Homebound (I wrote this on the plane on Wednesday)

Right now, I am sitting on an airplane over the Atlantic Ocean. My study abroad experience has come to a close, and I’m in a state of shock. I never planned on studying abroad. I love living in the US, and frankly, going to another country to study seemed like a frivolous expense. Now, however, I’m on my way home and I’m not regretting my experience.

While there is a lot of work and stress involved (a lot a lot a lot) in study abroad, in some ways it is like a vacation from your real life. You are living in a climate that is probably warmer than your own, you are staying with a family who cooks, cleans, and does your laundry, and the whole experience is about you learning, you seeing new things. It’s definitely a situation you won’t find yourself in at any other time. In contrast, I feel that studying abroad promotes really selfish behavior because there is so much pressure to “make the most” out of your “once in a lifetime” experience.

So, all in all, study abroad is a pretty cool thing to do as a college student. But, right now I am still reeling over how much it cost and trying to console my weeping bank account. I will be the first one to tell you that there are other, cheaper things to do during your college experience that will give you life experiences and help you grow too.

The director of my study abroad program is a really neat lady. In one of our first days of orientation way back in February, she told us that study abroad doesn’t have to be the absolute best, most fun experience of our lives–even though for some people, it will be. And yesterday at our going away party at the Center, she said it again: study abroad doesn’t have to be the best experience ever. But it’s supposed to be an experience and we are supposed to learn.

I did learn. Of all the experiences I’ve had, I think I’ve gotten a bit smarter. I wasn’t dumb before, but now I have more of an idea of how the world works. I’ve always been opinionated, but now I’ll actually be able to back it up. I’ve learned things about myself and the world around me.

I’m a lot more comfortable speaking up for myself now: I let people know if they are standing too close to me or if I think they’re making me pay too much for something.
I learned how to take the metro in a city I’d never been to.
I got hopelessly lost in the middle of the night with friends in Portugal-a country in which we don’t speak the language-and didn’t panic.
I learned that no matter what, my irrational fear of airports will cause me to panic. Every. Single. Time.
I learned that you can’t always trust people just because they are an adult or have a uniform on.
Quickly figuring out that hot water is a really limited resource in Spain, I can now take super quick showers.
I learned that the best way to make a man leave you alone is to laugh in his face.
I can (sort of) walk in high heels on cobblestone now.
I saw firsthand the value of family across the world, in a culture very different than my own. And I learned at a very young age that I don’t do so well when I’m hours and hours away from my parents, aunts and uncles, and grandparents.
I planned trips all by myself.
I learned Spanish.
I saw what Spain is like.

Everywhere you go in the city of Seville, you can find a neat little symbol seemingly hidden on the buildings, sidewalks, and signs. It looks like this: NO8DO, and it is the motto of the city. So, what does it mean?

Well, that symbol that looks like a number 8 is supposed to be a skein of yarn. The Spanish word for skein of yarn is madeja. So, that considered, the fancy little NO8DO sounds like this when read aloud: no medeja do. For speakers of Spanish with an Andalusian accent, this little seemingly meaningless phrase turns into the Spanish sentence No me ha dejado, which, in English, means She has not abandoned me.

So I can guess what you’re thinking: this is cool and all, but why in the world is it the motto of Seville? Well, way back in the day, King Alfonso X faced utter betrayal and a bitter struggle for the throne of Spain at the hands of his very own son. When it seemed like the whole kingdom had left their king during his darkest hour, Seville stayed loyal and supportive. For this, the city was awarded the phrase by the grateful king at the end of the war, and to this day they are still proud of this 700 year old piece of praise. The symbol can be found all over the city: on doors, signs, sidewalks, flags, drain covers, etc., and I think it’s pretty cool. So, yesterday I went to a little boutique by my house that I’ve peeked in the window of every day, and bought a ring that looks like this.

In my head, the infinity symbol is the madeja, and now I have a little piece of Sevilla with me wherever I go.

While I don’t have any plans to pack up and move to Spain any time soon, I now have people in Sevilla that I care about and will deeply miss. This experience is going to stay with me forever. So with that, Adiós, Sevilla. No me ha dejado.

Hi world,

As usual, it’s late at night and I am cramming to get homework done. Tomorrow is my final final exam here in Spain.

Tomorrow is also my last full day in Seville.

Where did the time go?! I have a lot of mixed feelings about going home. On one hand, I’ve been counting down the days until I can see my family and dog again, or go to a restaurant and get all the drink refills that I want.

On the other hand, I’ve just spent three and a half months living in a beautiful place and seeing things that some people spend years dreaming about. And I’m just starting to feel really comfortable here-isn’t it sad that it took me three months? But I feel like I’ve just gotten the hang of the language, to the point where I can actually have fun talking to people, and now I have to leave.

I’m worried to go back home and experience reverse culture shock. I’ve heard people talk about it and I’ve read about it a little online: I don’t want my home, the place I’ve been dreaming about returning to for the last 103 days, to appear ugly or boring when I finally get there. (Here’s to hoping I’m too busy watching NCIS on the couch with my dog to notice anything I don’t like.)

I’m sad because I have people in Seville that I really care about: I’m going to miss Miguel and Pilar a lot. As much as I like to think about traveling more, the truth is, I’m probably never going to logistically or financially figure out a way to come back here again. It’s a little hard to wrap my head around it, because Seville has started to feel like home.

Feria de abril de Sevilla (en mayo)

Hola internet! If you’ve been wondering where I’ve been the last couple weeks, the answer is at my desk doing homework. Seriously. I guess they call it study abroad for a reason and I’m rather miffed. I didn’t come to Spain to be stressed out in school all the time, doing six-eight page research papers and exams for every class.

All whining aside, there is a pretty neat thing going on in Seville this week, and I figured you might want to hear about it, or at least look at the pretty pictures.

In addition to Semana Santa (read my blog post about it!), Seville is also famous for feria de abril, which the English version of Wikipedia calls Seville Fair. Basically, it is a week long party. Spanish people like to party. And they like to take naps.

So where did it come from? Well back in 1847, the fair was a livestock fair organized by a Basque guy, a Catalonian guy (those are both parts of northern Spain) and Queen Isabel II. In true Spanish fashion, a simple livestock fair turned into a grand event of merrymaking, dancing, dressing to impress, and of course eating and drinking. After a few years, people weren’t interested in buying cattle at the fair anymore, so now it is just a week long party. The fair is always held about two weeks after Easter, so this year it takes place in May because Easter was so late.

What do people wear to this grand event?
Well, you’re safe with a coat and tie if you’re a man, and a fancy dress if you’re a woman, but traditional outfits are also really popular.
Men wear the traditional short jacket, tight trousers, boots, and fancy hats called cordobés.
Women are decked out in trajes de flamenca– flamenco style dresses (that can easily cost over €500).

So basically, a small city of casetas (literally little houses-I can best describe them as tents) is constructed for a week, in a part of the city called Los Remedios. The streets of this temporary little city are named after famous bullfighters (during my time here, I’ve noticed that the most famous and wealthy are either fútbol players or bullfighters). It’s a point of pride to have a caseta to go to-they are invitation only! A lot of people have casetas with their churches or companies, but some families own their own. There are some free casetas, of course, but you really want to get invited to a private one because that means you’ve either got money or you know people who do.

The first night, midnight between Monday and Tuesday, is called the alumbrado (or alumbrao, if you are feeling particularly Andalusian). This is when they turn on all of the lights and it is quite an event. Everyone stands at the gate, or puerta, to watch. There are like a million lights at the fair (scientific calculation, of course), so you can kind of imagine the excitement when they all go on at once.

The Before.

The During.

And the After. (Commence cheers of “¡Olé!”).

They also eat fried fish for dinner this day. Don’t ask me why, that’s just the tradition. Right after the lights go on, and every night for the next week, it’s a wild party until the sun comes up. On Sunday night, the fiesta literally goes out with a bang as there is a fireworks show at midnight that signals the end of feria until next year.

So, in true Spanish fashion, the real party doesn’t begin until about midnight, when all the young people invade the temporary city. Everyone is drinking rebujito, the less strong version (read cheap) of the ever popular feria drink manzanilla. I mean it. Every person you see under the age of 40 has a clear plastic cup (Spanish people are too classy for red solo cups of course) full of fino, (Spanish white wine made in Jerez) and Seven Up (or Sprite). Classy, right? It’s good. Now, the people with lots of money drink Manzanilla. I don’t really know what it is except it’s fancy, strong, and Wikipedia says it’s both wine and sherry? My researching skills are lacking. All I know is that my host grandpa gave me a glass of it at lunch the other day and then I was late for my afternoon class because I took too long of a siesta (let’s chalk it up to the fact that I stayed up too late finishing a paper the night before).

There are also carnival rides that are put up for the week, but I didn’t spend too much time looking at them because I’m a poor college student at the end of an pricey semester spent in Europe and I heard they were expensive.

Today I went and wandered around the feria by myself during the day (one thing I’ve learned through my study abroad experience is I like to wander) and took pictures. Everyone is so well dressed and so happy at feria! And the horses were better dressed than I was (only slightly joking). It’s a big deal to take a ride in the horse drawn carriages with the drivers dressed up in traditional outfits. Here, check out some of my pictures from this afternoon (I really got a kick out of all the horses)!.

I like to call this one “Broccoli”.

A sight to see both during the day and night is the dancing. Sevillanos dance the Sevillana, a type of flamenco which is of course cooler because it is from Seville. There are four different dances and people do them over and over again, young and old, fat and thin, dressed in traditional clothes or not. It’s very cool to see, and everyone knows how to do it.

(Me with my moviestar-like friends)

I experienced a night out at feria on Wednesday, and boy was it something. My friends and I went to several casetas, and when our Spanish friends found out that I had the Sevillana dance class (even though we all know what a disaster that was), I was forced to dance. It turns out, it’s a little easier if you have a partner who knows to dance. But still, I’m never doing it again. I don’t dance. The streets stayed packed even until we headed home at 7:30 in the morning. Feria is quite an event.

Semana Santa en Sevilla

Hello all!  I don’t know if you have heard or not, but Semana Santa, or Holy Week, is a huge deal in Seville.  The whole process involves weeks of preparation and set up and is rooted in centuries of Catholic tradition.  I am lucky enough to be living in one of the most famous places IN THE WORLD to visit during Semana Santa, so now I’m going to tell you what I thought about it all.

Now, before I begin, there is one thing of the utmost importance for you to know.  The hooded figures in the pictures below are NOT associated with the KKK, and there is nothing sinister about the cloaks and tall pointy hats.

What is it?  Well, from what I have learned, it is basically a week long celebration for the city, and among the Catholic community, it is sort of a celebration of faith and an acknowledgement of the trials and suffering of Jesus in the last week of his life. It really ends up being a flashy show of who can wear the fanciest outfits and sponsor the best procession.

The city during Holy Week: Starting the Monday before Holy week even began (I’m talking like April 7th), the city was swarming with visitors from all over the world.  I heard English everywhere, wasn’t the only one wearing shorts, and the sidewalks were at times impassable.  Streets and sidewalks were fenced off, churros stands and souvenir carts popped up out of nowhere, Sevici (that’s the bikes that I rent) stands were turned off, and bleachers were constructed in streets.  

For these reasons and the perceived annoyance of so many foreigners in the streets, many Sevillanos leave the city (or the country) for Semana Santa.  [Fun fact, I went to Madrid and Toledo for three days, but there were almost as many crowds there.]

Processions  themselves: So the week is made up of processions through the streets that everyone gets super excited to go out and see.  Now, a Spanish person would probably cringe if they heard me describe it like this, but the best way I can think to describe the processions is like a parade.  Individual churches throughout the city organize their procession, where they take a paso on a walk from their church to the Seville Cathedral and back to their church.  It sounds easy enough, right?  Well some of the processions can last 14 hours.  They are fairly slow moving.  Now, going along with the parade description, the pasos are like floats.  Constructed of wood as early as the 15th century, the pasos depict a grieving Virgin (lamenting the torture and murder of her son, Jesus), or Jesus Christ himself in various stages of crucifixion.  All of the pasos are magnificently detailed and despite their gruesome themes, they are very beautiful.  They are also incredibly valuable and old.  For these reasons, the processions do not occur if there is a possibility of rain for the day. Another interesting thing about the pasos is that they are carried by men all over the city. Think about how heavy it is! It’s all wood and fancy adornments and who knows what else. Back in the day, the dock workers used to carry the pasos, but now it’s just normal men who are honored to carry the paso. They have to train a lot to carry it in sync-I saw them practicing together in Plaza Nueva about two weeks before Semana Santa even began!

There is a specific order to the processions.  First, there will be people carrying a big wooden cross that guides the procession. Then, there will be lots of people dressed in the long cloaks specific to their brotherhood, carrying large candles, wearing the tall hoods and sometimes walking barefoot. They are called nazarenos, or penitents, and have received the immense honor of paying penance anonymously in the procession. After the nazarenos, there will be a group of altar boys/acolytes. (Fun fact: the mothers of the altar boys will show up periodically throughout the procession with quick snacks or little sandwiches for their sons– the processions are long!). Next in line is the paso, the most important part. Sometimes people applaud, sometimes there is silence, or cries of joy and spontaneously sung songs that pertain to the celebration. Sometimes there will be a band following the paso, but not always. I liked seeing the bands because they were made up of musicians from middle school age all the way up to grandparent age, all marching together and playing music together. After the band, there will be more people who look like the nazarenos, but their hats aren’t pointed. They carry wooden crosses and are making a public penance.

Attitudes about Semana Santa in Seville:  Like I touched on before, there are some citizens of Seville who flee the country leave Spain for Holy Week to avoid the crowds and tourists.  There are some who disapprove of the whole tradition, lamenting that the overflow of respect and care for the cherished pasos amounts to idolatry (this is certainly a justifiable sentiment, in my opinion).  And there are still others among the natives who love Semana Santa, rising early and going to sleep late, following all of the processions year after year.  The avid Semana Santa goers are mostly the strongly Catholic (this makes sense, as they understand the confradias and brotherhoods behind the processions, who’s history makes it all the more interesting), and also older people (this also makes sense), but reactions to the tradition really depend on the person.  From what I’ve seen of the young people of Seville, who receive a week off of school for the celebration, the week is full of late nights, parties, and drinking by the river: normal activities for your Spanish teenager.

My two cents: I didn’t like Semana Santa that much.  I don’t like crowds, I don’t like drunk people I don’t know, and I don’t like people getting drunk to celebrate the ultimate sacrifice made by the Son of God.  I felt like the whole week was very showy and loud, really just a show to make money off of the tourists.  For this reason, I didn’t go out and experience as much of Semana Santa as I probably should have.  Also, since I am not Catholic and don’t know much about Saints of Seville or the history of the confradias and churches here, all of the processions began to look the same to me. I just don’t know enough about it to fully appreciate it!  I am very glad that I saw the processions that I saw, and I took some really great pictures.  I was excited at the idea of what I thought would be a refreshing celebration of religious and spiritual mentality, but because of the crowds and grand displays, I just didn’t feel that. It was very cool to see the processions, but I think that in order to have a more personal experience and form a more educated opinion, it is necesary to go to a smaller town to see the processions there.

Here, enjoy some of my pictures!

Seville Cathedral

If you google Seville, you are likely to be swamped with pictures of a monstrous, scarily beautiful cathedral.   Seville is famous for it, I had to visit it with my program one of the first weeks I was here, and I go by it every day on my way to school.  Last week, when my mom and her friend, Mrs. Marshall were here, we went in it again.  I realized I really don’t know much about this world famous building that I barely even glance at when I pass by anymore.

(me on my school trip)

So, here are some quick facts about the Cathedral.

Traditional name: Catedral de Santa Maria de la Sede

Claims to fame: largest Gothic cathedral, 3rd largest church in the world, registered in 1987 as a World Heritage Site

Location: Seville (duh.)  More specifically, downtown Seville, on the always fun to visit Avenida de la Constitución.
It’s big. You can’t miss it.

Neighbors: Alcázar Palace (Muslim Palace), and the General Archive of the Indies (Museum housing documents related to the discovery of the Americas).

Famous people buried here: Christopher Columbus (the guy who found a route to Asia the Americas), Ferdinand Columbus (son of Christopher), Fernando III of Castile and one of his wives: Elisabeth of Hohenstaufen, Alfonso X of Castile (their son), and Pedro I of Castile.

The Seville Cathedral was built on the site of  an ancient Muslim mosque to demonstrate the city’s wealth after it became a respected trading center on the Iberian Peninsula.  (I haven’t found anything about it being built to honor God, isn’t that interesting…)  According to Wikipedia, the members of the local cathedral chapter said something along the lines of “let’s build a church so beautiful and so grand that those who see it finished will think we are mad”.  In my opinion, they achieved their goal.  The Cathedral is scary big, and it’s Gothic Style, so it really catches your eye and makes you a little sad if you look at it for too long.  (Do you understand what I mean?  Gothic architecture always looks sad to me).

Anyways, the construction of this beast of a building began in 1402 (on the site of an old mosque) and was funded by the clergy of the parish, who pledged half of their stipends to pay for all of the architects, artists, stained glass experts, masons and carvers required to complete the huge project.

When the dust cleared in 1506 everyone marveled at this lovely brand new cathedral…until 1511 when the dome collapsed and construction commenced again.  In 1888 the dome collapsed again (because of an earthquake) and destroyed a lot of valuable stuff inside the cathedral.

Here, look at some pictures!

Look at all the fanciness carved out of wood!

(I had a little trouble choosing a small amount of photos for you to look through…just wait, there’s more).

Now, something that was news to me when I first came to Spain is that way back in the day, Spain was under Islamic rule.  For this reason, there are countless Muslim influences on everyday life in Spain: architecture, food, music, and even words from Islamic civilization have lingered in the culture of Spain.

An example of this is the architecture of the Cathedral.  While overall Gothic, the Cathedral has some elements commonly found in ancient Muslim mosques (because it used to be one).  These are the use of columns, and more interestingly, La Giralda, or bell tower.

Here’s a sort of good picture of the Giralda…

Far away version:

The Giralda is a really super famous symbol of Seville, because it’s really pretty!…and really tall (105 meters). The structure is the former minaret (bell tower) of the mosque that used to be on this site.  I’ve gone to the top of the Giralda twice, and it is very cool.  It is the tallest structure in Seville (except for the new skyscraper being built by the river, but that is another story) so at the top, you feel like you can see for miles.  Here, look at my pretty pictures!

So traditionally (like, when it was a mosque), the minaret was where they made the call to prayer.  The tower has 34 ramps to climb up to make it to the top.  Why are there ramps instead of stairs? Well, back in the day, a donkey had to climb to the top when it was prayer time (and donkeys don’t do so well on stairs, I’ve heard).

Anyways, that’s a little information about the Seville Cathedral for you!  There’s a lot more to learn about it, but this was the overview version. It’s famous, so I thought we should all learn a little about it 😊.

How (not?) to dress in Spain

Please enjoy the contrast between what I wore today and what the Spaniards wore today. I would like to add in that the high was 82 degrees Fahrenheit–a temperature that I thought meant “whip out the shorts!” But everyone keeps talking about how unbearably hot it gets here in the summer: 45 degrees! …Celsius. That’s 113 degrees Fahrenheit! (This is why siesta is a thing: they lay down for the hottest part of the day because you will melt if you go outside).
I got a lot a lot of stares from people while I was going to school this morning: it was early so I was one of the only extranjeras in the street (the tourists were still sleeping-they’re the only other ones who wear shorts). I don’t know if I’m so beautiful that they were stunned, if they have never seen pasty white legs before, or if they just thought I was nuts for wearing shorts without thick black tights underneath (that’s what everyone else does).

Anyways, coming from Michigan, where we pull out the sandals as soon as the snow is gone, it sure is a change to see people in long pants and jackets on an 80 degree day!

40 Days Left

I only have 40 days left in Spain, and my oh my has the time flown by.  I am really ready to go back to the U.S.  I miss my family and I miss my life at my University.  But then again, once I return to the U.S., I think I am going to miss parts of Spain too.  Who knows, maybe I will return here some day.  

So, I have 40 days left until I can hug my dog, drive my car, and spend money I don’t have at Target.  These last 40 days are going to entail a week long visit from my mom (she gets here on Sunday), another trip to Madrid, Semana Santa, days at the beach, Feria, a trip to Portugal, and EXAMS.  It’s going to go by quickly, and I hope that I can make the most of it.  

I’m excited for Semana Santa and Feria! I’ve been hearing about both of these holidays since before I arrived in Sevilla, and this week I feel like I got lectured about them both every single day.  Semana Santa and Feria are quickly approaching, and it is apparent that the Sevillanos are very excited about this.  For those of you who don’t know, Sevilla is like reeeaaally famous for Semana Santa.  Semana Santa is basically just your average Catholic Holy Week on steroids.  The week revolves around processions–sort of like parades–of groups within Churches who carry lifelike wooden sculptures that depict Jesus dying on the cross or Mary grieving the death of her son.  These sculptures are pieces of art dating back to the Baroque era, and it is an honor to be in the procession.  Processions like this happen in lots of Spanish speaking countries, but Sevilla does it the best (or so I’ve heard).  While Semana Santa is deeply rooted in the Catholic faith, the festival of Feria doesn’t have any religious roots at all.  The Feria–fair–started as just that: a livestock fair.  Now, however, it has turned into an event absent of livestock.  Everyone is very joyous, decked out in their Sunday best as they drink, eat, have a good time, and dance the  Sevillano (a special type of flamenco).  

All in all, the excitement of the Sevillanos is rubbing off on me, and I am looking forward to seeing these world famous holidays right in the same city I have been living in for the past two months.  

Morocco!

Hi readers! I just got back from my weekend spent in a bus going through mountains Morocco, AFRICA, and boy do I have lots to share. So, please enjoy this picture of me trying to reason with a camel and know that I am now a seasoned world traveller with a bajillion pictures to sort through and a paper due on Tuesday. A fun and exciting post is to come!

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Fútbol

Every stereotype that you’ve ever had about Spanish people loving fútbol is probably correct. These guys can’t get enough of it! Little boys run up and down the streets all day long, dressed in jerseys with famous names written across their shoulders, kicking balls back and forth to show off their footwork. In Sevilla, there are two teams with a rather strong rivalry. The first (which I believe is the oldest team in Andalusia) is the Sevilla Football Club, and the other is Real Betis Balompie. According to a taxi driver who drove me home during a game a couple weeks ago, the Sevilla fans are the rich ones, and the Betis ones are not. The part of the city where the street Betis is located is on the other side of the river, further from the city’s center and with older buildings, so the difference between the teams is economic, social, and geographic.

My house with Pilar and Miguel is located right next to the Sevilla team’s home stadium, so on game days, the neighborhood is full of excited, intoxicated fútbol fans. There are a lot of bars in my neighborhood (because it is Spain) and Miguel has warned me to be careful walking home because “men and alcohol isn’t good”. But, when the game is on, the fans forget about everything else. Last week, my friends and I were in a bar during a game and while plays were happening, every mug of beer and plate of food was stationary on the tables while eyes were glued to the television screens as twenty year old men who at eight years old thought they were going to become world famous fútbol players watched their favorite athletes race each other across a field of green. In school here, it seems like fútbol is really the only sport offered. I’ve heard some talk of basketball, and volleyball for girls (but girls don’t really play sports), but fútbol is easily the most popular and most idolized sport in this country. The players are celebrities. They are young and handsome, raking in millions of euros each season, and everyone seems to know who they are. I think that this could be because fútbol is one of the only sports in the country, so there are less pro athletes for people to keep track of.

Anyways, right now I am watching the latest fútbol game with my host grandparents (okay I’m only listening to the game because I’m writing this), and boy is it something. I don’t know why, but seeing seventy something year old grandparents get excited and yelling and screaming about a game on TV is just really funny to me. Pilar can’t handle watching the screen, she runs in and out of the room refusing to look, while Miguel occasionally looks up from his computer. He periodically calls to her to sit down and watch, or otherwise calls out the score so she knows what’s happening. They are both yelling a lot in Spanish, and at one point they were chanting some sort of cheer for their team. Every time something exciting happens, they scream and celebrate, and then either the phone rings, or they pick it up to call and converse with their friends and children about what just happened.

They are really nice people.

Viaje a Madrid: musings on tapas and religion

Last weekend, my friend Chantelle (she’s from Eastern, #truemu) and I went to Madrid all by ourselves just like grown ups! It really was a nice little trip and we didn’t spend too much money.

We travelled by bus–the company is called Socibus– to Madrid on Friday morning. Miguel drove us to the bus station, and Pilar packed us lunches for the bus ride. Now let me tell you, you don’t know a clash of cultures until you are sitting in your 75 year old host grandfather’s BMW driving past ancient mansions and the Black Eyed Peas comes on the radio and he starts humming along. It was quite funny. All in all, the bus isn’t a bad way to travel if you are a college student with a flexible amount of time on your hands. My only complaints about the bus were that it left late, and I started to feel a little sick going through the mountains. However, the bus was clean and the stations were easy to navigate. Plus, it was really cheap. (There is also the added bonus of a good story to tell: we think that someone got arrested off the bus by undercover police officers–policía incógnito–when we arrived to Madrid. However, we could be wrong because it all happened in crazy fast Spanish.)

We stayed at Hostel Benamar, which was really nice and located within walking distance of cool stuff in Madrid. I was a little worried about the fact that it was a hostel instead of a hotel, but Miguel and Pilar looked at it online and it earned their recommendation, plus it had really good reviews online. For the price, we did really good! It was clean, our room and our hallway locked, and we had a private bathroom. But, tips for any travelers out there: did you know that your driver’s license doesn’t really count for identification once you leave the US? It was news to me, everyone wants to see your passport for proof that you are a real person.

On Friday we went to a late lunch at Steakburger, which is a really cool place. It reminded us of a coffee shop or hipster hangout in a big city: there were exposed brick walls and cool furniture and cool people. The walls and menus were newspaper themed, and the waiters wore newsie hats. Also, the food was the most american-like food that we’ve found yet.

That night, we went on a Sandeman’s New Europe tapas tour. (This is a really cool company: they do tours all over the world, plus we had the option to take the tour in English.) We of course took the tour in English, and amazingly, we learned a lot! For the tapas tour, we paid €14 upfront and got escorted to three different tapas places in the city of Madrid with our tour group. Our tour group had some college students like us, a few families, and a dozen rowdy Indian men from the United Kingdom.

The first tapas place we went to was really small, and they weren’t prepared to accommodate our big group. We got all shuffled up going in, and that’s how I found myself sitting at a table with a bunch of middle aged (please read: old) men with heavy accents who showed me a video of the salsa dancing club they went to the night before about four times. Chantelle ended up at the table with the other college kids, and I still don’t know how that happened. I got a free glass of tinto de verano out of the deal, though, so I can’t complain that much! Here we learned that tapas, the tradition that Spanish people have of eating a small amount of food along with alcoholic beverages, have about a million stories of origin. The two most common stories are as follows:
1. There was once a king drinking wine on a beach or somewhere sandy. For some reason, he left the table for a while. The servant waiting on him, tickled pink to be serving the king, was terrified that the king would come back to a sandy wine glass. So, he picked up a small plate of food from the table and placed it on top of the king’s glass to cover it. When the king returned, he asked what the servant had done. After he explained, the king ate the food and drank the wine. Then, he asked for another glass of wine, with a “tapa”. (“Tapa” means top or cover).
2. Back in the day, water wasn’t safe to drink, so people drank alcoholic beverages. The workers in the fields were really poor, so at lunch, they had to choose between buying something to eat or something to drink. Many of them chose a drink (on an empty stomach), and they would return to the stiflingly hot fields drunk, to get no work done or pass out. The king at the time noticed this phenomenon and made a law that restaurants had to serve a little portion of food with every alcoholic beverage. This improved worker productivity, and probably his wealth. And now, the tradition remains: there are still cities in Spain that serve tapas with your drinks for free.

Next we walked (uphill, Madrid was different than Seville in that respect) to a larger place that was kind of like a deli I guess, except it was really big. There was the most meat hanging on the walls there that I have ever seen in my entire life or care to see ever again. Here, we got to try beer and learn that traditionally, it was seen as really rude to leave your dirty napkin on the counter for your waiter to pick up by hand, so it was customary to just throw whatever napkins or crumbs you had on the floor. While it’s not widely acceptable to do nowadays, this place still does it.

The final place we went to was famous for its cider. Hard cider is apparently really common in northern Spain. The reason that it is famous, however, is the way that it is poured. The waiter holds the glass as low as possible, while he is holding the bottle in his other hand above his head. He pours it from all the way up there, only spilling a little bit, and it is quite cool to see. They do this so that the cider gets air in it. When the waiter pours you a glass, he hands it to you real quick and you drink it right away while it still has air in it (otherwise it is really bitter).

After our tour, we met up with some of the kids we had met and went to a few bars and a discoteca. We had a lot of fun! (It turns out that Irish people aren’t as heavy drinkers as we thought they were, but that is another story). Madrid is a really busy city at night, and you can’t walk down the street without getting hassled by people promoting bars and discotecas. They have business cards and walk with you when you try to get away. I was very disappointed to discover that my fail proof excuse, “I don’t speak Spanish”, didn’t work here: the club promoters know English as well as I do (to nab tourists, I bet! Shame on them).

On Saturday morning, Chantelle and I woke up to a beautiful day and went on a three hour tour with the same company (Sandeman’s). The best part was that the tour was in English so we learned a lot. Some highlights include why some of the windows in buildings are so weird, where to buy sweets from nuns, details about the extinction of Spain’s famous ancient royal family, and finally an explanation as to why ham is included in almost every meal here.

The windows in buildings such as this lovely yellow one are so crazy because the builders were trying to disorient tax collectors after a law was passed saying that half of your property could be taken from you and a stranger could be living in your home. They wanted to make it hard to tell where half was. Tricky, huh?

It really is interesting to learn about the history of Spain, and the people here are fiercely proud of where they come from, so they will tell you all about it. At one time, Muslims, Jews, and Christians all lived in the same cities, working and trading together, learning each other’s languages, and getting along. But then people started getting pushy. All of the sudden, everyone had to prove to everyone else that they were Christian (more specifically, Catholic). Surnames were changed: today there are last names with etymologies that are untraceable. They just appeared out of nowhere, probably to hide a Jewish or Muslim ancestor (remember that in Spain, you receive both your mother and father’s surnames). Suddenly, if you had guests over to dine at your house, you served ham, so that everyone knew that you ate the forbidden animal. Jewish people invented stews that “had to simmer for two days”… but they really didn’t. They would make the stew on Friday and leave it on the fire for Saturday so that they could respect the sabbath without drawing attention to themselves and have something to eat for Saturday and Sunday. People made a big show of having a ham leg hanging in the window of their homes, so anybody who came by wouldn’t be suspicious.

So now, this ham tradition lingers, centuries later it is an integral part of many Spanish dishes. People try to play religion off, and say that it doesn’t matter, especially in the world we live in now, but it totally does. It is everything, it is the reason that the world we live in now is the way that it is. It’s amazing to think about, but it also makes me kind of mad (partly because I am sick of ham). But just think of the level of fear, of desperation, that would have to be instilled in you to make you change your entire way of life, your last name, to make you eat a food you have been taught is a sin to eat. Being in Spain has made me think a lot about religion in general and more specifically what I believe. At times, I have been downright alarmed at the things that I have heard Christians have done throughout history. Being in the cathedral in Granada, for example, I was overwhelmed and almost scared because of what a huge display of wealth and power it is. When I read the bible, I fully understand the necessity to praise and thank God, but never in a million years would the thought cross my mind that he would want me to build this huge magnificent building and fill it with enough wealth to make you sick. The other day at school, we watched the movie Agora, which takes place in 4th century Egypt. Some of the first Christians burned the library of Alexandria because they feared that it was against God, and now there are centuries of history in shadow because all written records of them are ash. These first Christians skinned Hipatia the Philosopher alive, because she was “questioning God”. It’s a lot to take in, and sometimes I am ashamed to learn about the things people who were supposedly following my God have done.

On the tour, we also got to see the Plaza de la Amería and the (old) Royal Palace. Besides being rather pretty, the plaza is special because bullet holes from the Spanish civil war scar the marble it is made from, and the buildings around it. This is cool to hear on a tour on a sunny Saturday afternoon, until you realize that men probably suffered and died right where you are standing. Next to the palace, you can look over a fence and see a hill that was home to some of the deadliest battles from the Spanish civil war. You would think that there would be a memorial or a plaque or something over there, right? No. There is actually an amusement park. This just goes to show the attitude about the Spanish civil war that is still present in Spain: no one talks. It’s safer that way. People are still scarred by the events that occurred in this bloody bloody war. Other effects linger as well: people like to say that Spain is super Catholic, but it’s really not. Most people here are non practicing Catholics. At times it seems like only the old people attend mass on a regular basis. But this is because during and after the war, innocent people were imprisoned and tortured and killed by nuns and priests. And now, the grandchildren of innocent people murdered in prison want nothing to do with the church because they know who was responsible for all the pain. And can you blame them?

On a lighter note, Chantelle and I spent Saturday afternoon shopping and walking all over the city. While it was really crowded, we did get to visit a lot of neat stores. After a nap, we got dressed up and went out to dinner (filled pizza: very fancy). Then, instead of going out to bars like we had originally planned, we went on an intense search for Ben and Jerry’s ice cream (they have that here in Spain). Before we could secure a pint, though, we stumbled across something even better: a fifties style american diner. The decor was right, and so was the menu. To our excitement, Ben and Jerry’s milkshakes graced the dessert menu. When they finally arrived, we were somewhat disappointed. Spanish influence on an American favorite left me wondering how in the world they got double fudge brownie Ben and Jerry’s ice cream to resemble the consistency of chocolate milk. But it was still a milkshake I guess, so I didn’t complain too much.

All in all, Madrid is a neat city to visit. The people there are really proud of their history and traditions, and it is neat to hear about stories that have been preserved for so long. However, it seems that everyone and their brother knows that Madrid is a cool place, because the city is full of tourists. Because of all of the crowds, I didn’t feel quite as safe as I do in Sevilla. I definitely think the relaxed nature of Sevilla makes it better for students looking to study abroad.