Hey all. I am very sorry we have been out of contact for so long. I committed the number one offense of study abroad bloggers- not updating. I used to get so angry at those people – how dare they? I first experienced the phenomenon of not being able to physically blog about something in Barcelona and the time after. I desperately wanted to write something because my aunt and uncle were nice enough to take me and they are even nicer enough to read my blog. So the least I could do was give them a post about our trip together. Maybe because I feel like my better posts come from conflict, doubt, guilt, etc, I just didn’t feel like I had anything to write about. I mean, “We had an unforgettable time and I was sublimely happy” isn’t much of a post. But that’s how I kept feeling First about Barcelona, then my parent’s visit, then Rome, then Cordoba and Granada, then London and Wales. I was so happy and carefree during the trips that I had no mental space left to store up little witticisms that I would sprinkle my blog with. We encountered just as many randos and mishaps as usual, if not more and I hope I don’t forget all the tiny, beautiful things that happened to me over the course of those days. Sharing my thoughts and doubts with you has been one of the most therapeutic experiences I could have imagined. Call me cold and emotionally unavailable, I find it hard to sit across from someone, look them in the eye, and share something personal. It felt better to put all my mental twitches and the beautiful ribbons of my travel times into this vessel of a blog and send it out into the cyber waves. I got to color it with my carefully crafted chuckles and crystallize it in my own memory exactly how I wanted it. It’s been comforting that the people that read have enjoyed it and even more, identified with the things I was writing. I can’t say the blog hasn’t brought anything bad or unexpected, but it is far and away worth all the trouble.
The last few weeks of Spain were sublime. I think I’ll keep them to myself for a little while, hold them close while I can. But I can already see the day when I will want to send those memories out into the cyber void – away from me like paper cranes. I think I may even have enough for a series of short stories, which I would love and I think would be a more fitting medium for some of the more seminal experiences of my time away and my life. So if you want to know about any of the above mentioned trips, you’ll either have to wait for the compilation or ask me in person- whichever one seems less painful to you.
I was going to write this post – Unpacking – about my transition back to good ol’ Poughkeepsie, which has been appropriately difficult. Alas, I still feel too in the thick of my reverse culture shock to reflect adequately (if I had to marry a grammatical form, I would undoubtedly choose adverbs). So I am going to write my end of the year wrap up here, instead of my usual and less respectable facebook note. I have a hard time remembering Emily in January 2009- although I’m fairly sure I was miserable and insecure. I was in the height of self doubt and anxiety. I had no idea who I wanted to become but I know I didn’t want to be the drunk, mindless freshman that I had let myself become. I was very wrapped up in what people thought of me and what “the rules” were. I was living with some of my best friends and one of the biggest “challenges” I had ever faced. I was refusing to acknowledge the support systems I did have in place and as a result, felt very much alone. I didn’t believe in God or science or anything in between and was burdened with all of those big questions that came along with that. Sophomore year was the college equivalent of 7th grade for me- miserable, physically awkward, and generally devoid of sense or happiness- at least for a bit.
I’d like to say I pulled myself up by my own bootstraps and take all the credit for the person I am right now, who, although vastly and tragically incomplete and flawed, I am very proud of. But I am here because of all the people who chose to love me and be patient with me. I feel powerful and I feel like I’m squarely on my own twisted little life trail. I’ve accepted some of my limitations and am still bitterly fighting others to the death. I am having a great time being just the right amount of jaded and clutching all the idealistic bubbles floating around my head. I am sorry for anything or anyone I neglected or hurt on this absolutely essential quest to find myself. I tried my best to minimize the effect but I know I didn’t totally succeed. I can be obnoxious and overbearing and sometimes I am very bad at pretending to listen. But as I type, I cannot really think of anyone I hate or would delete from my life or experience. I would hug each of you if I could, even the people I screamed and fought with. I have had this time to be unabashedly and unapologetically me but I hope and feel that the pendulum is swinging back the other way and I can get back( or begin) to be a little bit less selfish and focus on some of the big, more important things that I worried about before I had this year long crisis of self.
So one of the things I have accepted about myself is my neuroses- I actually think they’re kinda adorable. Neurotics like lists – we can process those. So I’d like to present you with two lists to sum up my 2009.
A smattering of things I learned
1. You have to learn to be everything for yourself. Don’t depend on anyone to take care of you, think for you, make decisions for you, or make you feel important or valid. You will always be there for you and sometimes even your very best friend or significant other can’t be there. Once you have the realization that YOU are all you really need, you are free to have less burdened relationships with other people. It’s exhausting for both parties when you have to be each other’s TOTALLYEVERYTHING FOR ALLTIMEOMG.
2. That being said let people help you. For as many totally shitty things that people do to each other, so many people think that you are worth their time and energy. If you have accomplished item #1, it’s easy to think that other people have no use or place in your life. Yeah, you don’t NEED anyone but they make all this being a 20ish person a whole lot easier- and don’t you want somebody around?
3. Embrace uncertainty while you have it. I hope that I don’t experience total stability and clarity for a very long time. In fact Im pretty sure those are sure signs that you are already dead. Now is the time to drift and explore and love something or someone so much that you can’t stand it. Now is the time to shave your head or go some place that makes your parents just a little bit nervous. Now is the time to think about your place in the world and the person you want to be. I never really believed before this year that we only get to do all this stuff once. I only get one chance to decide who Emily Fiore is going to be. That’s a ton of things to be confused and overwhelmed about. Clarity and stability is for the people that have stopped caring and stopped looking around. Yeah I have no idea what I am doing most of the time, but that should be a comforting feeling.
4. When you’re ready, fall in love and give it everything you have. Really fall in love and don’t confuse it for anything else. Love is probably not at Hatters. Love doesn’t just make you want to say things, it makes you want to DO something. If you can live without it, for even a day, that’s not it. Love let’s you change and be whoever you want and do everything you ever thought of doing. It might get taken away from you, or you might found out you were mistaken, and that’s probably going to be the worst thing that has ever happened to you. But in order to be a person, you have to have at least tried to love someone.
5. Don’t be afraid to lay down “who you are” for awhile. By that I mean the activities and titles that we try to quantify our value. I set down academic Emily, flute Emily, ESL Emily, Praxis Emily, family member Emily, swing dancer Emily, and a whole slew of Emilys for 4 months. It’s actually very fun. You don’t disappear into a poof of smoke, all the important people still love you, the world keeps turning, and you get a chance to decide what you care about.
6. Give your full attention to the people and places that are right in front of you. Even if you are talking to Stan, who has no control over his vocal volume and thinks that variation in paper texture is interesting, he is the most important person in the world at the moment. Don’t try to be anywhere else or plan what you are going to get at the Caf. Stan deserves your full attention and so does that river you pass everyday going to class, the janitor that cleans your classroom, your grandpa, and that perfect leaf that landed on your windshield. It really sucks to be on the receiving end of a person who basically wants you to disappear.
7. I’d say about 90% of most things are completely out of your control- including the length of the previews at the movies, if your flight arrives on time, how much gas costs, when Oprah decides to end her talk show, etc. Life is going to change- if you’re happy or sad right now, chances are it will be different in a few months. Accept the fact that some things are just going to happen to you and it’s not your job to wish away time, disappear into a hole, and get past it. It’s your job to totally immerse yourself in whatever that emotion or state is and take what you can from it. When you stop trying to control other people and inanimate objects, you are able to concentrate on the 10% of things you CAN control and those are actually the important things : how you treat other people, the things you spend your time and money on, what you put into your body and mind, who you spend time with, what you can do to help etc.
8. I don’t know anything. Set down your 20 year old ego and your barrels full of wisdom and realize that we aren’t even halfway there. Like not even close. We don’t even know where there is yet. By nothing I mean NOTHING.
9. Most days, I’m not too hideous and neither are you. Give yourself a break- no one really cares how you manage your cuticles.
10. People are going to change and if you expect to maintain any sort of relationship with anyone, you’re gonna have to let them. Think how difficult this “becoming who you are” business is for you. Well it’s at least as hard for everyone else.
11. We are here to create things and help people.
12. Let it ride.
13. When in doubt, Paquita is probably the right person to ask. She can at least yell at someone for you or offer you some fried veal.
Things I would like to Learn/ Do
1. To prioritize and balance things better
2. To find a new medium to express myself- maybe a new instrument?
3. To be a lot kinder and a little gentler.
4. Listen more.
5. Don’t rush.
6. Plan ahead.
7. Figure out who God is, if he/she’s around.
8. Count to 10 before I react.
9. Stand up for myself a little bit more. Sometimes you should suffer things silently, other times you shouldn’t
10. Curse a little bit less.
11. Love someone and be loved back. And let a few more people into my head.
12. To say thank you more often.
13. My cause. Something I can fight for.
14. Portuguese.
15. Get an internship in a cool city.
16. Publish something.
17. Make sure this list is always longer than the first one.
Ok that’s enough you get the idea. This blog is going to change a lot. Instead of weekends galavanting throughout Europe, there will be many more weekends in the library and on my couch. But that’s beautiful too. To anyone reading and to everyone that has ever read, chances are I love you in completely unreasonable quantities and that if you ever asked, I’d be wherever you are in a heartbeat. 2009 has squeezed every last drop out of me and I hope you figured out a few things too- but not too many.
Wednesday, December 30, 2009
Tuesday, November 17, 2009
Neurons Colliding - How to Tell if a Nerdy Chick Likes You
One of the best parts of being abroad is it forces you to isolate your little behaviors and idiosyncrasies and really takes a long look at them, which is about as painful as it sounds. In order to communicate something in another language you first have to think about how you would say it in English and what tone/mood/ feeling you want to relate. While I’m having enough trouble just asking Paquita where she keeps the toilet paper, I also have to navigate the tricky Spanish university social system, which is basically the exact opposite of the culture at Marist. There are almost no extracurriculars you can lean on to meet new people/forget about your lack of social skills. And the kids in my classes already have their friends and it’s generally not culturally “normal” to talk to strangers. You can ask them a question and they will answer completely and politely, but, at least for me it hasn’t lead to much more. Usually, I scrape up something witty or universally relatable to keep things going with a new aquaintance but the Spanish cut to the chase. How have I survived without my edgy, inane, New Yorker banter?
When you are single and planning to go abroad, everyone tells you “ U gOnNa mEeT sO mAnY sPaNiSh hOtTiEs” and magically a lifetime of romantic mishaps will disappear and you will have the tios buying you tapas left and right. It’s a very nice idea that was very nicely enforced by Vicky Cristina Barcelona, but once I arrived, I quickly dropped that illusion and decided that this experience was about me and not rando Spanish dudes. It’s all scary enough without having to worry about getting hurt or contracting some type of SDTD ( Spainish Discoteca Transmitted Disease). But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped appreciating what’s right in front of me. As I said, there is a very mysterious, very attractive Colombian guy that sits next to me every day in music class- he has that scruffy hippie thing going that I like. I was very confused the first day he sat down next to me and asked my name. Huh? Was someone actually speaking to me of their own accord? Was this person considered attractive by the general public? Weird. The next day, I figured we’d move on to talking about the weather or the syllabus, but he was silent – and so was I. The next few weeks continued in the same way – we didn’t talk, even though I tried to put some effort into my appearance those days.
When I finally said to myself “whatever,” I used the extra time I wasn’t spending on my appearance to geek out on my laptop before class. Who taps me on the shoulder and starts chattering away but mysterious Latin hippie. He was cracking jokes, agreeing with me, asking follow-up questions, etc. I had no idea what was going on. We chatted amicably through the end of class and at the end, he suggested that we exchange numbers. Gulp. This was maybe the 2nd time in my life a guy had asked for my number- and the 1st was one of my more embarrassing moments of recent history. When I say the 2nd time, I mean in a social situation. Usually when guys ask for my number they missed class and need the notes. I gave him my number and he tried to call it, but alas he had no money on his phone – bad omen #1. So he decided to give me his. It was at that moment that I realized I was sweating and my knees were knocking and I no longer understood Spanish. Why was this happening? I know nothing about this guy, have absolutely nothing invested in him, and he wears a fanny pack ( ok ok I know that a fanny pack is a dealbreaker, but at the time I was trying to play it off as a cultural nuance that I didn’t understand). He repeated his number a few times, but my hands were shaking and I couldn’t enter it in my phone, so he mercifully took it and did it himself. God, this gets more tragic every time I recount it. He went off and that was that. He didn’t call me. I didn’t call him. We still chit chat from time to time but that’s the extent of it. So for all of you who were wondering about my love life here – there it is.
So all of this has led me to examine how I interact with guys that I am interested in/are interested in me( from what little I can discern), which as I’m finding out more and more, is a little non sensical. Although I KNOW I’m not the only girl who thinks along these lines. I’d say I’m less of a Rubik’s cube and more a “Chamber of Secrets” – (save your snickers, judgment, and sexual innuendo for later). I’ve set up a bunch of puzzles and traps to keep people out or let them reach a certain point and then let them get eaten by Fluffy the 3 headed dog. So as an exercise for myself and a case study for the general public, I present the process of attraction, as seen through my bespectacled eyes.
If I Think Someone is Attractive
1. I wonder where his girlfriend is.
2. Oh, I see her. She just bought a Fruit and Yogurt cup and diet iced tea from the cab.
3. I should probably go finish the last season of Arrested Development while I devour this chicken parm.
I’d say about 40% of the time – things end there. Thanks Marist male to female ratio.
Let’s say for some reason this person is unattached. I usually find an extraneous reason not to like him/ think he is the scum of the earth (he spelled you’re/your wrong or under his favorite book section on facebook he wrote – who reads?) or I simply get lazy and stop caring. When you are used to your life a certain way, it’s hard to convince yourself that a change could be for the best. Even though I can’t say I’ve put in tremendous efforts as of late, my lack of success in high school still follows me around sometimes and reminds me of the insecure mess I used to be, and suddenly I feel inadequate.
If by some strange chance, he passes the grammar gauntlet and hasn’t done anything offensive (ex. Wear a Nickelback concert T or refused to use the recycling bin). I might be ready to admit that I actually like this person. Especially if we have good banter going- gosh I love a good good banter. Friends, boyfriends, teachers, acquaintances, political candidates- I don’t care who you are – if we don’t have an established set of banter topics, we’re on a one way train to nowhere. Keep in mind that this process could take weeks or months.
Now most girls have some type of sure fire method they use to get a guy’s attention. Giggle. Hairflip. Going to his game Laughing at things that aren’t funny. I don’t know what this kid’s do these days. I have little to no flirting skills – usually because I fear that they would come off as disingenuous because I can’t pull it off. Despite it all, I really believe that there are people out there that find authenticity attractive. Nothing is sexier than someone who cares about what’s going on in the world, has an opinion, and is brave enough to talk about it, as well as people that are willing to be open about their quirks and imperfections, instead of acting like they don’t exist. I like people that are obsessed with something ( in a good, normal, non-psychotic way) –whether that’s hiking, Civil War maps, or 90’s music.
So I flex my personality muscles, because I believe I’m different because of who I am, not what I look like (usually disheveled). I’ve got time. Some of my other latest flirting go tos include flaunting my knowledge of YouTube sensations, playing Super Smash brothers/ Halo, talking about recent issues of TIME magazine, sending witty text messages, discussing agricultural policy, bragging about my Free Cell winning streak, debating Biggie vs Tupac, wearing my best cardigan, etc. All things that I genuinely like but hard to transition into any romantic anything. It’s just enough to feel like I’m trying but not enough for any guy to really think twice about it; because these aren’t as much flirting techniques as normal everyday friend activity. The number one rule of Dating for Emilys is NEVER do anything that would give the guy and obvious clue aka make a move physically or tell him. This is all about tension, build- up, confusion, and inklings. You know, the fun stuff
Ok let’s say this poor soul is showing interest in me. Now it’s really time to panic. Launch the escape pods, sound the alarm, this is not a test. Shit. What now? I’m not programmed to go past this point. In the past I’ve followed this game plan:
1. Panic.
2. Ask my housemates for advice.
3. Panic.
4. Imagine fantastic future disaster that could result from this/any relationship, for example, I end up pregnant, addicted to drugs, and living by the railroad tracks.
5. Ignore said situation and said person until everything goes away aka act like an asexual cyborg
In a nutshell, if I’ve I liked someone and there’s the slightest glimmer of possible reciprocation I’ve usually panicked and ruined things for myself. I like when people don’t like me or are too tangled up to do anything about it. It’s safe and I know what’s going to happen next. There have been a few brief, sun drenched moments when my guard was down and things felt right and I took a few itsy bitsy risks. I go back to those memories when I think about how I would like to be when I return.
Although I have had experiences and enjoyed a level of independence that I would never trade, I wonder what life is like on the other side of the bubble. My sister has been in the same very functional relationship for more than 3 years and is just as happy and independent as I am, although in a different way, and I have no concept of what that is like. There are reasons why people write so many love songs and sonnets and cross continents for love and lust. I believe that it is all as wonderful as it is made out to be – but falling in love with life and with my friends and with myself have been equally wonderful and I’m content taking things as they come and letting people, including men, into my world a little bit more. For the time being, I have convinced myself that I am a beautiful, funny, intelligent person and maybe I won’t be freaked out if someone else thinks so too.
This blog isn’t filled with subliminal messages that someone is supposed to receive and suddenly realize that I’ve loved them all my life. I’m just trying my best to be brutally honest with myself and when I share it with the blogosphere, it helps to soften the blow. It’s meant to remind me that other people might be just as freaked out as I am and that I should be patient with them, as I have been with myself. And it is a helpful nudge for guys who find themselves interested in a slightly nerdy and fiercely independent girl ( if you need to know where to find one, holler at me - I know oodles). Let her feel smart and funny and beautiful, but be patient. Take her cues or seeming lack there of – there will be a moment when she lets you in.
When you are single and planning to go abroad, everyone tells you “ U gOnNa mEeT sO mAnY sPaNiSh hOtTiEs” and magically a lifetime of romantic mishaps will disappear and you will have the tios buying you tapas left and right. It’s a very nice idea that was very nicely enforced by Vicky Cristina Barcelona, but once I arrived, I quickly dropped that illusion and decided that this experience was about me and not rando Spanish dudes. It’s all scary enough without having to worry about getting hurt or contracting some type of SDTD ( Spainish Discoteca Transmitted Disease). But that doesn’t mean I’ve stopped appreciating what’s right in front of me. As I said, there is a very mysterious, very attractive Colombian guy that sits next to me every day in music class- he has that scruffy hippie thing going that I like. I was very confused the first day he sat down next to me and asked my name. Huh? Was someone actually speaking to me of their own accord? Was this person considered attractive by the general public? Weird. The next day, I figured we’d move on to talking about the weather or the syllabus, but he was silent – and so was I. The next few weeks continued in the same way – we didn’t talk, even though I tried to put some effort into my appearance those days.
When I finally said to myself “whatever,” I used the extra time I wasn’t spending on my appearance to geek out on my laptop before class. Who taps me on the shoulder and starts chattering away but mysterious Latin hippie. He was cracking jokes, agreeing with me, asking follow-up questions, etc. I had no idea what was going on. We chatted amicably through the end of class and at the end, he suggested that we exchange numbers. Gulp. This was maybe the 2nd time in my life a guy had asked for my number- and the 1st was one of my more embarrassing moments of recent history. When I say the 2nd time, I mean in a social situation. Usually when guys ask for my number they missed class and need the notes. I gave him my number and he tried to call it, but alas he had no money on his phone – bad omen #1. So he decided to give me his. It was at that moment that I realized I was sweating and my knees were knocking and I no longer understood Spanish. Why was this happening? I know nothing about this guy, have absolutely nothing invested in him, and he wears a fanny pack ( ok ok I know that a fanny pack is a dealbreaker, but at the time I was trying to play it off as a cultural nuance that I didn’t understand). He repeated his number a few times, but my hands were shaking and I couldn’t enter it in my phone, so he mercifully took it and did it himself. God, this gets more tragic every time I recount it. He went off and that was that. He didn’t call me. I didn’t call him. We still chit chat from time to time but that’s the extent of it. So for all of you who were wondering about my love life here – there it is.
So all of this has led me to examine how I interact with guys that I am interested in/are interested in me( from what little I can discern), which as I’m finding out more and more, is a little non sensical. Although I KNOW I’m not the only girl who thinks along these lines. I’d say I’m less of a Rubik’s cube and more a “Chamber of Secrets” – (save your snickers, judgment, and sexual innuendo for later). I’ve set up a bunch of puzzles and traps to keep people out or let them reach a certain point and then let them get eaten by Fluffy the 3 headed dog. So as an exercise for myself and a case study for the general public, I present the process of attraction, as seen through my bespectacled eyes.
If I Think Someone is Attractive
1. I wonder where his girlfriend is.
2. Oh, I see her. She just bought a Fruit and Yogurt cup and diet iced tea from the cab.
3. I should probably go finish the last season of Arrested Development while I devour this chicken parm.
I’d say about 40% of the time – things end there. Thanks Marist male to female ratio.
Let’s say for some reason this person is unattached. I usually find an extraneous reason not to like him/ think he is the scum of the earth (he spelled you’re/your wrong or under his favorite book section on facebook he wrote – who reads?) or I simply get lazy and stop caring. When you are used to your life a certain way, it’s hard to convince yourself that a change could be for the best. Even though I can’t say I’ve put in tremendous efforts as of late, my lack of success in high school still follows me around sometimes and reminds me of the insecure mess I used to be, and suddenly I feel inadequate.
If by some strange chance, he passes the grammar gauntlet and hasn’t done anything offensive (ex. Wear a Nickelback concert T or refused to use the recycling bin). I might be ready to admit that I actually like this person. Especially if we have good banter going- gosh I love a good good banter. Friends, boyfriends, teachers, acquaintances, political candidates- I don’t care who you are – if we don’t have an established set of banter topics, we’re on a one way train to nowhere. Keep in mind that this process could take weeks or months.
Now most girls have some type of sure fire method they use to get a guy’s attention. Giggle. Hairflip. Going to his game Laughing at things that aren’t funny. I don’t know what this kid’s do these days. I have little to no flirting skills – usually because I fear that they would come off as disingenuous because I can’t pull it off. Despite it all, I really believe that there are people out there that find authenticity attractive. Nothing is sexier than someone who cares about what’s going on in the world, has an opinion, and is brave enough to talk about it, as well as people that are willing to be open about their quirks and imperfections, instead of acting like they don’t exist. I like people that are obsessed with something ( in a good, normal, non-psychotic way) –whether that’s hiking, Civil War maps, or 90’s music.
So I flex my personality muscles, because I believe I’m different because of who I am, not what I look like (usually disheveled). I’ve got time. Some of my other latest flirting go tos include flaunting my knowledge of YouTube sensations, playing Super Smash brothers/ Halo, talking about recent issues of TIME magazine, sending witty text messages, discussing agricultural policy, bragging about my Free Cell winning streak, debating Biggie vs Tupac, wearing my best cardigan, etc. All things that I genuinely like but hard to transition into any romantic anything. It’s just enough to feel like I’m trying but not enough for any guy to really think twice about it; because these aren’t as much flirting techniques as normal everyday friend activity. The number one rule of Dating for Emilys is NEVER do anything that would give the guy and obvious clue aka make a move physically or tell him. This is all about tension, build- up, confusion, and inklings. You know, the fun stuff
Ok let’s say this poor soul is showing interest in me. Now it’s really time to panic. Launch the escape pods, sound the alarm, this is not a test. Shit. What now? I’m not programmed to go past this point. In the past I’ve followed this game plan:
1. Panic.
2. Ask my housemates for advice.
3. Panic.
4. Imagine fantastic future disaster that could result from this/any relationship, for example, I end up pregnant, addicted to drugs, and living by the railroad tracks.
5. Ignore said situation and said person until everything goes away aka act like an asexual cyborg
In a nutshell, if I’ve I liked someone and there’s the slightest glimmer of possible reciprocation I’ve usually panicked and ruined things for myself. I like when people don’t like me or are too tangled up to do anything about it. It’s safe and I know what’s going to happen next. There have been a few brief, sun drenched moments when my guard was down and things felt right and I took a few itsy bitsy risks. I go back to those memories when I think about how I would like to be when I return.
Although I have had experiences and enjoyed a level of independence that I would never trade, I wonder what life is like on the other side of the bubble. My sister has been in the same very functional relationship for more than 3 years and is just as happy and independent as I am, although in a different way, and I have no concept of what that is like. There are reasons why people write so many love songs and sonnets and cross continents for love and lust. I believe that it is all as wonderful as it is made out to be – but falling in love with life and with my friends and with myself have been equally wonderful and I’m content taking things as they come and letting people, including men, into my world a little bit more. For the time being, I have convinced myself that I am a beautiful, funny, intelligent person and maybe I won’t be freaked out if someone else thinks so too.
This blog isn’t filled with subliminal messages that someone is supposed to receive and suddenly realize that I’ve loved them all my life. I’m just trying my best to be brutally honest with myself and when I share it with the blogosphere, it helps to soften the blow. It’s meant to remind me that other people might be just as freaked out as I am and that I should be patient with them, as I have been with myself. And it is a helpful nudge for guys who find themselves interested in a slightly nerdy and fiercely independent girl ( if you need to know where to find one, holler at me - I know oodles). Let her feel smart and funny and beautiful, but be patient. Take her cues or seeming lack there of – there will be a moment when she lets you in.
Friday, November 6, 2009
How deep is your love?
Life after Paris is hard. Everything seems very square and bourgeois after strolling around the Seine. I pity any trip that comes after Paris because it really doesn’t stand a chance. In my case, I pity Palma, Mallorca, which was our next slated trip. I can’t say I was overly excited– I was a little road weary and not eager to board another RyanAir flight. We also heard that Mallorca was known for slipping drugs into drinks; even the waiters at restaurants were not to be trusted. However, the clusterbumble across Europe must continue AND two of my favorite people from Marist were planning on meeting me there: my faithful roomie, kindred spirit, and first Marist friend, Alana, and my sanity inducing, movie night, bandie fo’life, Aileen. In an effort to save money, the Salamanca crew had bought copious amounts of food at the grocery store and stuffed as much as we could into our luggage. There would be a kitchen at the hostel and we were planning on cooking/living off of our fat stores as much as possible. I kid you not; my luggage was 60% food, including a whole bag of cereal and 7 bocadillos. The security people probably thought we were part of some underground ham trading rings, but if they did they didn’t care. The metal detector guy was from Salamanca and pretty much fell in love with us all (“Americans and Spaniards are the same – we like to eat and drink!”), so we had nothing to worry about.
We made it to the hostel with no problems without any problems (e.g. unknowingly circling ourselves around unattended luggage) and it turns out that we had a HUGE apartment all to ourselves and the hostel was run by very nice British people. Being in Mallorca, it was easy to forget that you’re in Spain, mostly because you are constantly surrounded by lots of jolly, blonde, Germans. No one speaks Spanish. No one looks Spanish.. All the restaurants were either Kebab places advertising falafel and XL bratwurst for 2 euro or just straight up German food restaurants – like Grillmeister. Apparently, our neighborhood was called “Little Germany.” It was also the off season for Mallorca so there were absolutely no tourists there, so that means the most visible beachgoers were the lovely folks from all of the retirement homes in the area = not exactly the Rafa Nadal beach sighting I was hoping for. Alana and Aileen met us at the hostel and I smothered them with hugs and we caught up on all the Marist talk for an hour or two before we went to hit the town to find dinner and ecstasy-free entertainment.
We walked for a very long time without finding many places that were actually open. Then to our right we noticed life size plaster models of dinosaurs and saw the bright lights of the Dino Park Mini-golf and Entertainment complex guiding us to what would become our home in Mallorca. We checked the events calendar and struck gold – Bee Gee’s tribute band performing tonight at 9. I LIVE for gratuitous displays of tastelessness such as this. All was not lost. Not wanting to be late, all 9 of us hurried back to the hostel for a little dinner and some pre Bee Gees cocktails (Pre Gees, if you will). When we finally arrived at this gala, we made up 9 of the 11 people there, not including the waiters. The Bee Gees Fever, as these 3 strapping Germans called themselves, wore white pants, purple tie dye silk shirts, and left jaunty accessories to individual choice (a fedora, John Lennon glasses, or a large pendant). And this extravaganza was not without special effects. Oh no no. Smoke machine, disco ball, multimedia video presentation of the Bee Gee’s in the background. They played all the hits. A few drunken middle aged ladies showed up at the end – it was clearly not their first time at the Dino Park Bee Gee’s Fever show. They were up out of their seats dancing and giving money to the tall, long haired Bee Gee (Andy Gibb?) and at one point even grabbed Alana and dragged her onto the dance floor. At the end, the Bee Gees took requests …. Hell, yes. Laura and I softly started chanting for Wonderwall and the Bee Gees instantly started in with it. I laughed so hard I nearly lost my bocadillo. They had to stop midway through because they didn’t know the words, but damn it they gave it all they had. The waiters and staff clearly hated the Bee Gees and were sick of seeing their act every Saturday from 9 to 11, so they herded them off stage by closing all the blinds and threatening to turn off the lights. We got a picture with 2 of the 3 Bee Gees at the end. The 3rd had run to the dressing room and was unfortunately “sin pantalones.”
The next day I had to say good-bye to Aileen and Alana, but not before we fit in breakfast and a round of putt putt at Dino Park. Dino Park was clearly fabulous, but there was an interesting character at the hostel breakfast every day. Around 10 each morning a middle aged rather rotund man, complete with mustache would amble in and say “I’ll have a coffee, Alan” to the bartender and would sit at the computer for 3 hours chain smoking and scrolling through pictures of what appeared to be mail order brides. They were mostly young Asian women wearing ironic hats. SO creepy. We spent the day at the beach dozing in the sun and we spent the night talking and listening to bad pop songs on our improvised sound system (iPod headphones in a champagne flute). And that concludes our trip to Mallorca- not a culturally eye opening trip, but definitely a good break from our grueling travel schedule. I couldn’t be more thankful for Alana and Aileen. They are absolute melocotones and reminded me that I am coming home to a load of people who love me no matter what (and it’s mutual).
Oops – I forgot one lovely little tidbit of information. On the way back to Salamanca, we had to take the metro in between the Madrid airport and the train station. Fine. We’ve done that many a time and the Madrid metro is actually surprisingly pleasant. Well on that day the metro was a rough ride – very sudden stop and go – and it was crowded. So at one of the stops I lost my balance ( shocking) and managed this kind of Matrix-esque flamingo move- I kept one foot planted while the other one swung around and kicked some guy in the back of the knees. Having recovered my luggage, I squeaked out a “Sorry” and looked for the nearest hole that I could disappear into. The guy didn’t respond and said something to his friend that I couldn’t understand (listening to a German Bee Gees tribute band doesn’t bode well for language acquisition). I thought that was that and I was alone to process yet another awkward moment, but Madrid never lets you rest. At the next stop, the guy I kicked and his friend go to get off, and his friend (who was about 5’3, gelled hair, and tight white polo shirt) gets in my face, say “Sorry” in a high voice and gives me a swift swat on the arse. Listen, I know my Old Navy cargo pants are verrry irresistible and I commend your excellent taste in posteriors, but surely there was another way to deal with that situation? No one else really saw this little exchange and at the time I had absolutely no reaction. Looking back, I think it’s hilarious in a twisted way and I now have a litany of responses ready for any other Metro swatters.
As I am writing, my parents are landing in Spain and will be here for the next 10 days and seeing the sights (I had to insist that there were other things to see in Spain besides me). And I guess my dad must really like me since this trip involves a frightful combination of his two least favorite things: planes and water. I am very very excited to see them, but I will admit that I feel a little strange about having them in Salamanca. This place is the first place I have been truly independent. I was not anyone’s daughter or sister or previous student. Whatever life I have here is totally and completely mine and it will be interesting to try to include my parents in it for the next few days. They are very cool about it all and I’m sure will read this and know how I feel. But I need hugs and some unconditional love and my parents are just freakin’adorable. I am excited to share my experiences, my new home, and my new ideas with them and if it wasn’t for them, I definitely would not be here. We’d like to think that we arrive wherever we are all by our own bootstraps and in the more immediate past, that is usually true. I filled out the forms, got these grades, etc. But thinking back, all the prudent choices that my parents made before I even knew where Spain was are what allowed me to study abroad. What a cool thing to give your child, if that’s what they want. I hope that my kids will want this experience and that I will be able to help them get there. And by “there” I mean Dino Park.
PS If a swing dancer can make it to Salamanca within the week, he/she will be handsomely rewarded.
We made it to the hostel with no problems without any problems (e.g. unknowingly circling ourselves around unattended luggage) and it turns out that we had a HUGE apartment all to ourselves and the hostel was run by very nice British people. Being in Mallorca, it was easy to forget that you’re in Spain, mostly because you are constantly surrounded by lots of jolly, blonde, Germans. No one speaks Spanish. No one looks Spanish.. All the restaurants were either Kebab places advertising falafel and XL bratwurst for 2 euro or just straight up German food restaurants – like Grillmeister. Apparently, our neighborhood was called “Little Germany.” It was also the off season for Mallorca so there were absolutely no tourists there, so that means the most visible beachgoers were the lovely folks from all of the retirement homes in the area = not exactly the Rafa Nadal beach sighting I was hoping for. Alana and Aileen met us at the hostel and I smothered them with hugs and we caught up on all the Marist talk for an hour or two before we went to hit the town to find dinner and ecstasy-free entertainment.
We walked for a very long time without finding many places that were actually open. Then to our right we noticed life size plaster models of dinosaurs and saw the bright lights of the Dino Park Mini-golf and Entertainment complex guiding us to what would become our home in Mallorca. We checked the events calendar and struck gold – Bee Gee’s tribute band performing tonight at 9. I LIVE for gratuitous displays of tastelessness such as this. All was not lost. Not wanting to be late, all 9 of us hurried back to the hostel for a little dinner and some pre Bee Gees cocktails (Pre Gees, if you will). When we finally arrived at this gala, we made up 9 of the 11 people there, not including the waiters. The Bee Gees Fever, as these 3 strapping Germans called themselves, wore white pants, purple tie dye silk shirts, and left jaunty accessories to individual choice (a fedora, John Lennon glasses, or a large pendant). And this extravaganza was not without special effects. Oh no no. Smoke machine, disco ball, multimedia video presentation of the Bee Gee’s in the background. They played all the hits. A few drunken middle aged ladies showed up at the end – it was clearly not their first time at the Dino Park Bee Gee’s Fever show. They were up out of their seats dancing and giving money to the tall, long haired Bee Gee (Andy Gibb?) and at one point even grabbed Alana and dragged her onto the dance floor. At the end, the Bee Gees took requests …. Hell, yes. Laura and I softly started chanting for Wonderwall and the Bee Gees instantly started in with it. I laughed so hard I nearly lost my bocadillo. They had to stop midway through because they didn’t know the words, but damn it they gave it all they had. The waiters and staff clearly hated the Bee Gees and were sick of seeing their act every Saturday from 9 to 11, so they herded them off stage by closing all the blinds and threatening to turn off the lights. We got a picture with 2 of the 3 Bee Gees at the end. The 3rd had run to the dressing room and was unfortunately “sin pantalones.”
The next day I had to say good-bye to Aileen and Alana, but not before we fit in breakfast and a round of putt putt at Dino Park. Dino Park was clearly fabulous, but there was an interesting character at the hostel breakfast every day. Around 10 each morning a middle aged rather rotund man, complete with mustache would amble in and say “I’ll have a coffee, Alan” to the bartender and would sit at the computer for 3 hours chain smoking and scrolling through pictures of what appeared to be mail order brides. They were mostly young Asian women wearing ironic hats. SO creepy. We spent the day at the beach dozing in the sun and we spent the night talking and listening to bad pop songs on our improvised sound system (iPod headphones in a champagne flute). And that concludes our trip to Mallorca- not a culturally eye opening trip, but definitely a good break from our grueling travel schedule. I couldn’t be more thankful for Alana and Aileen. They are absolute melocotones and reminded me that I am coming home to a load of people who love me no matter what (and it’s mutual).
Oops – I forgot one lovely little tidbit of information. On the way back to Salamanca, we had to take the metro in between the Madrid airport and the train station. Fine. We’ve done that many a time and the Madrid metro is actually surprisingly pleasant. Well on that day the metro was a rough ride – very sudden stop and go – and it was crowded. So at one of the stops I lost my balance ( shocking) and managed this kind of Matrix-esque flamingo move- I kept one foot planted while the other one swung around and kicked some guy in the back of the knees. Having recovered my luggage, I squeaked out a “Sorry” and looked for the nearest hole that I could disappear into. The guy didn’t respond and said something to his friend that I couldn’t understand (listening to a German Bee Gees tribute band doesn’t bode well for language acquisition). I thought that was that and I was alone to process yet another awkward moment, but Madrid never lets you rest. At the next stop, the guy I kicked and his friend go to get off, and his friend (who was about 5’3, gelled hair, and tight white polo shirt) gets in my face, say “Sorry” in a high voice and gives me a swift swat on the arse. Listen, I know my Old Navy cargo pants are verrry irresistible and I commend your excellent taste in posteriors, but surely there was another way to deal with that situation? No one else really saw this little exchange and at the time I had absolutely no reaction. Looking back, I think it’s hilarious in a twisted way and I now have a litany of responses ready for any other Metro swatters.
As I am writing, my parents are landing in Spain and will be here for the next 10 days and seeing the sights (I had to insist that there were other things to see in Spain besides me). And I guess my dad must really like me since this trip involves a frightful combination of his two least favorite things: planes and water. I am very very excited to see them, but I will admit that I feel a little strange about having them in Salamanca. This place is the first place I have been truly independent. I was not anyone’s daughter or sister or previous student. Whatever life I have here is totally and completely mine and it will be interesting to try to include my parents in it for the next few days. They are very cool about it all and I’m sure will read this and know how I feel. But I need hugs and some unconditional love and my parents are just freakin’adorable. I am excited to share my experiences, my new home, and my new ideas with them and if it wasn’t for them, I definitely would not be here. We’d like to think that we arrive wherever we are all by our own bootstraps and in the more immediate past, that is usually true. I filled out the forms, got these grades, etc. But thinking back, all the prudent choices that my parents made before I even knew where Spain was are what allowed me to study abroad. What a cool thing to give your child, if that’s what they want. I hope that my kids will want this experience and that I will be able to help them get there. And by “there” I mean Dino Park.
PS If a swing dancer can make it to Salamanca within the week, he/she will be handsomely rewarded.
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
Oui Oui
As much as I was prepared not to (for some reason), I just had a fantastic weekend in Paris. It was filled with beautiful sights, I had a good group of people to travel with, and we had a bunch of little strange occurrences that seem to follow me around and give me inspiration for this [air quotes] blog. This was a planned trip with my study abroad program so the hotel and flight minutia were taken care of and since I am not very good with minutia- huzzah! All I had to do was pack my beret, save room for a baguette, and get on the plane. Paquita asked me before I left if I wanted 2 or 3 sandwiches- and when I say sandwiches I mean entire loaves of big crusty bread. I was left speechless – I have the option of getting 3 sandwiches???? My mind=blown. She packed me only 2 at my request but also included cheese, fruit, cookies, and a Spanish nougat dessert. This is what she packed me for a weekend in Paris, a capital of cuisine. If I go camping or something, she may have to call ahead to the bakery and the butcher, lest the entire Salamanca food industry shut down because of excess demand.
We took Ryan Air to Paris, which was my first experience with this purely functional budget airline. The plane interior looked normal enough and I was at ease until I saw the plane had what looked like large scorch marks all up the wing . Perfect. It all made sense when we looked at the in flight menu and the 6 euro Charburger they served was completely engulfed in flames. Ah clarity. The take off was less than perfect- Lulu spent the whole time buried in Helen’s shoulder. We had a small diversion from our impending fiery doom with the Pulitzer Prize winning Ryan Air magazine, which included a “flight attendant of the month” page. Rock chick Daniella from the Island of Malta told us that “she is a free spirit who enjoys travelling and kickboxing in her spare time – no wonder she looks so good out of uniform!” Then we spent the rest of the flight deciphering the menu ( any idea what a breakfast bap is?) and trying to decide if we were going to order the 2 for 1 shots from the Ryan Air skybar ( read: alcohol that comes in ketchup packets). We landed bumpily at the Beauveux airport which is about an hour outside of Paris and in the middle of a very classic French countryside.
After a scenic bus ride, we arrived at our hotel in the northern part of Paris, which is in between Paris’s two red light districts. When one girl asked the guy at the desk for a restaurant recommendation, he responded “Do you like indian food? Because you’re in Bangladesh.” Okay then. Lulu, Emily A. L Stew, Ingrid, Helen, RoRo, and I settled in and then took the Metro to the Champs Elysses. We hopped on the 2 train, with which we would be very well acquainted with, and we all exhaustedly grabbed a subway pole to support ourselves. We had been travelling for nearly 12 hours so we were all pretty out of it. All of us except Helen, who luckily realized that we had mindlessly created a little circle around a very large and sketchy piece of unattended luggage. On closer inspection, Helen noticed that the bag had wires and electrical tape on it. She had enough mental energy for this to register as “generally a bad sign” and she had us change cars. Phew. We made it to the Arc d’Triomphe and took a b-e-a-utiful stroll down the Champs and stopped for crepes to celebrate that we had all survived the day (it was looking iffy there for awhile).
The next morning all 30 API kids went down to the continental breakfast that was served in a rather small replica of a dungeon. After drowning myself in coffee and eating my obligatory ham, cheese, and croissant we all piled on another bus for a 3 hour tour of Paris. Our guide for the afternoon was a lovely man named Jaja, who told us ( in 3 languages none the less) a rather detailed account of all the deaths that had occurred on the Eiffel Tower (387) and lots of other sordid/morbid details of Paris’ history. The doom and gloom tour ended at Notre Dame, where we were finally let loose. The bus tour was helpful but I HATE buses. Hatehatehate. And I have enough trouble trying to take level and in focus pictures standing still on the ground, so a moving box of metal is bad news.
Luisa and Helen had been to Paris before so they were our tour guides. Thanks to them I really think we saw all we could see in Paris in 3 days. It is way too much to continue like this so I hope you will settle for my annotated outline that begins after being dropped off at Notre Dame by the grim reaper.
Notre Dame
Lunch – We found a cute café where we could get bocadillos no naturally we ordered 6 baguettes filled with ham and cheese- essentially what Paquita had packed me. A nice group of French people were about to sit down when one asked the other “Want to sit next to the Americans and their sandwiches?” The other Frenchman wittily answered “Why not?” Who says French- American relations are strained? If a group of 6 girls ravenously devouring large sandwiches and talking a little above the usual French murmur can be so amicably tolerated, there is surely hope for the future. The French were super nice the whole time. Seriously, don’t believe the hype.
Tomb of Napoleon- Pardon my French (Is this thing on?) but it was pretty badass. It’s in this huge complex that is filled with museums and just really cool old stuff (eloquent party of 1. Your table is ready- try the veal). Then you enter this huge cathedral with a gold dome that can be seen throughout the city. Check out my pics on Facebook but you enter in what is essentially a balcony that looks down on this huge tomb, which has five layers: tin, lead, lead, ebony, and marble. Napoleon designed it so that when you looked at his tomb, everyone would have to bow to him. Touché
Hanging out in front of the Louvre – a lake that had cymbals on stands in front of it so you could throw rocks and made some noise. Another lake surrounded by bizarre sculptures of faces- most of which resembled my infamous awkward face.
The Louvre – Could I possibly feel more in awe or insignificant? To see the Louvre is a full time job. Absolutely incredible. Go. Now. We were very tired and cranky and hungry, so I know we didn’t give the Louvre out best effort but we still saw some pretty great highlights.
Dinner - We, as a group, have a problem when it comes to picking a restaurant. Lots of different preferences + low blood sugar = no one’s having a good time. After many failed attempts, including a pursuit of a Pizza Hut, we settled on a very cute bistro with some of the best veggie quiche I have ever had.
Brief conversation in our room about how Spain is making us fat. More or less I’ve got that situation under control and I can be uptight about a 1 or 2 pound difference when I am in the US. Right now, I’m busy living and enjoying, and most days, we’re all still pretty cute. I also have a feeling that once the chorizo, whole milk, and entire loaves of bread leave my life, I will lose those 1 or 2 pounds rather quickly.
Heinekens and cookies bought from a friendly market in Bangladesh. Enjoyed in our hotel, accompanied by some French MTV.
Day 2
Guided tour of Musee D’Orsay with API – I was much more excited for this museum –manageable size and some incredibly influential pieces of art. By hanging towards the back of our large group, we avoided a tour with Jaja and instead had a really adorable French lady who always said Manet instead of Monet and vice versa and stomped her foot when she realized her mistake. We saw Olympia, Luncheon on the Grass, lots of Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulouse Letrec, Monet, Manet, and Degas (pretty much fainted). Just great. And I was wearing my Star Wars T- shirt.
Rodin Gardens – For only 1 euro you can see the Thinker and the Gates of Hell in an absolutely beautiful garden. It had rained that day so everything was wet, fragrant, and heavy; it made the most peaceful setting for all these sculptures, which were eerily expressive and human. Surprisingly one of my favorite things that we did.
Saint Chapelle – Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob told me this was not to be missed and as usual, they were right. It tells the entire story of the Bible told in stained glass. It’s like sitting in a kaleidoscope.
Souvenir shopping- We did some classy shopping along the Seine and then veered off to get some serious tacky stuff. Bedazzled lighters, statues of tweety bird next to the Eiffel tower, postcards with dogs superimposed next to the Arc D’Triomp, etc etc
Gorgeous 1.5 mile walk along the Seine at night.
Top of the Eiffel Tower – I won’t waste words, just see my pictures.
Heinekens, cookies, and $1.95 wine from Asia Mart (they uncork your wine for free!) this time with the French version of wrestling, complete with plaid and mullets.
Day 3
Slept in a bit. One last breakfast in the dungeon.
Sacre Cour- Long steep climb to the top of the city in the Monmarte district where the artists used to live. But another great cathedral a great life conversation outside of it. Being in a church always brings to mind the essential questions of life, whether you are religious or not. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful place and it was a moment in which I felt very youthful. We all shared a little bit of the stuff we had figured out and the much bigger quantity of stuff that we hadn’t figured out. There was also this precious old man playing his violin on the steps. We gave him some coins and took a picture with him and he just smiled at us for 5 minutes straight. He was so incredibly happy, and why not? He was making beautiful music in front of a beautiful building with a bird’s eye view of one of the best cities in the world. What more do you need?
The Paris Flea Market – Outside is a typical urban scene- lots of little booths filled with knock- off items. Once you venture past that you enter a big outdoor mall filled with vintage clothing, furniture, books, records, sheet music, art, etc. A hidden gem that you should definitely check out if you visit.
Lunch at Paris Grill – The group split up and Helen, Lulu, L Stew, and I stumbled on this little restaurant that just seemed to be pumping out sandwiches, and being Americans we were enticed. The guy behind counter loved us and we ordered 4 huge kabob sandwiches complete with French fries and sodas. At the end, when we asked for the check, the man typed it into a calculator and just stuck it out for us to see $23.50. Best meal I had in Paris – we were deliriously satisfied. At one point, I said “The bread was baked in God’s eye socket.”
4 PM We leave Paris and we endure the most thorough security inspection of all time.
1 AM Back in Salamanca. Phew.
Paris was so wonderful – it really is filled with light and the people there are really always falling in love. Paris is a city that will make you soft and maybe that’s not so bad. I’m realizing on this trip how much I like cities and I think if I just find the right city in the US, I could be a very happy camper. I need the motion, the activity, the constant change but I wouldn’t mind some tranquility, friendliness, and green space. Oh well there is time. In other Salamanca news, Paquita told me she likes my hair just like it is and this made me very happy. She approves of my shower and sleep method. She’s also starting computer classes this week and is very, very excited about them. She never ceases to surprise me and I think she is an absolute genius. I love hearing her opinion on politics or religion; she has her head on very straight and understands how things work. She doesn’t give herself credit for being smart but she really really is. How am I going to live without her? It’s scary to think about this experience ending and not being able to speak in Spanish every day, or take a stroll to the Puente Romano or having my friends spread across the country. I have already changed so much and I am excited to see what I will discover about myself in the next 7 weeks, which are jam-packed with school and visits and travel. Then I have to find a way to fit all my new experiences into my old life or at least my old environment. I hope I come back confident, eloquent, fluent, inspired, peaceful, joyful, grateful, patient, and full of light. But one thing at a time- right now all I am is ready to go watch music videos with Paquita.
We took Ryan Air to Paris, which was my first experience with this purely functional budget airline. The plane interior looked normal enough and I was at ease until I saw the plane had what looked like large scorch marks all up the wing . Perfect. It all made sense when we looked at the in flight menu and the 6 euro Charburger they served was completely engulfed in flames. Ah clarity. The take off was less than perfect- Lulu spent the whole time buried in Helen’s shoulder. We had a small diversion from our impending fiery doom with the Pulitzer Prize winning Ryan Air magazine, which included a “flight attendant of the month” page. Rock chick Daniella from the Island of Malta told us that “she is a free spirit who enjoys travelling and kickboxing in her spare time – no wonder she looks so good out of uniform!” Then we spent the rest of the flight deciphering the menu ( any idea what a breakfast bap is?) and trying to decide if we were going to order the 2 for 1 shots from the Ryan Air skybar ( read: alcohol that comes in ketchup packets). We landed bumpily at the Beauveux airport which is about an hour outside of Paris and in the middle of a very classic French countryside.
After a scenic bus ride, we arrived at our hotel in the northern part of Paris, which is in between Paris’s two red light districts. When one girl asked the guy at the desk for a restaurant recommendation, he responded “Do you like indian food? Because you’re in Bangladesh.” Okay then. Lulu, Emily A. L Stew, Ingrid, Helen, RoRo, and I settled in and then took the Metro to the Champs Elysses. We hopped on the 2 train, with which we would be very well acquainted with, and we all exhaustedly grabbed a subway pole to support ourselves. We had been travelling for nearly 12 hours so we were all pretty out of it. All of us except Helen, who luckily realized that we had mindlessly created a little circle around a very large and sketchy piece of unattended luggage. On closer inspection, Helen noticed that the bag had wires and electrical tape on it. She had enough mental energy for this to register as “generally a bad sign” and she had us change cars. Phew. We made it to the Arc d’Triomphe and took a b-e-a-utiful stroll down the Champs and stopped for crepes to celebrate that we had all survived the day (it was looking iffy there for awhile).
The next morning all 30 API kids went down to the continental breakfast that was served in a rather small replica of a dungeon. After drowning myself in coffee and eating my obligatory ham, cheese, and croissant we all piled on another bus for a 3 hour tour of Paris. Our guide for the afternoon was a lovely man named Jaja, who told us ( in 3 languages none the less) a rather detailed account of all the deaths that had occurred on the Eiffel Tower (387) and lots of other sordid/morbid details of Paris’ history. The doom and gloom tour ended at Notre Dame, where we were finally let loose. The bus tour was helpful but I HATE buses. Hatehatehate. And I have enough trouble trying to take level and in focus pictures standing still on the ground, so a moving box of metal is bad news.
Luisa and Helen had been to Paris before so they were our tour guides. Thanks to them I really think we saw all we could see in Paris in 3 days. It is way too much to continue like this so I hope you will settle for my annotated outline that begins after being dropped off at Notre Dame by the grim reaper.
Notre Dame
Lunch – We found a cute café where we could get bocadillos no naturally we ordered 6 baguettes filled with ham and cheese- essentially what Paquita had packed me. A nice group of French people were about to sit down when one asked the other “Want to sit next to the Americans and their sandwiches?” The other Frenchman wittily answered “Why not?” Who says French- American relations are strained? If a group of 6 girls ravenously devouring large sandwiches and talking a little above the usual French murmur can be so amicably tolerated, there is surely hope for the future. The French were super nice the whole time. Seriously, don’t believe the hype.
Tomb of Napoleon- Pardon my French (Is this thing on?) but it was pretty badass. It’s in this huge complex that is filled with museums and just really cool old stuff (eloquent party of 1. Your table is ready- try the veal). Then you enter this huge cathedral with a gold dome that can be seen throughout the city. Check out my pics on Facebook but you enter in what is essentially a balcony that looks down on this huge tomb, which has five layers: tin, lead, lead, ebony, and marble. Napoleon designed it so that when you looked at his tomb, everyone would have to bow to him. Touché
Hanging out in front of the Louvre – a lake that had cymbals on stands in front of it so you could throw rocks and made some noise. Another lake surrounded by bizarre sculptures of faces- most of which resembled my infamous awkward face.
The Louvre – Could I possibly feel more in awe or insignificant? To see the Louvre is a full time job. Absolutely incredible. Go. Now. We were very tired and cranky and hungry, so I know we didn’t give the Louvre out best effort but we still saw some pretty great highlights.
Dinner - We, as a group, have a problem when it comes to picking a restaurant. Lots of different preferences + low blood sugar = no one’s having a good time. After many failed attempts, including a pursuit of a Pizza Hut, we settled on a very cute bistro with some of the best veggie quiche I have ever had.
Brief conversation in our room about how Spain is making us fat. More or less I’ve got that situation under control and I can be uptight about a 1 or 2 pound difference when I am in the US. Right now, I’m busy living and enjoying, and most days, we’re all still pretty cute. I also have a feeling that once the chorizo, whole milk, and entire loaves of bread leave my life, I will lose those 1 or 2 pounds rather quickly.
Heinekens and cookies bought from a friendly market in Bangladesh. Enjoyed in our hotel, accompanied by some French MTV.
Day 2
Guided tour of Musee D’Orsay with API – I was much more excited for this museum –manageable size and some incredibly influential pieces of art. By hanging towards the back of our large group, we avoided a tour with Jaja and instead had a really adorable French lady who always said Manet instead of Monet and vice versa and stomped her foot when she realized her mistake. We saw Olympia, Luncheon on the Grass, lots of Van Gogh, Renoir, Toulouse Letrec, Monet, Manet, and Degas (pretty much fainted). Just great. And I was wearing my Star Wars T- shirt.
Rodin Gardens – For only 1 euro you can see the Thinker and the Gates of Hell in an absolutely beautiful garden. It had rained that day so everything was wet, fragrant, and heavy; it made the most peaceful setting for all these sculptures, which were eerily expressive and human. Surprisingly one of my favorite things that we did.
Saint Chapelle – Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob told me this was not to be missed and as usual, they were right. It tells the entire story of the Bible told in stained glass. It’s like sitting in a kaleidoscope.
Souvenir shopping- We did some classy shopping along the Seine and then veered off to get some serious tacky stuff. Bedazzled lighters, statues of tweety bird next to the Eiffel tower, postcards with dogs superimposed next to the Arc D’Triomp, etc etc
Gorgeous 1.5 mile walk along the Seine at night.
Top of the Eiffel Tower – I won’t waste words, just see my pictures.
Heinekens, cookies, and $1.95 wine from Asia Mart (they uncork your wine for free!) this time with the French version of wrestling, complete with plaid and mullets.
Day 3
Slept in a bit. One last breakfast in the dungeon.
Sacre Cour- Long steep climb to the top of the city in the Monmarte district where the artists used to live. But another great cathedral a great life conversation outside of it. Being in a church always brings to mind the essential questions of life, whether you are religious or not. It was a beautiful day and a beautiful place and it was a moment in which I felt very youthful. We all shared a little bit of the stuff we had figured out and the much bigger quantity of stuff that we hadn’t figured out. There was also this precious old man playing his violin on the steps. We gave him some coins and took a picture with him and he just smiled at us for 5 minutes straight. He was so incredibly happy, and why not? He was making beautiful music in front of a beautiful building with a bird’s eye view of one of the best cities in the world. What more do you need?
The Paris Flea Market – Outside is a typical urban scene- lots of little booths filled with knock- off items. Once you venture past that you enter a big outdoor mall filled with vintage clothing, furniture, books, records, sheet music, art, etc. A hidden gem that you should definitely check out if you visit.
Lunch at Paris Grill – The group split up and Helen, Lulu, L Stew, and I stumbled on this little restaurant that just seemed to be pumping out sandwiches, and being Americans we were enticed. The guy behind counter loved us and we ordered 4 huge kabob sandwiches complete with French fries and sodas. At the end, when we asked for the check, the man typed it into a calculator and just stuck it out for us to see $23.50. Best meal I had in Paris – we were deliriously satisfied. At one point, I said “The bread was baked in God’s eye socket.”
4 PM We leave Paris and we endure the most thorough security inspection of all time.
1 AM Back in Salamanca. Phew.
Paris was so wonderful – it really is filled with light and the people there are really always falling in love. Paris is a city that will make you soft and maybe that’s not so bad. I’m realizing on this trip how much I like cities and I think if I just find the right city in the US, I could be a very happy camper. I need the motion, the activity, the constant change but I wouldn’t mind some tranquility, friendliness, and green space. Oh well there is time. In other Salamanca news, Paquita told me she likes my hair just like it is and this made me very happy. She approves of my shower and sleep method. She’s also starting computer classes this week and is very, very excited about them. She never ceases to surprise me and I think she is an absolute genius. I love hearing her opinion on politics or religion; she has her head on very straight and understands how things work. She doesn’t give herself credit for being smart but she really really is. How am I going to live without her? It’s scary to think about this experience ending and not being able to speak in Spanish every day, or take a stroll to the Puente Romano or having my friends spread across the country. I have already changed so much and I am excited to see what I will discover about myself in the next 7 weeks, which are jam-packed with school and visits and travel. Then I have to find a way to fit all my new experiences into my old life or at least my old environment. I hope I come back confident, eloquent, fluent, inspired, peaceful, joyful, grateful, patient, and full of light. But one thing at a time- right now all I am is ready to go watch music videos with Paquita.
Tuesday, October 27, 2009
Loved you more than I did when you were mine...
[Enter Post Title Here]
Loved you more than I did when you were mine.
I cannot believe how many blog updates I had in September. I suppose when you just arrive inspiration hits you over the head with a baguette almost every day and you just have to express it someway or you will explode. You’re also not travelling as much and have more time to sit and ponder and absorb what’s happening to you. I have abandoned many a blog before – because frankly I ran out of things to say. But I am determined to maintain this one because 1) I think writing is healthy for me 2) It makes communications with friends much much easier 3)I couldn’t imagine a better souvenir for myself. So what I’m trying to say in way too many words ( I never really realized how long it took me to get to the point until I got here and could only tell Paquita my stories in Spanish, which is why I often find myself stumbling – because I cannot think of the roundabout vague words that I want fast enough) is I’m still here! I have just been in Barcelona for a bit with my absolutely wonderful Aunt and uncle and I had no contact with the outside world, which was actually equally wonderful.
Again I have a few possible notable events. I am going to write about my Barcelona weekend but when I can devote more attention to it and think of some relevant universal thing to tie to it. Because when I am old and think back on Spain, I know I will think of Barcelona – if I am not physically in Barcelona at the time.
I could write about how I fell on my face in my school building ( much like I do in James A Cann on a rainy day).
I could write about what I do/don’t want to do with my life ( isn’t having a blog satisfyingly narcissistic?)
I could write about how I have no idea what to say to the very attractive guy who sits next to me in music class every day.
I could write about how I miss my sister and/or my housemates ( I will always live with other people –it’s a basic need)
I could write about the JBs/John, or my ultimate vice or the incredibly geeky purchase I just made that will undoubtedly manifest itself in the pictures from Paris.
However, I think I have an event that is even more eventful than the events that I previously thought were eventful (Please don’t even lightly chuckle at that. Inexcusably terrible). It’s taken about 8 weeks for my muscles to un-clench, for my endocrine system to slow down from hyper speed, for me to stop taking myself so seriously, for my brain to stop jumping to the worst case scenario( if you feel sick, the last thing you should do is WebMD your symptoms). If you’ve read any of my blog you have seen at least a little of the process- a process in which a 20 year old bundle of nerves was slowly unraveled and loosed of all the things she had used to identify and validate herself.
The process is still in motion, and most likely ( dios willing), go on for a very long time. But, I stop myself at least once a week to look around and say
Damn, I am happy.
Not to say that this is necessarily anything new. I have been happy before ( or at least should have been) most times without really being aware of it or thinking that this was just a plateau until I was REALLY happy. I have finally accepted that happy is a state of being, not a state of euphoria. I used to think that everyone else was happy. I was chasing those moments of ecstasy – the moments that punctuate our daily life and that lots of people try to live in constantly. And when I focused on that elusively wonderful feeling and didn’t understand that they are wonderful because they are elusive, that’s where I developed this idea that I was unhappy.
The only way I can think to say it is happiness is where you live. There aren’t fireworks or parties or important jobs with big paychecks or really anything else besides you and the people you love the most. Happiness is boring in the best way possible. For me happiness is consistency. I am happy apart from the fact that I bit it h-core in front of all my classmates and that I am unable to think of anything witty and charming in Spanish to say to this mystery man. Sure I get flustered and insecure all the time but I can access that little disco ball of contentment and it eventually subsides.
Each time you smile,
It’ll only last a while
Life may be scary
But it’s only temporary.
Except for death and paying taxes,
Everything in life is only for now.
Paris and Barcelona updates to come. Mallorca this weekend
Also loving this song
Loved you more than I did when you were mine.
I cannot believe how many blog updates I had in September. I suppose when you just arrive inspiration hits you over the head with a baguette almost every day and you just have to express it someway or you will explode. You’re also not travelling as much and have more time to sit and ponder and absorb what’s happening to you. I have abandoned many a blog before – because frankly I ran out of things to say. But I am determined to maintain this one because 1) I think writing is healthy for me 2) It makes communications with friends much much easier 3)I couldn’t imagine a better souvenir for myself. So what I’m trying to say in way too many words ( I never really realized how long it took me to get to the point until I got here and could only tell Paquita my stories in Spanish, which is why I often find myself stumbling – because I cannot think of the roundabout vague words that I want fast enough) is I’m still here! I have just been in Barcelona for a bit with my absolutely wonderful Aunt and uncle and I had no contact with the outside world, which was actually equally wonderful.
Again I have a few possible notable events. I am going to write about my Barcelona weekend but when I can devote more attention to it and think of some relevant universal thing to tie to it. Because when I am old and think back on Spain, I know I will think of Barcelona – if I am not physically in Barcelona at the time.
I could write about how I fell on my face in my school building ( much like I do in James A Cann on a rainy day).
I could write about what I do/don’t want to do with my life ( isn’t having a blog satisfyingly narcissistic?)
I could write about how I have no idea what to say to the very attractive guy who sits next to me in music class every day.
I could write about how I miss my sister and/or my housemates ( I will always live with other people –it’s a basic need)
I could write about the JBs/John, or my ultimate vice or the incredibly geeky purchase I just made that will undoubtedly manifest itself in the pictures from Paris.
However, I think I have an event that is even more eventful than the events that I previously thought were eventful (Please don’t even lightly chuckle at that. Inexcusably terrible). It’s taken about 8 weeks for my muscles to un-clench, for my endocrine system to slow down from hyper speed, for me to stop taking myself so seriously, for my brain to stop jumping to the worst case scenario( if you feel sick, the last thing you should do is WebMD your symptoms). If you’ve read any of my blog you have seen at least a little of the process- a process in which a 20 year old bundle of nerves was slowly unraveled and loosed of all the things she had used to identify and validate herself.
The process is still in motion, and most likely ( dios willing), go on for a very long time. But, I stop myself at least once a week to look around and say
Damn, I am happy.
Not to say that this is necessarily anything new. I have been happy before ( or at least should have been) most times without really being aware of it or thinking that this was just a plateau until I was REALLY happy. I have finally accepted that happy is a state of being, not a state of euphoria. I used to think that everyone else was happy. I was chasing those moments of ecstasy – the moments that punctuate our daily life and that lots of people try to live in constantly. And when I focused on that elusively wonderful feeling and didn’t understand that they are wonderful because they are elusive, that’s where I developed this idea that I was unhappy.
The only way I can think to say it is happiness is where you live. There aren’t fireworks or parties or important jobs with big paychecks or really anything else besides you and the people you love the most. Happiness is boring in the best way possible. For me happiness is consistency. I am happy apart from the fact that I bit it h-core in front of all my classmates and that I am unable to think of anything witty and charming in Spanish to say to this mystery man. Sure I get flustered and insecure all the time but I can access that little disco ball of contentment and it eventually subsides.
Each time you smile,
It’ll only last a while
Life may be scary
But it’s only temporary.
Except for death and paying taxes,
Everything in life is only for now.
Paris and Barcelona updates to come. Mallorca this weekend
Also loving this song
Monday, October 12, 2009
Whatever happened to predictability...
You know when things are going perfectly? Walking on sunshine? Kickin’down the cobblestone? You feel great, the world loves you, you love the world. Doors open for you. Strangers smile. The elevator is always waiting for you. You only trip once a day. Everything is dandy. Yeah I only let myself feel that way for about 24 hours give or take, when I decide I have made too many good decisions in a row and that I need to do something to send my self esteem and sense of security on a one way train to Serbia. I was having a fantastic week and it was absolutely overwhelming for me and my neurotic nature. What do you mean I have nothing to worry about? If I can’t gripe, complain, and panic, my lymph nodes start convulsing and something short circuits and I make less than stellar choices. I was feeling like an independent woman of the world – capable of anything within my reach. Clearly, I could not stand for this – something needed to change. I did nothing terrible or even out of the ordinary – to put it simply – I was not my best self. I am 20 years old and still very much in the making mistakes phase of my life, but I can’t seem to accept that either. The last two days I’ve just been down and feeling unworthy of all the opportunities I have. I’ve wanted to put my tail between my legs and go back to Poughkeepsie where everything is easy and I can rationalize away all my faults.
I’ve said it before but I have met absolutely PHENOMENAL people here. I am a firm believer that you should always have friends that challenge you and remind you that you have a lot more work to do in the personal development department. My friends here are all smarter, wiser,kinder, and funnier than I am and have embraced the full, flawed version of me (something I have yet to do). One of the girls in my group, Laura, is from Boston and we share a dry, East coast sense of humor and a lack of shame. She has been looking forward for her family to visit for weeks and would tell us a new little story about them every day( Al Gore garbage cans, love of jazz, eggs and potatoes,etc), so we could get a little picture of what we were in for.
Nothing really could have prepared us for the Stewart’s descent on Salamanca. They arrived on Friday and the group of API girls met up with them on Saturday in the Plaza for some sightseeing and food. We were met with 4 very happy, welcoming New England faces (thank god more east coasters!) – Mr & Mrs Stewart, her uncle who was lovingly dubbed Tio Ponce Miguel, and her brother Robert aka Dr Pizza, who was a surprise addition to the visit.
We all spent the first afternoon wandering through the Cathedral together. Mr Stewart snapped away with his new camera, Uncle Ponce chatted with the locals, Mrs. Stewart teared up a few times and rocked a euro-chic scarf, and Dr Pizza helped us quote the Unforgivable video. It was so nice to be around people who were excited to be here – I wouldn’t say we are jaded but sometimes it’s easy to forget that we are living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and that Christopher Columbus lectured at our school . I do my homework in front of a renaissance cathedral- to which most days I say, eh the wireless sucks here. The Stewart’s filled every moment with wonder and gratitude and shared that with all of us. They were more and more thrilled with each thing we showed them and every bite of jamon iberico was more delicious than the last. And as the afternoon went on, we all became prouder and prouder of Salamanca. We said good night to the Stewarts and let them enjoy some family time.
The next day, after siesta and life chats with Paquita ( we are taking yoga classes together starting next week – I know, we’re precious) I headed back to that haggard, old renaissance cathedral to get me some internet. I was almost at the Plaza when I ran into the whole Stew clan in search of their next Spanish adventure. This was around 430 - one thing led to another and I ended up barhopping with them until 930. Laura took them to some Salamanca standards but they also found a ton of new places on their own and charmed all the Spaniards with their sheer adorable-ness.
I . Had. The. Best. Time. They totally got me out of my funk of self loathing. Families are just bursting with unconditional love, which is something you’re not always conscious of until you’re 3000 miles away in a new city where you know no one. It was so sweet to see how much Laura’s family missed her, how proud they were that she has this new experience, and how thankful they were that we were there to share it with her. We all needed to be around a family – something normal and familiar and the Stewarts were a perfect boost for all of us. They were so generous and genuinely interested in each of us and our lives and what we were doing. By the end of the night, we were all invited to her house, Mr Stewart and I had fist-bumped at least 5 times, and Dr. Pizza was calling me eM-dAwG ( spelling and capitalization implied). I don’t remember ever having such an absolutely care-free afternoon.
The Stewarts definitely made me miss my own family, who I’m sure will be just as thrilled and overwhelmed with everything. When my parents land in Europe armed with Life as Good/Colombia gear, Tevas, and broken Spanish, some laughs are bound to occur (as soon as I mop them both off the floor). Seeing Laura and Dr. Pizza hanging out made me miss my sister a ton too. I won’t get to see her until December 23rd which is absolutely the longest time we have been apart EVER – barring that 9 month period of time when she was not too accessible to me. It’s getting to the point with my family where the roles are a little less strict and we’re more just a group of like -minded people who just happened to have spent the last 20ish years together. My mom and dad aren’t visiting until November but I will be meeting my Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob in Barcelona on Thursday, so I will get a family fix sooner rather than later. They have taken care of EVERYTHING and are some of the most experienced travelers I know, so it will probably be a weekend that Rick Steves himself would envy.
The Stew fam also reminded me of how many things America does right. So many people come back from study abroad with this pretentious idea that everything in Europe was just so different and so much better and they can barely stand this American bourgeois existence. But watching the Stewarts and Spain fall in love, I realized that most Americans are nice and generous and ready to learn and ready to have fun. Yeah we might not always be dressed in stiletto boots and a scowl and we might not have ancient relics just lying around ( I commented in Portugal that we had now probably used toilets older than America) but we will smile, give you a tip, ask you about your kids, say thank you 19 times over, and most times we really wanna learn about whatever we can and immerse ourselves in the experiences of others. So if you are reading Stewarts- thanks for letting us tag along with you this weekend!
I’ve said it before but I have met absolutely PHENOMENAL people here. I am a firm believer that you should always have friends that challenge you and remind you that you have a lot more work to do in the personal development department. My friends here are all smarter, wiser,kinder, and funnier than I am and have embraced the full, flawed version of me (something I have yet to do). One of the girls in my group, Laura, is from Boston and we share a dry, East coast sense of humor and a lack of shame. She has been looking forward for her family to visit for weeks and would tell us a new little story about them every day( Al Gore garbage cans, love of jazz, eggs and potatoes,etc), so we could get a little picture of what we were in for.
Nothing really could have prepared us for the Stewart’s descent on Salamanca. They arrived on Friday and the group of API girls met up with them on Saturday in the Plaza for some sightseeing and food. We were met with 4 very happy, welcoming New England faces (thank god more east coasters!) – Mr & Mrs Stewart, her uncle who was lovingly dubbed Tio Ponce Miguel, and her brother Robert aka Dr Pizza, who was a surprise addition to the visit.
We all spent the first afternoon wandering through the Cathedral together. Mr Stewart snapped away with his new camera, Uncle Ponce chatted with the locals, Mrs. Stewart teared up a few times and rocked a euro-chic scarf, and Dr Pizza helped us quote the Unforgivable video. It was so nice to be around people who were excited to be here – I wouldn’t say we are jaded but sometimes it’s easy to forget that we are living in one of the most beautiful cities in the world and that Christopher Columbus lectured at our school . I do my homework in front of a renaissance cathedral- to which most days I say, eh the wireless sucks here. The Stewart’s filled every moment with wonder and gratitude and shared that with all of us. They were more and more thrilled with each thing we showed them and every bite of jamon iberico was more delicious than the last. And as the afternoon went on, we all became prouder and prouder of Salamanca. We said good night to the Stewarts and let them enjoy some family time.
The next day, after siesta and life chats with Paquita ( we are taking yoga classes together starting next week – I know, we’re precious) I headed back to that haggard, old renaissance cathedral to get me some internet. I was almost at the Plaza when I ran into the whole Stew clan in search of their next Spanish adventure. This was around 430 - one thing led to another and I ended up barhopping with them until 930. Laura took them to some Salamanca standards but they also found a ton of new places on their own and charmed all the Spaniards with their sheer adorable-ness.
I . Had. The. Best. Time. They totally got me out of my funk of self loathing. Families are just bursting with unconditional love, which is something you’re not always conscious of until you’re 3000 miles away in a new city where you know no one. It was so sweet to see how much Laura’s family missed her, how proud they were that she has this new experience, and how thankful they were that we were there to share it with her. We all needed to be around a family – something normal and familiar and the Stewarts were a perfect boost for all of us. They were so generous and genuinely interested in each of us and our lives and what we were doing. By the end of the night, we were all invited to her house, Mr Stewart and I had fist-bumped at least 5 times, and Dr. Pizza was calling me eM-dAwG ( spelling and capitalization implied). I don’t remember ever having such an absolutely care-free afternoon.
The Stewarts definitely made me miss my own family, who I’m sure will be just as thrilled and overwhelmed with everything. When my parents land in Europe armed with Life as Good/Colombia gear, Tevas, and broken Spanish, some laughs are bound to occur (as soon as I mop them both off the floor). Seeing Laura and Dr. Pizza hanging out made me miss my sister a ton too. I won’t get to see her until December 23rd which is absolutely the longest time we have been apart EVER – barring that 9 month period of time when she was not too accessible to me. It’s getting to the point with my family where the roles are a little less strict and we’re more just a group of like -minded people who just happened to have spent the last 20ish years together. My mom and dad aren’t visiting until November but I will be meeting my Aunt Molly and Uncle Bob in Barcelona on Thursday, so I will get a family fix sooner rather than later. They have taken care of EVERYTHING and are some of the most experienced travelers I know, so it will probably be a weekend that Rick Steves himself would envy.
The Stew fam also reminded me of how many things America does right. So many people come back from study abroad with this pretentious idea that everything in Europe was just so different and so much better and they can barely stand this American bourgeois existence. But watching the Stewarts and Spain fall in love, I realized that most Americans are nice and generous and ready to learn and ready to have fun. Yeah we might not always be dressed in stiletto boots and a scowl and we might not have ancient relics just lying around ( I commented in Portugal that we had now probably used toilets older than America) but we will smile, give you a tip, ask you about your kids, say thank you 19 times over, and most times we really wanna learn about whatever we can and immerse ourselves in the experiences of others. So if you are reading Stewarts- thanks for letting us tag along with you this weekend!
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
Girl Power
The more people I meet, the more I am convinced that there are two types of girls: those who have decided they will navigate this world using their looks and those who have chosen to get by with their abilities. The two don’t have to be mutually exclusive – there are certain people who have managed a balance, but the majority of us have made a choice as to what we will favor. That doesn’t mean that pretty girls aren’t smart or talented or that smart and talented girls aren’t pretty. But different girls value different things and this is where the divide begins.
The choice begins when we are kids and I think our parents have a large role in this –I know mine have. My parents have never rewarded me for being cute (my grandparents are a different story). I got positive reinforcement when I was nice to my sister, when I got good grades, when I practiced my flute, etc. Even now, I’m sure they think Julie and I are the most beautiful girls in the world (bless their hearts) but for all intents and purposes, that’s pretty irrelevant. They like us because we are smart and funny and passionate and that’s one of the most secure feelings in the world. My parents never worried too much about what we wore and more concerned with us forming our own opinions. I rocked stirrup leggings, large floral prints, and light up sneakers like a pro and Julie walked out of the house in all sorts of ensembles, with looks ranging from mendicant orphan to Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Clothes were details that had to be dealt with before we got to the good stuff – playing in the tree house, going out to play with Michael and Lauren, rollerblading.
If things proceed like this at home, there is no reason for a kid to change their strategy during elementary school. The more stuff you do well, the more respect and attention will get. Simple. All though elementary school (and high school) I clung to what I could do, whether that was identifying a brontosaurus, naming the home planets of all the Star Wars characters, telling 101 hamburger jokes, or playing soccer at recess. I made friends briefly with the power crew – the girls with the lip-gloss and the boyfriends and the Spice Girls cds. But I was miserable because I didn’t know how to operate in their looks and power driven world (seriously you would not believe the politics of 6th grade clique). The fate of the world seemed to hang on what was appropriate attire for the next dance. I am definitely not saying I was or am above that world. There was/is still an aura of power and allure around that kind of life and the doors that seem to open for people like that. But alas, the power crew thought I was weird, and my family didn’t really like me when I was hanging out with them. And by all definitions, I was just a regular looking kid. I had long brown hair, my teeth were a little askew, and I was kinda floppy and awkward ( but in my own zany way very adorable) –I couldn’t give a sad ,whimpering face and have the world at my feet. Or maybe I chose not to try. If I liked someone I helped them with their homework or tried to get them out in dodge ball – the only way I knew how to get anyone’s attention.
High school continued much the same way. I found a haven in my incredibly supportive friends, in the Spanish department, and the band. The braces, the pimples, glasses, and frizzy hair that puberty had so generously given me gave me a base for a self depreciating sense of humor, which has served me well as far as meeting people and making friends. Now that I am in college, I have hopefully erased some of my pubescent “glow,” but I have never known what it feels like to be the “hot girl” or even what I would need to do to be one. And I finally have loosed myself of the necessity to be that girl and allowed myself to be whatever girl I feel like being that day. My hair usually looks wild and my outfits don’t always coordinate perfectly, but to me that is a reassuring feeling. It means that I have lots of other more important people and things in my life that I need to worry about. I can’t do it all and some days, my appearance suffers. Hats off to you if you can bake a pie for the homeless while deep conditioning your hair – but I can’t multitask like that. My little cousin Lily always reminds me to take it easy and do whatever you feel like. She’s got a long shock of dark hair, loves the Indiana Jones movies and the band Journey, and showed up one Christmas Eve dressed like a unicorn. I am healthy and most days I think I’m pretty fly and Lily helps me remember that that’s all I can ask for.
So what am I getting at? Here in Spain I have been lucky to find lots of great friends- girls who are beautiful but are too busy learning about the world to let that fact take up too much mental space. I like them and they like me because we share a life philosophy. I’d like to think the majority of girls make the decision to care about their inner selves and the world outside of the mall at some point in their lives, but when that occurs varies greatly. But like always, there are many girls here (and at home) that have made the choice not to honor their intellect and concentrate on their tan lines. Now, at this age and in this environment, it sometimes seems like these girls get all the attention, and sometimes they do. And sometimes that feels pretty crappy when you are on the other end of it. Even the smart girls spend way too much time feeling insecure, trying to figure out what they are doing wrong, and wondering when someone will notice them. What I hope happens, is that when one group of girls realizes that their looks will fade, that there is cellulite on their thighs, that there are wrinkles on their neck, and their designer jeans are a little tight on the butt, that the other group of girls will be too busy laughing, creating, helping, hugging, giving, thinking, living, traveling, and contributing to care. But what I also hope is that all girls realize that they are important whether Joe Blow with the backwards Hollister visor and red convertible and the rippling biceps that he gets from pumping iron with the bros decides to care. Oh, and note to Joe Blow: when In doubt, go for the girl wearing her glasses with her hair in a ponytail studying every week in the library, or the girl who asks you how your test went or remembers your housemates’ names or quotes every line of this week’s episode “ The Office” with you – she’s hotter than you think. No, really. Those unicorn costumes have terrible ventilation.
The choice begins when we are kids and I think our parents have a large role in this –I know mine have. My parents have never rewarded me for being cute (my grandparents are a different story). I got positive reinforcement when I was nice to my sister, when I got good grades, when I practiced my flute, etc. Even now, I’m sure they think Julie and I are the most beautiful girls in the world (bless their hearts) but for all intents and purposes, that’s pretty irrelevant. They like us because we are smart and funny and passionate and that’s one of the most secure feelings in the world. My parents never worried too much about what we wore and more concerned with us forming our own opinions. I rocked stirrup leggings, large floral prints, and light up sneakers like a pro and Julie walked out of the house in all sorts of ensembles, with looks ranging from mendicant orphan to Dorothy from the Wizard of Oz. Clothes were details that had to be dealt with before we got to the good stuff – playing in the tree house, going out to play with Michael and Lauren, rollerblading.
If things proceed like this at home, there is no reason for a kid to change their strategy during elementary school. The more stuff you do well, the more respect and attention will get. Simple. All though elementary school (and high school) I clung to what I could do, whether that was identifying a brontosaurus, naming the home planets of all the Star Wars characters, telling 101 hamburger jokes, or playing soccer at recess. I made friends briefly with the power crew – the girls with the lip-gloss and the boyfriends and the Spice Girls cds. But I was miserable because I didn’t know how to operate in their looks and power driven world (seriously you would not believe the politics of 6th grade clique). The fate of the world seemed to hang on what was appropriate attire for the next dance. I am definitely not saying I was or am above that world. There was/is still an aura of power and allure around that kind of life and the doors that seem to open for people like that. But alas, the power crew thought I was weird, and my family didn’t really like me when I was hanging out with them. And by all definitions, I was just a regular looking kid. I had long brown hair, my teeth were a little askew, and I was kinda floppy and awkward ( but in my own zany way very adorable) –I couldn’t give a sad ,whimpering face and have the world at my feet. Or maybe I chose not to try. If I liked someone I helped them with their homework or tried to get them out in dodge ball – the only way I knew how to get anyone’s attention.
High school continued much the same way. I found a haven in my incredibly supportive friends, in the Spanish department, and the band. The braces, the pimples, glasses, and frizzy hair that puberty had so generously given me gave me a base for a self depreciating sense of humor, which has served me well as far as meeting people and making friends. Now that I am in college, I have hopefully erased some of my pubescent “glow,” but I have never known what it feels like to be the “hot girl” or even what I would need to do to be one. And I finally have loosed myself of the necessity to be that girl and allowed myself to be whatever girl I feel like being that day. My hair usually looks wild and my outfits don’t always coordinate perfectly, but to me that is a reassuring feeling. It means that I have lots of other more important people and things in my life that I need to worry about. I can’t do it all and some days, my appearance suffers. Hats off to you if you can bake a pie for the homeless while deep conditioning your hair – but I can’t multitask like that. My little cousin Lily always reminds me to take it easy and do whatever you feel like. She’s got a long shock of dark hair, loves the Indiana Jones movies and the band Journey, and showed up one Christmas Eve dressed like a unicorn. I am healthy and most days I think I’m pretty fly and Lily helps me remember that that’s all I can ask for.
So what am I getting at? Here in Spain I have been lucky to find lots of great friends- girls who are beautiful but are too busy learning about the world to let that fact take up too much mental space. I like them and they like me because we share a life philosophy. I’d like to think the majority of girls make the decision to care about their inner selves and the world outside of the mall at some point in their lives, but when that occurs varies greatly. But like always, there are many girls here (and at home) that have made the choice not to honor their intellect and concentrate on their tan lines. Now, at this age and in this environment, it sometimes seems like these girls get all the attention, and sometimes they do. And sometimes that feels pretty crappy when you are on the other end of it. Even the smart girls spend way too much time feeling insecure, trying to figure out what they are doing wrong, and wondering when someone will notice them. What I hope happens, is that when one group of girls realizes that their looks will fade, that there is cellulite on their thighs, that there are wrinkles on their neck, and their designer jeans are a little tight on the butt, that the other group of girls will be too busy laughing, creating, helping, hugging, giving, thinking, living, traveling, and contributing to care. But what I also hope is that all girls realize that they are important whether Joe Blow with the backwards Hollister visor and red convertible and the rippling biceps that he gets from pumping iron with the bros decides to care. Oh, and note to Joe Blow: when In doubt, go for the girl wearing her glasses with her hair in a ponytail studying every week in the library, or the girl who asks you how your test went or remembers your housemates’ names or quotes every line of this week’s episode “ The Office” with you – she’s hotter than you think. No, really. Those unicorn costumes have terrible ventilation.
Friday, October 2, 2009
Porto!
Hi all - I am writing from the beautiful sky hostel in Porto, Portugal and feeling a whole lot better than I have in recent posts. Getting away for a little bit is always a great boost and Porto is sososososo cool. As soon as we stepped off the bus, my mind was already racing, trying to figure out ways that I could stay here longer. As a city, it is about twice the size of Salamanca but there are trees, the river Douro, and the Atlantic Ocean - I missed my East Coast trees and water. There are beautiful cathedrals on every block and in general the people have been incredibly nice. We had a delicious dinner on the river last night and visited the big cathedral, the cloisters, and the Sandeman winery this morning and are hoping to do even more this afternoon-maybe a museum, definitely visiting all the turn of the century coffee shops we can.
This is the first time I have ever been in a country in which I don't speak the language and it is the oddest sensation. I can understand Portuguese sometimes but I only know how to say the most basic phrases. I used to think that Portuguese had almost everything in common with Spanish but it sounds a lot more like French, and English seems to be the secondary language here. EVERYONE speaks English and they correct you if you say something in Spanish by saying, " I am Portuguese, not Spanish." Whoops. I guess I can't blame them. Portugal has definitely gotten the short end of the stick as far as Iberian notoriety and as a people, they are deservedly proud of their very distinctive culture. I don't really like not being able to chat away with strangers(gives me new perspective on my ESL students and how they must feel) so I have decided to take some decisive action. These are my options:
1) Only go to Spanish and English speaking countries
2) Learn every language ever and travel everywhere I can.
I would be perfectly happy with option #1 but doesn't option number 2 sound so much better? Now all I need to do is to find some sponsorship and someone to come with me....
We did have a super hyped up language/international experience last night, though. We were walking back from dinner looking for a place to buy bottled water and some ice cream and we were very VERY tired ( Porto is uphill both ways, I swear). I guess we lingered too long outside of once convenience store and an incredibly friendly man popped out and said to us in French/Portuguese - This is my house, full of my family and friends,it is modest, but very good - Come in! Not able to refuse such an enthusiastic invitation we all cautiously filed into this tiny little store. Literally his entire family was sitting in the store watching TV( complete with adorable child in footie pajamas). I was somehow in the front of the group so I got some serious interaction with this dude.
Him: Where are you from?
Me: Estados Unidos. America
Him: AHHH OBAMA!
Me: Si si me gusta mucho!
He then passed me over to his friend who spoke a little english. From what I understood, all of them were from Angola and had moved here. He recommended that we go check out the riverfront and then asked me what I wanted. I began asking in my frantic New York english that I wanted a bottle of water. He asked me to slow down. I tried again. Still totally butchered it- now I'm starting to feel like a jerk. Finally he says/ you speak spanish?
My mental reaction
YES YES YES I DO WOW YES I DEFINITELY SPEAK SPANISH YAY THIS IS SO EXCITING
What I actually said.
Si hablo espanol - Quisiera una botella de agua. Cuanto cuesta una grande?
Ohhhhh it was really cool. Super simple interaction but it was so instinctual - and it´s happening more and more now which is SO neat. Gender agreement is getting to be a reflex and Paquita and I are having a much easier time communicating at dinner. And the feeling of relief I had when I realized this man spoke Spanish has to count for something( I have another fun language moment for you when I wrap this one up).So we all paid and went on our merry way. And as we left the man called after us OBAMA! and put his fist in the air. I love that some random man in Portugal who is actually from Angola is that excited about our president- the dude I voted for. Anyway, simply buying a bottle of water was an experience that involved 4 languages and 3 continents. That kinda thing doesn`t happen in Poughkeepsie.
Alright, one final fun language learning story before I leave you for siesta ( I don´t care if I travel to Croatia - I will continue to siesta). If you have slept in the same room with me ( Julie, Ava, and Alana are some notable victims) you know that I have a habit of talking in my sleep.
Some memorable quotes
The metronome is chasing me!
Yeah I know! Power rangers, right?
Daddy, save me from the gymnastics!
All my habits are so incredibly embarrassing ( tripping is my other biggie). Anyway the other 5 girls and I are sharing a room in this hostel and I gave them fair warning that I might have a few things to say. So poor Roshanna has a cold and I think she may have been awake coughing when she heard me sleep talking IN SPANISH. I was just ordering food ( what else?) but I think that is definitely exciting enough to put in the ¨Made my day¨ category.
More from Porto soon.
Love,
Fio
PS Is it weird that I miss Salamanca?
This is the first time I have ever been in a country in which I don't speak the language and it is the oddest sensation. I can understand Portuguese sometimes but I only know how to say the most basic phrases. I used to think that Portuguese had almost everything in common with Spanish but it sounds a lot more like French, and English seems to be the secondary language here. EVERYONE speaks English and they correct you if you say something in Spanish by saying, " I am Portuguese, not Spanish." Whoops. I guess I can't blame them. Portugal has definitely gotten the short end of the stick as far as Iberian notoriety and as a people, they are deservedly proud of their very distinctive culture. I don't really like not being able to chat away with strangers(gives me new perspective on my ESL students and how they must feel) so I have decided to take some decisive action. These are my options:
1) Only go to Spanish and English speaking countries
2) Learn every language ever and travel everywhere I can.
I would be perfectly happy with option #1 but doesn't option number 2 sound so much better? Now all I need to do is to find some sponsorship and someone to come with me....
We did have a super hyped up language/international experience last night, though. We were walking back from dinner looking for a place to buy bottled water and some ice cream and we were very VERY tired ( Porto is uphill both ways, I swear). I guess we lingered too long outside of once convenience store and an incredibly friendly man popped out and said to us in French/Portuguese - This is my house, full of my family and friends,it is modest, but very good - Come in! Not able to refuse such an enthusiastic invitation we all cautiously filed into this tiny little store. Literally his entire family was sitting in the store watching TV( complete with adorable child in footie pajamas). I was somehow in the front of the group so I got some serious interaction with this dude.
Him: Where are you from?
Me: Estados Unidos. America
Him: AHHH OBAMA!
Me: Si si me gusta mucho!
He then passed me over to his friend who spoke a little english. From what I understood, all of them were from Angola and had moved here. He recommended that we go check out the riverfront and then asked me what I wanted. I began asking in my frantic New York english that I wanted a bottle of water. He asked me to slow down. I tried again. Still totally butchered it- now I'm starting to feel like a jerk. Finally he says/ you speak spanish?
My mental reaction
YES YES YES I DO WOW YES I DEFINITELY SPEAK SPANISH YAY THIS IS SO EXCITING
What I actually said.
Si hablo espanol - Quisiera una botella de agua. Cuanto cuesta una grande?
Ohhhhh it was really cool. Super simple interaction but it was so instinctual - and it´s happening more and more now which is SO neat. Gender agreement is getting to be a reflex and Paquita and I are having a much easier time communicating at dinner. And the feeling of relief I had when I realized this man spoke Spanish has to count for something( I have another fun language moment for you when I wrap this one up).So we all paid and went on our merry way. And as we left the man called after us OBAMA! and put his fist in the air. I love that some random man in Portugal who is actually from Angola is that excited about our president- the dude I voted for. Anyway, simply buying a bottle of water was an experience that involved 4 languages and 3 continents. That kinda thing doesn`t happen in Poughkeepsie.
Alright, one final fun language learning story before I leave you for siesta ( I don´t care if I travel to Croatia - I will continue to siesta). If you have slept in the same room with me ( Julie, Ava, and Alana are some notable victims) you know that I have a habit of talking in my sleep.
Some memorable quotes
The metronome is chasing me!
Yeah I know! Power rangers, right?
Daddy, save me from the gymnastics!
All my habits are so incredibly embarrassing ( tripping is my other biggie). Anyway the other 5 girls and I are sharing a room in this hostel and I gave them fair warning that I might have a few things to say. So poor Roshanna has a cold and I think she may have been awake coughing when she heard me sleep talking IN SPANISH. I was just ordering food ( what else?) but I think that is definitely exciting enough to put in the ¨Made my day¨ category.
More from Porto soon.
Love,
Fio
PS Is it weird that I miss Salamanca?
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Ok so I lied.
I had tons to write about yesterday and I wanted to just bombard you all with blog posts about my big weekend and how I was feeling about everything. But again I was thwarted by my lack of internet and when I did have internet I was talking with people back home because I needed to desparately. Oh well, you are at my mercy (Buahahahahahha evil wizard of oz esque laugh).
Ok let me tell you about the Real Madrid game. It was sort of a last minute thing that my friends and I planned haphazardly because magically we all had time off. So we got tickets for 45 euro(!) and made our way to the train station to buy tickets to Madrid. The frist time we went there was mass confusion over whether the bus or the trian would be the better option and we spun our wheels for a while and ended up buying nothing. Once we went home and did some appropriate online research, it was clear that the train was the right choice - little did we know what awaited us.
Let me take a little break in this story to say that Madrid gives me hives. Much love to my friends studying there but I could never do it. Too much noise, too many people, too big, too much everything. So anxiety level for this trip was a little high, but luckily we were planning on spending the afternoon before the game in the Retiro park so a little sunshine and grass between my toes would help dissipate my ogida. Train ride went pretty smoothly and the metro ride was fine but really long. I would trade the cleanliness of the Madrid metro for the dingier and crime riddled New York subway anyday. We made it to Retiro and had a splendid afternoon lounging, eating bocadillos, and doing cartwheels.
Cut to GAME TIME. We had to take the metro again and this time every stop brought with it more sweaty/ already slightly intoxicated Real Madrid fans with no sense of personal space. Also not conducive to Maxie making balloon hats for the game -people can be so insensitive sometimes. Every stop I said- oh I guess these people have to wait for the next train. No. No they didn't. They just kept packing in until I was pressed against one of the rails with my butt in some poor old man's face ( I guess it's one way to make friends in a new city). Once everyone started to get off I rejoiced and went to steal a seat. But alas this was our stop too- duh. So we mosey-ed on with all the fanatics, went to the official store to buy some gear ( see FB pics with scarves), and Maxie lovingly bought me a soda to counter my low blood sugar and consequent crankiness.
We got to our seats just in time. Oh and Ps the game was against Tenerife so no one was that concerned about how this game would go. The people next to us were Tenerife fans and liked to sing the Tenerife song under their breath at tense moments. The man in front of us preferred to smoke a pipe. Real Madrid also thinks it is a GREAT idea to give small children souped up foghorns that you blow into. Wow - someone in marketing really took their time thinking that one through. Anyway the first half was pretty boring because the Tenerife defense was pretty tight. When I didn't know what was happenning, I just followed the lead and screamed when all the drunk bros around me did. Second half, Real Madrid dominated - thanks in part to my favorite player Iker Casillas ( who's dating Miss Spain - no big). Luisa and I spent most of the game hating on Cristiano Ronaldho and how he wears Ed Hardy. We won( duh) and got back on the metro with all the other happy people. We made lots of friends in the train station with our scarves - old men, tweens, security guards, etc We were in demand and also just so excited that Spaniards were talking to us out of their own accord.
This is where the good times end. We got on the train with our balloon hats and parafanalia and bags of delicious fast food. We even sat in the right seats. the conductor comes by and we hand him our tickets - the same ones we had used with no problem on the way there. The conductor mumbles something about carnet joven and gives us a dirty look. Whatever. Maxie then engages him in a conversation about what the problem is. We bought our tickets using the machine and we selected the joven option because we are, indeed joven. We were prompted to enter a number which we interpreted as our age. Apparently, there is a special youth card that you need to have to get this 4 euro discount. Shouldn't the machine have noted some error when all of us entered our card number as "20"or "21." Maxie explained all of this to the conductor and asked if we could pay the difference - which we were all willing to do. This jerk was like "no you can't these tickets that you have don't exist - you need to buy all new tickets." He waved his hand over our useless tickets like he was a jedi master- very " These aren't the droids you're looking for." Maxie continued to try to reason with him and he spouted us all sorts of platitudes like " Forget what the computer said " and " Would you like to buy 1 ticket or 3 tickets? because i will charge you 3 times over." Uh no I don't think so sir - this is not my first time at the rodeo. And clearly this man did not know who my señora was. Paquita will find you and end you. Period. El fin. It became clear that he was talking down to us 1) because we were a group of young girls and 2) because we were a group of young american girls. He turned around smugly and tried to get the whole train to laugh at us and assured us that no matter who we talked to we would never get our money back. he even took the time to write - Didn''t present carnet joven on each of our receipts. Gosh he's precious.
Again - whatever. We paid up because clearly this man had nothing better to do than extort helpless people. but ooo were we mad. Luisa called the perp a cabrón and we laughed for 2 hours straight about the crisis and what he could possibly be using the money for. I couldn't wait to get home and tell Paquita so that the reign of terror could commence. I animatedly told her every detail and how this man basically stole our money and her response was....
Oh. I guess you'll have to buy fewer beers this week.
Ok let me tell you about the Real Madrid game. It was sort of a last minute thing that my friends and I planned haphazardly because magically we all had time off. So we got tickets for 45 euro(!) and made our way to the train station to buy tickets to Madrid. The frist time we went there was mass confusion over whether the bus or the trian would be the better option and we spun our wheels for a while and ended up buying nothing. Once we went home and did some appropriate online research, it was clear that the train was the right choice - little did we know what awaited us.
Let me take a little break in this story to say that Madrid gives me hives. Much love to my friends studying there but I could never do it. Too much noise, too many people, too big, too much everything. So anxiety level for this trip was a little high, but luckily we were planning on spending the afternoon before the game in the Retiro park so a little sunshine and grass between my toes would help dissipate my ogida. Train ride went pretty smoothly and the metro ride was fine but really long. I would trade the cleanliness of the Madrid metro for the dingier and crime riddled New York subway anyday. We made it to Retiro and had a splendid afternoon lounging, eating bocadillos, and doing cartwheels.
Cut to GAME TIME. We had to take the metro again and this time every stop brought with it more sweaty/ already slightly intoxicated Real Madrid fans with no sense of personal space. Also not conducive to Maxie making balloon hats for the game -people can be so insensitive sometimes. Every stop I said- oh I guess these people have to wait for the next train. No. No they didn't. They just kept packing in until I was pressed against one of the rails with my butt in some poor old man's face ( I guess it's one way to make friends in a new city). Once everyone started to get off I rejoiced and went to steal a seat. But alas this was our stop too- duh. So we mosey-ed on with all the fanatics, went to the official store to buy some gear ( see FB pics with scarves), and Maxie lovingly bought me a soda to counter my low blood sugar and consequent crankiness.
We got to our seats just in time. Oh and Ps the game was against Tenerife so no one was that concerned about how this game would go. The people next to us were Tenerife fans and liked to sing the Tenerife song under their breath at tense moments. The man in front of us preferred to smoke a pipe. Real Madrid also thinks it is a GREAT idea to give small children souped up foghorns that you blow into. Wow - someone in marketing really took their time thinking that one through. Anyway the first half was pretty boring because the Tenerife defense was pretty tight. When I didn't know what was happenning, I just followed the lead and screamed when all the drunk bros around me did. Second half, Real Madrid dominated - thanks in part to my favorite player Iker Casillas ( who's dating Miss Spain - no big). Luisa and I spent most of the game hating on Cristiano Ronaldho and how he wears Ed Hardy. We won( duh) and got back on the metro with all the other happy people. We made lots of friends in the train station with our scarves - old men, tweens, security guards, etc We were in demand and also just so excited that Spaniards were talking to us out of their own accord.
This is where the good times end. We got on the train with our balloon hats and parafanalia and bags of delicious fast food. We even sat in the right seats. the conductor comes by and we hand him our tickets - the same ones we had used with no problem on the way there. The conductor mumbles something about carnet joven and gives us a dirty look. Whatever. Maxie then engages him in a conversation about what the problem is. We bought our tickets using the machine and we selected the joven option because we are, indeed joven. We were prompted to enter a number which we interpreted as our age. Apparently, there is a special youth card that you need to have to get this 4 euro discount. Shouldn't the machine have noted some error when all of us entered our card number as "20"or "21." Maxie explained all of this to the conductor and asked if we could pay the difference - which we were all willing to do. This jerk was like "no you can't these tickets that you have don't exist - you need to buy all new tickets." He waved his hand over our useless tickets like he was a jedi master- very " These aren't the droids you're looking for." Maxie continued to try to reason with him and he spouted us all sorts of platitudes like " Forget what the computer said " and " Would you like to buy 1 ticket or 3 tickets? because i will charge you 3 times over." Uh no I don't think so sir - this is not my first time at the rodeo. And clearly this man did not know who my señora was. Paquita will find you and end you. Period. El fin. It became clear that he was talking down to us 1) because we were a group of young girls and 2) because we were a group of young american girls. He turned around smugly and tried to get the whole train to laugh at us and assured us that no matter who we talked to we would never get our money back. he even took the time to write - Didn''t present carnet joven on each of our receipts. Gosh he's precious.
Again - whatever. We paid up because clearly this man had nothing better to do than extort helpless people. but ooo were we mad. Luisa called the perp a cabrón and we laughed for 2 hours straight about the crisis and what he could possibly be using the money for. I couldn't wait to get home and tell Paquita so that the reign of terror could commence. I animatedly told her every detail and how this man basically stole our money and her response was....
Oh. I guess you'll have to buy fewer beers this week.
Monday, September 28, 2009
One of Many Today
I can never decide what to write about which usually just makes me put it off and then the blogging topics just pile up, further compounding my problem.
My possible topics for today:
Being homesick
Diego
Real Madrid game
Cured Meats ( just kidding I think if I have any more posts about meat I would be sponsored by some sort of meat producers collective)
My really fun Thursday night
Oh well I have some time so I'll try to touch a little on all 4 topics - because they are fun and I need to vent to vosotros ( spanish form of yáll)
Being Homesick
I was really hoping to avoid this one. I thought my culturally permeable self was at least a little bit immune, but I should have expected it. My set up at home is pretty sweet. Having lived there for my whole life, I feel like I have things figured out in Poughkeepsie although that isn’t too hard. I have lots of different groups of friends and something to do every night of the week. I've got my family close by so if anything happens that I'm not 100% happy with they are a safe haven and they always think I’m funny which is great therapy. I've got my sister around and all her wonderful friends and Julie is a souce of constant sanity and acceptance for me. And Marist. I have billions of things to pour all my energy into there and it is just full of people that love and support me.
I am reminded sometimes that I am here totally alone, isn’t it great when you get exactly what you want? People have said in the past that I am independent to a fault( although it’s one of the things I like most about myself) and I think that streak is what lead me here.Plus I have a big group of super independent women that feed my mania: Mar, Daniela, my mom, my sister, Julie MB, etc etc. I’m in a constant quest to prove to myself that I can do whatever I want and even some stuff I don’t really want to do just to prove that I can. I get a high off of new things and I can get a little possessive about people and experiences. So I went some place that would forever be just mine. What scares me and at the same time is super cool, is that when you take away all the things that you do, the things that define most of us as college students and people - our friends, our families, our activities, our internet access, our native language- you still exist and all the stuff you left behind exists without you too(Enter :big punch to your ego stage right) You exist in our most pure form. It's scary but it's healthy. We spend a lot of time keeping busy and distracting ourselves from the fact that when you fall asleep at night - it's just you. As much we love other people, no one else can live with you in your head and the relationship we have with ourselves and whatever being we believe in is basically what we got. Other people and things enrich that in UNBELIEVABLE ways- and I believe more than ever that people need people (cue Delilah jingle) - but there is no. And your interactions with other people are so much richer once you know a little bit about who you are- and that requires large doses or honesty and acceptance. I have a habit of losing myself in activities, school, and other people and forgetting what I need or ignoring who I am and what I want. I convince myself that I don’t want certain things because I’m scared of what might happen if I’m not 100% independent I’m having to live with myself in a way I never have before and it's one of the hardest things I have ever done. Waking up in the morning and being slapped in the face with your own reality gets tiring. I keep reminding myself it is what I need and that this is growing up and I’m trying to cherish these growing pains and feel them fully, but I wouldn't mind a hug once and a while or a big friendly greeting from my dog. Also I am missing autumn on the Hudson :(
My possible topics for today:
Being homesick
Diego
Real Madrid game
Cured Meats ( just kidding I think if I have any more posts about meat I would be sponsored by some sort of meat producers collective)
My really fun Thursday night
Oh well I have some time so I'll try to touch a little on all 4 topics - because they are fun and I need to vent to vosotros ( spanish form of yáll)
Being Homesick
I was really hoping to avoid this one. I thought my culturally permeable self was at least a little bit immune, but I should have expected it. My set up at home is pretty sweet. Having lived there for my whole life, I feel like I have things figured out in Poughkeepsie although that isn’t too hard. I have lots of different groups of friends and something to do every night of the week. I've got my family close by so if anything happens that I'm not 100% happy with they are a safe haven and they always think I’m funny which is great therapy. I've got my sister around and all her wonderful friends and Julie is a souce of constant sanity and acceptance for me. And Marist. I have billions of things to pour all my energy into there and it is just full of people that love and support me.
I am reminded sometimes that I am here totally alone, isn’t it great when you get exactly what you want? People have said in the past that I am independent to a fault( although it’s one of the things I like most about myself) and I think that streak is what lead me here.Plus I have a big group of super independent women that feed my mania: Mar, Daniela, my mom, my sister, Julie MB, etc etc. I’m in a constant quest to prove to myself that I can do whatever I want and even some stuff I don’t really want to do just to prove that I can. I get a high off of new things and I can get a little possessive about people and experiences. So I went some place that would forever be just mine. What scares me and at the same time is super cool, is that when you take away all the things that you do, the things that define most of us as college students and people - our friends, our families, our activities, our internet access, our native language- you still exist and all the stuff you left behind exists without you too(Enter :big punch to your ego stage right) You exist in our most pure form. It's scary but it's healthy. We spend a lot of time keeping busy and distracting ourselves from the fact that when you fall asleep at night - it's just you. As much we love other people, no one else can live with you in your head and the relationship we have with ourselves and whatever being we believe in is basically what we got. Other people and things enrich that in UNBELIEVABLE ways- and I believe more than ever that people need people (cue Delilah jingle) - but there is no. And your interactions with other people are so much richer once you know a little bit about who you are- and that requires large doses or honesty and acceptance. I have a habit of losing myself in activities, school, and other people and forgetting what I need or ignoring who I am and what I want. I convince myself that I don’t want certain things because I’m scared of what might happen if I’m not 100% independent I’m having to live with myself in a way I never have before and it's one of the hardest things I have ever done. Waking up in the morning and being slapped in the face with your own reality gets tiring. I keep reminding myself it is what I need and that this is growing up and I’m trying to cherish these growing pains and feel them fully, but I wouldn't mind a hug once and a while or a big friendly greeting from my dog. Also I am missing autumn on the Hudson :(
Thursday, September 24, 2009
I´m Running out of witty titles and I´m too lazy to try to employ alliteration
Ok so first real week of classes is done! Serious embarassment avoided and I am absolutely bowled over by my professors and how much they know. As I may have mentioned before I have poured over every piece of information API has given me, hoping to come across any little piece of information that might come in handy or that I might be able to bring up in conversation as a helpful tip ( I love info bytes- I can still tell you the average priceof gas in northern Europe from 2005. The notebook section of TIME magazine and I are in an exclusive relationship - even if my dad does think its a liberal rag).
So one of my booklets said that Spanish professors were not interested in entertaining students because they had worked hard and their position as a professor was pretty much secured. Either way, I knew it would be different from my classes at home that had 8 students and I consider almost all of my professors at Marist my very good friends and my most prized mentors. I am ridiculously spoiled in that respect. I have changed my schedule here about 5 times ( kinda like how I changed my major freshman year- I was a philosophy major for a while), so I have gotten to see lots of different professors here in action. I have finally settled on 3 courses:
Literatura española
Historia de música española
Música y cine
Literatura española should be fine. I am going to have to do LOTS and LOTS of reading. I have to choose 2 books from a list of middle age and renaissance Spanish classics and one from the span of time between the start of the Guerra Civil and the end of franquismo. We get to discuss them in smaller groups called seminarios which should be great language practice. And in Música y cine ( shout out to Prof. Melis) my profesora is absolutely insane, in a very jolly way. It is a little difficult to understand her Spanish, but since I am one of 2 foreigners in the class I can´t complain, and what is funny is that she interrupts her torrents of Spanish and technical musical terms with little snippets of jingles. BA BA BE BA DO BAHHHHHH Very Robert Goulet. I have 200 pages of reading to do by Monday on música diegética and then I have to apply it to Cantando bajo la lluvia in a paper for Tuesday. Cue look of pity from Paquita ( alliteration :cha-ching) . However, the people in the class are SO nice and someone even said hi to me outside of class! With patience comes progress!
And Historia de música is just blowing my mind. Paco knows so much about Rome, Latin, linguistics, the history of time ( for real!), the Church -EVERYTHING. I made a rather embarassing error in class though. We were talking about the liturgical calendar and Paco asked when the liturgical year started. I rocked the plaid skirt and knee socks for 13 years - I´ve got this on lock. And I´m even gonna be brave and raise my hand - carpe diem right?
Me : Pentecosto
Paco: No
Fail. My elementary school nuns would be so disappointed in me. Ann Belz would probably call me a turkey. Let the hanging my head in shame commence. But it seemed to be the go to answer. When the other foreign students didn´t know an answer that screamed out Pentecost - when in doubt the answer is either Harry Truman, fossils, Pentecost or choice C.
I have to remind myself how much older Europe is than America and that when I grew up learning the presidents and going to historical mansions with my family, these people grew up learning the emperors and visiting the Colloseum. They understand so much more about how culture developed because, more or less, this is where it happened. And when you understand where everything came from, you can live a more relaxed life. You become a truly independent person when you can make decisions coming from a historical-anthropological perspective rather than one of fear. America is still so young and most people have an extremely limited knowledge of history and I think that´s another source of some of our problems. We as a nation are easily convinced of things and we have a tendency to be impulsive and go with our gut feeling. That´s what makes us unique and in some situations it has served us well. But would it be so bad to temper that a bit with some good ol´classics? And believe me I LOVE American history but it´s just one part of the platter of cured meats that we call culture-history-etc.
More News
Paquita has cured me of the Gripe - I swear I would elect this woman president if I could. She gave me a long discourse on El Quijote and the biography of Cervantes. Over cream cheese and salami sandwiches.
I dropped my class on Religion and the Church in the Modern Age: I just couldn´t spend 3 hours of my Spanish week listening to lectures on the different orders of monks. But given my Pentecost answer maybe I should reconsider...
I got screamed at by a Spanish taxi driver last night.
2 intercambios this week!
Real Madrid game Saturday
I miss cheeseburgers
So one of my booklets said that Spanish professors were not interested in entertaining students because they had worked hard and their position as a professor was pretty much secured. Either way, I knew it would be different from my classes at home that had 8 students and I consider almost all of my professors at Marist my very good friends and my most prized mentors. I am ridiculously spoiled in that respect. I have changed my schedule here about 5 times ( kinda like how I changed my major freshman year- I was a philosophy major for a while), so I have gotten to see lots of different professors here in action. I have finally settled on 3 courses:
Literatura española
Historia de música española
Música y cine
Literatura española should be fine. I am going to have to do LOTS and LOTS of reading. I have to choose 2 books from a list of middle age and renaissance Spanish classics and one from the span of time between the start of the Guerra Civil and the end of franquismo. We get to discuss them in smaller groups called seminarios which should be great language practice. And in Música y cine ( shout out to Prof. Melis) my profesora is absolutely insane, in a very jolly way. It is a little difficult to understand her Spanish, but since I am one of 2 foreigners in the class I can´t complain, and what is funny is that she interrupts her torrents of Spanish and technical musical terms with little snippets of jingles. BA BA BE BA DO BAHHHHHH Very Robert Goulet. I have 200 pages of reading to do by Monday on música diegética and then I have to apply it to Cantando bajo la lluvia in a paper for Tuesday. Cue look of pity from Paquita ( alliteration :cha-ching) . However, the people in the class are SO nice and someone even said hi to me outside of class! With patience comes progress!
And Historia de música is just blowing my mind. Paco knows so much about Rome, Latin, linguistics, the history of time ( for real!), the Church -EVERYTHING. I made a rather embarassing error in class though. We were talking about the liturgical calendar and Paco asked when the liturgical year started. I rocked the plaid skirt and knee socks for 13 years - I´ve got this on lock. And I´m even gonna be brave and raise my hand - carpe diem right?
Me : Pentecosto
Paco: No
Fail. My elementary school nuns would be so disappointed in me. Ann Belz would probably call me a turkey. Let the hanging my head in shame commence. But it seemed to be the go to answer. When the other foreign students didn´t know an answer that screamed out Pentecost - when in doubt the answer is either Harry Truman, fossils, Pentecost or choice C.
I have to remind myself how much older Europe is than America and that when I grew up learning the presidents and going to historical mansions with my family, these people grew up learning the emperors and visiting the Colloseum. They understand so much more about how culture developed because, more or less, this is where it happened. And when you understand where everything came from, you can live a more relaxed life. You become a truly independent person when you can make decisions coming from a historical-anthropological perspective rather than one of fear. America is still so young and most people have an extremely limited knowledge of history and I think that´s another source of some of our problems. We as a nation are easily convinced of things and we have a tendency to be impulsive and go with our gut feeling. That´s what makes us unique and in some situations it has served us well. But would it be so bad to temper that a bit with some good ol´classics? And believe me I LOVE American history but it´s just one part of the platter of cured meats that we call culture-history-etc.
More News
Paquita has cured me of the Gripe - I swear I would elect this woman president if I could. She gave me a long discourse on El Quijote and the biography of Cervantes. Over cream cheese and salami sandwiches.
I dropped my class on Religion and the Church in the Modern Age: I just couldn´t spend 3 hours of my Spanish week listening to lectures on the different orders of monks. But given my Pentecost answer maybe I should reconsider...
I got screamed at by a Spanish taxi driver last night.
2 intercambios this week!
Real Madrid game Saturday
I miss cheeseburgers
Monday, September 21, 2009
In Which I Devour Culture
AH! Again tons to say! What would you like to hear first - exciting personal news or detailed account of my weekend? Exciting personal news it is! A spoonful of exciting personal news helps the detailed account of the weekend go down - that´s what I always say!
So I don´t know how many of you had the distinct privilege of visiting Gartland G2 last year, but if you did you certainly remember the glorious C Room that I shared with Miss Alana Linsinbigler. We had a prime location away from the noise but still close to the bathroom and kitchen and, if you ask me, we had a very impressive collection of classic art on the walls. We also created a new,innovative storage system known as ¨the floordrobe." And you can too! Basically all laundry and clothes that werent quite ready to be washed rested on the floor next to Alana´s bed - creating a soft landing for me coming down from the loft and also creating a time-space vortex into the next dimension. Long story short- we never saw our floor and no one came to visit our room out of sheer terrror. And we liked it like that. My family can attest that I have a tendency to EXPLODE ( Copyright Kim Levine 2007) in any room that I am staying in and you can usually retrace all of my steps in a day because I leave a trail of books, plates, clothes etc. in my wake.
Cut to me eating with Paquita ( duh - ps last night I had a hot dog and cream cheese sandwich for dinner - top that!) and Paquita was sharing some horror stories from some of her past homestays. She then said that things with me were going perfectly - I communicated with her, I liked her food, I was considerate of her schedule and................
My room is " phenomenally clean"
Yeah that´s right - PHENOMENALLY
This ain´t no amateur hour. Sure I have a few less things than I do back in the states but I have to give myself a pat on the back. My room IS phenomenally clean! Proof that people really can change - at least for now. My next roommate Jacel, who is not a creater/founder of the floordrobe, will undoubtedly appreciate this improvement. Also if anyone is thinking of going abroad I 123890% recommend doing a homestay. Besides the fact that you get to practice more language and end up with a gem like Paquita - it is a pretty sweet deal. Delicious food, funny stories, a clean, quiet house.. and your underwear gets folded. No lie.
Ok so this weekend was rather jampacked with fun and adventures. On Friday we went to the bullfights! I was so nervous and a bullfight isn´t really the place for a east coast pseudo hippie or the sister of Julie: Animal Warrior. But when in Spain... and the tickets were only 20 euro so I went with it. The Plaza de Toros in Salamanca is a classic and according to Paquita, Salamanca is one of the bull capitals of Spain- meaning that all the best bulls used in la corrida come from just outside of Salamanca. There used to be a saying Salamanca: arte, saber, y toro
s. ( Salamanca: arte, culture, bulls). Everyone was excited to see the very famous bullfighter Cayetano (basically the Cher/ Madonna of Bullfights). He used to be an Armani model and if I do say so myself- DAMN. Well it turns out that Cayetano should maybe stick to his day job. He did not do so well in the fight- he couldn't get the sword in at the end of the fight and he was very impatient and wasn't waiting for the right moment. The older aficionados around me were very very disappointed in him- their voices were dripping with sadness.The younger Salamanca native ended up winning - and deservedly so. In the first 5 minutes of the fight, the bulls horn hooked onto his bolero jacket and he was basically under a 490 kilo raging bull. If you do a good job, you get one ear of the bull. If you do really well you get 2 ears and if you are phenomenal you get two ears and a tail. The winner got two ears each time - there were six bulls and three toreros. Definitely an iconic experience - one I am not likely to have again. By the end I was kind of desensitized to what was going on but at the end when the bull is dying , they stab them in the head with a shorter knife and that NEVER gets easier to watch.
The next day, the girls and I decided to see something new in Salamanca. We visited the cathedral, which is right next to the school of filología. You know Spain has spoiled you when you are not bowled over by the Salamanca cathedral. After Toledo, everything else is just peanuts- but we did take a sweet Power Ranger picture outside. Then we visited the Museo de Casa Lis, which is the art deco/art nouveou museum here that used to be someone's house. It's full of knick-knacks basically but very cool 1920s knick knacks and lots of art that looks like it's by Picasso or Degás, but is really not. These people also liked clowns and antique dolls a lot. Kinda weird but it's their house I guess. Then we went to the movies right around the corner and saw a fantasic Japanese film ( dubbed over in Spanish=trippy) called Despedidas. I will spare you the synopsis and just include a link to the trailer. ( Sorry it's in Spanish :-)
Other news from Spain: I have played 375 games of Free Cell and have won 91% of those games. And I wonder why I'm single. Rather than focus my attention on the Spanish mullet I am choosing to do an in depth study on the use of jorts in the culture of the Spanish male. For those of you unfamiliar with the term jeans+shorts=jorts. I have some sort of bug that Paquita has deemed a "gripe." According to Paquita : La gripe A: mala. La otra: esta bien. This bug is severely limiting my ability to eat cured meats which is disturbing to both Paquita and I. I am a little bit homesick these days because classes are getting difficult and being sick also makes you miss home. I wouldn't mind an after dinner walk with my fam, a boopadoo with the MD, Chain Reaction with the girlsm or a little bit of swing dancing here and there. I'm definitely very excited for people to visit me and to start travelling. Next up is Porto, Portugal!
Still fighting the gripe so forgive me if this blog isn't high on inspiration/wit. I will be back to normal soon! I just had to fit in an update bc nothing annoys me more than abandoned blogs- and I couldn't do that to you guys!
Love - Fio
Photo Credits: Cayetano http://manolobig.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/toreador.jpg
s. ( Salamanca: arte, culture, bulls). Everyone was excited to see the very famous bullfighter Cayetano (basically the Cher/ Madonna of Bullfights). He used to be an Armani model and if I do say so myself- DAMN. Well it turns out that Cayetano should maybe stick to his day job. He did not do so well in the fight- he couldn't get the sword in at the end of the fight and he was very impatient and wasn't waiting for the right moment. The older aficionados around me were very very disappointed in him- their voices were dripping with sadness.The younger Salamanca native ended up winning - and deservedly so. In the first 5 minutes of the fight, the bulls horn hooked onto his bolero jacket and he was basically under a 490 kilo raging bull. If you do a good job, you get one ear of the bull. If you do really well you get 2 ears and if you are phenomenal you get two ears and a tail. The winner got two ears each time - there were six bulls and three toreros. Definitely an iconic experience - one I am not likely to have again. By the end I was kind of desensitized to what was going on but at the end when the bull is dying , they stab them in the head with a shorter knife and that NEVER gets easier to watch.The next day, the girls and I decided to see something new in Salamanca. We visited the cathedral, which is right next to the school of filología. You know Spain has spoiled you when you are not bowled over by the Salamanca cathedral. After Toledo, everything else is just peanuts- but we did take a sweet Power Ranger picture outside. Then we visited the Museo de Casa Lis, which is the art deco/art nouveou museum here that used to be someone's house. It's full of knick-knacks basically but very cool 1920s knick knacks and lots of art that looks like it's by Picasso or Degás, but is really not. These people also liked clowns and antique dolls a lot. Kinda weird but it's their house I guess. Then we went to the movies right around the corner and saw a fantasic Japanese film ( dubbed over in Spanish=trippy) called Despedidas. I will spare you the synopsis and just include a link to the trailer. ( Sorry it's in Spanish :-)
Other news from Spain: I have played 375 games of Free Cell and have won 91% of those games. And I wonder why I'm single. Rather than focus my attention on the Spanish mullet I am choosing to do an in depth study on the use of jorts in the culture of the Spanish male. For those of you unfamiliar with the term jeans+shorts=jorts. I have some sort of bug that Paquita has deemed a "gripe." According to Paquita : La gripe A: mala. La otra: esta bien. This bug is severely limiting my ability to eat cured meats which is disturbing to both Paquita and I. I am a little bit homesick these days because classes are getting difficult and being sick also makes you miss home. I wouldn't mind an after dinner walk with my fam, a boopadoo with the MD, Chain Reaction with the girlsm or a little bit of swing dancing here and there. I'm definitely very excited for people to visit me and to start travelling. Next up is Porto, Portugal!
Still fighting the gripe so forgive me if this blog isn't high on inspiration/wit. I will be back to normal soon! I just had to fit in an update bc nothing annoys me more than abandoned blogs- and I couldn't do that to you guys!
Love - Fio
Photo Credits: Cayetano http://manolobig.com/wordpress/wp-content/uploads/2008/10/toreador.jpg
Friday, September 18, 2009
Intercambio Intoxication
Oh gosh I have so much to say to all of you! Which is exactly what I want to write about and exactly why I did my best NY power walk to get over here with no makeup and wet hair and a very random assortment of garments that I'm calling ''an outfit" for now. I had a great day yesterday and after sleeping on it I have a lot to say about the world and myself. Pregnant women and people with a heart condition are encouraged to exit the blog now.
So a big thing to do here to improve your language skills is to have and intercambio. There´s a page on the USAL website where you say " hey im emily I speak english and I want to practice spanish" and you can find someone who wants to practice english and speaks spanish. You guys meet up for a coffee or something and practice and if you get along it becomes a weekly thing. So being absolutely obsessed with becoming fluent and in my quest to meet some Spaniards, I emailed a few people asking to meet up. The first person to respond was named Enrique and we made a date to meet up outside of one of the language buildings.
I know, I know. Meeting a stranger you met online. #1 on the list of things parents, Sesame Street, and common sense tell you not to do. As soon as I received an email in response I was already picturing myself in the back of a truck on the way to some undisclosed location to become some sort of slave ( thanks mom for that :-) So as the time neared for us to meet I became increasingly nervous and found many excuses as to why I could not go ( the most pressing one being that I was having a very bad hair day). I walked up to the building and there he was in his dark adidas sweatshirt as promised. He literally could not have been nicer, more intelligent, or more interesting.
We talked for an hour and a half about EVERYTHING. He was gracious and funny and patient when I reverted back to English. I was so engrossed in everything and relieved that he was not an axe murderer that I didn´t even notice he had paid for my coffee ( I told you he was a peach. My apology email is pending. I don´t want word to get around the intercambio scene that Iñm trying to work Spanish men for free coffee).
So this is where the intoxication part comes in. I left our session utterly giddy. I couldn´t sit still and I would not shut up to my friends about what a fantastic time I had. For me sitting with a stranger over a cup of coffee and talking is the ultimate pleasure. I´ve always suspected I had a latent addictive personality and that the right drug need only present itself and I would be on a downward spiral. Luckily I have discovered that my drug is talking with other people and after some thought this addiction has been with me my entire life.
I am a firm believer in the commonality of the human experience. There are some things ( and I am inclined to believe that most things) that each person feels, thinks, does, on a daily basis is pretty similar to something you or I can relate to. And rather than thinking that this is a sad an boring facet of our meaningless human existence, I believe that this is the most powerful force on our planet. I love that someone in southeast Asia can relate to the feeling of having a crush or getting in trouble with their parents. But common experience is even closer than that- One of the best parts of growing up is realizing that your parents have all the same insecurities and fears that you do. That they were young, that they did something stupid, that they broke someone´s heart, that they were disappointed, that they curse, that they like to laugh, that they have interests outside of what you like in your lunchbox.
According to my parents, when I was around 3 or 4, I asked my great aunt Mary Ellen, who was the epitome of grace and style, " Don´t you hate it when your underwear getes stuck in your crack?" She graciously responded " Yes, Emily I imagine that is quite uncomfortable." But don´t you absolutely hate that? Doesn´t everyone? And don´t you feel a little bit connected to someone after sharing that albeit gruesome piece of information? I´ve always told lots of stories, much to the chagrin of my much wiser and therefore quieter little sister. My parents knew every detail of my social life up until now( and even now they know a lot more than you would expect). I´ve also always read obsessively- books, magazines, articles whatever. I get little butterflies in my stomach when I see that someone else has started a blog. Who hasn´t dreamed about getting to read someone else´s diary if only to get a peak at someone´s innermost dialogue.
So many of my life decisions have been a quest to communicate - more often, in a new way, with new people. Deciding to study music, writing poetry, editing the newspaper, studying Spanish, starting ESL, trying swing dancing attempting daily to make someone (anyone!) laugh. I went through a brief period where I didn´t really want to talk to anyone. I would share enough so that people would feel comfortable, but there was a certain line that no one would cross. I felt a lot of guilt and shame for very normal things( hey I am both neurotic and a alumnae of catholic school - guilt and shame are what I do best). I wouldn´t let myself make a mistake. I believed that everyone was out to get me and that no one could relate to what I was feeling. I made up rules for myself and held myself to superhuman standards. But as hopefully you can attest, I have maybe come too far in the other direction. I have been known to be a bit blunt or forward. To share "interesting facts" with unsuspecting people ( example that comes to mind: when I told Jim at swing dancing what a terrible choice it was to wear bike shorts under my skirt. Whoops). Yeah sometimes it´s a little embarassing and sometimes I feel like the kooky girl but most times people laugh and share a similar sentiment and another glistening moment is born!
Sometimes I do feel like curling back into my shell and never coming out again, but I can´t deny need people and I wanna hear about you. Lets share a moment on this big empty planet. Lets talk about the moment you fell in love with your wife, how you´re afraid of the dark, what you wanted to be when you were little. Studying languages let´s you hear these little intimate details from even more people. It has happened to me in almost every new place I´ve been and nothing makes you feel more alive or connected to some spiritual force. People have many valid and practical reasons for studying language ( national security, expanding world markets, etc etc) but maybe if we are more willing to share a proverbial cup of coffee with someone outside our usual sphere the rest will follow?
So putting me, a communication addict, here in Spain is like letting Dr. Phil sit in a room all day and listen to his own voice. I wake up each day looking for a fix and the Spaniards are usually more than willing to provide. I´m growing up a lot and finding time for me. There´s an essay that appeared in TIME magazine about turning twenty. It´s not the most exciting age but there is a feeling that what lies ahead is the meaty stuff of life. I feel like I´m getting to know myself a little more everyday and so far I am having a lot of fun with Emily. The Emily with a lot less rules and much more faith in other people. So all of you reading this- thanks for being the best enablers out there. Your emails, comments, and words of wisdom are my daily fix!
One must be fond of people and trust them if one is not to make a mess of life. ~E.M. Forster
I think we may safely trust a good deal more than we do. ~Henry David Thoreau
So a big thing to do here to improve your language skills is to have and intercambio. There´s a page on the USAL website where you say " hey im emily I speak english and I want to practice spanish" and you can find someone who wants to practice english and speaks spanish. You guys meet up for a coffee or something and practice and if you get along it becomes a weekly thing. So being absolutely obsessed with becoming fluent and in my quest to meet some Spaniards, I emailed a few people asking to meet up. The first person to respond was named Enrique and we made a date to meet up outside of one of the language buildings.
I know, I know. Meeting a stranger you met online. #1 on the list of things parents, Sesame Street, and common sense tell you not to do. As soon as I received an email in response I was already picturing myself in the back of a truck on the way to some undisclosed location to become some sort of slave ( thanks mom for that :-) So as the time neared for us to meet I became increasingly nervous and found many excuses as to why I could not go ( the most pressing one being that I was having a very bad hair day). I walked up to the building and there he was in his dark adidas sweatshirt as promised. He literally could not have been nicer, more intelligent, or more interesting.
We talked for an hour and a half about EVERYTHING. He was gracious and funny and patient when I reverted back to English. I was so engrossed in everything and relieved that he was not an axe murderer that I didn´t even notice he had paid for my coffee ( I told you he was a peach. My apology email is pending. I don´t want word to get around the intercambio scene that Iñm trying to work Spanish men for free coffee).
So this is where the intoxication part comes in. I left our session utterly giddy. I couldn´t sit still and I would not shut up to my friends about what a fantastic time I had. For me sitting with a stranger over a cup of coffee and talking is the ultimate pleasure. I´ve always suspected I had a latent addictive personality and that the right drug need only present itself and I would be on a downward spiral. Luckily I have discovered that my drug is talking with other people and after some thought this addiction has been with me my entire life.
I am a firm believer in the commonality of the human experience. There are some things ( and I am inclined to believe that most things) that each person feels, thinks, does, on a daily basis is pretty similar to something you or I can relate to. And rather than thinking that this is a sad an boring facet of our meaningless human existence, I believe that this is the most powerful force on our planet. I love that someone in southeast Asia can relate to the feeling of having a crush or getting in trouble with their parents. But common experience is even closer than that- One of the best parts of growing up is realizing that your parents have all the same insecurities and fears that you do. That they were young, that they did something stupid, that they broke someone´s heart, that they were disappointed, that they curse, that they like to laugh, that they have interests outside of what you like in your lunchbox.
According to my parents, when I was around 3 or 4, I asked my great aunt Mary Ellen, who was the epitome of grace and style, " Don´t you hate it when your underwear getes stuck in your crack?" She graciously responded " Yes, Emily I imagine that is quite uncomfortable." But don´t you absolutely hate that? Doesn´t everyone? And don´t you feel a little bit connected to someone after sharing that albeit gruesome piece of information? I´ve always told lots of stories, much to the chagrin of my much wiser and therefore quieter little sister. My parents knew every detail of my social life up until now( and even now they know a lot more than you would expect). I´ve also always read obsessively- books, magazines, articles whatever. I get little butterflies in my stomach when I see that someone else has started a blog. Who hasn´t dreamed about getting to read someone else´s diary if only to get a peak at someone´s innermost dialogue.
So many of my life decisions have been a quest to communicate - more often, in a new way, with new people. Deciding to study music, writing poetry, editing the newspaper, studying Spanish, starting ESL, trying swing dancing attempting daily to make someone (anyone!) laugh. I went through a brief period where I didn´t really want to talk to anyone. I would share enough so that people would feel comfortable, but there was a certain line that no one would cross. I felt a lot of guilt and shame for very normal things( hey I am both neurotic and a alumnae of catholic school - guilt and shame are what I do best). I wouldn´t let myself make a mistake. I believed that everyone was out to get me and that no one could relate to what I was feeling. I made up rules for myself and held myself to superhuman standards. But as hopefully you can attest, I have maybe come too far in the other direction. I have been known to be a bit blunt or forward. To share "interesting facts" with unsuspecting people ( example that comes to mind: when I told Jim at swing dancing what a terrible choice it was to wear bike shorts under my skirt. Whoops). Yeah sometimes it´s a little embarassing and sometimes I feel like the kooky girl but most times people laugh and share a similar sentiment and another glistening moment is born!
Sometimes I do feel like curling back into my shell and never coming out again, but I can´t deny need people and I wanna hear about you. Lets share a moment on this big empty planet. Lets talk about the moment you fell in love with your wife, how you´re afraid of the dark, what you wanted to be when you were little. Studying languages let´s you hear these little intimate details from even more people. It has happened to me in almost every new place I´ve been and nothing makes you feel more alive or connected to some spiritual force. People have many valid and practical reasons for studying language ( national security, expanding world markets, etc etc) but maybe if we are more willing to share a proverbial cup of coffee with someone outside our usual sphere the rest will follow?
So putting me, a communication addict, here in Spain is like letting Dr. Phil sit in a room all day and listen to his own voice. I wake up each day looking for a fix and the Spaniards are usually more than willing to provide. I´m growing up a lot and finding time for me. There´s an essay that appeared in TIME magazine about turning twenty. It´s not the most exciting age but there is a feeling that what lies ahead is the meaty stuff of life. I feel like I´m getting to know myself a little more everyday and so far I am having a lot of fun with Emily. The Emily with a lot less rules and much more faith in other people. So all of you reading this- thanks for being the best enablers out there. Your emails, comments, and words of wisdom are my daily fix!
One must be fond of people and trust them if one is not to make a mess of life. ~E.M. Forster
I think we may safely trust a good deal more than we do. ~Henry David Thoreau
Wednesday, September 16, 2009
My Diet
So before coming to Spain I had taken a food ethics course with my number 1 dude Joe Campisi. In addition to Joe telling us funny stories about Canada, his children, and stomping squirrels, we learned some pretty scary things about the food industry and its health implications. Also, my sister works on an organic farm and I have yet to find someone more passionate about agriculture, so needless to say I was being bombarded with food info at all times and I was having trouble finding something to eat at Marist that didn´t send me into a guilt spiral about where it came from, what was in it, or what person in a 3rd world country I was oppressing by stopping by the Caberet. I had just came off of an unsuccessful attempt a vegetarianism- apparently you CAN´T replace all your proteins with cheese and complex carbs and maintain an energy level appropriate for college life.
So I was not eating a whole lot of things - I was drinking tons of iced tea and water and grazing here or there. When I returned home, I laid a few no meat ground rules for my family. No pork. Only occasional red meat. And no Tyson chicken. Random rules but hey it helped me sleep at night. I ate veg when I could but I was just happy to have 3 meals a day that were not furnished by Sodexho.
Enter Spain and Paquita. I know a lot of very dedicated vegans and vegetarians but I challenge you to do it and not starve . There´s a museum of ham here. Nuf´said. Meat, eggs, dairy are abound and especially at our house.
A typical day of food for Paquita and I
Breakfast
Coffee
Orange Juice
( I call it my morning acid cocktail)
Galletas ( breakfast crackers for dunking)
Muffin
Lunch - the big one
Salad
Soup of some kind ( vegetables and oil or a creamy vegetable puree)
MEAT - fried chicken, veal, and sometimes fish
Bread
Fruit for dessert
Dinner
Could be leftovers from lunch but....
3 times this week Paquita and I have split a huge plate of cured meats and sheeps cheese. Or a big plate of fried things - like croquettes or hot dogs. With bread. And sometimes beer. Or toast with paté.
My friends joke with me " What plate of cholesterol did you and Paquita share tonight?"
I have no idea where any of the meat or cheese come from( but sometimes her parents send us salchinchon and chorizo- which are DELICIOUS on a pizza) and I don´t know that this pig had a happy life, but I imagine things aren´t too stressful for pigs in Spain ( wake up, wallow, oink, eat, siesta, repeat). All I know is that Paquita gives me lots of credit for cleaning my plate and not having any dietary restictions. Apparently some girls come to her house and only eat pasta. No bueno.
So I don´t know if I am exactly eating ethically but I am eating very well. Everyday I get my recommended daily allowance of fat, sodium, dairy, and caffeine. Maybe my food pyramid isn´t stucturally sound in my east-coast, pseudo hippie, crunchy liberal way but I´m happy, I sleep really well, and I´ve lost weight since I arrive. Sorry Joe and all my much more dedicated foodies but at least for now I am a devoteé of the Paquita Pyramid. ( Am I making it clear how much I like my señora?)
Also, in adjusting to the new eating schedule ( breakfast 9am lunch 3 pm dinner 9pm) my amigas americanas and I often have to stop for a little snack. It is the most un-Spanish thing ever to eat in public but we´ve been known to stand on Calle Zamora eating some type of shame filled pastry. The guy at the bakery knows us. So does the lady at the ice cream shop.
Empanada con manzana: 1,20€
Tiramisu ice cream: 1,50€
Knowingly fulfilling harmless stereotypes: priceless
We watched a movie last night about the famous Spanish artist Lola Flores. Here´s a link to one of her performances. Tonight I am going to the Salamanca short film festival. YAY! Will report back. I love that you are reading this. Hopefully you like it :-)
Love,
Emily
So I was not eating a whole lot of things - I was drinking tons of iced tea and water and grazing here or there. When I returned home, I laid a few no meat ground rules for my family. No pork. Only occasional red meat. And no Tyson chicken. Random rules but hey it helped me sleep at night. I ate veg when I could but I was just happy to have 3 meals a day that were not furnished by Sodexho.
Enter Spain and Paquita. I know a lot of very dedicated vegans and vegetarians but I challenge you to do it and not starve . There´s a museum of ham here. Nuf´said. Meat, eggs, dairy are abound and especially at our house.
A typical day of food for Paquita and I
Breakfast
Coffee
Orange Juice
( I call it my morning acid cocktail)
Galletas ( breakfast crackers for dunking)
Muffin
Lunch - the big one
Salad
Soup of some kind ( vegetables and oil or a creamy vegetable puree)
MEAT - fried chicken, veal, and sometimes fish
Bread
Fruit for dessert
Dinner
Could be leftovers from lunch but....
3 times this week Paquita and I have split a huge plate of cured meats and sheeps cheese. Or a big plate of fried things - like croquettes or hot dogs. With bread. And sometimes beer. Or toast with paté.
My friends joke with me " What plate of cholesterol did you and Paquita share tonight?"
I have no idea where any of the meat or cheese come from( but sometimes her parents send us salchinchon and chorizo- which are DELICIOUS on a pizza) and I don´t know that this pig had a happy life, but I imagine things aren´t too stressful for pigs in Spain ( wake up, wallow, oink, eat, siesta, repeat). All I know is that Paquita gives me lots of credit for cleaning my plate and not having any dietary restictions. Apparently some girls come to her house and only eat pasta. No bueno.
So I don´t know if I am exactly eating ethically but I am eating very well. Everyday I get my recommended daily allowance of fat, sodium, dairy, and caffeine. Maybe my food pyramid isn´t stucturally sound in my east-coast, pseudo hippie, crunchy liberal way but I´m happy, I sleep really well, and I´ve lost weight since I arrive. Sorry Joe and all my much more dedicated foodies but at least for now I am a devoteé of the Paquita Pyramid. ( Am I making it clear how much I like my señora?)
Also, in adjusting to the new eating schedule ( breakfast 9am lunch 3 pm dinner 9pm) my amigas americanas and I often have to stop for a little snack. It is the most un-Spanish thing ever to eat in public but we´ve been known to stand on Calle Zamora eating some type of shame filled pastry. The guy at the bakery knows us. So does the lady at the ice cream shop.
Empanada con manzana: 1,20€
Tiramisu ice cream: 1,50€
Knowingly fulfilling harmless stereotypes: priceless
We watched a movie last night about the famous Spanish artist Lola Flores. Here´s a link to one of her performances. Tonight I am going to the Salamanca short film festival. YAY! Will report back. I love that you are reading this. Hopefully you like it :-)
Love,
Emily
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