…the rest of my Madrid, Spain study abroad blogs
February 15, 2006 – Wednesday
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SPAIN!: Sangria and Strippers Before I get started I have to say, this is a really long blog, sorry, but I have a lot to say and I´m looking for a publisher. Haha. No, really.
The last two weeks here in Madrid have been full of interesting cultural sights, inspiring reflections on life, and endless moments in which I, Erin Granat, have made a complete idiot of myself. Shall we commence?
First and foremost, I got an A on my first exam. This is thrilling, and my Spanish has improved more than I could have ever imagined. It´s becoming like word vomit, the phrases come out before I have a chance to go over it in my head. Which I suppose is a sign that it´s coming to me more naturally, though it´s a problem when I say things without thinking like when my roomate Laura was trying to give me her cell number so we could maybe meet up when we were both out that weekend. In my excitement that she was even talking to me, much less asking me to hang out, I made a complete idiot of myself. I wanted to make the joke that I still don´t know my cell number here, but instead of saying ¨No se mi numero¨(I don´t know my number), I kept saying ¨No se mi nombre¨(I don´t know my name). ¨Numero¨ and ¨nombre¨ are like the first two words you ever learn in Spanish, but in my excitement I just couldn´t get it straight. She tried to correct me but I thought she just didn´t understand, so I kept insisting I didn´t know my name. She looked at me like I was crazy and left me with Agata the Ugly Pooping Cat.
The roommate situation has improved somewhat, however. I no longer scurry to my room in fear when I hear their key in the lock and a few times we´ve sustained longer than three minute conversations. Laura did end up taking me out last weekend. Roxanne, Jenni, and I met her at a salsa club. It was really fun and actually sooo hard, salsa is like an athletic event. Most everyone there was South American, including Laura´s sorta boyfriend, Willy. He´s from Ecuador I think and after meeting him I said to Laura, trying to be nice: ¨Willy es muy guapo!¨ (Willy is very handsome). She just looked at me and said, ¨No, es feo.¨(No, he´s ugly). Okay then.
One of my favorite nights of all was when a group of us went to this tiny club/lounge that didn´t even have a name. We went with Roxanne´s Spanish friend Alejandra, you literally had to know a password to get in. It was just this tiny place full of candles, almost seemed like someone´s apartment, and everyone was just sitting around on pillows talking and smoking. In the basement there was a drum circle with a guy playing sitar (I don´t know how to spell it). I told one of the ¨waiters¨ (just guys that work there for free because they want to) that my dad has a sitar and he ushered me to the front. I got some great pictures and videos.
I went to the big annual Madrid flamenco festival with some friends from class, it was really beautiful and there was this adorable little boy, Lorenzo, who couldn´t have been more than 6 years old, dancing up a flamenco storm. After we went to Sesamo, a tiny underground bar that only serves sangria. There was a man playing the piano and we all sat around and had one of those conversations about art that´s not at all pretentious and keeps your brain thinking for days.
I´ve generally been spending a lot of time alone, just in my own thoughts. It´s really my favorite part about being here, I´ve never had so much time to just read and contemplate and ruminate and many other ¨ate¨ words that make a person seem intelligent. I especially love Sundays, I´ve been going to Retiro, this incredibly beautiful huge park in the center of Madrid. There are tons of ancient statues, one is really cool, it´s called something like ¨The Fallen Angel¨and is the first known statue depciting Satan. There´s also a big lake where you can rent boats and putter around. Every Sunday there´s a huge drum circle and just a ton of people hanging out, dancing, talking in 20 different languages. I was having a splendid time last Sunday, just taking it all in, feeling the vibe of harmony and unity and happiness and blah blah blah when I look over and see some asshole with a video camera, filming up a girl´s skirt! I couldn´t believe it! I stood there for a few minutes, unsure what to do, there were several other people around, mainly men, watching him do it and not saying anything. Finally, I tapped into a moral resevoir I didn´t know I had and went and told the girl. They all started yelling and I just walked away.
Maybe it was because I was bored or maybe cause the Dirty Videotaper made me feel sinful, but afterwards I went to church. More correctly, I was leaving Retiro and saw the door to a beautiful church open, thought I would take the tour, once inside realized being a Sunday they were having service, thought, why not?, and sat down. The first thing I do is put my tired feet up on this convenient and thoughtful foot rest in front of the pew. It took a few shocked gasps and looks of horror to realize the ¨foot rest¨ was for kneeling in prayer. Oops. The service was in Spanish and I didn´t understand a word of it, so I spent the rest of the time looking at this baroque sculpture of Jesus on the cross and thinking about what a morbid image it is and being curious as to how so many millions of people around the world revere this violent image as a symbol of faith. But that´s neither here nor there.
Few more cool things. Went to Art Madrid, this really great alternative art fair and saw some incredible stuff. Then that night I went out with my intercambio (a Spanish student you get partnered with to practice Spanish/English). Her name is Noemi and she´s this tiny little thing who lives in an actual house which is rare in Madrid. She and her friends were celebrating the end of their really tough yearly exams, so they made reservations at this special restaurant. Not just any restaurant, a ¨restaurante erotico,¨ yep, just like it sounds. La Olla Caliente features a full course meal with sangria and champagne, bread in the shape of genitalia, two girl strippers, two boy strippers, and an MC. I had no idea this was where we were going, however, so when during our salads the MC walked out in a suit and bondage gear, I knew it would be an interesting time. And it was. I´m pretty sure the girls were boys and one of the boys was a girl and had dance moves that would put Vanilla Ice to shame. The best of all, however, is that the other night I was getting an ice cream before going to the movies and who´s behind me in line but one of the guy strippers. I couldn´t stop gawking at him. It´s just really hard to eat Cookies and Cream normally when a 6-foot muscle man whose unmentionable parts you have seen in full view is standing next to you.
Okay, that´s enough for now, if you´re still reading. I´m going this weekend to Turino for the Olympics and I am so so so excited. More soon!
Hope everyone is well! Erin |
March 7, 2006 – Tuesday
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SPAIN!: The Olympics! So this blog is a little overdue but I´m definitely on ¨Study Abroad Time.¨ As in, I have an incredible weekend with a shitload of sweet experiences but then just the random Monday following is so cool that I never get around to writing about the weekend. Whatever, you get the point. But it´s about time I told y´all about my wild adventures at the Winter Olympics in Torino, Italy. My outrageously fun, empathetic, and cleanly junior year rommate Neva and her childhood best friend Kyle are studying in Torino for the semester. What luck! Somewhere to stay during the Olympics! We three bought tickets to a hockey game back in November and finally, it was time to kick it Olympian style. The trip started out well. I ate red meat for the first time in a month on Italy was just as I always imagined it would be. Incredible food, beautiful For the evening´s entertainment we made it our quest to sneak into the Budweiser party, which is like the mecca of exclusive Olympic parties where all the gold medalists rub elbows and the beer flows like water. Actually, I don´t know if ¨sneak¨ is the right word, we more or less Macgiver´ed it Iraq military Mission Impossible II style into the party. Which was held in a pyramid. On a river bank. Weird. Basically, here´s how it transpired. We´re standing around outside the party amidst all the security enjoying our slight intoxication (well, maybe more than slight, we had just finished some wicked rounds of wine pong) when Neva suddenly scales the nearest fence. Literally just attacks it Sparks High style. I had a few drinks in me, so I said to myself: ¨Self, you only live once. Why not?¨ So me, Sexy Red Pants and Suggestive Stiletto Boots follow suit, Neva´s friend Kevin in tow. So we´re clunking along a roof next to the pyramid and I´m starting to think it’s a bad idea when I see Neva already on the roof of the next building. I start to shout to her to
We had a few moments of moral deliberation before deciding that Kevin would definitely still want us to go to the Budweasier party, and off we went. Neva and Kyle snuck in first, then Jeff and I gave it a try. Keep in mind that I wasn´t exactly wearing hiking boots and Jeff is about 6´4¨ for this next part of the story. So: we climbed another huge chain link fence, found a small opening in the tarp of the pyramid, shimmied on our stomachs under it into a mass of electrical wires on the other side, darted the laser lights of the DJ that we later realized reflected our shadows on the wall for the whole party to see, ran smack into a security guard to whom I shouted ¨I don´t understand Italian!¨ darted through two backstage rooms one if which I swear was the Bud Girls´ dressing room but I can´t be sure, and….finally….into the Budweiser party!!!!! And it was well worth it! Free beer, athletes hanging around in their jeans, T-shirts, and gold medals, free food, sick DJ, free beer, go-go dancers, free beer, incredible! For some reason I spent a long time talking to a bartender about how lame Britney is since she married K-Fed, but also got my dance on just loved life.
After such an exciting night we took it pretty easy the next day. In the afternoon we went to the plaza where the Today Show was filming and tried to get the attention of Al Roker, Katie Couric, and Matt Lauer. Considering that our friend Marianna was in a wheelchair because she sprained her ankle and we had a huge sign that said ¨American Study Abroad Students!¨ we thought we were a shoo-in, but considering that Kyle had written on the other side ¨Who wants a mustache ride?¨ it didn´t exactly work out.
We also saw the sights of Torino and went to the Sponsorship Village where there are all these Olympic memorabilia things and what not. The highlight was Kristen and I stealing a basket of used bread after the people next to us left. What? We´re on a budget!
Then we had another adventure in Italian nightlife. A whole bunch of us went to this swank club called The Loft. Those Italians are a bit swarmy, though. You don´t pay a cover when you walk in and are handed a drink card. So instead of paying for anything you just keep getting the card punched. So you end up getting screwed. But it was a chill night, enjoyed dancing with my Neva again, etc. But then it was time to leave, this is when you find out you owe 30 euro in drinks plus a 15 euro cover charge. Were we going to pay it? Hell no! Oh, the tactics we tried. Evading security. Casually slipping out the door. Neva even pretended to faint to distract the bouncers! In the end, plain old I´m A Stupid American worked the best. My drunk determination set in and I simply refused to pay. Poor Kyle got stuck with me, but we worked the Good Cop/Bad Cop. I just kept saying over and over that we were Americans and hadn´t understood we had to pay at the end. He kept getting all mad and threatening. We insisted we hadn´t had any drinks. We couldn´t pay the 15 euro cover charge, we had no cash. Or ATM cards. Or phones to call our friends. Our even friends for that matter. As ridiculous as our story kept getting, the most unbelievable part of the whole situation was the bouncer we were arguing with. The man didn´t speak Italian, English, French, or even a real language. He kept clicking! I can´t even explain it! He just made weird noises with his tongue! It was extremely frustrating but made it easer to pretend like we understood nothing. Kyle and I stayed until the club shut down and were escorted to the manager. We ended up paying 5 euros for the both of us and left laughing to meet everyone at a kebab stand, giddy with our success.
The next day, Sunday, was the day of our hockey game, Italy v. Czech Republic! After months of anticipation, it was just as I had hoped. The crowd was rowdy and there were plenty of good solid hockey fights. I had thought the Olympics might be a bit cheesy and serious, but it wasn´t at all. We had a great time cheering for Italy who got killed like 6 to 1 and watching the Olympic cheerleaders, these girls who do ridiculous routines and wear the ugliest gold and orange uniforms you have ever seen. Kyle left early to catch a train to Rome and Neva and I went and had an incredible 3 hour Italian dinner and wonderful talk. I went to sleep satisfied and content, images of hockey players and my luggage arriving dancing in my head.
Alas, Monday was the end of my Italian adventures, and after saying good bye to Neva and The Shire, I found my way to the airport and hopped on a plane back to Madrid, Agata, and jamón.
The End |
April 17, 2006 – Monday
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SPAIN!: All About March Brought To You In April Hello friend, family, foe. Whoever you may be, you are in for a treat because you are going to read about my month of March, possibly the best and most exciting March I have ever had. Granted, March has never been that all special (its rainy, gloomy, stuck between February and April) but now I will always treasure it as the best month of my youth. Please, read on. (And, yes, I realize it is now the middle of April, a bit late to be telling you about March. Sorry.)
*And pre-P.S. this is an incredibly fucking long blog. So Ive taken the liberty to divide it up into sections, Part One and Part Deux (say it in your head like on VH1) in case you want to read it in two sittings. Or maybe Im just a pompous asshole and you dont want to read it all. Whatev.*
Part One
The month started out with a class trip to the Basque Country, as part of a field studies class Im taking on Basque history and culture. It was especially interesting being from northern Nevada, which has the largest Basque community outside of Spain. We stayed all three nights in San Sebastian, the well-known coastal resort town and most popular study abroad location for UNR students. It was small, beautiful, and fucking freezing. We saw all the major sights of San Sebastian, which took approximately half an hour because its very small. The best part of the trip was going to Bilbao, the most unappreciated city in the world. All I had ever heard was how ugly it is, but I was blown away. Apparently the city has been going through a major renovation and now it is spectacular. The buildings are all neat and multi-colored, and of course the Guggenheim museum is out of this world. Ive really never seen anything like it; its all silver and looks a cross between a spaceship and the famous opera house-thing in Australia.
We also ate at a gastronomic society, a famed Basque tradition. Its basically a fraternity for men that really love to cook (and this is not considered gay), in fact women werent allowed in until recently and they still cant be a part of the cooking. We met up with all the USACers of San Sabby at dinner and I found John Dorm, aptly named because he lived next to me freshman year in New Hall. Hes having a great time in San Sabby and I can see why, its a really special place.
We ended the trip in the tiny town of Burgos. We went to the famous Burgos cathedral where El Cid is buried. Hes the famed Spanish warrior that fought against the Moors and is considered to be a symbol of Spanish strength. Burgos is also famous for morcilla, or blood sausage. Just like it sounds. Ewww.
The Basque Country trip was really nice because we saw so much, and I really dorkily love seeing all the cultural stuff and having guided tours and being an ultimate tourist. So, in complete opposition of such an intellectual experience, the next weekend I ventured all the way to Cadiz in the south of Spain for Carnival, one of the largest Carnivals in the world.
Now, this isnt carnival like in Ferris wheels and funnel cakes and winning gold fish in baggies, this is Carnival like in the centuries-old tradition of going absolutely crazy and being sinful for a week before giving it all up for Lent. So were talking elaborate costumes and masks (like in Eyes Wide Shut yikes!) and concerts and dancing and mayhem. Its basically Halloween, but for a week.
After an 8-hour bus ride to Cadiz (which is the oldest city in Europe, by the way) I found myself in a five-star resort with Paul and Arthur. Yep, just me and the boys. Dont worry, Dad, I had my own room. Because it was the off-season (and why we could stay there for so cheap) the resort was completely deserted save for some old German tourists. We were on a beautiful beach, and it was so nice to see the ocean after weeks of Madrid city life. And I had the great idea to venture into the town our first day there. So I drag the boys along with me, little did we know it was practically a hurricane it was so windy. It took us 12 minutes to get to town because the wind was at our backs and an hour and a half to get back to the resort because the wind was against us. And the town was actually just a group of summer houses, also deserted. But that night made up for all the trouble because we experienced Carnival first-hand!
We hadnt really planned on wearing costumes, but once we saw all the other Americans in the hotel getting dressed up as pirates, 80s girls, and all the other typical costumes my competitive, costume-obsessed sorority girl side kicked in. So I was a Chinese girl (I had a Chinese dress with me. Dont ask.) and I made the boys togas out of their bed sheets. They even wore my eyeliner! They were very good sports.
Upon arriving at the center of Carnival we quickly realized this would be a night like no other. The Spaniards seriously go all out and win the award for most original costumes. There were guys dressed like race car drivers with cardboard cars around their stomachs, matadors, a male Snow White with his/her seven female dwarfs, toy soldiers, everything! Every street you turned on there were lights hanging, concerts, people passing out drinks. We stumbled upon the concert of some huge Spanish pop star and pretended to know the songs. It started raining so Arthur jumped up on a flag pole (logically) and we danced around him. We took the last bus back to the resort sometime the next morning and, in true Erin fashion, I didnt set an alarm so I was the absolute last person to get on the buses back to Madrid and all hundred people had to wait for me. Oops.
After Carnival I spent a relaxing weekend in Madrid, working my new job as PR for EuropeanVibe, this company that puts on parties at clubs around Madrid for international students. I just bring my friends and get to drink for free and get a euro per person. Im really doing it just because EuropeanVibe is the cheesiest name I have ever heard and I like saying I work there. What are you doing tonight, Erin? Oh, nothing. Just working for EuropeanVibe. Har har har.
Part Deux
The following weekend I had my next adventure, and it was hands down, by far, the most fun thing Ive done in Spain so far. I went to Las Fallas in Valencia, an annual festival on the coast where the people spend all year building giant paper mache statues (called fallas), party around them all weekend, then on Sunday burn them down. All to the tune of endless firecrackers. Its considered the best pyrotechnic show in the world (because it lasts several days!) and was rated by Maxim magazine as the best party in Europe. And it was the most fun Ive ever had in my life.
We arrived in Valencia midnight on Friday and instantly took to the streets. Any fears we had that we had missed most of the nights action were quickly dispelled when we heard our first firecracker. BOOM! Then another. BOOM! This went on for four days. Its the closest Ill ever get to knowing what its like to be in a war. That first night we wondered around, looking at the fallas in awe. They are almost impossible to describe, just the most realistic sculptures you have ever seen, all kinds of colors and depicting everything you could imagine. All made out of paper, all the size of buildings. Historically, they began as ironic representations of local politicians and today are also movie characters, sports scenes, vacation places, doctor offices, crude sexual stuff, historical events, anything and everything.
At each falla the families that live in that certain barrio (not barrio like we think slum, it just means neighborhood) sit around the statue and enjoy the festivities. They cook traditional Valencian paella and have DJs with dancing. I convinced a guy to let me try some of his familys paella (delicious!) and we danced for a while in this giant tent thing that was like a Fairgrounds dance, for all you Gardnervillians. We ended the night in a couple of clubs, Valencia is known for its house music, finally taking a taxi back to our hotel.
On Saturday we went into the city around four in the afternoon, not knowing we would be walking around Valencia for the next 17 hours. We spent the day seeing more fallas, parades of people in traditional dress, and endless street performers. The boys were determined to buy the biggest and loudest fireworks, and after dragging us all around the city, Vahe and Arthur finally bought 30 euros each worth of fireworks. In perfect irony, when they finally set them off they had only bought sparklers, so instead of being big and loud they were just really pretty. We put one in Arthurs back pocket and set it off, same for Alejandra and almost burnt her hair. We generally just enjoyed doing whatever we wanted, there are no rules during Fallas. Best of all, there are no foreigners. People come from all over Spain but it seems to still be a best-kept secret; we only saw a few other Americans.
Around 11 p.m. that night the boys went home and the girls and I joined a marching band. We were searching for dinner when we heard them, playing the theme song for their barrio on trumpets, horns, and drums. Alejandra jumped in first, dancing around a man who was clanging giant cymbals. He proceeded to pick her up and swing her around, banging the metal circles behind her back. I grabbed the nearest drumsticks and started rat-tat-tat-ing. The boy (who was all of 16) wouldnt let me actually hold the drum, alas. Roxanne actually knew the Spanish song they were singing, and so we marched with them through the streets for a while. It was the closest I will ever come to being a musician.
Finally, we spotted a restaurant with an open table. Rather, we spotted a restaurant with an open table next to a group of very attractive guys. Within seconds of being seated, Alejandra was asking in Spanish if they would like to join us. We pushed our tables together and took refreshing glasses of the sangria they offered, parched from our impromptu parade. We ate our ham and cheese bocadillos with them, and being as they were all native Valencians, it was only natural to accept their offer to tour the best street fiestas with them after dinner.
Our first stop was at a sideria where the Valencians friend was working. Now, siderias are something special. This is where you buy cold sidra by the bottle which is some sort of fermented apple juice but actually tastes like olives. The thing is, you cant just pour sidra and drink it normally. The trick is that you have to hold the bottle above your head and pour the juice into the glass youre holding down by your knees. Something about the liquid hitting the bottom at such velocity secures the taste. Then you are instructed to drink 75f it in one gulp, the remaining 25ust be swished around the glass for a minute, then you have to drink it from exactly the same spot you drank from before. All for the taste, all for the taste. In any event, drinking at a sideria is just about the most fun youll ever have with your clothes on, especially in the middle of a street, especially with cute Valencian boys, especially during Las Fallas. So thats we never left. Until 9:45 the next morning.
Heres what happened: someone in a balcony above us put on a very mixed CD complete with Beyonce tracks and several versions of Its Raining Men. We had a conga line down the sidewalk to the streets falla, this one a nautical theme with mermaids, pirates, and fish. I traded jackets with one of the Valencian boys. Roxanne inherited a tall pointed red hat from a Paraguayan boy. We ate bunelos, the traditional donut served only during Fallas. I saw a man playing guitar being pulled in a cart by a miniature horse, a black baby goat on his lap. At some time during the night it started raining, but instead of ducking inside what did those crazy Spaniards do? They started climbing the walls! Really, some guys started hoisting themselves up the balconies, to the cheers of the hundreds of people below. I distinctly remember at least three different times having to stop and simply excl.. I love Spain! Make that four times, because I definitely tried to tell Alejandra in Spanish as well (and failed). There was just this incredible vibe, a distinct energy of happiness and total freedom. Everyone was smiling. Everyone had been drinking since two in the afternoon, but never once was there a fight. There were as many people in the streets at 7 a.m. as there had been at 7 p.m., singing, dancing, cheering, always around the fallas, always smiling, always just so full of life. And always, without fail, the incessant BOOM! of the firecrackers.
When we finally made it back to the hotel it was around 10:30 a.m. and we had to check out by noon, so we threw our stuff together, took the bus back into the city, and slept for most of the day in the planter next to the bus stop. That is, tried to sleep. The warm Valencian sun and lazy palms above us where just fine, but when it sounds like youre under siege during WWII, snoozing can be a bit difficult. In addition, our not-so-fancy sleeping spot was right next to a popular falla, this one depicting what seemed to be characters from the cartoon movie The Emperors New Groove, though there was also King Arthur and his court, and for some reason a rock-climbing motif in the back. Finally we gave up and headed to the Plaza del Virgenes and all the action, after all, this was the day of the La Crema, the last event of Las Fallas.
The craziness begins at 11 p.m. when they begin burning the smaller fallas. The burnings are always accompanied by fireworks, and all the little barrios compete to be the loudest. When we heard our first one, we literally ran to see the flames and lights up close, after an hour we were so used to seeing giant bonfires in the middle of the street we barely flinched. I can honestly say Ive never been that close to a fire before. They (I dont know even who they are, random men that live in the barrio? grandpas in wheelchairs? certainly never fire officials) sort of half-heartedly tell you to move back from the falla before they start burning it. But no one does.
We made it to the main plaza of Valencia in time to see La Crema, the burning of the biggest falla of them all, this year a depiction of several women all representing different countries and standing ten stories high. We stood in the crowd of something like 12,000 people for almost an hour, and in the end it only took five minutes to burn the whole thing. The paper mache goes up almost instantly. And, as always, fireworks. This time, the display was so over the top (and right on top of us) that it was literally raining ash and Roxanne got hit in the head with a big piece of firework! After La Crema, we found our way back to the bus to see the boys also covered in ash, Arthur even had a burn on his shoulder from standing too close to the fire!. Luckily, we didnt have school the next day, and when I finally woke up I wasnt sure if it had all been a dream. A long, bizarre dream. Luckily, Las Fallas really exists, and I plan on returning every year for the rest of my life.
To switch gears a bit, in roommate news, one of them moved out. Dont know why, dont know where, didnt really even know if she was Laura or Ana. By process of elimination I should be able to tell whos who among the remaining two. But now I get my own bathroom! The first thing I did was leave my stuff everywhere. Ahh, bliss. Oh! And the hair dresser roommate asked me to be a model!!! Huge progress! Not only is she acknowledging my existence, shes suggesting I might be pretty. Hooray! Well, theres a catch. She called and asked me over the phone, and Im almost positive she was asking me to be a make-up model for something her friend was organizing. The problem is I always get the words for make-up and butter mixed up: maquillaje vs. mantequilla. Ironically, butter and make-up are two of my favorite things. Blame pageants and that I love to eat. In any event, hopefully she was calling to ask me to model make-up, not model butter. Or worse, calling to ask me if I used her butter. Maybe model is a brand of Spanish margarine? In the end, I couldnt do it anyways (whatever it was) because I was going to Paris that day. Which brings me to my next point..
Paris. The most fanciful city on the planet. Gorgeous, inside and out. The people, insanely beautiful, even at nine in the morning. Well, I was never up at nine in the morning, but I bet they looked good. I went to the City of Lights to visit my childhood best friend Beva and her husband Stratis, theyre fashion photographers and have been dividing their time the last few years between Paris, Brazil, and wherever else in the world they want to travel. They have a really beautiful life full of interesting people, glamorous vacations, and exciting work, yet theyve managed to stay completely unpretentious and just fun to be around. And did they spoil me! I had some of the best food of my life over the four days, they took me to literally the best pastry shop in Paris and I had this unbelievable strawberries and cream cake thing. Ohmigod. It was so good.I need a minute.
Okay. Good to go. So, imagine my delight when Beva tells me they are doing a shoot for Amica, an Italian fashion magazine, the first day I will be there and I can come along to watch! And because it would be a bit strange to just have me tagging along like a tourist, Beva told the client and her agent (photographers have agents as well, apparently) that I was not only just her good friend but also a writer for Rolling Stone. Dios Mio! How fun, but challenging, I thought. So on the airplane to Paris I came up with all kinds of background explanations about why I was in Spain/Paris (doing research for a story, which ever-so-slightly suggested that I was an important enough writer to be sent on assignment) and why I was so young yet already working (I graduated early, which ever-so-modestly suggested I was either a child prodigy or had some famous connections, both of which were fine with me). I was also careful not to wear my Rolling Stones hoodie to avoid overkill. Then I also find out last minute that the agents boyfriend is in a band. Uh-oh. So I prepared for all potential questions about making it in the business (on which I have no fucking idea) and encouraging yet distant clichs (Its all about who you know, He just has to be in the right place at the right time,). It was go-time when I got in from the airport and met Beva, Stratis, the agent, and the client at a restaurant (perfectly named Ze Kitchen, how French!). Alas, despite all my preparation, the agent sat on the other side of the table and the girl sitting next to me spoke little English and no one ever asked me anything about myself or my work. Damn.
The next day we went to the shoot in a studio the magazine had rented. The shoot was one of the most interesting things I have ever seen. It was really just like a movie. There was music playing, photo assistants running around, a really nice Norwegian model named Ingrid, hilarious and flaming make-up and hair stylists, endless shots of espresso, and me sitting there, taking it all in. And to watch Beva and Stratis working was really great, how they work together and Beva acts out the poses they want the model to do and how they choose the perfect picture from dozens that all look the same to me, yet at the end is obviously the best one. At the end of the day I even got to get behind the camera and see what it was like, and for fun Beva took some pictures of me! Ive never felt more like a star, or more ridiculous. She had the assistants, well, assisting, and even brought out a wind machine to blow my hair around like you see in the magazines! Except my hair kept getting stuck in my mouth and in the shots where Im trying to look smoldering and sexy I just look constipated. Oh, well.
The rest of the weekend was spent visiting the Palace of Versailles (gorgeous and unbelievable gardens), the Pompidou (the modern-art museum with a bunch of freaky abstract stuff I didnt understand at all) and having endless five-hour talks. In short, a very memorable, relaxing time.
So, that was March. If youre still reading, youre either an incredibly good friend or have way to much time on your hands. Either way, hope you enjoyed. J |
May 24, 2006 – Wednesday
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SPAIN!: Confessions of a Study Abroad alum Thus begins the last installment of the study abroad blog before I become yet another American backpacking around Europe with too many shoes stuffed in my bag and a trusty friend, Oona Sapunor-Pfaff, at my side. My last month or so in Madrid was much like the others, fun weekend trips, many discotecas, many revelations.
I began April with a spring break trip to Barcelona and Mallorca with my sister, her best friend Natalie, and Meike, our German sister who lived with my family for a year when I was 12. I had high hopes for Barcelona, hearing repeatedly how cool and artsy it is. I was not disappointed. There are random art installations all over the city and a really young, open-minded vibe. We went to Parc Guell, Sagrada Familia, and the other Gaudi masterpieces. That man was a genius.
Also saw the Picasso museum and a Dali museum and had incredible dinners before flying to Mallorca, a flight for which I had not brought my passport. Meike was really afraid they wouldnt let me on the plane, but I wasnt really stressing about it. To the point that she asked me, Dont you ever worry about anything? I thought about it a minute. No, I really dont. Its the truth, for those of you who know me. Well, sometimes I worry that I dont worry enough, but thats just self-defeating so then I stop and then whole worry process was really only about 30 seconds long. I do get flustered easily, however. Man, really fucking flustered. Shannon used to see how flustered I got when we lived together, and she would joke that I needed to carry a paper bag around to put on my head for when I got flustered. Or maybe that was for when I got awkward. Shit, I dont remember. Back to Spain.
So we arrive in Mallorca, the less famous, less crazy island next to Ibiza, and its just gorgeous. Exotic palm trees, beautiful beaches, the works. As pretty as it was, our whole Mallorcan experience can be wrapped up in one word: finca. A finca, for those of you who dont know, generally means a large house in the country. But isnt it just the funniest word in the whole world? We didnt stay in a finca, however, oh no. We stayed in an apartment-share, hostel type situation that Meike found on the Internet. Basically, we had two rooms in a five bedroom apartment. Our roommates were a Croatian couple, an English man, and Marcus. |
Oh, Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. Marcus was an Austrian man (so imagine everything I say about him in an accent like Arnold Schwazzenegger p.s. not even going to try and spell that one) that at all times wore a beanie on his head, spectacles on his face, and a gym pass around his neck. Marcus loooved us four girls. He wanted to hang out with us whenever we got home and kept inviting us to a finca he knew about where there was a barbeque and a good time. So we start saying what a funny word finca is, and that Natalie and I could open our own finca. Natalie, you think-a we should open a finca? etc, etc.
For most of the week, we were unsure what his occupation could be that he lived in an apartment-share in Mallorca, sitting around in his beanie talking about fincas. At first it seemed he did something with stocks or trading, as he was always on his laptop. He did something with stocks all right, he was an astrologer for stock brokers, as in, he recommended when they should buy and sell based on what the stars said. He proceeded to show us his fancy computer programs that helped him read when Jupiter was in Mars and whatnot. Then he wanted to give us all astrological readings.
He said Meike was a perfectionist and very closed off, but that there was a secret underneath her demeanor- yeah, that she thought he was crazy! We were all trying hard not to crack up, but because Natalie snorts when she laughs it was pretty much impossible. Finally, he gives me my astrological reading. He looks for a long time, like he sees something really interesting. Looking at me, back at the computer screen. Then finally: Wow, the main thing I see is that you just are really masculine. Masculine?! Wahhhhhh!!!!! He said some nice things, like I was clear headed and able to solve problems, but because I had so much masculinity. Wahhh!
We also did some really interesting things in Mallorca, like take an old-fashioned train through the mountains to the village of Soller where we snuck into an orange grove, went to the beach, and walked around the city of Palma, but what really stuck out about the trip was Marcus. Little Marcus and his spectacles, making us laugh until our sides hurt. Ill remember him for the rest of my life.
A few weekends later I went to Granada to see the Alhambra and see what trouble I could get into. I went with my friend Ryan, our friends Arthur and Vahe were already there. Its always funny to travel with guys. Theyll talk about how a cute a girl is across the bar for about 20 minutes, then tell me to go talk to her.
When we arrived in Granada, Ryan and I went to have lunch and struck up a conversation with our Italian waiter, Rafael. He was from Naples, so I had a lot to ask him because thats where Oona and I are starting our trip. When Rafael got off his shift, we invited him to eat with us, as he is sitting down his friend Babilah from Milan goes walking by. So we all have lunch, the two Italians, Ryan, and I. We ended up hanging out with them all weekend.
Babilah is obsessed with America and speaks pretty good English, so he kept saying, Look at me, I am so American with my American friends. What up, motherfucker? You suck! Yo, homie, can I represent? and other random hip hop phrases he had picked up. They took us to a botellon that night that was really fun. A botellon, for those who have not had the pleasure of studying in Spain, is basically a giant street party for young people that is completely legal and completely insane. They drink red wine with coca-cola, there are people drumming and smoking hash. The botellon we went to was the beginning of the biggest one on record in the history of Spain: 10,000 kids, three days long. The cities of Spain are currently in competition to beat the record. I fucking love this country.
The morning after the botellon we woke up at 7 in the morning to go see the Alhambra, the ancient Moorish palace on top of a hill overlooking all of Granada. You have to wait in line for two hours to get in if you dont already have tickets, so by the time we made it inside I was so tired from getting three hours of sleep I might as well been at the bowling alley in the Ranchos I was so unimpressed. The Moorish architecture is really amazing though, and the gardens were incredible. Granada is a really exotic city, lots of palm trees and white flowers and really intense heat. Vahe became obsessed with Babilah because he thought he looks like Anthony Keidis from the Red Hot Chili Peppers and Rafael asked me Quieres probar mi sabor? (Do you want to try my flavor?) which I definitely did not want to nor did. A good time was had by all.
That Sunday my dad and his wife, Melissa, came to visit me in Madrid. I showed them all around and finally got to eat a few meals out. Spain has more than just jamon after all! The next weekend I met them in Malaga, one of the famous cities along the Costa del Sol where all of Europegoes to get some sun. Which has created an entire stretch of Spanish coast line with nothing Spanish about it. It was great to be at the beach, though I never imagined I would see so many nude English and German people. Old people. We stayed at a time share and I got to be a pampered vacationer for a while rather than a rugged study abroad student. It was a really relaxing and nice two weekends, and made me think fondly of home and that it will be nice to get back eventually, helping ease my depression that all this study abroad wonderfulness is coming to an end in a month.
On May 11th I turned 22! It was a very fun birthday abroad. Roxanne brought me flowers to school and a bunch of us girls went out to Mexican food. Mexican food is not, I repeat, is NOT good here. We ordered nachos and they literally brought us Doritos with salsa on them. Later that night we went to Palacio and danced the night away. At least thats what they tell me. Later that weekend we had a USAC going away dinner then tried to start The First Annual Madrid USAC Botellon. While no one joined us, we think we represented well.
Then I had finals. Thats enough talk about school.
Then last weekend I went to Sevilla with Ryan and Paul. Well, they made the bus and I was sleeping soundly in my bed after a night out to Pacha, this giant club in Madrid where all the gente guapa go. I made it to Sevilla later that day and we walked around the charming streets to the river where all the nightlife is supposed to be. But after months in Madrid it was like going to Carson City to go out, and we realized the rest of lives we will be unimpressed by all cities nightlife after living in the capital of Spain.
We saw the famous cathedral of Sevilla, which is the largest Gothic cathedral in the world, the bullfighting museum, and the Alcazar. We saw a flamenco show performed on an outdoor patio with flowers floating in pots of water with candles and birds flying all around. It was so passionate and beautiful I almost cried. Ryan and I got our hair cut and thank god didnt end up with mullets.
Tuesday we went to Cordoba to see the citys festival, and we were definitely the only Americans for miles. Apparently, even the Cordobans think their festival is ugly, but to us it was Spanish heaven. Because the south of Spain, Andalucia, is everything you think of when you think aboutSpain: flamenco, bullfighting, sangria. We walked around the casetas, tents set up by families or organizations where everyone can go in to have free beer and paella. The women all wear traditional flamenco costumes with combs in their hair and fans in their hands, every Spanish stereotype come to life. We might have over indulged in the free beer, because when we went to see the Mezquita, Cordobas famous mosque, I couldnt quite focus on any of the impressive arches or carvings.
So now Im preparing myself for the arrival of Neva followed by Oona and Nicole in Madrid, a week of what is sure to be full of sightseeing and madness. Then we are off to Barcelona and then Oona and I are taking a boat, for the hell of it, to Italy. Were going to wander around for a while, Naples, Florence, Rome, etc. Then back to Spain for a week or so then to Los Angeles for a few days, then eventually, finally, Nevada.
But first, some general revelations at the conclusion of these challenging, insane, wonderful months:
Its blissfully serene to not understand everything thats going on around me. Its like someone turned the giant volume knob of life down, and the endless daily cacophony (fifty cent word) just doesnt reach my ears. At first it was disorienting to not know everything that was going on, but now I feel like I have such a more positive impression of human beings. I cant always gather if someone is fighting or saying something mean about someone else, so I can just imagine theyre exchanging pleasantries and being nice.
Which brings me to my next point: culturally evolved prejudices and stereotypes. Basically, we think bad about the people we have been conditioned not to like. But who those people are change from culture to culture, so essentially, racism is relative. The best way to explain is by example. In Spain, there is discrimination against gitanos, or gypsies. The prejudice is centuries old, and today many Spanish people think gitanos are thieves who dont want to work and always take advantage of the system. The conflict is similar to racial tensions in America between blacks and whites. Before coming to Madrid, I had never even heard about gitanos and why they are bad, so for me, passing a gitano in the street is like passing anyone else, whereas a Spanish person might have preconceived notions about who they are. As people in every country, every society all over the world do towards what group of people that culture is prejudiced against, no matter how saintly or open minded they are.
It would seem that if everyone could travel and realize that the undesirables of another country dont necessarily inspire any hate or violence in themselves because they havent been told their whole lives that they are bad, that they could realize everyone is really the same. I realize the world is a much more complicated place, however. In less intellectual moments, one could take the advice of world renowned humanitarian and guru, Tara Reid: All the mean people of the world should just go to one country and blow each other up. Well said, Miss Reid, well said.
Ive also had the revelation that although Im not always proud of the way some of my fellow country people act, and I almost always disagree with the decisions of our president, I am glad to be an American. I value growing up with the Superbowl, Oprah, and the Academy Awards. That were expected to be independent at 18 (or around there), and that most Americans really think our government has good intentions abroad. While it can seem glamorous to go to college sipping coffee in cafes and being so close to other languages and cultures like the Spanish and other Europeans, I value having had moved away for freshman year, having Theta and frat parties, the dorms, and late-night runs to China Diner and Del Taco. Of living in big ol isolated America. We have our whole lives to be sophisticated, and I wouldnt trade my college experience for anything.
And in the end I think thats what living abroad is all about: understanding your home, the good things and the bad.
See you all soon.
ERIN
1 response to …the rest of my Madrid, Spain study abroad blogs
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Adam Greenberg said on September 24, 2007
Enjoyed the blog, although I didn’t have time ot read ALL of it but I read most. Good stuff, especially the Paris/Rolling Stone bit. Keep it up, good luck finidng a publisher.