My Final Post

Since I last posted, well over a month ago, many things have happened, including my return from Spain. That being said, this post will be the last one for this blog. Who knows, maybe my next adventure will be blog-worthy, maybe not…

After San Sebastian, I went to London for a week. My cousin Jenna was there setting up a group of summer abroad students and I had the chance to stay in a hotel for free. London is a wonderful city. I was also floored by the fact that everyone spoke English. Laugh all you want, but after nearly 8 months of being surrounded by non-English speakers it was actually quite jarring to be of the language majority. I reveled in this fact from the moment the plane landed. I had to pass through customs and was probably more chatty than necessary with the guard. Suspicious? Probably. Halfway through blabbing at him about living and teaching in Madrid I realized that I probably sounded like one of those people who had rehearsed a story to get through customs. Luckily he didn’t mind, much.

When I arrived at the hotel my number one goal was to watch TV in English. Thanks to globalization there were plenty of American programs on the British channels. I loved every minute of it. I watched Friends, Cold Case, CSI and so much more. I even caught up on some music videos.

I saw a few of the museums London has to offer, wondered Hyde Park and enjoyed a Pims. All in all, I loved London. If I had moved abroad there, rather than Madrid, I might not have been so desperate to come home after a while. This is probably because it wouldn’t have presented the same challenges and, on the tourist level, seemed way easier to live in.

Upon return from London school was on half days, so I only had to work until 1 each day. I’d love to report that I took advantage of that time and saw more things in Madrid. Honestly, I took naps and taught private lessons. At night my friends and I went out more, mostly because we knew our time was running out.

The first weekend of June our electricity (and eventually hot water) went out. When it went out we didn’t have a massive freak-out, like most people would expect. We decided to eat the ice creams Audrey had in the freezer and wait for the electrician to come. Eventually, Monday night he came and told us that the problem was the hot water heater. It was some problem with the current circulating. Lets be honest here, they don’t teach electrician vocabulary in Spanish class, so he could have said about anything and we’d have gone with it.

Audrey and I were leaving early Thursday morning for Alicante and, after lots of time working on Spanish time, we knew we wouldn’t get a heater anytime before we left. I took chilly showers and dealt with it, since I was leaving on vacation soon.

Thursday came and we boarded our Ryanair flight. After 40 minutes in the air we landed in Alicante. The four days we spent in Alicante went something like this. Wake up. Go to Beach. Home for lunch. Lounge until dinner. Dinner. Lounge until bed. It was a lovely time with seven other wonderful ladies. We prepared our meals in the apartment and ate family style. The weekend was quite relaxing and full of laughs. Basically it was great.

Upon my return to Madrid, my experience started to go south. In May, perhaps April, my Grandpop was diagnosed with cancer. Being 91 years old, we didn’t have the highest hopes for remission, but they decided to give him radiation treatments to try and shrink the ones causing him pain. In early June my mom went to Pennsylvania to be with her family and await my arrival. When she got there Grandpop was still getting up and getting dressed for the day. He would come down stairs and basically be the Grandpop I’d left in September. The Tuesday after I got back from the beach my mom sent me an email saying that, if I wanted to, I should come home early.

Originally we had changed my ticket from July 2nd to June 27th mainly because I would’ve been one of the last few people in Madrid and I was ready to get out sooner. This time we changed it to Saturday the 20th with the hopes that I could get back to Philly in time to say goodbye. This had me leaving my school before the last day of school, which meant I had to tell them.

I’m sure you’ve heard the stereotype that Spanish people are family oriented. I got to experience that first hand on Wednesday morning when I told my director that I was leaving early. I waited for about 45 minutes outside her office. When it was my turn, she asked me what was up and before I could say anything I just started crying. She rushed me into her office and sat me down. The head teacher followed us in. It was rather scary to have these two Spanish ladies trying to get info out of me. I managed to get the words for “Grandfather” and “die” out. I was trying to explain that he was close to dying and I was going to leave early to be with him and my family, but at those two words they knew what was going on.

The offered to do anything I needed. Marisol, the director, told Eduardo and he left his class to rush in and talk to me. It took about another 45 minutes for me to calm down enough to go to class. The people at my school really are the sweetest, kindest group of teachers one could ask for. I lucked out being placed at Rosa Luxemburgo and anyone who gets that school in the future needs to know how lucky they are.

On Friday I was out doing my final gift shopping, mostly as a distraction from the situation in Pennsylvania I could do nothing about, when my mom called with the news. My Grandpop had died early Friday morning. So that was the situation I left Spain under.

I was devastated by his death, sad to be leaving my friends but delighted to be going home to my friends and family whom I had not seen since September. The only word I can come up with to describe the feelings I had were bittersweet. Bitter because I was landing in Philly only to begin preparing for a funeral, but sweet because I was finally going to see my mom and family.

Hopefully this post has given you some insight as to the abrupt end to posts. I didn’t want to leave you all hanging, though I’m sure most of the people who read this knew most of this already. Also, for those of you whom I didn’t call immediately after landing, please don’t take it as a comment on our friendship, but more a representation of my extreme mixed emotions. I promise to pick up the phone soon enough.

San Sebastian

A few years ago I went to visit a cousin in Boston. To prepare for my arrival she asked my mom for ideas. My mom offered the suggestion that I am usually very happy near bodies of water. Until I heard my mom's observation I was unaware of this fact, I guess I had just never noticed how true it was. I spent the first 12 or so years of my life living on the Oregon Coast (one of the most ruggedly beautiful places on Earth). When I went to college in DC I quickly found that the Jefferson Memorial is my favorite, probably partly because of its location on the tidal basin. Now in Madrid, one of my favorite places to have a coffee is at a cafe next to the fake pond in the middle of Retiro park.

This is important information because I think it explains why I loved San Sebastian so much. To take advantage of my remaining time here I attempted to organize a trip to San Sebastian. Audrey and Eimear also wanted to go, so for the weekend of May 15th we went north. San Sebastian is a small-ish town in the north of Spain located on the Bay of Biscay. Our guide book listed a few sights to see, like the Cathedral, but we spent most of our time just wandering the old narrow streets, walking next to the beach and eating Pinxtos. The touristiness of our trip was minimal.


After taking the 6 hour bus ride from Madrid we took a little nap before exploring the city. Our first stop was the boardwalk, just 3 blocks from the hostel. It was beautiful. There were sandy beaches, clear blue water and tree-covered hills. True to my mom's assessment, as soon as I laid eyes on the bay I was in a happy place. I loved it. We continued on walking the city and found the Cathedral and lots of shopping. Then we paused long enough to make a plan, which was to wander some more then eat Pinxtos.

Pinxtos are little servings of food, typically on bread, that you eat with a drink. In San Sebastian the Pinxto experience goes as follows: go to bar, order a drink, pick up a pinxto from the plates laid out on the bar, eat, repeat until you move to the next place. In our adventure we ended up trying four different places, all with yummy food. I couldn't tell you exactly what I was eating most of the time, but it was good.

Saturday was our only full day in San Sebastian, but we were not worried about sight-seeing. We got a late start to the day and started off with lunch of Pallea at a place recommended by our hostel owner. The hostel owner knows what he is talking about. The Pallea was fabulous. We then went shopping/wandering. Then it started to rain, so we hid out in the hostel, watching a movie until it was time for a repeat of our Pinxto adventure. Just as delicious as the first night.

On Sunday we had a few hours before the bus, so we decided to try and walk up to a very large Jesus statue that offered good views of the city. After fueling up with ice-cream we found that the hike up there was a little more than we wanted to do, so we walked around a cape and took in some fantastic views of the water. On our walk back to the hostel to collect our things we took off our shoes and walked with the waves brushing over our feet. Finally, it was time to make some sandwiches and get back on the bus for a 6 hour ride back.


San Sebastian was amazing. I'm not at all upset by the fact that we didn't see any "sights" nor did we really "do" anything. I think we successfully completed my goal of setting aside my American idea of conquering locations and really did "aprovechar" my time away from Madrid and next to the sea.

If a Cat Has Kittens in an Oven are they Biscuits?

PREFACE: I've been debating for a while if I should tackle this post or not. Yes, I did study issues of Nationalism while at American University, but if anything that has taught be just how complicated these issues can be. With that being said I've decided to go for it, but please take this only as an exercise in applying my studies to a real life situation and not a definition of my stance on issues of citizenship or related topics.

A few weeks back I went to an Irish themed bar in Madrid. These things are popular everywhere, but there is one in particular that we frequented when I was studying abroad. At Dubliner's one can speak English with most of the patrons, watch American sports like basketball and for an evening forget that you are in Spain. This particular time our group ended up talking to an individual named Pepe.

Pepe is from Barcelona but he has an American passport. Pepe's parents were studying Medicine at John's Hopkins when he was born and they lived in the US until Pepe was about five years old. Throughout the night Pepe continually told us that he was American too. I'm certain that he was saying it with the best of intentions; probably as a way of showing us that we had common ground and not in that he was claiming to be as American as us. But really, are there degrees to being American?

The way that US law is written means that anyone born on US soil is eligible for citizenship, but what does that mean in practice? I know that America is the great melting-pot (or some in the cross-cultural communications world prefer the salad-bowl analogy because the individual pieces can maintain their original forms rather than melting away in a pot...) and we are able to accept all types of people. Even though intellectually I knew Pepe was right I still found myself put-off by his claims to be American.

Never before have I struggled with a thought in the same way as that one. But honestly, he lived there for 5 years and then moved back to Spain with his Spanish family. I'm not certain that he had the common cultural experiences that define American life. Did he go trick-or-treating? Did he make hand turkeys for Thanksgiving? Does he know the basic rules to baseball or kickball?

When discussing issues of nationality and definitions of national heritage one has to consider the question of where do we get our nationality from. Does one belong to certain group because they were born in the "right" geographical location or do they belong because they inherited the "right" set of genes? Or does your belonging come from a shared heritage of experiences? Personally, I can't say if one definition is better than another. When twisted, any criteria can be used for good purposes or bad.

My experience with Pepe has forced me to evaluate just what I think it means to be an American. Technically, yes he can call himself American. But as someone who spent 23 years living in America and learning the subtle nuances of the culture I have a hard time seeing him equally as American as me. This probably has to do with the fact that he lived the majority of his formative years in Spain and inherently knows more about what it means to be Spanish than what it does to be American.

My view of issues of identity was also called into question when I had to referee a debate among some of my 4th graders. Many of the kids were ganging up on the new kids, Nicholas, saying that he wasn't really Madrileño because he was born outside of Spain and his dad is from Holland. I tried to explain to them that it is possible (especially in the European Union, with its fluid borders and all...) for someone to be born in one place but rightfully claim to be from another place.

I guess the bottom line is that my time here has challenged me to think about issues I'd never considered before. If anything, I will go home with more questions than answers but I think that is a good sign.

Helsinki

The day before I left for Finland I ran into the Portero of my building, Antonio, while walking out to run an errand. We had a quick conversation about what we would respectively be doing for the Semana Santa holidays. When I told him that I was going to Finland he sighed and asked how long I was going, because he thought I would need at least fifteen days. I responded that I would be there for five, but elaborated that I knew it was a short trip, but it was a trip at least.

Antonio’s comment highlights the way Americans and Spaniards look at vacations. I’ve noticed that Spaniards (undoubtedly, Europe’s reigning experts on relaxation) are more prone to take month long holidays rather than a weekend here or there. While, Americans (a group of people who work more than any other nation) are apt to jet off for a weekend at a time and charge around doing things. When I booked my trip I thought five days we a good enough amount of time, I could go and see the museums an other sights but still have time not to rush through it. Oh, how wrong I was. I should learn to silence that American voice that tells me to “do” locations (for example one American tourist may say to another, “Tomorrow we can do the Prado Museum” as though the Prado were a thing to be conquered…) and start listening to the Spanish voice that says I should go and “aprovechar” (basically a verb meaning to make the most of an opportunity, but not in the exploitive way you Americans might be thinking…).

I would like to think by now that I am an excellent traveler. In the States I would hop from Washington DC to Portland with no problems, I would also catch a train from DC to Philly like it was my every day commute. And now that I have been living in Europe for a while, I can add various metro and bus systems to my list of conquests. This ability to travel well also has given me the appearance that I am from many different locations. Knowing what you are doings seems to be the key part to being assumed a local, it probably doesn’t hurt that I have fairly generic “white” features and globalization has made it more difficult to pin-point what it physically means to be from certain places….

While waiting for my first flight, from Madrid to Frankfurt I had to help a troop of Germans understand the overhead announcements. Mind you, I don’t speak German (aside from the words I learned in December: Bitte, Danke, Halo, Chus, Eine…) but these people looked at me and assumed me one of them. I did my best to explain in simple English and hand-gesture what was going on and thankfully we all got on the plane. The assumption that I from Germany continued while I was waiting in the Frankfurt Airport. Buying a sandwich, being asked to fill out a survey and boarding the plane all took place in German for me.

Once we were on the plane announcements were made in German, English and a pre-recorded tape with the Finnish announcements was played. Also aboard this plane the Finns were passing around a Finnish language newspaper that someone had found/brought with them. The gentleman next to me read it intently, while I glanced over trying to figure out how all those vowels made words. When he had finished, my neighbor offered me the newspaper and I politely declined.

We landed in Helsinki at about 10:30 in the evening and I was bombarded by the fact that I had no idea what was going on around me. None. Announcements made in Finnish over the intercom only served to cement this idea. I found a taxi stand and asked to go to the address of my hotel. Because this particular service does a ride-sharing business where they put several passengers in one van and make several stops we all walked as a herd to the van. The driver was putting luggage in the van according to how far into the route it would go, starting with the last person to be dropped off. I stood around and waited for him to take my bag. While waiting, a man turned to me an in Finnish explained the driver’s logic. I gave him a blank stare and said “Sorry?” in English. In equally clear English he said to me, “Oh, you don’t speak Finnish?” like I had just told him that the world was flat. He didn’t seem to believe that I wasn’t a Finn.

The next morning I woke up in the hotel and got going. The hotel served breakfast, which I assume was in some ways traditional Finnish food. There was porridge, sausages, sliced lunchmeats, cucumber, tomatoes and bread, coffee and juice. Growing up I remember my Grandpop telling me about how his in-laws would drink coffee like it was nothing, occasionally through a sugar cube. These stories were usually in conjunction with chiding my mom about her coffee snobbery and how she must have inherited that from her Finnish side. Knowing this, I decided to try Finnish coffee. It was gross. There is no other word for it. I thought I was drinking mud with some coffee flavoring. No wonder the Finns load their cups with sugar!

After breakfast I was off to see Helsinki. I caught a tram to the center of the city and began walking around the Senate Square where the Lutheran Cathedral is. Unfortunately, I didn’t really know what I was looking at so I quickly surveyed the square and moved on to the Helsinki City Museum. In this museum you can find all sorts of artifacts about the history of Helsinki, from being the home to nomadic tribes up to being a metropolitan melting pot. Along the way Helsinki was a port city for the Swedish, taken over by the Russians, had a run in with Napoleon and finally was part of independent Finland in the early 20th century. The Helsinki City Museum also has many satellite museums around the city with more specific focus. I decided to pop into one that focused on celebrations in Finish culture. This is where I got the idea that Helsinki, and possibly Finland in general, just wants to blend in with Europe. The celebration exhibit focused on how there isn’t anything super-duper special about how Finns celebrate things, for example they wear nice clothes for fancy events, they follow traditional Lutheran practice for weddings and they eat nice meals at Christmas time. Though I was hoping for some fun/strange way Finns celebrate things, I still found the museum interesting.

Then it became time for lunch. After hours of wandering around the city looking for these two museums and taking pictures of the Cathedral I was hungry. I had read previously about how Finns favor international cuisine and that traditional Finnish food is traditionally expensive, so I was prepared to eat whatever I found that looked good, regardless of nationality. My first stop was a Tex-Mex restaurant near the National Theater. In getting there, I passed up on several pizza buffets and fast food chains. If I wanted to eat at McDonalds I could’ve stayed in Madrid. Madrid, and Spain in general, aren’t big on international foods. They love Spanish food and prefer to eat that over most other things. I decided I would take my trip to Finland as a chance to eat all the things that I had a hard time finding in Madrid.

Yet again I was assumed Finnish. The waitress looked befuddled when I asked for things in English and clearly had no idea how to eat in a Finnish restaurant. In Helsinki you just sit down and wait. They don’t tell you where to sit, you just pick. This seemed kind of odd to me, but I went with it. They also give you water for free, which hasn’t happened to me since September when I was last in the States. Finns are also big on lunch buffets/ salad bars, sweet! Also, to pay you just get up and walk to the register and they magically know where you were sitting and what you ate. While difficult to remember, after a few days I was accustomed to this new approach to eating.

At the end of lunch I was permitted to go up and get some coffee, which I decided might be a good idea, since I don’t want to write off a whole country’s coffee based on one cup. Oh, what a bad idea. This was also mud in a cup, but this time it had some cinnamon in it. Ick. Once I had finished eating, and drank enough of the mud coffee to not offend the wait staff, it was time to continue exploring the city. I walked to the South Harbor where there is supposed to be an outdoor market. It turns out that in April when it is super chilly not many people want to set up stands or shop at the outdoor market. According to the postcard pictures, this is supposed to be a happening place, but alas no. I then went into the old market hall to have a look around. Basically you could buy salmon smoked in any way you wanted. Then you could sit in a café and eat more salmon. In some places you could also buy beans to make the Finnish mud coffee, but I passed.

I next went to see the Russian Orthodox Cathedral that stands high on a hill and can’t be missed when looking at the Helsinki cityscape. It was rather intricate and ornate, the complete opposite of the Lutheran one from earlier in the day. The Orthodox Cathedral had filled every space with glittery figures, frescos and mosaics. The Lutheran one opted for a more simplified decoration that called your attention only towards alter and the cross. In the Orthodox one I couldn’t find a place to focus my eyes for more than ten or fifteen seconds.

After dinner of some Thai food, I made my way back to the hotel and settled in for the night. Unfortunately, Helsinki closes around 6 o’clock, so doing anything aside from eating or drinking wasn’t going to happen. This fact made me miss Madrid a little, where the Prado is open until 8. I also had no desire to go out drinking alone in a city where I don’t speak the language so I went to bed to get ready for the next day. Before going to bed I did say a little prayer for good weather, but that would not be answered.

On Saturday I woke up and repeated my breakfast in the hostel before going to the National History Museum. Helsinki has a wonderful tram system so you can travel around while looking out the windows. This would’ve been even better if there wasn’t a thick layer of drizzle covering the city; nonetheless I enjoyed the 20-minute ride to the museum. When I arrived at the museum it was practically deserted save for a small family of four and a giant tour of senior citizens.

Typically I like museums. Call me nerdy, but I think they are fun. So I started this museum at the pre-history stage and made my way around to a small collection about more modern Finland. The general lesson I learned in the museum was that Finland has always been really good at adapting to changes. The ancient people adapted to freezing weather, then the settled societies adapted to being part of Sweden then to being taken over by Russian and finally they settled into independence rather nicely.

After spending a few hours soaking up knowledge about one of my many homelands I went to the gift shop. I wanted to pick up a guidebook so that I can show people what I learned. I picked out the one in English and took it up to the register. The woman began speaking to me in Finnish and when she looked at my book she said in an accusatory tone, “In English?” like I was betraying Finland by buying this book in English. I politely responded with, “yes.” I think she too assumed I was Finnish and was disappointed when I turned out to be a foreigner.

I later found lunch at an Indian place and went back to the hotel for a nap. After my nap I braved the drizzly, overcast, sad weather for an attempt at a walking tour. I went to see some of the sights around the Olympic Stadium. In 1952 Helsinki hosted the Olympics, which is when the city earned its reputation for being a welcoming place to foreigners. I think it was also the point when Helsinki, and Finland in general, started to cultivate the idea of being a truly metropolitan city full of diversity. In its past, Finland had been the intersection of the West and East with the clash of traditionally European styles against influences from Russia. In the past, I think, it was just assumed that is how Finland would be and no one made a huge fuss about it. But when the Olympics came and people saw how wonderful a city Helsinki was a light bulb moment occurred and this harmonious mixing could be a selling point.

I also tried to take a walk around one of the many lakes in Helsinki, but it was raining and the dirt path was basically a minefield of puddles, so again, I gave up and went for dinner.

On Sunday morning I woke up relatively early to go to Soumenlinna. Soumenlinna is an island that was developed into a military fortress in the 18th century and was eventually ceded to the Russians when they came to take over. The island has some buildings from the original design and some of Russian construction. The guidebooks say to set aside about 3 hours to see this island, which was about how long I spent wandering around.

It was kind of strange to wander around because about 800 citizens of Helsinki inhabit the island, so I was basically strolling their neighborhood. At one point I had gotten decently lost and had to march through someone’s drive way to get back to the main road. Awkward…

This was the kind of Finland I wanted to see, as it was probably the closest thing to how Finland was when my great-grandparents left. As I mentioned earlier, 1952 was kind of a turning point for Helsinki so the things that were considered sights now all pretty much date from then on. I went to Finland with the idea of connecting to my family roots, but sadly the Finland most connected to my family had been replaced by a new, dynamic modern Helsinki. The new Helsinki wants you to see all the new, revolutionary architecture and appreciate their love of international cuisine, but I wanted to see the old stuff. I’m sure if I had actually gone to the village my great-grandfather was from I would have seen a completely different side of Finland. This isn’t to say that new Helsinki was bad, I loved the city and didn’t want to leave, but it didn’t satisfy my desire to learn more about my particular history.

While on Soumenlinna I went to a restaurant/brewery hoping to find some traditional Finnish food. What I found was local beer and Swedish meatballs. Good enough, I guess. The beer was actually a bit of a let down, kind of tasteless and had a bitter finish. Perhaps being born in the Microbrewery capital of the world makes me a little biased, but that is my opinion…

After Soumenlinna I tried yet another walking tour of the city and quickly gave up when I couldn’t feel my nose anymore. At this point, it was about 5:30 in the afternoon on a Sunday and nothing was open, so I went back to the hotel and had some dinner and plotted my attack for the last day.

Monday morning I woke up to partly cloudy skies, which was an upgrade from the previous days of drizzle and fog. I took advantage of this and successfully completed a walking tour. This tour took me past several churches, along a stretch of shore and past many examples of Finnish design. I wanted to go to the Finnish Design Museum and the Finnish Architecture Museum, but they were both closed on Monday!

Once I had recovered from the disappointment of the museums being closed I began the hardest part of my trip, gift shopping. Since everyone in my family was so excited about my trip to Finland I had to bring them all back something. I surveyed my mom and cousin Jenna for ideas because they are the best sources of info on this topic. I had passed a gift shop on my way to the National History Museum and decided to go back. Again, the shopkeeper assumed I was Finnish and acted surprised when it turned out I wasn’t. She did teach me how to say “thank you”, Kiitos, which I later tried to use when purchasing lunch.

Side note: the next time I go somewhere fantastic all my family and friends need to declare a collection in advance so I can easily pick something out for you. This especially applies to my Dad. Thank you.

Once I had started the gift shopping I couldn’t stop. I paused briefly for lunch and then continued on to check people off the list. This is what I get for putting it all off to the last day. I did try to tie it into a walking tour that took me past a market noted for selling handicrafts, but again loss of sensation in my hands prevented me from carrying on too long. I took my haul back to the hotel and double-checked that I had found something for every person on my list. Then I carefully packed all my goods into my backpack and went downstairs for dinner and a beer.

While eating dinner I overheard a rather fabulous conversation by some Spanish guys. Actually, they were from Madrid and I knew that immediately. I guess I’m at a point where I can pick out Madrileños from regular Spanish people… Ok, back to the point… they were talking about how some races are just inferior to other and cited the example of black people in the US. One of them corrected his friend, black people in the US are not physically inferior only mentally. At the end of my meal I asked where they were from and had my hypothesis confirmed. I was then asked where I was from and when I said the US the look I got back was priceless.

Finally it was time to go. Tuesday morning I left Helsinki and was rather sad about it. I would love to go back again, but the next time it will have to be in the summer when the weather will be better. Also, when I go back I will follow Antonio’s advice and stay for much longer than five days.

Excuses, Excuses...

Hi everyone,
I'm back from Finland and have been meaning to post about it, but since this week I have a visitor in town I'm spending even less time on my blog. Next weekend I will have time to write. In fact, I promise to have a post done, with pictures, by Monday the 20th. Deal?

¿Te Vas o Te Quedas?

The topic for this post was inspired by one little girl in the 3rd grade. On Wednesday last week the 3rd grade went to the circus. While we were sitting in the auditorium waiting for the other schools to file in one of the students around me, Paula, began asking if I understand Spanish. I told her that since I had lived in Spain for six months I ought to know some of the language by now. This made perfect sense to her, so she decided to test me. She began speaking simple sentences to me in Spanish, but I continued to respond in English. Perhaps I take my role a little too seriously, but oh well...

One of her comments was "Yo no quiero que te vayas" which translates to "I don't want you to go," adorable, right? Well, I had to explain to Paula that I had to go back to see my family and to do some things. She responded with "Pues, puedes volver para visitarnos por algunas meses?" or "Well, you can come back and visit us for a couple months, right?" Again, really cute but probably not going to happen. In a way I do feel bad for these kids, people like me come in every year and form bonds with them and then just as quickly we are gone. But the reality is the program only allows for a maximum stay of two years and, for me, Spain is wicked far from the United States.

Now that the weather is warming up and I walk home bathed in typical Spanish sun my conviction to leaving is weakening, but the reality is I know I won't be able to do a second year. It has been hard enough to be this far from my family and friends for this long, who knows what might happen in year two. I'm torn because I love Madrid. I love walking the streets and through Retiro park. I love the people (most of the time) and I love the lifestyle and culture of Spain. I ultimately would love to have an apartment here when I grow up so that I can come and feel like a part of the city any time I want. Madrid, and Spain in general, will always have a piece of my heart,but a much, much, bigger one belongs to my homeland. Noting about my wanting to go home is anti-Spain, just pro-other things, sabes?

Previous versions of myself would scoff at the idea of calling the US my homeland. I'd never been particularly proud of being American; in fact as a child I had often wondered what exciting lives children in other countries were leading. This time away from my country of birth gave me a new perspective on what it means to be American and how important America is for me. Perhaps some of this new found patriotism goes hand in hand with the election of a president who fits my views better than George W. Bush.

As for what I will do upon returning to the states, your guess is as good as mine. I have this feeling I will end up on the East Coast somewhere, hopefully working for an internationally focused organization... maybe even the government?!

Aqueducto! (no, it is not a Harry Potter spell...)

Since yesterday was Father's Day in Spain we had a day off. I love days off, you would think that a 3-day weekend is enough for me, but you'd be wrong. I'm actually quite lazy and like to have as many free days as possible. If a 3-day weekend is nice a 4-day weekend is better, right? Right. Glad we cleared that up.

Contrary to my lazy tendencies, I used my free day to go on a little trip. Emphasis on the "little." Audrey, Eimear, Blair and I all took the bus an hour and half north east to the touristy town of Segovia. I had been to Segovia last time I was in Spain, but it is truly adorable, so I didn't mind going again. Segovia is known for two things, the Roman Aqueduct and the Alcazar. We disembarked at the bus station and walked to the aqueduct. It was an enjoyable walk along some narrow streets to the plaza at the base of the aqueduct. The aqueduct was built around 50 BC by the Romans and uses no mortar at all, only gravity and geometry are holding the stones together.

After the aqueduct we made our way to the Plaza Mayor. Every Spanish town has a Plaza Mayor; this is because that is where victims of the Inquisition professed the Autos de Fé (basically Oaths of Faith) and if their performance was deemed unsatisfactory by the powers that be they would be killed. Legend has it that if you look hard enough in the Plaza Mayor in Madrid you can find antique blood splatter; I have yet to see any.

From the Plaza we toured the Cathedral, which to be honest wasn't all that impressive. I've seen my fair share for Churches and Cathedrals since coming to Europe and this one didn't wow me. It was nice, but it wasn't jaw-dropping.

The next few hours of the trip were eaten up by Audrey and my search for lunch. We wanted to eat in a restaurant, as we were on mini-vacation and she wanted to try the traditional Cochinillo, or baby pig. We spent at least an hour walking around trying to find a restaurant with a menú del día. We tried two places just off of the plaza, but one had an hour wait for a table and the other didn't have a menú. Finally we ended up at a nice, but a little expensive, place on the plaza. Unfortunately, Segovia is built up around promoting its cuteness as a tourist town and there are few restaurants outside of the plaza or main tourist paths. Nonetheless we enjoyed out lunches and conversation while Blair and Eimear had a picnic in the sun. Suckers.

After lunch Audrey and I walked passed the Antonio Machado Casa-Museo, which is basically a room the poet rented for a while in Segovia. Sadly the building was under construction and thus looked a little sad. Also, we couldn't find anyone working there, so any hope of going on the half-hour tour was shot to hell.

At the end of the day we walked to the Alcazar to see about going in, but the wait was long and I had been on the tour two years ago so we bailed on that and went in search of the traditional Segovian pastry, ponche. When we got to the bakery, Eimear and I noticed that ponche was the same thing Ana the school secretary had brought to a school party a few weeks ago. Since we had already tried the traditional pastry we opted for something else. I had a delicious, chocolaty brownie in honor of my dear friend Maja.

Then we went to walk a section of the aqueduct and returned to the bus station for our ride back. It was an enjoyable day in an adorable little town.

I am the Proud Owner of One Economy Class Ticket to Helsinki

For those of us from the States, countries in Europe seem fairly close together. I can get from Madrid in the most western extreme of Europe to Germany, a country arguably in the middle, in about two hours. In the States two hours would get you from Portland OR to, perhaps, Denver or Salt Lake City. Sadly, I've not taken advantage of this relative proximity since returning to Spain. I did make it over to Germany, but not much else. Come Easter weekend that will change. I am going to Helsinki, Finland.

When I found out that I would move back to Madrid I set a personal goal of seeing Finland. Those of you not related to me may be wondering "why Finland?" The answer is simple, my Grandmom. My great-grandparents on her side were immigrants from Finland, Vimpeli, Finland to be exact. That being said, Finnish culture hasn't driven my life by any stretch of the imagination; growing up my Grandmom tried to assimilate as much as possible, going so far as to NOT teach her kids the language (which bugs me because I love languages and would love to know that one!). That doesn't mean I don't take special notice when Finland come up or know how to make two traditional foods.

Even though I had set the goal of going to Finland, that doesn't make flights cheaper or Finland closer to Spain. When I initially looked into it flights were around 300 euros, not to mention another 200 for a hotel, plus Scandinavia has earned rep for being expensive. Early on I floated the idea to my mom, which she seemed to like but I never booked anything because the prices were too high. Out of seemingly nowhere she brings back up the Finland idea and I re-explain the cost issue. She sends me back an email basically saying that my parents, and probably my Grandpop, would help pay for it. I know this is true because I know how important my Grandmom was to everyone and thus, by association, how important Finland is. Now I have no excuse not to go, only good reasons to make the trip.

I know that my Grandmom always wanted to visit. Once, in the 1950s her parents had the chance to go back on a trip and see how things had changed in the 30 or so years since they left, but my Grandmom never got to make the trip. Now, I have the chance to go as a representative of our family. I know myself and I know that this trip is going to be an emotional adventure as well as an adventure in the traditional sense. To me, it seems like a chance to learn something about my Grandmom and where she comes from.

In 2002 my Grandmom passed away. Since she lived in Pennsylvania it was difficult for us to see much of each other. To my recollection we probably saw that side of the family once every few years while I was growing up. Because of this I, regrettably, don't have a lot of memories of certain members of my family. Unfortunately, my Grandmom is a member of this group.

In contrast, I spent my four years at American University going up to Pennsylvania to spend Thanksgiving and random weekends with my Grandpop, two Uncles and my Aunt's family, I even spent one summer living in his house. That time was a wonderful opportunity to get to know the members of my family who for a while had seemed detached from my "normal" life. At times I can't help but wonder what it would have been like if all the members of my family had been alive when I had the chance to live so close.

Alas, that question will never be answered, but I look at this trip as an opportunity to forge a unique bond with my Grandmom. My Grandpop and I share a joke about my laundry (which I always brought to his house) and my Aunt outfits me with GIANT bags of Swedish Fish candies from BJ's; now my Grandmom and I can share Finland.

Back by Popular Demand

I thought I could get away with posting only when something interesting happened. I was wrong. Sorry. In the past week I've received several comments on my lack of blogging, some wondering if everything was alright. I am fine, just in a routine with school that I don't find particularly thrilling...

Before I begin this post I have to remind you all that I love Spain. Love it. But just like family members that we love, Spain has it's faults. Yes, Spain functions slower than most of the Western World. And they do love their ham products. But these quirks are at times lovable or teach us something. The one fault I'm going to talk about isn't all that lovable. Spain is racist.

I would venture to guess that most of this stems from their 45 years under a dictatorship that valued sameness. For example, Franco insisted that everyone in Spain speak Castellano, even though there are other major dialects like Catalan and Gallego. The goal was to paint everyone the same and have a homogeneous population. Clearly that was not going to happen, but he would sure try! Still after 34 years of democracy the effects of dictatorship influence the people.

Now one of the main problems I see in Spain is racism. Perhaps I'm more prone to notice it because the United States is almost hyper-sensitive to racial issues. At no point will I ever argue that the United States has it all figured out on any issue, especially race relations. But Spain has a lot of learning to do. In 2007 I did a short report for my Spanish class about an incident in Spain where an immigrant woman was beaten in the Barcelona metro simply for being an immigrant. I commented that I didn't know how the attacker knew she was from Latin America and my professor, who is Spanish, said "Oh, Spaniards just know" as to imply that they have a national 6th sense about "others". Side note, the kid was charged and there were anti-racist and pro-immigrant protests; it is not like these types of things go unpunished.

Things that shock Americans pass for acceptable behavior here. Early in my time at Rosa Luxemburgo one of the teachers was talking about a student of mine, Joe, who is from the Philippines. To make sure the people in the conversation knew exactly which student we were talking about he put his index fingers to the outside corners of his eyes and pulled the skin back. This same gesture has recently put pop-star Miley Cyrus on the proverbial firing line in the States, but it was acceptable lunch time humor in a Spanish elementary school.

Last week the 3rd and 4th grades of Rosa Luxemburgo were invited to a concert put on by the Social Works of the Caja Madrid Bank. The title was "Sonidos de la Tierra" or "Sounds of the Earth". The purpose of the show was to teach children, through music, that in the end we are all human. For about an hour the group preformed songs from various regions in the world. The first two numbers didn't bother me, but when we got to Mexico I began to feel uncomfortable. As Jose Luis and his mates played Cielito Lindo images of Speedy Gonzales and people sleeping against cacti were projected behind them. It started to feel like they were doing it in jest, slightly to poke fun at Mexicans.

Eastern Europe passed with little controversy; yes they had grouped together anything west of Germany and all of former Yugoslavia together but it wasn't particularly offensive. Perhaps they were saving the offense for their song from the heart of Africa. It was a call and answer song, so they tried to teach it to us. When I looked to my program for the words I was disgusted with the image on the page, then I looked up to see the title "Black Africa" above pictures of tribal people in Africa. To add to my disorientation the presentation of the song almost seemed like their comedic interpretation of a traditional African song. I'm not sure if their attempt to make learning fun just backfired into them making fun of other people, either way I was nervous for what was coming next. Who knew what culture we were going to offend and belittle next!

To close the show they played a song from a very young country that has invented lots of things, including many musical styles like Jazz and Gospel. The song they chose to play from the United States was a "country" song. I put country in quotes because the actual style of music was more along the lines of Bluegrass, but actually could have been Oh Susanna. This time the screen behind the band showed pictures of toothless men in overalls, but no shirts. The kinds of images Americans associate with mid-century cartoons about the gold rush. Lucky for us, kids in Spain are learning that is what America is like. Excellent.

After the concert two of the Spanish speaking teachers and I got into an excellent conversation about how that wasn't even a "Country" song, nor was it representative of my country. That lead us to talking about Oregon and how I do and don't want to go back (more on that in another post). These two women had previously seen rather stand-offish to me, but that was probably because they didn't know how to communicate with me. Unfortunately, when every we had crossed paths the kids were around so I didn't want to speak tons of Spanish in front of them. This time they were telling me to get a cup for some coffee and I responded to them in front of one of my 4th graders, Daniela. She promptly freaked out and wanted me to speak Spanish with her. I explained that I would if we saw each other in the grocery store or outside of school, but when I come to school I am there to speak English. She accepted my answer and went off to play. Pilar and Maribel, the two Spanish teachers looked on almost in awe and laughed when I explained the situation to them. I'm really glad we had our little talk; now I know they aren't as scary as I thought and they know we can chat in Spanish... but only when the coast is clear.

Now on to the truly disturbing portion of my racism post. The play that will be going on at school tomorrow. It is the only English language activity that the school will be hosting or really participating in. For a city that publicly praises its bilingual program, Madrid offers few activities outside of the classroom for kids to do in English. The group is bringing the play "Tarzan" to the multi-purpose room of Rosa Luxemburgo. "Tarzan" is also a musical. One of the songs is entitled Jungle Fever. I don't know about you, but I learned "Jungle Fever" as a derogatory term for people in an interracial relationship; for example one might say that a white man dating a black woman has Jungle Fever.

The words to this Jungle Fever song go as follows:

We've got Jungle Fever,
We've got Jungle Fever, we're in love.
I've just found my baby,
We've just found our baby, we're in love.

This might sound familiar to anyone who has seen the 1991 Spike Lee movie, or heard the Stevie Wonder song associated with it.

Now my boggle is what to do. I didn't get a look at the lyrics until maybe Wednesday, clearly too late for them to cancel the show. But these kids can't learn a song that repeats this phrase over and over again without knowing that they really ought not to use it. I've informally polled many English speakers and, with one exception, everyone instantly recognized it as derogatory. But really, how do you tell a group of 3rd and 4th graders in a generally racist country not to use a catchy phrase from the song in the play because it is mean to interracial relationships?

Obviously I will let you know how tomorrow goes. If nothing else, we can all laugh at my discomfort in this situation!

18 Weeks Down, 24 to Go!

What to say, what to say...
This week had been business as usual. School had become fairly routine; I show up, I speak some English then I go on to private lessons. The kids seem to like the substitute for Elena, and I enjoy her too. She is a really nice woman and is well prepared to take on the class. I think she was a little shocked at their bad behavior, but is developing ways to work with them on that. I am mostly in charge of the English lessons because Carolina's English isn't as good as Elena's, but Carolina takes over the Science class. We work pretty well together.

On Tuesday I lectured one class of 3rd graders about being disrespectful and not taking advantage of the opportunity they are given. I recognize that it is easy for me to look at it from a grown-up perspective and know that they are in an amazing position to be bilingual, while they just see it as another subject they are forced to take. I can't stress to them enough how wonderful it is for them to be able to speak two languages, possibly more. They all talk about wanting to visit NYC and America, but honestly they would have a better time if they spoke the language and didn't wander around with half a clue. I've tried explaining that I would have loved for my elementary school to force me to be bilingual, but that just flew over their heads. Maybe, one day, when they are struggling to order a sandwich in a real New York Deli they will realize that I was right and they should have paid attention.

Also in school related news, Thursday this week is Peace Day. This means that the kids will be learning to sing Micheal Jackson's Heal the World, complete with actions. When I was younger I liked Micheal Jackson, mostly the Thriller album. This particular song now drives me nuts. It is fair to say I hate it. Now I get to listen to it over and over and over. It is like Eduardo knew and has selected it jus to torture me!! Thankfuly it will all be over Thursday afternoon.

I've also been working with my private lessons. They are all going along well, but I think I have to start challenging the older kids. Both Carlota and Fidel have good vocabularies, but they need to practice using them. Carlota is by far my most advanced student, which makes her class easy and difficult at the same time. Her questions are usually more technical or complicated than Fidel's. Also she will complete an activity in half the time I plan for it to take, leaving me to cook something up on the spot. Fidel's little sister, Miriam, is bright also, but she speaks very little English (mostly because she is 7 years old) and I have to work very hard to be clear and repeat things several times. I try to use very little Spanish, but there are times when there is no other way. With her I try to read books I've borrowed from school or play games. I think next week we will work on cloths and dress paper dolls. This will test my artistic skills.

I could close with promises to write more often, but that would be pointless. I've resigned myself to the fact that some weeks there just isn't much to write about. When something interesting happens, rest assured I will let you know!

17 Weeks Down, 25 to Go!

Laziness has taken over. What else can I say? Lets try and update you, but as I said before I'm in a lazy streak and might just cut this post short...

Well, last week we got a permanent substitute for Elena (the 3rd Grade teacher who had surgery). The only catch is Carolina didn't arrive until Wednesday. Tuesday I basically taught all of third grade. At the end of the day my voice was dying. These kids were awful. Terrible. Horrible. I was down right disgusted with their behavior. It was the worst I had seen since starting this job. It is entirely possible that I spent more time telling them to be quiet then I spent explaining English grammar or Science.

At the end of each class the Spanish-speaking teacher, who was just filling in for the hour, would leave and yell at them for being so poorly behaved. The teacher also tried to impress upon them that they have a great opportunity to learn two languages and they shouldn't be such little bitches about it. Well, the teachers didn't call them bitches, but I will. Yes, I called a bunch of 8 year-olds bitches. But to be fair, they earned it. The sad part is that they weren't angles before Elena left, so I'm not sure what I was expecting.

The new teacher is very nice, to me. She is tough on the kids, but they honestly need it. She moved their desks out of groups of four into rows. In the groups they did nothing but push pencil cases across the line and annoy the person facing them. It was torturous to watch. Even worse to yell at them the whole time. Now in the rows they fully turn around and talk to the person behind them. RIDICULOUS. Today I had to yell at them again. Normally I keep my voice at a decent volume and just project so the whole class can hear, but it got out of hand. I had to remind them that they were taken out of the groups for a reason, and that was because they didn't listen.

I do like most of the kids, but their behavior is impossible. I also don't what will work with them. Elena chastises in English and Spanish, Eduardo throws pens and tells kids to leave the class, I try to be patient and talk to them. NOTHING seems to work. I don't know about you, but I don't remember being that bad in 3rd grade, or really any grade.

Thursday was my birthday. Typically on birthdays teachers and staff bring in a treat for everyone to share at our mid-morning break. I decided to hold on to the chocolate chips sent to me by my awesome friends Emily & Maja and bring cookies for my birthday. Gathering the ingredients wasn't difficult, if you define going to two grocery stores and eventually grating dry vanilla beans to substitute vanilla extract easy. I also resisted the urge to eat tons of dough, which was more difficult than the vanilla. From this self restraint I learned that they aren't kidding when they say a batch of cookies is 4 dozen. Before I thought it was a joke.

I made the cookies unsure of how the ladies at school would react. The Spanish are not big on sweets, but chocolate chip cookies aren't that bad... Usually people bring ham or other savory dishes to share, but I really would rather eat paste than more ham. I also didn't know what they would do about me baking the cookies. Sometimes I think they think we are babies or incapable for whatever reason, so baking and using the oven might be beyond me. One thing I was sure of was that they would all give me two kisses, one on each cheek and say congratulations. Which is a scary concept; imagine 20 Spanish women flocking to you, grabbing your face and kissing each cheek then making a huge fuss because you are such a baby and you made cookies.

When Thursday morning break rolled around I unwrapped the cookies and placed them in the middle of the table. I have to admit I was waiting for a few people to see me do it, so they would know it was my birthday and help explain to others why there were cookies on the table. And so it began. The kisses and birthday wishes flooded in. Then they started eating.

Every time we've made food or brought food the Spanish staff are hesitant to dive in. The usually pick up the item in question and look at it for a second before taking a bite. This time was no different. They picked up the cookies, clearly not from a package and tasted them. A HIT! No less than five of the women asked me for the recipe and I had to explain that the chocolate chips were imported and it would be difficult for them to reproduce it. Nonetheless I found the recipe on the Nestle website already translated into Spanish and passed it out after lunch. They were super excited to make the cookies at home and I was thrilled to have a reason to talk to them.

One of my favorite birthday moments was the several rounds of "Happy Birthday" sung to me by various groups of 3rd graders. For as much as they can suck in class, outside of class they can be super cute. I expected the hoards of girls who love me to come up and say something. What I didn't expect was little Javier to run up. He had seen several other students come up and say happy birthday, and he wanted to join. He ran up, opened his mouth and realized he didn't know what to say; quickly he ran back to his pal Pablo and asked in a very urgent tone "Como se dice feliz cumple?" Pablo responded, almost exasperated by the fact that Javi hadn't picked up what all the other kids were saying, "Happy Birthday". Then Javi came back and repeated it to me. Adorable.

Until this point I really hadn't engaged with many of the non-English speaking staff. Sure we exchange pleasantries and brief comments about weekends or students but never much more than that. This lead Fatima, the Religion teacher, to say that I frequently look lost when people speak Spanish. Luckily, one of the women obsessed with my cookies was Fatima, so we had a chance to talk about baking and I could prove I'm not always lost!

After school I came back to my neighborhood and took advantage of a coupon to the English book shop. For only 24 euro I bought four books. At the rate I am going this will last a while, but I could easily pick up reading more. When we first moved here I was reading all the time, but since we got the password to the wireless internet I've spent much more time surfing the web, reading perezhilton.com or news articles than real books. I've decided to cut back on the pointless internet, books are probably better for my brain.

My birthday celebration didn't stop with the books. I went to dinner with Melanie, Meagan and Theresa to a Mexican restaurant. It was delicious. They had some of the best guacamole I've ever had. Or maybe I just think it is the best because I can't remember what good guac tastes like... either way I was satisfied. The only downside was when one of the waiters was a jerk to us. He rather quietly announced a plate to give us; it was mine and I was far from him so I didn't hear him. He then gave us flack about not speaking Spanish and reminded us for the billionth time that we are in Spain and should speak Spanish. DUH! We know what country we are in and what language they speak here, get off my back. I wonder if he was a jerk because he heard us speaking English amongst ourselves and assumed we were tourists or imposed some anti-American feelings for no reason. Whatever his motive was, it was uncalled for. Meagan, who was sitting at the other end of the table, heard him and told him where to put the food. No pasa nada, buddy!

Now I am back to the daily grind. Yelling and 3rd graders and talking to kids in English. I'm also back to working my private lessons, I even managed to pick up an extra one. Oh! I forgot to mention that on Tuesday i bought tickets to meet up with my cousin in London. It will be awesome, but it will also be in May...

Note: I know that today is Inauguration Day but I won't be posting on that today. I am too upset about not being there to think about it too long. It could be fair to say that I am more upset about missing today than I was about missing election day...

16 Weeks Down, 26 to Go!

Yesterday was the first day back at school after our long vacation. I have to say it was difficult to get out of bed, but once I was up and going the day passed quickly. The metro and bus ride to school was oddly familiar, the same way that coming back from Berlin felt like coming home.

My Thursday schedule puts me with Elena for planning first thing. I knew this time was going to be important because before break she told me that she was going to be gone for most of January. Today she had surgery and will be out recovering for the rest of the month. Her absence is complicated by the fact that most of the substitute teachers are in the sub-pool because they didn't pass the exams and there is no way of knowing what level of English this person is going to have. I'm keeping my fingers crossed that they person they bring in will be decent at English, as I'm only there two days a week and the rest of the time there will only be the teacher.

For the afternoon Eduardo had to cover Elena's class (she left at recess to get ready for her surgery) and I had to go with him. While in there he had the kids do the same project that the 4th graders had done earlier in the day, which was simply to write a few sentences about four of the days from break and draw a picture. Victor, the kid who doesn't understand a single word of English was clearly lost. I went over and tried to explain it using as many cognates as possible, still nothing. Sensing the problem Eduardo called Victor up to him at the teacher's desk and tried again, this time slipping in a little Spanish. When I passed his desk again, Victor had one sentence written and looked lost again. This time I broke character, so to speak, and explained it in Spanish to him. I also gave him the Spanish-English dictionary to look up basically every word. I really do try with him, but I'm starting to believe that some kids just don't belong in a bilingual program like this one.

What I noticed about Victor was that he basically could figure out what we were talking about, vacation and the special days, but when it came to the details of the instructions he was lost beyond belief. He figured out how to prepare the paper the way Eduardo showed them, not by listening but watching. When it came to what to do with the paper, nothing. It doesn't help him that his table mates hardly pay attention, so when he asks for help in Spanish they can't explain it. When I finally explained it in Spanish he got the biggest smile on his face. I'm pretty sure up to this point he hated me for not being talking to him in a language he understands. Every other day he would basically glare me down and tell me to go away (the one English phrase he has mastered), hopefully next week he will be less hostile toward me!

Wednesday was the beginning of the big sale season in Spain. Practically everything is marked down. I held my December pay check (because it is the January money) in reserve until yesterday. I decided that today I would go out and shop. Unfortunately, there was a huge snow storm today, so the streets were slushy. I hoped that this would keep shoppers at home, but clearly I misjudged Spaniards' love of mark-downs. With their umbrellas in tow the shoppers crowded as usual. I would like to report that I found tons of things, but apparently in two days the stuff was picked-over. I might try the other shops in our area tomorrow, but today was a bit of a bust. Boo!

15 Weeks Down, 27 to Go!

Let's see here. I think the two main points in this update are New Years and a short trip to Sevilla.

Since Meagan had her troop of friends visiting and Alicia was also here we had a New Years dinner party. Most restaurants in Madrid charge upwards of 70€ per person for New Years dinner, and we all agreed that was ridiculous. We gathered in Meagan and Theresa's living/dinning room and feasted. The general feeling in the room was really nice; everyone was friendly and chatting freely. The food was amazing. Meagan and Theresa supplied chili and tortilla española, I made cornbread and the guests picked out a nice apple tart for dessert.

Let me pause for a moment for a story about how things in Spain are never as simple as I want them to be. Since I have an oven, the hosts requested that I bake something for the dinner. Not a problem, I actually love to bake back home. I decided that since they were going to make chili I would make cornbread. Before going to the store for ingredients I looked up the word for "corn meal' which was translated to "harina de maiz" (literally, flour from corn). I found the product in the store and bought two boxes.

Later in the day I went to make the corn bread. My butter was melted, my ingredients were lined up and I opened the box of harina de maiz and took a peek inside. Harina de maiz turned out to be corn starch; you know, the very fine powder most people use to thicken stews or pie juices, not make bread. I had to pack away the corn starch, haul myself back to the grocery store and pray they were open and that had actual corn meal. My first clue should have been the ease with which I found the harina de maiz. It was just sitting there, waiting for me. Too easy.

Luckily, I found the right product in the Mexican foods section and proceeded to make a cornbread like food. It didn't turn out right, and I'm still working out why not. Everyone seemed to enjoy it and it tasted alright, the fluffiness was just a little low.

After the feast we went to Puerta del Sol to countdown until 2009. This was basically the Madrid equivalent of going to NYC Time Square. The crowds were huge, there was a security checkpoint so you didn't bring in bottles. Thankfully, the city was smart and passed out huge cups so you could bring in the beverages just not the containers. We figured that it was the danger of carbonated drinks, like Cava (Spanish Champagne) posed to the crowds. Imagine bunches of corks popping into a packed plaza. That sounds like a recipe for disaster.

We found a spot and hunkered down for about an hour, maybe a little more and waited. While we were waiting a slide show of pictures of the city played, as did some pop music. Finally it was time. The Spanish countdown from 12 because you are supposed to eat one grape per second to bring good luck into the next 12 months. I managed to finish my grapes, but many did not. We got a little bit of a late start and had to play catch-up. We struggled not to laugh our half-chewed grapes out onto the side walk, as the idea of herds of people forcing down grapes seemed comical.

I'm not sure what kind of luck the grapes will bring this year, as shortly after finishing them I got punched in the head. It was a total accident and it wasn't that hard. What happened was one of Meagan's friends tried to put his hand in a picture and in doing so reached over me. When the picture subjects realized what was going on they pushed his fist out of the frame and into my forehead. It mostly startled me and I'm fine now. I just hope it was the manifestation of all of 2008's bad luck leaving!


On New Years day Theresa, Alicia and I went on a trip to Sevilla. We took the bus that left at 11 pm and arrived in Sevilla the following morning. It was kind of difficult to sleep on the bus, but I made it work. When we arrived at the bus station it was way too early for any sightseeing, as the sun wouldn't be up for three more hours and the sights wouldn't open for four more. We camped out in the Cafe and fueled up on Churros and warm beverages.

Sadly, our trip was basically rained on the whole time. We had a nice stretch in the afternoon, but most of the morning, including the walk to the sights from the bus station was rainy. We started with the Royal Palace. This was constructed on top of a former Moorish building. Back in the day, and I mean way back, like 900's, the Moors invaded Spain and held on for a few hundred years (until somewhere around 1492, I think). Even though the original building was removed the new castle had many Islamic influences, such as water features, courtyards and arches upon arches. The Royal Gardens also produced enough oranges to prevent scurvy in all of Spain, but the fruit was sadly falling to rot. The building was gorgeous.

Across the plaza was the Cathedral. It is the second largest Cathedral, after Saint Peter's in Rome and Saint Paul's in London. Now I have been to two of the three, and I hope to check Saint Paul's off before crossing back over the Atlantic. One can't help but be impressed by things like that. They were designed to impress and show power. I just can't wrap my brain around why Churches would spend so much money on golden tapestries or HUGE statues when the funds could be put to helping people. I'm sure this is a lesson they learned in time, as these types of churches were constructed long ago, but still I have to wonder if somewhere in the planning stages others found it silly also.

After those two big sites we ate lunch and went on a walking tour in our brief period of sunshine.

We closed the night with a few drink in a "Tapas" bar recommended by the guide book, but actually does not serve food. We were a little bummed, as we like to sample local foods whenever possible. But we had a nice drink then moved on to our last item. The Flamenco show.

I don't know if there are words to describe Flamenco. I really think you have to see a show, if you get the chance. (If you end up in Sevilla, I can recommend a good cultural center with cheap tickets!) I have to admit, I didn't catch many words in the singing, but I did catch the elevated levels of emotion. I also was enthralled by the dancing. Both the man and the woman were stomping and stepping with such precision and passion that I couldn't take my eyes off them.

After the action packed day we walked back to the bus station in a monsoon. I kid you not, it POURED to the point that there were currents of water rushing through the streets. Theresa and Alicia popped into a store to buy a change of socks (I had packed one in a moment of temporary genius) and a towel to dry our feet with. We made it almost back to the bus station when the rain proved too much and we hid out in a Pizza Hut to eat and wait it out.

When we got on the bus I removed my soaking shoes and put on the dry socks and settled in for a 6 hour ride back. We jam-packed our day in Sevilla, but it was nice. I would love to go back sometime when it isn't raining and stay for a few days. On our walking tour we ended up in the labyrinth of the Barrio Santa Cruz. Thank God Theresa is an expert map-reader, because I would have ended up so lost in that maze. What I did notice while she lead the way was there were hostels abound there. I would love to stay in one and really explore the city and that neighborhood in particular.

Now I have three more days of vacation left and to be honest I haven't thought about school once. I should probably crack open my teacher's editions and see what I will be getting back into, but for now I will continue to rejoice in doing nothing.