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...
Friday, January 28, 2011
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!
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!!
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.
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.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Incios en la ciudad de Barcelona
Hola friends and family,
Because I am not so great at keeping up with everyone and because it may take me awhile to get the time change down, I have decided the best way to keep in contact to share my experiences and travels abroad is with a blog. While blogs and I have a rocky history (thank you very much Vanderbilt), I feel that keeping one for personal use will not only be beneficial for me, but for everyone back home as well. Hopefully, I will be able to keep up writing at least every other day in order to try to document, share, and ultimately capture the essence of Barcelona.
As you can know, getting settled into a new place can be quite stressful, crazy, and daunting. Moving to a new place where you don't know the language, the people, or the culture, is even more challenging. I would be lying if I said I didn't have multiple freak-outs on the plane ride over. Some thoughts included "Dear god, am I actually doing this?" to "The Atlantic really isnt that big, you not that far away from home" to actually shake-inducing panic. After I realized that I couldn't actually do anything about my situation, it was alot easier to cope with the anticipation and excitement. Ironic that when you surrender control you most often find peace. I consider this my first deep existential thought from abroad lol.
To tell the truth, Barcelona seems a city almost visceral, something more than I can ever put into words. I know that sounds cliche, but I truly was not expecting the self-confidence, magic, and charm that seems to pulsate from the lights, crowds, and streets of la ciudad. If I had to describe the city in one word is would be alive, viva. Just for the few days I have been here, I can say with confidence everything seems to vibrate and thrive with an inexhaustible energy. The pace of the metro (the subway which take you everywhere), the beat of the nightlife (ubiquitous and amazing), and the light of La Rambla (the world famous boulevard) defiantly takes some getting used to. More than anything I am amazed that whichever part of the city I find myself in is more beautiful and rustic than the next. All back roads and winding alleyways are characterized by hanging old mansions, and narrow local bars each more homey and unique than the next. So far I have only scraped the surface of the history, culture, and people of Barcelona, but I can't wait to keep ingesting the city little by little everyday (yes, and eating it's food in ridiculous amounts). Being the capital of Catlunya had endowed Barcelona with a individualistic mystic. I constantly find myself trying to figure out a combination of Spanish-Catalan which perpetuates all advertisements, directions, and menus. It is both challenging and refreshing. As you may know, the city is home of avant-garde individuals who defined the Barcelona through architecture and art (like Antonio Guadi and Joan Miro). In addition to its old-school charisma, Barcelona represents a progressive commercial center which continues to amaze me everyday. I figure there is so much to do and see I have to just be content with doing a little more everyday. To take in everthing at once would be overwhelming and irrational. Can you be in a relationship with a place? I feel like each day, I grow to love the city as I would a person.
So far, my program CIEE has done a great job at introducing all the student to Barcelona. They provided us all with Guardian Angels, aka Spanish students (who speak english too) who take us around the city the first few days. It was a great way to meet new people. While there are some Vanderbilt students here, I find myself surrounded most of the time by wonderful people from Tufts, Elon, Northeastern; etc. There are a ton of students here from Boston and the Eastern coast especially. I love that this opportunity is providing me the chance to meet so many new faces!
As many of you may remember, I was not exactly please to find out that I was staying in a homestay, with a family, rather than living in a dorm. However, my experience with my homestay family has been one of the best parts about being abroad so far, and I hope that it continues to be one of my favorite aspects about living in Barcelona. I live with two women, Inma, a older woman in her late forties (though you would never know it, she is very stylish) and her daughter Innes, who is 18. Both are vegetarians, amazing cooks (I am going to get quite fat from everything they feed me), bohemian hippies (my kind of people), and over all the sweetest, more welcoming, genuine people I have meet in Spain. I feel blessed CIEE placed me with them. When we had to meet our families at our hotel, I was shaking from fear of what was to come (A memorable Guatemala futbol game comes to mind, and dancing till 3 am-anyone??). I was so nervous that when they first picked me up, I called them both the wrong names which they thought was hilarious. Overall, their apartment/flat is painted in bright neon colors and consists of a kitchen, bathroom, living room and 2 bedrooms. It is tiny but cute and quaint, and right next to the paral-lel metro stop. As I said, Innes and Inma consistently amaze me with their hospitality, welcome, and flexibility. For example, tonight Inma was unable to make dinner for me, but she not only baked fresh bread just for me (yes, homemade bread everyday) but left a complete dinner of shrimp and chickpeas, baked peppers, salad, bread and cheese, coffee, and dessert on the table for me with a note telling me what to heat up and listing what everything was. She even went out and bought peanut butter, cereal, Greek yogurt and chocolate! I found these waiting in the refrigerator when I came home today. Innes, her daughter is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She is rather shy but really, really intelligent and beautiful. Yesterday was something called las robejas in Spain (the annual sales that only take place twice a year), and we compared clothes when we got back from shopping-ya girl bonding! She also speaks some English, which had helped when I totally blank on my Spanish vocab (which is almost every other sentence). Random things about my home and family: they have a dog Sooki and a cat Ramón. Innes painted blue flowers in my room. The back window of the apartment looks out over all other balconies (with everyone's laundry hanging outside it looks like a patchwork quilt of all clothes and patterns). and best part yet: There is hot water in the shower!! YAY!!!!!
My classes at the University of Pompeu Fabra don't start till Monday, and this past week has been kinda like a vacation, dedicated to exploring Barcelona bit my bit. I have visited Parc Guell (a free city park designed by Gaudi), seen the Sagrada Familia (the most GORGEOUS church in Barcelona, still being built according to Gaudi's divine master plan), and celebrated Día de los Reyes Magos (the celebration of the three kings that came to Jesus's birth. They are kind of like Santa Claus in the United States: all of the children believe that they come to their houses the night of the 5th and deliver presents to them). All so far has been memorias inolvidables (unforgettable). There are too many new experiences I have had in the past week to all write down here so to sum up I with a quick list of best moments so far:
1. Receiving my silver gem necklace from Innes, as a present for Día de los Reyes Magos. I almost cried I was so touched. Later, eating the cake typically shared by Spanish families with Innes and Inma (I forgot its name, but has a figurine in the center somewhere, similiar to the kings cake of mardi gras).
2. Waiting in front of the store Zara at 10 a.m. with my friend Shaun, along with 50 other Spaniards, before the opening of the doors for las rebajas. We later went on to do some of the most intense shopping I have ever experienced. When there is a sale in Spain, Europeans put America's black Friday to shame.
3. Finding a bar called Bar Paris at 2 a.m. and trying real Spanish tapas for the first time. Most notable tapas were a dish called Pulpo gallego (pot-cooked octopus). Maybe even more worrisome was finding out it was delicious, tentacles still attached nonetheless. The owner of the bar later performed for us magic trick throughout the night. Talk about entertainment.
4. Having cappuccinos and croissants near a mirador (lookout) called Tibidabo. While the amusement part at the top of the mirador was closed, the restaurant was offered a complete view of the city spread out below. With the sky and ocean fusing blue into blue, it was breathtaking.
5. Seeing the city lights put up in the city especially for Christmas. There is nothing more magical than a fast-paced night streamlined with neon and aglow with florescents.
6. Buying a real, leather European motorcycle jacket. My one splurge up till now, many more to come for sure.
7. Practicing the traditional greeting of two kisses on the check with las amigas, Shaun and Grace.
8. Waking up to fresh baking bread in the apartment; I feel like I am living in a bakery-never a bad thing.
9. Visiting Gaudi's house in Parc Guell. The man was a genius, and master of modernista. He is kinda my new obsession.
10. Eating mango sorbet gelato and strolling along the beachfront Sant Sebastiá. Later, Shaun and I found a hole in the wall place called La Casita, where we able to dine like kings for merely 5 euro. A bargain lunch I must say, made even better by having a picnic in a nearby park.
Alright well that is all I can think to type for the (almost) first week in Barcelona! While I am sure there is so so much I am missing, I will work to try and keep up my thoughts as much as possible. I miss everyone MUCHO, and hopefully will talk to y'all soon!
Because I am not so great at keeping up with everyone and because it may take me awhile to get the time change down, I have decided the best way to keep in contact to share my experiences and travels abroad is with a blog. While blogs and I have a rocky history (thank you very much Vanderbilt), I feel that keeping one for personal use will not only be beneficial for me, but for everyone back home as well. Hopefully, I will be able to keep up writing at least every other day in order to try to document, share, and ultimately capture the essence of Barcelona.
As you can know, getting settled into a new place can be quite stressful, crazy, and daunting. Moving to a new place where you don't know the language, the people, or the culture, is even more challenging. I would be lying if I said I didn't have multiple freak-outs on the plane ride over. Some thoughts included "Dear god, am I actually doing this?" to "The Atlantic really isnt that big, you not that far away from home" to actually shake-inducing panic. After I realized that I couldn't actually do anything about my situation, it was alot easier to cope with the anticipation and excitement. Ironic that when you surrender control you most often find peace. I consider this my first deep existential thought from abroad lol.
To tell the truth, Barcelona seems a city almost visceral, something more than I can ever put into words. I know that sounds cliche, but I truly was not expecting the self-confidence, magic, and charm that seems to pulsate from the lights, crowds, and streets of la ciudad. If I had to describe the city in one word is would be alive, viva. Just for the few days I have been here, I can say with confidence everything seems to vibrate and thrive with an inexhaustible energy. The pace of the metro (the subway which take you everywhere), the beat of the nightlife (ubiquitous and amazing), and the light of La Rambla (the world famous boulevard) defiantly takes some getting used to. More than anything I am amazed that whichever part of the city I find myself in is more beautiful and rustic than the next. All back roads and winding alleyways are characterized by hanging old mansions, and narrow local bars each more homey and unique than the next. So far I have only scraped the surface of the history, culture, and people of Barcelona, but I can't wait to keep ingesting the city little by little everyday (yes, and eating it's food in ridiculous amounts). Being the capital of Catlunya had endowed Barcelona with a individualistic mystic. I constantly find myself trying to figure out a combination of Spanish-Catalan which perpetuates all advertisements, directions, and menus. It is both challenging and refreshing. As you may know, the city is home of avant-garde individuals who defined the Barcelona through architecture and art (like Antonio Guadi and Joan Miro). In addition to its old-school charisma, Barcelona represents a progressive commercial center which continues to amaze me everyday. I figure there is so much to do and see I have to just be content with doing a little more everyday. To take in everthing at once would be overwhelming and irrational. Can you be in a relationship with a place? I feel like each day, I grow to love the city as I would a person.
So far, my program CIEE has done a great job at introducing all the student to Barcelona. They provided us all with Guardian Angels, aka Spanish students (who speak english too) who take us around the city the first few days. It was a great way to meet new people. While there are some Vanderbilt students here, I find myself surrounded most of the time by wonderful people from Tufts, Elon, Northeastern; etc. There are a ton of students here from Boston and the Eastern coast especially. I love that this opportunity is providing me the chance to meet so many new faces!
As many of you may remember, I was not exactly please to find out that I was staying in a homestay, with a family, rather than living in a dorm. However, my experience with my homestay family has been one of the best parts about being abroad so far, and I hope that it continues to be one of my favorite aspects about living in Barcelona. I live with two women, Inma, a older woman in her late forties (though you would never know it, she is very stylish) and her daughter Innes, who is 18. Both are vegetarians, amazing cooks (I am going to get quite fat from everything they feed me), bohemian hippies (my kind of people), and over all the sweetest, more welcoming, genuine people I have meet in Spain. I feel blessed CIEE placed me with them. When we had to meet our families at our hotel, I was shaking from fear of what was to come (A memorable Guatemala futbol game comes to mind, and dancing till 3 am-anyone??). I was so nervous that when they first picked me up, I called them both the wrong names which they thought was hilarious. Overall, their apartment/flat is painted in bright neon colors and consists of a kitchen, bathroom, living room and 2 bedrooms. It is tiny but cute and quaint, and right next to the paral-lel metro stop. As I said, Innes and Inma consistently amaze me with their hospitality, welcome, and flexibility. For example, tonight Inma was unable to make dinner for me, but she not only baked fresh bread just for me (yes, homemade bread everyday) but left a complete dinner of shrimp and chickpeas, baked peppers, salad, bread and cheese, coffee, and dessert on the table for me with a note telling me what to heat up and listing what everything was. She even went out and bought peanut butter, cereal, Greek yogurt and chocolate! I found these waiting in the refrigerator when I came home today. Innes, her daughter is one of the sweetest people I have ever met. She is rather shy but really, really intelligent and beautiful. Yesterday was something called las robejas in Spain (the annual sales that only take place twice a year), and we compared clothes when we got back from shopping-ya girl bonding! She also speaks some English, which had helped when I totally blank on my Spanish vocab (which is almost every other sentence). Random things about my home and family: they have a dog Sooki and a cat Ramón. Innes painted blue flowers in my room. The back window of the apartment looks out over all other balconies (with everyone's laundry hanging outside it looks like a patchwork quilt of all clothes and patterns). and best part yet: There is hot water in the shower!! YAY!!!!!
My classes at the University of Pompeu Fabra don't start till Monday, and this past week has been kinda like a vacation, dedicated to exploring Barcelona bit my bit. I have visited Parc Guell (a free city park designed by Gaudi), seen the Sagrada Familia (the most GORGEOUS church in Barcelona, still being built according to Gaudi's divine master plan), and celebrated Día de los Reyes Magos (the celebration of the three kings that came to Jesus's birth. They are kind of like Santa Claus in the United States: all of the children believe that they come to their houses the night of the 5th and deliver presents to them). All so far has been memorias inolvidables (unforgettable). There are too many new experiences I have had in the past week to all write down here so to sum up I with a quick list of best moments so far:
1. Receiving my silver gem necklace from Innes, as a present for Día de los Reyes Magos. I almost cried I was so touched. Later, eating the cake typically shared by Spanish families with Innes and Inma (I forgot its name, but has a figurine in the center somewhere, similiar to the kings cake of mardi gras).
2. Waiting in front of the store Zara at 10 a.m. with my friend Shaun, along with 50 other Spaniards, before the opening of the doors for las rebajas. We later went on to do some of the most intense shopping I have ever experienced. When there is a sale in Spain, Europeans put America's black Friday to shame.
3. Finding a bar called Bar Paris at 2 a.m. and trying real Spanish tapas for the first time. Most notable tapas were a dish called Pulpo gallego (pot-cooked octopus). Maybe even more worrisome was finding out it was delicious, tentacles still attached nonetheless. The owner of the bar later performed for us magic trick throughout the night. Talk about entertainment.
4. Having cappuccinos and croissants near a mirador (lookout) called Tibidabo. While the amusement part at the top of the mirador was closed, the restaurant was offered a complete view of the city spread out below. With the sky and ocean fusing blue into blue, it was breathtaking.
5. Seeing the city lights put up in the city especially for Christmas. There is nothing more magical than a fast-paced night streamlined with neon and aglow with florescents.
6. Buying a real, leather European motorcycle jacket. My one splurge up till now, many more to come for sure.
7. Practicing the traditional greeting of two kisses on the check with las amigas, Shaun and Grace.
8. Waking up to fresh baking bread in the apartment; I feel like I am living in a bakery-never a bad thing.
9. Visiting Gaudi's house in Parc Guell. The man was a genius, and master of modernista. He is kinda my new obsession.
10. Eating mango sorbet gelato and strolling along the beachfront Sant Sebastiá. Later, Shaun and I found a hole in the wall place called La Casita, where we able to dine like kings for merely 5 euro. A bargain lunch I must say, made even better by having a picnic in a nearby park.
Alright well that is all I can think to type for the (almost) first week in Barcelona! While I am sure there is so so much I am missing, I will work to try and keep up my thoughts as much as possible. I miss everyone MUCHO, and hopefully will talk to y'all soon!
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