Part Three: Cornstarch Crepes

One thing I often forget to write about is my time doing day-to-day things. These grand trips are definitely noteworthy, but they don’t comprise all of my time here. I go to class, I spend time with friends, and I try to learn new things about Granada. On a typical day I go to class, then go to my friends Samantha and Nicola’s apartment where we go up to the roof and lay out in the sun. I am already getting a good base tan and it’s not even April! I then go back home for lunch where I chat with Caroline and Nati and her daughter Elena if she’s around. Sometimes I have class right after lunch, which I hate, because that’s siesta time! Time to nap and lie around and let your food digest. I do always have a class in the morning and in the afternoon though, and then after my last class of the day I work out. Depending on the day I either go on a run along the river, which has a nice path that follows it out of the city where many people are running or riding their bikes, or I go to the gym. I actually joined a gym, called Gymnasio TNT, and I like to go to the Spinning class and the Body Pum (Body Pump in the US) class. All of them are taught in Spanish of course, and for some reason the Body Pum instructor always picks on me. She’s short, powerful, and definitely not Spanish. I don’t know where she is from, but she has blonde hair and blue eyes and although small I would not want to run into her in a dark alley. Classes are just like in the US, only instead of having a microphone to hear her over the music, she just yells or whistles. It’s only natural for me to be intimidated when she yells and points at me. I think I just stick out because I’m not only the tallest person in the class, but the whitest. Either way, my legs haven’t been this strong since I don’t know when.
I of course then have dinner later in the night, and depending on the night I either stay in do homework or I go out with friends to play volleyball, get ice cream, or any other fun local cultural things that are going on. Lately it’s been getting busier and busier and the weather is nice, so I always have something to do.  I'm also currently reading a Paolo Coehlo book, Once Minutos, which I really like. He is the author of The Alchemist,  and I have read him before but of course it was an English translation. He is from South America, so I am reading in his native tongue! I like that I can actually read a book and enjoy it, and also I can still pick up on his specific writing voice that I came to know in his translated book.

I’ve also discovered that while in the States I am allergy free, I have severe allergies here. All of the flowers and trees are budding and I have been in allergy hell with sore throat, sneezy runny nose, and itchy red eyes. I never understood how Sean could have such awful allergies in our family and the most anyone else has is hay fever. Well, while I don’t compare to Sean’s 80 something allergies, I have never been so miserable with allergies until now. Apparently I’m allergic to the flowers on the olive trees. Such a bizarre thing, but I will be happy when spring moves into summer.

To mark the first day of spring, Granada had a massive festival that consisted of a botellon. Botellon is the word for drinking in the streets. Drinking in the streets is illegal, but the town designated an area in which it is legal. This area is the parking lot of Hipercor, the Spanish Wal-Mart. People from all over Andalucia came to Granada for this massive botellon that started at 3 pm. Spaniards will make any excuse to party, but you know they mean business when they start a fiesta during siesta! I went with a few other girls, and it was probably one of the craziest things I have ever seen. I have never seen so many people in one place for the sole purpose of drinking. No bands, no DJ, no real source of entertainment at all except for the alcohol in their hands and the thousands of other people standing around them. I wish I had a picture to show the never-ending sea of heads. We ended up leaving by 8:30 pm and that was more than efficient. Spaniards party like there is no tomorrow. Well, actually, by the time they start the party it IS tomorrow. Nightlife in Spain doesn’t start until after midnight. Many bars and clubs don’t even open until midnight. While I am not strong enough to stay out until 7am, I have left the discotecas at 4am only to pass the people who have just arrived. This actually deters me from going out many nights because I get too tired before people even start going out.

There have been a few changes around the house this month. Frenchy went back to France and I now have my own room. I moved into the room she was using, and Caroline is in the room we used to share. It’s really cute and has wall shelves and a tiny table and chair and a hat rack. It’s so cozy!

Before Mari left she showed me how to make crepes, French style! Of course I make gluten-free crepes and can’t do them exactly as she does because she normally uses beer in hers, but they work out just fine. For some reason corn flour is the only gluten-free alternative you can find here, but with the way she showed me how to make them it didn’t matter and they taste just like normal crepes! I was so happy she showed me how and I love having nutella, banana and strawberry crepes. One time I went to the store to find flour and I couldn’t find any different kinds other than wheat. And then I finally saw a box that said, “Harina Fina de Maiz.” Great, not only was it corn but it was fine flour, since the direct translation of the box was fine corn flour. I went home happy to start the crepe making and decided I was going to make a really big batch with six eggs. The first step of making the crepes is mixing the eggs and the flour until you get a really thick consistency. So here I am, pouring in this white powder, and sure enough it starts to get harder and harder to stir. But then when I stopped stirring the mixture looked thin again. That was when I got suspicious, so I started to try and stir really fast, but the mixture was too thick to do it, and then immediately looked liquid again once I stopped. I realized what was going on, and I punched the mixture and it didn’t even get any on my hand; it was like I hit plastic. My stomach sank as I realized I had used an entire box of cornstarch to make crepes and just wasted six eggs. I did a quick check online to make sure, but it was sadly true. With mixed feelings about wasting food but not wanting to eat straight starch, I threw out the mixture and had to buy new ingredients to start over again. Although Caroline says she would’ve made the same mistake, I felt like such a complete idiot.

The language mistakes never end though when you’re an amateur. Just last night I went out for drinks and tapas with Nicola, Sam and some Spanish friends, and I made a language mistake that made me the butt of all the jokes from the waiting staff. I asked for a glass of red wine and a cup of tap water, or “agua de grifo.” You have to specify tap water, because otherwise they give you a bottle and you have to pay. So I asked the waiter, “Puedo tener vino tinto y un vaso de agua grifa.”
“Cuidado!” he said, “Agua de grifo, no grifa. Grifa es chocolate.”
“Oh!” I said, because in Spain chocolate is street slang for marijuana. “No estamos en Amsterdam, si,” I said.
The rest of the night the waiting staff referred to me as marijuana girl and they occasionally stopped by just for the sake of teasing me.

But in good news, my Spanish is much better! As long as people are patient with me and help me with a few words here and there, I can have some nice conversations with people. I made friends with a Spanish professor at a different school in Granada, and he is great to practice talking with. We can talk about many different things and he can help me with words if I’m really stuck. When I find people I can actually have things to talk about with it is so nice to practice and realize how far I’ve come. I know that I’m not nearly as good as I would like, but there is a marked difference from when I first got here. Now I just have to prove that on my midterms this week…

My parents are flying into Madrid this Thursday and then taking a bus to Granada this Friday, and I am really excited to have them here! It will be fun to show them around and also for them to spend time in Europe. We are going to go to Palm Sunday at the Cathedral, go hiking, go to Arab Baths (which are amazing!), go to the beach, possibly go to Toledo, and just celebrate Semana Santa with the rest of Granada. It’s going to be a lot of fun and I hope jet lag doesn’t affect them too much. Kind of crazy to think they’re going to have to rely on me to get around! We’ll make sure to take lots of pictures and let everyone know how it goes. And I will try and write more blogs so I don’t have to do a trifecta of writing in one day! Uf!

Adios!



Me (and Jake in the background) during a bike tour in Sevilla. I wish I could ride a bike in Granada!

Part Two: Christopher Columbus's Dust

Like my group trip to Rome, my program recently took us to Sevilla, the capital of Andalucia. Within our program, Sevilla was another option for where to study abroad in Spain. While some people felt they had wished they had chosen Sevilla over Granada upon visiting, I was happy with the choice I made. Sevilla was very pretty and full of history and art, but it was also very large and sweltering hot. The weekend we were there temperatures reached highs of 80 degrees F. Joder! That’s hot.

On the way to Sevilla, we stopped in a national park called Torcal. Torcal is by far one of the most amazing geological areas of nature I have ever seen. It is on top of a mountain range, but it was once completely underwater. Because of this, all of the rocks are formed like riverbeds, and you can see the gradation and markings from where water rushed by and ate away at the rocks. It was absolutely amazing and beautiful. It was so nice to be in the fresh mountain air and go hiking and see the incredible rock formations. It was a pleasant surprise for all of us, and after looking down into a large valley that sat below the mountains someone said, “Good work, God.”

Once in Sevilla, I realized if the heat there would soon reach Granada, I had not packed enough summer clothes. Our first full day there while wearing shorts and a tank top, I felt overheated and searched for shade often. During the summer months, Sevilla can reach temperatures of 120 degrees F. Probably what made this worse was the fact that it is such a large city, concrete and rock absorb the heat and keep it hot into the night. Also, Sevilla has a humid heat since it is situated along a river. However the city also holds many large and lush gardens, which create nice reprieves from the heat.

One of the sites we went to visit was the city’s Cathedral, which holds the Guinness World Record for the most square footage for a church. It is a beautiful gothic Cathedral, but it also has incorporated old parts of a mosque that was once there before the Inquisition. The Cathedral was indeed massive, and the inside reminded me of the Westminster Abbey in London. The Cathedral is also the final resting place for Christopher Columbus. When Ol’ Chris died, he was buried in Sevilla at a monastery. Due to celebrations and some other reason I forget, he was then moved to what is now Dominican Republic. However, Dominican Republic gained freedom from Spain, so he was moved to Cuba. And as we all know, Cuba is no longer a part of Spain either, so he was sent back to Sevilla and put in a special tomb in the Cathedral that was originally designed as a gift for the Dominican Republic. However, a few years ago, DR started up some trouble and said that Seville had the wrong body—they still had Columbus. So, in 2003, they did DNA testing of the small remains they had left of Columbus, which is now a small pile of dust, and tested it along with the remains of his illegitimate child, who also has a tomb in the Cathedral. The consensus was then in, Columbus was indeed in Sevilla. So, Columbus did not just sail the ocean blue in 1492, but also well into his death. Phew!

I have to say, it never ceases to amaze me how famous Christopher Columbus is. In the States, Columbus is almost considered infamous. He was a man who landed on someone else’s backyard and claimed it as something he “discovered.” We all know what happened from then on; mass genocide, spread of disease, and wars over land. The land we now call the Americas. While I was studying in Costa Rica, every museum was full of depictions of those first meetings between the indigenous and conquistadors. The currency in Costa Rica is the “colon,” as in “Cristobel Colon” his real name. Many history lessons focused on the Spaniards invasion and control of the area, and it was interesting to live where life wasn’t previously under British control, but Spanish.
In Spain, there are memorials for him everywhere. He is practically the patron saint of Spain. In Sevilla every year on October 12th, Christopher Columbus Day, they have massive parties celebrating him. He is so ingrained in the culture, he is as famous as Isabel and Ferdinand, the former Queen and King of the Inquisition Era. He was the frontrunner in a time when Spain was powerful, and because of that they hold on to the glory he gained in their name.

Another famous site we visited was the Alcazar. The Alcazar was once a Moorish fort, but was then turned into a royal palace after the Inquisition. This place is very much like the Alhambra in Granada (I know, I still haven’t told you about it!) but it is still in use by the Royal family. It has gardens that span seven acres, and it was very lush and beautiful. There were some very interesting facts about history in general that came directly from this palace. One was the Media Naranja, or half orange. The Media Naranja was the top of a ceiling in a section of the palace that looks like half an orange, and is the spot in which two famous people of Spanish history (I have forgotten at the moment who) were married. Because of this, people now call their spouses their “media naranja,” or, their “better half.”

Also, there is a crest within the building that depicts two pillars and a river curving through them. The two pillars represented two powers, which I believe were Spain and Morocco, and the river being the Straight of Gibraltar. Don’t quote me on that one though, because I can’t remember exactly! I need to take a tape recorder on my tours! However, this image of the two towers and river were used often for symbols involving Spain. If you were to roughly sketch the two pillars and river, you would get two lines and a squiggly mark. $ This ended up being the origin of the dollar sign. That just blew me away! Who thinks about the origin of the dollar sign? Also, on many crests of Spain and within the palace there are the words “Plus Ultra”, which is Latin for, “You may go beyond this point.” All of these crests used to say, “No Plus Ultra,” because this was during a time when they thought the world was flat. They thought if you went beyond a certain point you would fall off the edge of the earth. After Columbus came to the Americas and it became obvious the world was not flat, all of the No’s were scratched off.

As you can see, I take a lot from my tours when I go to these places. I am very interested in the history of the area, especially since Spain was a catalyst in forming the country I am from. Our history is intertwined with theirs, and it is impossible to escape this fact. Living in Spain makes me feel more connected to not only the history of my country, but world history. Seeing and experiencing these things suddenly makes those hours as a child in social studies come to life, and makes me wish everyone could see and hear these things instead of just reading them from a textbook. But I also realize not everyone is as interested as me, so I’m glad to know the children in our country at least have text books to learn from.

Part One: Salam Alaikum

It’s been a long time, I know. Lets just say, no news is good news, and in this case also means that I’ve been living every moment to the fullest. Where did March go? I can’t believe it’s almost the end of the month. Starting tomorow I have midterms, and then my parents come to visit for Semana Santa by the end of the week. I don’t even want to think of the weeks to follow after they leave, because I know the end of my time here is coming soon. So much has happened in the last few weeks, it’s hard to know where to start. Frenchy went back to France, Caroline and I went to Morocco, our group went to Sevilla, and a whole load of other things. I’ve discovered new things about Spain and myself; every day is another chance to learn and do something new.

I don’t know how I’m going to be able to describe Morocco in such a short amount of space. I’m not sure I even grasped enough in my short amount of time there. Morocco is primarily Muslim, and I haven’t spent time in a culture that is mostly Arabic before. Almost everyone wore the typical dress of Muslim culture, with women wearing head coverings, and both men and women wearing an abaya, the long robe type clothing. Caroline and I went with a Study Travel group that takes students down, shows them around, and makes sure they don’t get in too much trouble; the usual. Our tour guides were very informative and fun to be around. We took a ferry over the Straight of Gibraltar and went to Tetuan, Tanger and Chef-Chaouén. Morocco was very different and beautiful, and I would have loved to explore more than I did. Sadly though, many of my memories from the trip are those of frustration and annoyance with other people that came on the trip. There were 54 of us in a group, and lets just say at least 2/3 of which were not prepared to actually be in Morocco.

When someone wears high-heals and a low cut shirt on their first day in Morocco, you gotta wonder if they accidentally got on the wrong boat. The majority of the group was girls, and many of them took little to no regard of the fact we were going into a country with different cultural standards and beliefs than what we are used to. Anything from complaining about bathrooms, gasping in disgust at markets, to making fun of language differences and remarks about terrorists could be heard. And although there were a lot of Americans in our group, there were a fair amount of people from other countries as well, such as Iceland, Germany, Holland, and the UK. Overall, I was embarrassed to be with this massive group of people who reacted to their trip to Morocco as if they were at a circus, taking pictures every second to keep their memory of the trip and prove they had been somewhere “adventurous” without actually doing anything and alienating the people of the towns.
Of course, I’m not saying that I wasn’t a tourist. It is impossible to go to a completely different culture and country and not stick out and not be a tourist of some sort. I took pictures, my stare lingered on things I wasn’t used to, but I’d like to think I did my best to go into the situation with an open mind.

The trip wasn’t a failure by any means, as our guides were very helpful and showed and taught us things I would not have been able to do on my own. Also, we stayed at a very nice place and ate good food that was guaranteed to have the water boiled beforehand, since those of us who aren’t from there could not stomach the water. Our guides taught us how to say hello, thank you , and no in Arabic. For hello the first person says, “Salam Alaikum,” (shuh-laum wuh-lake-um) and the second person says, “Alaikum Salam.” This isn’t just hello, but a sign of peace and respect to the other person, said while touching your heart. Thank you is “chokran” and no is “la”. But you can’t say “lala” because that means Grandmother. Although within our guided trip we used these phrases to say hello and thank you, no one in the markets for bargaining or in the streets spoke to us in Arabic. Mostly all of them knew Spanish, as well as French and I’m pretty sure many other languages. One man approached me in a market and said, “Bonjour, Madam!” tipped his hat and kept on going.

We learned quickly that in Morocco the national sport is bartering. We were told to never accept a first price anywhere we went, and that people would hound us to buy their things. This was definitely true. Men would come up to you with jewelry, grab your wrist, put a bracelet on it and ask for your money. They didn’t even ask for Durhams, the currency of Morocco, they wanted our Euros, too. You could say no all you wanted and they wouldn’t listen, but the second you said, “La!” it was like the magic word had just been spoken, and they grudgingly walked away.

Although we visited three towns everyone’s favorite was the last we visited, Chef-Chaouén. Chef-Chaouén is a mountain village that is easily recognized by the colors of its buildings; white and blue. These colors represent peace and devotion to God, and I was pretty sure I heard also they were the colors of Israel. I could be wrong on that one though, because our tour was completely in Spanish with Arabic accent. Life in this town seemed so pure and simple, as everyone washed their clothes in the river coming straight from the mountains, everyone brought their bread to be baked at the bakery (bakeries don’t make their own bread, they bake your bread for you) and everyone bathed in the bathhouse which has specific days and times for different ages/genders.

While I was there I got henna on my hand, rode a camel, bought a woven blanket, bartered with a 12 year old for some leather sandals, and saw where the Mediterranean and Atlantic meet. This last part was especially cool, since while in South Africa this last summer I got to see where the Atlantic and the Indian Ocean meet! It really made me realize how much I've seen of this world already, and how much more I want to see.

Morocco is a place I would love to return to and learn more about it. It was so different to be woken up at 6am by the prayer call that announced to everyone the time to turn to Mecca and pray, to see women covered from head to toe but look so beautiful, and to see people function primarily as a community and use nature in their favor in everyway possible. And although I would love to return again, I don't know when this will happen. I have visited eight countries since receiving my passport. I still have a lot more to go!

Lluvia

Rain, rain, go away,

Come again another day.

Little Johnny wants to play;


Rain, rain, go to Spain,


Never show your face again!

-Unknown, England 1533-1603

The rain has returned and no one is happy about it. In the States when you visit cities like Portland and Seattle they tell you they know tourists when they see umbrellas. Now is the time in Granada when no one is an obvious tourist, because everyone is hidden under umbrellas, some so big they can fit three people under it easily. I don’t understand how a city that hardly knows rain is now getting more than they’ve seen in years. It doesn’t make sense to me.

The last two weeks have felt like a fuzzy dream because that’s what I was spending the majority of my time doing. I have slept more in the last two weeks than I have in a long time. On our last day in Rome, no, our last 45 minutes, Caroline and I ate gluten on accident. Gluten screws up my stomach/body/mind for a while, so I was thrown for a loop from that. We only had a three-day school week since we missed Monday and we never have class on Fridays. Then this weekend I stayed home while Caroline went to Ireland and others went roaming around Spain. That is when the rain really began, and that is when I got sick.

Not that my weekend just consisted of sleeping and being sick, but it did mostly. I spent a lot of time with Mari (Frenchy) since neither of us wanted to go outside. I was able to practice a lot of Spanish since this was our only form of communication. On Saturday we finally chose to get out in the afternoon because it was the last day of rebajas. Rebajas is a nationwide sale that goes on for months. Almost every store has rebajas and prices are cut up to 60%. So we left our piso for the first time in awhile and…every store was closed. We walked down deserted streets with metal panels covering doorways and lights turned off. The restaurants and cafes were open with people eating and drinking, but everything else was dark. “Que pasa??” we wondered. “No entiendo…” I said over and over. Finally after we had walked by store after closed store, I had to ask. Three young men walked towards us, and I stopped them.

“Chicos!” I called, and they came close, ears facing me as if what I was about to say would be very interesting. “Perdonme…que paso hoy? Por que todas las tiendas estan cerrado?” I asked.

“Pues, porque es el dia de Andalucia! Hoy es el dia para comer y beber,” they answered. “No sabia??”

“No, no sabia. Pero, no para comprar?” I asked.

“No, solo para beber y comer.”

We all chuckled, I thanked them and they walked on. Apparently, the day was a day all around Andalucia, the providence we live in, to celebrate and eat and drink. Only in Andalucia, though. How was it that we weren’t informed the entire city would be shut down to celebrate? And what was worse, Sundays are also days the city is always shut down. This meant an entire weekend of everything except restaurants being shut down. I couldn’t go to the mercado, I couldn’t try to nab a last second rebajas item. Mari and I didn’t know what to do, so we walked on.

“Los marruecos probablamente estan abierto,” I said to Mari. The Moroccans never shut down their stores.

“Ah, si si! Por supuesto. Dinero es dinero!” she replied.

The part of town where the Moroccans have their shops is one of my favorites. It is further away from my house and can be a little peligroso depending on the time of day you go. But it is a part of town that reminds me why Granada is so different from the rest of Spain. The sights, sounds, and smells pull you away and introduce you to a culture rooted somewhere else.

The area that the Moroccan shops are at have very narrow streets, splitting off into random areas. It can be difficult to navigate through. But once you hear music in the air and chatter, you know you are close. The stores are full of colorfully patterned tapestries portraying large trees and elephants and donkeys. The clothes are loose, relaxed, and seen on every hippy in town. Incense fills the narrow street, and it is impossible to tell from which store it is coming from. The street is very narrow, very compact, with stores so similar you can’t tell if they’re separate or one in the same. Teashops break up the stores, where you can see people sitting on pillows with lights low, sipping tea or smoking hookah. Stands lean against the outside walls of stores with an array of silver jewelry, tea pots, and scented oils. Music is being played by someone at all times, normally a hippy guitarist who lives in the cuevas above, and there are a few people standing around, clapping their hands, laughing and or dancing. Dogs wander the streets unaware they have lost their owners. Everytime I walk down this street I breathe in deep and let my eyes land on every sparkly and colorful cloth and I think, “I want it all!”

Saturday was different though. Everyone and their abuelita were in the narrow street. I held tight to my bag, and even though I saw items I liked I was either swept along with the crowd or chose to not make that moment the moment to look at it. Everyone’s voices bounced between stores, incense could hardly be smelled with the masses of people, and the guitar was just a faint background noise between the children, families, and groups of shoppers bored with the dead town.

Mari and I walked down wasting no time, moving as the crowd allowed us, and moved on. The cold humid air and lightly sprinkling rain, along with the failed rebajas excursion left us tired, so we returned to the apartment empty handed.

The next day was when I got sick. It has been a long time since my body felt as if I had fallen down a hill. In my sleep I dreamt of a boiling hot day in the park, eating watermelon so hot it burnt my tongue, and hot water flowing out of the drinking fountains. I woke up sweating, realizing I had a fever.

When I informed Nati, she brought me six oranges. She also recommended I drink hot milk before I go to bed. I appreciate her concern for me, but I am glad she isn’t staying with me to make sure I follow through with these home remedies. I did however go to my program office to have someone take me to the doctor.

My trip to the doctor’s office reminded me just slightly of my trip to the doctors in Costa Rica. In Costa Rican it was just a lone doctor in an office with a desk and an examining table with equipment to the side. The place I went in Granada was a clinic with each individual doctor having their own office equipped the same way. I sat at the other side of a desk with Maria, an employee from my program. The doctor was a woman and she said, “Digame,” so I told how I felt. She escorted me to the back of the office where I sat on the examining table, she looked in my throat (tentatively, as if she were disgusted) and then walked back to her desk.

“Umm….am I done?” I asked Maria.

“Yeah. She said your throat is swollen.”

“Yeah, I caught that…” I said, and walked back to the chair.

She then wrote me a prescription for amoxicillin, and told me to pick up ibuprofen (which is much stronger here) and aspirin. She didn’t weigh me, take my temperature, my blood pressure, ask me about any other drugs I was taking…just if I had any allergies, and that was that. I have insurance through my program, but I have to pay upfront and then make a claim afterwards. With medicine and the doctor’s bill I paid a total of 52€. Not bad, not bad at all.

So, I’m feeling a lot better now, minus the rain. Everyone looks ragged with hair affected by the humidity or frazzled from hats pulled down tight. In fact, I haven’t taken my hat off at all. My friend Nicola made a hat for me and gave it to me Friday, and I haven’t taken it off yet. Mari makes fun of me for it, but what can I say? It came at the perfect time.

(Okay, you can call me a hippy now)

Buon Giorno, Italia

Whenever I think my time studying abroad couldn’t get any cooler, I am quickly corrected. As part of my program I went to Rome, Italy for the weekend with half of my study abroad group, and was able to spend time seeing the center of the art world if only for a few days. We took a bus to Malaga on Friday and flew to Rome from there, stayed until Monday afternoon and then flew back. At first I was nervous I wouldn’t have enough time to see everything, but surprisingly it was just the right amount.

The first full day in Rome we took a panoramic bus tour (no, not the buses you sit on top of, although that would’ve been nice) to see all the great sites. Our guide spoke over the speakers in our bus, and I don’t think anyone actually heard what he said the first five minutes. Not because it was hard to hear him, but because everyone was giggling at his accent. I know, immature, right? Well, not that I didn’t giggle a little, too. “Good’a morning’a. We’a are agoing’a to’a start’a our tour at’a the so-called’a Coliseum’a and’a end’a at’a Saint’a Peters’a.”
Our guide was very informative, and went in depth in describing the history and present use for each building and area we crossed in Rome. If you have ever taken an Art History course, it is just mind-boggling. I have seen slide after slide of artwork and churches and sculptures in Rome and although I always wanted to see them up close, it was hard to believe when I actually was. I suppose it’s like seeing a celebrity, only far more acceptable to stare at and run up to.

Rome pretty much blew my mind architecturally. I felt like an ant in this city with monstrous sculptures and massive buildings that although aren’t much bigger than any in many other cities I’ve been to, are massive in their design. Large chunks of marble or other stones comprise huge ledges and friezes in fronts of buildings that although look extremely important, can be used for something quite simple. Not only are the buildings massive and in a style I’ve only seen in history books, but also modern and ancient are grouped together in a way that makes B.C. buildings stand out in such a peculiar fashion. For instance, on our second day we walked through the narrow winding streets of ristorantes and designer clothes, only to stumble onto the Pantheon, a building from 2nd Century A.D, once a pagan temple. The buildings stick out like Titans with their style and aged stone. They are beautiful yet strange in their co-existence.

That first day, I didn’t know how to feel about Rome. Here we were seeing massive beautiful constructions, some dating back to B.C. or early A.D., and at the same time there were seas of tourists, men dressed as Gladiators, people selling cheaply made yet expensive souvenirs, and every language on earth being spoken at once. I was a tourist, yet I hated the idea of tourists, and I couldn’t imagine what it would be like to live in Rome.
People pushed by you on the street, peddlers came up with sun glasses and postcards saying “Good price, good price,” and I thought, “Where is Italy? Where is Rome? This can’t be Rome.” The postcards showed pictures of monuments standing proudly and alone, yet in reality each place was swarmed with mobs of people and it was hard to get from A to B. Large cities with a lot of people in it is nothing compared to large cities with tourists. And we weren’t even there in high season! To say the least, I was overwhelmed.

We had our guide for half of the morning, and the rest of our time in Rome was up to us on how we wanted to spend it. Over the morning we saw the Coliseum, the Imperial Forums, too many famous churches to count, and ended at the Vatican. To see this place in person is wild. The most expensive church and one of the most powerful religious leaders in the entire world, along with a museum that holds some of the most famous works of art. The place was of course mobbed with a massive line leading to the church. Our guide pointed to the window of the Pope’s bedroom and office, and I wondered if he ever got to go outside to walk around aside from his public appearances.

We walked to the Museum, which is attached to the church, and had absolutely no lines at all. We bought a ticket with an amazing student discount that practically cut the ticket cost in half, and spent our next five hours at the St. Peters. The museum is massive, holding paintings and sculptures from some of the most famous artists from the Renaissance era, as well as relics from ancient Egypt, mummies, a moon rock, and of course, the Sistine Chapel. Probably one of the best parts of the museum was not knowing what was next. I would walk into a room and suddenly see a piece of art I had studied in class. At one point I gasped, just from the shock of seeing a work of art so famous and I hadn’t expected it. Quite lovely.
Of course, the church was absolutely beautiful and massive. However, the only thing that made me feel it was special was the fact that it was the Vatican. Yes, it was impressive, but it wasn’t so elaborate and outstanding that I thought it was the most beautiful church ever. I did pay Peter’s pence and said a small prayer, and then immediately afterwards said, “Oh my GOD!” when looking at something. Caroline had to jab me to remind me, we were indeed in one of the holiest places on Earth. Yeah, pretty sure I’m going to hell for that.

In hindsight, probably my favorite part of the church itself, not counting the museum, was seeing the former Popes’ tombs. Caroline and I got to see the tomb of Pope John Paul II, and many people stood around solemnly praying, as well as dropping pictures, letters, and flowers on his tomb. Pictures weren’t allowed, but it was a very simple tomb, with its only decorations being the prayers of visitors.

As most of you know, I got to visit Italy a year ago with my boyfriend Justin. We went to Florence, Pisa, and Venice, seeing everything we could possibly see and watching our wallets so we could afford our train tickets and housing. It was also not long after I had found out I was gluten-sensitive, so it was a struggle for both of us as we tried to find food for me. It was quite the adventure being in a country that neither of us knew the language, finding monuments and gluten-free food at the same time. It was my first time in Europe and we both knew we would be back to Italy when we could afford a bigger meal here and there. People don’t normally think they will leave Italy thinner than when they went, but that was how Justin and I were after our trip. Now, being with a study abroad group with my housing and transportation already covered, I had plans for how my second trip to Italy would be. Plan #1, eat lots and lots of food. Plan #2, eat lots and lots of gelato. Plan #3, leave Italy fatter than when I came.

If Italy is known for anything it’s the food and the people. I have never met nicer people on Earth than the Italians I met in the ristorantes we ate at. Our second night in Rome, Caroline, our friend Maureen and I went to a place close by that wasn’t gluten-free, but helped us in picking dishes we wouldn’t have problems with. The owner loved us. His name was Gionni, and I think he especially loved our friend Maureen. Small blondes get a lot of attention in Italy and Spain! Gionni was very nice to us, poking fun at us, laughing with us, checking on us often, and giving us a free drink of Limoncello, a strong and popular Italian liquor. It was exactly how you see people enjoying themselves in Italy on TV. It was so perfect and we kissed him goodbye saying we would send more people to his ristorante.

The next night, Caroline was bound and determined to find some gluten-free pasta while we were in Italy. So we found an Internet café, and sure enough Caroline found a place only a few blocks away! We went to the ristorante and asked them personally if they indeed had gluten-free food. The waiter told us they had it all, from pizza to pasta to dessert. Caroline and I made a reservation and ran away jumping and skipping and cheering for food!
Four of us went to dinner and we were all excited for some great food. The cuisine was absolutely amazing, and Caroline and I had a hard time suppressing our excitement and happiness. Caroline ordered a margherita pizza, and I ordered pasta with pesto and we shared. Hands down, the best pesto I have ever had in my entire life. Caroline and I were practically hugging the waiter telling him how happy we were. We also bought a bottle of wine to share between the four of us and Caroline and I had GF tiramisu for dessert. Our waiter at this ristorante loved us, too, and he was much younger and cuter. He and another waiter brought out three rounds of shots of Limoncello for us and took them with us. After dinner he invited us out for drinks at a bar across the street. His name was Stefano, and over drinks he told us he was a theater actor and performed in his own plays as well as in musicals. He brought along some of the other workers from the ristorante, and we all talked about Italy and the U.S. and politics, etc. Some of his friends didn’t speak as much English, but it was fun all the same. He bought us all a round of grapa, the most terrible tasting alcohol on Earth made from grapes, and we all shuddered and shook our heads after taking it. After the bar closed, Stefano walked us back to our hotel so we wouldn’t have to walk alone and he said goodbye to us at the door. Very gentleman like, and he was definitely one of the highlights of our trip.
Of course, we did many other things than just look at monuments and eat. Well, kind of. I ate gelato at least two times a day, trying to get my fill of all of the flavors. We walked, and walked, and walked some more. We also went to the Sunday Market with two of our program directors, Carmen and Kristin, which was really nice because we got to practice Spanish, and I got to know them a lot better. Kristin and I bought authentic Italian Army satchels which reeked and reminded me of my Dad’s hunting gear, but very cool all the same. The market seemed to stretch forever with booths, but I kept buying to a minimum and focused more on the experience.

And, I did find Rome. Once I got lost in the backstreets and away from the tourist traps, I peered into windows of classic Italian Ristorantes and heard bands play in the squares while people sat on the verandas and enjoyed their pasta, I knew I was in Italy. All of my plans followed through perfectly; I came, I saw, I ate, and my pants are fitting a little bit tighter. My only wish was that Justin could’ve been there to indulge with me on the food. Although I would like to see as many countries as possible and experience new and different cultures, I think I will always want to return to Italy. Who would like to join me?

Ciao bella!
Adios.

Vida y otras cosas en Granada

I am having a relaxing afternoon in my apartment, sipping on coffee, watching the buildings on the hill across from us reflect the slowly descending sun, and listening to a local Spanish TV show. Today was one of the first days that the sun has emerged since we’ve been here. It has rained almost every day we have been here, which apparently is VERY odd. Normally it rarely rains here, but it has rained so much people are getting depressed and staying inside all day. It is very discouraging to constantly be wet and have umbrellas break. It even snowed a couple days ago! It didn’t stick, in fact it didn’t even make it to the ground, but it was cold and very strange for the area. Many of the sidewalks are made of tile, so it makes for a slick walk when the rain comes down. Luckily, none of my slips have ended with me on my butt. However, it has been so cold in our apartment. Everyday that Nati comes for lunch she finds me curled up in a ball with a blanket around me, saying “tengo frio!” The heat doesn’t turn on until the afternoon, and the apartment doesn’t have carpet or very well sealed windows. Nati always laughs and makes fun of both Caroline and I saying, “Son norte americanos!” In other words…we should be used to much colder weather. Colder weather, yes, but warmer houses tambien. (Here is a picture of the street I live on, and one of the front of our apartment.)

I don’t have much of a routine at the moment, because I am STILL waiting for classes to start. When I first arrived I had “review courses” which was a three-hour class every night going over basic stuff we have already learned. Then I took a placement exam to figure out where I needed to go. I ended up placing in a different program then I applied for, but it’s fine because all of the classes are approved by BSU and I will still get my credits. So, since the placement exam I have had five days off. I don’t even start classes for another two days! It is kind of crazy. I have been trying to get a schedule and run every other morning or so, but it is hard. At first I couldn’t sleep at night, now I sleep way too much! The directors of my program tell me it’s my reaction to change of environment and dealing with a new language. It is mentally draining to constantly be translating everything you hear and everything you want to say. It’s even more draining when you can’t say what you want to say, or don’t understand what others are trying to say. (Here's a view of the river, which is really close to our apartment and has a path along it where I sometimes run.)


Caroline and I received a new roommate the other night, Mari, from France. Up until now, we have been referring to her as Frenchy. As in, “Soon, Frenchy will be here.” Or “I wonder if Frenchy will think we are stupid Americans?” (This last part spoken with a phlegmy French accent, “stoopid Amereecahns”). So far, she has been a good roommate. But Caroline and I still refer to her as Frenchy, just not to her face. However, I’m hoping to change that soon, and once I feel it is appropriate, I will ask her if it’s okay.Not surprisingly, Frenchy doesn’t speak English. But, she does speak some Spanish, about the same level as Caroline and I. We are able to have conversations, but not necessarily go in depth. So when we come to words we don’t know, its funny because either one of us dashes for a dictionary, or we just try to explain what we want to say in Spanish. Mari is 24 years old, and is taking a month of Spanish here and then going to Peru for three months of Spanish. Her whole family is French and only French, and she said it is frustrating because people in France only speak one language-- French. Caroline and I told her it’s somewhat similar in the US, but she said they are worse off, because French isn’t an international language. She said for her job she needs to learn both Spanish and English. However, I’m not sure what her job is, or if she just wants a job in which these languages are necessary.

We were curious how meals would work out, since Caroline and I have “special needs”, but it ends up Frenchy doesn’t eat with us. She makes her OWN meals! Apparently she had a cheaper option of making her own food instead of having Nati make it. The first day Frenchy was here we explained to her that because we are weird and can’t eat gluten, we can’t use the same side of the toaster for our bread. I explained to her which side we use and which side she should use. Her eyes filled with panic as she tried to explain in Spanish, “I already used that side!” Poor girl felt really bad. We explained it was fine, we would just clean it, and from now on we needed to use different sides. I am glad Nati makes us food because her cooking is AMAZING! I love her food. I realized today that I haven’t had such a large variety of food since before I found out I was gluten-free. She uses very basic ingredients, but makes so many different things. We almost always have meat (mostly chicken) broccoli, potatoes, a soup with either Garbanzo beans or lentils, and fruit. So we are getting quite the balanced diet, and she always makes the meal differently. She has even ventured into making us gluten-free pizza and breaded chicken! She makes it all from scratch, too. We constantly shower her with compliments and thanks, and she giggles and tells us how easy we are to please. Apparently, some of the other kids won’t eat her food. What a bunch of crazies!

Even more bizarre, I just received an email from a guy named Tyler. Tyler went to school at Boise State and lived with my host family in Costa Rica right before I lived there. So, Yami gave me his email and facebook contact and I friended him and asked him questions about his time there and such. Apparently, he lives in Cordoba right now with his wife, which is in the same providence (?) as Granada. Weird! I guess when people have similar interests they end up doing similar things.

As usual, I am overflowing with things to say, but am trying not to overdo it in one blog. I may have to write these more frequently! I still wanted to talk about the Alhambra, which I went to see earlier this week. But, since I have come to my personal limit, I will leave you with this photo of me in the gardens, and will write on the Alhambra next time!

The Pomegranate City

After spending a week in Granada, I feel I am finally able to write about it and give my impression. It’s beautiful. Period.

In Spanish, the word Granada means pomegranate, so there are many decorations and such with the symbol or picture of the pomegranate. Granada is bigger than Boise, with a population of 250,000 people, and 70,000 being students, and seems like quite the bustling city. However, it is not as fast paced as Madrid, and has much more down to earth character. I can’t recall a single sidewalk that is just large slabs of cement. It is either cobblestone, tiled, or mosaics from pebbles. Also, many people here have a more bohemian style, wearing multiple patterned clothes, large ornate scarves, and pants that seem like they belong only in a traditional Turkish dance (imagine parachute pants, only not nearly as big). But there are still many girls that wear the popular European garb of leggings or tight pants and boots. Also, it is obvious that the blunt cut bangs with long hair is very popular here, as 3 out of 5 girls has their hair cut this way. Heres a main road with some funky lampposts.

I have already gotten lost in Granada many, many times. There is no such thing as horizontal and vertical streets that are sure to intersect. Granada is more like a labyrinth, and even if I am going to the same building everyday, I can never get there the same way twice. I have had class every day this week, and every day I’ve gotten lost on the way there, and found a different way back. Street names aren’t on posts at every corner, but on tiles along a building on the street, and sometimes they just aren’t there. Sometimes I will walk down a street for two blocks and turn, only to find out it is a dead end. Super frustrating when you’re running late. I am definitely getting a work out though, because from our apartment to basically anywhere, it is an uphill walk. I am usually sweating by the time I get to class, regardless of how cold it is.

Also, when walking it is wise to watch for dog poop. I suppose they don’t have any rules for cleaning up after their pets, since it is everywhere and I’ve already had the joy of slipping in a rather large pile. There’s nothing better than smelling dog shit for a 3-hour class period. However, the dogs are oddly well trained. Many people will walk down a busy street with passing cars and hundreds of people with their dog unleashed, and have absolutely no problem. The dogs never get distracted and walk away or smell something and go darting to the side. They simply stay with their owner. Also, many times you will see dogs just sitting outside of restaurant or store doors, just waiting for their owner to come back out. They aren’t leashed to a tree or lamppost, they’re just hanging out, sometimes staring longingly through the glass. Caroline is obsessed with these dogs, and will always stop to pet them. All of them are very gentle and sweet. How do the Spaniards do it?

Yesterday was one of the first days the sun came and we were able to walk around without being bundled up. When it is cloudy, it can be down to 45 degrees outside. However, when the sun is out, it is 65 degrees and you can go without a coat. I didn’t even realize for the first few days that we have an amazing view of the Sierra Nevada Mountains from within the city. It was quite shocking to look down the street and realize there were massive, majestic mountains just outside the city. It made me feel more at home, and even happier with the location and feel of the city.

Caroline had her first odd encounter with a local yesterday. We were walking to the Cathedral to do a tour, and an older man (who looked well dressed and clean) walked up to her and started speaking gibberish, definitely not Spanish. He reached for her, so she grabbed her purse. But instead of going for her purse, he went straight for her boob. Caroline was so taken aback she went to smack him, but he stepped back. She yelled, “No!” and pointed at him and he ran away. It was the most bizarre thing I have seen here yet. It was pretty traumatizing for Caroline at the time, but now we laugh about it. At least he grabbed her boob instead of stole her money.

The Cathedral however was a good distraction from the odd man. I won’t go into great detail about it, because there are so many churches we have already visited and have yet to see, and all of them are so ornate and beautiful in their own way but very alike. I will let you know though, that it took 180 years to finish this Cathedral. They had to stop during the plague because all of the workers got sick or died. It was absolutely massive and beautiful on the inside, but freezing! It had to be at least 15 degrees colder inside than outside, and by the time we left my hands were ice and my nose was runny and red. If I were to attend service there, I would need to bundle up.

After wandering around the city for a couple hours, Caroline and I finished our day at a tea house not far from where we live. I was told there are many cool tea houses in Granada, so I was excited to go to this one. The lights were all set very mellow, chairs and tables were low to the ground, sometimes only consisting of pillows. Also, they had to have had the largest selection of tea I’ve seen. I believe they had somewhere around 60 different flavors of tea, but they also had coffee, about 20 different flavors of milkshakes, and an equally large variety of fresh squeezed juices. I chose the Somalian tea, and Caroline chose Noches en Andalucia tea. Both were very good, and we decided this place is now our favorite spot. We are going back today for milkshakes! We deserve it after walking 6 miles yesterday.

As far as the food goes, Nati still makes the most amazing food. We haven’t had the same thing twice yet. We constantly tell her how much we love her food, and she in turn tells us how picky the other kids are that she feeds. She loves us, and we love her. How perfect!

Hope everyone is doing well and that I haven’t made this blog so bogged down with description that it’s boring! Sometime I will write about the nightlife here, but that deserves a blog in itself. Spaniards party like there’s no tomorrow. I will leave you with this picture of a kitty that lives in the pet store down the street. Chao!