for your listening pleasure

february 19th finally rolls around. winter break. aka italy.

morgan, brittany, and i head out on the metro towards the aiport friday morning. rome. where the other girls [renata, larisha, alexis, and meron - diana is getting there the next day] will meet us. we check in and get through security with time to spare, so we opt for mcd's tolberone mcflurries while we wait to board. once you pop you can't stop?

considering my minor aversion to flying, the flight goes well. we get a taxi to our hostel and our energy is high. the taxi driver points out sites as we drive into rome. we drive past the colosseum and renata is basically in tears. "this is what i've been waiting for my whole life!" she's sputtering. really? then i start to wonder.... what am i waiting for? i decide on mayan temples..... or maybe the great wall of china.

[on a more serious take, i don't think you can really wait on your dreams or goals, they are waiting on you. call me aristotle.]

our driver flips through the radio channels, tyring to find something as upbeat as we are. but i guess that's not what's fitting his mood, because he next asks us if we've ever heard of Cafe del Mar. ...no? [later, i will tell our tour guide this- along with a girl from south africa. both are completely familiar with these albums, casually confirming my ignorance to something that is obviously common knowledge.]

flashback: my musical knowledge is basically constructed by my father. when i was younger i honestly believed he had every cd in the world. which, in reality, it might have been pretty close. it was actually kind of ridiculous. the library consisted of artists such as cake, van halen, and crash test dummies to michael jackson to Kenny G (which was played often at bed time). if he didn't have it, it didn't exist. therefore, i feel it is only fair that any ignorance i may have of music between the period of my birth and 1996 (when i started listening to spice girls and backstreet boys - and i'm pretty sure he didn't have their cd) be credited to him. weights off my shoulders.

the cab driver pops in the cafe del mar cd and on comes something from a soundtrack of a bad romantic comedy from the '80s. yet, somehow, it fit. we all get quiet (which might have been the driver's goal) and watch in trance as the stoplight turns green and we drive away from the colosseum.
can't believe i'm here right now...

it's a Gaudi world

barcelona 3

considering the temperature it was outside, our hostel room was burning that night. i cracked the bedroom door to try to get some air flow going, only to close it again because apparently there was some sort of party going on in the living room/common area - and those kids were being obnoxiously loud. diana and i had planned to go out that night, but when we got back to the hostel we had no desire to re-enter the cold. there was also a sign on the hostel wall that had diana and i pretty nervous. it stated that if we came back after the clock struck midnight being anything but completely silent, the owner would call the cops and we would be arrested without any questions asked. the poster also listed names and email addresses of people who had learned this the hard way. ...is that legal? to give names and emails out? i consider emailing them just to see if it's true. but after the amount of noise coming from the hostel living room that night, i figure this is just a scare tactic.

on the up side, the beds are 50% more comfortable than cruella's. meaning my pillow is not a thin slice of packaging bubble wrap.

the next morning we are anticipating our "all you can eat pancake breakfast" as advertised on hostelworld.com [basically the reason we picked this hostel]. we learn that our "all you can eat pancake breakfast" is not only self-serve, it's self-make. and that it is, in fact, not pancakes, but crepes. oh, and don't forget to wash the dishes when you finish.

there is a girl in the room connected to ours named amy. she is asian, from england (a rare find - reminding me of my english, asain friend from slu. nothing more ironic than an asian with a british accent. ...is that prejudice?), spending a semester studying at the univeristy in barcelona. which, the semester has not started yet. she has been at the hostel for a week, looking for housing. apparently, the university was supposed to provide her with housing but screwed her over and now she is looking for, quote, "accommodation." she opts to join us for a little while as we journey through barcelona until she meets up with a friend (or rather, the one and only person she knows in barcelona- who is from her home university) to discuss finding an apartment together. we learn, or rather assume, that for the week she has been here, she must not have ventured too far from the hostel, because she is pretty clueless about the city.

we come upon Gaudi's Casa Batlló, built in 1877 and originally designed for a middle class family. Antonio Gaudi was a catalan architect, belonging to the modernist style movement. basically, Gaudi owns barcelona. there are 9 buildings and 2 other projects (parks) designed by him that reside in barcelona (only 3 buildings are in other cities). this means every other corner is a building designed by Gaudi. and you know when you see it. His style is so modern and abstract, the building practically jumps out at you. it's something you would see in a dream. or maybe if you were on acid.

[i failed to find any information on whether or not Gaudi used or abused drugs - but i found it interesting that he died when he was 72, 3 days after being run over by a tram. apparently after the accident cab drivers refused to pick him up, and when one finally did they took him to a paupers' hospital where he remained unrecognized until his friends found him the next day. when trying to move him to a better facility, he refused saying he belonged with the poor. ...weird dude.]

after Casa Batlló and coffee, amy leaves us to find her friend and diana and i head towards .sagrada familia. we stumble upon Gaudi's Casa Milà, built in 1912 for married couple, Rosario Segimon and Pere Milà (some rich, famous people). it's still cold. and rainy. and i did not bring my gloves. we go in a chinos and search for some cheap ones or something that will suffice. i settle on cotton ones that are 2 euro... with stylish brown fur balls glued to the dorsal side of each hand. very fashionable. apply water and it's basically the same hairball my cat will hawk up and leave in the middle of the living room-- and receives the same reaction, proven by renata one day in the library after a walk to school in the rain ("what is THAT?!?!??!?!" ...oh, don't worry, they came with that.).
we reach the sagrada familia and stand in line to get in. it's huge. and it's no where near finished. the detail on this thing is insane. i remember before coming to spain, sam telling me about it and how jealous she was that i would get to see it in person. i thought "it's just some cool church, right?" this is not just some cool church. it's a masterpiece.

history-- started constructing: 1882; expected completion date: 2026 (at least); considered Gaudi's master-work, who intended the church to be the "last great sanctuary of christendom." A total of eighteen tall towers are called for, representing in ascending order of height the 12 apostles, the 4 evangelists, the virgin mary and, tallest of all (obviously), Jesus Christ. there is a lot of symbolism and geometric detail... since i don't really consider one more important than the others, i'll skip those details (to be fair). Gaudi is buried here. the inside is completely unfinished. i'm not sure if it was smart to wait in line to walk through a construction zone. but i did get to go into the gift shop inside... the had some cool stuff there....

after sagrada, diana and i got lunch in this little hole-in-the-wall bar. i look at the menu and spot something unexpected. "bikini." and next to it a picture of what looks like a grilled ham and cheese. since it is only 2 euro i decide to get it. and find that it is exactly what i thought - a grilled ham and cheese. well... first time i've seen bikini on a menu. first time i ever ordered a bikini at a restaurant. first time i ever ate a bikini. i could go on and on.

next we venture to Park Güell, a project by- you guessed it- Antonio Gaudi. while walking around the park, the sun comes out. and it's beautiful. this park was one of my favorite parts of barcelona.


we make our way to Montjuïc Hill, getting there about ten minutes before 7pm. we wait until it's dark because i want to see the Font Màgica, the fountain in front of the Palau Nacional, at night. there are setting up for carnaval so the main strip is blocked off, filling up with tents. we see people - mostly kids - in costumes, dressed for the event [the parade isn't until tomorrow, though]. when we get there the fountain isn't on, but there are people waiting around. we decide to wait, too, not really sure what is going on. at 7, the fountain and lights turns on. but it doesn't just turn on. music starts playing and 15 minute light show begins. it was incredible. "i feel like i'm a disney land," i tell diana.

we get dinner and walk home. there is another person in our room tonight - a smiley girl from france who doesn't speak english. we try to communicate but it's not happening [in the morning, she will come in the room to say goodbye and exclaim "good morning! good morning!" i will, confusedly in return, also reply "good morning"]. we try to watch a movie, but there's no sound on the computer and the tv is stuffed in a wardrobe, unable to be plugged in. while searching through the movie options, i see Braveheart, my dad's ultimate favorite movie (well... could be tied with The Replacements or either of the Home Alone's....). i can't even find this movie at movie gallery, and yet it's here in barcelona in some random hostel....maybe i should take it... instead i snap a picture for evidence.

the next morning we go to mass at the Cathedral of Santa Eulalia, the seat of the archbishop of barcelona. right after mass, my camera died.





















we step outside after mass, and the carnaval parade is passing by. perfect timing. we walk over and watch. there are huge puppets people are carrying on their shoulders, hidden by the skirts. confetti is being thrown everywere, there is a band in towards the end. once and a while they'll stop and dance in the street. [for those that don't know, carnaval is basically the european mardi gras - a festival preparing for the lent season. barcelona's carnaval is pretty... sub-par compared to other cities europe.]

after the parade, diana and i walk around La Rambla until it's time to get to the bus station. not only is it carnaval, it's also valentines day. La Rambla is full of people in costumes, along with red, pink, and white flowers everywhere. valentines day is not that big in spain. besides the flowers, i wouldn't have noticed. no cards, no decorations, no heart shaped candy. i didn't mind.

we board our bus. no smelly around us. relief. back to madrid.

nothing australian about this place

barcelona 2

diana and i eat at a cafe and then go back to the hostel to nap. at the cafe, while using our poor spanish to try to communicate our order to the waitress, we realize: they don't speak spanish here. they speak catalan - sort of a mix of spanish and french. meaning anything and everything we know about how to communicate with these people is probably completely wrong. .....this will be difficult.....

when we wake up we walk back along the beach strip until we hit La Rambla, barcelona's central street. at the south end of the street sits the Monument a Colom, or the Christopher Columbus Monument. we snap some photos and turn onto La Rambla.

it's cold. we decide to find food for the sole purpose of getting inside out of the wind. "Diana," i say, "I'm going to need a drink to keep walking around in this. i suggest you join me." i look up at the bar spot something familiar: tequila sunrise (my mommy's drink). i order it. not sure if the motivation was due to missing her or it just being the only thing i could read on the drink menu. then i think of just exactly how she orders it - with only just a splash of grenadine (and then how it was always a pain in the ass ordering it for her because i could never remember "grenadine") - and wonder if i should order it the same way. the place is kind of empty, so we finish our drinks and tapas and keep moving.

we continue walking up La Ramba searching for potential english-speaking, 20 (+/- 4 or so) year-olds that we could actually have a conversation with. i spot north face jackets, jeans, and tennis shoes. "Americans," i say and i lead diana over to a bar called Hogans, an australian bar with two bartenders that are 100% not australian. There are no seats close to the american boys we see so we sit at the bar, order the cheapest drink they have, and look around. cowboy hats and a boar's head decorate the walls, while a shania twain's "man, i feel like a woman" music video plays on the screen above the bar. ...this is australian? i think i'm in tennessee...

one bartender is a buff girl with tattoos and blonde hair shorter than my little brothers, who is from finland; the other is a tall brunette slovakian guy. both speak perfect english, so in the end we succeeded in the purpose of coming into this bar in the first place - conversation (which the american boys left after 10 minutes anyway, probably because a bottle of heineken was 7 euro). i ask if either of them had been to australia. no. the girl explains when she came here, she was only supposed to stay for 5 months. it's now been 2 years. slovakia's situation was similar. i start to think about my time in madrid. i'm only supposed to stay for 4 months... but the more i think about it, i know i couldn't end up like these people [and not just because i could never work in a bar with shania twain music videos blaring and hairy snouts used as decor and call it my career]. everyone in europe has it ridiculously easy. you can get a flight to finland for 30 euro. you don't have to fly over 2,500 miles of ocean. skype is not the only option for calling home. i could take a bus and, within hours, be in france [america's favorite root for both humor and hatred]. or take less than a 2 hour flight and be in italy, one of the world's most romanticized countries (which i will be doing the following weekend). being international for these people is like crossing a state border for americans. plus a passport.

an unfamiliar, horrible song comes on in the bar (something american, from the 90s?) and just as i'm about to point this out to diana and then ask the bartenders to change it, diana starts singing along. "are you serious?" "you don't know this?" she asks in return. um, no, i would prefer to be deaf. she and i debate the musical quality of this song, the fact that i don't recognize it (kind of like the percolator), and whether or not the woman singing in the music video is black or not (it looks like she has a weave, to me). slovakia states that finland also can't stand the music in this bar.

since we have now somewhat befriended the bartenders over the one beer we each had, we ask them where some cheaper local bars are (because, let's face it, La Rambla is a tourist hot spot meaning everything is double in price for half the quantity). finland draws us a mental map to a place she calls plaza trippy (a plaza with cheap local bars but supposedly the crowd is a little ... trippy?). i tip them (partly for the insider info and partly for just simply being able to speak english) and we set out to find this plaza trippy. ....only we get sidetracked when we see a stand selling gelato and gaufre's (hot waffles with melted chocolate, whipped cream, ice cream, and other options). i get a gaufre with melted chocolate and whip while diana gets gelato - which she immediately regrets after seeing (and trying a taste) of my hot, chocolaty confection. "why the hell did you get ice cream when it's freezing out here??"

we get dinner after we indulge (why save the best for last?), then head back to the hostel for the night.

roses really smell like poo poo poo

monday i get kicked out of the library for having coffee. well. i guess sneaking it in was only half the battle. now for part 2: disguising it. to be continued.

thursday night, diana and i prepare to head to barcelona for the weekend. our bus leaves at 1am. we eat dinner and i start to pack. cruella comes into diana's and then my room and gives us muffins for breakfast the next day... and a piece of chocolate... at first i think, wow.. that's really nice... very un-cruella-like... wait a second. what is this - rewards for leaving? bribery to travel more? i wonder if we will get chocolate every time we travel.... or if it's poisoned...

i head to a chinos a block from our apartment to get snacks for the 7 hour bus ride. i get a pack of doughnut things, some OJ ... something else i can't remember. ...and then precede to eat all of it before we even leave for the bus station. [sister. i was skyping you the whole time. why did you not stop me?] "diana.... i don't feel good...." this is not going to be a good bus ride. the whole metro ride to the bus station, and the wait to get on the bus, i'm laughing at how miserable and stupid i am. oh.....my......God...... this sucks.

it gets worse. finally we get on the bus. i sit down, get out my ipod, and try to find some way to get comfortable enough to sleep. a man sits behind us. and he smells. absolutely. horrible. i can't even explain it. but he was definitely trying to hide it, because whatever the smell was, it was mixed with a strong cologne scent. i open my orange juice bottle (the two sips that are left) and stick my nose inside. this is NOT helping my stomach. as soon as the bus takes off, he uses the restroom, which we are conveniently seated right across from. oh no. why did he wait until now? he continues to use the restroom three more times throughout our journey. and on all of the pit stops the bus pulls over at, he rushes - at the speed of lighting... or a cheetah... - off of the bus. what is wrong with this guy? our first pit stop i get off the bus for some fresh air (since all i've been inhaling is sweat and chemicals.. among other things). it's snowing. again. .....darn it....

we get to barcelona at 9:30. we were supposed to get there at 8am. nothing like a little extra time with roses in the back seat.... as soon as the bus parks, he scurries off. i realize the girl that was sitting next to him was not with him. i am so sorry....

diana and i walk to our hostel. my first hostel experience... i'm a little anxious. within a buliding strip, we see a sign in a window: "hostel". "i bet that's it," i say to diana. we walk over and look at the buzzer options. AAE Hostel. Bingo. we buzz and the door unlocks. we walk into a main corridor with stairs. looks like the only way is up. we start to climb. we come to a door that says hostel on it. we knock. a woman answers and lets us in. she does not speak enligsh. she walks to her desk which is in what looks like a living room. is this right? she puts her glasses on and looks at diana's printed out email confirmation of our booking, says something and directs us back out in the stairwell and up the stairs. we find out later that she runs the hostels in the building.


we go up to the next floor and see a sign on the door: "AAE Hostel". oh. ok. we knock and a girl not much older than us with a dark, pixie hair lets us in. we give her our papers and she gives us a key to the building and apartment, and shows us our room. it's basically just an apartment, turned into a hostel. there is one full bath, a small kicthen, living room, and bedrooms - which are stuffed with bunk beds. she leads us into a room with 2 bunk beds and one twin. there is a guy in there, but she tells us that we are the only ones in the room that night, pointing at him and saying "he is leaving."

diana and i pick our beds - i get top bunk she takes bottom. and make small talk with the guy while he packs up. he reminds me of my physics teacher that was from check republic, but he is from germany. i assume he is in his twenties. later we find out he is 32. um..... why are you in a hostel? he is here for a marathon taking place on sunday and will be running the half marathon. ...you're not cool. before we realize how creepy he is, he asks to tag along with us as we venture to find food. he's been in barcelona a few days now, and we assume he knows where the major sites are and - in general - where he is. he leads us towards the beach, showing us the Arc de Triomf and taking us to see the parliament. ...which.. was basically the only thing he did know in barcelona. and i don't think it's even really considered a tourist sight. he didn't know where segrada familia was. or any of Gaudi's buildings. later i realize many of the things he said were complete bullshiz. i also realize, even though diana and i spent a mere hour and a half with him, that i hate him.

next he takes us to the beach. it's sunny. but it's windy. and cold. i stare out at the water and think of ways to ditch the dude. i see a boardwalk. "diana, you want to walk out there?" i point. "uh... sure?" she says reluctantly. well, i don't want to either. it's freezing. "hey, we are going to walk out there..." i think he gets it, because he says goodbye and we wish him good luck on the run. then we walk towards the boardwalk until he is out of sight, then turn around and head back into town to find food.

i love americaaaaa

announcement: due to the lack of control over my diet, partly due to cruella's cooking and partly due to my unwillingness, i have decided to give up swearing for lent instead of my usual chocolate/soda/junk food/etc. consequently, there may be some interesting substitutes in my writing. fell free to insert word of choice instead. also- if you have any creative or more appropriate words you can suggest to me, i encourage you to not hesitate in doing so. the more the better, as this will probably be a challenge for me.

next day. sunday. superbowl sunday that is.

diana and i go to church at Almudena again. to my surprise, it's not hard to find motivation to go to church here. for one, there's a church every 12 feet. and secondly, it's like stepping inside a museum every time. i may not understand anything being said, but my eyes never get bored.

that night i have to go to a jazz concert for my music class. it starts at 9:30, but we are supposed to get there to get tickets by 9. or so we think. well, i don't know, the rest of the class went the night before... hey, real madrid takes priority. but can't forget. superbowl. kickoff is at 12:22am. can't be late. we usually eat dinner at 8:30ish, so i tell cruella i have to leave early for the concert. she tells me she'll have dinner ready early. i thought this meant for everyone. at 8:15 cruella knocks on my door for dinner. i head into the kitchen to find only my place set at the table. .....shucks.... i sit down and cruella feeds me as we try to talk spanglish at eachother. luckily when i'm only halfway done she goes and gets the other girls for their first course. i finish up and head out.

the concert is at sala clamores. i can't remember what my teacher said about the venue, but i hope that it's a bar or at least a more relaxed environment than a theatre. contrary to what you all are thinking, i hope it's a bar so that i can still talk to my friends during the show and leave early for superbowl if necessary without causing disruption -- NOT for the drinks. ...well, maybe 28% for the drinks. i mean, come on, you get to drink and do homework at the same time. and it's superbowl sunday. and i'm american.

sala clamores is a bar. we use our school ids to get student pricing on our tickets. which student seating is at the bar. ...my teacher made me. mike, hannah, and i sit down and ask what the cheapest drink is. a glass of wine or a beer for 4 euro, which... is not good. we decide to just get one drink while we're here (i mean, it's weird sitting at the bar when you're not planning on drinking or ordering anything. i don't even know if that's legal). mike, who had just come back from valencia (literally, he came straight to sala clamores after his bus got into madrid, just stopping at home to drop his bag off), only had 3 euro. he had been pickpocketed and his roommate had given him 10 euro, 7 of which he used on his student priced ticket. "anything i can get for 3 euro?" he asks the bartender, who snuffs him off. "did you really think that was going to work?" hannah asks him. i lend his sorry self a euro.

on the bar, there are bowls of popcorn. which we continue to munch on for the entire time we're there. i'm pretty sure we were the only people eating it. eventually we just move the bowl in front of us. for mike, who hadn't eaten, this was dinner. i had no excuse.

9:30 rolls by. 10. 10:15. we're getting antsy. dubliners, the irish pub in sol we want to watch superbowl at, will be getting pretty packed with slu kids soon. where the heck is the band? finally the band gets on stage: a pianist, guitarist, violinist, double bassist, and drummer. you expect jazz to be soothing and mellow. this was not what i was expecting. the violinist starts with a crazy fast riff, head banging with his long curls in his face. [i wrote about this in my reflection, which my teacher responded to via email telling me "good job." i mean.. sure i wrote about the music too, but this was more significant to me. ol' crazy head shakin' his long locks to the beat of his own bow.]

at 10:45 it was intermission. concluding after little debate that we had enough material to write 2 pages on, we decide to ditch to get to dubliners. we got a game to watch.

when we get to dubliners, we can't take a step in the door without finding friends. there's no seats left and it's already elbow to elbow, but there's some strong slu representin' here- at least half the crowd i recognize. i go over the the big screen and find a place to stand and end up talking baseball with eric. hey, i may be here for football, but baseball is where my heart is. the boys are all amped up, shouting "i love americaaaaa!" when the national anthem starts, the whole crowd sings along, belting out each out of tune note (sorry carrie underwood, but to me, our voices sounded so much sweeter than yours that night - no, it wasn't the alcohol, it was pure patriotism!!). since most people standing next to me are rooting for the colts, i opt for cheering on the saints. might as well make it interesting right? i walked in neutral and now i'm a die hard saints fan! LET'S DO THIS.

when i first got there i had 10 euro left. this is good - i think to myself - i won't be hung over tomorrow and i won't spend too much on drinks.... a large beer is 4 euro. ok... 2 big beers should do it.... i'm done with both before half time. screw this. it's superbowl. i'm american. i'm at least going to follow one tradition. ....i think. it's cheaper to buy in bulk. meaning a bucket. who can i split this with who doesn't already have a drink? who in their right mind does not already have a drink?! someone who doesn't have money... mike. i grab him and tell him i'll split a bucket with him if he pays me for half when he gets money. without any hesitation he obliges, and i pull out the debit card.

i don't know why, but every male who sees a girl with a credit card is programmed to think that their father is paying for it. because every time i pull out my card, a guy goes "ohhh daddy's credit card! daddy's paying!!!" "....um, no. this is my name on the card. i pay for this, thank you." and if you know what's good for you you'll shut your mouth before i keep all these beers for myself.

for some reason (and thinking back, this makes no sense to me now), i think that lady gaga is performing at half time. someone asks me who is performing at half time. i say lady gaga. girls start screaming and spreading the news. ...is she performing?....oh crap... i totally just started the wrong rumor... i'm sure hearts broke when The Who came on. i relocate myself to the bar during halftime so i wouldn't get punched by one of those girls tearing up when the words "lady gaga" exited my mouth 40 minutes earlier.

although this superbowl was completley unsimilar to any other superbowl i've experienced [for the following reasons: -1. first superbowl in a foreign country (especially one where no one gives a shiz about the superbowl) -2. first superbowl in a bar (or somewhere besides my house) -3. first superbowl without the commercials (yeah... french broadcasting...) -4. no chili cheese dip ...or any junk food... which leads to -5. first superbowl consuming only 1/16 of the calories i would have otherwise consumed if i was in the US (some might be ok with this, even prefer it. i was not. where the frick are my chicken wings and little smokies??)], it was one of the best superbowls ever.

i leave superbowl early (as in, before the game was over. the time was 3:30am) and head on home. the next morning i panic as i look at my "dialed calls" on my phone to find that i (as in, me, myself, and my pocket) had called cruella twice the night before. ....crud, crap, shiz, double shiz! i go to diana for guidance and we find that the calls had not gone through. thank. god.

don't judge a pizza by it's cover

the following week it's pretty sunny. you could find me in the court yard at school - along with 25 other kids - soaking up some vitamin d. finally... maybe it'll start getting warm now...

the day before i got an email saying i received a package, and to come pick it up in the mail room. no surprise- i had asked my mom to send me a little something. i went to the mail room (which is a desk in the student lounge. it is also the book store) to get it and i am handed a package that is substantially bigger than what i was expecting. oh no... what's this... i go back out to the court yard and sit down and open the package. valentines day goodies. candy, card, stuffed bear holding a rose, cracker jacks, and a little frog that grows into a prince when you submerge it in water (no, i am not too old for this). thanks, mom. chris, diana and i crowd around my goodies, passing the red and white gummy bears as we talk about how we miss coffee. you know.. the real kind? that comes from a coffee pot? that amounts to more than 3/4 a cup? "does any senora have a percolator?" asks diana. we all sit in silence. .....what the hell is a percolator? so i ask, "what the hell is a percolator?" "yeah, that's what i was thinking," says chris. and then diana, who is amused that we do not know, explains that is it essentially just the same thing that we know of as a coffee maker. who knew?

for dinner we had meatloaf. made me miss shari's meatloaf with BBQ sauce. ...and my stomach just growled. damn it. time to get that card out again...

the next day renata, mike and i book our tickets for dubrovnik, croatia in april. if you have never seen this place, google it. you're eyes are in for a treat.

in music thursday we have to sing in class. no one was expecting it. i mean this is music theory - a 100 level class - you're not really required to have any musical ability. when it is your turn you have to either a) change the pitch (any pitch), b) change the duration (length), c) change the volume. i was the last to go. talk about building up the pressure (which, all of you who have seen me perform in front of +4 people, know exactly how i shake and how my face turns bright red...maybe that's what draws the crowd in at mokka... the visual...). and to top it off, she makes me go twice because i didn't "crescendo." .....kiss my butt.

friday i meet raphael, christy, david, and thomas to walk over to bernabeu stadium to get our real madrid vs. espanyol tickets for the next day. [most likely will be the cheapest home game of the season, considering espanyol is the worst team we'll play at home all year. i did the research.] 40 euro. not too bad. raphael argues with me the whole way. i tell him we should walk to the stadium because it's nice out. "that will take an hour." ....no, it won't... argument. he says that the tickets won't be any cheaper than online. ...yes, they will.... argument. he tells me the game is on sunday. ...no, it's not. now i think he's trying at anything just to bicker. i'm not bothered - i'm actually entertained - because i know i'm right. and make a point of rubbing it in his face the next day at the game. raphael, if you're reading this... you know i love you.

we meet christy, david, and thomas to walk over to the stadium. i talk to david as we walk. all of a sudden, he starts walking creepily behind a man in front of us, something like this- hands in his pockets, head cocked with a mischievous grin on his face, about 4 feet behind the guy. what... is he doing... the local looks back to see david walking behind him, looking straight at him with that creepy smile. i've never seen someone walk away so fast. i'm cracking up as i watch the spaniard, who is already half a mile up the road. "what the hell?" i ask david. this kid is messed up. i like it.

i ask raphael if diana and i can cook dinner at his place before the game tomorrow, then express my desperate need to find manwich. yeap... thanks dad... been craving sloppy j's ever since that card... awesome. even though raphael doesn't like sloppy joes, we go to the american store to look for manwich after we buy our tickets at the stadium. no manwich. guess i won't be satisfying this craving for a lonnng time. instead we buy cans of dr. pepper and root beer and head to plaza de la republica argentina to drink 'em. we sit there and stare at the fountain. i realize, this is the first soda i've had in madrid. by the time i'm done, i have a major sugar rush. i jump up, slam my can to the ground and punch both arms in the air in victory. "whoaaa rocky," raphael teases. pshh... rocky... rocky can't chug a root beer like this girl...

saturday. game day.

morning- diana and i are on a mission. check fnac's (electronics, books, etc., store) for the second time for an italy travel book. i need this!!! still no dice. i regret not ordering one online... next we go to pickup our bullfighting tickets we bought for march 14th. tickets were cheap. the cheapest ones were 8 euro, so we splurged at got the 9.50 ones. yeahhhh front row of the last section, high rollin'!!! we figured, hey - we're going to watch a bull get slaughtered, we don't need front row seats for that. in fact, we prefer our 9.50 euro tickets. but. the ticket place isn't open. again, no dice. we spot a book store, casa de libros (house of books. straight to the point.), and stop in to see if they have travel books. they do. ..italia, italia, italia, ITALY!!!! one in english! FINALLY. i'm relieved. checkout, leave, done.

the truth is, diana and i love books. book stores, libraries, etc. we talk about how we miss real libraries, not the one at school which has 30 books and 5 tables. and how we were actually allowed to drink - no, ENJOY - a cup of coffee while studying, reading, ...facebooking... anyway, we're nerds when it comes to book shops. but all the ones we've been to, don't have a reading section. or cafe. why, why, why?

...i don't think i've mentioned the dogs here. 1. everyone has a dog. 2. no one has a leash. the dogs just walk along side their owners, respectfully dodging obstacles and lazily strut along. it's amazing. once, i saw a dog walking itself - it's leash in it's own mouth, causally walking along the street. anyway, diana and i are walking from casa de libros and i guess there's something about pugs that make her a little ...sentimental? i don't know, but one is walking past us and i hear her swoon.. and then i hear something else. "look at it's butt!" and then i see diana reach down and smack the side of the dog's behind. ......... "did you just smack that dog's butt?" i ask her. "yes." later i learn more about her dog butt fetish.

next, we venture around madrid. we go to the Temple of Debod - this ancient egyptian temple that was rebuilt in madrid [tell us wikipedia: The temple was built originally 15 km south of Aswan in southern Egypt very close to the first cataract of the Nile and to the great religious center dedicated to the goddess Isis, in Philae. The temple was rebuilt in one of Spain's most beautiful parks, the Parque de Rosales, near the royal palace of Madrid, and opened to the public in 1972.]. Next, diana wants to go see Francisco Goya's (a spanish artist from the 18th century... who i had never heard of until that day) tomb in this church called Ermita de San Antonia de la Florida, where Goya painted the ceiling and dome frescoes. sure, i'll come along for the ride... might as well educate myself since i'm clueless.

leaving the parque de rosales, we stop to look at our map to figure out where Goya is. a couple comes up behind us and asks if we are going to the church where Goya is en tombed. ..why, yes, we are... how did you know that? we start walking together, the woman is from a town near venice, and the man is from scottland. i tell her i am going to italy in 2 weeks. "rome?" "yes." "venice?" "...yes.." seriously. is this woman psychic? what the hell is going on. the woman tells us the church we are going to is a "place girls look for men" and later, she says it is a good place to get married. .....? i wonder if the couple is engaged... finally we find it after 20 minutes of walking. [later, diana and i talk about how crazy it was that she knew we were headed to see Goya when the church was no where near the park we were at.] there were 2 small churches. something was going on in the first because there were all people and camera men outside. we go over to the second and stare at the dome and ceiling for awhile. ...ok maybe for like 5 minutes, but like i said it was a small church. and, in my point of view, not the kind of place to get married in. sorry, fortune teller lady.

diana and i continue our venture. we stop in a bar for lunch. an asian is playing an arcade game, smoking a cigarette, while his girlfriend sits by and watches. they do not move from their positions from the moment we enter to the moment we leave. the bartender and a customer, watch the screen as he plays. i wonder if this is their typical saturday... i order calamari, but the bartender says i can't have it just by itself, it has to come on a sandwich. ... that was interesting. calamari sandwich. no sauce, just bread and calamari. ....ok, then. diana and i are proud we can go to a local bar and order food and drinks.

next we head to casa de campo, a park pretty close to where we live. we walk up a hill to this pond, where there is boat rental and small outdoor restaurants lining the water. it's a really nice place. as we walk around the pond, two bikers ask to take our picture (or so we figure out through spanglish). ..oh.. sure.... so here it is--


we sit on a bench in the sun and i get out my italy travel book and start to absorb.

for dinner, we head to raphael's - first stopping at supersol to pick up some frozen pizza's (yeah... when i said cooking... that's what i meant). diana is craving pizza - and will be for the next week and 3 days. we look at the selection supersol offers us. i spot something delicious. "ooo look at this," i say to diana - cheese, ham, and mushroom pizza. could this get any better?? "see, i don't know why they put pictures like that on these boxes," she replies. i realize that she and i are thinking the exact opposite idea of this pizza. "i think this looks amazing," i tell her. "oh, wow, really? that looks terrible!" "i'm getting it." i grab some asparagus for our vegetable and go to check out. our purchase: two oven pizzas, asparagus, 6 pack of san miguel, carton of sangria = less than 10 euro. love it.

we go to raphael's and start the oven. i get out a pan and do some improv with the asparagus. i wanted garlic put they didn't have powder - just the bulb - and i was too lazy to deal with it. but it didn't matter because it was still awesome. food is done and we sit done at the table. "that actually looks really good...," diana says, eyeballing my pizza. um, i know. and it was. "don't judge a pizza by it's cover," i say to her. "i guess you're right, but you know, to the general population that pizza looked disgusting." i laugh. we debate and decide to take a poll. so here is the pizza cover... along with diana's thumb mistakenly in the wrong direction. what do you think?
we split our pizza's half and half and share [she had opted for BBQ style, which was also delicious].

after dinner, raphael and i walk to meet thomas, david, christy, and others for the game. except they're running late, so we walk on without them. this time we argue about hair salons. when we get to the stadium, people are everywhere. raphael walks to the right without saying anything. and i don't see him. where did he go.... i stand there. shit. i haveno idea where to go. as i'm standing there wondering if we'll be able to hear each other if i call him, someone grabs me from behind. i turn around. david. and thomas. "oh my God, i'm so glad to see you guys." saved. seems like someone's always looking out for me...

the game was fun. there were at least 12 of us there. we won 3-0.

swiper no swiping

that same tuesday (the same tuesday i left of on), i come home to find an large envelope on my desk. i smile as i walk over to it. a letter from home?! they remember me?! honestly, since skype is so convenient and international postage isn't cheap, it was a nice surprise. what's in here, what's in here, what's in hereeeee!!! usually i open letters, pacakages, etc., very carefully - nice and neat. i don't know why... it's kind of stupid, no one keeps the envelope anyway. but this time i could barely contain myself as i ripped it open (and i'm sure the sound echoed throughout the apartment). inside, i see three envelopes. the first one i pick up i identify easily. and that's when i remember getting a text from dad on the way to the airport to leave the states - approximately 17 minutes after i left my house - telling me that jordan missed me and had already written me a letter. the envelope is decorated with a sun and clouds and a picture of what i think is me holding a sunflower? along with the words "jordan," "nick," and "smugala." it also has a stamp on it. it is taped shut. i open it. it is empty. classic.

after a small chuckle (yes, a chuckle - which doesn't happen for me often. usually it's a giggle or a "ha - hAAAaahh" - which comes from my aunts - or this little "hMMmph" thing, which is kind of like a huff and a "hah" without even opening my mouth - sam and i both do this. this was a chuckle), i move to the next envelope. a pink valentines day card from the family. my dad writes "p.s. don't fall in love." and my sister points to it with an arrow and writes "HA!" ....'HA!' what? i'm gonna 'HA!' you in a minute. it seems this family has mixed emotions about my love life. jordan signs it j*ordan, the * being a picture of lips? with an arrow pointing from it to the words "a kiss." ...hmm.... j-kiss-o-r-d-a-n.... i've never seen it spelled that way.

the last card is my most and least favorite. on the cover there is a picture of a sad chihuahua with a sombrero on saying "adios" and on the inside saying "that's spanish for: sure, go ahead and leave your friends, the only people who really care about you, fine, just take off!!" hahahahahahahaahahah. that's good. Shari rights underneath it, "and live your dreams - we'll get over it!" ...now that i think about it, shari's pretty damn good at supporting my ideas and goals. not saying that anyone else in my family is lacking, there's just a certain energy she brings to the table. and that extra excitement from her encourages you even more.

my dad takes a different approach to this card. he writes, "nick, in case you don't miss me, you may miss the following:" and then precedes to write that weeks entire dinner menu. ham steak & mashed potatoes, chicken tetrazzini, sloppy joes, fillets on the grill, oreo's (even letting me know when they were going out to eat and when they are running out of oreo's - thank you. that was essential). basically, all my favorites. ....well... you think you're soo funny, don't you, dad. ....sometimes i read it before bed at night so i can dream of red lobster or cheese broccoli.... so i can dream of a better time...

anyway, getting a letter was cool. me drooling over a card was not.

wednesday after talking to my teacher about a project - and after her recommendation - i book our hostel in sevilla for easter weekend. because of the festival there (the reason we are going there for easter), she tells me it books fast. then she reminisces about when she was in college in granada over semana santa (holy week), trying to call and get hostels for sevilla. apparently she would call a hostel to ask if they had rooms available and the person on the phone would laugh and hang up. i booked our hostel when i got home.

thursday. a friend tries to recruit me in to going to croatia. croatia? why? but the pictures have me intrigued. maybe? i go to music class. i have not mentioned this, but there is a kid in my class who is always popping and cracking his neck. or back. or whatever else pops. loud. and i have also not mentioned this, but this totally freaks me out. the first time he did it, i stared open-mouthed in horror - and then notice my friend, mike, across the room laughing at me. later, i explain my phobia to him. so thursday, i get to music early. a few kids start filing in - including neck-popper. the seat next to me it open. ....no. he heads my way. ...no. he sits down. right. next to me. ...oh god. mike walks in, a smile on his face as soon as he sees. he sits on the other side of me. "it's not funny," i say to him. "ahh i really need to pop my back. i slept on it weird last night," he teases. "i'm going to scream." fortunately, neck-popper does not pop his neck in class - only a small back pop, which i bite my tongue in order to hide my disgust. next week, mike and i notice he is not in class. "probably broke his neck," i hypothesize.
that night, the roommates and i meet up with 10 other people to go to kapital - a six story night club, which i'm still confused about because i was always told it was seven stories? anyway, it was pretty awesome. level 1: karaoke, catering pretty obviously to americans. when i was in there, there were 3 semi-drunk girls on stage singing "i'm gonna be" by the proclaimers (i would walk 500 miles, and i would walk 500 more...). yeah.. bizarre right? i debate in my head whether or not they choose that song by accident. level 2: main club floor. dance floor, stage with models dancing/posing on stage (for certain songs - i.e. michael jackson - a transvestite, or what we think was one, would get on stage and pretend to perform). every once and a while a machine would shoot a cloud of fog down into the crowd. level 3: the balcony around level two. level 4: a bar/lounge - mostly spanish kids in there. level 5 was closed (what the hell i just paid 12 euro for what i thought was seven levels of krunk and now i only get five?). level 6: low-key lounge that looked kind of like a jungle, lined with couches and beds. yep. beds. plastic but it still counts. rumor has it the real madrid team rents out this floor after games. honestly, i think they'd rather pick a place that provided sheets.

i have a wardrobe malfunction. see i bought this belt even though it was a little big, thinking it would still work out. it didn't work out. before we left i tried to pin it in the back so it fit me right. i'm not really sure how this happened, but while dancing on level 2 with renata my belt sling-shot off of me into the crowd. what the?!? all of a sudden a guy a little ways away holds up my belt confused. i grab it. jesus... this thing needs insurance... throughout the night, my belt continues to be uncooperative. lesson learned: buy clothing that actually fits. who'da thought?

diana and i leave earlier than morgan and brittany. head home and go to bed. in the morning i had a missed call from brittany. i check to see and everyone's door is closed, meaning everyone is home. later i found out that the girls had not taken their keys out last night, and had to wake cruella up to get in the apartment when they came home. cruella was extra cruella-tastic that day.

friday diana and i go to golden cock with chris, michelle, andrea, and later josh shows up. pretty low key. we talk about how the wine is cheaper than water here, and how technically it's more economical to to be an alcoholic.

chris has been pick-pocketed four times in 3 weeks, twice in one weekend. "what are you doing, holding your pockets open?" we tell him to put his stuff in the pockets of his vest he's wearing. "i can't. they're fake pockets." ....no. we explain that they are just sewn shut when you buy them - that you have to cut them open. and we do so, right then. josh gets a knife from the bartender and i perform surgery. this does not seem to do any good, because the next day chris tells me that his phone and ipod were stolen at a bar they went to after the golden cock. i tell him that i'm starting to think he likes being robbed and i'm setting up and intervention.

saturday. coincidentally, i have my first encounter with a pick-pocketer. or at least i hope so. if not, i feel bad. but i'm pretty sure.... anyway. diana and i were sitting at starbucks. basically dead. not moving. not talking. we couldn't get the wifi to work. the sun was shining on us through the window. we had just finished eating tolberone mcflurries (i'm obsessed). ...we had gotten up WAY to early to avoid cruella. finally i start reading an article for my anthropology class. (which really starts to piss me off because it's about what men and women are biologically programmed to be attracted to in the opposite sex. from a man's point of view.)

while explaining the article to diana, a man sits next to me (it's sort of a booth thing). my bookbag is on the floor, right next to my feet. open. but clearly in my line of view. as i'm talking to diana i notice the man is taking off his jacket. and that his jacket is sort of hovering over my bookbag while maneuvering very suspiciously. what the? are you serious dude? i grab my bookbag off the floor and hug it in my lap. i look at the man and stare at him, giving him the dirtiest look i know how (eyebrows arched angrily, scowl on my face, foaming at the mouth.... haha just kidding). and he just looks back at me. i look away and continue to hold my backpack in my lap, checking if anything is missing then zipping it up. he sits there for probably a minute or two, then gets up and leaves. "...what just happened?" diana asks me afterwards. oh, i don't know, but pretty sure that guy was a robber.

not much later i get a text from jorge (guitar guy), asking if i want to jam. yep. i head over to their place. and i don't leave for 8 hours. we take a break to make dinner. we go to supersol to get supplies, and raphael makes pasta. it was good. and cheap. diana and i plan to cook there every saturday for dinner to save money. more people show up and get ready to go out for the night. diana and i leave around midnight. the sport is at it's best.

sunday i don't leave the apartment (except for church - thank diana for taking me). this is the first time i've stayed home all day. with cruella. it wasn't bad. she did her thing, i did mine. around 1, she comes into my room. asking me something. ....what.... i don't know why she talks so fast. she knows i can't understand her. i follow her into the kitchen. (..............this is awkward because as i'm typing this, she's sweeping under the chair i am currently sitting in.............) she points to this pot on the stove and makes gestures and - through spanglish - i come to understand that she wants me to keep an eye on whatever she's cooking while she goes somewhere for 20 minutes. ...oh...ok...sure whatever, i'm not doing anything anyway... i walk over and stand by the pot. "no, no!" she tells me that i just need to come in every once in a while and check it. even better. she's awfully smiley. that's weird. maybe she's just trying to be nice so i'll watch her potion boil. what's in here, anyway? toes? frog eyes? (nope. it was flan. we had it for dessert later than night. ....i don't like flan). she comes back in 20 or so minutes. i go into the kitchen and ask, "esta bien?" "si, si, gracias" "de nada..."

hell yeah, i'm getting that key chain. boo yahhhh.

wine, mcflurries, and pastries

after school thursday, diana and i go to supersol and get wine for later that night. 78 cents for a bottle. sold. we get two- one red, one white. they taste like water (but do the job). next time we splurge for a 2 euro bottle. in the checkout line behind us, there are guys buying 12 packs of supersol beer. they ring up as 3 euro. "damn. you guys are high maintenance."

that night the four of us roomies go out to joy, where a guy from renata, morgan, and brittany's dance class will get in the center cage and dance, and then get kicked out.

saturday renata, thomas, david and i go to Renia de Sofia - one of the many art museum's in Madrid, most notably famous for holding multiple works from Picasso (specifically: guernica). if you didn't know (because i didn't), picasso was spanish. and a lot of his art is a portrayal of the spanish civil war. more food for your brain: guernica is not a painting. it's a mural. the thing is huge - 11 x 26.5 ft. yeah. i saw it. it was kind of awesome. i would have snapped a photo but the nazis guarding were pretty aggressive in making sure we knew this was absolutely forbidden. and they were bigger than me.

after the museum we went to mcd's for lunch (i know, i know. we're in madrid. and we're going to mcdonald's. well guess what. i'm poor.). if this helps, i ordered a tolberone mcflurry - which are NOT provided in the US (but should be. what the hell obama. hook it up.) - or at least i tried to order it. the lady couldn't hear me so this little ten year old next to me with a mohawk spoke up and told her what i wanted. i look over at him. damn. "gracias..." [fyi: all the mcflurry's over here - no matter what kind - have hot fudge in them. jealous?]

for dinner that night - since cruella doesn't cook on saturdays - we roomies go to dinner. the place is called Canas y Tapas. Not really sure what "canas" are but tapas are basically appetizers. round of drinks = plate of free tapas. score. why don't bars do this in america? we order off the menu, even though we have no idea what we're getting. i end up with this pepper & potato (almost like french fries) dish. diana gets squid... which we think is not what she ordered.... brittany and morgan get croquettes, which are breaded balls filled with - most commonly - ham and cheese.

next we head towards school to meet up with friends to go to a bar. we talk about how we are craving sweets because all cruella gives us for dessert is yogurt or fruit (brittany : "i know! i mean, can i get a cookie?"). diana expresses her immense desire for a pastry. we stop in this one bar we see on the way. smaller, just some locals watching the futbol game, michael jackson playing on the jukebox. while there, diana leaves the bar to find a chinos to get a pastry. ....... i look at brittany and morgan. "did she really just leave the bar to go find a pastry? at 10:30 at night?" she did. in 15 minutes she was back. cheap, plastic wrapper pastry in hand. ...which was about the size of my head. we help her eat it. it did not satisfy.

we meet thomas, david and renata to go to a cheap bar by school. which was not letting anyone in. so we go to the golden cock. yet again. our group keeps growing. finally we decide we would rather dance and drink then sit and drink so we relocate to a place called iron bar. smaller, but equipped with a sufficient dance floor. i think we were the only americans there? we get there and one of the girls buys a round of tequila shots. eh... not my thing...... ok, just one. cheers, salt, bottoms up, lemons..... i look down. the lemon plate is empty. well this sucks. either this bartender can't count or someone is snacking on my lemon right now. my throat burns. i chase with my beer instead, a sad substitute. we dance. brittany and morgan try to teach me rhythm. the tequila shot i had teaches me the opposite. 4 am before we know it. time to go.

sunday. as you can see from the previous post, i did in fact make it to church the next day. no, i could not understand a word of it. no, they do not hold hands during the "our father." no, they do not have a closing hymn after "the celebration has ended" and we "go in peace." yes, my coat still wreaked of smoke from the bar the night before and the nice old ladies behind us probably thought i had not been to bed yet. but.... it was awesome. the church was beautiful. and even though i couldn't understand what the priest was saying, i still caught myself muttering "thanks be to God" and "amen" at the right cues. i am a catholic robot.

monday i get to school and order a cafe grande in the cafeteria. cruella's instant coffee tastes like water and dry coffee pebbles. oh wait.... the worker gives me my coffee and i spill all over the buffet glass. yep..... it's definitely monday. i help the worker clean it up and then head to the library... where i am told that i am not allowed to have coffee in the library. what? how am i supposed to study and stay alive? the next few days i practice sneaking it in. i have perfected a routine i like to call "hiding coffee cup under my coat without spilling while walking past library front desk." summer time i could have problems.

tuesday i wake up, get dressed yahda yahda. since all three of my roommates have morning class, i usually don't see too much of them before school. just me and cruella.... little a.m. bonding... actually. she's like me in the fact that we both are not morning talkers. at first i think this is good, but then i don't know how much i like the idea of us sharing similar characteristics. today she sees me and speaks. i catch a word i know. wait. ".....it snowed?!?!" aw, shit. not again. it's almost all melted by now, but it's freaking cold. i opt to take the metro instead of walking the 30 minutes to school. usually, i walk. as long as i get up before 1:30 pm, i have the time to. and it's a euro saved in my pocket. [whenever i hear change drop, i search frantically for the source, then dive.]

ok, ok. maybe i'm exaggerating on my money situation. i'm not poor. i have money. i just prefer not to use it on fancy meals or conveniences (such as a metro ride).

at dinner one night, we ask cruella when it will get warmer. she talks in circles, going through each month, but in the end telling us around march or april but it varies. thanks.

cathedral de la almudena

i went to church this morning. i got more than i bargained for. check it out. start at the bottom. i uploaded the pictures backwards. get over it.
















yeah... i was overwhelmed.