Another semester completed at the Suffolk University Madrid Campus- another tough goodbye. Leaving my apartment for good was sad. I had to take a nice long deep breath of that dirty Madrid air from my balcony before walking out the door. First leaving my host family seemed like the hardest thing in the world, then it was leaving Chueca. But having kept in good contact with Mercedes, I figure theres always next semester to visit my friends in Cheuca. Its always tough to leave, but its a little easier knowing I'll be back in a few short months.

Until then its back to Boston. Working is made a little easier knowing that every dollar saved will contribute to more great travel experiences next semester. Mentally planning future trips is exciting. With all of Europe right in my backyard, the options are seemingly endless. Sweden? Russia? Bulgaria? Why not?

Now when I go back for my second year I'll be a little smarter, a little more experienced. A seasoned veteran. And first on the list is a long walk around Retiro, always at its best in the summer. So when life seems overwhelming here in Boston, all I've got to do is think forward. And I'll be home before I know it.

Reason 242 To Live in Madrid

You don't even have to watch the futbol games. You can tell if Real Madrid wins by the level of noise on your street. 

Crunch Time

         You never know what you got till its gone. I never thought my street sounded very fun until I was piled up to my neck in books, writing papers, studying for finals, falling asleep on said pile of books... etc. The sunlight sits on my balcony, teasing me, tempting me to take a much needed break. But I can't. Its crunch time.
         At least during finals time Madrid has El Dia de los Libros, Book Day! All books in the city are 10% off, and, in traditional Spanish style, theres a party in the National Library. Knowing how loud Spaniards can be, especially at parties, I wouldn't suggest the library as a tranquil safe haven for all that work you didn't do over the semester. Of course, I would know more about this unique holiday if I wasn't so busy myself...
       So as I sit here in my room, flustered and overwhelmed (as many others out there are), taunted by the sun and what sounds like the most fun day ever, those who have time to go party in the Spanish National Library, I applaud and envy you. Maybe next centennial I'll make it.

Bucket Paradise

I think I have officially been to more cities in Spain than in the United States. I guess it makes sense, considering Spain is a wee bit smaller- easier to get from place to place. Matter of fact, its the perfect country to destination-hop. Beaches, big cities, mountains, skiing, fish ports, castles, its got something for everyone. My latest trip happens to be one of the biggest tourist destinations in Spain- the Balearic islands, or more specifically, Mallorca.

Mallorca is the biggest of the islands which comprise the 'autonomous community'. Its a beautiful island, complete with caves and mountains alike, beaches and fishing boats, jet skis, and of course- Germans.

The area I was staying in might as well be called little Germany. The people of Mallorca speak Castilian, Catalan, and probably German. The street my hostel was on: Calle de Berlin. Menus, promoters, signs; everything had German. It was a bit surprising, seeing as French or English is often the second language in Spain, but it was also refreshing. I've always liked the sound of the German language more than overrated, nasal-y French.  It really is a beautiful language, and it makes mini golf all the more fun.

The most complex mini golf course I have ever had the pleasure of dominating was in Mallorca. As any lover of the game knows, it always come with frustration. So when you're sitting on a par-3 and its your seventh stroke, listening to the German family behind you commenting as if it was German Sportscenter is quite amusing. Brings a little levity to a grim +4 mark on the score card.

But for the most part, and much to my Spanish teachers disliking, I didn't travel the island very much. It was vacation, and I was content on the beach. If you ever find yourself in Mallorca don't forget to try the local sensation- a beach bucket. Not just any ordinary bucket, this one you don't fill with sand or salt water, but rather with ice and your favorite fruit beverage! (Or water to stay hydrated in the hot sun). It comes complete with about 15, one meter long straws so you can share with all your friends. 12 liters of fun in the sun- a perfect vacation. 

Donostia

Where in the world would you find a language unlike any other? How about turquoise sea water just meters from plush green mountains? A seashell shaped bay overlooked from a roller coaster on top of a mountain? 

(Photo by Keta)

Certainly one of the most interesting cities in Spain, the answer is Donostia. Many more will know it by its Castellano name- San Sebastian. It’s a tiny city, with a modest population which is often tripled during tourist season. Just 20 km from the southern coast of France, it’s architecture is a unique blend of Spanish, French, and Basque styles. The French part of the city even looks a little like Paris sometimes, especially near the river. 

Donostia is part of the Basque country, a semi-autonomous region of Spain with a distinct, ancient, rich, and unique culture and ethnicity. Basque people are quite interesting, and even for someone who is not from Spain, the difference is noticeable. 

San Sebastian has a unique history, stuck in between France and Spain but identifying with neither. Historically it was a fishing town, and the bay was even the starting point for explorations as far north as Denmark. Today still they serve some of the best Cod I have ever had- with sweet red and green peppers and onions. They even have a state of the art aquarium with a walk-through tank (not for the weak-stomached...) 

Attractive to surfers and families alike, San Sebastian has a lot to offer. Its most famous symbol is comprised of three metal sculptures protruding from some rocks just off the shore. The sculptures, much like the city, will simply not be done justice with words- they must be seen with your own eyes. So next time you find yourself, like me, sitting on the wait-list for the trip which leaves at 6 am, go for it! You might just make it free of charge, for a visit to one of the most unique places in the world, San Sebastian. 

Las Fallas 2012

The City is Burning

What do Spaniards do for St. Patty´s day? Just about all of them party, some go to that Irish pub down the street, some even to Ireland. But the same weekend as St. Patricks day is also the Fesival de Las Fallas in Valencia.
Las Fallas is a longstanding tradition in Valencia, an ancient city on the southwestern coast of Spain. They build huge paper machet sculptures, sort of like floats, that tell stories. They´re massive, colorful, must take months to think up and build, and at the end, they burn.
It may sound trivial at first, but its actually a culturally rich festival. Groups of 20-100 men women and children dressed in ancient roman clothing parade through the streets singing, dancing, and followed by a marching band. Everyone and their mother has fireworks, noisemakers, or just things that blow up. Its not a rare sight to see a three year old lighting and tossing a firecracker into the middle of the street.
Most of the roads in the city are blocked off to make room for the hoards of people pushing, stampeding to see the Fallas. There are 385 total in the city, one at each major intersection.
Everyday at 2 pm they would have a fireworks show loud enough to cripple your ear drums and maybe make you think you´re in a war zone. Its hard not to cringe and flinch at gunpowder exploding right below your feet.
Finally, at midnight on Monday night they have the biggest firework show of them all, and they light the first Falla to burn. The crowd resembles Times Square on New Year´s Eve. Nobody even so much as thinks of St. Patrick. The whole crowd is enthralled, ooing and ahhing at the colorful explosions in the sky. And finally, the chain reaction of explosions works its way to the top of the sculpture and fire erupts.
Everyones got a little pyromaniac in them.
The heat tans your face, and the crowd makes you sweat, but the sight distracts you from feeling any of it. It seems like a lot of work to spend 364 days building these massive, impressive sculptures just to burn them. And maybe to some it seems a little wasteful- but until you go for yourself you won´t understand the magic of Las Fallas.

El Rastro

Madrid is famous for a lot of different things, but perhaps the most fascinating is the weekly outdoor flea market- El Rastro. Its the kind of place you can find anything. Clothes, posters, furniture, congo playing minstrels etc.
You know its Sunday when you get on the green line and its packed at 11 am. For those who don't know the Rastro it might be confusing. But once everyone gets off at the same stop it becomes very clear.
Its a familiar sight- the doors to the train open and suddenly a swarm of people pour out of the doors. Theres a slow and steady stampede from the metro doors, down the hallway, up the stairs, up the escalators, out the metro mouth, and its funnels right into the tight pack of slowly moving people meandering through the curvy streets.
Another time and place and it could be the crowd getting off to go the a Sox game at Fenway.
Its a tight squeeze in the market, but worth it to find all the little things you never even knew you needed. A must do for all madrilenos, whether here for a semester abroad with Suffolk University, or just here for a week visiting. 

Primavera

Just yesterday I would consciously cross the street in pursuit of the sunny side, trying to keep warm. Yet the warm weather always sneaks up on you. Already I find myself looking for the shade, taking off my jacket, and dreaming of a place to go swimming.
Madrid's most famous and largest park, Retiro, is a perfect place for all seasons. It requires some bundling of clothing in the winter, and certainly a lot of cold drinks in the summer, but this time of year, wonderful, bright, sweet-smelling spring, you can go with just the clothes on your back. Its a liberating feeling. No bag to worry about. No big jacket to lug around. No sweltering heat weighing you down. Just you, the blooming flowers, and the pleasant sunshine.
Retiro's great for just walking around, sitting on the grass playing some cards, talking with your friends, but you can also do one of my favorite things- take a little row boat out on the man made lagoon in the middle. Its a beautiful sight, watching all the boats meander through the water, in no rush no go nowhere. Ducks lazily floating along, also lacking the sense of urgency imposed upon us by the weekdays.
Springtimes a great time for cleaning, for life as usual, but its also a great time to slow down, as the Spanish do all too often. Stop and smell the flowers if you will. And there is no better place and way to do just that than the rowboats in Retiro. 

Sunset

Los Educados

There is a place in Madrid I particularly like to go. Its great for all times of day- but the sunset is the best. Its more or less a cliff, facing West, overlooking the river, and its a large park with benches and grass and lots of people. Its called Parque de Las Montanas.

There is also an 'Egyptian' temple there. At least a mimic of one. I've never gone inside the actual museum part of it, but just the shallow pool lit but the last minutes of golden sunshine is a sight worth paying for. It reminds me a little bit of the reflection pool in Boston now that I think about it.

This place is great for all occasions. One can go there to read and relax alone. Maybe with a significant other for the sunset. With some friends to sit and play cards. Or even with you mom when she's visiting (yay!) Its very versatile. 

The other night I was there, yes with my mom, and also with my friends. We sat on the grass for awhile, watch the sun slowly melt into the horizon, cherishing those mystically hypnotizing moments. When the spell was broken we began to walk home. 

Passing by a bench we all immediately caught the sight of an older Spanish man sitting upright, well-dressed, on a park bench. It was only a 'sight' because of his three dogs sitting equally postured next to him. The most well behaved dogs I have ever seen. Sitting peacefully, respectfully, backs straight, just looking at the world around them, taking it all in. 

We couldn't believe it. 

Que educados! I said to the man- a word I had been saying to use since i learned it in Spanish class the other day. It means well-behaved, educated, polite... You get the idea. 

So the conversation was sparked and he told us that the dog in the middle was the mother, and the two on either side were her daughters. My sentimental mother (redundant terms I suppose) was immediately touched. 

"Tell him I'm your mom!" she said to me.

So embarrassing- but thats how it goes with mothers these days. So I told the man she was my mother, although I'm sure he had inferred that awhile ago. 

Just goes to show you can find anything in Madrid- including little dogs better behaved than some adult humans. 

And for those of you who find yourself here in Madrid, I strongly encourage a trip to Parque de Las Montanas. 

Big Ears

Last semester I took an introductory class on the European Union- a term I had heard often, but didn't really know much about. If you ask our Professor, the kids who took that class now know more about the union than many, and indeed most, Europeans.
A key concept we discussed was that of identity- how do you define and identify yourself? This is a huge component to European success and cohesion because if people don't feel European, they won't act European- they'll act in a way which benefits their country first. European identity had been doing quite well before the global economic crisis, but its harder to be so open-minded and accepting of foreign cultures in a recession. Money in your pocket tends to make you more idealistic.
So today waiting for a bus ride home from Toledo I met a couple on holiday from Holland. Of course I had to ask about their perception of the Union and how European they feel. Their answer was that they feel 'reasonably' European, but counterintuitively, they feel more European during the crisis because they feel like they have to prove the strength and cohesion of Europe as a whole. An interesting and rare opinion, especially from Northern European countries which tend to be net lenders of money, not receivers.
We went on to talk the whole bus ride back from Toledo- I'm sure the other people on the bus despised us and our invasive English. But we talked about work, politics, travel- the whole deal. The man turns out to be a teacher for people with learning disabilities- a hard job. He is a tall man, and I couldn't help but notice his ears were even big on him. On me they may have reached my shoulders. He went on to tell me his secret of teaching. He listens. Speaks as little as possible. Thus, he learns a lot through teaching.
I guess that's why he has such big ears.
As we were parting ways he gave me some good advice. In my studies, he said, I should talk to the people on the street as much as possible- often times they have more insight, despite less formal education, than the politicians and rulers. He told me that I would learn a lot more this way. And of this he is a prime example.
Its a good day when you learn something. One of those days that gives you a little more faith in humanity. And maybe a little more European identification as well. 

Second Semester Student

There are a lot of differences between the first and second semesters spent abroad. Second semester you can´t help but feel a littler wiser, a little more informed, a little more comfortable in Madrid. First semester you feel like there´s an inside joke everyone gets except for you.
In Madrid they play a game. Here´s how it goes: Person A walks on to the train, and persons B, C, D, E, F, G (and so on...) stare. They analyze your shoes, your posture, your clothes, your soul. We were told Spaniards are curious people- but the first time you get the metro-staredown its a bit uncomfortable. Its all in good spirits, I´m sure, yet you feel a little on the outside.
By the next stop, or for many of us the next semester, you get participate in the game on the winning team. You watch the poor outsider get on the metro, unsure if its even the right train. They look around, trying to read the complex map, while the old Spaniards, thinking they´re sly, silently observe this odd specimen in front of them.
There are more unspoken rules of the game in the Madrid Metro. Perhaps king of all- walk on the left, stand on the right. I´m talking of course about the golden rule of escalators, cherished and strictly followed by all self repecting madrilenos. Those who dare defy the rule are subject to fiery looks of disapproval, taps on the shoulder, and curt ´perdona!´s. I myself experienced some harsh reprimanding for not being aware of the unspoken rule of all rules.
Yet this is the beauty of being a second semester student: I walk down the escalator this morning, down the left side of course, and politely ask the extanjero standing in front of me to move. Confuzzled, he quickly shuffled to the right, allowing me to pass only to see another stander just a few steps down. I decided, rather than being rude, to simply stand for the remainder of the ride, turning around to see the looks on the witnesses´faces. One woman, clearly from Madrid, gave me a laugh and an agreeing shake of the head, acknowledging what she must have thought was my deep pain and frustration with this person not knowing how the escalator works.
She leaned down and said something to me in Spanish with a laugh. I nodded my head, agreeing and laughing (even though I didn´t understand a word). But I´m quite sure it was something meant only for another madrileno.
I felt at home.

The Friend Zone

Back in the States I work in a restaurant, and one of the biggest differences in Spain is how the service industry is run. In the United States the waiter is at your beck and call, a slave to your tip-discretion, sweating, running, using a fake, overly friendly tone to talk to the table. In Spain, its like teenage mindgames. They pretend they don’t see, and if they see you, they don’t want to. Should we call them over? Do they even know we’re here? are common questions.

 The thing is, its not as bad as it sounds- because once you get to know a place, and prove you’ll go back time and time again despite being ignored and seemingly unwillingly served (probably the wrong thing if your Spanish is as bad as mine), they treat you like their best friend. Its like an endurance test, but once you get past the test it great. You walk in the door feeling like a celebrity. You get a loud, enthusiastic welcoming, usually accompanied by an overly friendly invasion of your personal bubble.

Last night I think we finally hit the friendly-zone at the restaurant across the street from our apartment. We walk by it all the time and we’ve gone in a handful of times before. Luckily the chef, the quintessential Spanish chef, (round, plump, hairy, and uber-friendly) smokes more than he cooks, so he’s always out front when we walk by to engage us in some small talk. Although half the time we don’t know what he’s saying, more due to his accent and speed then his language, we laugh when he laughs, smile when he smiles, and try to squeeze his hand as hard as he squeezes ours when he shakes hands.


 Apparently it’s paid off.

So we walk into the restaurant which looks like no one is working at it. We stand next to the podium that says, please wait to be seated. Standing awkwardly for a few seconds we decided to just b-line for the bar stools and have a seat. That we did, and just as we were sitting down we hear a loud authoritative voice. Great, I thought, they’re really going to be mad we sat ourselves. Instead I turn around to see the chef, in all his mustache-y glory, with a big smile and an extended hand. So we have a couple of laughs and before we know it we’re looking at a plate of complimentary chips with some sweet salsa. They were SO good we inhaled them. So the Chef, walking by and seeing the empty plate, assumes we’d like some more. 

Now in Spain “Spicy” does not exist. If you want spicy, go to Taco Bell. That’s honestly your best bet. So when he asks me if I like spicy, of course! I love spicy food, and it didn’t occur to me that it would even be moderately spicy. 

Next thing I know theres a small bowl of bright red salsa, filled with seeds, sitting in front of me, and a circle of anxious waiters waiting to see the look on my face when I try it. Yet I’m still not believing that anything in Spain could possibly make my mouth burn the way it did. So with a smile I took a big scoop and chomped right down. 

“Not too spicy, right?” He asks, sarcastically.

“No, no” I say, before it actually hits me.

Everyone knew when it hit me. My eyes popped out and I had that concerned look that only the person who eats too much spicy food has on their face. We all shared a laugh, and I made sure to take minuscule dips after that, although I couldn’t just abandon it for fear of offending my new over- zealous friend. 

Luckily they brought us some frozen drink to quell the burning before we left, we shared another laugh, and its sure that we’ll be going back there, although with a little more caution. So if you find yourself in one of these Spanish restaurant mind games, stick with it. It’ll pay off.

The Blind Man's Vision

Everyone has stereotypes. The lazy American. The stern German. The pretentious Brit. The rude Frenchman. The loud, lazy, hairy Spaniard who can’t give directions to save his life. Of course these are huge generalizations, maybe occasionally helpful for traveling to one of these countries and understanding the social atmosphere, but more often than not, they are very inaccurate and unreliable at predicting the character of a particular individual. Except maybe the bad directions part.

Its true. Spaniards really can not give good directions. You ask somewhere where la plaza is, they say go left. You end up more lost, ask another person, and they say go right. Finally you end up even farther from home. If its a really bad day you might stumble right on into Portugal without even knowing it. 

But this particular day wasn’t about giving reliable directions, but more about standing up and offering assistance. A blind man, traveling to the clinic for the blind right across from my building (thank goodness its for the blind and not for the deaf because I change in front of my window every morning), was struggling to get around one of those temporary fences they use to block construction areas. It was in the middle of the sidewalk, just placed there this morning, and thus was even tripping up people with their full visual faculties. Admittedly I tripped over it moments after this happened...

So he’s stammering along, feeling with his cane. He’s clearly confused, as I’m sure he walks this path often and has never encountered this strange object in his way. I opened my mouth to say ‘derrecha senor’, but someone had beaten me to it. The worker at a nearby store had left his post behind the cash register, leaving a long line of confused and frustrated shoppers, to help this man out. He told him ‘left! no, no, right! I meant right! right! keep going, okay now you can walk forward’. Not the worst directions I’ve ever seen a Spaniard give.

But it wasn’t the quality of the directions that mattered. It was that someone would so willingly leave their post to help someone else in need. So maybe these stereotypes have some kernels of truth to them. They must if they exist. While its important to remember they are unreliable and scarcely correct in explaining the character of an individual - perhaps what Spaniards lack in directional skills they make up for in social consciousness, and respect for elders and persons with disabilities. And then maybe the ‘lazy’ American, the ‘stern’ German, the ‘pretentious’ Brit, and even the ‘rude’ Frenchmen have equally redeeming qualities. Maybe you just need to open your eyes (or ears!), [and your mind] a little more to find those qualities. 

The Best Way to Learn (or Improve) Your Spanish

The best way to learn spanish? American high school classes? Don’t get me started... Rosetta Stone? Flashcards? Complete immersion in Spain without ever having studied it? Maybe that last one is a close second. But no, I’m convinced that the best way to learn Spanish is to eavesdrop on the middle school students on my bus ride home. 

Unorthodox, I’ll admit. But many people agree listening to children speak a language is far more helpful than their adult counterparts who already know the slang and have deep rooted accents. Not to mention Spaniard’s tendency to speak as fast as they can. I think its the national sport. Fast Speaking. Or as Max would say, ‘Machine-Gun-Kelly’ speaking. Fortunately, comprehension is my strongpoint. I can understand most of what people say to me, assuming they recognize I’m not participating in their national sport, but I can’t produce half of it. I understand words in context, or upon hearing them, that I would never be able to say on demand. This is why listening to, and internalizing, slower, clearer speech is really helpful because you can repeat it in your head and try to repeat it out loud (later when no ones around).

Today I was on my bus home, headphones in. I’m in the zone, trying to get some reading done. But the unmistakeable laughter of 12 year-old girls penetrated my headphones and I had no choice but to listen to their gossip and giggling. Finally I gave up trying to fight it and became enthralled in their story. I’m not proud of it, but it happened. AND it improved my confidence in understanding Spanish. 

At this point I’m feeling a little like Charlie, from Always Sunny in Philadelphia. For those of you who don’t know who I’m talking about look up and episode of the show called ‘Underage Drinking’. For those of you who DO know what I’m talking about, ‘This is classic Tammy...’

So this one girl was talking to her friend about some boy, que guapo! She went on and on about his clothes, his hair blah blah blah. Then who gets on at the next stop? I would guess it was that boy. She proceeded to slink down as far as she could in her chair to avoid being seen. I think the boy saw her, but we’re talking about sixth graders here, he wasn’t about to walk over and drop some smooth pick-up line on her. (Although maybe that would have been beneficent for both my learning and entertainment purposes)

A few stops later the two girls creep off the train, still trying to stay hidden. The boy and his friend, who were standing, now took over the girls’ empty seats in front of me. This could not have been scripted better. Now the boy is sitting there talking to his friend about the girls hair, and how she was mean to him that day. 

Middle school love.

Maybe one day they’ll hold hands or something. Share an awkward kiss... Who knows... But that’s not the point. The point is, if you want to improve your Spanish, just take out the headphones and listen to some middle schoolers vent about their coming of age experiences. You’ll learn a lot, maybe a little more than you care to. But you’ll also probably be quite entertained. Just try to contain your laughter. 

My New Year´s Reolution

Write blogs more often. Boom, I already started.

How New is the New Year?

This is my first blog of the New Year, and it could be my last. It’s embarrassing but true- I´m from Boston yet I´ve never been snowboarding, and this weekend were going on the Suffolk sponsored Ski trip in the Pyrenees mountains that divide Spain and France. I was thinking a hill might be more appropriate for my first time, but I guess a mountain will be more, hm, exciting? Plus that’s kind of my style, living in Spain without ever having taken a Spanish class, snowboarding down a mountain without having gone down a hill. I can hear my mom´s concerned sigh as I sit here writing this. Relax mom, I´ll be fine. (It’s amazing- she manages to embarrass me from 3000 miles away- but that´s a good mother I guess)

Since it’s a New Year I figure might as well start it off with a new experience like snowboarding. But a lot more comes with the New Year, new classes, new people, new hobbies, and new realizations. For example, I´m realizing that somewhere in the last couple months I´ve forgotten how to spell ‘embarrass’. Or maybe I just never knew? Isn´t there another ‘e’ in there somewhere? I really thought so… But moving on…

As things change, for example the new influx of students here at campus, it’s important to recognize the things that stay the same. The couches are still just as comfy in the common room. The teachers are just as lively. The Spanish ‘grannies’ still like to use all 50 seconds allotted to them to cross the smallest of streets, all the while making sure you can´t even dream of getting around them. The Peruvian flute bands which pop out of nowhere on the train, fully equipped; infinitely pulling instruments out of a teeny bag. They´re like the clown car of bags, they can carry a whole band around in one of those things.

                But even the things that stay the same are perceived differently in a new light, a new year. The city itself. It has the same aura, the same smell, yet it feels different. I don´t feel like I´m dreaming anymore. I’m not on vacation. I’m not starting a new chapter of my life, I’m simply living it. The key difference- this time when the plane’s tires hit the asphalt of the runway with that terrible jolt upward I didn´t think, ‘okay, let´s do this’. I thought ‘I´m finally home’.

                That´s it. A new year. New people. New things. New perceptions. Same city. Just now, its home.