Gazpacho: as vibrant as love

Milagros, a good friend of mine in Spain, told me one time this summer while we were making gazpacho, "Just as gazpacho needs tomato first and foremost, a person needs love. The other things are supplementary". If you have tried great gazpacho, you would understand. Pura, the elderly nun living in Casa Don Bosco, would make the best gazpacho during the summer when we had tomatoes coming out of our ears, and pretty much every other part of our body. One time when the gazpacho turned out especially well, we joked with the rest of the household saying we added a little extra love in the gazpacho this time; when we were peeling the tomatos the knife may or may not had sliced something other than the tomato and added a bit extra redness in the gazpacho, a vibrant punch of love you might say.

We had a great laugh on that one, and I must say I felt the love with every sip of fresh gazpacho that hot, humid summer afternoon.

Title explained: Trains, tapas, and tribes

Best explained with an example: riding a motorbike down to the beach in Almúnecar with my Couchsurfing host, stopping for sardines at a local bar on a Sunday afternoon. THAT is what I mean by trains (any and all means of transportation, taken in my travels), tapas (all sorts of "typical" food from a region), and tribes (all the cool people and communities out there that I anticipate to meet).

One of my favorite adventures, summed up in a reflection:

Madre Mía: Verbs, Verbs, Verbs

In a scene from My Fair Lady, Audrey Hepburn shares my sentiments about how I felt every once in a while in Spain:



Although my frustrations lie in the verbal usage in Spanish. There are different verbs for everything, how am I to ever learn them all! In Andalucía, there is a verb that describes the action to wipe your plate clean with bread after a meal. Imagine.
Coming back to California and talking to some Mexican friends, I find that they use verbs differently as well. As a non-native student of the language, do I hold an archive for every country in my head and change it for where I am or who I am talking to? That sounds like a mess.

Yes it is a challenge to learn all of the vocabulary, but for the Spanish speaker learning English, the contrasting problem occurs. They have to change their mindset to using the same verb to describe many actions and then just interpret what the other person is referring to. Apparently, in the English language, we use "got" in a lot of cases.

I wonder as I begin my courses back here at Berkeley, how that makes literature different in both discourses. Does it make English poetry more rich because you can have more interpretations for a different word? Or is Spanish poetry more rich because you can describe something precisely? I think the answer to that one is subjective and on a case-by-case basis, but it is something to consider as I take my Spanish 107A course: Medieval Spanish literature, where the f´s mean h´s and "ca" is "porque". Wish me luck.

Black and Light

There's one time of day that always seems to come around for some reason or other- dusk. No matter who I am with, I comment on how it is my favorite time of day for two reasons. One: the day's work is done and a night of dancing, reading, or celebrating lies ahead. Two: At this time of day, color doesn't matter. Shapes are black silhouettes; the sky is light, and peace settles on the surroundings as shadows form. The skyline that trees or buildings form is the focus as an aurora of colors lingers from the sun's goodbye. Here are some of my favorite pictures of it:


London, England


Almúñecar, España


Almería, España

A Recount of Escorts around Europe

I have been meaning to put up various posts to my blog, and they are things that I still want to say and remember. I found myself in many situations where nice people gave me private escorts around Spain and Europe. It is just an introduction to how I feel there are so many beautiful people in this world. Every one of these encounters came as a godsend to myself and whoever I was with. Here is a list of most of them:

1. My first escort in a taxi ride was a major rip-off to start off, but it only got better from there.
2. When my parents and I were looking for my friend Laura's house outside of Madrid, two friendly police officers plugged in the address in their GPS and we were escorted to the corner of their apartment complex.
3. The French pick-up truck outside of Toulousse, France after my dad accidentally put in the wrong gas in our rental car. Yikes!
4. A man in a red hotrod car helped my sister, my cousin and I leave Sevilla by, rather than just giving us some makeshift directions, graciously caravanning us to the mouth of the freeway on the way to Portugal. His name was Miguel and he was very attractive too.
5. I had expected to catch a taxi from arrival into almeria, but after talking to a lady from Almería for five hours on the train, she insisted that she gave me a ride and then continued to buy me a coffee just before I entered into a crazy summer.
6. My sister and I were looking for a church in the tourist section of Málaga where we were staying for a week. Well the front-desk help, named Dan, willingly escorted us to his favorite church. We proceeded to join the party after the mass with the community.
7. My great friends Mila and Jaime insisted on picking up my sister and I in Córdoba to get us to Sevilla, and also Mila let us stay with her for the night. A whirlwind of hospitality within 24 hours.
8. Last but not least, I needed to catch a flight back to California at 7am. I needed to leave for the airport at 5 in the morning. The host family, after opening their home to my sister and I for a week, insisted that Pedro, the father, took both my sister and I rather than us catching a taxi or bus.

All I can say, is that there are some beautiful people in this world. I met a few of them in Spain, I am expecting to host some in California, and I am looking forward to meeting more beautiful people from around the world.

Language Bloopers

My good friend Anne doesn't own an umbrella and uses her scarf when it is raining. Arriving home drenched head to toe, with a small patch of dry hair, she shrugs and says “eh, builds character”. I love this philosophy and have applied it to my many language bloopers over the past months here in Spain. To name a few:

-"Can we feel upstairs?" instead of can we sit upstairs? I went beet-red and my mom said, nah he thought it was cute haha.
-Primos instead of sobrinos
-despacho y gaspacho
-peine y pene
-lentejas y lentillas
-hijos instead of hermanos.
-ropa instead of pulsera

all in all, like my good friend Anne would say, “eh, builds character” and it definately made for some great laughs.

Gutting Fish

The last day I spent in Almería, I had the lovely chore of gutting the calamari that we were to eat for lunch. I was given the choice to opt out, but I figured I had to try it at least once in my life. The experience proved to be similar to the snails I tried last week- fun and tasty, but I´d rather not repeat.

Warning: squirmish readers please skip to the next paragrah. For the interested calamari-gutting virgin, read on for a complete description on how it is to be done. First step: rinse off the icy calamari before the disection. Then, twist off the head in a pinching motion. Feel around within the head for a black ball similar to a peppercorn- the mouth apparently. Attached is a clear transparent thread that (used to) lead to the hungry fish's stomach. Remove both mouth and thread. Now, the eyes follow. This part involves more force and a wincing facial expression. Unfortunately, at one point my squinting eyes were squirted by the late George Calamari´s eye juice. My lungs inadvertently released a high-pitch squiel, that which the house cook Luisa couldn't help from chuckling. Now that the tiny octopus-like tentacles are removed, move to gut out the innards of the poor calamari. Fishing within him, mercilessly toss all the creamy white guts. Note: meanwhile this step my stomach was mercilessly turning. Lastly, feel for the tip of the spine. Break the brim of the flesh where the spine had met the head. Cautiously pull out the transparent thread and place what is left of George in the pan along with the rest of his friends.

Albeit that was an outlandish explanation, I have a point. I was discussing with my sister what we are going to leave behind in Spain and take home to California. One thing that I will be taking home is a different mentality. The calamari sitting on the plate is what I imagine my mind looks like. After seven months of getting lost, losing things, being helped by strangers, being lost in translation, observing unique communities, and having delicious conversations with beautiful people, my mind is raw and ready to be marinated.

From the Almeria train station

I won't be coming back with all of the answers to what I want to be and where I want to go; I will simply be coming back with a malleable yet healthy mindset of the possibilities. I have one year left at Berkeley, and after I graduate I will have to use an open mind to pave a unique path for Maggie Palmer. I didn't see how Luisa prepared the calamari after, but lunch was especially delicious that last day in Almería.

Back in the day...

Not many people visit Spain to go to Almería. It is difficult to get to, it is both mountainous and a desert, and the beach is sub-par. Yet, with a little change of perspective, you learn the good in the ugly. It is difficult to get to, so there are not too many tourists. Albeit the mountains are not lush and green like northern Spain, they make for a beautiful dusk and sunset by the beach. Finally, any beach is better than being landlocked in a hot muggy Spanish city in the middle of July. My director said that I can really say that I have traveled all of Spain because not many people make it out to Almería. That being said, I spent six precious weeks in a house with 5 kid ranging from the age 9 to 16. I also was a camp counselor for another 82 kids from the Molinos neighborhood in which the Casa Don Bosco was located. Here is Jesús and I dressed up as elfs one day for the fantasy-themed summer camp. Look closely and you will notice that I grew points on my ears overnight.


For the first weeks I was living my summer childhood- playing soccer with Cristian, braiding Martina's hair, going to the beach, and of course doing my daily chores around the house and helping in the kitchen. I pretty much was their summer doll that had a string in the back like Woody from Toy Story with a few catch phrases. Pull it once, and I say “Yes, I can play cards”. Pull it again, and I say “Oh the beach sounds great!”. Pull it a third time, and I say “Ok I need to take a nap.” Are you catching my drift? It was fun and entertaining and everytime I went to bed exhausted after a hard day's play, just as if I was back in Brea, California on Waterfall Lane and I had a playdate with Kristen and Elizabeth everyday. It was a lot different from a summer in Berkeley, that is for sure. Here is Martina and one of the many braid hair-do's I gave her.

Martina, Sandra, and I on a post-dinner walk:



Dishes, many many dishes:




The next three weeks I changed rolls and jumped back into being a young adult with a balance of disciplining and entertaining snotty, sweaty, and adorably cute Spanish niños and niñas. In Spanish, there is a special conjugation for commands. In the first few days of camp, I caught the most important commands and I saw how powerful they were. It was like magic the way they obeyed. Ok, well, most of the time it worked for a handful of the kids. The other handful of 4 to 15-year-olds had another agenda; I remembered how hyper-active I was in my childhood and felt an urge to apologize to my parents. The counselors got revenge on the night of the haunted house where we were able to draw some screams and pleads to "Let me out!...mama". Unintentionally, we also had a few kids brought to tears. All in all, by the end of three weeks, the kids wanted a safe place to play with friends and that is what we were able to provide. Mission Almería: complete.





Crafts:




Mila's birthday cake; the photo-on-cake style is very much so fashionable in Almería:



Pictures of the dressed-up counselors for the haunted house; I even scare myself:





Drumming act at the final fiesta:



Last and great night together; Mila and I having a great laugh:

The Madrid apartment

I lived in a fairy-tale apartment for approximately three and a half months in the center of Madrid. I fully realized the dream when it was almost too late. When my parents made a grand trip overseas out of the Brea bubble, we were invited by my host-mom Rosa to come over “for a little snack around 8pm”. Yet she gave us a full reception complete with wine that my mom couldn't stop talking about, and olives that my dad couldn't stop eating. It was great to be able to share my experience with two special people in my life and show them a corner of my life in Madrid. Here are some pictures of the fairy-tale apartment and one of my fairy godmother.

Oh the places you will go!

...With your parents. My parents have been planning this trip for a year now, it was their first trip to Europe and I think they made their mark. Literally, my dad has marked his European territory by stretching on a bench in 5 museums, 1 palace, 1 monastary, and multiple parks. We got a police escort when we got lost and a taxi escort for less than 30 seconds. One pharse of their vacation became “venimos, comimos, vichimos”: we came, we ate, we conquered. It's true, every meal was a different experience. For me, I found it difficult trying to translate the menu and everything the waiter was saying to me. They found it difficult not being able to communicate their several questions to the waiter. But all in all, we ended up with food on our plates and wine in our glasses. It was great to see them enjoy themselves for almost three weeks because I have seen them working hard and consistently all of their lives. For me, albeit it was difficult at times, it was a treat.

Maggie, like the Simpsons

When Spaniards cannot understand my name, I just add in this line after they have attempted to repeat Maggie several times. MaGGie, like the simpsons. Immediately following, a familiar dawning expression spreads across their face and they chuckle. This phrase is so relevant that Martina, my new best friend in Almeria, an 11-year-old girl, began calling me Lisa (Maggie's older sister in the series) by mistake. In truth, I have maybe seen one episode; I hope this other Maggie is giving me a good impression. I think it says something about the transfer of culture and how one additional word can cue a connection across seas. Maggie, like the simpsons: speaks for itself really.

Eggplants and Gatos

My impression of Spain is forever-evolving with every new day, with every person I meet and community I encounter. From my arrival in Madrid with a smooth-talking taxi driver to the Spanish nun Pura who doesn't have a lot to say but makes some great one-liners and delicious gazpacho. Here is dry Pura being attacked by wet Sergio during a water fight...

Similarly my impressions of eggplants and cats have evolved as well. I love the vegetable eggplant for its color and adaptability to any dish. Really it is a difficult vegetable to cook, so when I find recipes that work for it, I get very excited. The Spanish-version of eggplant that I enjoy is beregena rellena (filled-eggplant). Rosa, my host-mom in Madrid, made this plate frequently for Bianca and I; I always loved it. Here at my volunteer service in Almeria, we have a lot of eggplant. After peeling over 50 eggplants, after my right hand turned brownish-purple from the peel, my perspective have changed. Eggplant and I, we now have a love-hate relationship. Love to eat it, hate to peel it.

As for cats, well I don´t like them in general. Yet there are two little kittens that live on the edges of our house here in Almeria, who have found little hearths. Mostly they hang out observing from an exterior wall and run away when Christian, 9-years-old, tries to approach them. I have taken a liking to these cats because I relate them to my position here in Casa Don Bosco in the city of Almeria, province of Andalucia, country of Spain, continent Europe- miles and miles away from California. Because of a slight language barrier, I am like a cat here. I observe a lot. I look different and don't say a lot, thus on the exterior. I catch on to what is going on but I don´t have much response. And when groups of Spaniards approach me suddenly talking really fast with thick accents, I run away. Not literally, but that is a funny image.

I´m being dramatic, but all I have to say is that it is it is easy to put a tag on someone or something from a first-impression. It is harder to break that perspective, yet with an open mind it can be done. Honk for world peace!

Surfing, Couchsurfing

I will say it again, I am a Californian that has never been surfing. Quite a shame. Yet I have been metro surfing and most recently Couchsurfing for the first time. Couchsurfing is this really cool interchange website for travelers where you can search for people wherever you are visiting and either bum a night on their couch or just have a cup of coffee. Well the main attraction for travelers is that it offers a free couch, provided that you extend a good impression on your host via couchsurfing messaging. Here is the website to check it out for further information: www.couchsurfing.org

Anyways, my cousin Beth came to visit my sister and I in Sevilla. We took the weekend to go to Lisbon, Portugal and found a very nice guy to host us for three nights in a beach town 20 minutes outside of the city. Complete with live and authentic fado music (traditional to Portugal), a castle with a terrific view and some feisty peacocks, and plenty of beautiful balconies in the hilly city, us three relatives had a great time.

We were skeptical at first how the experience would go, but it turned out to be a great way to see a big city without having to get lost every ten minutes. More than that, it was an invaluable exchange of culture where we were able to learn more about Portugal and discuss the differences between theirs and ours.

I love these kind of things. In Germany when I was visiting my good friend Anne, we had a dinner with two german guys, a French couchsurfing girl, and three Berkeleyans. Another night to remember, here is a photo that expresses my contentment

Goes to show how genial it is to meet new people from around the world.

[Body] Language

I have encountered many people on my travels through Europe for the past few months. The fact that not everybody speaks perfect English or Spanish (myself included), makes for some great conversations filled with hand-motions and repetition and guessing. There are universal motions for taking a picture, for saying 'excuse me' and 'thank you', as well as showing anger. Even if you are spoken to in a different language, tonal clues and facial expressions clearly express whether someone is hitting on you or trying to tell you a car is coming and you better move.

I was thinking about language barriers this Pentecost weekend as I attended mass in the mountains on the local parish excursion. Whether or not my reader is religious, the biblical story behind Pentecost is prevalent today for the global world. Pretty much, the Holy Spirit came down from the heavens to give the disciples courage to spread Jesus' message of love around the world. The disciples found themselves able to communicate to everybody around the world this message of love. Who knows if they actually were able to speak in 6,500 different languages (the so-called count as of 1996) or if they were just able to communicate through a more powerful method: that of actions. And that's true today, albeit many people know basic English, I have found a lot of people understand the language of love even better.

In the first month in Madrid, I was having a hard time practicing my Spanish enough. I spoke Spanish at home with the lady I lived with, Rosa. But my classes were with Americans, and mostly Californians. That's cool and all, but I needed some Spanish friends. Well I emailed the director and she connected me with a Spanish student that was looking to practice her English. Laura and I had a great time talking about not much and switching back and forth between our two native tongues. A few times when I would be explaining something and she would get lost, or visa-versa, we just laughed it off. We had a few great double dates with Meeka and Nerea too- picture below. Quite a cuatro, I must say:


Other situations have arouse as well, from carrying a dog down metro stairs, to having a police escort from one town to the next. A more difficult situation was getting directions in Athens to a hostel. Picture Spanish-speaking Californians intending to interpret an Italian-speaking Greek man. Somehow it worked.

The most propelling 'lost in translation' experience was in Southern France with my parents and my sister. We were on our way from Lourdes in southern France to a beach town in Spain (Salou, just below Barcelona). We had a heavy 8 hour drive ahead of us. Two hours in, we were stalled because He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named put the wrong gasoline in our rental car at a gas station outside of Toulousse. Fortunately, we found someone to help us at the gas station, but our young towman didn't speak any English. Neither did anybody at the relatively-nearby mechanic shop. Somehow we were able to communicate three vital things: how to pay, how to get back to the freeway, and how grateful we were for their help. It was quite entertaining watching my dad in the front seat of the pick-up truck trying to communicate with the French man with gestures and expressions. Though the French man didn't understand anything, I think he got the point that my dad felt quite silly about the whole thing. Here's some body language for ya:





I have learned that hugs and smiles can mean more than anything I can say in English or Spanish. I have just arrived in Sevilla a couple weeks ago. In southern Spain, their dialect of Spanish is completely different. They 'swallow' the 's' and drop the end of words. I could go on and on about the slight differences, but you'll just have to wait until I get back to California to hear it all. But in the first weeks here, I found that smiles and kisses on both cheeks made up for my awkward accent and long-winded responses. Another challenge is teaching Spanish to French-speaking immigrants, which is especially difficult when you are not fluent yourself. Really, what I'd like to say, is that as silly as I can feel speaking with Spanish kids in the classroom, with immigrants that can't catch my accent, and with nuns with thick Andalusian accents, we are all communicating in one language, that of love.

Last thing: The 94-year-old nun, Sister Angustia tells some great stories. I can't always understand her, but her smile and excitement in her eyes makes me laugh at her jokes even when I don't know what she said. I find myself doing that all too frequently. With that said, cheers to [body] language!

Futbol, how I miss you

It's quite an ironic statement to make, as I am in Europe where football/soccer is more popular than, well, everything. I came to Spain with the intention of playing everyday but that hasn't quite happened.

In Madrid, my friend and fellow football-lover told me of a cool field in the middle of my favorite park. We decided to see if we could find a pick-up game to join in. As two girls, we are used to being welcomed with only a slight hesitation into a pick-up game if we are playing at Underhill in Berkeley. But this time was the contrast- the french men said their numbers were already enough and they had no room for us. It was clearly an excuse to avoid having two girls play with them.

That was my first lesson about football in Spain- the game is more important than girls. The next lesson I learned was with a conversation with a Northern Spain gentleman who tactfully told me that the only girls on his co-ed football team were not straight. Football in Europe is equivalent to American football; it's a man's game. For the past few months I have seen football games all over Spain and Europe; rarely do I see a girl playing. It's not that girls can't play, they just don't do so very often. The above, combined with traveling and other distractions, has made a ball a distant, long-lost friend to my left foot. The last time I went this long without playing soccer was when I was recovering from my knee surgery. This time, not as painful.

I am not complaining because what my life has lacked in football, I have made up in dancing, an equally important element in my life. I have finished my semester in Madrid and I traveled Europe for a month (including two crazy weeks with my parents). So finally I arrive in Sevilla, beginning my summer volunteer program. And guess what? At night from my window, I have a great view of a summer football league. With the fresh air and after a hard day's work, it's a great place to look up to the moon, look down to the cement-field, and wind down with a cup of tea...to an intense, enthralling football game. This field is at the end of the neighborhood, on the side of the freeway, and my window has the best view.

It's a bitter-sweet injection of soccer adrenaline for me, because I find it very peaceful to watch, but it also makes my feet itch to play. Then again, these guys are really good, and I am sure I am pretty rusty at this point. For now, I am enjoying the view of the unsuspecting football field at the end of Vasco de Gama Street, even if the games endure way past my bedtime and I have to wear earplugs to drown out the noise.

These are a few of my favorite things: Madrid edition

So this is my post-Madrid post that should have gone up immediately after my semester ended. Anyways, with inspiration from the Sound of Music, these are a few of my favorite things [in Madrid]:

1. Running in Retiro park throughout the semester and seeing the trees become more volumptous with leaves, in particular the jasmin-blossom grove when they fell delicately on the ground below.

2. Greeting people with kisses on both cheeks.

3. The impeccable, and inspirational, Spanish wardrobe. Even the babies were stylish.

4. Tapas and the environment at El Tigre, for now I can at least appreciate the ham that all the Spaniards go loco for.

5. Beregenas relleno, a filled eggplant dish that Rosa my host-mom cooked for us frequently, complete with a Spanish dose of olive oil.

6. My intercambio Laura and our fun Thursday lunch conversations, spending most of it talking about one meaning of a Spanish or English word or joking about talking backpacks; inevitably I would walk in late to my language class after losing track of time.

7. Visiting friends who are studying abroad as well and seeing them in their new environment and seeing how they live- so real.

8. Dancing at discotecas and being certain the following songs will come on:
-Shakira: La Tortura
-Don Omar: Danza Kuduro
-Edward Maya: Stereo Love
-Pitbull: the Anthem
-David Guetta: Who´s that chick
-DJ Kicky: Papa Americano
-Black Eyed Peas: The Time
-Stromae: Alors on Danse

9. El Son salsa club! The best way to improve your Spanish as well as learn some great moves from some Columbian and Puerto Ricans.

10. Plaza del Sol and its newest look, as young adults peacefully demonstrated their need for job opportunities in the poor Spanish economy. Check out these pictures: (soon to come)

You know, Madrid, it´s been real. I know it was a brief 3 or 4 months, but they were really awesome. You will always hold a special place in my heart, especially your magnificent park. It´s not you, it´s me. In the words of the great Lelia Richardson-Diltz, my previous summer´s camp director, mooooovin on...to Sevilla!

Madrid Media Maraton

You might think that I am lying to myself, but it was actually really fun! Once I got past the initial shock that the course was mostly uphill and that even though my legs felt like rocks by kilometer 9, I realized that I was really enjoying myself.

I've found here in Madrid that I am like a moth to light or a Spaniard to ham, when it comes to festivals and lots of people in one location. Whether it is a smokey discoteca, a fallas festival with loud fireworks amongst the streets of Valencia, or thousands of disguised, costumed young people in the streets of Cadiz for Carnival, I live for the crowd, and the chaos and energy that come with it.

This past Sunday, the crowd was a healthier group but the spirit was the same. The madrileños woke up relatively early for the gunshot at 9:30am. We had people cheering us on the side of the streets yelling, "Ánimo, ánimo, venga, venga!", which is somehow even more encouraging in Spanish. At one corner, I noticed a reverse in cheering- the runners were cheering as they were turning. As I got closer, I saw two adorable nuns sitting on the curb watching the race and cheering on the runners. Yet these nuns were getting more attention than us; I couldn´t help but smile.

The hardest kilometers were 19 and 20, just before the final kilometer. Kilometer 19 involved a cruel and intentional uphill into the Parque del Retiro and kilometer 20 involved a tease: just when we thought we were going to turn left to run in to the finish, the race took us on a long and arborous path where we passed right along the runners that had already finished the loop. Yet, through it all, I made it in just over two hours, and all of my friends finished as well.

We got some sweet shirts out of it; even more so we got a sweet tour of the city! From the energy of the crowd to the views of the city to the proud feeling after crossing the finish line, I will forever remember the Madrid half marathon. And I will choose to forget the pain I felt today getting to school and back ;)

Where the Heck is Matt? (2008)

This video is so cool! With the combination of the song track and all the people gathering together to dance, it never fails to put a smile on my face when I watch it. I hope it does the same for you :)

Soy de California

I have said these three words numerous times over the past two months and it inevitably invokes a great reaction. Whether the reaction is "oh que guai!" (how cool) o "en serio?" (seriously) o "no lo creo" (I don't believe it), or just a nod and smile of acknowledgement, I alway appreciate it.

Today Meeka and I went on a double date with our intercambio friends, Laura and Nerea, and we had such a good time just hanging out and talking with them. In Spanish class, we were discussing general events that can change a person's life. One of them was living in another country and learning another language. For me, I can see that change happening in my life. After living in Spain for only two months, I am beginning to see how other people live and think(particularly Spaniards) differently from me. For this, I am also learning a lot about myself. It's pretty cool :)

As a side note, this past weekend I was fortunate enough to visit my good friend Sarah in Prague. Given that it has been about a year since we have seen each other, we had a great time to say the least. I was pleasantly surprised to find that beer is cheaper than water in the Czech Republic and that per capita, the Czech people drink the most beer in the world- crazy! Well, cheers to catching up with old friends and getting to know new ones! What a blessed life.

Andalusia and all of its intricacies

The past two weekends I have had the pleasure of visiting three distinct areas in the Andalusian region, and I must say it has left a strong impression on me, from the architecture to the people to the nap on the beach. Here is a picture from the mosque in Córdoba, a close-up of the detail in an arch. I was amazed by the intricity of every column and arch.

The first weekend I went to Córdoba and Granada with my EAP program. Although both cities were very different, I feel that we were there for such a short time that I more so returned to Madrid with a taste of what Andalusia was like. One of my favorite parts of the trip was the bus drive from Córdoba to Granada which took us through groves of olive trees that completely covered the hills as far as I could see. We had just passed what looked like a castle on top of a distant hill, and then the bus pulled over for a bathroom break. My friend Alli and I had been intrigued by the castle so naturally, we went to try and find a good view of it. We ended up within an olive grove where we stumbled upon wildflowers and a Spanish villa. There was a moment where we looked at each other and I think it was Alli that suggested that we frolicked. So indeed we did- we frolicked in an olive tree grove, laughing the whole time about how ridiculous we were being. After we got a good picture with the castle on the hill, we promptly returned to the bus.


The mosque in Córdoba and the Alhambra in Granada were so awesome; I found myself imagining what it would have been like to live in that time period and I concluded that I would have been just as weird. (Side note: After Bianca commented today that I was weird, I told her at least I'm not boring haha) Here is a picture of a horse show that we saw in Córdoba, in which I saw horses in a whole new light and experienced a depth within the human-horse relationship, albeit in third-person as the observer.

We saw a flamenco show in Córdoba as well, which made me want to not only be a dancer, but to be a Spanish mujer with the romantic intensity she held in her eyes. Though I realize I would have a hard time not smiling for two hours.

The following weekend I went to Cádiz for Carnaval, and though I was only at Carnaval officially for one night, I had such a great time meeting gente from all over Spain- Granada, Málaga, Sevilla, Bilbao, todo. All of the costumes were crazy and everyone was having a great time, more or less. I juggled with the "Barcelona" futbol team, I was asked what kind of shampoo I use, my friend was saved by real-live Power Rangers, and I learned the meaning of ´chulo´. It is something like arrogant but the Bilbaon man explaining it was saying that the people in northern Spain in his region are chulo, and also gentlemen. He proved that true as he waited with me while I looked for my friends, oyy veyy. The crowd was huge, and what I was expecting was a big spectacle of lights or a performance. But really what I experienced was a large boteon (street drinking) and a performance of traditional Spanish songs from a group of men that looked like a bunch of mad-hatters with their wigs. That part was kind of weird, to be honest. It is mostly because I didn´t understand and it was far from what I expected. Evenso, it was all just amazing!


Besides that, I had gone down with the Eurovibe group and we were staying outside of Cadiz, where all the Carnaval activites were happening. But it turned out to be the best thing since Spain itself- I got to walk on the beach, which I haven´t done for months! Actually I should clarify- I first walked on the beach, and then on our way home Javier and I took a different route and ended up walking barefoot through the streets of a town that I couldn´t tell you the name of hah. Luckily, it wasn´t tourist season and it was oddly quiet. I also ran and took a dip in the water on Sunday, and felt so alive and refreshed after. Anyways, I really love Andalusia after my experiences there, and I have only heard great things about Sevilla so I am looking forward to that time in my life. This summer I will be staying in Sevilla for two months and volunteering with VIDES, where my sister is currently. She said I am in for a [re]treat...Palmer joke!

On another note, I found myself listening to Christmas music. That is always a sign that I miss home. So saludos to home, I will indeed be home well before Christmas!

On the beach napping, quite typical.

Parks and Recreation

The Parque del Retiro in the middle of the city just off of Atocha station is my sanctuary. It is my daily dose of nature, whether it is a stroll through on a beautiful day, or a run around the periphery, or enjoying coffee (i'm addicted now) by the lake on Sunday watching this a man dance to live guitar with his bike. He had it perched on one wheel, like he was pop-a-wheeling, and as he held the handle bars he swayed back and forth to the beat. It was funny at first, and then it became hilarious after a continuous five minutes of it. Needless to say, I had a good laugh. Though I realize now I should have stopped laughing and joined him. Next time.

Other recreation: If metro surfing could be a sport, I would be winning. It's a game every day to school, just me versus the metro; my balance has never been better. Turns out I'm easily entertained, surprise surprise! Though I've never tried surfing in actual water, I'm thinking it's about the same thing right? Add Surf onto my First Things to Do When I Return To Beautiful California list, along with Hug Family and Eat Big Salad.

A minor issue that has risen: I find that people stare at me blatantly when I wear shorts out to go running. Even more so when Bianca stretches in the metro station (haha). I've resorted to wearing tights under my shorts and I feel much more comfortable now. We think that it goes along with the madrileños' conservative vestments, as well as their apparent sensitivity to seasons. Even on a beautiful 65º-day in February, everyone is wrapped up in scarves and the same coat they would wear in the freezing weather. But Bianca and I think that for them, because it is still winter you must dress accordingly. Unlike us Californians, where the first sign of sunshine after a few cold days calls for rainbows and jean shorts.

With all that being said, I'd like to announce that I will be participating in the Madrid Medio-Maraton! I am thrilled, mostly to feel that energy from running in a large crowd. As of now it is a great motivation to get running around the city, and it is a lot of fun. I get to see so much more and the city becomes smaller and smaller with every run. Today we found a cool track in the middle of the city close to the huge university. Another route I go takes me straight through the city on Calle Princesa and up to the park that I am so fond of. Well, wish me luck!

Another way I am discovering the city has to do with a particular personality trait of mine that many of you may be aware of. I recently learned the word for it in Spanish and found it quite appropriate for me:

Despistado,-a I adjetivo

1 (olvidadizo) scatterbrained, absent-minded: Jorge es muy despistado, nunca se acuerda de dónde ha aparcado el coche, Jorge is absent-minded; he never remembers where he parked his car.
2 (desorientado) confused: estoy un poco despistado, ¿dónde nos encontramos ahora?, I'm a bit confused - where are we?

Both definitions apply to my travel-style, making for an easy stress-free journey every time I go for a stroll; yet please reread the last line out loud, and you are suddenly living a day in the life of...ME. I have found myself walking around and looking at everything and taking it all in and then not realizing where I am. But I have been able to find my way in some manner, whether it be telling myself, 'Oh just one more block, one more' or asking directions from someone with a semi-friendly face. I really do love exploring like this, but I have to be careful with whom I do it with. Let me just say, Christina Perez is a trooper! In class, my profesora described 'despistada' as 'en tu propia mundo' or 'in your own world' and I immediately stopped staring out the window (thinking about my upcoming weekend trip to Prague- how awesome would it be if I could just put my wings on and literally fly there!) to write down the adjective in my nuevas palabras notebook.

A final note, the proper way to agree to or confirm a request in Spanish is repeticion. One "tomalo (take it)" is not enough, but two "tomalo, tomalo"s will do the trick. With that said, thank you for reading this post and my advice to those staying in a large city for an extended period of time: correla, correla. Run the city streets (perhaps not at peak traffic times) and you'll get it down in no time, even for a despistada.

Best,

Maggie

P.S. Picture of a jazz club I went to with a Spanish version of George Clooney playing the cello-like instrument. Not the best shot, but it's something I want to remember.

Christina and I had the best afternoon/night together and there's nothing like jazz to sooth the soul:

















Parque del Retiro:

Boots of Spanish Leather

It's been awhile since I have written a blog post, so this one might be lengthy. I applaude the reader that gets to the end of this one. By all means, please do! To the left is a picture of the ancient aquaduct in Segovia, along with my ginger friend, Elise.

Two sundays ago, my suite-mate Bianca and I were invited to go to a play with our host mom Rosa. Impromptu as it was, the play was really good. Although I couldn't give you a full synopsis of the play, being that it was in colloquial Spanish (the stuff we don't learn in class), I could tell you that I understood some of the Spanish humor and I could laugh along with the antics of the actors. It's amazing how much you can express with your hands and a rapid adjustment in your facial expression. As a non-native speaker, I found it very VERY helpful. I've always loved plays, but this experience reiterated my appreciation for the art.

After the play, we met Rosa's neice and nephews and as we were trying to keep up with the conversation, I realized how much I really want to be fluent in Spanish. A girl can only hope. For the past five years, I have been taking Spanish classes but not really delving into the language. After arriving in Madrid, it turns out that I don't know that much and that instead of talking from my throat like an English-speaker, I must talk higher up in my tongue and lips. I thought of Eliza Doolittle from My Fair Lady who had to stick marbles in her mouth and repeat a sentence over and over again. I found that movie on youtube here, craving a good Audrey Hepburn film and the familiarity of the play. While watching it, I was reminding that languages and changing your habits take time and persistence. I just hope I have a god-like moment where I suddenly can resonate my rolling rrrr's from the top of the Cristobal Colon statue and can be mistaken for a Spaniard even after I open my mouth...Granted I don't really have the dark hair and dark eyes to pass as a Spaniard to begin with.

Beyond the language-barrier-in-the-works, I have managed to get around to some weekend trips; Toledo one Saturday and then a 2-day, 3-city excursion to Segovia, Ávila, and Salamanca. Toledo had the freshest air I had smelled in weeks, coming out of Madrid. Not that Madrid's air isn't clean- other than walking through people on their smoke break, there seems to be less foreign smells than in Berkeley. But the air in Toledo was mountain air; at dusk I felt like I could have been hiking Mt. Whitney again but at dawn. Toledo is famous for their mazapan (delicions) and apparently medieval sword shops? (I must have seen over twenty that day.) The cathedral was gorgeous, and oddly freezing, the views were amazing, and the bus ride home is up in the Top 10 for Maggie's Best Naps, behind naps on Memorial Glade of course.



This past weekend we did a whirlwind of a trip to three cities that I had only briefly heard of since I came to Spain, but these three cities were quite impressive. Segovia has an ancient aquaduct and a cool castle; Ávila was closed by the time we got there but had a cool wall, and Salamanca was a surprise. It was a college town with old sandstone buildings, a young crowd, and an amazing view from the top of the cathedral with a spiraling case up to the tower. Our night spent in Salamanca was complete with cheap tapas and sangria, a gay bar, and a group of trashed men in huge afros with one of them dressed in a full-body baby suit and pacifier. We discovered that they were, obviously, celebrating the birth of one of the man's first child. (Yet another Spanish tradition showing how well they can celebrate life.)


The first souvenir that I bought was in Salamanca. It is a multi-shades of brown, leather braided bracelet that I found on the street. After my trip, I realize that I have been doing a great job at exploring spaces and observing Spaniards and enjoying myself here in Madrid. But that isn't enough for me; I am becoming comfortable here and I am looking for more. So, being the sentimental person I am, I deemed my leather souvenir the 'bravery bracelet'. It is a reminder to be bold and bodacious with my time here, to own my experience as my own, and to make this adventure something impossible to forget. For this, I channel my inner Jenny Uphoff, which has worked already. It pushed me to face a crazy techno-house dancing Salamancan in a dance-off at a club. Of course I don't know how to dance like him with all that crazy footwork, so I just brought out my ghetto-fab moves. Thanks Jenny!

And FINALLY, my brother Kenny recommended I listen to Bob Dylan's song 'Boots of Spanish Leather' before I left for Madrid. In the bustle of packing I never listened to it until now, but it really is a beautiful song. Not going to lie, I got emotional listening to it and ironically I had just purchased some new Spanish leather boots pictured below, as my black ones are dying from old age. Anyways, here's a link to the lyrics and I suggest listening to it via grooveshark.com, and I promise to come home. For some time at least ;)



http://www.bobdylan.com/songs/boots-of-spanish-leather

The Universal Declaration of Human Rights

We watched this video in my Derechos (Rights) class today and I think it is well done and just really cool. It is also a good reminder for me on my travels as I meet so many different kinds of people around the globe. I hope to keep this perspective with everyone I meet.

¡Como se dice "Oyy veey!" en español!

Oyyyy veyyy!

So in my last post I wrote about not worrying about trying to fit in as a Spaniard. Well as soon as I said that, I had such an off Spanish-day. Not bad, just off.

Communication-wise: Rosa asked if I had breakfast already and I said yes thinking I just heard 'breakfast'. When I started eating breakfast, she was really confused, and so was I.

Train-wise: I took a new route, got on the wrong train. It was going in the same direction and I just had to change platforms, but yes- off.

Class-wise: My classroom changed, and I thought I was walking into the right classroom. I knew our Cuentos class only had girls in it and when I peeked in and saw boys I assumed it was the wrong class. I went around looking into other classrooms and texted a friend in the class, who confirmed that I had gone to the correct class originally. Apparently the two Cuentos classes combined for the day, explaining the presence of two or three boys in our class.

Money-wise: I found out the hard way I can't pay with my credit card for a clave (photocopy packet for a class), and had no money on me.

Direction-wise: I couldn't find Reina Sophia for the longest, a very large museum Madrid, and all I had to do was turn my head to look to the left of the street instead of the right. Tonta.

And to top it off...Bathroom-wise!: I walked into the men's dressing room at the Parque de Retiro's recreation center. Quite embarassing.

All in one day! I wouldn't have it any other way though.

Quirks and Quotes of madrileños

Now it has been two weeks here in Madrid and I have a mix of feelings as I am starting to inhabit and try to find my place in the city. Amazingly, streets and plazas and courts are starting to connect as I continue to wander the streets; finding a hidden market is very satisfying. My companions and I will be in La Latina having a bit of sangria and then wander a short distance and end up in Puerta del Sol, which seems to be connected to everything. So after some time, I am beginning to orient myself and find that Madrid is not as large as I thought. In fact it is a very small world! I will explain that in a future post, but for now I must recount all the quirky particulars that I notice on the streets, as well as some must-know quotes.

The weather has been close to freezing the past few days and I put so many layers on I look like the original oompa loompas, especially when I wear all of my purple. I've heard that wool is the best material for warmth, yet the elderly women take it one step further. Instead of wearing lambskin, they sport full regal bearskin coats, also known as fur coats. It is not just a fur collar, but full fuzzy and authentic fur coats. They do love their meat here in Madrid, maybe a little too much?

Metro rides are adventures in themselves. Musicians will come on the train itself and play their accordions or ukuleles, looking for gifts of spare change. I am most impressed by the pianist or violinist in the corridors of the metro, playing fluidly amongst all the bustle of the underground city. On my train ride to school in the morning, I also noticed communal newspapers left in the compartments above that someone will read for a short train ride and leave it for the next person. I appreciate the unspoken courtesy.

Spaniards are much more...lenient wih their personal space. If you are walking on a relatively crowded street and you get bumped, there is no need for an apology because both parties just move on and accept that the other has places to go. Lines at coffee shops or convenient stores don't really exist; it is more of a clump.

Going along with the limited personal space is the accepted practice of staring. Apparently, it is perfectly normal to stare for about five seconds, and then look away. It is similar to our attempts at hiding glances, but there is freedom to do so here. As much as it made me uncomfortable at first, I now like to stare back and embrace the freedom. Sidenote: Do not smile while staring; some people may get the wrong idea and think you want something more, if you know what I mean. I naturally smile at people and learned this all too late. If I am in a particularly good mood and know I will be smiling, I avert my eyes from other people (teehee). Interestingly enough, the pigeons also don't respect personal space. Why do I have to get out of their way?? It is supposed to be the other way around! ...I don't like birds much.

Though I must say, madrileños know how to do tapas. Just off the busy street Gran Via, we ventured to an awesome tapas bar called El Tigre that we heard was a must-try. Albeit El Tigre was filled to the brim with people, it was also filled with moose heads on the walls, tiger skin drapes, and gigantic mojitos. For 6 euros, we found ourself double-fisting one huge mojito while also enjoying the free tapas that come with it. Delicious, to say the least.

I have been seeking out a more authentic madrileña experience. I can only be bombarded with promoters offering free chupitas (shots) to the huge group of Americans deciding where to go on a Friday night in Puerta del Sol so many times. Some madrileño friends invited us to the discoteca Zombie; they described it as one of the coolest local scenes in Madrid- a mix of rock and electronic. I made a last-minute decision and decided to check it out, not realizing how late it was and that I actually had class at 9:30 AM the next morning. Bianca decided to come along too and we were greeted with quite a different experience, and smell, at Zombie. A mix of punk, preppy, promiscuous, and undecided individuals were all jamming to the music and Bianca, Vanessa, and I soon became a part of the mix. Vanessa and I joined the mosh pit and after I rescued her from a tumble, we got out. Still, this experience was really special for me. Leaving the club smelling like a chain-smoker, I don't think I will be going back soon but it was very cool to experience with our new Madrid friend Prospero.

To conclude some of my observations, if you don't know what to say, repeat after me: Vale. Vale. Vale. Vale. Vale. It is the national filler word for 'Okay' and 'Good' and 'Alright' or just to say for kicks, really. The most common greeting phrase: ¿Qué tal? , translating to 'Whats Up?'. I mistakenly answered this saying 'Bien' and recieved some chuckles from two Spanish men. Great, mags.

I think I have rambled on long enough. Yet my very last thing- I went on a run today for the first time with Bianca (long overdue) and we were expecting strange looks because not many Spaniards 'go for a run'. Yes we received a few, but turns out it doesn't matter that much. I'm not going to be able to become Spaniard and remember all of their customs and norms and styles. I can do my best to respect their cultural practices, but I should not concern myself with doing something wrong or inappropriate. I think in the first couple weeks I have been avoiding stepping on toes- an impossible task. Saying something wrong or giving myself away as a foreigner has not be as bad as I imagined. I can only be me, as fun as it sounds to be a true madrileña. Vale.

Un Abrazo,

Maggie

Week 1 accomplishment: survival

Yes, I survived the first week here in Madrid. But it was definately a rough one. From a scamming taxi driver, to spending all day with our señora listening and speaking Spanish as best as we could, to waiting for the metro to start back up at 6 AM after a long night of dancing at discoteca. What a trip! And it is all just beginning.

After being here for a week, a lot of questions and concerns have been answered, especially regarding my homestay. I live in a safe cozy neighborhood really close to all the fun night spots, just a few metro stops away. Bianca, my partner in crime, is in my homestay as well and our señora Rosa is a doll who can both chat and cook like no other. My university Carlos III takes a good hour to get to, but I am in the process of trying out other routes. All in all, I am starting to settle in here in Madrid. Key word: starting.

With that said, I now have a new [huge] list of things I need to see, people I would like to hang out with, and challenges that I am about to face. In one week, I have already had some ups and downs, some frustrations with communication, and some moments of pure disbelief that I am living in Spain right now and will be here for seven more months. I am being somewhat vague about the details, but for now I have the next step on my mind: escuela. Classes start tomorrow and I have quite an early schedule for Spain with my first class at 9:30 AM; I am hoping with the beginning of an actual schedule in Madrid, I will start to become more comfortable with my position here and start integrating into the community rather than just being a tourist. For that, I am thankful. I am also looking forward to improving my Spanish and having the word fuencarrol roll off my tongue without hesitation. That will be the day.

I have three priorities for my adventure: 1)Dance 2)Play soccer 3)Make Spanish/International friends. I hope my readers keep me accountable, yes?

Buenos Noches Madrid!

¡Feliz 2011!

I wanted to make sure my first post was on New Year's as I am starting on my adventure. It is now 2011 and I will be embarking on a quite a journey- a mission indeed. But I have been on this mission since birth, and will not complete it until I die. You get where I am going with this? I hope this blog will serve to reflect my life's journey through the many train stops, tapas bars, and tribal dances I will encounter throughout my travels. I welcome any and everyone to comment and offer advice to me as well- it would be greatly appreciated!