do was take short train-ish tram thing up to another tram station. Then we got to go ride on this ski-lift transport made of all glass, that provided some GORGEOUS views of the entire city as we rode up the steep hill. Apparently, the outlook is named for a Jewish community that once settled on the slopes. Interestingly, at the top we walked around a old fort, clearly once used for defensive purposes. To the right, the sea stretched out into endless water (I realized that if you kept going, you would hit Africa..weird yet exciting to think about). To the left, the city gave way to mountains. Straight in front, I traced the streets that split the city into neat blocks and tried to identify placqas, landmarks, and other buildings. I am finally somewhat managing to figure out where I am half of the time now, instead of wandering around like a clueless blind man. We spent about a hour eating in the sun on top of the fort. I someone managed to ingest a three foot long sandwich of tortilla, and Grace spilled yogurt on herself (which was very entertaining). I am very quickly becoming addicted to cappachino, and even when a place serves it in a paper cup (as did this sandwich place) I can't help but feel European and chic. Montjuic not only hosts several art galleries on the top of its tip, but also is the home of the 1992 Olympic stadium. Though we didn't visit the stadium, I imagined it was magical to host the games on such a formidable and clossal bluff. I think the Greek gods would approve.

We decided to explore a little more of the winding alleys and backstreets near Las Ramblas after our summit descent, and took the metro into the heart of the boulevard. In my opinion, the old town or el barrio gotico of the ramblas is special because it if for everyone, the locals just as much as the tourists. Here, street performers deck themselves out in glitter, and sit completely still for hours on end, only their eyes moving back and forth with the crowd. From restaurants, jewelry, postcards, books, and flowers, you are pretty much able to find anything on the Ramblas. We all three decided to buy small cacti for our rooms, and I named mine Mr. Prickly. Original right? Haha. I will probably manage to kill it in one week. Anyways, it gets dark here around 5:30 and we soon headed back. In my room now, the motion of Barcelona continues outside, still strong.