Celebrating the End in True Spanish Style: Drinking with My Professors By the River

And just like that, it´s over.

My Shoes Tell My Story

This week, as I prepare to pack, I am getting rid of a few things near and dear to my heart because they are just too run down to take home.

The first, of which I am struggling with most, is a pair of shoes. I threw out my shoes today, and it was if I was throwing out a bit of my time here in Europe. These shoes were, in fact, the way I made one of my best friends here, as she came up to me at orientation and said “I like your shoes”, from there we started talking, and we have been enjoying Spain together ever since. These shoes were also worn the first day I met my Señora, in my desperate attempt to look a bit more European. They have carried me through the labyrinth-like streets of Sevilla as I struggled to become familiar with my city. They carried me through the ancient halls of the Alhambra in Granada and the Alcazar in Sevilla and through countless cathedrals. They have carried me up the stairs of the Eiffel Tower, Arc de Triomphe, and the Notre Dame. They carried me through the Roman ruins just outside of Sevilla in Italica, through the hills of Austria, through the hedge maze and sands of the Mediterranean Sea in Barcelona. They have carried me through the packed streets of Madrid, through airport terminals, metro stations, bus stations, and train stations (usually at a very fast pace). They have carried me over the “Puente de Triana” (bridge) and into the center of the city, managing to dodge the dog feces that litter the city, while carrying me to class every day and finally, back up the stairs of my apartment after a long day. In a lot of ways, I grew up in these shoes. The scuffs on the toes, the worn soles, and the smell, tell the story of my adventures in Europe.

The other thing I parted with today, but in a less dramatic matter, was my day-travel bag, which has been with me on all my trips thus far outside of Sevilla. It served me extremely well carrying my camera, Rick Steves travel books, metro maps, water, etc., that is, until the strap pulled out in Paris. I found a makeshift way to use it on the rest of the trips, using Velcro, and this worked well enough (aside from it often pulling off) until the day it pulled out and hit me in the face. At that moment I put my foot down and decided I must get rid of my loyal Target purchase. I could have brought it home and have it fixed, but since space in my suitcases is limited, I had to leave it behind. When I was explaining this all to my Señora, she said, “Don’t throw it away, I will take it to a zapatero (a shoe-fixer guy) and I will keep it as a memory of you”. So aside from accompanying me on all my travels through Spain and the rest of Europe, it will now accompany my Señora through the streets of Sevilla, quite an appropriate “resting place”.

I never thought I would be so sentimental about a pair of shoes and a cheap fake-leather bag, but then again I never thought that I would be so sad to go. I guess Studying Abroad really does change a person.

A Few Recent Random Moments in the Algeciras Household

Last Sunday my Señora’s son and his girlfriend came over for lunch. My Señora was in the kitchen furiously cooking up a storm, and I asked if I could help her with anything, expecting her to decline as usual. This time however, she actually took me up on it, saying that I could set the table, cut the bread, and ration out the picos (little breadsticks). While this may seem like an every day chore, this is a huge deal. Señoras never allow their students to do any work. To me, this was another sign that I had become her adoptive daughter. I smiled to myself as she made pork while I cut bread in the tiny kitchen, listening to her telling me the best way to cook pork (she has slowly been telling me her recipes), passing her recipes and traditions onto the closest thing she has to daughter: me.


On Monday evening I came home to a house reeking of beer. I quickly discovered why as I walked into the kitchen to give my usual greeting. My Señora was holding a spray bottle filled with Cruzcampo beer, watering her plants with it. She told me that her cousin had insulted the leaves of her plants (quite a large insult for my Señora) and that she was hoping the beer would make the leaves shinier. As she told me, all the plants needed were tapas and they would be set for the night.


The other evening my Señora came into my room with a book of 250 jokes, telling me that I should read them as study breaks. This is a result of her trying to tell us a joke and completely failing, at which point we got into a long conversation about “The Art of Joke-Telling”.


This past Saturday afternoon, I peeked my head into the kitchen to tell my Señora that I was running out to run a quick errand. She then asked me if I would do her a favor: run to the panadería (tiny bread store) she goes to every day (right around the corner from my apartment) to buy 3 loaves of bread and 12 eggs. She was asking me to go because she wouldn’t have time to do her hair before it closed (she has to look perfect to leave the house, even if it is a 2 minute walk). Once again, this may seem like nothing to all of you, but this is a big deal in the life of a student living with a Señora, aware of Spanish norms, and it signifies that she no longer considers me just a student and is not worried about inconveniencing me. I had to smile to myself because just that morning as I was out and about I saw a little girl coming back from the panadería and I was thinking how nice it would be to just go to the corner bread store and get your bread every morning. I went to our bread store, and ordered my Señora’s usual, feeling like a Spaniard, and thinking that I really don’t think I will be able to leave.


Saturday evening, my roommate Emma, my Señora and myself enjoyed a great dinner, discussing everything under the sun (including my Señora’s hilarious storytelling of how annoying mosquitoes are). After dinner, Emma and I went out onto our beautiful terrace to enjoy the magnificent evening weather and do homework, while my Señora sat in the salon sewing the aprons she will be giving to our Moms. She left the patio door open so that we could watch the talent-challenge show that was on TV, and at times we would all run into the salon to see what crazy talent (including someone stripping a woman’s clothes using a piece of heavy construction equipment) was being shown at the moment. We stayed until the wee hours of the night, enjoying each other’s company in silence. It is moments like those that I realize that I truly do have another family here, no matter how odd it may be, consisting of my Señora, my roommate, her sons and their girlfriends. I can’t explain how hard it is going to be to leave that family, and the pit in my stomach grows larger and larger as the day I leave comes closer and closer.


This Sunday was Mother’s Day here in Spain, and my roommate and I went out and bought a vase full of flowers for my Señora. The look of excitement and happiness on her face when we gave it to her, and the kisses she planted on our cheeks, were well worth the expense.

A Japanese Woman, a Gorge, A Bull (Last Weekend)

Last Saturday I visited Ronda, a white-hill town outside of Sevilla known for its beautiful views, massive gorge, and old bridge. All of my friends were either in Lagos for the weekend or studying for our upcoming exams, so I headed out on my own. About an hour into the bus ride, the Japanese woman sitting next to me asked me “¿De dónde eres?” (Where are you from? in Spanish). I rattled off in the Andaluz accent I have been practicing since arriving, and she gave me the blank stare that I am sure I have often given native Spanish speakers. I repeated it, more slowly, and we started talking. Turns out she was learning Spanish and was in Spain for 3 weeks traveling. She told me all about her travels in Spain and elsewhere, and I shared travel stories as well. As I was staring out the window thinking how amazing it was that a Japanese woman from Tokyo and an American girl from the Midwest were able to communicate in Spanish, a language that is neither of our native languages, she leaned over me and offered me her dried sardines.

The whole reason I went to Ronda was to hike down the gorge above which there is a giant, beautiful, bridge. The first half of the hike down, the part you are actually supposed to hike down, was relatively easy aside from the absolutely scorching heat. When I got down to the part where you are supposed to stop, there was a great lookout point of the beautiful waterfall, gorge, and bridge. I couldn’t stop there though, so I continued down a very narrow path, having to crawl under burr-covered trees, climb down cliffs (no joke), and jump over fallen trees. I finally came to the old foundation of a house, where there was an even better view of the scenery, one worth the climb. After admiring it for a while, I continued walking until I came to a mini-gorge. Someone had laid a board down in order to cross the gorge, and I decided to brave it and walk across that as well. Oddly enough, it wasn’t until I had precariously made my way across the board that I decided I shouldn’t keep going. At this point, the path become just wide enough for one shoe and was barely hugging the cliff. I decided that especially since I was alone, whatever view I would have would not be worth risking my life for. The climb back up was a challenging one, especially in the heat, but I finally made it up and rewarded myself with my bag lunch in a little shaded plaza looking over the valley below. The rest of the day was spent just wandering around and enjoying the city as well as hanging out in parks and relaxing. It was a great day.

The following Sunday, I went to my first Bullfight in the Plaza de Toros in Sevilla. I was expecting to absolutely hate it, which is most likely why I enjoyed it so much. If you can get past that it is cruel to animals, and that it is rather gross, you can appreciate and enjoy the tradition and emotion behind it all. Watching the bullfighters as they sauntered up to the bull, ready to “dance” with it, their lips pursed in this weird way was all too entertaining.

We were not watching professional bullfighters, but rather the ones closer to our ages that are training to become professionals. Because of this, we were able to see a bit more action. We were amazed to see how they start off, kneeling right in front of where the bulls are released, remaining that way until the bulls charge past them and at their cape. On one of these rounds however, there was a bit of a problem, and instead of charging past the bullfighter, it charged right and him, and he actually had to jump right over the bull. The speed at which he reacted was incredibly impressive.

As my Señora had explained to me, when a bullfighter does a particularly good job (getting the bull to run around him in a circle without moving and killing the bull with just one stab), the audience waves white handkerchiefs to signify that they want the bullfighter to get the bull’s ear. We were able to see this happen, and the boy’s reaction when he killed the bull with one blow was one of complete happiness. The crowd of course went wild, waving their hankies, and the master of ceremonies cut off the bull’s ear, handed to the bullfighter, and he paraded around the ring waving the ear bank and forth as the audience threw their sombreros into the ring. It was quite the moment to be a part of. One of the other bullfighters was not quite so lucky, and aside from the fact that the sword he tried to jab into the bull’s back was thrown from the bull and into the audience area, he was thrown by the bull (rammed into and then thrown around on the bull’s back) not once, but twice. As bad as it is for me to say, that was one of my favorite moments. Overall, I really enjoyed the bullfight and all the tradition it entails, and I am glad we suffered threw the blazing heat (tickets in the sun are significantly cheaper) and random gross moments when blood spurted from the bulls back to take part in such a storied tradition.

A Bad Day for the American Waistline, a Good One for the Spanish Soul

Yesterday when walking down the streets of Triana (my neighborhood) the guy that works at the pastry and coffee shop I frequent recognized my out of context. I feel this could be a sign that I go a little too often. Maybe the first sign should have been when I ordered my usual to go instead of to eat there and I threw off his whole day’s rhythm.

Part of The Family

By the luck of the draw, I have lived with a fantastic Señora for the past three months, someone who I will always consider my Spanish Mom. I would not have thought this when my name was called from the other end of the hotel by CIEE staff and as I nervously walked over to my Señora, decked out in her finest clothes, complete with heels (despite this fact the was still ¾ my height).

I can remember quickly introducing myself and planting a kiss on both cheeks before being asked, “How are you?” My response was truthful “Well, I am pretty nervous”. She responded that there was no reason to be nervous, then grabbed my largest bag and started dragging it through the hotel. I tried to protest, but since at this point my Spanish was horrible (both due to the fact that I had just arrived three days ago and because I was so nervous I don’t think I could have said a proper sentence in English), and since, as I have learned, I have a very stubborn Spanish Mother who refuses to let me do more than an ounce of work, my protests went unheard.

I can also remember walking along the narrow cobblestone streets with my luggage, me with an enormous backpack and suitcase, my Señora with a suitcase half her size. We must have looked like quite the pair. She tried to ask me numerous things, but I couldn’t understand a word (she has a VERY think Andaluz accent…for the record, it is well known that it is the hardest Spanish accent to understand), that is, until she asked, “Do you speak Spanish?” I responded yes, but since I was so nervous I was having a hard time. Most of the rest of our walk and wait for the taxi was in silence, aside from the click of her heels and the sound as my suitcase’s wheels rolled over the cobblestone path (a very distinctive but annoying sound). When in the cab, I caught my Señora looking over at me, inspecting me. I also caught the cabbie trying to stifle laughs as well as a confused look as he glanced in his rearview mirror, trying to figure out what this Spanish woman was doing with a girl who hardly spoke a lick of Spanish.

After a quick tour of my new home, I was left alone to unpack my bags and to wonder what the heck I was thinking when I decided not only to come to Spain, but to live with a Señora. As I unloaded all my possessions I had brought, organizing my armoire, I listened in on the many phone calls my Señora made, reporting to every person on the planet that I had arrived and was very “linda” (this means pretty on the inside) and “guapa” (pretty on the outside). As I was finishing unpacking my bags, I was called to lunch and I nervously approached the kitchen.

Over a lunch of turkey nuggets, fries, and other food I can’t remember, grasping at straws and trying to prove that I wasn’t completely inept, I asked how many other students she had had. “You are my first” she responded, trying to suppress a nervous smile. Suddenly, I thought I had a chance here. At the very least, she wouldn’t be comparing me to her other students, she would just think that all Americans are dumb as rocks. We shared a knowing look, now able to understand each other’s nerves and enjoyed the first of many lunches.

Now, those lunches are not something I dread, but something I look forward to. My Señora is more than just the woman I live with, she is my confidant. When something goes wrong here, I talk to her. When I have news from home, she is the first to hear it. When I have a question about where I can buy a pack of stamps, she is the one I ask. When I have absolutely no idea how I am supposed to peel the new oranges (we have to use knives now), and I royally screw mine up, she takes it, shows me how to peel it, and gives me a new one. When I need a good laugh, I listen to one of her stories (she is a hilarious storyteller, her facial expressions just do me in). We have shared stories of our families (I think she has my family tree memorized), stories of our past, music, pictures, and our lives.

That formal kiss that we planted on each other’s cheeks is no longer used, instead it has been replaced with the one she uses with her family members, where she kisses me numerous times on one cheek making this loud smacking sound (it actually grosses me out a bit). We have also breached Spanish norms and have actually hugged each other, each time one trying to comfort the other.

Now, when I catch my Señora looking at me, it is not a look of inspection, but a look of pride, a broad smile across her face. She has often said that she has noticed a huge change in me, both in regards to my Spanish, as well as growing emotionally (she says I have become a much more confident person, as well as other things). She often parades me around our neighborhood and Sevilla, introducing me to relatives, neighbors and friends.

That heavy Andaluz accent that I struggled with so much in the beginning has not only crept into my ears, but also my mouth, and often times I catch myself pronouncing words the Andaluz way. My Señora is very proud of this, and calls me her little Sevillana.

Now, my Señora no longer calls me with the name I introduced myself with so many weeks ago, but instead uses “Mi hija, guapa, bonita, and at times, mi hermana” (translating to my daughter, beautiful (both guapa and bonita) and my sister). All of these are terms of affection used between close friends and family.

I have not only slowly snuck into the life of my Señora, but also the lives of her family members. My Señora proudly relayed to me the other day that she was talking on the phone to her younger son’s girlfriend when the girlfriend asked what I was up to. In the background, my Señora heard her son yelling at his girlfriend “And what do you care what my sister is up to, she is mine, not yours”. The nieces have also become very possessive of me, having an obsession with an American they met the first week that could barely speak Spanish. Now, I not only speak Spanish well, but have them laughing as I tell them what a hard time I am having trying to dress like other Sevillanos, in a sweater and jeans, in the 90 degree weather (they found this so funny they retold the story to my Señora…twice). The last time the youngest niece came over to try on her Flamenco dress that my Señora was working so hard on, she brought with her trading cards of the statues that are on the Holy Week floats for me.

Because my Señora not only opened her home but also her heart, I think leaving my Señora and my new family here will be harder than when I left my family and friends behind in the States. My friendship with my Señora was an unlikely one, but it has come to be one of my most important ones. I know that I could never have survived this crazy Study Abroad experience without her. I can remember writing in an email, trying to express my concerns about leaving Sevilla to my parents, that I will always have my family at home, but I will not always have my family in Sevilla. Over time though, I have come to realize that while I may not see them as frequently, I will always have my eccentric, copla and flamenco loving Señora and her family.

Fa, A Long, Long Way to Bus, Metro, Plane, Bus, Train: Austria (April 5-April 12)

While most Spring Break students are packing their bikinis and shorts and leaving 30-degree weather behind to head towards 90-degree weather, I was packing gloves, hats, and mittens, saying goodbye to 95-degree weather, and heading to colder temperatures in Austria. As we stepped out of the airport after our epic journey and into Vienna however, we were pleasantly surprised by the “cool” 60-degree weather. We had finally made it to Austria, and we were ready to begin our adventure.

Our Austrian Extravaganza began in Vienna, mostly because it was the cheapest city in Austria to fly into. The highlight of our time in Vienna was the Opera we went to. We were unsure how to obtain the two euro standing room tickets (we just wanted to see the Opera Hall) but some kind, old Austrian man saw five confused, young Americans outside the Opera Hall and asked us if we needed help, then had us follow him around the outside of the hall into a side entrance, where he ordered us to stand in line. We really had no idea what to expect once inside, but luckily, helpful Austrian women taught us to hang our scarves on the railings to save our seats and also taught us how to work the monitors that would translate what was being screeched (some may call it singing). After about 30 minutes of the show we had had enough and headed out to one of the best dinners I have had in my time in Europe (and no, not because of the food).

We had quite the entertaining meal, topped off by me hitting the bench after biting into my pizza crust and hearing a loud crunch. In my typical, overdramatic way, in between laughs and to four very confused faces, I stated that I thought I had chipped my tooth. A second later, when feeling around my mouth, I realized I had, in fact, chipped my tooth. When I confessed this fact, everyone burst out laughing even harder, and I was left not knowing whether to laugh and cry (in the end I did a combination of both). For the rest of the trip I was referred to as Skaggle Tooth (a combination of Snaggle and Buck tooth).

On a spur of the moment decision, half of my group decided to buy train tickets to go on a daytrip to Salzburg. The minute we arrived we second-guessed our decision, since we had been dropped off in a snowstorm (remember, I had left behind 95 degree weather). Luckily, though, the storm tapered off and as the day went on the weather became better and better. The first half of the day we walked around Salzburg, doing a combination of normal site seeing and trips to places where filming was done for the Sound of Music. One of my favorites was hiking up to the Nonnberg Abbey and seeing absolutely breathtaking landscape.

At one point on our walk, we stopped in a narrow alley. We were standing in a triangle talking, when out of nowhere a group of pigeons started dive-bombing. This is a fairly normal occurrence in Sevilla, so I didn’t really react. One of my friends, Dorothy, however, pulled out a matrix move, bending backwards in order to avoid the pigeons’ wrath. I thought that she was totally overreacting, that is until I was “pidge-slapped” in the face. That’s right, I was hit in the forehead with a pigeon’s wing (I have witnesses to back me up). I, of course, was totally freaked out and screamed in an extremely high-pitched voice “It hit me in the head”, attracting the attention of everyone in the square. Dorothy and I were absolutely hysterical, finding the situation hilarious, and I was laughing so hard I was doubled over with tears streaming down my face, attracting even more attention. It took us quite a while to recover from the incident, and for the rest of the day every time a pigeon came near us we practically hit the ground in fear.

The second half of the day in Salzburg was spent on a Sound of Music Tour. Many may find riding around Salzburg singing songs from The Sound of Music, conducted by their tour guide Trudy a bit geeky, but I wouldn’t spend a day in Salzburg any other way. Trudy was so cheesy it was hilarious, and it was a great way to see where the movie was filmed and to see both Salzburg and the surrounding countryside. Much of the tour was spent reenacting scenes from “The Sound of Music”, and I am proud to say I was the only one to climb the trees that the cast did when they are hanging from trees dressed in curtains. After a great, exhausting day in Salzburg, we got back on a train and headed back to Vienna.

The following morning we woke up early and headed off to Hallstatt, a tiny mountain town of 500 people in the lake district of Austria. The train ride in itself was amazing, as we drove along rivers, up mountains, along lakes, and through beautiful countryside. When we finally made it to Hallstatt, I felt as though I had entered a storybook. Hallstatt is a beautiful town (it is a UNESCO World Heritage town) perched above a lake on a mountainside with one river contained by two very old walls that also serve as foundations for the houses ripping through the town center, and with another river lazily running through one far end.

Our walk with all our luggage from one end of the town to the other to get to our apartment took less then fifteen minutes, and along the way we came across many Austrian children anxious to say “hallo” and many elderly men anxious to tip their heads and smile. Our apartment was, just as the rest of the town is, perched above the lake, with a balcony with a beautiful view of the lake and surrounding mountains. Every morning was spent on the balcony eating pastries bought at the local bakery, watching the blazing sun and its reflection in the crystal clear water as it climbed up the sky.

Once settled in, the rest of the group decided to rest for a bit while I took a hike. At one point on my hike, I came across a road that I wasn’t sure if it was private or not, and when an Austrian man (dressed in the typical Austrian clothing) approached with a wheelbarrow full of wood, I pulled out the little German I knew “Privat?” He answered with a slue of German words, and when I gave him what I am sure was a very confused look, he switched to English and we had quite a little chat before he wished me a good hike and we parted ways. I hiked until I reached a good lookout point of the town and then headed towards the sound of rushing water, coming to a bridge crossing the violent river rushing below. After relaxing a bit and enjoying the scenery I headed back in a different direction, following a logging trail back into town.

The following day we all took a hike to a fantastic waterfall fed by a glacier. To get there we hiked through the town, through pastures, past other waterfalls, through evergreen forests covered in snow, over leaf-covered paths, up steep inclines, alongside the rushing river, and over old bridges until finally reaching our destination, a giant waterfall fed from three different directions. After admiring it from the observation area, we hiked down a precarious path to get closer to the water and explored the area, being sure to have good footing so we wouldn’t get swept away in the frigid, fast moving water. We found an area of slower moving water and decided to try the water, having read somewhere that the water was clean enough to drink. Yes, I drank the river water (it was absolutely fantastic) and no, I don’t have E coli…yet. After exploring some more by the river, we continued on a different path to find glacial gardens, an area of different types of landscapes formed by glaciers. We continued hiking up until the path ended, and then headed on our way back down. The rest of the day was spent relaxing after our exhausting hike.

The next day we rented paddleboats to get to the center of the lake. Our original plan had been to take a ferry out across the lake and to hike around half the lake, but since the railroad is out because of a nasty storm that ruined the tracks (for this reason we had to switch from a train to a bus when arriving) and the ferry only is there to take people from town across the lake to the train, the ferry wasn’t running. We had a great time out on the paddleboat nonetheless, and when we were sitting in the middle of the lake I heard this loud rumbling sound. I turned around to see that an avalanche was barreling down the mountainside. I could not believe it, it was quite the thing to experience, and pretty fun to watch from the safety of the lake. Later on that afternoon, under the guidance of our lederhosen-clad apartment owner, we took a bus up to see a glacier and the lake below it. Once again, our original plan had been to hike around the lake, but a massive avalanche had ripped through that side of the lake and the path, so we could only tackle one side. We did this, despite the sign warning “Do not pass, danger of avalanches”. Later on that evening, I took another hike around a less traveled part of town higher up on the mountain where the lake used to reach. I came across more Austrian locals, eager to, at the very least, give a polite nod and a “hallo”.

The next morning we reluctantly left Hallstatt by train, not eager to exchange the peaceful serenity, clean air, beautiful scenery, sounds of birds and water lapping against the shore, and pitch black nights accented by stars, with our hectic lives in Sevilla.

After 16 hours of travel by train, bus and plane, we finally arrived at the Madrid bus station and waited to start our 6-hour drive back to Sevilla. We were welcomed back to Spain by a fight between the rent-a-cops and what we now know was a homeless man. As the first punch was thrown, I eagerly turned to my friends, and said a little too loudly, “He just threw a punch”, attracting the attention of the man sitting behind me. He then tried to strike up conversation with me, asking me where I was from and what I was doing there before trying to offer me his half-eaten sandwich. He continued to ask the same question over and over again, one in which it took us a while to figure out what he was asking. It wasn’t until we were walking away to board our bus, as he yelled after us if he could come with and if I would take care of him, that we realized what he was asking. It turned out that he had mistaken me for a homeless person (yes, I was a bit offended), as he was one as well, and was asking whether or not we thought we were going to be thrown out on the streets like his friend just was. At this we all started laughing hysterically, another mix-up revolving around me. As my friends remarked that only I would be hit on by a random homeless man, I thought to myself both that we were a long way from Hallstatt, Austria, and that there could have been no more appropriate way to be welcomed back into Spain.

Role Reversal: Mom and Dad Come to Visit (March 26- April 3rd)

For the first time in my life, I think I was more worried about my parents than they were worried about me. It is not every day that a situation like this comes along, and it was brought about by another rare occurrence: my parent’s visiting me in Spain. I can’t even begin to explain how good it was to see them.

Showing them around Sevilla was like experiencing the city for the first time all over again. I had forgotten what a loud, chaotic, sometimes overwhelming city it can be. When I arrived in Sevilla, though, I was equipped with what some may say is an essential tool: knowledge of the language. Every time I had to part from my parents to go to class, I worried about them (perhaps a glimpse into life as a parent?) All my worrying however was for naught, as I soon found out. I was incredibly impressed with my parents’ ability to get a handle on the city (while maybe not such a handle on the word “gracias”). Despite the fact that I was worried about them, just as parents say, the worrying was well worth it for the adventure I was able to share with them.

During our time in Sevilla, I showed them my home away from home. We spent our days eating pastries at cafes, wandering the streets of Sevilla both window and actual shopping, and doing some site seeing. I have to admit that I felt proud (both of Mom and Dad and of my city) when we all reached the top of the Giralda (an old Muslim Minaret turned Catholic Bell Tower) and saw Sevilla sprawling below us.

Another moment of pride was when I was finally able to introduce my parents to my Señora. There was a lot riding on the moment, as my Señora had been looking forward to it since before I even knew for sure if they would be coming to visit me. We spent five hours eating an extremely large meal complete with the expensive wine Andalucía is famous for: Tío Pepe (finally my parents were able to sympathize with what I eat every day). I certainly got my Spanish practice in for the day, translating things back and forth and was ready, as my Señora says, to “planchar la lengua” (literally meaning to plant my tongue, that basically means to rest it). Often times I caught my Señora staring at my parents in disbelief that they were actually there. After our five-hour marathon, my Señora stood on the porch waving until we could no longer see her.

Aside from the major Sevilla immersion my parents had when eating with my Señora, another typical experience we all shared was watching a Flamenco show. I made the mistake of not warning them what Flamenco singing sounds like and had to laugh at Mom’s startled reaction to the noise that came out of the singer’s mouth. Both Mom and Dad were astonished to find out that that is what Flamenco music is supposed to sound like. Nonetheless, we had a great time watching the show and all shared a few laughs at both the singer and guitarist’s expense.

Traveling outside of Sevilla was a strange mixture of student-type travel and family travel. We took the cheap transportation (bus) to get to both Granada and Nerja. Later on in the trip Dad was able to experience the craziness that Spain calls public transportation when we were jammed like sardines in a tiny city bus with probably 30 over-perfumed women on their way to a concert. When we arrived in Granada, our travel turned from student to family travel and we stayed in a luxurious hotel with great views of both the city and the Alhambra. I think I surprised my parents just as much as the beauty of the Alhambra did when I demonstrated my newfound confidence and assertiveness in telling off the staff of quite possibly the fanciest hotel in all of Granada (don’t worry, I was in the right). We had a great but tiring time exploring Granada for the day and then were up bright and early to head out to Nerja, a gorgeous beach town.

We were once again spoiled with beautiful accommodations with a massive suite looking over the ocean and the beach, complete with our own private deck. We spent the first day wandering through town and then somehow surviving a treacherous beach hike along a so-called beach path (nowhere on the map did it say the path would include scaling cliffs). After a trip to the Nerja Caves, we had dinner out on our deck, the sounds of waves crashing against the beach filling our ears. The following day was another relaxed day on the beach until we had to tear ourselves away and head back to Sevilla by way of bus and train.

After a great week with my parents, I was sad to have to say goodbye and head back to reality. I waved goodbye through the back window of the taxi and then turned around to face my taxi driver as he asked, “So, do you have a boyfriend?” And just like that, Sevilla was pulling me back into its magnetic grip.

Semana Santa in Sevilla

I think that Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Sevilla is hard to explain to anyone who hasn’t experienced it, especially when I can’t show you pictures as well, but if you are really interested in it, I will be more than happy to share pictures and some video with you when I come home (May 25th). I will however, do my best to try and share a bit of the magic of the week.

No matter what religion or what beliefs someone has, I think it is impossible to not get swept up in the excitement and emotion that is Semana Santa in Sevilla. From the moment I stepped off the bus from Barcelona Sevilla felt different to me, it had a different energy. In truth, the craziness in Sevilla had even started a few days before I left to go to Barcelona; I think I was one of the few leaving Sevilla and not entering. The Wednesday I got home it was a rainy day and the pasos (floats) that were scheduled for that evening’s processions were cancelled. As my Señora and I watched this announcement on T.V. (4 channels have constant coverage of the processions), the screen was filled with band members, costaleros (the guys that carry the floats), and nazarenos (people in outfits that look like KKK outfits that carry candles and are the beginning and end of each float), crying because the event they had prepared for all year had been cancelled.

Thursday for me was spent sleeping, as I was extremely ill and preparing for the night’s festivities. Early Friday morning there is a midnight procession through the streets, and I had been invited to go to my Senora’s cousin’s house to watch the action from her roof (the church where two of the pasos left from is right near by). My roommate, Señora’s nieces, niece’s friend, and niece’s boyfriend, Señora, and myself left at 12:45 in the morning to go to her cousin’s house. Upon arriving, the kids were sent to the roof to enjoy each other’s company and traditional Semana Santa food while we waited for the pasos to leave. This requires a lot more patience than one may think. The procession did not even start until 2:00 am, and this was when the nazarenos left (it was about another 45 minutes until the first paso left). In this time, my Señora’s nieces and friends kept us busy, asking us for swearwords in English and teaching us swearwords in Spanish (something I found highly ironic considering the event) and sharing each other’s company. We also enjoyed watching the crowds grow larger and larger below us (this is a much bigger deal than those of you reading at home think it is).

Finally, around 2:00 am the band began playing and the nazarenos began slowly filing out of the church, their candles lit, in a solemn procession, swaying to the tune of the music. The end to the nazarenos finally came and the crowd fell completely silent as the paso with Jesus on it began to slowly (painstakingly) leave the church. When the paso finally made it out of the church, the crowd erupted in cheers and applause. It was then that the magic really began. The paso actually swayed and moved to the beat of the music with choreographed moves. At times the paso would move slowly, at other points quickly, at times forward and other times backwards. One of my favorite parts was when after the men carrying the paso would rest by ducking down low enough so that the paso could rest on its stand. At this point, the silence would be pierced by a man banging on a wooden knocker, followed by yells from inside the paso and then, out of nowhere, the paso was being thrown into the air so the men could begin their march again. At this point the crowd would go wild again. After the Jesus paso finally made its way out of view, and after another 45 minute of nazarenos, the Virgin Mary paso repeated the process of leaving the church, this time to applause and people yelling “Guapa, Guapa” (“Beautiful, Beautiful). The beauty of the moment was impossible to ignore, with the Virgin’s face lit up by giant candles, the beautiful music being played, the nazarenos filing past, and the cheers from the crowd. It was an incredibly emotion filled moment. The Virgin eventually passed as well, and when the last of the nazarenos filed past at 4:00 am, we all headed back to our houses to get a bit of sleep.

Six and a half hours later we were on our way once again to my Señora’s cousin’s house to see the pasos enter the church they had left hours before. It was a distinctly different atmosphere than during the evening, and it appeared to be more like a carnival, with people selling cotton candy, balloons, and other trinkets and junk food as we walked to the house. We had to weave through massive crowds in order to make it to the house, but we finally made it and headed up to the roof. The crowds were even bigger than the night before, and I was glad to have my perch with a view from above. It took hours for the first nazarenos to come and they appeared to be dead men walking after having walked for ten hours (some of them barefoot as a way of repenting). The first paso finally made its way, barreling through the crowd (people were allowed to mill in the streets in front of it). When it appeared that the paso was finally going to disappear into the church, it burst right back out to the beat of the music, and the crowd went wild. It was quite the spectacle. As it finally made its way in, a man on a balcony began singing a saeta, a traditional song sung to the paso and its carriers, and the crowd went silent. When he was finished, the crowd erupted again and anxiously awaited the paso with the Virgin. When she finally made her way down the street, the candles from the night before still blazing, people threw rose petals down from their balconies and cheered “Guapa, Guapa”. There was chaos as people tried to break through police barricades and touch the paso, overcome with emotion. I really thought for a moment that I was going to witness a stampede. The Virgin paso repeated the trick of bursting back out of the church and then it finally entered to the sound of the saeta. We watched as nazarenos, costaleros, and band members milled about the church, crying as they had just fulfilled their penitence and would have to wait another year to do it again. It was an experience that I will never forget and that I will forever be grateful to my Señora for sharing it with me.

Saturday my Señora had her sons and their girlfriends over for a big lunch, after which we all went out for coffee and traditional Semana Santa pastries, torrijas. It was, to say the least, a very overwhelming experience, but at the same time a perfect way to celebrate Semana Santa. After that my roommate and I went to the town center to watch more pasos as well as the crowd. After walking around for awhile and just seeing what we could run into, we decided to do it the Spanish way and got some drinks at an outdoor bar and watched the pasos pass while enjoying glasses of wine. The pasos were cut short due to a sudden downpour, and it was madness as people ran through the streets seeking shelter. When my roommate and I finally made it home, we watched on T.V. as the pasos were being carried at the fastest pace I had seen, seeking shelter at the nearest church.

Being part of Semana Santa in Sevilla was an absolutely amazing experience. As I sat on the roof at night, watching the nazarenos pass by, talking to my Señora’s nieces, I really felt as though I would rather be nowhere else in the world.

An Easter Miracle: I ate pork for the first time in 6 years and realized once again why I don’t like it.

Tapa, Tapa (Version 1): Barcelona

It is rare to find friends where you can pick up right where you left off without any awkward pauses or moments after months apart. Those however, are exactly the kind of friend I have. This past week we met up in Barcelona to share memories, stories, moments, and most importantly, laughs. Barcelona itself is not an extremely remarkable city. My friends however, made it remarkable.

It is hard to say what my favorite part of the trip was. Perhaps it was our adventure at the beach when we stumbled upon a giant rope tower and decided it would be a great idea to join the kids and climb to the top. It could have been finding ourselves at quite possibly one of the most dangerous parks with a crazy teeter totter-like structure suspended in the air while walking towards the dead Tree of Life. Maybe it was watching Matt try to jam himself into pillowcases in order to keep himself warm at night (who really pays 2 euros for another sheet or blanket?). It could have been using Heather’s “Tapa, Tapa” phrase to agree to a statement in a positive manner (until we actually went to the restaurant Tapa Tapa and were disappointed by the food). Maybe it was even our failed trip to see the Magic Fountains that neglected to share their magic with us (apparently the show is only on Fridays and Saturdays). Perhaps it was seeing the “Silence” sign when entering the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral that is still under construction after years and years of work. It could quite possibly be our hiking trip to Montserrat, a mountain with a monastery where we took a train, cable car, funicular, and our legs to share lunch bought at the open-air market and spectacular views from the highest point of the entire mountain. It could also be us running through the train station in order to make the train to go to Montserrat. Maybe it was watching Matt nearly fall to his death about every 5 minutes on the hike. It could be Tyler’s one-line jokes thrown in at the perfect moment. Or maybe it was the ever-present repetition of something someone just said only to be followed by Heather’s “Guys, we don’t listen to each other!” It was possibly trying to beat AJ’s time while racing through a giant hedge maze (needless to say, I was the last one every time… “Laura, have you reached the middle yet?”, “There’s a middle?!”). Maybe it was wandering down the streets of Barcelona, seeing what we could stumble upon next. Maybe, just maybe, it was all these adventures and every laugh, every sharp comment, every expensive piece of bread, every bicker, and every moment in between.

I don’t know if I can explain the flood of emotions on parting ways with my friends yet again. It was a phenomenal experience to be able to share my study abroad experience, one of the best things I have ever done in my life, with some of the people I care about most. It was sad to leave them and head back to life in Sevilla, but at the same time I know I have many adventures left.

As I stepped off the bus and back into Sevilla, the first thing that hit me was the smell of the Orange Blossoms, welcoming me home again. The second smell that hit me was the overwhelming smell of incense… Semana Santa (Holy Week) in Sevilla had begun, and soon I was to be a part of it.

Just When I Thought I Had Survived the Worst

I ate some kind of cold, raw fish for dinner last night, it is not an experience I want to repeat...ever.

What I Did this Weekend Instead of Studying

1) Bought plane tickets to Austria.

2) Bought bus tickets to Madrid so I can get on my plane to Austria.

3) Church-hopped. Semana Santa (Holy Week) is quickly approaching, and I think it is safe to say that the biggest celebration is here in Sevilla. Weeks ago preparations began for the many processions that will take place with pasos (floats that weigh thousands of kilos adorned with statues, gold, fancy fabrics, candles, etc.) throughout Sevilla and throughout the week. A friend and I spent Friday afternoon going to the many different churches to get a preview of the festivities to come. When we planned on going to check the pasos out, we had no idea that half of Sevilla would be doing the same. Really though, I cannot blame them. We had two churches in mind to visit, but as we wandered around Sevilla, we entered into any church with its doors open and surrounded by crowds, and at every entrance we were amazed. Every church had at least two floats, some with four. Aside from the floats, the statues themselves (some have yet to be added) were an attraction themselves. Hundreds lined up to get a good view of the Weeping Virgin and Jesus carrying the cross; we had joined a pilgrimage. We entered one church that we pass everyday on our way to school but has been closed since we arrived, and were completely amazed by the interior. We never would have thought the humble church on whose steps students botellon (bring their own alcohol to “pre-game” before going out for real) would have such an ornate interior. We entered another church to see a long line of people waiting to kiss the feet of Jesus, after which two guys in old-fashioned purple knight-outfits would wipe the feet with their gloved hands. What started out as an opportunity to take some pictures of the pasos in all their glory before they hit the streets next week ended as an opportunity to partake in a once in a lifetime experience.

4) Made my Señora cry. Somehow the topic came up that I was halfway done with my program (a subject I have tried to avoid as it makes my Señora sad every time) and before I knew it, my Señora was crying just thinking about it. And I don’t mean just a few tears, I mean weeping, even 10 minutes after the real crying had stopped I could hear her sniffling while preparing our lunch. She has already demanded that I come back to visit Caitlin (she already has it planned out that Caitlin will be studying in Spain and living with her), that I come to visit with my husband, then with my kids, and then with my grandkids. I can’t even imagine how hysterical she will be when I leave in exactly 2 months (time is going by WAY to fast).

5) Went on yet another adventure with my geography professor. I should know by now that when my geography professor plans an outing for us it will be anything but ordinary. I experienced this on the reforestation trip, our hike, and now on our “plant identification trip”. This trip was to the mountains north of Sevilla with other university students, professors, and people just plain obsessed with plants. I was delighted to see that my Spanish friend Antonio that I met at the reforestation was along on the trip, and I took the opportunity to catch up with him and pick his brain on places to visit in Spain. Our bus drove around dangerous curves (I am really surprised I didn’t die) for 45 min. only to drop us in the middle of nowhere. There were no cities or houses, or even a trailhead, in sight, just mountain after mountain. We split into groups and then headed on our respective paths to identify plants. Oddly enough, 12 hours of identifying plants was not as boring as it sounds. Our professor basically told us we didn’t have to pay attention to the plant identification but instead enjoy the absolutely fantastic weather and views. This turned the plant identification trip into a hike with breaks. After hiking for 4 hours we arrived at our designated lunch spot with a one-room building. Inside volunteers were preparing lunch for those actually doing work over a fire. In true Spanish style, the lunch break turned into a 2.5-hour party, complete with alcohol, food, Semana Santa pastries, and coffee. While the others filled out information about plants (this took forever since it was mixed in with smoking, drinking, eating, and socializing) we were able to relax in the sun perched on top of a mountain: not a bad way to spend a beautiful afternoon. As each group finished filling out the information, they headed back to where our bus would pick us up. My group left second to last, leaving one group behind. We finally arrived at our bus (we were all pretty exhausted after a long day in the sun) only to find out that the group left behind was now lost somewhere in the mountains. People had cell phones but since we were literally in the middle of nowhere calls were being dropped constantly. In the typical laidback Spanish manner one student said, “Ten people missing, no big deal, let’s head home”. My professor and those in charge were obviously a bit more concerned (aside from the joke that my vulture-obsessed professor kept making about just searching for the circling vultures to find the missing). After waiting 1.5 hours and talking with the police we got in the bus and started searching the mountains for the missing people. After another 45 minutes of searching we found them, in the complete opposite direction than they should have been heading (I have absolutely no idea how they went that way…perhaps all that alcohol was not a good idea). We headed home after a gorgeous day in the mountains with good company, happy to have everyone that we started with. A side note: we were given gifts once again, this time a bit more practical: a t-shirt and rain poncho.

6) Got sunburned. Let’s face it; no matter how much sunscreen I wear, I will always get burned, especially in the Spanish sun.

7) Talked to my greasy sister (and clean Mom and Dad) on Skype.

Because I Enjoy Being Random

Politics

Spain's elections are this Sunday (they do it on Sunday so no one has an excuse not to vote) and I have to say that I will be ready for that to be over with. As my Señora said the other day, "As the elections get closer and closer all they do is yell louder and louder". I guess some things are the same in every country.

School

The University of Sevilla Students are on strike right now, which means no one is going to class. Unfortunately, I am still going to class.

Lunch

I am relatively certain I ate lamb meatballs for lunch today.

Spring

As much as our professors and program directors tells us that we are in Sevilla to study (as in go to classes), we all know that the most learning is going on outside of classes: on our travels, at our home stays, and in the streets. I have four exams next week, and the whole idea that I need to study for these exams is really wearing on me, especially with the start of spring in Sevilla.

The last few days I have ditched all responsibilities and have decided to continue my studies outside of class enjoying the weather. Monday I spent the afternoon in a park near to my house, people watching and reading. I stayed until the day wound down and then walked through the orange tree lined streets back home. Tuesday I spent the morning at the main park in Sevilla, María Luisa, soaking in the sun and eating lunch with friends. Wednesday, we stopped for ice cream as we walked through the city center in Sevilla, over the bridge into Triana, (my neighborhood) and home. I don’t really think spring in Spain could get any better (except for when family and friends come to visit…the countdown is on).

For my grades’ sake, please pray for some rain…

Planes, Trains, Automobiles, and a Good Set of Legs: Paris

Last Thursday was “Día de Andalucía” which meant an extra day off, giving all of us students a “puente” or extended break. For my group of friends and myself, this meant a trip to Paris. Most people would think that Paris would be just a hop away from Spain. For the cheap college student (myself) Paris was more like a hop, skip, jump, and 14 hours away. We left at 11:00 pm Wednesday night, taking a 6-hour bus-ride to Madrid. Once arriving in Madrid we had to take the train to get to the Airport, from where we took a 2-hour plane ride to Paris. Once arriving in Paris we took another train to get to the station closest to our hotel, and then walked the rest of the distance to our hotel in the pouring rain with all our luggage, arriving at our hotel at 1:30 in the afternoon. It is times like those that I wish I was rich and didn’t care about spending the money on an incredibly expensive flight from Sevilla and paying for taxis. But then again, if I was, what good stories would I be able to write about here?

Our hotel was an incredible improvement from our last hostel in Madrid, with a cute sitting and breakfast area, friendly staff, and most importantly clean rooms. We were all starving when we arrived and asked the owner for a suggestion for a good place to eat nearby and she suggested this local pizza place. Here, we ran into a first experience with a language barrier. We had hoped that if people didn’t speak English they would speak Spanish, but this was not that case. As we tried to understand what was being told to us about a special deal for buying pizzas to go, the entire restaurant was staring at us. It was a very uncomfortable experience. Never before have I traveled in a place where I haven’t known the dominant language, and I felt like a very ugly American. Traveling throughout Spain we had taken for granted our ability to communicate, and many times when in Paris we would start responding in Spanish only to realize that the language we have been honing for the last 2 months was absolutely useless to us (just as English is in Sevilla). It was a very odd experience and I give even more credit to any immigrant, I was ready to go back to a language I understood in 4 days time.

After eating our first real meal in 15 hours and taking a rest we headed out to the Eiffel Tower. Our initial plan had been to have dinner/lunch on the lawns near the Tower, but the strong winds, rain, and what my wussy Spanish body now calls cold temperatures prevented us from doing so. We were able to see the Tower once the rain stopped, but we all agreed that it is a rather hideous and almost frightening structure during the day. As we hung out by the river that evening, we were able to see it light up, transforming it completely. Later that night we went to the top of the Tower; it was an extraordinary experience with a magnificent view of the city, with the winds whipping around us. As we were watching the city, the bulbs on the Tower started blinking as the do every hour on the hour. We did the majority of our city watching from the 2nd level and from there headed to the 3rd and final level. I have to admit that I was a bit terrified as we headed up to the top; I just wanted the elevator to stop. You really do not realize how high up you are until you are riding to the top, seeing the city shrinking the higher up you are. Once we got our fair shares of sights and thrills, we headed back down to the 2nd level from where we hiked to the bottom to maximize our 11 euros and views.
The other days were spent at the Louvre, the Orsay Museum, the Arc de Triomphe, Sainte-Chapelle, Notre Dame Cathedral, Versailles, and just wandering around Paris. For me, the Louvre was nothing special, just crowded with an overrated painting you may know as the “Mona Lisa” (especially hilarious due to the fact that it is a tiny painting mounted in a glass case on a GIANT wall). Interesting fact about the “Mona Lisa”: for 3 years it was missing because some obsessed museum worker had it rolled up underneath his bed. I much preferred the Orsay Museum (thanks Dad for the recommendation) as the crowds were much smaller, the size much more doable, and the paintings better. The afternoon spent there was a great one. Versailles was another overrated sight for us, once again overrun with crowds. We were also surprised at both its lack of furniture (I have a good imagination but not that good of one) and its lack of descriptions in any other language besides French. The only thing they had written in another language were signs telling you not to do something. My favorite part of Versailles was the garden area, and I can just imagine how magical it is with everything in bloom and the fountains on high power.

Sainte-Chapelle and Notre Dame Cathedral were definite favorites. Sainte-Chapelle was a cathedral built to house the supposed relic of the “Crown of Thorns” and it has practically floor to ceiling stained glass windows, each section telling a story from the Bible. The cathedral was deceiving, because you enter on a plain floor that served as the church for commoners. To get to the main sight, you had to walk up a spiral staircase. I knew I was in for a treat when my friend Dorothy, who was walking in front of me, turned around with a look of amazement. Seconds later, I was stepping into a sun and color soaked room. It was absolutely amazing. It was fun to watch people’s faces as they entered the main church, everyone with the same dazzled expression. The Notre Dame was another great experience, upon entering and seeing the famous rose shaped stained glass windows I actually had goose bumps. Just as amazing was the climb up the bell towers in search of the Hunchback. Oddly enough, the walk up was not as horrible as we thought it would be (400 steps after 2 days of intense walking all across Paris, through airports, train and bus stations seemed very daunting) aside from the rancid smell in the staircase (blamed on the Hunchback), and the view was definitely worth it. Something that continues to amaze me as I cathedral jump from city-to-city and country-to-country is the amount of detail and the beauty of the buildings built so long ago with so little technology.

Another favorite part of the trip was window-shopping along Champs-Elysees, the main street in Paris with high-class stores that leads up to the Arc de Triomphe. The Arc de Triomphe meant another set of stairs, leading to another beautiful night view of Paris and a perfect sendoff as the Eiffel Tower started blinking again. We wound down the night eating crepes on Champs-Elysees, people watching and enjoying each other’s company. There could not have been a better way to wind down the trip.

Sunday, of course, meant another long-haul home. We were welcomed back to Sevilla with the ever-present catcalls, but even better the smell of orange blossoms. In the time we were in Paris, spring had begun in Sevilla. (Just so you all know, today it is 75 degrees). It felt good to be back to a country where I actually understood the language, although it was a little rough after 15 hours of travel to communicate with my Señora. I fell asleep that night with the smells of orange blossoms wafting into my room, welcoming me back.

A Walk in The Sublime

On Friday I went with my Ecology Interest Group to the Vía Verde, which is basically an old train route that has been turned into a hiking trail. The trail actually reminded me of “Tunnel Trail” as throughout the hike we walked through 6 very long tunnels. The highlight of the hiking however, was not the tunnels, but instead the views.

I already know what the reactions of my roommates at home are going to be when they read this, but the hike reminded me of my American Environmental Studies Class and William Cronon (also know as Genius) and his theory on sublime landscapes. Matt, I can see you now, shaking your head in disbelief. Pam, you are sitting on the edge of your seat eagerly waiting to hear about the god of environmental history. And Margaret, well, Margaret you are laying on the couch half dead eating an airhead.

So anyways, in my class we learned about how in the past when humans viewed wilderness, they saw it as sublime- a landscape that struck fear in the hearts of all good Christians, an awe-inspiring landscape, but never beautiful. These landscapes were always painted the same way- a towering mountain with dark clouds looming overhead, framed by vegetation. Well, aside from the fact that I wasn’t in America, I felt like I had stepped into one of those paintings. I can easily see how years ago people believed God loomed above those peaks, waiting to strike them down. I can also see how they inspired fear. As we walked along the Vía Verde, our voices accompanied by the low braying of sheep and the bells tied around their necks, sights of tall cliffs with vultures circling came into view. I would say it was beautiful, those living in the Romantic era would have run in the opposite direction.

One of the most bizarre moments was when we stopped at this rest station and paid money to watch live footage of vultures with the cameras they have mounted on the cliffs. For some reason, people here are absolutely obsessed with vultures. The American students couldn’t really figure the whole thing out and one student said in disgust “They are the filth of the earth!” After watching both live and taped footage (they have 8 hours of footage for every day) we headed back to our starting point. When we arrived, our professor excitedly told us that we would be going to see a 500-year old tree, a tree that Spain has made a National Monument. So we walked the 15 minutes to get to this National Monument, and all another student and I could think of as we were looking at it was how badly we wanted to climb it. We then got to discussing how we would probably be sent to jail for messing with a National Monument, especially if a branch broke. As we circled the tree my friend reached up and grabbed onto one of the branches. Our professor actually screamed. He looked terrified, I swear, the world almost came to an end. Our prediction was right, you mess with a 500-year old tree and a National Monument and you may actually be sent to jail. Wouldn’t that be the headline: “Two American College Students Sent to Jail for Braking Branch of National Monument”. I hope you have some bail money ready Mom and Dad, we are planning a midnight climbing party soon…

I Swear I am Not Exaggerating (Madrid)

I spent the weekend in quite possibly the sketchiest hostel in all of Madrid. Some of you may be thinking, I know Laura, I am sure it wasn’t as bad as she says it was. If you were thinking this, you would be wrong, oh so wrong. It should have been a sign when our cab driver had neither heard of the place or the street before. Well, really, the first sign should have been that we were staying at a place called Berlin Hostel when we were in Madrid. Anyways, after being dropped off a ways away from our hostel and just wandering around until we found it, we knew we were in for it. The hostel was on a hole-in-the-wall street, with out even a light-up sign (even the trashy places have these). Once again, you may be thinking, Oh, how quaint. Once again, you would be wrong. So, we had to walk away from the sign to even get to the hostel door where we had to be buzzed up. Upon stepping into the stairway, I knew we were in for a treat, and not the sweet kind, this was the kind that you put in your mouth and spit out and then find the nearest bottle of bleach to disinfect your mouth. We nervously walked up the steps and would have passed the hostel if there had not been someone standing at the door. My eyes wandered up from the guy standing at the door and I saw, I kid you not, a piece of old, stale, chewed bread on top of the hostel door. I walked in chuckling, said that we had reservations and asked him a few questions (Was there a curfew?, Did they have a map of Madrid?, etc). The answer to all of my questions was no. How can you run a hostel without of a map of the city? The “hostel” was basically two apartments with walls knocked out. The “common room” was a room with 2 decrepit couches covered in a haze of smoke. I wandered past the 8 other rooms in the place to the bathrooms to discover that in one the faucet wasn’t attached and that in the other the toilet was not completely attached to the ground so gross toilet water was seeping from the bottom. We had 2 separate rooms and we split up and got settled into our rooms. Our room had a window in it with a curtain over it. I know what you are thinking, A window, that’s nice. It would have been nice, if that window didn’t look into the room next door.

We dropped off our bags and quickly fled the disgusting place we would call home for the next two nights, heading off to the Prado. For those of you that don’t know, the Prado is a very large art museum that houses the most famous Spanish Painters. In order to get the student discount, I was carded and asked how old I was. I felt like I was in the U.S. when I was able to say, “21, as of yesterday” (so maybe it wasn’t the same kind of carding as most newly 21 year olds in the U.S. get…). It was really amazing to see all the paintings that I have studied in my Spanish classes throughout the years in their massive size, the originals right there in front of me. After finishing up at the Prado, we stopped to get some snacks and then went to stop back at our hostel. When we arrived, we were greeted with another surprise, part of my group couldn’t get into their room, their key didn’t work. There was of course, no staff member to be found, and when we tried calling their “emergency numbers” no one picked up. We resigned ourselves to the fact that the 5 of us would have to push 3 beds together and sleep like that for the night, then demand our money back in the morning and flee, never to be seen there again. If we hadn’t been making so many jokes about the situation, it could have been pretty bad. After waiting a little longer, we left a note behind explaining the situation and went out to dinner. When we came back at night, we were surprised to see staff in the common room, smoking away. We were a little sad, hoping we would have a good reason to demand our money back the following morning, but now it looked like we would be staying the entire weekend. Later that night, as we were examining our tiny little lock, one of my friends was debating putting a chair in front of the door (believe it or not, they were more freaked out than I was). As he was moving the chair around, one of the owners actually barged into our room, yelling at us for making too much noise (mind you, she was in the room next door smoking and noisily watching T.V. with her friends). We went to bed laughing about what a crazy day it had been.

In the morning, I headed with a friend to the Royal Palace, where we were amazed by the lavish decorations; I would not mind living there. We then wandered around Plaza Mayor (basically just a huge courtyard) until I met up with my friend from home, Ryan (Ryan, if you are reading this, I am sorry but I have to brag a little about you). I met up with him amidst a protest that was going on and we spent the rest of the afternoon and evening wandering around, with Ryan showing me the main points of interest in Madrid. I was amazed at how well he knew the city; it seemed wherever we went he knew where we were headed. I had an excellent afternoon and evening with an excellent friend, getting caught up on everything that had happened since I had last seen him in August and even following our tradition and going to a Starbucks to sit and talk. Unfortunately, it was a bit full and we were forced to sit on the ground outside, I am surprised people didn’t start throwing money at as. Ryan left me at my ever-so-pleasant hostel that evening, commenting on how sketchy it looked just from the outside.

The following morning my group and I got up (despite the fact that there was no electricity in the hostel the entire morning), joyfully checked out of our hostel, and headed to Reina Sofia, another big art museum in Madrid known for its Picasso collection. We must have looked like quite the group, dirty (we all had the feeling that if we dared to shower at the hostel we might be dirtier than when we entered) trekking across Madrid with our bags. We finally got to the Reina Sofia (thanks to my excellent navigational skills) and were waiting in an impossibly long line due to the fact that the museum is free on Sundays, when some nice man told us we wouldn’t be able to get in at that entrance with our bags and pointed us to a different one. Surprisingly, this line took 5 minutes in comparison to the 30-minute line, plus we were able to stash all our gear. We got to see the main pieces, but the museum was so packed that it was hard to really appreciate all the art. We left Reina Sofia and continued trekking across Madrid to the Bus Station like the poor college students that we are--preferring to walk the 35-45 minute walk with all our bags than pay for a cab.

It was a crazy but great weekend and as we boarded the bus, we all agreed on one thing, at least wherever we stayed from here on out could not be any worse…hopefully.

So, I'm 21

I must first apologize for not posting earlier, things have been a bit more than crazy for me lately.

As many of you may know, I was a bit disappointed about not spending my 21st Birthday in the U.S., but I must say that Spain exceeded my expectations in terms of providing a good birthday, mostly thanks to my Señora.

The Wednesday night before my Birthday I had gone out with some friends for Tapas and my first "Legal" (if I was in U.S.) drink at midnight. I arrived home around 12:45 and tiptoed into the house, not wishing to disturb my Señora. My Señora had other plans, she came running around the corner screaming "Happy Birthday" and other crazy things. She then attacked me with Birthday kisses before running into her room to retrieve something. She handed me a bag and a card and I asked if I should wait until tomorrow to open it and I got one of those looks I have become accustomed to here (a why would you do a thing like that look). So I opened the gift to find a blue scarf and a card signed by not just my Señora but also her sons and their girlfriends. I was already off to a great birthday.

Thursday, my Señora spent much of the day talking in hushed tones and sneaking around the house, something was up. Amidst all this commotion, her neighbors stopped by to wish me a Happy Birthday and fawned over me for a solid 20 minutes before telling me that when they were 21 they were both married and one had 2 kids. After this excitement passed I went to class and when I came back for dinner, my suspicions were confirmed, my Señora was throwing me a surprise Birthday Party. She had invited every foreign exchange student in the apartment, along with their Señoras and had a cake from the famous pastry shop La Campana, complete with the number candles. The party was quite the event and by far my favorite part of the day. I reluctantly left the party to head out with some friends for a few drinks, but we didn't last long as we had to get up at 6:00 to head to Madrid (more on that later).

It may not have been the traditional American 21st Birthday, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. After all, when in Spain...

I Blame My Parents

I have been given a lot of foods here that I have absolutely no idea what they are and would rather eat in blissful ignorance, foods that I know what they are and don’t want to eat, or foods that I know what they are and have absolutely no idea how to properly eat them. I, for the most part, have been doing well with all circumstances. If I have no idea what I am eating but it is decent, I continue eating it, without asking what is in it for fear my mind would win out over my stomach. If it is a food that I know I don’t like, I have adapted a good, take a bit, chew once, take a gulp of water, swallow, take a bite of bread method that has served me rather well. If I know what the food is but not how to eat it, I wait until someone else starts eating and follow suit. This last method was serving me very well, until yesterday.

My Señora spent the majority of the morning preparing a very traditional meal as both her sons were going to be joining us for lunch. Usually, since her sons seem to have a bit of trouble with punctuality, I eat before they arrive and then they eat and then we all go to the family room to talk after. For some reason, despite the fact that her sons came an hour and a half later than we usually eat, my Señora had me, my new roommate, my Señora and her two sons sit down together for lunch at a table that is a tight fit for three, let alone five. We were all sitting and talking, and then she handed me a plate with rice and an artichoke. Sure, I have eaten artichoke dip, but never a whole artichoke, is it even normal to eat such a thing?

So there I am, with my artichoke, trying to figure out how the heck I am going to eat this thing, I don’t even know what parts are supposed to be eaten. You would think my method of waiting, watching, and then eating would have worked, this assumption would be wrong. My Señora and one of her sons only had part of the artichoke and my roommate and the other son were eating their artichokes in completely different ways. I was totally lost and thought that the best course of action would be to just dig in. So, being the ever so food-cultured child that I am, I decided it would be a great idea to take a whole outer leaf, some rice, and shove it in my mouth. Upon chewing I realized that I had definitely taken the wrong course of action, but I still didn’t know how to properly eat the thing. I finally got the hang of it, or so I thought. I also thought I had been discreet enough in my lack of knowledge, but as I was finishing up my meal, my Señora says “Laura, here in Spain we eat artichokes like this” and demonstrates by taking a bite of the bottom of the leaf. And just when I thought I had conquered Spanish food…

Finally Some Rain in Spain

This weekend was another eventful one, despite the fact that “No estaba católica” (Don’t worry Mom, I did not convert religions, it only means that I wasn’t feeling well). My Señora has been trying to help me combat my cold with lots of warm milk and honey, as well as a prayer or two.

Saturday my friends and I woke up early to go the Mercadillo, a giant Black Market with everything from cured meat to knock-off designer bags. My friend’s Señora accompanied us, and as we were entering the market, someone’s hubcap came flying off and rolled into a crowd of people, hitting someone in the leg. My friends’ Señora’s reaction was priceless; you would have thought the world was coming to an end as she yelled “Díos Mío”. The market was quite an experience, women throwing shoes onto tables yelling out what fine quality they are, men trying to sell imitation purses, Black Market CD’s blasting from speakers, and people bustling everywhere. It was an odd mix between the Madison’s Farmers Market, a carnival, the rollaway vendors you see in big cities, and a thrift shop.

After our bizarre experience at the Mercadillo, we headed to the city center to do some shopping at less questionable locations on the main shopping streets, Sierpes and Tetuan. Nothing but stores and cafés line the streets here, and it is yet another great place to people watch. After shopping ‘till we dropped, we crossed the city center underneath the glow of the Cathedral and went to enjoy a nice dinner. We dined on Italian Food at a restaurant built around the old Arab Baths, in a Spanish city center. If that is not a jumble of cultures I do not know what is.

Sunday I woke up early to go on a “senderismo” (hike) in Aracena, a small mountain town outside of Sevilla. Unfortunately, it finally decided to rain in Spain (only the 2nd time since I have been here, creating a water shortage scare) and when we got to Aracena our hike was cancelled. This did mean however, that we got to enjoy the caves of Aracena. The whole town is built on top of the most marvelous caves I have ever seen. The hike through one of them took 45 minutes as we wound in and around, down and over giant stalactites and stalagmites and looked into 33-meter deep lakes and streams with their crystal clear water. It was quite the surreal experience. Cameras were strictly forbidden, so I have nothing to show for that amazing adventure. After our cave experience (something I have been waiting to do since I arrived here) we drove to where we would have ended our 12 kilometer hike, a White Hill Town (a town with whitewashed houses perched on top of the mountain) to enjoy the breathtaking views and enjoy our lunches just as the sun started to come from behind the clouds. I have to admit that I didn’t think Spain’s countryside would be beautiful, but I have been taken by surprise by the tree-covered mountains accented with old castles, White Hill Towns, crosses rising out of nowhere on the tops of mountains, and tiny but beautiful churches.

The rain held off again until we all made it home, and it has been raining since. I spent the remainder of the rainy evening watching Black Market DVDs in an attempt to continue improving my Spanish as well as enjoy my last day of freedom before real classes start on Monday.

A Few of the Many Lessons Learned

Never walk too closely to apartments buildings. This lesson was learned after watching a very large potted plant fall four stories, its terracotta planter shattering on the ground.

If you park a car somewhere, it may not be in the same spot you left it when you return. This was learned after watching someone push a parked car several meters from its original location in order to fit his car in.

My Señora likes bass, a lot. This was learned after asking my Señora if she had the “Song of Sevilla” and if I could borrow it. She found the CD, put it in the player and turned up the the bass. I don’t think anything is quite as funny as watching my petite Señora dancing to the "Song of Sevilla" while her expensive china rattled in the china cabinets to the beat of the bass.

Vinegar and Strawberries is not that bad of a combination.

I don’t like fish, even if it is fried.

A glass of hot milk before bed is just as disgusting as I thought it would be.

Explaining Wisconsin weather to my Señora is an impossible task.

Travel is expensive. (Tickets bought to date: Paris and Barcelona).

A Perfectly Spanish Weekend

A Warning: This is quite a long entry, perhaps to compensate for my horrible post about Granada.

This weekend was action-packed, and was Spanish in every way: wine by the river, new Spanish friends, ironic gifts, getting lost, general chaos, fútbol, pastries in the plaza, “Se llama copla” and, of course, lots of smoke.

On Friday I ventured with a friend to the Estadio Ramon Sanchez-Pizjuan, the home of the Sevilla Fútbol Club, to buy eight tickets to Saturday’s game. Somehow, we made it to the stadium taking a number of different buses, magically ending up where we needed to be. We nervously approached the ticket counter and got our tickets, and headed on our way home, taking a series of different buses. We were in fact, feeling pretty proud of ourselves for making it to the stadium, buying our tickets, and making it home without incident.

After arriving home and having dinner with my Señora, her cousin, and the cousin’s 2 ½ year old son (who recited the colors to me in English), I headed out to meet my friends from Granada that were visiting for the weekend, and we sat by the river and shared Señora stories, travel plans, and other random adventures.

Saturday I woke up at 7:30, ready to head out to a National Park in the region of Huelva to plant trees with my Ecology Interest Group. The four of us Americans met up with our Interest Group Leader and over 60 other Spaniards, we were certainly the minorities. My leader will also be a professor for one of my classes, so I better like him. Upon arriving at the site, we were given mini-backpacks complete with our lunches, a can of hairspray, a can of hair mousse, and hair gel. The four of us laughed at this extremely random gift, here we were on an environmental project, being given aerosol sprays. When we asked why we were given these ironic gifts, we were told that the hair product company was the sponsor. This demonstrates that a lot of times in Spain things are one step forward and two steps back (also witnessed by the hoards of Spaniards smoking in a National Park, their cigarettes littering the countryside).

Before we could even begin planting, we were taken on a little tour of a very small section of the area we would be working on, where we were primarily shown invasive species. At one point the head of the tour yelled, “This is our enemy, attack!” (in Spanish of course) and started pulling of branches. To my surprise, the group actually charged the bushes, breaking branches, stumps, and felling trees. This was of course, doing more harm than good as they were leaving the roots intact, but I think it was supposed to be more symbolic, plus, it gave us Americans something to laugh about (this was supposed to be reforestation, not deforestation).

Once planting began we were paired up with other Spaniards (I was with my Professor) and we worked on planting trees throughout the area. It was pretty impressive to look around and see so many people busily working, although at the end there were more people smoking than working. After our hard work, we headed out to the Pine Forest, a picnic area (complete with bar) that is very similar to an American park, to eat our lunches. We ate with one of our new Spanish friends, a guy that is going to start his first job on Monday working for the National Park we were at. We once again shared laughs about the hair products (he thought it was just as ridiculous as we did), and enjoyed a nice day in the sun.

After a long day of hard work and new friends, I headed home with another new Spanish friend to prepare for what was sure to be a fantastic evening of fútbol, stopping along the way at a plaza to get a pastry and people watch.

My Señora was just excited as I was that I was going to the game, and had even lent me her son’s Sevilla scarf to wear to the game. My group met up and eagerly started our journey to the stadium. Remember however, how my friend and I were feeling proud for conquering the Spanish transportation system? Well, I guess pride got the best of us. After getting lost in Sevilla (par for the course by now, we spend ¾ of our time here lost) and taking numerous buses, we finally found our way to the stadium where the celebration was already in full swing.

After eating dinner on the stairs outside the stadium, we entered, thinking we had conquered our largest obstacle, we were wrong. In typical Spanish style, nothing is labeled, so we wandered into section after section, not finding our seats. We asked numerous concession stand workers, but they claimed they didn’t know (once again, good ‘ole Spanish service). Finally I found a security person and asked him, at which time we were told we could sit anywhere within the gate we had walked in and that the numbers on our tickets were worthless (this would have been good to know before). We found our way to someone else’s seats while watching someone light a red smoke bomb and someone else dance in the smoke and play a drum. The game was quite exciting, but not as crazy as I thought it would be (perhaps I am used to it from Badger games?). We were tied up at 1-1 until literally the last minute of regulation play, when one of the Sevilla players was taken down in the box. This of course, meant a penalty kick, and the entire stadium collectively held their breath. He shot, and he scored. The crowd went wild; the announcer did not. Apparently (for some unknown reason as there is no instant replay) the goal didn’t count and he had to shoot again. Now that is pressure. He shot again, and GOAL! The whole crowd went nuts, people were cheering, hugging, dancing, singing, smoking, playing drums; it was chaos. It was quite the ending to the game, and as we left the stadium and walked home, not wanting to pay for taxis as they charge by time and not distance, “The Song of Sevilla” accompanied us.

An hour and twenty minutes and many Sevilla cheers from passersby later, I arrived home to find my Señora and her friend watching my Señora’s favorite show “Se llama copla”. Think American Idol on its worst night with a drunken cameraman, Flamenco singing instead of pop music, the worst documentary show about a no-name person, and a high school film project, and you have the show. I was invited to join them, and I spent the wee hours of the morning between two Spanish women watching to see which singer would be dramatically expelled from the show. You can’t get much more Spanish than that.

So I May Not be a Photographer Like Half of my Family

A Note: This was supposed to be a photo journal, but I had to give up on putting the rest of the pictures online. If you really want to see them, you will have to wait until I return in June!

Last weekend I went on a whirlwind trip to Granada, a city in the south of Spain in the Sierra Nevada Mountains.

Granada is most well known for the infamous Alhambra, the number one visited site in all of Spain. The Alhambra was the last Moorish stronghold and palace, and since water is the purest symbol of life, the Alhambra is beautifully decorated with water.

The entire Alhambra is incredibly intricate, with wooden ceilings in various patterns, crazy plaster designs, and series after series of arches, balconies, and hallways. Windows are always used to their best advantage as well, with the windows framing a beautiful city.

The Alhambra was certainly my favorite part of my visit to Granada, but the city is in such sharp contrast to Sevilla that I couldn’t help but be enthralled by its differences. Granada is a much more laid back city, largely due to its huge student and hippy population. On our trip to Albayzín (the Moorish Quarter in Granada) to see the sites of the Alhambra from across the valley, we were also able to enjoy the sites of Gypsies, hippies, and many a stray dog.



Because I know my parents are waiting for some pictures with me in it…




While my trip to Granada was certainly interesting, I am glad that I am living in Sevilla, and I was happy to come back home after an exciting weekend.

Sit Tight

I had prepared what I thought to be a marvelous entry on my weekend trip to Granada, complete with pictures. Since however, the internet decides to work well just as often as I crave one of those giant pork legs hanging in all the store windows, I was unable to upload it. Hopefully in the days to come I will get it up!

As a side note, I would like to say that here it is a sunny 65 degrees without a cloud in the sky. How cold is it in the Midwest again?

On Living With a Señora

A lot of people may think that being waited on hand and foot every minute of the day is easy. I, after having experienced this for a week, would disagree. The Señoras are extremely attentive, at times almost overbearing. They watch your every move. If today you decide not to have an orange, you may be questioned, “Don’t you like oranges anymore, what other fruit do you like?” Or if, you are full from the first two courses and can’t quite finish that last course, then you must hate the food. It is almost embarrassing as well, as I feel uncomfortable having someone do all these things for me that I am perfectly capable of doing. I wanted to wear a nice pair of pants the other day, some which needed to be ironed. I asked my Señora if I could borrow the iron. Instead of allowing me to do it, she insisted on doing it herself. I am though, extremely grateful for all that my Señora does.

My Señora’s apartment is small in regards to American standards, but it is very nice. I have my own room (for now at least, she is dying to get another student) and she completely redid it, painting it purple with matching bedspreads. I have a window that looks out onto our deck and then into the courtyard. The homes are usually colder inside than outside because there is no central heating.

I know most will be surprised to hear that I have eaten everything put in front of me. I do however, bring quite a bit of water to the table to help me wash some of the food down, or in some cases, swallow it whole. I have learned that the best tactic is to not ask what it is or to look at in, but just eat it.

My Señora is very keen on introducing me to quite possibly everyone she knows. Since I arrived last Wednesday, I have met her 27-year-old son and his girlfriend, her neighbor, her friend, her cousin, her niece, her niece’s friend, and her 30-year-old son. It is pretty intimidating to meet everyone, as I know my Spanish is not up to par yet. They are all pretty forgiving though. The niece and her friend are 22, so hopefully I will find friends in them. The friend is very proud of her town (she lives outside of Sevilla in the country) and is dying to have me visit her sometime soon. They were both intrigued by the pictures I had of my house at home, with all the snow. After seeing those, they wanted to see all of my pictures. They were completely enthralled by my computer as well, and after inspecting my music, calling out any band they knew, they asked if I had an Ipod. When I responded yes, they went even crazier and demanded to see that as well. All have been relatively interested in the United States and Madison, and everyone has enjoyed the photography book of Madison that I brought. It, at the very least, helps them get an idea of what life is like for me.

Last night was the Sevilla-Barcelona soccer game, a big deal here in Sevilla. When I arrived home from classes (after being stopped in the hall of the apartment and complained to for 15 minutes by a very old Spanish woman) my Señora was anxiously waiting for me. Her niece and friend had invited me to the niece’s house for the soccer game and wanted to know if I was interested. I said yes and we quickly jumped on the two buses to take us to the opposite side of town. When I arrived it was not just the niece and the friend, but also two other nieces that I hadn’t met, my Señora’s mom and sister, one of the niece’s boyfriends, and the dad. Needless to say, it was quite overwhelming, and I may have been watched just as much as the game was. Everyone here is so concerned about whether you are having fun, whether you have enough food, whether you understand them, etc. Unfortunately the score of the game was 0-0, but it was a fun experience nevertheless. I couldn’t help but laugh at how crazy everyone was going, the grandma was just muttering to herself the entire game about the plays. After the game, the niece and her friend took me and my Señora home, blasting the “Song of Sevilla”, telling me that I needed to learn it. Hopefully, in time, I will.

My First Post- A Recap

Well, I have arrived and I have now started my life in Spain. Things here have been going surprisingly well. It seems my anxiety about arriving and living here was unnecessary. I did not arrive in Spain without problems. I did however, take the random extra security I was forced to go through much better than the lady behind me who was actually sobbing as it was going on.

After a few days of orientation, I moved in with my Señora: a woman with a thick accent, fast tongue, and about half my height. I am her first ever student so I am sure to be spoiled. This also means however, that as a typical Spanish Mother, she will be constantly hovering, nagging, and shoveling food down my throat every time I open my mouth. She is an extremely kind lady and has walked me to class through the extremely narrow and labyrinth-like streets that are incredibly easy to get lost in.  By the end of the walk we had a whole train of American students following us to the building. I live about 45-50 minutes away from school in the barrio (neighborhood) de Triana, so this means a lot of exercise. 

I have met a lot of people, and we have been doing a lot of wandering the streets just taking in the city and the people. All of it is a bit overwhelming, but it has been a good time so far. There is so much to see and do. We already took a side trip to Itálica, a town just outside of Sevilla that was the first civilization the Romans built in Spain. I was pretty impressed. This weekend I will be going to Granada and I am really looking forward to it! 

I am relatively surprised at how comfortable I feel here. I am already getting to know my way around the city, have a group of friends, and don't feel like such an outsider. I know that I stick out and am easily spotted as an American, but it doesn't bother me as much as I thought it might. My Spanish is still struggling, but even in the last couple of days I have improved (my Señora may dispute this). 

Classes here start today, and I must admit that I am a little nervous. For the first 3 weeks I have one intensive language class 3 hours a day. After that my regular classes start up. Once my regular classes start I won't have class on Fridays, so that will mean more time to travel!

Well, that's all for now!