¿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.