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...