Me echo de menos

Four months ago I was sitting on the floor of my room testing every dimwitted URL I could think of to create this blog. Studying abroad in college fulfills so many stereotypes and lends itself to making students into walking cliches. I've struggled the entire semester with the concept of how to make these four months meaningful and memorable, and without a doubt they have been. I can't say it's been carried out in the way I anticipated or planned, but I am leaving the peninsula with a greater sense of who I am and how I want to live my life when I return. I could never move to Spain to live and work, but nor could I have been the same without it.  


And now today, with just six days remaining, I can't help but think of the wonders of the US and Spain that I miss and will miss, respectively. 


The Dollar
No brainer. Goodbye Euro, hello dolla billz. 
My iPhone
I have no shame in admitting I missed 3G (or is it 4G now?) this semester. Yes, it is incredibly nice to be out of tune sometimes. Hiking in Almaden de la Plata? Do you need a phone? Absolutely not. Getting lost in Sevilla and stumbling upon the Jueves market? Nah. 


But I really do like having radio, email, internet and essentially anything I need in the palm of my hand. 
Oh honey badgers.
No words needed.

Duke
To know me is to know how much I love this dog. And whoever said dogs aren't life companions has never been met at their front doorstep by this hunk of love:

The day I left. God knows what the smirk on his face will be when I'll return.

And what will I be jonesing for back in the USA?
Puente Isabel II
Every Monday through Thursday on my walk home, I saw the different forms the Sevillian sky would take about an hour before sunset. The sun sets everywhere and is beautiful in other places, but nothing can compare to seeing this old city in the light of dusk.

Another iPhone gem.

Drinking insane amounts of espresso
Hearing people sing to themselves as they walk down the street
Smelling fresh baked bread walking to class
Getting wine because it's the cheapest thing on the menu
Having my socks ironed
Casual weekend trip to London
And so much more.
Europe.
Could I live here? Yes. The distance from family is quite a factor, but what a beautiful continent this is. And how I can't wait to return here and explore the rest of the world (and know how to do it right). 

Dodging the bull

As previously stated, this weekend was so Spanish. This doesn't include me and four other people huddled around a laptop on Thursday streaming The Hunger Games.


Bullfighting in Spain is a rich and artsy tradition. Think what you want of it, but the start of bull season here almost reminded me of opening day in the MLB. In front of the stadium people are selling you discounted drinks (necessary for gringos while watching a bull get stabbed to its death) and snacks and restaurant promoters are everywhere (though tailgating hasn't been picked up...yet).  In Sevilla the corridas began on Easter Sunday, and Friday's show was the second. I went with my host dad, and one of our neighbors and their americana.

Megan, our neighbor's americana, and I were both noticing how young all the torreros (matadors) looked. I was thinking oh yes, I saw you and your friends on Calle Betis last night. Turned out they looked so young because they were our peers. In fact, I have a few months on a couple of them.


Everyone dresses up at the corridas, kids are (per usual) running around and the tourists are just trying to figure out what the hell is going on. The injustice that so many Americans associate with bullfighting is flawed - they think, poor bull is going to die. But really what we all should be thinking is poor bull being teased and egged on while the city's fans cheer on its killer. The bull dies, yes, and it's arguably killed more justly than the cows that are keeping Five Guys in business.


It's a tough subject, but again, I think there are bigger problems in the world than bullfighting throughout the world. It's the type of injustice that I have no control over; no matter what I say the corridas del toro will still go on in Sevilla.


It's quite the spectacle. And really, the "spectacle" is what bothers me. When the matadors do an exceptionally good job, they get to keep one of the ears of the bull. The audience responds by cheering at the end and waving white handkerchiefs.

Spectators wave white handkerchiefs to symbolize the ear of the bull.

He's channeling his inner Dexter Morgan - just replace the ear with a slide of blood.

There were six bulls and three matadors. Music plays, beers are tossed around and people gasp and marvel at the art they see in bullfighting. Here are just a few pictures, if you really want a play by play just read Wikipedia. Or go to a bullfight yourself. I was lucky to be with Antonio (My señor? Let's call him my señora's husband instead.) because he's a huge fan of the corridas and was able to tell me every detail I asked.

I'd be that precise in my moves too if my pants were that tight.

And the bull is paraded around the ring after it drops to its knees (it literally drops). 

Saturday I went to Almaden de la Plata, a small town in the country about 40 miles outside Sevilla. It's amazing how short of a distance you can drive to find such a strikingly different landscape. 

My friend Mary Anne drove us out there, primarily to see a friend and the house he is selling. And what a beautiful house it was - complete with an amazing view of the road that peregrinos (pilgrims) take to Santiago in the north. He was more than hospitable, having irish coffee, tea and surprise! la cola del toro (bull tail) with rice waiting for us as we returned from our rainy hike. Funny that I was at the corrida the day before and then trying a Spanish delicacy of bull meat. Not too delicious by my standards, but the Andalucians love it. 


To top off this weekend just saturated with spanish-ness, I made paella with my señora for Sunday's lunch. It's super easy, except I found out a bit how it gets its distinct flavor aside from spices: shrimp skin and heads.

After beheading the shrimp and peeling the skin, boil the remains in water and let it simmer.

Sideways? Mince garlic, onion, tomatos and peppers and let it sizzle in olive oil.

And after adding the seafood to the veggies, add the rice and dashes of spices like paprika and saffron.

Instead of just plain water, use the water where the shrimp boiled. Strain the bodies, of course, and let the paella cook for 25 minutes. Don't forget to add lemon at the end!

I'm really lucky to have a señora that allows me in her kitchen and lets me see what she does 60% of her day. I hope I can cook like she does, and have the enthusiasm that she does about cooking Mediterranean foods. I will not be like her, however, and iron my husband's socks and undies. Sorry baby.

I will be like my mother

I'm a pretty shitty blogger. I am sure, however, that I said in January that this will not be a daily diary (I would never subject anyone to reading any kind of diary I could possibly write). Perhaps I waited a week to write about my recent trip with my mom because I was so overcome with how refreshing, warm and eye-opening it was (I promise no sarcasm).


I have gone long periods of time without seeing my mom, but these three months were definitely the longest. There's something to be said about having the ability to just pick up the phone and call her, even if it's to say a simple hello I love you or to spend 20 minutes complaining, which usually leads to another 20 minutes of her reminding me I'm a normal human being. That said, what a moment it was to hug her after such a long time.


We are fortunate in that we've already traveled in Spain together. When people asked me why my mom wasn't coming to Spain, I felt like a huge brat saying we've already been, but what gives? I'm a fortunate kid. We decided on Germany and Denmark - two places we had both never been.


Berlin is an evolving city. After a great walking tour, I started to think a lot about how new the city is; the Wall came down less than 25 years ago. Yet, one can still feel a divide between east and west Berlin. Nonetheless, the city is a metropolis that is easy to navigate (I first spelled this as "navegate." So much Spanish is making me forget English.) and rich with a whole host of ethnicities.


I mean this in the most sincere way, but this time with my mom was probably the most Jewish 10 days I've had since I left the United States. After a delicious brunch (brunch!!) we went to the Jewish Museum, which is incredibly well-done. Some parts felt tacky (seeing people taking pictures of a torah in a glass case was quite the spectacle) but its design is brilliant. What I liked most were the random empty spaces (voids) in the museum, meant to symbolize parts of time where Jews weren't present. 

A memorial in one of the voids with iron faces, meant to recognize those affected by war.

Berlin also has a Holocaust memorial that you can interpret how you wish. 

Statues in front of the Jewish cemetery, now just patches of green as it was destroyed by the Nazis.

Aside from the shameful history that Germany has and the permeating grey that surrounds Berlin, the city is full of life. On our way to brunch (again!! brunch!!) one day we saw a 5K going on with a live band cheering runners on. My mom also had the opportunity to see a bulldog puppy for the first time, and yes that is an experience. Charlottenburg Palace was also a destination. After a failed attempt to go to a modern art museum that turned out to be closed for renovations, we just waltzed across the street to find Frederick III's humble abode.

Golden dancing room lined with mirrors so couples could see themselves floating around the room.

Everything adorned in gold - mostly flower petals being spread around by one of the Greek gods on either side of the room.

Twas chilly. Also I swear no one knows how to take a picture that is focused.

I could have spent days in Berlin shopping - KaDeWe is such a beautiful store. Killer selection of Jelly Belly's (and shoes). One of my older sisters said that out of most of the places she's been in Europe, she could see herself living in Berlin the most. I'm not sure I would choose to live there, but Berlin certainly is trying to lure people in (even though the city is experiencing quite the drop in population). It's not exactly a charmer, but it is kitschy. Boutiques, independent restaurants and a strong young adult culture suggest the city is full of people with ambition to take away the lack of pride associated with being German. 

Nice white shoes, Aimee. East Berlin Gallery.

Cheesy picture in front of the Brandenburg gate.

 And then we were off to Copenhagen. I'm a tad obsessed with the city. My friend Josh (click his name and check out his blog - he does really cool stuff) is studying there however he was off in the mountains while we were there. He did send me a great email, though, with a little city orientation and fun spots to check out. 

Gorgeous gourmet market by our hotel in Norreport with a great selection of...everything. I want to go to there.

The most decadent hot cocoa I've had in my life: basically a scoop of fudge mixed with hot milk, topped with cocoa and cinnamon. 

First thing: all danes own bikes. They probably own more than one, because as I learned it's likely one will be stolen at some point in your life. Everyone bikes everywhere, like Madison bike lanes the first week of class in fall on crack times 5,000.

We also had our share of Jews in Copenhagen, having dinner with a Jewish family as well as attending a passover seder. I could write an entire entry about that seder. Danish, English, Hebrew, dancing, an unconventional setting...it was an experience. Though the population of progressive Jews is small, they proved to be creative in their seder. 

One of the best parts of Copenhagen is the variety of architecture and natural scenery that surrounds you. In the city it's a complete mix of modern and old, as Danes are famous for design, however will never replace the city's original buildings. Buildings like the Black Diamond Royal Library and the Opera House showcase the modernity that the city boasts along with a rich, Nordic history. 

We took the train north to see the Louisiana Museum, a modern art museum outside the city. Though it was quite chilly (probably 30 degrees Fahrenheit), we sat outside to each lunch because the warmth of the sun was just the medicine we needed from the rain in Berlin. And how could you not want to sit outside when this is the view:

Could this pass for Lake Michigan...?

Pretty mommy. 

The museum is set in a residential neighborhood, and if you look across the water you can see Mälmo, Sweden. Going through the museum you can't help but notice how Danish the design is, combining the architectural aesthetic of the building with the landscape and setting. And some inspiration from modern artists is always nice.

I believe the best way to get to know a city is just to get your bearings. Yes, seeing what there is to see is essential, but walking around and simply observing what you see around you is the way to really interpret where you are. For me it's difficult to identify the perfection that I see in Copenhagen; I may not be blonde or have huge blue eyes but I can see myself living a fairly content life here. Not that I'm packing up my bags and jetting up to Scandinavia after I graduate, but I can imagine.

After drinking that outrageous hot cocoa, feeling like 300 pounds.

I just have the feeling that in Copenhagen, they've discovered the secret to living well. God knows what it is. Not just riding your bike and eating rye bread blah blah blah, but you see people with their friends, and they look so happy. I don't know if I'd call Danes welcoming and warm, but they certainly are nice. Copenhagen felt a little like magic: with the perfect combination of people, scenery, intellect, and dark chocolate, it's a wonderful life. Joel can probably attest too. 

Looking back I saw that I titled this post "I will be like my mother" because I totally will. With her knack for taking everything for what its worth and more, her curiosity for life and her unconditional love, I feel like I have everything to look forward to later in life. And she loves dessert. But really - to have a mom as caring, generous and thoughtful as she is, of course I miss her. Though it was terribly hard to say goodbye, I am thankful to know I can have an honest conversation with her and I feel safe.

We're a great wandering pair.

My weekend reeked of Spain. Look forward to more of my nonsense in a few days about paella, senderismo, and bullfighting.

Deciphering Lisbon

This weekend, after an overnight bus and sunrise taxi ride, I found myself in Lisbon. Arriving at 6 a.m. I was quite the space cadet, however the hostel where I was meeting my friend Abby was accommodating and sympathetic to the fact that I was delirious. 


A bit about Abby: we have been friends for almost seven years. We met the summer before freshman year of high school at a particularly tumultuous part of my life, yet after finding mutual friends and a few jewish youth events, we've been best friends ever since. 

Sometimes I think about how we have other friends besides each other?

She is studying in Salamanca, northwest of Madrid in Castilla y León. A lot of people lose touch with friends they had in high school and it seems to not affect them much, but I think I would be a little crazy if Abby and I hadn't maintained a strong friendship throughout college. 


Simply put, we are best friends for a lot of reasons. Abby understands it, she's sharp and witty and can call me out when I'm wrong, and vice versa. We can sit in complete silence and be entirely comfortable, and be together, doing nothing, and be content. We both listen to each other. I never feel lonely when I'm with Abby, and talking to her and spending time with her assures me that even though people truly suck, there are good people in the world. Nonetheless you should all be jealous of us. 


Abby is a keeper because she is up for exploring new places and being open to new ideas, which was more than essential in Lisbon. She arrived at the hostel mid-morning, and after making ourselves a bit more presentable to be in public, we set off. 


Lisbon is a cluster of plazas (or Pracas, one of four words I learned in Portuguese). Lisbon is also quite strange. It didn't exactly feel like a European city; I could venture to say it felt a little South American. Friday we got to know the city and made it all the way to the top of Alfama (mind you Sevilla is a flat city) to see the Castelo de Sao Jorge. What a view:

Other highlights of our trip include: 

Food: Lisbon, situated on a river leading out to the Atlantic, is known for its seafood. We splurged on octopus, cod (I'm starting to believe every single coastal European city is known for cod) and Portuguese sangria on Saturday night. The city, however, is pretty cheap; we watched the sunset by the river with galletas de María, beer and iced tea for 1,50 euro. Our hostel nourished us well in the morning with freshly made crepes and eggs, as well a festive dinner at night. Eating with other guests was interesting - especially since we sat with two German girls who spoke impeccable English. 

Soup, flava beans, spinach, salad, bread and fruit. 

Belem: A 4.5 mile walk from Baixa, Belem has a bunch of monuments and museums dedicated to the naval history of Portugal. We saw the Discovery Monument, the Tower of Belem and San Jeronimo's Monastery. Walking to and from Belem probably made our view of Lisbon even more distorted - it seems like this part never recovered from the city's earthquake in the 18th century. It was extremely run-down and decrepit. Despite its eeriness and sketchy nature, the walk to and from Belem was an interesting dichotomy from Alfama, the oldest (and most beautiful, in my opinion) part of the city. 

Abby pensive in the monk recreation yard (probably thinking about what monks do to recreate).  

The nasty weather made Belem and the view of the ocean look pretty...nautical? 

Fado: Fado is folklore. A musical style, it translates to "destiny" and has origins in Africa, Brazil and the Iberian peninsula. We had the chance to watch fado after our seafoody dinner, hearing one woman sing with two male guitarists. Please enjoy this video, it was a headache to upload. Joel can attest. 

In all, Lisbon is a city searching for an identity. Not that I didn't enjoy the city, because the beautiful parts were truly the highlight of our trip. And romping around with Abby, of course. 

Peacocks/peahens at the castle?

Alfama

Feria Pregame

As the semester progresses, I find more and more reasons to appreciate the rich and comprehensive Spanish education I had in high school. I've arguably learned more in high school (Spanish-wise) than college, and I owe it all to the wonderful teacher I had my junior and senior years. She's retired now, but she's Nina, she's a big deal (High school friends? Do you exist? Can you attest?). Growing up in El Salvador, I'm not sure how she learned so much about Andalucía. I also don't know how she ended up being fluent in four languages, ended up in Spain's cultural olympics in the 70s and went on a date with Harrison Ford. I need to email this woman. 


Anyway, as Feria de Abril approaches in a month, my señora and her neighbors and all of her friends thought it would be fruitful, and a smashing good time, to have a party that is similar to what goes on at Sevilla's famous Feria. It's basically a bunch of what Spaniards do best: eat, drink, dance, sing, drink and then a bunch of times over again. My señora dances all the time and of course sings, so she lent me one of her dresses for our little fiesta:

Flamenco dresses are heavy and flowy, making dancing a very colorful affair. Between the shawl and red ruffles on the bottom, there was just yellow and red flying everywhere. Everyone dances Sevillanas, a four part flamenco dance. See, this is why Nina is cool: the last weeks of my senior year of high school were spent learning this dance. Good thing for me three years later it came to fruition. Thus, I got some brownie points and knocked everyone's socks off with my stellar duende and flamenco skillz (not so much). 

Everyone sang and danced and ate and drank and played guitar and castanets and woah. My host sister plays the guitar, so after flamenco music, she was strumming to a few Sean Paul songs. And then reggaeton played instead of cante jondo for an hour or so.  

Between food, drinks and music, a majority of the people who came (who didn't already live in building) left around 7:30. I jumped at the occasion to change my clothes, yet when I came back I found everyone trying new wines and telling jokes. All the jokes were in pretty poor taste, or at least the ones I understood were. Yep, Spaniards, just like us. 

I learned some great vocab, if anything. We ended up leaving around 9:30, only to return at 11 to eat dinner. My señora was roaring with laughter the whole time because her dress especially accented her butt, also she claims she's flat as a board. I had such a wonderful video of her and Antonio, her husband, dancing, but Nikon is disappointing me again. Worst decision ever. 

It was a day of realizing that my host family has truly been the best part of Sevilla. They make the effort to be sure that I really am a part of their family; it's a good feeling. 

Going bananas in the Straits

Saturday brought me to the Straits of Gibraltar. It's a particularly weird place, starting with passport control, or lack thereof. Rushing through and having a guard simply glance at my photo reminded me of security in the Czech Republic a few years back, as at that airport I had to run through a metal detector with a duffel bag without even stopping for them to search my, you know, really dangerous bag.


The airport in Gibraltar is one of the most dangerous in the world, considering planes have a tiny landing strip and face having to circle Gibraltar's famous 200 million year old rock (see below) and wind blowing in two different directions. The runway is also part of a major thoroughfare, thus car traffic is frequent when planes are landing. It's quite silly actually. 


Gibraltar's streets were constructed for buggies and horses, so we had the pleasure of going up the rock in a "mini-bus," or a stick shift Mercedes safari-like bus for 20 people. Our guide was very knowledgeable. Quite vulgar too. But more of that later. 


There are 33,000 Gibraltarians. There are more students at UW than Gibraltarians. British, Moroccans, Indians and Spanish people inhabit this tiny bit of land, which is linked to Spain by a narrow isthmus. The real estate there is crazy expensive - some of the ritziest apartments cost up to 2 million euro, and some other extravagant amount in GBP (eff the GBP). 


Our guide (who never told us his real name, but rather just to call him Ivan the Terrible), explained that Spain tried to regain the Rock from the British in the 18th century, but grossly failed, making the Rock of Gibraltar an impressive beacon of British pride. 


Technically speaking, the Rock is an ancient sea bed. As it is slab of limestone composed of deceased shelled animals, some people consider the Rock to be an island, but it's really a peninsula. I hate typing rock over and over again. Here's the Rock:

Just kidding. I'm hilarious, yeah?

For a little ooing and ahhing, Ivan the Terrible let us off first at Europa Point, where you can see all the Straits, including Algericas (or Al-Jazeera if you're feeling lazy), Gibraltar and mountains of Morocco. The photos speak for themselves.

Adi gawking.

Heading up the Rock with Ivan, we went to St. Michael's Cave, a Cathedral Cave believed to be bottomless. Walking through I felt just like Don Quijote did in his caves (not quite). Today it's actually a theater. Fun fact: people used to believe that Gibraltar was linked to the African continent by a subterranean passage over 25 kilmeters long under the Straits. Hence, bottomless cave. Anyhoo, the cave can keep 10,000 soliders alive for a year. Well, not the cave itself, but it has the capacity to house 10,000 soliders and their necessities for a year. Apparently if the water falls from the rocks onto your head or body, it's good luck. Just like when bird droppings land on you?

Poor Yorick.

My sophomore year I took an advanced psychology class about animal behavior, focusing on primates (between Naomi taking horticulture and me in monkey class, we had quite the slew of random information constantly filling apartment conversations). Knowing all of this before I came, I was reminded that the Barbary Macaques were brought to Gibraltar by the Moorish royalty as pets. They lack tails, hence they are apes. There are about 300 of them living in Gibraltar, being the only free-living monkeys in Europe today. They are controlled and fed by the local government, even sporting tattoos in their groin with an ID number. Ivan kindly offered to show us his tattoo. Foul. Here are da monos:

Thumbs and nails.

Ivan, have you ever run over an ape? "Rubbish." 

Playing with baby macaques is just like babysitting, apparently.

Other than that, Gibraltar isn't much. Most of the people that live there work for banks and live lavishly on the coast. But, because Gibraltar is a territory of the UK, I found dark chocolate Toblerone (because Spain really only raves over milk and white) and Cadbury Crunchies. Successful, silly day.