I am taking a break from the internet. Because I am spending entirely too much time on it. I have been thinking about this for some time, and today solidified my thoughts. I had an excursion with my medioambiente class and we visited this beautiful forest. And I sat on a rock in the middle of a bunch of pine trees and it was gorgeous. And nature-y. And as wacked-out as it sounded, I actually did feel energized. Se cargó mis pilas...recharged my batteries. So...dear readers, and family and random people that I don't know--I will be back. At some point. I have one more week of class, then Semana Santa (when i wasn't going to be on the internet anyways)...so it will be at least 2 weeks. Maybe more. If you need to get in touch with me and don't want to spend money...send an email and put something like URGENT or IMPORTANT in the subject line. Because we'll see if I break and check my email. I might have to. For classes. Okay...adios.
j
23 March 2007
22 March 2007
Jacqui's Guide to Culture Shock-Chapter 6: Language and Loneliness
Thursday, March 22
Place: Language Class (the really boring slow one that I usually feel I shouldn't be in)
Topic: the verb haber and the past tenses
What I had learned during ALL my spanish career up until this point: You only use haber in preterito when a natural disaster or something like that has happened. When there was ONE singular event.
What I was told today: This isn't the case. Re-learn everything.
What I felt: Like I wanted to cry out of frustration.
General feelings at nearly 2 months into this "study abroad experience": Loneliness
Detailed account: This feeling has become a part of the background of my time here. By which I mean, the other day I sat down to check in with myself, and realized that while I wasn't sad all the time, I could not classify myself as "happy". At least not with the verb ser, the more permanant version of "to be". Yes, I have had happy moments, days, even weekends, maybe weeks. But it would all be told with the verb estar, ser's more temporary sibling. And even with people here that I am close to, and want to hang out with, it's still lonely, because of this determination of mine to speak Spanish all the time. This takes away one of the most basic forms of connection that I know--verbal communication.
And also, I have a bit of fear that as soon as I figure out how to rid myself of this loneliness (if that is possible), it will be time for me to leave Spain and all that I have just attached myself to. And I don't want that either. I find myself in the center of the "I don't want to take risks because I don't want to get hurt" cycle, one that I more commonly associate with romantic relationships. I also find myself in a strange place somewhere in between Madrid and the US, Madrid and Wesleyan, my own experiences and those the people back home.
And on that note--Thank you to all my friends who have not answered my emails. Yes, that does sound passive agressive, and at some points I would mean it to be. But right now, it's written with all seriousness. Because I think that if all of you had answered all of my emails like I had wished at the time, I would be even further away from one side. I would be stuck hovering dangerously in the middle, with what seems like not enough time to get anywhere.
But also, thank you to the people who have answered my emails, and have let me know that I am on your minds occasionally...Because at least I know that I am somewhere else besides the space I am occupying right now. And yes, parents, I know you've been thinking of me. Obviously, as we write emails with a good amount of regularity.
Okay...I had wanted to write about the wonderful Saturday I spent at my friend Pepa's house, with about 10 other people from the program and a GIANT paella. Because that was a splendid day. because it felt, normal and familiar. We were just hanging out. Talking, laughing, eating, kicking around a soccer ball. It was one of the first times I've felt comfortable here. But instead, like always, I was drawn to the computer by my negative frustrated feelings. But that's okay.
j
Place: Language Class (the really boring slow one that I usually feel I shouldn't be in)
Topic: the verb haber and the past tenses
What I had learned during ALL my spanish career up until this point: You only use haber in preterito when a natural disaster or something like that has happened. When there was ONE singular event.
What I was told today: This isn't the case. Re-learn everything.
What I felt: Like I wanted to cry out of frustration.
General feelings at nearly 2 months into this "study abroad experience": Loneliness
Detailed account: This feeling has become a part of the background of my time here. By which I mean, the other day I sat down to check in with myself, and realized that while I wasn't sad all the time, I could not classify myself as "happy". At least not with the verb ser, the more permanant version of "to be". Yes, I have had happy moments, days, even weekends, maybe weeks. But it would all be told with the verb estar, ser's more temporary sibling. And even with people here that I am close to, and want to hang out with, it's still lonely, because of this determination of mine to speak Spanish all the time. This takes away one of the most basic forms of connection that I know--verbal communication.
And also, I have a bit of fear that as soon as I figure out how to rid myself of this loneliness (if that is possible), it will be time for me to leave Spain and all that I have just attached myself to. And I don't want that either. I find myself in the center of the "I don't want to take risks because I don't want to get hurt" cycle, one that I more commonly associate with romantic relationships. I also find myself in a strange place somewhere in between Madrid and the US, Madrid and Wesleyan, my own experiences and those the people back home.
And on that note--Thank you to all my friends who have not answered my emails. Yes, that does sound passive agressive, and at some points I would mean it to be. But right now, it's written with all seriousness. Because I think that if all of you had answered all of my emails like I had wished at the time, I would be even further away from one side. I would be stuck hovering dangerously in the middle, with what seems like not enough time to get anywhere.
But also, thank you to the people who have answered my emails, and have let me know that I am on your minds occasionally...Because at least I know that I am somewhere else besides the space I am occupying right now. And yes, parents, I know you've been thinking of me. Obviously, as we write emails with a good amount of regularity.
Okay...I had wanted to write about the wonderful Saturday I spent at my friend Pepa's house, with about 10 other people from the program and a GIANT paella. Because that was a splendid day. because it felt, normal and familiar. We were just hanging out. Talking, laughing, eating, kicking around a soccer ball. It was one of the first times I've felt comfortable here. But instead, like always, I was drawn to the computer by my negative frustrated feelings. But that's okay.
j
15 March 2007
eh-rrray
I am going to learn how to roll my r's. I just am. Last night Vicky was teaching me how, and she said I did it. I didn't hear myself do it, but it's a start. The point is that other people hear it, right?
also, in a newspaper here yesterday there was an article concerning Bush's IQ. Lowest of any president, ever. Just on the border of "normal". Highest IQ? Clinton, of course. Also, democrats had a higher average, of almost 20 points (I think), than republicans.
One more thing I find funny, there's a big stir in the Catholic world right now because this guy just came out with a book of pornographic photos involving relgious figures. Oral sex with the Virgin, Jesus with an erection. This type of thing.
j
also, in a newspaper here yesterday there was an article concerning Bush's IQ. Lowest of any president, ever. Just on the border of "normal". Highest IQ? Clinton, of course. Also, democrats had a higher average, of almost 20 points (I think), than republicans.
One more thing I find funny, there's a big stir in the Catholic world right now because this guy just came out with a book of pornographic photos involving relgious figures. Oral sex with the Virgin, Jesus with an erection. This type of thing.
j
12 March 2007
fotos and accomplishments
Well, this weekend we had an excursión a Extremadura, another region of Spain. It was a whirlwind trip of 4 cities in 2.5 days, complete with windy mountain passes in a bus that left me wishing for more drammamine. The big news of the weekend, for me at least, was that I made a pact with myself and some other chicas to only speak Spanish for the entire weekend (yes, like we're supposed to be doing but it never happens). And I did it! And I feel good. Because I have been feeling like my Spanish hasn't been improving as much as it should. So that was nice.
Another plus: I took a bunch of pictures. Here are links to the albums:
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019942&l=769b9&id=4203383
and
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019943&l=11d34&id=4203383
enjoy
j
Another plus: I took a bunch of pictures. Here are links to the albums:
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019942&l=769b9&id=4203383
and
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019943&l=11d34&id=4203383
enjoy
j
08 March 2007
i hope this is a cultural difference
So, I realize that studying abroad is supposed to give me new perspectives on how I view the world around me, the United States and its relations with this world, myself as a citizen of this country with its bad relations...I mean, relations; myself as a person, how I think, how I interact with people.
But I didn't realize that this would involve how I view myself, as in my own self-body-image. The other day, in the house, I was walking through the living room to put away some shoes and my señora asks/tells me "estás engordando". Translation: You are getting fat. In reality, it's probably more like "you are gaining weight, eh?", but to my english-speaking ears it was YOU ARE GETTING FAT. I stared at her blankly, sputtered out a "que?" and continued on my path to the closet. She asked "you agree" and I weakly said I didn't know. And slunk into my room. and felt like shit.
Mostly because in my mind this was the first time that someone other than myself had commented on my own (possible) weight gain. And while it may be true (due to the whole milk and such), it still seemed so wildly inappropriate. Sidenote: what came to mind was anger over the fact that she didn't even consider that I may have an eating disorder and that comment could throw me into a downward self-hating spiral, or something similar. Luckily, that isn't what happened because I don't have an eating disorder, but ya never know.
This happened about a week ago, so I don't really have any embittered comments to add. I gave it this much time to write about because I wanted to cool off and regrain that self-confidence I usually have. And this task has been accomplished. But I still thought it was something I should make note of.
But I didn't realize that this would involve how I view myself, as in my own self-body-image. The other day, in the house, I was walking through the living room to put away some shoes and my señora asks/tells me "estás engordando". Translation: You are getting fat. In reality, it's probably more like "you are gaining weight, eh?", but to my english-speaking ears it was YOU ARE GETTING FAT. I stared at her blankly, sputtered out a "que?" and continued on my path to the closet. She asked "you agree" and I weakly said I didn't know. And slunk into my room. and felt like shit.
Mostly because in my mind this was the first time that someone other than myself had commented on my own (possible) weight gain. And while it may be true (due to the whole milk and such), it still seemed so wildly inappropriate. Sidenote: what came to mind was anger over the fact that she didn't even consider that I may have an eating disorder and that comment could throw me into a downward self-hating spiral, or something similar. Luckily, that isn't what happened because I don't have an eating disorder, but ya never know.
This happened about a week ago, so I don't really have any embittered comments to add. I gave it this much time to write about because I wanted to cool off and regrain that self-confidence I usually have. And this task has been accomplished. But I still thought it was something I should make note of.
28 February 2007
things I've noticed
In the elevator of my building there isn't a button to close the doors more rapidly. This represents either
a)the lack of hurry that is present in ALL of Spain, or
b)the lack of situations such as running away from a bad guy, escaping into the elevator and frantically pushing the ··CLOSE DOORS NOW·· buttton, hoping that the doors will close before he can get a well polished shoe in between them, thus forcing them open and leaving you trapped in the elevator with the man who wants to murder you. Or, if it's a spoof movie, propose to you or something equally as non-threatening.
I'd like to think it's the second option.
Second bit of crazy: I was skimming a newspaper yesterday and there was an article concerning plastic surgery. And I believe it said how Spain is now the leading country for these types of operations. This was not the shocking part (although a bit surprising). There was an insert with a picture of an Asian person. The caption next to the picture read "A popular request is ocular surgery to westernize eyes. It creates folds(I think) in the upper eye lid and the eyes aren't as separated from the nose" This, shocked me. But maybe, just maybe, it's because whenever people here have made reference to the fact that I am part Asian, they gesture to their eyes, using their fingers to pull them slightly downward. The same kind of thing that you see on elementary school playground before we learned what PC was. I don't know. I just don't know.
A third bit of frustration concerning the differences between English and Spanish: Spanish is full of justifications. And in trying to think of an example right now in my head, and comparing it to English, yes, there are justifications in English also. Or at least, it's more polite to use them. But to me, it sounds wimpy. We talked about the question of asking to borrow someone's car. There were two options on the board. One was "Hey, can I borrow the car?"The other was, "May I borrow your car? It's that mine broke down and I have to go to Barcelona this weekend and I promise to return it to you on Monday". Yes, this is acceptable. To me, it sounds like I'm talking to my mother. There are other examples that I can't think of. But as a rather assertive person, some may label it aggression, this passive way of talking just isn't the way I think.
In our language class I feel we are learning more about how to be cultured than actual grammer type stuff. But maybe this demonstrates the link between language and culture, or class. Class as in classy. Not socio-economic. aah. To my colloquial spanish class where we are discussing some sort of curse words. Should be a good time.
j
a)the lack of hurry that is present in ALL of Spain, or
b)the lack of situations such as running away from a bad guy, escaping into the elevator and frantically pushing the ··CLOSE DOORS NOW·· buttton, hoping that the doors will close before he can get a well polished shoe in between them, thus forcing them open and leaving you trapped in the elevator with the man who wants to murder you. Or, if it's a spoof movie, propose to you or something equally as non-threatening.
I'd like to think it's the second option.
Second bit of crazy: I was skimming a newspaper yesterday and there was an article concerning plastic surgery. And I believe it said how Spain is now the leading country for these types of operations. This was not the shocking part (although a bit surprising). There was an insert with a picture of an Asian person. The caption next to the picture read "A popular request is ocular surgery to westernize eyes. It creates folds(I think) in the upper eye lid and the eyes aren't as separated from the nose" This, shocked me. But maybe, just maybe, it's because whenever people here have made reference to the fact that I am part Asian, they gesture to their eyes, using their fingers to pull them slightly downward. The same kind of thing that you see on elementary school playground before we learned what PC was. I don't know. I just don't know.
A third bit of frustration concerning the differences between English and Spanish: Spanish is full of justifications. And in trying to think of an example right now in my head, and comparing it to English, yes, there are justifications in English also. Or at least, it's more polite to use them. But to me, it sounds wimpy. We talked about the question of asking to borrow someone's car. There were two options on the board. One was "Hey, can I borrow the car?"The other was, "May I borrow your car? It's that mine broke down and I have to go to Barcelona this weekend and I promise to return it to you on Monday". Yes, this is acceptable. To me, it sounds like I'm talking to my mother. There are other examples that I can't think of. But as a rather assertive person, some may label it aggression, this passive way of talking just isn't the way I think.
In our language class I feel we are learning more about how to be cultured than actual grammer type stuff. But maybe this demonstrates the link between language and culture, or class. Class as in classy. Not socio-economic. aah. To my colloquial spanish class where we are discussing some sort of curse words. Should be a good time.
j
26 February 2007
the beauty of fabric softener
I didn't realize it until I got here. And all the clothes are line-dried. Which is better for the environment and saves energy and yadda yadda. But it leaves my cotton shirts stiff and not as inviting. I guess I'll go ahead and put a "culture shock" label on this one.
24 February 2007
Christians...and crispy m&ms
Before I start relating any sort of semi-amusing anecdote I would like to set the scene for all you readers. I am seated on a white leather bench in an Italian ice cream shop/coffee house on my iBook. I just downed a "mokachino". I recognize the perfection of this situation. Too bad I'm not in Starbucks-but their WiFi costs 9Euro an hour PLUS an over-priced drink and I just don't roll like that.
Today, Saturday, I decided to get my lazy self out of the house and walk around a bit. Pan and I planned to go to the Palacio Real but my lunch date at 3pm with the family for traditional cocida madrileña, a type of stew, got in the way. So I decided to walk around a bit. In front of the Palacio Real a huge screen was set up and hundreds of chairs were in front of it. Opera was being shown on this screen. A tape of an opera. And there were people in opera-dress milling around with pamphlets. Seeing as opera kinda makes me tear up the majority of the time, and I was relatively happy today I decided to pass on this.
I kept walking. And encountered human statues. You know-people who dress up all in one color and stand really still and when people put money in the box they slowly (creepily) wave their thanks? There was one Golden Angel. And one, dirt man. Dirt man is really the only way to describe it. He was kinda taupe colored, with dust. And he was smoking, slowly of course. Because that's the only way statues can smoke. Clearly. And then after these two people, I encountered a group gathered around something. And that something was another street show thing. At first glance it was a dwarf man with a mutated face and a large camping backpack. In plaid pants. Upon further inspection it was one of those costumes where the person's legs are the dwarfs legs, but the person's body is hid in in large backpack. Think Gelman's ostrich costume for all you Wes people. It was creepy.
Pictures of all that here: (the last page, but you can look at it all)
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019270&l=4f10a&id=4203383
Oh-and last night I sat in the Plaza Mayor writing in my journal and just taking in the atmosphere. And this consisted of watching people set up a large stage for a Cuban music concert this afternoon (that I'm going to after I finish writing this), and a group of people singing. I heard their voices from a distance at first and could only make out the word "revolución". There were a couple acoustic guitars, and it seemed a bit like some peace rallies I've been to. I wasn't quite sure why they would be having a peace rally because they're not a war constantly, unlike us. **AAAH THERE IS A SCREAMING BABY RIGHT NOW!!** Eventually, my curiousity got the best of me, and I wandered over closer to see what it was all about. And I hear the words "Jesus Cristo". No, maybe I heard wrong. But then the music stops and a skit begins. This skit involves a man with a devil mask, a black cape, and a black belt of "sin". I think. And someone trying to save him. Or saying something about how the devil can't have him because he believes in Cristo. I'm not entirely sure. After the skit there is a speech from one of the guitarists. About how God saved him from drugs, alcohol, many things. And how I too can be saved, if I just open myself up to God.
And then there is more music. A fairly repetitive song with the chorus of "Busca, busca, busca Dios". Look for, look for, look for God. And some semi-rap in the middle. The music was good, kinda catchy. I had nothing better to be doing. Might as well observe the people. And the a fellow comes up to me. He has small white square pieces of paper in his hand. I should have ran the other way. But again, I was kinda curious. And I have a friend in Madrid who might be interested in what this paper holds, so I let myself get into conversation with him. One of the first questions was (in Spanish) "You believe in God, right?" To which I shook my head, and said not really. And he was shocked. And then he asked "really?" And I said yes. And then he proceeded to show me what was on the paper. It was an invitation to services and more sing-alongs and the like. And I asked if it was focused in a certain religion. And he kinda skirted around the topic, but admitted that yes, this was Christian. To be fair, I wasn't exactly certain. The speech guy had said something about everyone. But that's what they say...And I told this man "well, I'm Jewish". And again, he seemed kinda taken aback. And said "Well, Jesus was jewish". And I agreed that yes, Jesus was jewish. But to me Jesus is just another Jewish man. Not anyone special. And we reached an impass. A standstill. And he told me I was invited anyways, and I told him I had a friend who might be interested. And I walked away and couldn't help grinning to myself.
On another note: I don't know how many of you have had a hankering for crispy M&Ms lately and realized that they are no longer sold in the US. This saddened me when I found out. But here, in Spain, they exist. And they are delicious. I'm taking requests.
There's more, but I need to go listen to music.
j
Today, Saturday, I decided to get my lazy self out of the house and walk around a bit. Pan and I planned to go to the Palacio Real but my lunch date at 3pm with the family for traditional cocida madrileña, a type of stew, got in the way. So I decided to walk around a bit. In front of the Palacio Real a huge screen was set up and hundreds of chairs were in front of it. Opera was being shown on this screen. A tape of an opera. And there were people in opera-dress milling around with pamphlets. Seeing as opera kinda makes me tear up the majority of the time, and I was relatively happy today I decided to pass on this.
I kept walking. And encountered human statues. You know-people who dress up all in one color and stand really still and when people put money in the box they slowly (creepily) wave their thanks? There was one Golden Angel. And one, dirt man. Dirt man is really the only way to describe it. He was kinda taupe colored, with dust. And he was smoking, slowly of course. Because that's the only way statues can smoke. Clearly. And then after these two people, I encountered a group gathered around something. And that something was another street show thing. At first glance it was a dwarf man with a mutated face and a large camping backpack. In plaid pants. Upon further inspection it was one of those costumes where the person's legs are the dwarfs legs, but the person's body is hid in in large backpack. Think Gelman's ostrich costume for all you Wes people. It was creepy.
Pictures of all that here: (the last page, but you can look at it all)
http://wesleyan.facebook.com/album.php?aid=2019270&l=4f10a&id=4203383
Oh-and last night I sat in the Plaza Mayor writing in my journal and just taking in the atmosphere. And this consisted of watching people set up a large stage for a Cuban music concert this afternoon (that I'm going to after I finish writing this), and a group of people singing. I heard their voices from a distance at first and could only make out the word "revolución". There were a couple acoustic guitars, and it seemed a bit like some peace rallies I've been to. I wasn't quite sure why they would be having a peace rally because they're not a war constantly, unlike us. **AAAH THERE IS A SCREAMING BABY RIGHT NOW!!** Eventually, my curiousity got the best of me, and I wandered over closer to see what it was all about. And I hear the words "Jesus Cristo". No, maybe I heard wrong. But then the music stops and a skit begins. This skit involves a man with a devil mask, a black cape, and a black belt of "sin". I think. And someone trying to save him. Or saying something about how the devil can't have him because he believes in Cristo. I'm not entirely sure. After the skit there is a speech from one of the guitarists. About how God saved him from drugs, alcohol, many things. And how I too can be saved, if I just open myself up to God.
And then there is more music. A fairly repetitive song with the chorus of "Busca, busca, busca Dios". Look for, look for, look for God. And some semi-rap in the middle. The music was good, kinda catchy. I had nothing better to be doing. Might as well observe the people. And the a fellow comes up to me. He has small white square pieces of paper in his hand. I should have ran the other way. But again, I was kinda curious. And I have a friend in Madrid who might be interested in what this paper holds, so I let myself get into conversation with him. One of the first questions was (in Spanish) "You believe in God, right?" To which I shook my head, and said not really. And he was shocked. And then he asked "really?" And I said yes. And then he proceeded to show me what was on the paper. It was an invitation to services and more sing-alongs and the like. And I asked if it was focused in a certain religion. And he kinda skirted around the topic, but admitted that yes, this was Christian. To be fair, I wasn't exactly certain. The speech guy had said something about everyone. But that's what they say...And I told this man "well, I'm Jewish". And again, he seemed kinda taken aback. And said "Well, Jesus was jewish". And I agreed that yes, Jesus was jewish. But to me Jesus is just another Jewish man. Not anyone special. And we reached an impass. A standstill. And he told me I was invited anyways, and I told him I had a friend who might be interested. And I walked away and couldn't help grinning to myself.
On another note: I don't know how many of you have had a hankering for crispy M&Ms lately and realized that they are no longer sold in the US. This saddened me when I found out. But here, in Spain, they exist. And they are delicious. I'm taking requests.
There's more, but I need to go listen to music.
j
20 February 2007
Back in action
The cable for my computer arrived today. I am in my room using the free wireless that I am stealing from an unsuspecting neighbor.
I have downloaded Skype. My name is jacqui.stavis
For those of you who aren't familiar with this wonderful service, visit skype.com and download it now. I have 10 Euro of Skype Credit just waiting to be used up at the phenomonal rate of .02/min. But if you get Skype then it will be free, leaving me with more money to talk to the lazy people who don't want to get it. If your computer doesn't have a microphone (all macs do, I'm pretty sure) then you'd have to get a headset. Is it worth it? Is it?? I think so, but that's my humble opinion.
This is mostly because my móvil is ridiculously expensive. I have somehow gone through FIVE euro in...a day and a half. I hate you pre-paid phone system.
I like my classes. I'm in Colloquial Spanish which should be way fun.
j
I have downloaded Skype. My name is jacqui.stavis
For those of you who aren't familiar with this wonderful service, visit skype.com and download it now. I have 10 Euro of Skype Credit just waiting to be used up at the phenomonal rate of .02/min. But if you get Skype then it will be free, leaving me with more money to talk to the lazy people who don't want to get it. If your computer doesn't have a microphone (all macs do, I'm pretty sure) then you'd have to get a headset. Is it worth it? Is it?? I think so, but that's my humble opinion.
This is mostly because my móvil is ridiculously expensive. I have somehow gone through FIVE euro in...a day and a half. I hate you pre-paid phone system.
I like my classes. I'm in Colloquial Spanish which should be way fun.
j
18 February 2007
family shock, culture shock. its all the same.
Okay, last night was Carnaval. And I went to Chueca, the gay district of Madrid. And what followed was Andrés asking me if I was scared. And Vicky telling me that she was all for gay marriage because everyone's life is their own. But that homosexuality is a mental problem usually the cause of sexual abuse as a child, at least in the case of men. I didn't know if it was worth it to argue. I meekly mumbled something about how I didn't think it was a problem, I wasn't scared, and...that was about it.
Andrés is conservative. I'm living with a conservative. One who doesn't believe in gay rights and views the Yankees as evil leftists. We like the same music. It's a strange world.
He asked if I had a blog. I said yes without thinking. And then said that I never write it anymore and it's not worth looking at. And I got away with not telling him any address at all. I would be ruined if the family read my blog.
Ok, well off to the Prado. A more exciting in depth post later.
Oh, my computer died in its sleep yesterday while I was in Toledo. I need that cable. The magic cure of electricity.
j
Andrés is conservative. I'm living with a conservative. One who doesn't believe in gay rights and views the Yankees as evil leftists. We like the same music. It's a strange world.
He asked if I had a blog. I said yes without thinking. And then said that I never write it anymore and it's not worth looking at. And I got away with not telling him any address at all. I would be ruined if the family read my blog.
Ok, well off to the Prado. A more exciting in depth post later.
Oh, my computer died in its sleep yesterday while I was in Toledo. I need that cable. The magic cure of electricity.
j
15 February 2007
Gym Shopping-what?
Yesterday, en el día de San Valentín, Pan and Laura and I went wandering around Madrid checking out the gym scene. The one at the University is almost pathetically small, although maybe I will be taking advantage of it. It really makes me appreciate Freeman for all it's space and light and music and free-ness.
But anyways, the journey began with a building that to our American eyes did not seem like it could possibly contain a gymnasium inside. We cautiously approached the door and stood there dumbfounded for a moment. It appeared that we had to ring a bell in order to enter. This could not be, could it? Yes, yes it could. We rang, and an incredibly good-looking fit woman answered the door and ushered us inside. We took a tour that consisted of basically turning around and walking up a short flight of stairs. This gym was tiny. And smelled like people working out because there was a significant lack of ventilaton. This is really all I can remember from this one, besides the fact that we got a free pass to one of the classes and the prices weren't wholly unreasonable. Expensive, but not unreasonable. I was chuckling a little the entire time and glancing at Laura.
The second one, on the other hand, was utterly ridiculous. It was somewhat of a cross between a gym, a massage therapy building, and a modern art museum. The walls were painted a nice orange, the lights were dim, the music was calm. There were lovely modern art paintings on the walls that had some illumination to draw attention to them. Immediately upon entering this place (that was on the second story of a building with an sign advertisting their locations in Milan, Londen, Paris, Madrid, Miami, etc) I decided I didn't want to do it. Hopefully they throw out the card with my number on it that was mandatory to fill out in order to get any information. The most ridiculous part of this whole thing, or one of the more astounding, was the price. A little less than €200 a month. Whaaaaa??
This is not encouraging for my already pathetic gym attendance at a gym that is amazing and free (at Wes). We shall see how my body reacts to this lack of exercise. Except for the large amount of walking everywhere.
j
But anyways, the journey began with a building that to our American eyes did not seem like it could possibly contain a gymnasium inside. We cautiously approached the door and stood there dumbfounded for a moment. It appeared that we had to ring a bell in order to enter. This could not be, could it? Yes, yes it could. We rang, and an incredibly good-looking fit woman answered the door and ushered us inside. We took a tour that consisted of basically turning around and walking up a short flight of stairs. This gym was tiny. And smelled like people working out because there was a significant lack of ventilaton. This is really all I can remember from this one, besides the fact that we got a free pass to one of the classes and the prices weren't wholly unreasonable. Expensive, but not unreasonable. I was chuckling a little the entire time and glancing at Laura.
The second one, on the other hand, was utterly ridiculous. It was somewhat of a cross between a gym, a massage therapy building, and a modern art museum. The walls were painted a nice orange, the lights were dim, the music was calm. There were lovely modern art paintings on the walls that had some illumination to draw attention to them. Immediately upon entering this place (that was on the second story of a building with an sign advertisting their locations in Milan, Londen, Paris, Madrid, Miami, etc) I decided I didn't want to do it. Hopefully they throw out the card with my number on it that was mandatory to fill out in order to get any information. The most ridiculous part of this whole thing, or one of the more astounding, was the price. A little less than €200 a month. Whaaaaa??
This is not encouraging for my already pathetic gym attendance at a gym that is amazing and free (at Wes). We shall see how my body reacts to this lack of exercise. Except for the large amount of walking everywhere.
j
13 February 2007
correction:
She spells her name Vicky. And tonight I had to explain what matzoh ball soup is. In spanish. And a little bit about what Passover is. This to a woman who on the first day asked me if I was Catholic or Protestant.
The family is surprisingly normal. Andres and Vicky fight sometimes. And disagree. But there is definitely a level of respect. I suppose when the norm is living with your parents until age 40, the relationships are going to have to be different. The normalcy of the household makes it a little more weird to live here. Because I feel like that much more of an outsider.
j
The family is surprisingly normal. Andres and Vicky fight sometimes. And disagree. But there is definitely a level of respect. I suppose when the norm is living with your parents until age 40, the relationships are going to have to be different. The normalcy of the household makes it a little more weird to live here. Because I feel like that much more of an outsider.
j
12 February 2007
Pantuflas is a funny word
It means slippers, but not the kind that you wear around the house with the hard sole. Those are zapatillos (I think). Pantuflas are more the fuzzy socks that I love so much. Mine are green and white striped and they look pretty ridiculous. Especially when I wear them around the house because I need to obtain some of these "house slippers". It's mal educado (bad manners) to be barefoot around the house. But more than that, Vicki expressed concern over me being cold due to the bare feet. It is ridiculously warm in this house and I have yet to be cold at all.
About the house: It's an apartment really. There is a small foyer, and then one large room that appears more like two rooms, or almost 3. There's a part with a piano, a part with the couch and the tv, and then the table where we eat. The kitchen is off to the right and rather narrow. Not really a large party cooking kitchen. Then there is a hallway that ends with Andrés' room. There is also the main bathroom and Vicki's bedroom. And my room. Which is a good size. Well, that's a lie. It's a small room, but it's a good size for me. This is mostly because the extra room that I could have as part of my bedroom is my very own bathroom. You have to pass through my bedroom to get to this bathroom, so it is extremely private. Which is amazing. Because I don't have to worry about all the cultural differences with walking to the bathroom in a towel (a practice that is not done). I have a desk and 2 windows that let a TON of natural light in during the day. And a day bed, And a small closet with some drawers. And a nightstand.There's a clock on the wall and lovely wooden bookshelves. I like the simplicity in this.
Vicki is 60 years old. This past December she had an operation to remove a tumor from either her stomach or her uterus. I'm not entirely sure because I'm not sure what is appropriate to ask or not. And I've never been a person to ask into personal details about health and that type of thing. But she is going back to work this week I think. Which is really good. Right now I get the feeling that she has been pretty house-ridden and is antsy to get out. She doesn't like to cook, but she does it anyways. And her meals are a lot more complicated than what I would think of being made by someone in the US who doesn't like to cook. I ate octopus and mussels last night. And asparagus and swordfish the night before. To me, this just proves that cooking at home is a huge part of the Spanish culture. She wouldn't even think of going out to dinner. She cooks. Every night. This is different than what I am used to in Wisconsin (no offense Mom). I like it.
Andrés is 22. He plays piano en un grupo with his friends, and I think he also teaches on the weekends. And he works at a television station doing something with music in cinema. I want to talk with him more about this. He's friendly, and pretty easy to talk to but I wouldn't call him warm and reaching out to get to know me. Maybe I'm not reaching out enough either, but I don't know. He's very proficient in English, which comes in handy when there are words that I don't understand. Actually, he studied for a while at Marymount College in Terrytown, NY. About 5 miles from my house in Dobbs Ferry. Crazy world we are in. A funny short anecdote: When I met him he was at his computer downloading "Stacy's Mum" by Fountains of Wayne. This, to me, is HILARIOUS. Also, he is currently starting to watch Battlestar Galactica and Firefly. And Heroes. So I watched my first episode of Battlestar Galactica in Spanish the other day. It was interesting. I think I understood it.
The presents I brought them from the US were a Johnny Cash cd (CASH Vol.II) and a maple-leaf-shaped bottle of maple syrup. They didn't know what to do with the syrup, so I tried explaining that you put it on pancakes or waffles or vanilla ice cream. I'm glad the bottle is pretty, so they don't feel obligated to use it all. Vicki already knew about Johnny Cash, and both she and Andrés like him a lot. Vicki, in fact, loves American country music like Dolly Parton and is more knowledgable about this that I am. And to think that my mom's response to me saying "I will get them Johnny Cash" was "Oh! That's a bit risky. What if they don't like it?" Ha. Secretly, I think I bought them this cd so Johnny Cash would be played in the house. Because I love him.
A slightly weird thing about the customs of the house here. The television is ALWAYS on. Literally. And I'm not the only one in my group that has encountered this situation. It's on all day while Vicki is here. Which is not weird. She normally watches American movies that are dubbed in Spanish. One day I should see if there's one I already know so then I'll be more likely to understand everything. But the tv is on during comida and dinner. My place at the table is with my back towards the television, so it makes the situation that much more awkward. In Wisconsin, the television is on a lot, but I can block it out because I don't need to hear every word my mother says in English to know what she says. But in Spanish, I need to to hear everything clearly. It's kinda a bit of a challenge. I turned off the tv one day when Andrés was talking to me, and he looked shocked. And for a second I froze, wondering if I had just broken some unwritten rule and thinking I was going to get kicked out of the house. He said it was okay, but immediately upon sitting down to dinner the tv was turned back on. Actually, when Vicki listens to music (as was the case when I first arrived) the television isn't on.
Oh no, my battery has now reached the red region. I've lasted 3 days without charging it. The time had to come I suppose. This might be my last entry for a while. But I promise that I will be checking email at the school and all that. Oh! And you can send stuff to my house.
Jacqui Stavis
Vicki Dubreuil
C/ Viriato 56, 7º Dcha
28010 Madrid, Spain
j
About the house: It's an apartment really. There is a small foyer, and then one large room that appears more like two rooms, or almost 3. There's a part with a piano, a part with the couch and the tv, and then the table where we eat. The kitchen is off to the right and rather narrow. Not really a large party cooking kitchen. Then there is a hallway that ends with Andrés' room. There is also the main bathroom and Vicki's bedroom. And my room. Which is a good size. Well, that's a lie. It's a small room, but it's a good size for me. This is mostly because the extra room that I could have as part of my bedroom is my very own bathroom. You have to pass through my bedroom to get to this bathroom, so it is extremely private. Which is amazing. Because I don't have to worry about all the cultural differences with walking to the bathroom in a towel (a practice that is not done). I have a desk and 2 windows that let a TON of natural light in during the day. And a day bed, And a small closet with some drawers. And a nightstand.There's a clock on the wall and lovely wooden bookshelves. I like the simplicity in this.
Vicki is 60 years old. This past December she had an operation to remove a tumor from either her stomach or her uterus. I'm not entirely sure because I'm not sure what is appropriate to ask or not. And I've never been a person to ask into personal details about health and that type of thing. But she is going back to work this week I think. Which is really good. Right now I get the feeling that she has been pretty house-ridden and is antsy to get out. She doesn't like to cook, but she does it anyways. And her meals are a lot more complicated than what I would think of being made by someone in the US who doesn't like to cook. I ate octopus and mussels last night. And asparagus and swordfish the night before. To me, this just proves that cooking at home is a huge part of the Spanish culture. She wouldn't even think of going out to dinner. She cooks. Every night. This is different than what I am used to in Wisconsin (no offense Mom). I like it.
Andrés is 22. He plays piano en un grupo with his friends, and I think he also teaches on the weekends. And he works at a television station doing something with music in cinema. I want to talk with him more about this. He's friendly, and pretty easy to talk to but I wouldn't call him warm and reaching out to get to know me. Maybe I'm not reaching out enough either, but I don't know. He's very proficient in English, which comes in handy when there are words that I don't understand. Actually, he studied for a while at Marymount College in Terrytown, NY. About 5 miles from my house in Dobbs Ferry. Crazy world we are in. A funny short anecdote: When I met him he was at his computer downloading "Stacy's Mum" by Fountains of Wayne. This, to me, is HILARIOUS. Also, he is currently starting to watch Battlestar Galactica and Firefly. And Heroes. So I watched my first episode of Battlestar Galactica in Spanish the other day. It was interesting. I think I understood it.
The presents I brought them from the US were a Johnny Cash cd (CASH Vol.II) and a maple-leaf-shaped bottle of maple syrup. They didn't know what to do with the syrup, so I tried explaining that you put it on pancakes or waffles or vanilla ice cream. I'm glad the bottle is pretty, so they don't feel obligated to use it all. Vicki already knew about Johnny Cash, and both she and Andrés like him a lot. Vicki, in fact, loves American country music like Dolly Parton and is more knowledgable about this that I am. And to think that my mom's response to me saying "I will get them Johnny Cash" was "Oh! That's a bit risky. What if they don't like it?" Ha. Secretly, I think I bought them this cd so Johnny Cash would be played in the house. Because I love him.
A slightly weird thing about the customs of the house here. The television is ALWAYS on. Literally. And I'm not the only one in my group that has encountered this situation. It's on all day while Vicki is here. Which is not weird. She normally watches American movies that are dubbed in Spanish. One day I should see if there's one I already know so then I'll be more likely to understand everything. But the tv is on during comida and dinner. My place at the table is with my back towards the television, so it makes the situation that much more awkward. In Wisconsin, the television is on a lot, but I can block it out because I don't need to hear every word my mother says in English to know what she says. But in Spanish, I need to to hear everything clearly. It's kinda a bit of a challenge. I turned off the tv one day when Andrés was talking to me, and he looked shocked. And for a second I froze, wondering if I had just broken some unwritten rule and thinking I was going to get kicked out of the house. He said it was okay, but immediately upon sitting down to dinner the tv was turned back on. Actually, when Vicki listens to music (as was the case when I first arrived) the television isn't on.
Oh no, my battery has now reached the red region. I've lasted 3 days without charging it. The time had to come I suppose. This might be my last entry for a while. But I promise that I will be checking email at the school and all that. Oh! And you can send stuff to my house.
Jacqui Stavis
Vicki Dubreuil
C/ Viriato 56, 7º Dcha
28010 Madrid, Spain
j
10 February 2007
Fiiiinally
I am in Madrid. Getting off the airplane took more effort than expected. Getting into the taxi took even more. But I arrived at mi casa and met my señora, Vicki. And we talked, I got a tour of the house, I unpacked, we ate comida, she showed me points of interest on my map, and I met her son Andrés, who is 22 (and almost disappointly not hot). And then she demanded that I sleep. So I did. And then I figured I'd update really quickly because I can steal wireless in my room. But my computer has only this charge because thanks to a freak power surge I blew out my charger. So I need to go buy a new one. Luckily the European Apple Headquarters is in Madrid...I think...
I will write a more detailed fun entry later.
j
I will write a more detailed fun entry later.
j
09 February 2007
¡ostras!
I think that my spanish is failing me. and so is my english. which renders me helpless in all situations. I think I just need to try harder.
j
p.s a flamenco entry to come. I think.
j
p.s a flamenco entry to come. I think.
08 February 2007
mid-day recap
Just had a review in our literature class for our test tomorrow, and I have happily discovered that I can still bullshit in Spanish, and that I have absorbed something over the past two weeks. This makes me happy. Or at least satisfied.
We shall see if I feel the same way after reviewing for history, which I am infamously terrible at remembering. Luckily the history test is not in the format of an essay, just 5 short answers. So I think I can manage.
[edit]: i have no concept of how history works. This was proven when I asked a clarifying question and the professor said something about how this was the most basic idea and she was a little afraid that I didn't know the answer.
We leave Granada on Saturday and meet our host families, finally. And then we have a week long orientation to the university in Madrid. Which means that by the time we start real classes it will have been about 2 months since I thought academically. Ech.
Oh--last night a new group of seemingly high school kids moved into the next hall over in our hotel. And they are louder and more obnoxious than us. Because all of them are as noisy as the our noisiest people. Last night a german woman in a nightgown came to the door of the room where we were celebrating Nick's 21st birthday and told us to be quiet, and that some people were slamming doors. (the other kids) and we said that we'd tell them to shut up, and we were sorry. and yadda yadda pacify pacify. And then we hear loud banging on doors, and I go out to investigate because my RA mode suddenly kicks in and it's 2 german men in boxer shorts and tshirts banging VERY VERY loudly on one door and yelling in German, and bursting into this girl's room yelling even louder in German. It was very weird. And we all were slightly freaked out. And it made me realize that a) I didn't have to deal with any of that shit on my hall, THANKS GUYS. and b) it took a lot of self-restraint to not laugh at the german men in boxer shorts yelling angrily. german makes me laugh. a lot. normally.
j
We shall see if I feel the same way after reviewing for history, which I am infamously terrible at remembering. Luckily the history test is not in the format of an essay, just 5 short answers. So I think I can manage.
[edit]: i have no concept of how history works. This was proven when I asked a clarifying question and the professor said something about how this was the most basic idea and she was a little afraid that I didn't know the answer.
We leave Granada on Saturday and meet our host families, finally. And then we have a week long orientation to the university in Madrid. Which means that by the time we start real classes it will have been about 2 months since I thought academically. Ech.
Oh--last night a new group of seemingly high school kids moved into the next hall over in our hotel. And they are louder and more obnoxious than us. Because all of them are as noisy as the our noisiest people. Last night a german woman in a nightgown came to the door of the room where we were celebrating Nick's 21st birthday and told us to be quiet, and that some people were slamming doors. (the other kids) and we said that we'd tell them to shut up, and we were sorry. and yadda yadda pacify pacify. And then we hear loud banging on doors, and I go out to investigate because my RA mode suddenly kicks in and it's 2 german men in boxer shorts and tshirts banging VERY VERY loudly on one door and yelling in German, and bursting into this girl's room yelling even louder in German. It was very weird. And we all were slightly freaked out. And it made me realize that a) I didn't have to deal with any of that shit on my hall, THANKS GUYS. and b) it took a lot of self-restraint to not laugh at the german men in boxer shorts yelling angrily. german makes me laugh. a lot. normally.
j
06 February 2007
language
some interesting tid-bits about the whole different language/culture experience:
-most movies here are dubbed in spanish, not subtitled. This is a remnent from the Franco regime when the government wanted the highest level of control over what the movies were saying.
-I now am realizing the extent of my Inner Monologue because I randomly mutter things in English, even when I'm thinking in Spanish. Or trying to at least.
-Because I don't always understand all the words in the notes or the poems, I'll be looking up the word in my dictionary and the profesora will ask me a question and I'll be momentarily stunned and not know exactly what the question is, or what my answer to it would be. Fallout of this: the profesora thinks that I don't understand the simplistically stated question because my spanish is that bad. Which it isn't.
-It keeps surprising me how language has developed. And I want to know more about it. Where did the original ideas come from? Because now there are the same ideas in multiple languages. And they didn't originate in one language, like Spanish. They came from other, older source. This isn't very well stated. I will think about the more eloquent way to say this later. Also, eloquent is quite an eloquent word. And after typing it three times, it doesn't really make sense anymore.
j
-most movies here are dubbed in spanish, not subtitled. This is a remnent from the Franco regime when the government wanted the highest level of control over what the movies were saying.
-I now am realizing the extent of my Inner Monologue because I randomly mutter things in English, even when I'm thinking in Spanish. Or trying to at least.
-Because I don't always understand all the words in the notes or the poems, I'll be looking up the word in my dictionary and the profesora will ask me a question and I'll be momentarily stunned and not know exactly what the question is, or what my answer to it would be. Fallout of this: the profesora thinks that I don't understand the simplistically stated question because my spanish is that bad. Which it isn't.
-It keeps surprising me how language has developed. And I want to know more about it. Where did the original ideas come from? Because now there are the same ideas in multiple languages. And they didn't originate in one language, like Spanish. They came from other, older source. This isn't very well stated. I will think about the more eloquent way to say this later. Also, eloquent is quite an eloquent word. And after typing it three times, it doesn't really make sense anymore.
j
04 February 2007
Highs and Lows
Hello! I realized that if I didn't write soon, y'all might think that I was still feeling all sad and missing my friends. Which would be false. I still miss you guys, por supuesto (of course), but not in the same way. Because I got over my case of the blahs and decided to actually go out and experience the famed Spanish nightlife. What followed was a night filled with chocolate and banana crepes, arabian tea, hookah bars, and dancing in a club until 4 am all with the wonderful other people in the program. It was a experience of many things: learning how to blow smoke rings, learning how to interact with Spanish men, and perfecting walking the slippery, uneven Granadinian streets in heels.
Of course, staying out until 4:30 in the morning is a slightly less than wonderful idea when you have to leave on an excursion to a small pueblo called Ronda at 10 the next morning and you still haven't packed (thrown a toothbrush and underwear in a bag). But that's what we did. And I woke up the next morning, did the aforementioned "packing", and groggily went downstairs to eat some delicious fresh fruit, fully prepared to pass out on the bus for the 3-hour ride. Instead, I was greeted with questions regarding one of group members, "V".
Apparently she hadn't returned to her room last night, and no one had contacted her since the club the night before. After breakfast we went into a meeting room to try to reconfigure our plans, as Mihai, our director, didn't want to leave with this situation unresolved. So he asked questions and we answered them as best we could, but the truth was that we didn't know much. And we were left sitting there while Mihai and the monitores went off to make harried phone calls to the clubs, the hospitals, and the police.
The mood was constantly changing. At first we had all listened to him with a grim silence, stealing glances at each other's faces but mostly just staring at our clasped hands, our rain-stained jeans and our cobblestone-beaten shoes. There was nothing to do but wait. A cell phone started ringing and we all tensed a little with the hope that it was V calling. But it was just someone playing with a phone. Slowly, the air began to loosen as we started talking. Quietly at first, with a cautious air. Was it okay to talk? Maybe laugh nervously? That was really the only thing we could do, besides coming up with theories about her whereabouts that grew even more ridiculous as time went on. We turned our heads at every echo of a footstep in the hallways, and if you happened to be the unfortunate person who was entering the room you were greeted with held in sighs and an air of disappointment that you had no new developments to tell.
Shrieking whistles and children's laughter was our white noise, courtesy of the elementary school next door. iPods were taken out and coats were pulled over sleep-deprived bodies. But some of us just stared straight ahead, lost in thoughts, in possibilities, in situations. And finally, resolution came. 5 hours later. When V finally answered her phone and we discovered that our theory that she had slept at a friend's house and was still sleeping (thus not answering her phone) was correct. And she was perfectly fine. And we went to Ronda.
However, for me, there was one more hardship for me yesterday. In between lunch and leaving for Ronda I picked up a message from my dad. And it contained the news that my 100 year old cousin/grandfather type Barrie had died. And he was going to be cremated. I don't really know how to begin describing my feelings about this. Barrie, at 100, was more with it than a lot of people half his age. I may have had to answer his meaningful questions in a slightly louder voice than I normally use, but my answers were always followed by a thoughtful response. During the annual 2.5 hour ride to our Philly passover, I had listened to his thoughts on history, education, current events, the state of our country, the meaning of being Jewish, and how the country had changed over the past century. This past June we celebrated his 100th birthday and the turnout was great. There were people that I had never seen before, even though I'm sure I'm related to them in some way and then our usual crowd. It was truly a celebration of his life, but at the time I did not think that, in a way, that party was my one chance to see how loved he was by so many people. To hear other people talk about his life in such a way. It was wonderful.
Because right now, I am in Spain. And I don't think it would be practical for me to return for whatever type of memorial service there will be. I am going to miss his final party, and I'm going to miss being around the people I love that love him. His funeral, as weird as it sounds, was one I was looking forward to. I'm going to miss the first passover sedar without him that anyone can remember, literally. I'm sure that that sedar will also be filled with many stories about him, his work, his life. He was a great playwright whose work has been translated into multiple languages. In the theater world, his name had meaning. And sadly, I don't know much more than that. And I wish I did.
All this was what was going through my mind on the 3 hour bus ride to the gorgeous pueblo. But luckily, again, the people I am with are wonderful. And knew I was hurting, and they helped. With hugs, with music, with laughter. And surprisingly, last night almost rivalled the night before in fun. This gives me hope. If I can be happy with these people even when I am destroyed a little bit inside at recent events, I can be happy when things are normal. Yesterday was a day when we all became a little closer, brought together by our shared stress, concern, and relief over the morning's situation. And I came to appreciate, even more, the friendships that have been created over the past week. And right now, I am happy. Really.
j
Of course, staying out until 4:30 in the morning is a slightly less than wonderful idea when you have to leave on an excursion to a small pueblo called Ronda at 10 the next morning and you still haven't packed (thrown a toothbrush and underwear in a bag). But that's what we did. And I woke up the next morning, did the aforementioned "packing", and groggily went downstairs to eat some delicious fresh fruit, fully prepared to pass out on the bus for the 3-hour ride. Instead, I was greeted with questions regarding one of group members, "V".
Apparently she hadn't returned to her room last night, and no one had contacted her since the club the night before. After breakfast we went into a meeting room to try to reconfigure our plans, as Mihai, our director, didn't want to leave with this situation unresolved. So he asked questions and we answered them as best we could, but the truth was that we didn't know much. And we were left sitting there while Mihai and the monitores went off to make harried phone calls to the clubs, the hospitals, and the police.
The mood was constantly changing. At first we had all listened to him with a grim silence, stealing glances at each other's faces but mostly just staring at our clasped hands, our rain-stained jeans and our cobblestone-beaten shoes. There was nothing to do but wait. A cell phone started ringing and we all tensed a little with the hope that it was V calling. But it was just someone playing with a phone. Slowly, the air began to loosen as we started talking. Quietly at first, with a cautious air. Was it okay to talk? Maybe laugh nervously? That was really the only thing we could do, besides coming up with theories about her whereabouts that grew even more ridiculous as time went on. We turned our heads at every echo of a footstep in the hallways, and if you happened to be the unfortunate person who was entering the room you were greeted with held in sighs and an air of disappointment that you had no new developments to tell.
Shrieking whistles and children's laughter was our white noise, courtesy of the elementary school next door. iPods were taken out and coats were pulled over sleep-deprived bodies. But some of us just stared straight ahead, lost in thoughts, in possibilities, in situations. And finally, resolution came. 5 hours later. When V finally answered her phone and we discovered that our theory that she had slept at a friend's house and was still sleeping (thus not answering her phone) was correct. And she was perfectly fine. And we went to Ronda.
However, for me, there was one more hardship for me yesterday. In between lunch and leaving for Ronda I picked up a message from my dad. And it contained the news that my 100 year old cousin/grandfather type Barrie had died. And he was going to be cremated. I don't really know how to begin describing my feelings about this. Barrie, at 100, was more with it than a lot of people half his age. I may have had to answer his meaningful questions in a slightly louder voice than I normally use, but my answers were always followed by a thoughtful response. During the annual 2.5 hour ride to our Philly passover, I had listened to his thoughts on history, education, current events, the state of our country, the meaning of being Jewish, and how the country had changed over the past century. This past June we celebrated his 100th birthday and the turnout was great. There were people that I had never seen before, even though I'm sure I'm related to them in some way and then our usual crowd. It was truly a celebration of his life, but at the time I did not think that, in a way, that party was my one chance to see how loved he was by so many people. To hear other people talk about his life in such a way. It was wonderful.
Because right now, I am in Spain. And I don't think it would be practical for me to return for whatever type of memorial service there will be. I am going to miss his final party, and I'm going to miss being around the people I love that love him. His funeral, as weird as it sounds, was one I was looking forward to. I'm going to miss the first passover sedar without him that anyone can remember, literally. I'm sure that that sedar will also be filled with many stories about him, his work, his life. He was a great playwright whose work has been translated into multiple languages. In the theater world, his name had meaning. And sadly, I don't know much more than that. And I wish I did.
All this was what was going through my mind on the 3 hour bus ride to the gorgeous pueblo. But luckily, again, the people I am with are wonderful. And knew I was hurting, and they helped. With hugs, with music, with laughter. And surprisingly, last night almost rivalled the night before in fun. This gives me hope. If I can be happy with these people even when I am destroyed a little bit inside at recent events, I can be happy when things are normal. Yesterday was a day when we all became a little closer, brought together by our shared stress, concern, and relief over the morning's situation. And I came to appreciate, even more, the friendships that have been created over the past week. And right now, I am happy. Really.
j
31 January 2007
oh hey culture shock
WARNING:INTROSPECTIVE QUASI/PSEUDO-RANT TO FOLLOW
So I guess today was my exit from the infamous honeymoon stage. Count: 6 days. Sounds about right, I suppose. It all started with a simple question from one of my fellow students "Are you thinking of any activities to do outside of classes?" And, of course, my answer was no. This answer to this question has been repeated many times. Because I have convinced myself that I do not have a passion for something. I don't have one of those talents that can be performed on a stage to win the mundane prize of a gift certificate for dinner at a local steak house. Or something that drives me to keep going, like a sport season to look forward to. I'm not a writer, a poet, an artist, a musician, a singer, an athlete. If anything, right now I'm into photography, but even that just a little bit more than the point and shoot variety.
And how did all this catapult me out of Culture Shock Part 1 (the aforementioned-now-thought-of-as-nefarious "honeymoon")?
Because, this is a feeling that has followed me around, sometimes more closely than others, for a good portion of my life after high school. Because in high school, I had something. True-that something was Mock Trial, an activity that was good while it lasted and I'm very glad to be done with now. Nevertheless, it was something that gave me structure, something that beneath all my complaints I enjoyed doing.
So, here I am in Spain, my first time in Europe altogether, and I am feeling this. This way that I have felt off and on for the past year and a half. This is not different. This is not new. This throws me back to my nights at Wesleyan that were spent in bed considering my failure to become involved. It reminds me of slightly chilly fall nights walking around with some of my best friends in the world, explaining this exact feeling. And this, if any of you are still reading, is where the connection to be suddenly missing people is. Those people that helped me through all this over the past years are not here. Most of them are an ocean away from me, helping out one another. And I'm not writing this so you guys, you know who you are, can read it and feel bad. I'm writing it because I promised myself I'd be honest. And I also promised myself that I would only write in English if it was email or this journal. And I need to write in English now. I need to say what I need to say without awkward pauses to think of verb tenses, without having to think 3 sentences ahead, and with only the self consciousness of complete self-evaluation, not of language barriers.
A couple days ago Pan, my roommate, told me that I seem to be dealing with being in a new country for basically the first time very well. And I mumbled something about how it's all about appearing to have confidence. And talking with whomever happens to be around. Which is what I have been doing. And up until today, I hadn't consciously missed people at Wes. It really felt like winter break was just a week longer, and in my head maybe I thought that I would be seeing them all again within a few days. I thought that my first tears would be shed in Madrid, once I got away from anything that was familiar. But, turns out tonight was the night. I am okay with this. I realize that this is normal. And I realize that it happens to most anyone and to be of those few that get away with not experiencing it would be rare, and probably not as beneficial. But deep down, I wanted to be one of those people. Obviously, I knew I wouldn't be. Anyone who knows me proably recognized that this stage of culture shock would smack me in the face. I miss people immensely when I leave for fall break, and that is 5 months and 2200 miles less than the challenge in front of me now.
Even though admitting that a negative feeling exists is the first step to dealing with it, it still kinda smarts. I miss people that I can laugh with until I can no longer breathe. People that understand what I mean solely by the position of my eyebrows, how I feel just by looking at my eyes. People that I feel comfortable enough with to snuggle up next to them in almost any situation. And it comes right back to the need for comfort. There's no one here that I want a hug from, or whose hugs would come close to you guys. Well, there probably are quality huggers among the group, but it takes more than pure talent, ya know?
Okay, I think that's all my feelings right now. Oh, except for my sad, ironic in the misused sense, frustration that my iPod has picked this night to flake out. The night when I need to walk around a city listening to familiar music. But: que será,será I suppose. I know it will get better and by the end I won't want to leave. Okay, hasta luego.
j
So I guess today was my exit from the infamous honeymoon stage. Count: 6 days. Sounds about right, I suppose. It all started with a simple question from one of my fellow students "Are you thinking of any activities to do outside of classes?" And, of course, my answer was no. This answer to this question has been repeated many times. Because I have convinced myself that I do not have a passion for something. I don't have one of those talents that can be performed on a stage to win the mundane prize of a gift certificate for dinner at a local steak house. Or something that drives me to keep going, like a sport season to look forward to. I'm not a writer, a poet, an artist, a musician, a singer, an athlete. If anything, right now I'm into photography, but even that just a little bit more than the point and shoot variety.
And how did all this catapult me out of Culture Shock Part 1 (the aforementioned-now-thought-of-as-nefarious "honeymoon")?
Because, this is a feeling that has followed me around, sometimes more closely than others, for a good portion of my life after high school. Because in high school, I had something. True-that something was Mock Trial, an activity that was good while it lasted and I'm very glad to be done with now. Nevertheless, it was something that gave me structure, something that beneath all my complaints I enjoyed doing.
So, here I am in Spain, my first time in Europe altogether, and I am feeling this. This way that I have felt off and on for the past year and a half. This is not different. This is not new. This throws me back to my nights at Wesleyan that were spent in bed considering my failure to become involved. It reminds me of slightly chilly fall nights walking around with some of my best friends in the world, explaining this exact feeling. And this, if any of you are still reading, is where the connection to be suddenly missing people is. Those people that helped me through all this over the past years are not here. Most of them are an ocean away from me, helping out one another. And I'm not writing this so you guys, you know who you are, can read it and feel bad. I'm writing it because I promised myself I'd be honest. And I also promised myself that I would only write in English if it was email or this journal. And I need to write in English now. I need to say what I need to say without awkward pauses to think of verb tenses, without having to think 3 sentences ahead, and with only the self consciousness of complete self-evaluation, not of language barriers.
A couple days ago Pan, my roommate, told me that I seem to be dealing with being in a new country for basically the first time very well. And I mumbled something about how it's all about appearing to have confidence. And talking with whomever happens to be around. Which is what I have been doing. And up until today, I hadn't consciously missed people at Wes. It really felt like winter break was just a week longer, and in my head maybe I thought that I would be seeing them all again within a few days. I thought that my first tears would be shed in Madrid, once I got away from anything that was familiar. But, turns out tonight was the night. I am okay with this. I realize that this is normal. And I realize that it happens to most anyone and to be of those few that get away with not experiencing it would be rare, and probably not as beneficial. But deep down, I wanted to be one of those people. Obviously, I knew I wouldn't be. Anyone who knows me proably recognized that this stage of culture shock would smack me in the face. I miss people immensely when I leave for fall break, and that is 5 months and 2200 miles less than the challenge in front of me now.
Even though admitting that a negative feeling exists is the first step to dealing with it, it still kinda smarts. I miss people that I can laugh with until I can no longer breathe. People that understand what I mean solely by the position of my eyebrows, how I feel just by looking at my eyes. People that I feel comfortable enough with to snuggle up next to them in almost any situation. And it comes right back to the need for comfort. There's no one here that I want a hug from, or whose hugs would come close to you guys. Well, there probably are quality huggers among the group, but it takes more than pure talent, ya know?
Okay, I think that's all my feelings right now. Oh, except for my sad, ironic in the misused sense, frustration that my iPod has picked this night to flake out. The night when I need to walk around a city listening to familiar music. But: que será,será I suppose. I know it will get better and by the end I won't want to leave. Okay, hasta luego.
j
30 January 2007
hot chocolate like no other
Yes, this is my second post of the day but I don't think the first one counts. And today was just too good to not write about it. Finally finally there was good weather. Sun, not freezing, ya know how it is.
And I have fulfilled one of my goals for Spain. Well, maybe not a goal but I did something I wanted to do ever since forming any coherent thoughts about me actually being in Spain. And that is: The Spanish sun warming my back while I sit in a plaza with my pocket journal writing in Spanish and absorbing my surroundings. It was gorgeous, with sounds of birds, fountains, and spanish in the air. First I read some poetry by Bécquer and afterwards got into a small conversation with an elderly woman. It was simple (although I used the "you informal" form instead of the Ud). She asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Spain. The important thing is that I understood her. And I answered her. In Spanish. Which is what I came here to do. Well, not this specifically--talking to elderly women in plazas--but talking with spanairds in general. And when she got up, she squeezed my arm and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. My first experience of this part of the culture. I think I like it. It acknowledges that there was just an interaction. To me it signifies that that interaction actually existed. And that maybe she was sincerely interested in knowing something about me. That said, I don't think that I'm going to go around kissing everyone I meet, as I don't know the guidelines for this practice.
Talking to my mom today, my interest in the mystery of TIME was reinforced. I woke up at around 8 this morning, and realized I could call her, and still catch her awake on her birthday, the day before. She was in yesterday. I was already a day ahead of her. She had a whole night of dreaming to do, I had a morning of classes to experience. Time is not something that I really have a grasp of. It just seems so weird that 7 hours can hold so much. And that it does not really depend on anything else. It just is. But we do change it, we use Daylight Savings Time to create a day with the sunlight hours that we want. And if everyone was on different time, would the world still function? I don't quite know. It boggles my mind.
Another mind opening experience: I was in El Corte Inglés, the large department store here wandering around the book section. And I saw guide books for the United States. And a little bit more of me realized that I was in a different country.
And the final observation of the day: a note about food. I would rather wait until I finish the draft of the post that is dedicated to food to write about this, but seeing as it is part of the day today, I'll include it here. Hot Chocolate "chocolate caliente" is different here. Not just in flavor, but in esscence. Yes, there is the hot chocolate of the powder variety, the kind that I have looked forward to many a time when coming off the slopes in Vermont. This is the kind I get most mornings out of the machine in the restaurante in the hotel. But when I ordered one today, at a café, I forgot that there exists another kind. The kind they serve for dipping churros in. This kind is thick, like a pudding. There is a skin on the top, and it most definitely could be comfortably eaten with a spoon. This is what I got. And it was delicous, if not a little nauseating after the half way mark. Not exactly "sip-able".
Todo por ahora,
j
And I have fulfilled one of my goals for Spain. Well, maybe not a goal but I did something I wanted to do ever since forming any coherent thoughts about me actually being in Spain. And that is: The Spanish sun warming my back while I sit in a plaza with my pocket journal writing in Spanish and absorbing my surroundings. It was gorgeous, with sounds of birds, fountains, and spanish in the air. First I read some poetry by Bécquer and afterwards got into a small conversation with an elderly woman. It was simple (although I used the "you informal" form instead of the Ud). She asked me where I was from, what I was doing in Spain. The important thing is that I understood her. And I answered her. In Spanish. Which is what I came here to do. Well, not this specifically--talking to elderly women in plazas--but talking with spanairds in general. And when she got up, she squeezed my arm and gave me a kiss on both cheeks. My first experience of this part of the culture. I think I like it. It acknowledges that there was just an interaction. To me it signifies that that interaction actually existed. And that maybe she was sincerely interested in knowing something about me. That said, I don't think that I'm going to go around kissing everyone I meet, as I don't know the guidelines for this practice.
Talking to my mom today, my interest in the mystery of TIME was reinforced. I woke up at around 8 this morning, and realized I could call her, and still catch her awake on her birthday, the day before. She was in yesterday. I was already a day ahead of her. She had a whole night of dreaming to do, I had a morning of classes to experience. Time is not something that I really have a grasp of. It just seems so weird that 7 hours can hold so much. And that it does not really depend on anything else. It just is. But we do change it, we use Daylight Savings Time to create a day with the sunlight hours that we want. And if everyone was on different time, would the world still function? I don't quite know. It boggles my mind.
Another mind opening experience: I was in El Corte Inglés, the large department store here wandering around the book section. And I saw guide books for the United States. And a little bit more of me realized that I was in a different country.
And the final observation of the day: a note about food. I would rather wait until I finish the draft of the post that is dedicated to food to write about this, but seeing as it is part of the day today, I'll include it here. Hot Chocolate "chocolate caliente" is different here. Not just in flavor, but in esscence. Yes, there is the hot chocolate of the powder variety, the kind that I have looked forward to many a time when coming off the slopes in Vermont. This is the kind I get most mornings out of the machine in the restaurante in the hotel. But when I ordered one today, at a café, I forgot that there exists another kind. The kind they serve for dipping churros in. This kind is thick, like a pudding. There is a skin on the top, and it most definitely could be comfortably eaten with a spoon. This is what I got. And it was delicous, if not a little nauseating after the half way mark. Not exactly "sip-able".
Todo por ahora,
j
this thing they call "classes"
I've decided that spanish history is fun. and I like it. that is my impression of the first full day of classes at the Centro de Lenguas Modernas. And literature is good also, I suppose. But I actually enjoy the History class more.
(right now we're doing intensive history/language classes for 2 weeks in Granada)
j
(right now we're doing intensive history/language classes for 2 weeks in Granada)
j
27 January 2007
My first impression
This was written on the plane. I think it's semi interesting. And I'm sorry for the format, but I do not know how to change it.
The last day in New York was a huge waiting game as my dad lives about
an hour from the airport and I didn't have to be at JFK until 3 for a
6pm flight. So, it was filled with lots of email checking, last minute
suitcase-stuffing and a good amount of time was spent being placed on
hold and transferred to various branches of the ATM/Bank of America
phone network only to discover at the end that a)All associates were
busy and to call back in an hour (which at that point I didn't have)
and b) that my debit card was indeed going to have to be express
mailed to Madrid.
Getting through customs was easy enough. I ran into two other people
on my program who were recognizable not only for being at the same
airline counter at the same time I was, but also for their 2 large
rolling suitcases that looked similar to what I was lugging behind me.
We all walk over to the gate together (after a very easy security
process), and see some other kids from Wes and Vassar. Lina and I put
down our stuff after some harried introductions and go to get some
food, where I run into Gavi and Tressa! It was really great to run
into them, the only other people I knew previously on the program. We
COL debriefed for a while and then went over to the gate where we were
greeted with an ever larger group than when I had left.
There are people from Wes and Vassar (of course) and also a couple
from Columbia and one from Wellesley. Everyone I've met is wonderful,
and interesting. I wonder if it's because they are indeed
extraordinary people or just because the majority are from Wesleyan
and Vassar where most people are like that. Or if it's just a relief
to be with people who haven't been reading about Spain for the past
month, have been worrying about over-packing, about their lack of
Spanish mastery, and other such logistics.
As we were boarding, Larissa voiced what exactly what I think most of
us were feeling: so, hey, let's uh, go abroad. Let's go to Madrid.
And that's what we were doing, FINALLY. Luckily, they served both
dinner and breakfast on this flight, not just the breakfast that the
itinerary seemed to promise. Dinner was chicken curry, oddly enough.
Curry is not a dish I have EVER thought of in relation to Spain, but
it was tasty. The salad was more foreign looking: a piece of "fresh"
mozzarella and tomato between two pieces of sauteed zucchini. Once I
took the tomato out and drizzled some italian dressing on, it was
pretty tasty. Biggest surprise of the meal: the delicious cheesecake.
I can already see the opportunities that I could/should be taking to
further my spanish, even on the plane ride. for example, Listen to the
random tv shows on the spanish channels, not the english. I promise:
once I get to spain, I shall do all the non-English options. I will!
Some people are here to party, everyone is here to become as
proficient as possible in the language. Looks like a good time is
ahead of me!
The last day in New York was a huge waiting game as my dad lives about
an hour from the airport and I didn't have to be at JFK until 3 for a
6pm flight. So, it was filled with lots of email checking, last minute
suitcase-stuffing and a good amount of time was spent being placed on
hold and transferred to various branches of the ATM/Bank of America
phone network only to discover at the end that a)All associates were
busy and to call back in an hour (which at that point I didn't have)
and b) that my debit card was indeed going to have to be express
mailed to Madrid.
Getting through customs was easy enough. I ran into two other people
on my program who were recognizable not only for being at the same
airline counter at the same time I was, but also for their 2 large
rolling suitcases that looked similar to what I was lugging behind me.
We all walk over to the gate together (after a very easy security
process), and see some other kids from Wes and Vassar. Lina and I put
down our stuff after some harried introductions and go to get some
food, where I run into Gavi and Tressa! It was really great to run
into them, the only other people I knew previously on the program. We
COL debriefed for a while and then went over to the gate where we were
greeted with an ever larger group than when I had left.
There are people from Wes and Vassar (of course) and also a couple
from Columbia and one from Wellesley. Everyone I've met is wonderful,
and interesting. I wonder if it's because they are indeed
extraordinary people or just because the majority are from Wesleyan
and Vassar where most people are like that. Or if it's just a relief
to be with people who haven't been reading about Spain for the past
month, have been worrying about over-packing, about their lack of
Spanish mastery, and other such logistics.
As we were boarding, Larissa voiced what exactly what I think most of
us were feeling: so, hey, let's uh, go abroad. Let's go to Madrid.
And that's what we were doing, FINALLY. Luckily, they served both
dinner and breakfast on this flight, not just the breakfast that the
itinerary seemed to promise. Dinner was chicken curry, oddly enough.
Curry is not a dish I have EVER thought of in relation to Spain, but
it was tasty. The salad was more foreign looking: a piece of "fresh"
mozzarella and tomato between two pieces of sauteed zucchini. Once I
took the tomato out and drizzled some italian dressing on, it was
pretty tasty. Biggest surprise of the meal: the delicious cheesecake.
I can already see the opportunities that I could/should be taking to
further my spanish, even on the plane ride. for example, Listen to the
random tv shows on the spanish channels, not the english. I promise:
once I get to spain, I shall do all the non-English options. I will!
Some people are here to party, everyone is here to become as
proficient as possible in the language. Looks like a good time is
ahead of me!
26 January 2007
¡Estoy aquí! (or, Spain has snow?)
So, I am here. In Granada. First things first: Getting used to this spanish keyboard is kind of difficult, especially trying to figure out to do the accents on words. I suppose my assesment of the keyboards here is not what you all are interested in, but whatever. Oh, also: "Whatever" is not used here at all. As Mihai, our director said, "whatever es un actitud muy americano". When I was on the airplane I wrote something out for a "first impression" post, but as I´m not on my own computer, I don´t have that with me right now. I guess it´ll just come later and for now I will keep you all in suspense!
As previous people on this program have told me, speaking only Spanish is not a reality, at least not right away. I think that as people get more comfortable with their spanish, especially after the language intensive classes start, more spanish will be spoken. Pan, my roommate, and I speak only spanish to each other, which is really nice. (Well, we try at least). We took the placement test this morning. I did alright, got into the lower level, which is still intermediate B (the higher end). A lot of people are advanced, but no one is beginning and I don´t think that anyone is bilingual.
Today, we walked around el Albacín, a very old part of Granada. It was beautiful, except a little cold. Oh, it also snowed a LOT while we were walking which made the already narrow and dangerously hilly cobblestoned streets even more treacherous. At one point we reached a place that had a BEAUTIFUL panoramic view and to the left were snow covered mountains and a white haze and to the right was clear skies, a brightly burning sun, and a hint of the sea.
An interesting difference between Granada as a city and say, New York, is the graffiti. Here, the graffiti is very detailed and beautiful. I don´t think that anyone could deny that it´s art. Which made me wonder if the people of Granada think of it as such, or if to them it it still a type of vandalism. Don´t get me wrong, there is still the typical graffiti that looks like the "tags" I used to draw in middle school, and that is well done also, but even in New York there´s that type. And yes, I´m sure that there are beautiful pieces of graffiti art in NY, but the majority I´ve seen is slightly grungy and the like.
hmmm, logistical things about the program...we have monitores who bring us around at night and just hang out with us. They seem pretty cool, but I´ve only been here one night, so...OH! We got cell phones yesterday, and it was less painful than I thought, even though I had to clarify things in Spanish to try to figure out what type of plan I wanted to sign up for. But I did it. And it felt good. And that brings me to my cell phone number:
011-34-637-09-76-09. Weŕe 6 hours ahead.
hasta luego
j
p.s. all my pictures will eventually be on my flickr acount: www.flickr.com/photos/stavisinspain.com
As previous people on this program have told me, speaking only Spanish is not a reality, at least not right away. I think that as people get more comfortable with their spanish, especially after the language intensive classes start, more spanish will be spoken. Pan, my roommate, and I speak only spanish to each other, which is really nice. (Well, we try at least). We took the placement test this morning. I did alright, got into the lower level, which is still intermediate B (the higher end). A lot of people are advanced, but no one is beginning and I don´t think that anyone is bilingual.
Today, we walked around el Albacín, a very old part of Granada. It was beautiful, except a little cold. Oh, it also snowed a LOT while we were walking which made the already narrow and dangerously hilly cobblestoned streets even more treacherous. At one point we reached a place that had a BEAUTIFUL panoramic view and to the left were snow covered mountains and a white haze and to the right was clear skies, a brightly burning sun, and a hint of the sea.
An interesting difference between Granada as a city and say, New York, is the graffiti. Here, the graffiti is very detailed and beautiful. I don´t think that anyone could deny that it´s art. Which made me wonder if the people of Granada think of it as such, or if to them it it still a type of vandalism. Don´t get me wrong, there is still the typical graffiti that looks like the "tags" I used to draw in middle school, and that is well done also, but even in New York there´s that type. And yes, I´m sure that there are beautiful pieces of graffiti art in NY, but the majority I´ve seen is slightly grungy and the like.
hmmm, logistical things about the program...we have monitores who bring us around at night and just hang out with us. They seem pretty cool, but I´ve only been here one night, so...OH! We got cell phones yesterday, and it was less painful than I thought, even though I had to clarify things in Spanish to try to figure out what type of plan I wanted to sign up for. But I did it. And it felt good. And that brings me to my cell phone number:
011-34-637-09-76-09. Weŕe 6 hours ahead.
hasta luego
j
p.s. all my pictures will eventually be on my flickr acount: www.flickr.com/photos/stavisinspain.com
24 January 2007
23 January 2007
t-minus 24 hours
In about 24 hours, I shall be at the airport about to embark on this journey they call "studying abroad in Spain". Right now, my clothes are packed. Most of the other random shit is packed. The strange knot that has been residing in my stomach for the past 2 days has left. Still no debit card, but that is out of my hands as of now. (I had to open a new bank account because while my money was in an account, that account did not belong to anyone due to a computer glich). I sort of have that feeling right before a large test when I feel like I've done all the studying I can do, and anymore would just be overkill and it probably wouldn't stick anyways. Maybe this is just the calm before the storm...
j
j
15 January 2007
hardware vocabulary
It may seem like I was looking at home improvement articles, but it was actually a murder story about a woman who nailed her mother in the heart with scissors and then hit her with a hammer. Good ol' madridleños. In the barrio where I'll be living.
12 January 2007
the uncensored side
After much thinking, I have come to the realization that there may be some stuff that I don't want everyone reading (sorry mom!). So, if you would like to be on an email list that receives the behind-the scenes-stories, let me know*™. You won't be obliged to read them, but at least you'll have the option/something more to procrastinate with if you want.
j
*subject to author's approval
™ some of you will be placed on the list automatically. if you are not sure whether you are one of these people, let me know that you want to be*.
j
*subject to author's approval
™ some of you will be placed on the list automatically. if you are not sure whether you are one of these people, let me know that you want to be*.
11 January 2007
So it begins...
Okay, so I'm not actually in Spain yet. I'm still in Northern Wisconsin. But we got our addresses and living situations the other day, so I thought it would make a good first post because this is what finally made me realize that I'm going.
*edit* I am not posting the homestay address...but la familia is:
María Victoria Dubreuil (55), her son Andrés (21) and their gato. That's all the information I have for now.
j
*edit* I am not posting the homestay address...but la familia is:
María Victoria Dubreuil (55), her son Andrés (21) and their gato. That's all the information I have for now.
j
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