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).