Spring

 It's a beautiful day to be writing an essay about the public education system in Spain...

Intercambio

One of the things that our program recommends we do while in Madrid is an intercambio, which is a language exchange with a Spaniard who is trying to learn English.  The goal is for you to meet with them and talk half in English and half in Spanish in order to improve both our speaking and listening proficiency.  During the crazy apartment-hunting time at the beginning of the semester, one of our helpers mentioned that she wanted to speak English with us in order to practice, but wasn't allowed.  We got along quite well and decided to do an intercambio once the apartment madness settled down.  Now, we meet almost every week (I'm gone a lot as you may have noticed) for two hours and just chat.  It's super fun - we use it as a chance to try out new restaurants or cafés, and we have a lot in common which makes nonchalantly talking for two hours not a problem at all.

Her name is Irene (pronounced ee-ren-ay) and she is from Logroño, which is a small city in the north of Spain and she's in her last year of studying translation at a university just outside of Madrid.  Her first foreign language is French, in which she is totally fluent as far as I can tell. But she has also been studying English for quite a few years, and as a student of translation, she understands the language perfectly and in general her only hiccups come from pronunciation and fluidity in spoken language.  She is also studying Japanese now, if the three languages weren't enough.  She just got a job (which is a miracle in Spain) with a translation agency, so she has been doing that while finishing up her classes, so there are few windows in which we're both available to hang out for a couple hours.

During our conversations we talk about cultural differences between Spain and the US, grammar questions that we have, politics, school, travel, and just life in general.  You don't realize how stressed it makes you to speak Spanish all of the time until you are with someone who is on an even playing field with you, and it feels so great to ask questions that you've always thought were too dumb to say out loud, like "what is the difference between perdón and perdona?"

Being friends with Irene has been one of my favorite parts of being in Spain, because it has proven to be quite challenging to make friends with Spaniards given my lack of direct interaction with them.  I'm not sure if there are things like this in bigger cities, but they are such a great way to mix cultures, make friends, and learn a language.

Barcelona

Barcelona is magnificent. From the prevalence of the unique Gaudi architecture to the live seafood market to the fútbol pride and surely not least the beach, it is definitely not lacking in culture or things to do. I met up with my friend Dominique (and later with her friend Jalynn) who are studying in Montpellier, France for the semester for the weekend and we saw most of these things, plus a few off-the-map destinations.

Our first day, Dominique and I checked into our hostel, which was quite brilliantly located in the center of Plaça Real, a smaller-scale Plaza Mayor with palm trees, and in a wonderful location. Then we made our way to Gaudi's famous Park Güell, via the amazing food market where we got a free juice from the juice man, and wandered through his architecture-blends-with-nature haven, getting a great few of the city and lots of dirt in our shoes along the way. At a café where we stopped for coffee, I ended up talking to the friendly owner for half an hour about Catalan (the language they speak in Barcelona more than Spanish), politics, traveling, and how he could find a way to pay the fine he got last time he was in the US without being detained next time he enters the country. About halfway through the conversation, he pointed to Dominique and said, she's quite serious," thinking that she had just been super quiet the whole time, though it was just that she hasn't had Spanish in a while.

That night, we visited the Sagrada Familia, which is stunning at night, and dined on paella and sangria, Spanish specialties for Dominique.  The next morning we wandered through the Gothic Quarter, picked up Jalynn from the train station, and got the freshest churros and chocolate (xocolata as they spell it in Catalan) I've had. That evening, we headed to Montjüic, a huge park that was the Olympic center during the Barcelona Olympics and also has a castle, endless gardens, some sort of concert venue (we could hear it), and a museum of Catalunian history that serves as the backdrop to the "Magic Fountain," a colorful dancing fountain not unlike that of the Bellagio in Las Vegas.  After twenty minutes of dancing fountain, we wandered down the hill in search of dinner.  Having spent way too much money on dinner the night before due to stupid tourist syndrome, we went to a one $ restaurant on TripAdvisor that was pretty awesome.  We ordered a paella, which was for two people, and an appetizer, and were going to order more when the waiter stopped us and said that was a bad idea.  And when the paella emerged in a pan that was almost two feet in diameter, I understood.  We did our best to finish off the meal and the incredibly strong sangria, but neither could be completely consumed.

Then, considering that the Barcelona soccer game that we had hoped to catch in the bars had already ended, we shifted gears and celebrated St. Patty's day in the seemingly prolific Irish bars of Barcelona, all of which were decked out in green balloons and Irish flags, and filled with people drinking Guinness and wearing the hats that come with any order of two pints.  It was quite an experience, and we met a bunch of great people.  As our hats said, it was the "friendliest day of the year." 

Our last morning, and with little sleep, we tried to go back to the open market that was so spectacular, but it was closed!  They take Sundays quite seriously in Barcelona, as almost everything was closed, but we managed to find some coffee and churros and get to the neighrobhood of L'Eixemple, home of Gaudi's famous Casa Batllò and Casa Milà.  We parted ways that afternoon, as the other two had an earlier train, and then I headed to the Picasso Museum, which I wanted to see because we're studying him in Art History right now.  After getting lost and wandering through the narrow-streeted neighborhoods where people actually live (I was semi-relieved to see that), I came across another of the city's famous parks, which was literally chock-a-block people.  You could hardly see the grass, there were so many people enjoying picnics in the sun and playing with their kids and their dogs.  It was a great sight, and one of my first moments seeing the actual people of Barcelona rather than just the city.  Still wanting to go to the museum, though, I tried again, only to discover just a couple blocks away that the line was at least an hour long.  With only a few hours before I had to be at the train station, I sadly accepted that it wasn't going to happen and somehow found myself at the beach twenty minutes later. This town has everything, I'm telling you.  The beach area was so great - there were endless rollerbladers skating among the crowds and musicians along the boardwalk flanked on either side by a beautiful beach and seafood cafés.  It was a wonderful way to end my stay.

Internship

In place of one of our classes, we had the option of doing an internship in Madrid. There is a company called EUSA (not sure what the acronym stands for) that finds the internships for us with organizations in sectors that we have expressed interest in.  Though a larger time commitment than classes, with a 15-hour minimum work week and a 20-page parallel project due at the end of the semester, I opted for it due to the opportunity to meet more Spanish people and practice my Spanish in a work setting. Originally I was placed at a business that arranged homestays for American university students, but with such a narrow and U.S.-centered topic, plus only one lady in the office, I wasn't very excited about the internship. So I started over and EUSA found me an internship with a company called OM Premium Sports that does elite sports marketing and publishing. Most of their work involves polo (yes, it's still alive and well), golf, and sailing, plus occasionally tennis, paddle tennis, and equestrian.

My supervisor is mainly in charge of the publishing, which involves a magazine called PoloLifestyle and a mini magazine called Sports Challenge. I spend most of my time translating articles because the magazine is bilingual, but I also occasionally research (and attempt to write) updates on, say, the American Polo Season, or the Volvo Ocean Race.  The translating can get quite tedious and it's amazing how certain texts can be so much more difficult than others, but I have gotten to read and learn about most of what the company does and I have been able to do it in a way that only I can help, which is a great experience.

In addition to the magazine translations, I have translated marketing publications soliciting sponsors for international events, a job that I was at first quite hesitant about - I kept asking my supervisor of someone was going to look over my texts before they were sent out to oh, I don't know, BMW or Michael Kors marketing execs. But then again, I'm the best English speaker they have, so who could do it better? Having been given such an important role in the company, I have taken it upon myself to ask a lot of questions and reread everything a billion times, which isn't hard, as the translating duties only go so far and I spend a lot of time just anticipating a PowerPoint for a meeting on Monday from the lawyers or the review of the new Mercedes Roadster from the car writer.

This past week was when the magazine went to print and things were pretty chaotic. Though it was slightly inconvenient considering that I was traveling to Barcelona for the weekend, I was honored when my supervisor asked me if he could send me some things over the weekend. It turns out this company really needs me, and that is really the most that I could ask for from this experience.

Island Living

Have you heard of the Canary Islands? I feel like they're one of those places that you think you might have heard at one point, but you're not sure if they actually exist.  They do. I went there.  A three-hour flight from Madrid (they are in the middle of the Atlantic off of southern Morocco) took is to Tenerife, a volcano island with black beaches and strong carnaval traditions. 

I went back and forth when trying to decide whether or not to go - I have many trips planned and knew absolutely nothing about this place, but the idea of an exotic island and the fact that it was the week of my birthday made me take the leap and buy the ticket, and as we came in for landing above the clear blue water and plentiful beaches, I decided that it had been a pretty good decision.

After attempts at using public transportation to get to the hostel failed, we grabbed a cab with three Chinese girls who were also using the same, apparently faulty directions to get to our hostel.  The bright yellow hostel was in a group of vacation homes right along the beach (I think it was originally one of them), but really in the middle of nothing.  They greeted us at the gate, and welcomed us to the huge front patio, with a pool, lounge chairs and all.

It was a very laid-back place with few guests, all of whom had the same goal: hang out and enjoy the sun, which was definitely plentiful.  One guy went to Boise State (small world), one from Belgium, a few from Italy. 

We walked for ten minutes along the road to arrive at the little town of Los Abrigos (ironically, "the coats") where we got sandwiches, followed by tropical drinks (I'm legal even in the US now, so I can say that) as we looked out over the ocean. Not a bad life.  Then the boys got involved in a heated soccer match against some little boys and we all eventually made our way back. 

It turns out that I have three friends who play Spades, which I was thrilled to hear, and we had a heated hours-long game on the patio, which Dennis and I sadly lost (pretty much because of me). The next day we hopped on the bus and took the hour ride to Los Cristianos, which is one of the more touristy areas of the island, and spent the day hanging on the beach, swimming in the ocean, drinking rum and coke, eating fresh seafood for lunch, and wandering through the carnival (the Canary Islands are famous for their carnaval celebrations, which last for weeks).  We topped it off with a sunset from the boardwalk and some carnival rides, then grabbed the last bus back, where we chatted with our hostel-mates and made grilled cheese for dinner (at 12:30).

Our last day, we went to the beach across the street from the hostel, grabbed a conejo (rabbit - a specialty) lunch and some relato, and walked back to pack up and head home.  As my grandpa said the other day, there is a difference between travel and vacation and this was definitely a vacation - very little effort or thought went into it, but we all had a wonderful time.

Mi Casa

Sorry for the onslaught of blog posts! Apparently I've been writing them and not posting them...

I already wrote about the process of finding my apartment, but I have never elaborated on the actual apartment.  When I found the room that I wanted, it wasn’t available for three days, so the dueña (landlady) said that I could stay in a small room in another apartment in the same building for a few days so I didn’t have to stay in the hostel.  My first night in this small room, two of the guys who lived there were hanging out playing the guitar, and I walked in and joined them in singing everything from Lady Gaga to Guns-N-Roses.  Over these days, as I met and talked with the people in this apartment, I became more and more excited about living with Spanish students and more and more anxious about how my new apartment (we call them pisos here) would match up.

When I moved on Monday, I was sad to leave, and as they were all still asleep, I didn’t get to say goodbye, so left them a note on the table.  Upon moving into the new piso upstairs (into a room that was much bigger), I discovered that the dueña actually lived there with her family in one half of the apartment, with their own bathroom and kitchen, which they locked off from the other inhabitants.  Additionally there was a Canadian girl who was nice, but never wanted to speak Spanish, and a girl from Holland who also never wanted to speak Spanish.  As I sat in my room, there was no guitar music and no “holas” as the main door opened and closed.  Two days later, I passed my dueña in the hall and spontaneously asked her if I could move back downstairs.  I used the fact that the two girls always spoke English as my excuse (Middlebury does have a rule that we can’t live with native English speakers, though they never actually check up on it), though everyone knew that I actually just liked it down here better. 

So now here I am, in my tiny, yet adequate room, living with Alba, Joaquin, Sofia, Gabriel, Gema, and Ruben – and I love it.  The piso is very long – it’s basically one hallway with all of the rooms, including the living room and the kitchen, behind doors.  My room opens up to a big garden between a bunch of apartment buildings, which is great because it’s really quiet, as opposed to the other side, which is right on a pretty busy street.  One day I’ll try to get up pictures, but for now, use your imagination – it’s probably making it better than it is.  We do have Nintendo 64 though… and a dishwasher.  And an oven, which is apparently uncommon here.  The washer is in the kitchen, and when it’s done (after the spin cycle that sounds like it’s going to lift the whole building off the ground) I hang my clothes on a line outside the kitchen window in a little internal courtyard-type space that goes up all eight floors (being on the first floor, we don’t get a lot of sun in our kitchen).

We have two of everything: bathrooms, refrigerators, microwaves, tvs… but there are seven people that live here, so it doesn’t seem to extravagant.  Trust me, it’s not.  Let’s just say that it’s a very good thing that the dueña cleans the common area twice a week.  But alas, it’s home and every day when I walk in the main doorway and say hello to the door lady as she sits there smoking and watching Mexican soap operas, and then unlock the door to one of my roommates watching MTV or the news, I do feel that this is a great place for me.

Lisbon

Two weekends ago, two friends and I did a very college-student-in-Europe-for-a-semester thing: we hopped on a bus at 11:00 on a Thursday night, attempted to sleep there for nine hours, and emerged from the bus station in Lisbon, Portugal as the sun was rising.  It wasn’t too bad (though we did plan a nap into our afternoon), plus we got super cheap transportation, three FULL days in Portugal, and two fewer nights of hostel to pay for. 

We had to wait for the metro to open, after which we took our things to the hostel, which had an incredible location on the busy walking street in the tourist area of Lisbon and just one block from its big famous square and… the ocean!  The hostel was really great – some friends of ours had stayed there a few weeks before and highly recommended it, and it is definitely worth its top spot on the hostel rankings for the entire continent of Europe.  The guy greeted us warmly despite the early hour, showed us around the hostel, and gave us a suggestion of where to go for breakfast (when it opened, of course).  We still had over an hour before pretty much anyone in Lisbon was even awake, but it was great to see the city completely without people.  In Madrid, early mornings and I are not well acquainted.  After checking three times, to the angry glares of the owner of the supposedly famous pastelería (Portugal is famous for its pastries, and every city has its own specialty), we were finally welcomed into a place that did indeed deserve to be the meeting spot of famous Portuguese intellectuals in the past. 

That morning, we hopped on an old-fashioned tram, for which apparently Lisbon is famous (turns out I knew absolutely nothing about Lisbon before going there), and went to Belém, where there is a massive monastery and a tower from which there’s an awesome view.  Somehow we unknowingly accompanied a Portuguese school group into the monastery and didn’t have to pay, which was great, but then we felt obligated to follow the group around for a while so we didn’t seem suspicious.      

La Torre

After the tower and endless comments of how great it was to see the ocean, we stopped by apparently the MOST FAMOUS bakery in Portugal (they were quite adamant about it), and the Lisbon custard pastries were indeed special.  A run in the warm sun through the narrow windy (and hilly, to my contentment) streets of Lisbon’s old neighborhoods and a nap led me to the evening, when the hostel employees made us a typical Portuguese dinner, which it turns out involve a lot of socializing, an open flame in the living room, and an endless supply of sausage and wine.  The people staying in our hostel we so interesting and fun, and dinner was a wonderful way to meet them all.  Then we met up with some of Thomas’s friends through an organization whose goal is basically to create worldly people by building international relationships between kids (he spent summers in Brazil and Germany and knows people all over the world).  In Lisbon, everyone just drinks in the streets because it’s warm enough, and it was quite a sight.

Zack, Claire, Thomas, me, and Ben wandering
around Lisbon (Zack and Thomas are in the
Middlebury program with me and we met
Claire and Ben there)

Saturday we went to a street flea market where they literally sell everything (the guy at the hostel was actually not kidding), and then just made our way around the various viewpoints and sights of Lisbon.  In the afternoon, we went to a free wine tasting.  Portugal is very into its wines, and it was great to learn about them all – they’re all so different, and there they don’t classify them by the grapes, but rather by the region in which they were grown.  They have such a unique system and such unique wines (port for one).  We had such a great time hanging around the hostel that we returned, picking up roasted chicken for dinner at the most highly recommended place by everyone in the hostel (there was a group of Australian guys who had eaten it “no less than six times”). 

The last day, Zach and I took a tour through the hostel around the peninsula on which Lisbon lies.  We went to Sintra, which was the summer spot for the king, and so is not only a posh area, but also has some pretty great castles and gardens.  The first was actually on top of a mountain, and we chose to forgo the inside of the castle for the opportunity to climb through the forest to the highest point to see the view.  Apparently no one else wanted to do this, as we were the only ones, and it was quite worth it – plus being in actual nature was a nice reprieve from my current big city life.  Then we went and had a great lunch, followed by Sintra’s famous local pastry, and moved on to another palace/garden, but this was special.  I think the guy that built this one would have been my friend, because his gardens were SO COOL.  It was built on a hill, and there were caves connecting various parts of the gardens.  Then we drove through the mountains and along the coast to the westernmost point in Europe, a very windy (there’s nothing to protect it) and stunning array of cliffs over the ocean.  Someday I would love to hike the trails that I saw running along this coast. 

We then hopped back into the van, stopping to see a Portugal beach, which would surely be superb on a slightly warmer day.  Nonetheless, Gudrun, my new German friend, and I did the typical run through the sand to test the water barefoot thing.  The kite surfers and wind surfers were having a hay day.  The last spot was Cascais, which is the famous ritzy summer getaway for Portugal.  We had the best ice cream in the world (“well, definitely top 100,” said our driver) as we watched the sun set over the port.  It was a good day, and definitely one to make us pass out on the bus that we had to catch at 9:30 that night back to Madrid. 

At 9:30 the next morning, I was in class learning about the EU and wishing that I had listened to my hostel friends’ requests to stay one more night.