February 9, 2010 at 2:09 pm (Random Rants, School)
Tags: Spain, School, Music
When I began studying Spanish my 8th grade year of junior high, I had no idea that one day I would be living in Spain, studying in Spain, talking in Spanish, thinking in Spanish, and dreaming in Spanish. I knew I liked the language. I knew I liked learning about the culture and the cities and the customs. I liked the way the letter “r” sounded rolling off the tongue and the way even the simplest words could turn into something complicated and beautiful when translated from English to Spanish. But, I hated my Spanish teacher in 8th grade. She was something of a joke. A horrible teacher, with no love for her subject and no love for the culture. I think my pursuing the Spanish language after this first year of practice was due only in part to the cassette-taped songs our horrible teacher played in class. Whoever was responsible for writing and recording the musical version of the Spanish alphabet and the musical rendition of the list of all Spanish countries and their capitals is a genius. I credit my knowledge base of Spanish to those silly cassettes, because to this day I still sing those damn songs in my head every time I’m thinking of how to pronounce a certain letter of a certain word, or if for some trivia I need to remember the capital of Colombia is Bogota. It’s fascinating the things you can remember when you put them into a song…
Tonight will be filled with songs, well, fourteen movements, actually… as I plan to attend a concert of Mozart’s Requiem Mass in D minor. A friend of my roommate and mine is playing string bass in the orchestra and I look forward to donning my black cocktail dress, putting my hair in a classic bun and drinking cocktails before the show. I look forward to the humming of the strings and the melodious choir and the winds and the brass… Sometimes I miss being in band class- the smell of wooden reeds and brass oil and moldy spit-rags that students left in their lockers too long. I miss the practicing and my band teachers- because they were wonderful band teachers- and that heart-racing feeling I got every time the band would be playing in perfect key, in perfect unison, at the climax of the piece and how happy and elated and pleased our band director looked after such an amazing achievement as getting 60 hormone-filled hyper-active teenagers to sit together, shut up, focus, and produce something so beautiful. I miss piano lessons and recitals, and the sound of a grand piano under my fingertips. Oh music, such a joy…
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January 21, 2010 at 2:28 am (Random Rants)
Tags: America, Apartment, Language, Spain
It’s true what they say. You put your heart somewhere and that is where you will truly feel at home. I think after 3 weeks in the states (3 weeks of partying, 3 weeks of friends and family and the like…) my heart was halfway back in Spain and halfway in America. My heart loves so many places right now that I feel as though it’s split into sections. That, or it dropped somewhere in the Atlantic on the plane-ride over the pond… Maybe my heart (and home) is somewhere in the bottom of the ocean? Now would be a good time to start scuba lessons…
I can’t explain to you what it’s like to live in a different country for longer than a few months, and then return home for a short vacation, and then go back. I can’t explain it, and you wouldn’t understand it if I could. That is, you wouldn’t understand it unless you yourself have lived or stayed in a different country for a long period of time and then returned home. It’s surreal. Bizarre. Strange.
For sake of this blog and dramatic flair, I will try to explain the sensation.
I recall the late evening of December 17, 2009…
The plane touched down on American soil and tears came to my eyes. I felt the tension from other passengers that were coming home as well, and the excitement from foreigners visiting for the first time. I flipped open my US phone and turned it on for the first time in months. That familiar Verizon welcome tone was music to my ears. The constant beep of arriving text messages was amazing. I called family. I called friends. I texted and texted to my heart’s desire. My thumbs hurt by the time the plane had taxied into the terminal gate. It was a quick line through customs and a sprint to my next flight (sweat sweat sweat) with my heavy carry-on, and then I was on the last plane home in American air ways and with American passengers and it was bliss. Plane touched down again…taxi…disembark… and whalla! My friends are awaiting with flowers in hand and it’s an exciting car ride home talking about everything I’ve missed for the past 4 months. We stop at Chipotle and I’m in shock. I’m in the car. In shock. We get gas. In shock. Drink Red Bull. In shock. Arrive at friend’s house. In shock. Go out to a bar. In shock. Fast forward 3 weeks… still in shock. I want to go on and on about the differences and the people and the places I’ve seen and the way it made me feel and what I’ve learned… but there are very few people to listen. FEW. MINUSCULE. People are bored the minute I begin talking. Unless they are an avid traveler themselves, have lived abroad, or have great interest in going abroad for a long period of time… they are bored out of their minds. Nobody wants to hear about my quaint little apartment and the way the air smells depending on what time of day it is. They don’t want to hear about the ridiculous prices of make-up or the interesting fashion choices. They don’t understand why I’m so upset looking at all these large, wasteful vehicles, or why I’m disgusted by the amount of fast food joints, or why everything looks so new, so different… My friends are impatient with me, as I’ve grown accustomed to the slow, relaxed pace of the Spaniards. I eat slow. I put my make-up on slow. I walk slow. I drink my wine slow. The voices sound ridiculous to me. English. American English. My brain is still functioning in partial Spanish, and my first reaction to any question begins with me translating my response in my head from English to Spanish… which of course, is now unnecessary. I eat a burrito, but my stomach hates it and is in knots for hours. Entering the hometown bars, I am ambushed by people who either thought I had left for good or never noticed I was gone. I’m not sure which is worse. Answering the question: “What are you up to lately?” Is much more involved than my tired mind can handle, and I usually resort to the answer: “Just school.” People usually leave it at that, thankfully, saving me from the: “Oh, I’m living and studying in Spain.” And then the: “NO way!” And then them pretending to be interested, unless they really are, which would be an excitement for me. Seeing my family stirs more emotions, as it’s harder to be in shock around people who’ve known you since birth. I break down into tears. Let it all out. Feels good. Share experiences with the family… (they actually listen) …then back to the “shock” period for the remainder of the 3 weeks.
And now I’m back in Spain, and all seems well. Final exams are finishing… I’m in a new apartment and loving it… I’m flushing all the alcohol from Christmas break out of my system… I’m excited for second semester… I’m excited to graduate… I’m excited to travel… Over all, I’m excited for life!!
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December 15, 2009 at 3:58 am (Random Rants)
Tags: Spain
Spain is growing on me. The language is seeping into my brain like an infant learning to communicate. The accent sounds familiar, the people look appealing. The clothing fits my body well- loose where it’s comfy, tight where it’s sexy. I could walk for miles in my Spanish boots. They are black leather and were made here in Spain, and although it’s 2009 and I know they were made in a factory somewhere, half by a paid-by-the-hour citizen and half by well-oiled machines, I like to imagine my boots were made by an old Spanish cobbler, deep in his workshop tucked behind a village vineyard on the outskirts of town where his wife smashes the grapes for wine with her own bare feet and they make a paella together every Sunday. He whispers sweet words in his deep Spanish voice to her, kisses her on the cheek, and then goes back to work on my leather boots. This old cobbler knows what I want in a pair of boots. My boots fit perfectly and they come up to the half-point of my thigh when pulled tight and look great folded over equestrian style, just below the knee cap. Sometimes I scrunch my boots down like it’s 1982 and I have on spandex leggings and a baggy sweater and my earrings are almost as long as my boots. Sometimes I pull my boots up high over my jeans and sit with my legs tucked up tight to my chest and run my fingers over the smooth leather on the toe of my boots. They are great boots. That Spanish cobbler did me proud…
Spain is growing on me, like the orange trees scattered all over the city. I like to imagine taking every single orange from every single tree in this city and squeezing out all their juice and filling up a big, big pitcher. I wonder how big that pitcher would be? As big as my house? As big as the Empire State building? I love the orange trees. The smell is amazing. I’m just waiting for spring. I miss things like Snuggles dryer sheets, and tumbled-dry clothes. I miss my friends and family, of course. But I’m living in Spain. I crawl into my bed every night with my big white down comforter and my two pillows. I never use both pillows, but I have to have both of them near me. I have a white fan for the hot days and a little grey heater for the cold days. My window looks out over the street and neighboring buildings, a little balcony with a lemon-lime colored hammock, and if the skies are clear and the clouds are sparse I can see the mountains. On sunny days I sit in the hammock and read or do homework or just daydream. My little white laptop has finally adjusted to the sporadic wireless signal, and has no troubles picking it up from anywhere in my apartment. I have memorized my favorite channels on the TV and I know how to work all of the remotes in the living room. I know where all the pots and pans go. I have a fairly stocked cabinet of spices and flour and pastas and rice and a growing pile of scrap papers with new recipes jotted down. I eat breakfast every day in the same chair and with the same coffee cup. It’s cold outside now, so I drink a lot of tea during the day. School is normal now, the classes with the same people, the teachers with the same accents. My friends are great and our bond is growing. We talk about everything. We drink wine and paint our nails and watch television and it’s great. We laugh and cry. It’s good and it’s bad. It’s up and it’s down. And I love it. The town center is so close and yet so far away. When I walk there alone it’s like miles. When I walk there with friends it’s like minutes…
Spain is growing on me, like the hole growing in my bank account. I think in Euros now, mostly. The paper money feels normal in my hands and coins have become precious. Dropping a coin in Euros could be dropping two whole units of money, unlike the American dollar where the most you’re going to drop in a coin is one-quarter of a unit. I’m not sure if this has made me appreciate how small money is and how quickly it spends, or if it’s made me feel less attached to money, like I’m in a continuing game of Monopoly and all the money is green and red and blue. But money spends differently here. Things you would think are expensive are dirt cheap and things that should be dirt cheap are unaffordable. People tell me things were different when Spain had the peseta. Things were better. Things were affordable. Things were justly priced. I think a lot of people are wondering if the Euro has ruined Spain. Spain is different. Spain will always be different. The economy sucks everywhere, and I think we were all better off before the Euro, before the peseta, before the dollar, and back when it was food for work and hide for headdress and sex for children and eye for eye…
Spain is growing on me… and right when it’s fitting comfortably and tasting good and smelling right…. I’m leaving it. Thank goodness it’s only for a few weeks. And it will be a few wonderful weeks of holiday happiness and friends and family and fun fun fun. I miss my home and all of my people. I miss my country. But, just when you get used to something, things always change. I know my bed will still be there when I get back. My desk will still be messy with clutter and my shoes will still be lined up in my little armoire. But Spain, I’m going to miss you. And Spain, I’ll be back soon, because I’m not through with you yet. We still have a lot to learn about each other….
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December 9, 2009 at 1:35 am (Adventures)
Tags: Art, Barcelona, Museum, Park, Spain
About a month before I left for Spain I purchased and watched the movie “Vicky, Christina, Barcelona.” Nothing could be closer to how it is there. The passion. The buildings. The photos. The eclectic mix of people and the swarms of tourists and the art and the music. I was just in Barcelona for four days and it was a dream. In my dream to Barcelona, I fell asleep on a big comfy bus and woke up in paradise. I woke up to architecture so detailed that I wanted to jump out of the bus just to touch the doors and to stand on the balconies and smell the sculptured flowers. The first day began with a walk through Parque Guell. I can’t do this park justice with a mere written description. Even a photo wouldn’t be enough. Gaudi designed this park with his heart and imagination pouring straight through his veins and out of his fingertips. The massive columns under the terrace area supporting days and months and years of tourists… the beautiful blue and red and green and yellow and every other colored mosaics… the famous dragon sculpture pouring water from his mouth and welcoming all to the park… the street musicians playing spanish guitar that brings tears to your eyes and goosebumps to your arms… the giant birds nest terrace that makes you want to sit and soak in the sun and hike up and down the mountain again and again just to experience it once more…. and the view. Ah, the view. You can see all of Barcelona from here. You can see the buildings and the churches and the sea and the life. Barcelona is throbbing with life. When you look out over the the city, you get the feeling that it is breathing in deeply every few seconds, and then exhaling its beauty at you like a gust of wind. I can’t tell you how many times the view brought tears to my eyes. I wanted to hug the sculptures. I wanted to run my hands over the tree trunks. I wanted to sit on one of Gaudi’s serpentine-shaped benches and listen to the guitars playing for hours, running my fingertips over the colorful mosaic shapes with their soft silky surface embedded in rough grout. It was amazing. Vendors rolled out their blankets with hand made goods and I watched the tourists dig into their pockets for over-priced bracelets and jeweled hair pins. And it made me smile. Kids played in the park up and down the stairs and over the benches and chasing the giant bubbles made by a peddler for some coins. Teenagers drank beers and smoked with their friends pretending not to enjoy the magnificent view. Gray-haired couples sat on benches arm-in-arm resting from the long walk up to the terrace. Our group took photos and photos and photos and ate our sack lunches and chatted in Spanish and English and German and Flemish and Catalan and French. Our group was like a walking translation book. If anyone needed directions, they would be sure to find them in their native language from our group…
After our stroll through the park, we headed to the town center to see Museo Picasso. This museum is located in the heart of Barcelona, tucked between narrow streets and housed in a building that dates back hundreds of years. When you touch the walls of buildings in Barcelona, you are touching something that is so old, so beautiful, so lived in…. another thing I love about Spain, and Europe in general. When you sit on a stair ledge, you are sitting on the same stair ledge that people have been walking on and sitting on for decades and decades and you can feel it in your whole body. The history runs straight up your toosh and gives you a humbled feeling, like you are born into this world after thousands of years of people living and dying and loving and crying and thousands of years from now another person might sit on that same stair ledge, that same step, and feel the exact same thing. Picasso was able to express this feeling in some of his paintings. I’m a fan of his earlier works, the intricate portraits and the beautiful still-lifes. The sculptured pots and plates and bowls. I enjoyed it very much, except perhaps the youngest works, as abstract art has never been a taste of mine.. I love to see the details of people’s faces, the things in people’s lives, and the places where they lived. I love to see pictures of beautiful or interesting faces and I love to see the emotion in their eyes and imagine their thoughts… I love paintings that look like photographs. I love to imagine the artist sitting on a grassy hill with a palette of colors and a canvas and an easel, painting it how he sees it… I love photographs that tell a story…. I would love to sit in Picasso’s museum and write a story about every portrait.
After culturing our minds with art, our legs were tired and we went for a buffet dinner. We ate a variety of delicious dishes and drank a little booze and then headed back to our hostel. Tired from all the walking and with an upset stomach, I went to bed early and the others had some drinks and went to a few pubs. I may have missed out on one night of fun, but I would be sure to make up for it in the days to come…
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December 3, 2009 at 8:31 pm (Random Rants)
Tags: Dancing, Shopping, Spain, Wine
Living in this city is like living in a dream at times… It’s normal to sleep very late, and most people won’t begin their days until around 10 or 11 a.m. In the town center, most stores and restaurants open around this time, and quickly the streets become busy, bustling with shopping ladies and business men and clicking heels. From 10 until 1:30, the streets are filled with people, laughing and shopping with their spouses or friends or family. People dress to leave the house. I mean, they really dress. Women in beautiful skirts or tailored pants, shoes always with heels or tall leather boots, men in dress pants, fashionable shirts, everything. Age does not discriminate against fashion here in Spain. Age only matures the fashion style. I have the urge to think everyone walking up and down the street is headed to an important meeting or a fancy lunch… but really, they are just dressing how they normally do. It’s fabulous. I try to participate in this culture of Spain whole-heartedly. Around 1:30 or 2:00, all of the shops close. The gates come down over the windows, the doors lock, and the workers leave. The only places you will find open are a few grocery stores here and there and some cafes. At this time, people go home for a “siesta” and take a nap, or drink coffee, or have a smoke, or meet with friends or family… The center turns into a ghost town for the next three hours and all is quiet… Then at 5:00 p.m., the gates come up, the workers return, the people are filled with nicotine and caffeine and sleep and they crawl back onto the streets for more. This is when the world seems a little more magical. From 5-10 p.m., the streets slowly get darker, and the people’s hands become full of shopping bags and the street lights come on and the store windows shine brightly onto the sidewalks. The beautiful plazas in every block light up the monuments and cast shadows up and down the streets. You get the sense that you might not have fully waken up this morning… that you could run down a dark street and hide in a doorway… that you could hide from the world here. The people chat chat chat and talk loud and laugh and kiss each other on the cheeks- two kisses, always- two kisses to say hello- two kisses to say goodbye, they walk arm in arm, the elderly walk the uneven streets with years of practice, the children teeter totter and point at store windows… the coffee shops are selling espresso non-stop with extra hot cream and extra extra sugar… the smoke pours out of the restaurant and cafe doors, ashtrays filling up, people chatting, smoking…. Around 10, the stores start to close and the restaurants come alive. Dinners are served in homes, dinners are served in restaurants, and the people are building their energy with starchy rice, fresh seafood, lots of pork and the best wine you’ll ever drink. Then around 12 or 1 a.m., the bars start to fill up and the people crawl out of the woodwork and into the barstools to down beers and liquor and dance and listen to music and chat and smoke more… Some bars stay open until 7 or 8 a.m. Some dance clubs are wall-to-wall people for six hours straight. After a night out in Spain, you come home smelling like an ashtray, dipped in wine and chocolate, rung-out with sweat, and then rolled in perfume. And it’s fabulous. Your lungs hurt for days but it doesn’t matter because you had such a good time dancing with friends that you ignore the smoke and you ignore your screaming liver and your revolving stomach. It’s just fabulous. And on Sundays… everything closes. Everything. Grocery stores. Clothing stores. Mall. Convenience stores. Everything. Well, everything except churches. There are many masses in all the churches, and most people go to one of these sessions, and then spend the day with family and friends and have a large dinner together with a big paella dish, or spend the day sleeping and sleeping and sleeping… And that is Spain. That is what I love about Spain. The night. The streets. The fashion. The people. The time they take to enjoy life… it’s all quite magical.
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December 3, 2009 at 1:14 am (Random Rants)
Tags: America, Wine
One glass of wine a day a healthy heart makes. I heard that was true, and since there’s a smidgen of scientific proof as well, I’m just going to take the advice and enjoy a little wine with my dinner every night. So delicious… I’ve tried almost every selection of wine available in the supermarket closest to me. Well, I’ve tried almost every selection under the 3 Euro price tag… And they are pretty much all delicious!! I can only imagine in my wildest dreams what the 60 Euro bottles of wine taste like. But, I’ll save those bottles for when I’m wealthy and fabulous and a member of the “Wine of the Month Club.” Until then, the cheap bottles are good enough for me.
Tomorrow I shall give a presentation to a group of international students about my country, the good old US of A. I’ve put together a nifty little power point presentation, complete with photos, facts and fun. Two other girls will be presenting the first half of the presentation, with focus on “Myth Busters” and “American Ideals.” (Example of one of the sections: “Myth: All Americans are Fat and Rude. Reality: Some Americans are Fat. Some Americans are Rude. Some are Fat and Rude. Some are neither.”) My half of the presentation is quite less sarcastic and controversial (and in turn probably less interesting), focusing on simple things such as why our flag is designed the way it is… what the map looks like… the fun holidays we celebrate… and then a section on a “typical day” for me in America. Then of course, we are making and bringing “typical” American food to share with the group. I made 6 dozen chocolate chip cookies tonight, bought two jugs of fresh milk, and that’s my part. The other girls are making mini peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and I think bringing some Budweiser, or something of the sort. It should be a good time, and I will have fun describing the crazy, yet magical, holidays that happen in the USA, and how Christmas time looks like somebody put all the decorations on steroids and pumped red and green coloring into everything possible, and how we have a holiday to just eat and eat and be thankful for eating, and how Independence Day is so fun with fireworks and picnics and grilling out… etc. etc. Ah, America the beautiful.
“I’m American.” These are two words you should use carefully when traveling abroad. I find they are usually met with either joy, envy, anger or surprise. Always though, these two words will be met with judgement. It’s an interesting thing, to talk about one’s country. Some people ask many questions and are excited and want to know more- they want to know if everything really happens like it does in the movies, they want to know how much money you make, they want to know how expensive groceries are, they want to know what you do on the weekends and how much the beers are in the bars- but usually they don’t ask about the big things. They don’t ask you how you feel about the wars. They don’t ask you if you voted for the current president. They don’t ask you about what life was like growing up or what your friends are like or how big your family is. And sure, it’s fun to compare the prices of beers in euros to dollars and it’s interesting explain about the American “right to drive” and how we drive cars everywhere and how expensive school is even though everyone still pays for it… but that’s not the stuff I want to tell them. I want to tell them about how every time I hear the Star Spangled Banner I cry like a baby. I want to tell them about the relief and pride I feel when I see an American flag. I want to tell them about how every state is like it’s own little country, but no matter what state you’re in you still feel like you’re home… This is the kind of stuff that is impossible to explain. No one will ask you about it, and you will probably never bring it up either. I think many others feel this way about their country too. You hear that anthem, you see that waving flag, and a sense of pride wells up in you like you’re watching your child’s first steps. I think this is a feeling that so many people have about their countries, it’s just hard to express. In America we are lucky to have a population of people that don’t hesitate to write songs and wave flags and wear T-shirts and march in parades and pretty much anything else to express this deep feeling of patriotism. It is hard to explain that this expression of happiness and pride and joy is not for “showing off,” it’s just how people truly feel.
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November 19, 2009 at 3:59 pm (Random Rants)
Tags: Dancing, Flamenco, Spain
Ahhhh I love Thursdays. I have no class on Thursdays, and it’s fantastic. I sleep until noon, lay in bed, watch TV, surf the internet, go for a walk, exercise, shop, whatever. Thursdays are great. My only commitment is a tandem conversation group at 5:15, which is just a fun conversation session with two other students trying to learn English and then they help me with my Spanish. Today I slept until 11:30, made some lunch/breakfast combo, drank some frothy cappuccino drink, watched the latest and last episode of America’s Next Top Model (I CAN’T believe Laura didn’t win!!!), plucked my eyebrows, whitened my teeth, moisturized, laid around, watched the Little Mermaid, and now I’m killing some time writing this post before my conversation group. I think later tonight I may go out dancing with a friend, and that should be fun. I keep waiting for Spain to make smoking in the bars illegal, but I don’t think that will happen until at least 2050. So… even though I can’t stand breathing the smoke, I suck it up and deal with it because I have to deal with the smoke to be able to dance! Speaking of dance… my roommate and I are going to start Flamenco dancing lessons in January. Sooooo excited! There is a flamenco studio in the town center, and they offer weekly courses. So, I just have to order some shoes and buy a skirt, and I’ll be ready to go! Soon, I will be dancing Flamenco three hours every week! I cannot wait to learn this beautiful and passionate traditional Spanish dance. In my dreams… I imagine becoming a fantastic Flamenco dancer over the months of January-June, and then when I arrive home in the US after my year in Spain, I will perform my beautiful Flamenco dancing for my friends and family. It will be great and they will clap wildly. 
Haha. Either way, I’m extremely stoked, as learning flamenco in Spain is a dream come true! I really hope I get to go to more shows as well.
Tomorrow is Friday, and after class I start another conversation group with a girl wanting to improve her English. Except this is an actual job! Yay! She needs to pass an English exam for her employer, so she is paying me 10 euros an hour to work with her. Finally, I have a little income. I am still looking for a part time job while I’m here in Spain, but I don’t want to start anything until January, as I’ll be leaving Spain for the holidays and wouldn’t want to ask for vacation time right off the bat. So… anyways, I have a mini job and it’s great!
Tomorrow we are going to see the new Twilight movie too! New Moon… oh Edward, how you melt my heart. If only all men were as chivalrous and sexy as him… too bad he’s a vampire and wants to suck your blood too. Figures. You find a good guy, and he’s a vampire. Such is life.
Saturday was supposed to be a beautiful night at the theatre watching the amazingly beautiful Swan Lake Ballet. BUT- they were all SOLD OUT! Ugh! We went to buy tickets Monday and sadly they were sold out ALREADY! I’m soooo disappointed I could cry. But, I’m hoping we find something just as fun to do. Maybe we’ll go dancing or see a different show or something. Hmm… we will see. Well, off to talk in Spanglish for an hour, and then back to relaxation. Adios!
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November 15, 2009 at 7:35 pm (Random Rants)
Tags: Homesick, Spain
When you leave your university in the United States and embark upon your journey to a new university in a foreign country, most likely your home university will warn you of the inevitable homesickness you will experience. They will tell you of the not-so-pretty physical side effects: travel’s diarrhea, nausea, agoraphobia, insomnia, loss of appetite… etc. etc. They will give you a neat and tidy handout detailing these conditions and steps to take to counteract homesickness and precautions to take to avoid getting physically sick. And you, being the young, strong-willed, stubborn and excited college student that you are, will ignore EVERYTHING they say. As did I. Here are some personal quotes I remember expressing only a few months back….
“Homesick? I’ve never been homesick in my life!”
“Diarrhea? Ew!! I won’t get that, duh! Just drink bottled water…”
“Insomnia? Who cares! I’ll be partying all night anyways!”
“Loss of appetite? Yeah right! I love to eat!”
… there’s probably more, but you get the idea. Man, was I wrong. For me, the homesickness set in approximately two months after arriving here in Spain. Just like that damned handout predicted… I’ve really never experienced homesickness before. I grew up attending summer camps, traveled alone to many places, been on tons of vacations, and lived in a few different cities… and yet- I never truly got that deep, incessant feeling of missing home. It swells up slowly inside you, and perhaps that’s why it takes about two months to start feeling the effects of it. But once it swells up to the point of notice- it encompasses your entire train of thought. For me, it made me lose the desire to get out of the house and go see things, lose the desire to go to class, it made me think about the future with an almost obsessive-compulsive attitude, it gave me insane insomnia and made me a home-junkie (meaning, I only wanted to see and hear about things going on at home, back in the US). Well… this lasted about one to two weeks, and then after annoying my boyfriend to death with sappy emails and long phone calls and wallowing in my sadness during my sleepless nights… I snapped out of it. Yay! I survived the homesickness! Now I’m back to normal, excited about classes and school and the mere fact that I’M IN SPAIN! It was a strange thing, to miss home so much. I still miss certain things, of course, like family and friends and my boyfriend… but in a healthy way. I think when most people get homesick, their immediate reaction is to give up, get on a plane and come home. But, that doesn’t solve anything, really, and you never increase your mental capacity to accept other cultures and you never truly develop that desire for adventure and that love of newness. So, I’m a survivor of the evil curse of homesickness. It’s a great thing, and I look forward to the rest of my year abroad in Spain and traveling the beautiful countryside of Europe. If you’re ever away from home and get that gut-wrenching feeling of homesickness seeping into your body and mind… just embrace it, indulge in it, and then forget it! Missing home should make you happy and make you love your country and family and friends and significant other more… it shouldn’t make you sick!
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November 4, 2009 at 1:06 pm (School)
Tags: School, Spain, Universidad Jaume I
I dedicate this entry to my mother.
Disclaimer: The reason I dedicate this entry to my mother, is because I’m devoting it entirely to talking about school things. That way- she will know that I am attending classes and learning great things and getting my money out of this experience- at least when it comes to the school experience. Frankly- it’s just way more fun to write about parties and sightseeing! But… this article will be about school. So reader beware: you may become bored!!!
Today my first class was from 9am (ughhhh so early) until 11am. This class is my English IV Literature class. Now.. I know what you’re thinking: an English class in Spain!?! That’s cheating!! Well, although it IS a little easier on my brain, it’s still a challenging and interesting course. I enjoy this class a lot. We are studying anglo-saxon poetry right now, and are deep into the depths of Beowulf. Oh, Beowulf, how you intrigue me. I, being a fan of the middle ages and fighting and big heroic men, am thoroughly enjoying this story. On the other hand, I also feel sorry for all my Spanish classmates, who are trying so hard to learn English, and are utterly confused by this crazy old english jibberish. After all, who is actually named Beowulf anymore? Who would name their kid Hrothgar? Well, step back into the 6th century of Denmark and Sweden and surrounding areas and it seems alright. So, we are reading this poem and analyzing it and attempting to find correlations between Christian references and old blood feuds and relating sagas and the like. It’s all very interesting. My professor is a young English man with a nice, soft accent and I enjoy listening to him very much. He reminds me of Shakespeare. At least, he reminds me of the American film adaptation of what Shakespeare would be like if he were made up and cast into a movie alongside Gwenyth Paltrow. Except shorter. Hah. So, now we are discussing what options we will have for the research paper that is due at the end of this semester. One option is to find all the added Christian references in the novel, another is to point out fictitious events in the story that relate to actual events, another is to compare the original poem to one of the recent film adaptations. This is my favorite choice. I’m so comparing this story to the ridiculous film with Angelina Jolie made a couple years past. I just love dissecting story lines and comparing them. Plus, I get to watch a movie for an assignment! How great is that? Anyways… I’m excited about this paper and I’m enjoying this class. Now, it is time for me to head to my next class: Baroque Art. I bet you’re really excited to hear about that one… I’ll save you the pain of reading another blog about school and tell you to Google Bernini, cause that’s what we’re studying right now.
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November 4, 2009 at 12:40 pm (Partying)
Tags: Costume, Dancing, Halloween, Spain
Saturday, October 31st was a fun-filled day. Over the last decade, Halloween has become an increasingly popular holiday here in Spain. Despite the controversy (seeing how Spain is a very Christian country and the day after Halloween is All Saints day), the youth of Spain are expressing their need to dress up in funny costumes and scary mask and have a ball! So… Saturday my Spanish roommate, my Lebanese friend and I went shopping for fun costumes. They were to be a cat and a vampire, and I was to be a devil, or something just as easy to pull off without spending too much money. So, we headed towards the town center, stopping in various “Chinos” (little shops with things all “made in china,” which are super cheap) and a few toy shops. We found one entire store devoted to Halloween costumes, which is rare in this town, and there I found a whole “devil” ensemble, complete with horns, tail, and trident scepter. 5 euros and I was done: wearing my red dress, black boots, and devil attire. Perfect. We then hit up a few other shops and found cat ears and some fun vampire make-up. We tried on funny wigs, but opted to use our natural hair for the night…
Later that night….
With music playing and a few drinks pouring we adorned ourselves in our “fancy dress” (that’s what a lot of people here are calling the Halloween costumes) and put on make-up, teased our hair up, and then had a photo session. We posed with scary faces, funny faces, sexy faces, sad faces… you name it. Then, we headed to two houses parties and then to a disco. The first house party was pretty impressive to me, and was held by a few of the masters students from campus. They had handmade Halloween decorations, treats, green punch and sangria and orange punch, and they were even holding a contest for best costumes, with many different categories and special potted flower prizes. Hilarious! I think my favorite costume was a girl dressed as “Sra. Nerd,” complete with high-waisted Steve Urkel pants, wide-rimmed glasses, painted-on freckles, a pocket protector and mis-matching socks. It was hilarious. Then on to the next house party, which we only stayed at for a minute cause it was crowded and I felt like my lungs were going to collapse from all the cigarette smoke….
Then on to the club, which was fabulously decorated for the holiday. All the bartenders had scary awesome costumes- there was even that creepy white-faced thing from the Saw movies- and the music was great (Michael Jackson’s Thriller was played several times) and almost everyone in sight was in costume. We had to pay a 3 euro cover to get in, but it included a free drink. So, we had our drinks and danced for a few hours. After our toes were pinching from our high heels and our lungs were aching for fresh air, we headed on home. It was a fun Halloween!
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