A visit from the Mams...

It was fast and furious... the Murphy women took the city of Santander by force!

Mom, Nana and Mary arrived in Santander while I was still in class, unfortunately for them, taking a test. I felt my phone vibrate, but when I finished the test and went outside to call them, they couldn't answer! Finally, I got ahold of them on Rachel's phone, and Mom, with her newly developing Spanish skills  had, albeit a detour in the opposity direction, landed them at their hotel. 

We spent the first day just wandering around Santander. I took them to Cafe Alaska, where the waiters are like the glaciers in Alaska, but they serve good Sangria nonetheless. We finished off the day at the hotel cafeteria with a nice dinner, and got to bed early for a good day Friday. 

Rachel and Joe, her boyfriend who was visiting, met us at the bus station, and all six of us headed for Santillana del Mar, the city of three lies. It's called that because the name inferrs that there is a saint: sant, that it's flat: llana, and that there's a sea close by: del Mar. But there are none of these, so they say ni Santa, ni llana, y ni tiene mar. We though we would only spend an hour or so there, but after wandering through all of the 11th century buildings, the iglesia y claustro, and eating churros con chocolate and drinking sangria, 5 hours passed pretty quickly.

Violeta had a wonderful cena prepared for us when we got back. We spent a lot more time there too than we expected. Damian and I translated back and forth, and Nana, Mom and Mary had a wonderful time. Not to mention, Violeta and Mom are two peas in a pod, anyway. 

Saturday, we spent the day visiting the college, the Palacio de la Magdalena and SHOPPING! Nana definitely found her favorite store, Zara, and Mom and Mary found a few things (claro) too. We met up with Rachel and Joe later that night again for Sangria. We headed, a little tipsy, for Antonio's, a great Mexican place. It was WONDERFUL to eat spicy salsa, and the salsa that we are used to, with tomatoes and jalapenos, not a spanish salsa. But it was so much food, I did not want to eat for almost three days afterwards... But the corn tortillas and guacamole made it worth it!

The three amigas headed out late Sunday morning. It was tough, of course. Even though it's only three weeks to go for me, it was still hard to stay. Especially because I'm ready to head home. I mean don't get me wrong: I've had a FABULOUS TIME. And I'm going to absolutely lose it when I have to say goodbye to the Barcenillas. But at the same time, my life is in Oregon. My family, my boyfriend, my friends... those are the people that are my life. And while I love this inter-cultural experience, it's time for me to get back to my life, my career and my future. This has been a trip that has, bar none, been one of the most relaxing and focusing experiences of my life. I am so ready for the rest of my life, and I'm focused on my goals. It's not the perspective that I was expecting, but it's how it ended up. I'm so thankful for the host family that I got placed with... if not for them, my experience may have been far different. 

But it's getting close for that time for me to come home...

Greek Holiday

So! A little belated but here goes anyway...

I was worried the day that Russ was supposed to arrive in Greece. Worried, of course, because number one, I love him terribly and was worried for his safety, but also worried that he would have trouble getting through the airport/finding the hotel/taking the hour long bus ride into Athens, and he was going to hate travelling. I had midterms all that week too, so I definitely did a lot of ab workouts to relax inbetween memorizing my three hundred word vocab list (for the rest of my life, I will never forget the word that I missed... lentillas... contacts!)

Much to my surprise, I received a text at about 8:30 on Thursday morning, saying "I'm here!"... who? Oh yes, Russ's phone not only worked, but he had completely and utterly mastered the bus system, gotten to the hostel, checked in, and made friends with some Greeks, all before he came BACK to the airport to pick me up at one in the morning.

Our weekend started out with his new friend, a matre'd at a restaurant only a few doors down from the hostel. He spoke six languages, and it goes without saying that he was CHATTY. I mean, call me selfish, but I was a little excited to see Russ after 5 weeks, and this guy was taking up my ME time! But he was incredibly nice, his restaurant served great food, and he gave us free shots of ouzo at noon... but I made Russ drink mine :)

We walked around that day, Friday, trying and failing to find an open entrance to the Acropolis. A museum. ANYTHING. But nothing was open. We made almost three complete laps, and from afar saw some amazing four thousand year old buildings and ruins. It was a great day, and even though we didn't actually make it in, we got a lot of walking in... and I bought a pair of Gladiator sandals, so I was happy!

Saturday started out bright and cheery like Friday, so I promptly put on my swimsuit and loaded up on the sunscreen... only to find out when we went outside, that a huge cloud mass was headed our way, following the brisk breeze that was leading it off. So I threw on my jacket for good measure :) We picked a few parks out on our map, after nixing the beach idea. For one, Athens is NOT a tourist friendly city, if you can't speak Greek. Nothing is written in English, and when it comes to finding out directions for the metro, bus system, taxis... you won't find it. Period. No matter what language you speak! But it was all right, because in our search, we found a gorgeous national garden, complete with a animal exhibit (farm animals: goats, donkeys, a horse, chickens, peacocks) and a turtle pond, which naturally was my favorite. But Russ shot down my idea of bringing a turtle back with us...

We decided also to give the Acropolis one more try. And this time it worked, and EVERYTHING was free! It had been a labor day on Friday, and so today they were giving the locals and tourists a day off too. It was amazing. The temple of the Olympic Zeus, where once stood nearly 100 pillars, only 25 remain, but they are completely intact and truly amazing. The gate to Athens, and in the distance, the beautiful Acropolis. We walked through the entire park, and spent a ton of time just WATCHING the history of humanity. Although we were a little late and missed the museums, we definitely decided that this was a city that needed far longer than two days to explore.

And the gyros... let's just say I'm in love. I think I had a gyro for every meal, except when I just had straight lamb. Russ, feeling adventurous, tried the barbequed octopus... EXCELLENT CHOICE. 

All in all, and excellent weekend: I was with the man that I love, in a city full of the history of humankind, eating tzatziki... how much better could it get?

Well, I guess another few weeks could have been better... but not by much :)

Munich

How wonderful it is to see family! I started off early Thursday, thinking incorrectly that if I took the 'elevator' down from the school it would be faster. But of course, whenever you are in a hurry, everything seems to take forever. This time, I had the elevator pick me up on the lower of the two upper levels (if that makes sense), with the elevator headed in the upward direction. But unfortunately for those who had just ridden the elevator upward... we headed back down. It seems that someone forgot to push the 4 button. So down we went. I laughed a little on the inside, thinking that I definitely got the better of this joke. I was going to the very bottom 1 level, and we made a stop at two. But then, as fate would have it, we started up again. I had forgotten to push the one button! At this point, the elevator was VERY crowded. Up we go, and more and more people seem to be crowding the elevator. 

We finally make it to the top, and the man who has been waiting for nearly a half hour because of our little button mix up finally makes it on. As we are going down, he accidentally starts to step off on the two level. Once he realizes that he's on the wrong floor, he gives a little curse (joder) and hops back on. My completely sometimes partially idiotic compatriots from the USA (whom, I might add are also in the twenty-somethings age range) think this is funny. It's like saying the name of male or female genetalia to a class of 15 year olds. They begin giggling, and repeating the word (which translates roughly to F***). Now, I might add, there are several other older people, and other people in general who don't find it funny to be screaming a bad word in a small and very cramped and very hot elevator. Especially when we are in a hurry. I just tried to look as Spanish... and non-American... as I could. It's probably the only time when I will try to deny myself my citizenship: when my fellow Americans are being complete knuckleheads. 

The rest of the afternoon passes without incident. I made it to the busstation, with minutes to spare, but good minutes they were. Once I finally arrived in Munich, I can't even describe the wonderful feeling of getting off the plane after 5 weeks and seeing someone you know. I ran over and gave them a hug. Maria, Sep and I chatted all the way back to the wonderfully cosy house, and then I kept them up for another hour, talking and chatting and sipping on Sep's refreshing citrus drinks. 

The next day, Maria and I had breakfast and took a tour of the booming metropolis of Maitenbeth. It took all of 15 minutes. We had lunch with Peter, Christa, Sylvia, Stephan, Christian, Timmy and Alyssa. When Tanya was done with school she met up with us and we headed to Wasserburg. It's a beautiful almost-island town, almost completely surrounded by the River Inn. We climbed up to a high vista and looked down... and then walked down through the old town. We had some great ice cream, and Maria introduced me to fresh whipped cream with gelato (dangerous).

Saturday morning, the Eisenauers (minus Michael, of course) and I headed to Munich again. We shopped, climbed to the top of a ridiculously high bell tower in an old church (it was incredibly packed with people who didn't understand which way to go around the tower, and so everyone was squished against the safety screen for at least a total of five minutes of the 50 foot tour around the top), and had some more gelato. I found a few gifts for the fam, and a cute vest for myself. I had gone shopping on the good graces and wishes of Tante Ana and Maria, who demanded that I find something nice in Munich :)

That night, my crazy cousins took me to a 30th birthday party. Stephan and Sylvia had asked me the day before if I thought I could handle a German birthday party. 'Of course!' I had told them. That morning, I hadn't even been hungover after schnapps and a few thick, amazingly delicious German beers. We got to the party, which served dinner along with the festivities, and I mentioned to Stephan, around midnight, that this wasn't so bad. 'Just wait till the older folks leave' he told me. 

At three thirty that morning, Stephan and Tanya walked home with me, thoroughly buzzed and happy. Those Germans can sure drink. And without releasing any gory details, let's just say that they drank me under the table. Literally.

But all in all, it was an amazing weekend. I had a very difficult time getting on the plane and leaving, especially after Maria and Sep dropped me off at the airport and waited to leave until I had gotten past security. A few tears rolled by... how am I supposed to do this next week with Russ? But I guess this is what life's lessons and learning to grow up are all about. At some point, you have to learn to say goodbye, only for a little while, and go do something completely on your own. Although, I think they next study abroad will be for a language other than Spanish... in two  years, I'll be back to Germany... finishing my German minor maybe? I mean heck, why not... pre-med students are in school for forever anyway.

Milan

When one wants a fast paced trip, what place is better than the face paced city streets of high-fashion Milan? Well, that was exactly what Rachel and I thought, as we took off Friday evening after a day doing homework and sunning ourselves on the beach. We flew directly from Santander to Milan, Italy. After a short bus ride from Bergamo, a town with a colorful history itself, we found ourselves in our 'hotel' right at 1 o'clock. I pulled out my Spanish cell phone, so that I could send a text to Mom and Russ to let them know that we had survived the trip, but I had forgotten that these damn Spanish phones have a security aspect on them that requires a password any time that you turn it back on. Jo. But it was okay, because there was a SOS button, which I figured was to customer service for exactly situations like these.

I called, and a nice Spanish man answered. When I told him what I needed, he said "One moment please". Another man came on the line, and I began in English. "So I've turned my phone off, and I don't have my sim card information with me. I need my password so that I can turn my phone on!" No hablas ingles, he told me. Hablas espanol? Si, un poco, I replied. I explained my predicament in Spanish. Donde estas? Where are you? He asked me. I replied that we were in Milan, and I had turned my phone off in the plane and... all of a sudden, the phone exploded with angry shouting. And it was all very fast. But I caught a few important words: solo para emergencia... policia nacional... estupido... Oops. Turns out, SOS stands for 9-1-1... and they can't help you when you are in Italy and they are in Spain.

But we knew right away that the rumors that "spanish sounds just like Italian" were DEFINITELY WRONG when I misunderstood the cab driver and got out of the car at the wrong time. But let me be honest... I know not what they may say, but I could listen to those lilting accents all day long. The Italian language is so musical; Spanish dimms in comparison. And I definitely fell in love... just ask Rachel. The entire time I was trying to read the overly-consonated names of streets, it was all completely AV-e-NI-da SPA-ge-TI!

Milan by night, in our neighborhood at least, was definitely a dreary place. And it was one o'clock in the morning. So we decided to go to bed and get a good head start on the morning. Our Muslim hotel-keepers recommended several streets and sights to see, and those were our starting locations.

As we were walking down Via Buenos Aires, complete with a gloriously spacious and non-bright-red McDonalds, we were both distracted by what we saw...

A Flea Market.

That went for three whole streets.

I have never in my life seen such a market put together. There were battered and fried olives, mozzarella balls, chicken... pesto picante, pesto of rosemary, fresh fish, meat, cheese, fruit, vegetables, breat... underwear, skirts, shirts, jewelery... birds, turtles... It was extravagant and wonderful. And of course, everyone spoke Itali-can, including the man who claimed to have real Italian silk shirts, and told me that he "a-hada that-a siz-a for me".

We made it to the center of town, and were completely unimpressed with the Duomo, which is supposed to be the third largest cathedral in the world. It wasn't even open. We gave up initially, and took off down Via Montenapoleone... let's just say, it's a really good thing I don't have any money, because I could have done some real damage.

Via Montenapoleone is the street with all the fancy designers: Chanel, Gucci, Armani... people I have never heard of, who have dog ugly clothes that they sell for $1000 bucks a pop. But they do at least get really fancy bags! And I think for the first time in my life, I actually saw a Tiffany's store... a nice thing to know... Russ... just kidding :) But seriously.

The thing about Milan which suprised me was that the fashion wasn't straight off the runways. We definitely saw people wearing tennies and leggings, what we were wearing, and very few with 'real' Coco Chanel handbags. Maybe we just hit the wrong season for the stars? Or maybe we just didn't have the credit limit to go into the right stores... Either way, even in the shops, the things on display were classic, chic, very Audrey Hepburn as some might say. For instance, there was a store, who sold only hats. The close fitting, highly expensive and stylish skull caps that have feathers and veils and are totally cute. There was also another store that only sold Italian leather gloves... but that store contained THOUSANDS UPON THOUSANDS of gloves, in every color, every style, and with every type of lining that you could think of. 

Eventually, Rachel and I were shopped out. We headed back to a crowded cafe and tried out the sandwhiches and GLORIOUS cappuccinos. Then we decided it was time for the history. We had already been disappointed by the Duomo... but then, we couldn't find the street we were on in the map. Rachel takes a look, and heads off to another street. Oh! We say, we were just on the wrong street. Well, thank goodness. Hopefully the new Duomo is more impressive... just where is it? It says it's right there. We look around, down the streets. Then, at the same time we turn around. And are astounded by the enormous monstrosity that is the Duomo standing before us. It is truly magnificent. With hundreds of spires, a saint carved at the top of each, and standing at least 1500 feet up into the sky, the intricately carved doors and walls are an impressive sight to see. And the dimly lit interior is also fantastic. Built in the 14th century, although the original architetch is unknown, the Duomo has undergone lots of changes in the last several hundred years. It is a wonderful sight to see... even if it doesn't have catacombs, and I STILL missed out on seeing where people are buried.

But of course, I made sure to light a candle for Papa.

Next week, more adventures, but this time, en Alemania!

Valencia

The day started early. 5:30 por la manana, and I was off... after loudly dropping my liter of water on the ground in my apartment, attempting but fortunately not successfully  waking up the rest of the household members.

I took off for the estaciones, completely terrified of walking down my thankfully deserted, but well lit street. I practially raced there, and was sweating by the time I arrived. The rest of our 14 person crew was already there, ready to head to the warm Mediterranean ocean!

ELEVEN HOURS LATER, after stopping every hour for at least 15 minutes (and for una hora at noon, for a quick comida), we finally arrived in Valencia! It was hot, we wandered for nearly two hours to find our hostel, asked at least a dozen people and were sent in a dozen different directions, acted and looked completely like American tourists; but hey, it was warm, it was Spain, and we were ready for LA PLAYA!

Friday morning dawned, partially cloudy. We had stayed for the first time in a hostel; not quite sure what to expect, and definitely suprised when I came back to my room to find all my belongings moved to the floor (and other belongings on the bunk bed I had made myself). Winky, from Austria and much more experienced in hostel-functions, had indeed chosen the right bed, but we were all displaced because of the other roommate (who turned out later that night to be a forty-something Chilean... at least he had other friends who kept him out all night right? Except for the early morning snoring and farting... Shannon, really, I don't know how you do this hostel thing). But we quickly became friends--well, roommates and tolerance might be a better choice of language-- and I went back to my calimocho in the kitchen.

We spent most of Friday looking for the beach; and although it took us three hours, the scenery along the way was worth it. There is a dried up river bed in the center of Valencia, which they have restored into a beautiful park that runs the length of the city. There are beautiful puentes, that all have monuments of saints, architecture, churches, art and much more. There are even orange trees growing on the streets! And just as a side note, oranges from Valencia are not special; I think it's just the agua de Valencia (meaning, lots of champagne added) that makes the juice reknowned. We found the beach, and just ahead of the storm warning. It was truly beautiful. The harina or sand, was truly like flour. I found a dead crab (Russ, you will be proud, to add to the collection!), and was terrified the entire time of it's revival and therefore carried it in my shoe while in the sand. We ate fresh oranges, avacadoes, and dried garbanzo beans (not good, without salt). Once the strong winds and rain hit, it never stopped on our Semana Santa weekend.

But it was all right. We spent many of the nights checking out the barres in our neighborhood, and even ventured into a special club (12 euro cover! But it included a drink) for our friend Austin. I have decided though, that's it's the cafe con leche and sangria that really makes it a night for me. Nonetheless, we stayed out until 3:30 in the morning, which was VERY early for a Spanish night; but there was more to see tomorrow.

Saturday we spent the majority (after we awoke at 2 pm of course) searching for Starbucks. How American are we? But seriously, after having shoes thrown at Rachel in the shoe store, just because there were nada in her size, made me want to tear up. I had a delicious caramel cappuccino... and it made the very long weekend.

That night, we took it easy. Until about 6:30 in the morning. An alarm had started sounding, but with all the racket that the Spaniards had been making in the streets until 4:30, it didn't really wake me up at first. But then we realized, that it was the fire alarm. The adrenaline hit, and my hands were shaking as I opened up my little locker to grab my passport. We threw on coats and shoes, grabbed purses and necessary documentation, and headed outside.

Turns out, someone in a Semana Santa festive mood, shorted out the circuit and started a small electrical fire. There was no danger, just no electricity or running water. Almost 45 minutes later the bomberos (fire fighters) showed up... got out of their truck, determined that everyone (who was already back in bed by this point) was indeed safe, and left. The next morning, we thoroughly enjoyed our cafe con leche, and toasted the fire alarm/fire department connections in los Estados Unidos. 

The ELEVEN HOUR BUS RIDE back was relaxing. I have truly begun to enjoy movies dubbed in Spanish; it really makes you appreciate the body language acting of many of the actors. And although our trip to Valencia didn't have great weather, the hostel was rather uncomfortable and eating out was expensive, the times that we cooked in the kitchen, searched for flipflops to wear in the shower, history we experienced and the time spent in a brand new culture was definitely and ultimately... worth it.

Los Estados Unidos versus Europe

So of course, there are differences between the continents of Europe and North America. Over the last two weeks, I've been able to pick out a few key differences, and list them here. Some are pretty obvious, and others can only be discerned when living in the country. 

United States vs. Europe

Big bananas- Small bananas

Big trucks taking up three parking spaces- Smart cars taking up one third of a parking space

Women running in short shorts- Men running in short shorts

Businesswomen dressed all in black: black jacket, black slacks, black stockings, black shoes- Businesswomen dressed all in hot pink: pink jackets, pink slacks, pink fishnets, pink shoes

Bums obscured in the dumpster- Well dressed older men with a shepherd's caps and leather jackets obscured in the dumpster

More people speak Spanish that English- More people speak English than just Spanish

Salt- Salted meat in the window of shops

People dressed in unicolor velour sweat suits- People dressed in anti-directional stripes (oh yes, tops, bottoms, tights, leg warmers, and hair ties)

Foreign shows or movies with subtitles- Dubbed shows and movies; the mouth never matches the words

Small computers and telephones- Small showers and dishwashers

Lecciones de Espana

Lecciones de Espana

Los barres... el primer fin de semana

Spanish bars can be picked up and placed in Corvallis, with only minimal collateral changes. For instance, it's obvious who is American when an english song comes on. And likewise, it's obvious who is Spanish when a spanish song comes on. But hey, who cares right? We all dance... just not all of us can shake our hips LIKE THAT. When I walked into the house at half past two, after a night out on Saturday, Violeta woke up and asked, you are home already? Esta temprano! Apparently, all the young people stay out until five or six in the morning.

This was definitely confirmed with Fernando. Now, Fernando is our speaking partner (us being myself and Michael, another student from OSU). I was a little worried when we first met, because one of the first things he said was about going to a fiesta, and it made me think that I was probably going to have to be the lame duck, and dodge out. I don't like going to parties or bars where I don't have a person that is going to make sure some muy suave spanish guy doesn't whisk me away to places that I don't want to go. 

But regardless of my fear of having to be lame, we meet at the Ayuntamiento, underneath the clock, right at 5 as scheduled. We walked for some time, saw a little more of the city that I hadn't explored, and just chatted. It turned out to be actually fun; we all corrected eachother, in english and spanish.

After walking, we decided to go to a bar for a beer before we split up. As we were talking, the subject turned to drinking games... and we spent nearly an hour trying to explain, him in ingles and us in espanol the different games. I mean seriously, who knows the spanish word for ping-pong ball? (It's pelota del ping pong, by the way) As it turns out, the spanish play drinking games in bars (who knew), but usually only in the ones owned by the people with the ojos... at this point, Fernando pulls the corners of his eyes out, into almond shapes. Yup, we caught on :) They use dice, dados, and do way more drinking of cali-mochos... 5 pitchers for only 15 euros! Think of the trouble we could cause...

The whole conversation, which ended pleasantly, made me realize how ethnocentric we truly are. We were not able to just listen to him tell us the games... we had to convert everything to english, and compare it to life in Corvallis. We had to tell him how we said things, like 'oh, we call that getting 'blacked out'" or common phrases that we have in the young adult life, as an estadounidense. Is that really necessary though? Aren't we here to learn their culture, not impose ours on them? But this is a very American way of thinking. That everything we have is bigger and better. And in some (many) cases, it's true. Waterheaters. Heating systems in general. Houses. Toilets. Showers. Showerheads. Cheap clothes. Lights. Electricity. Fridgerators. Microwaves. Dishwashers. Washing machines.

But do these things really matter? These people all have a very close standard of living; you know more things about your neighbor than most people would really want to know. But they can survive the noise, and lack of personal bubble enough to kiss each other on the cheeks when they see each other. And what a life.

I love my life in the United States. I love being an American, for what we stand for, and that our country doesn't depend (for the most part) on the state of other countries. And I love that we can build the houses that we want because we have the space and the land, and it's easy to buy, if you have the money. And if you don't have the money, all you have to do is get a job. But the thing to remember, is that our way is not the best. Our STUFF, is not the best. It's just a different standard of living. We call it higher, but really it's just a different perspective. 

This may mean that I am slowly working my way out of the denial stage, and into the adaptation stage... yet the American music played everywhere is really disorienting

El fin de semana uno

It's really interesting, culture. For instance, to a Spaniard, there are only 5 continents: Europa, Asia, Africana, Oceanica, y America. And you also can't cash checks. Estoy un problema!

 

Today though, was the true test of my listening and speaking skills that I have learned in week one. I went to the Correos, to send the package. I had no idea what to do, so I filled out a sheet, similar to the one that you would fill out at Kinkos or a Post Office in the US. Plus everyone else was doing it. Cuando en Roma, si?

 

My number was finally called. After much finger pointing and gesturing, and my simple phrase,Necisito enviar... (which is where it ended because I didn't think to look up the word for package), the clerk got the gist. But then, it happened. Tu quieres lkajs;dlfabngt;at? She asked, pointing to my slip with the address that I had filled out. Uhhh… (it’s the same in both languages) But what is the difference? She responded, but I didn’t know what she said. Mas rapido? No… Will it still get there if I send it without this slip? I asked. Aqui, she tells me, turning her computer screen. There is a two euro difference in the price. Meanwhile, I still have no idea what this strange word means. Si, solo ordinario, I replied. She laughed, looked at me, and laughed again. Lo siento! I’m sorry, I told her. Es no problem, she tells me. Yankees.

 

Did you know, although this has yet to be confirmed with literature, that when the monarchy in Spain changed to a combination monarchy-parliament, they made all the residents of Santander princes and princesses in order to bypass the land tax that was upon the citizens of the monarchy? No wonder some of these reyes are going to drown when it rains… and rain it does.

 

Tomorrow is spear throwing day… more exciting stories to come!

Miercoles, Semana 1

We are really not so different in los Estados Unidos. We have a lot of the same problems that they have in Europe; economia, construction, and los adolescentes. I have realized, dear brothers, that you were not so weird growing up after all. The 15 year old that lives in this apartment is concerned with the same things that you were (or in most cases, still are. Broma. But seriously). His pelo, las ropas, sus gafas... all these things translate over into wanting to look cool, no matter what location in the world. Los chicos! Is all Violeta will say.

My profesor, Manolo proves to be a character. We were talking about the relationship between Spain and Portugal, and he tells us this: Portugal no exista. Doesn't exist? I just saw it on the map, we all think in our heads. No, no es como Canada y los Estados Unidos. There are no problems with Canada and the United States... and our borders touch, for a large part. But it is as Manolo put it: a Canadian and un estadounidense are sitting next to one another. One asks, Tu eres Canada? the other replies Si, to eres los estados unidos, and he replies si. Oh! They both comment. They look up and away; no more is said. Es como espana y portugal, Manolo says. My mujer said, let's go to Portugal! Do you like Portugal? And Manolo replied, Si, me gusta Portugal. But, Manolo tells the class, Nos viajabamos nunca. Because Portugal doesn't exist. But in the case of Francia or Mexico, hay problemas! Mexico is.....!&*$%^!!!! Y Francia es... *(&$%#!!!!! Yep... these countries are definitely both on the map.

Oh, and another point about Manolo to mention. He knocks over water bottles without warning, because he says, me gusta mucho. If only one could do Manolo justice through cuentas...

Dias Tres y Cuatro

You know how your mom always has those things that you take for granted? Like shampoo, conditioner, and needle and thread. These aren't important until you really need them. Which, on Monday in the case of conditioner and shampoo, I really did need.

In Spain, there are literally hundreds of shops, all specific to their name. Carneceria, Pastelieria, Frutiera, etc. Well, there's also a lot of hairdressers, none of which are entitled Cortarpelo-cieria. Regardless though, they all have lots of shampoo (American, score!) and with American labels. So I choose one at random, on my way home from the first day of class, thinking that I might happen to take a shower that night (or more likely this week). I walk in. The attentive greeter is immediately by my side. I tell her, no necessito cotar mi pelo, pero necessito shampoo. Un momento she tells me. Okay, I think to myself. I'm not sure why I'm waiting when the shampoo and conditioner in their lovely familiar bottles are staring me right in the face, but whatev. So I start browsing through the different labels. Me parece to appear out of nowhere, the 115 pounds-soaking-wet hairdresser begins to feel my hair and give me lots of advice on hair care, por su pelo seco. I just tell her, no, no it's only a little dry, and respond si to every other question. And then I pointed to the bottles of shampoo and conditioner that I wanted. She thought for a moment, fingering my strands again. Si, she muses. And grabs the shampoo. I point to a bottle of conditioner, for a different effect (ladies, you know what I'm talking about: BedHead versus Catwalk, dry and less frizz versus bouncy curls). Pero esta por pelo rezado she tells me. I point to my hair, saying that it is just straightened, that it really is curly naturally. She gives my hair another glance. And then grabs the bottle of shampoo and walks to the counter. I take a look. There are two bottles of shampoo on the counter! I point this fact out. Pero este champu esta condicionante she says, confused. Si, but I want one shampoo and one conditioner! She takes the bottle back. I point directly at the conditioner. Yo quiero este. She grabs a different bottle of shampoo, and heads toward the counter. Almost quince minutos later, I walk out the door: a bottle of champu y condicionar, not the brand ni the effect that I wanted, and paid seventy euros... with the discount. But the ladies were still excited when I left. Tu recibes un regalo con dos botellas! 

Thirty seconds later, I walked past a general-looking store, seeing Pantene Pro-V and Garnier Fructis in the window. Dang. This champu better smell awesome.

En dia cuatro, I happened to break one of the straps on one of the two pairs of cute zapatos that I brought with me. I had to look up the words for needle and thread (they are aguja y hilo) and ask the grandmother of the house where I can buy these things. As a precursor, I don't understand this wonderful woman very well. Ella habla muy rapido; yet at lunch I definitely caught the comment about how salt will make me gorda. She sends me in the direction. I nod and say yes, even though I really don't understand her. But I figure lots of preguntas will help me learn the city even better. I go into a farmecia. No dice. The woman there sends me to the same place la abuela did, which starts with an 'm'. Obviously, this is not helpful. Eventually, I finally found some needle and thread, and when I got to the computer lab for CIUC students, the paraninfo, was able to sew my shoe. 

At the paraninfo though, I knew that I needed to print things for Texas next fall and for firefighting this summer. So I asked the usually helpful clerk at the desk. Lots of nodding, pointing, and directions... I think the place starts with an 's', but I really can't tell with the Spanish slur and lisp of all c's, z's, and s's... I'll just start looking tomorrow...

And note to all: when the ice cream is labeled melocoton con queso, it's good. But it definitely has a distinct cheesy flavor...

Dia Tres

I am sooooo... American. And I love it! Don't get me wrong, I'm not the type who is American and wants to be European. I love our cheap (relatively) electricity, lots of hot running water, and ease of parking in big cities. But. We do not have panaderias, fruiterias, o carnecerias. These, mis amigos, son buenos. 

This afternoon, I took the bus to Universitad de Cantabria, and wandered around for a bit, in a downpour. It started off as such a beautiful day... some amigas and I set off to find the parainfo, the computer lab for the estudiantes de UC. It was one of the days that makes me love Europe: the smells of an old city, people out walking the street, the bakeries and heladieras with gelato... or close enough anyway. The waterfront is fantastic too, I will be sure to include pictures when I make it down there next. We also bought phone cards, made plans for Semana Santa (vamos a Sevilla!) and then parted ways. So when I set out on my own (again, in the downpour) it was a different experience. 

I never found the edificio that I was looking for, but I did find a spectacular vista of the city; the Palacio de Deportes and many of the older buildings of the city, separated by the parks of the university. 

And, I did make one exception to my new health routine for Spain. I had un pasteles, with flaky bread and chocolate, and it was fantastic. But the nice thing about European sweets is that they are rich and flavorful enough, that the thought of running afterwards makes you naseous from the get go. I've been a state officer, so no weight gain isn't too lofty of a goal right? Weight loss might be taking it a little far though. Oh well, that's why they have fire season!

Dia Dos

Another long day! It started off bright and early, when my Irish phone alarm clock brightly woke me up to one of those crazy tunes. Then I promptly decided to go back to bed. A half an hour later, I skyped Russ, and after hearing some of my host-family moving about, went into the salon. Damian was up, and I chatted and watched the Simpsons with him... then the jet lag kicked in. I went back and laid in mi cama, thinking that I was only going to sleep 'like another hour'.

Four hours later, Santos y Violeta wanted to make sure that I was still alive in my coma like state. 

The rest of the day was lazy... and glorious. After a quick breakfast of leche con caca y galletas, I caught up on all the American facebooking, thank you card writing, and skyping I needed. Violeta was watching a movie; a few minutes in, I recognized Gweneth Paltrow, sin her sexy gravelly voice, and con una voz muy high pitched. It was a rated R movie... need I say more? They did tell us that the Spanish have no personal bubbles, and have much affection for eachother. 

The entire OSU class met at Cafeteria Lisboa in the afternoon (7 en la tarde) for a merienda and sangria (if anything makes me gain weight, it's going to be the lovely combination of wine, sugar and fruit). We compared stories: fantastically, there were more than me who had watched movie scenes suggested only for adults, had nodded their head enthusiastically when they didn't understand a word that was said, and had made great friends with their host family. 

Some brave souls of our group who had seen Santander in daylight decided to go to los barrios por unos cervezas. I was not so brave. But as it turns out, Bianca, Jimmy and I ended up in a scary place anyway.

We hopped on Bus numero 13, me not really knowing but thinking that I would just catch the connection to my bus, numero 4, and Jimmy and Bianca very seguros en their route. We knew that we had missed their parada and my connection when we arrived at the Cementarios de Santander. Yep, wordreference.com that. It's cemetary. 

Una hora y media, one cat-call and a confused conversation with an elderly senora later, I found the right bus. At that punto, I realized that my apartment was actually about two blocks down from the closest bus stop (which was where I had gotten off). And right then estaba lluvia. 

Amazingly, I made it to my vecino sin incident. I even unlocked the front door all by myself. I got to what I thought was the door, and tried mis llaves. It didn't work. I looked around, not seeing any identifying numbers on the doors (I am so American). I tried again. And again. Then I heard someone.

Santos opened the door, and laughed. I tried to tell him that I had tried (but I didn't remember the palabra for try: it's intentar by the way), but instead, made him lock me out again so that I could get it to work. Which of course it did. 

All in all, the night ended well. I learned the ENTIRE route of the Santander bus system, watched a soccer game with Santos (It was Espana y Turqueo, y muy deficil por Espana), and I learned some new words such as: regla (o norma), ataquar, defender, y arbitro. 

Definitely going to need to get on Russ to send me my dictionary... and the camera charger. The battery is already getting low! So put in the good word for me when you see him and H. Heffner H. Venga.

La noche es tarde, and daylight savings comes into effect here tomorrow. For those of you who have my phone number, more adventures await me when I try to get them to change the Irish number (cheers Bec!) to a Spanish number so it isn't a Euro per text. 

Love you all, miss you all.

Chao!

Dia Uno

Early morning this morning. Said goodbye to Russ... harder than I thought. Made it about twenty feet, called him and talked till I got on the plane. It was good that way. The 10 hour plane ride to Amsterdam was good, minus the screaming baby. Watched a few movies, got to know my travelling partner a little bit better. Experienced some turbulence at 8000 feet... not a fun experience. Darn those hot air pockets. 

In Madrid, Whitney and I parted ways. I frantically searched for my gate... passed by it twice... before realizing that there was a 30 minute delay anyway. Needless to say, I made it. Tried to speak Spanish twice, and failed. Twice. But I think it was just the American passport that gave it away. 

In Santander, it took me awhile to figure out my phone. It's Irish... always has been, and as far as I can tell, always will be. Finally got ahold of Violeta and Santo, who came and picked me up. I had pictured her from the phone call; yet when a sharp knock at the window I was standing at nearly made me jump out of my DanceCos, I knew that this was the woman. Violeta rushed in a grabbed me, kissed both cheeks... and I was in. Violeta, Santos and Damian are a wonderful family. I think this just might work. But I'm still keeping Oma on standby just in case things change. And I'm buying my ticket back to Madrid; but committing myself to June 4/5. 

You guys all better email a lot.

Oh, and Spain is cold. A lot like Corvallis. You would all feel right at home too!