Moving About: Travelling, Swimming, and Running

Also known as, the things I do when I'm not sitting on my butt.

I promise I do more than sit around and read.

I also sit and chat to relatives, sit and drink a cup of tea, sit and write, sit and knit (or try to knit--I'm supposed to be learning, but I have a natural talent for dropping stitches), sit and listen to the news on the radio, sit and watch television. And now I've decided to sit and update this blog.

So instead of description, here is a little bit of action and moving around:

1. Travelling: I did a little bit of travelling the last two weeks. First I went to Wicklow with a cousin who directs a choir for senior citizens there once a week. It was a nice small town in the hills. You could see a few sheep grazing from the window of the choir-room. Last week,  I took the train up to Dublin with my grandparents to see a second-cousin (or something like that-- I'm never quite sure how the "once-removing" and "seconding" thing works) perform in the opera La Boheme. The music was very impressive. I'd never been to an opera before, so now I can check that off my list of cultural experiences!

We also went to Trinity College to see the Book of Kells. The book itself was incredible. The exhibits showed how it would have been handstitched, how the dyes were created, and how the intricate details in the drawings related to the text. After the exhibit, we walked through an old library with tons of old books, both shelved and displayed in glass cases. I tried to imagine studying in such a space: two stories of wooden shelves full of worn books with narrow ladders to reach from one level to the next, or just to grab a book from the highest shelf. Picture the library from Disney's Beauty and the Beast but small and wooden.

The final trip was much closer to Waterford. On Friday we drove to Wexford to see the Notre Dame Folk Choir sing at The Annunciation Church, where a group of former Notre Dame students work. There is something strange about seeing people in another country, and I think they were surprised to see me too. It was so familiar to see them all and to hear their music, but it was all out of context in Ireland, with my grandparents.

2. Swimming and Running: It was actually a bit hot last weekend, and so I finally went swimming! It's been a long time since I've been in Ireland in the summer, so the last time I went swimming in the sea, I was ten (I skipped the traditional "jump in the sea Christmas day" when we were here a year and a half ago. There was something more appealing about staying inside with the fire and not freezing to death). I have no idea what the water would be like in the winter, but it was still quite cold last weekend. On Saturday I went to Newtown Cove, a small rocky swimming area just down the road from my grandparents' house.There are a group of people who swim there year-round (including one of my uncles who doesn't need any extra excuses to tease a person), so I knew if I went I would have to get in or lose face. I did not want to be that American who couldn't handle the cold.

The worst part is getting into the water. No matter how warm it is, once you are standing on the edge of the slip in your swimsuit, the temperature seems to drop. Some people jump in to get it over with, but I decided to walk down into the water so I could retreat if necessary. There is a railing that you can hold walking down the concrete ramp, slowly letting the water raise to your ankles, your knees. And then when you finally ease into the water, there is a terrible moment when the breath is shocked out of your body and you wonder if you are going to be able to move. Like brain-freeze in your chest (and sometimes normal brain-freeze too).

Luckily, it gets better after a few seconds. Or maybe your body is just too numb to tell.

I went swimming twice again on Sunday: once in Newtown Cove with my aunt, and later that afternoon at the beach in Annestown. By the time we got out to Annestown, the sun had disappeared and the temperature had dropped considerably, but the waves were huge, so we decided to go in anyway. We stayed in for about an hour. I didn't think I was that cold, but when I got out my hands were so stiff and numb I couldn't get my clothes on.

It is nice to jump in the water after a good run, though. Even though it seemed to get cold just when I finished running, I was warmed-up enough that a cold swim still sounded nice.

I've started running with my aunt this week. I'd forgotten how much it helps to run with someone else (much like the swimming-- once I've committed, I hate to embarrass myself by backing out). On Monday she invited me to go with her running group. The other women chatted with one another while we ran through narrow country roads, occasionally asking me questions like, "You wouldn't have roads like this in Minnesota, would you?" (No, we would not.)

"Can cars drive both ways here?" I asked, guessing the answer.

"Yes."

Two cars might just fit if they both drove in the ditch. Whenever a single car came (luckily we never encountered two at once), we all had to shift to one side to let it pass and one of the women would yell to the group up ahead. "Car!"

Perhaps not the safest place to run, but much more interesting (and prettier) than running on the sidewalk at home where one block is a straight half mile and the scenery is limited to the cornfield across the road.

Slang and Food

I was sitting at the kitchen table where my little cousin was doing her homework, and I read a small post-it that her teacher had written describing how to write a lowercase e:

"Start in the middle and go around like a shellakybookie."

What on earth is a shellakybookie, you might ask? Well, I had the exact same question. Answer: Waterford slang for a snail.

Slang of course pops up occasionally in normal conversation, and my aunt thinks it is fun to "educate" me intentionally as well. And my cousins love to "correct" me when I use American words. My cousin Hannah also likes to mock my American "accent" as well (though to be fair, she also likes to imitate British accents: "Allo, gov'na!")

I've been informed that a "sidewalk" is not a sidewalk, it's a "footpath." Last week, I stopped to use the bathroom in a cafe by the beach. When I asked where the public restrooms were, the barrista responded (jokingly), "Why? Are you going to take a snooze?"

Clearly, I should have said "bathroom."

My aunt's mini-van is not a "van." It is a "people carrier."

I'm sure there are more, but I can't remember them all.

Before coming here, a lot of people asked about the food in Ireland. They wanted to know what kind of food was typical or traditional here, but I honestly didn't have an answer. I still don't, but here are a few things (obvious and perhaps a bit less obvious) that I've seen served here:

First, the obvious:
1. Fish and chips. You can usually order sausages, fried chicken, burgers, or chicken burgers if you prefer them to fish. I tend to pick chicken for some reason, so I actually haven't had fish with my chips yet. But they are both delicious!
2. Potatoes. Served in any form--mashed, roast, fried. My cousin Hannah likes to call the roast potatoes "hotties" for some reason.
3. Brown bread. So good, especially toasted with butter and jam. It is denser than normal brown bread (more like a soda bread).

The less obvious:
1. Blaas. This is a local specialty. Basically, blaas are soft rolls covered in flour. They are good just with butter or with meat and cheese. I've also seen burgers with a blaa instead of a bun.
2. Vanilla slice. If you just listen to the ingredients, it sounds delicious: thin pastry, custard, cream, topped with a little vanilla icing (and sometimes coconut). Okay, so probably not everyone would like this dessert, but I happen to like custard a lot, and I'm definitely not opposed to any of the other ingredients. For some reason the first time I tried it, I didn't like it. But last week I had some homemade vanilla slice, and it was delicious!
3. Digestive biscuits. On our trip to Madrid at the beginning of the semester, I introduced my friends to digestive biscuits, a kind of biscuit that is common in Ireland (and apparently in Spain as well). We got them practically every weekend we were travelling. We usually ate them with tea or Nutella, but they are actually best with butter (something we didn't typically have in Spain). My aunt and uncle usually buy the chocolate variety, which is also really good.
4. Biscuit cake. In case digestive biscuits aren't good enough on their own, they can also be put into a cake. It's kind of like fudge with biscuit pieces inside. I believe you can use digestive biscuits or "rich tea biscuits," another kind of hard cracker-like biscuit.
5. Chicken curry. I usually eat this with rice, but it is also commonly served over chips. Chippers or restaurants often have "curry and chips" as an option.

As with the slang, I'm sure there are more food items I could mention, but these are the few examples that come to mind. I'll try to include some more as they come up!

The North and other adventures

I forgot to finish this post from a week ago, so here it is now:

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I've now officially been to Northern Ireland, but since it was just for a shopping trip, I don't have too much to say about it, though I'm glad I finally went. My uncle and aunt picked me up at 6:00 in the morning last Saturday, and we drove for about 3 hours to a town just over the border. The only major difference: everything was in sterling and pounds instead of euros. Most stores posted the exchange rates and accepted payment in euros (though change was given in sterling/pounds). We shopped most of the morning, had fish and chips for lunch, shopped a little more, and then drove back to Waterford. The drive itself was actually quite nice, especially in the morning. Most of the fields were just green grass, sometimes with sheep or cows grazing in them, but there were also fields full of bright, bright yellow flowers I do not know why these fields were here, or what the flowers were called, only that they made a striking pattern against the green. Very different from driving through the corn fields from Minnesota to Iowa!

I've been staying with another aunt and uncle this week, doing the usual reading, writing, and running (and, okay, some less productive things as well), but I've also gotten out a bit to see more of Waterford and Tramore. On Tuesday and Wednesday, I went in to St. Anne's Tennis Club in Waterford to watch a tennis tournament that two of my aunts are playing in. There is a bar inside that overlooks seven of the courts, so we sat inside, drank some tea, and tried to keep track of three games at once. I was asked if I played tennis (no, not at all, unless you count hitting the ball into the net repeatedly), and I remembered that I had taken a few tennis lessons in Ireland one summer. And after thinking about it for a minute, I realized that the club where we were was probably where these lessons had been. I don't know how correct my memory is (since it's been known to invent some stories and then believe they are true), but I remember going to these lessons for a few days before quitting because some of the other kids were laughing at how bad I was. The laughing might be an invention; my lack of tennis skills is definitely real. If only playing tennis was as easy as watching it!

Today I went to work with one of my cousins, who teaches at a school for children with Autism. It was very different than any school I've been in. There were about seven students (all boys), and the teachers were paired one-on-one with the kids. There were only two classrooms, but each teacher had a space sectioned off, and the students worked individually with a curriculum designed according to their particular abilities and needs. I've always thought that special-needs teaching would be very difficult, but I was still amazed by the amount of patience all the teachers had. There was a lot of repetition of questions, waiting for answers, and reviewing tasks.

It's been fun being around my little cousins a bit more too. I've played a lot of Guess Who, watched some Disney Channel and Peppa Pig (a cartoon piglet with a British accent), and listened to stories about the drama of grade school.

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I had a busy weekend with my cousin's communion on Saturday (a huge ordeal here), but this week will probably be pretty low-key. More tennis, baby-sitting, and hoping that the weather is good!

Duck Days

Week 1: so far, so good.

There was a lot of rain the first couple of days (my four-year-old cousin told us it was a "day for the ducks" when we picked her up from school), but it has since been a bit nicer, and the last few days have been sunny. I'm not planning on going swimming yet, but there were a good number of surfers out on the beach yesterday.

The "spending time with cousins" part of the plan has certainly been successful so far: I've played a lot of hide-and-seek, babysat, and helped with homework and baking a cake. And after staying this week with my grandparents, I'm moving over to my aunt and uncle's house, so there will definitely be more time with those four cousins.

The rest of the plan is going along too. My aunt took me to the library, and I'm going to be able to use her card to check out books. The library is not very big, but I found a few of the books on my list already. First requested book: The Hunger Games! I'm hoping it gets in soon because I only have a few of my own books with me, and I just finished The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo a few days ago. The verdict: I don't understand what all the hype was about. It wasn't well-written (even given the fact that it was translated. I can't imagine the long blocks of dialogue felt natural even if they were in the original Swedish). It was full of useless details (I tried very hard to appreciate this, because it did reflect the overload of facts that a journalist or detective would have to sort through in the case of the investigation. Perhaps I, the reader, was meant to experience this frustration with them as I picked through paragraphs of unnecessary information to unearth what was actually relevant to the story? But I don't like this explanation. Call me a lazy reader, but when an author starts giving me the dimensions of a room, I think it's a bit too much. Just describe the room please. Thank you.)

Aside from my personal opinions about the book, reading it made me think about what makes a book a bestseller. Because I realized that I don't know. Before, I thought of a bestseller as a book that was: 1. well-written in terms of clarity and character-development, and 2. engaging/provoking to a large group of people. That is, probably not experimental, "academic," or overly intellectual, not necessarily ground-breaking in the literary sense, but still page-turning and thought-provoking. The mystery part of The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo would qualify as page-turning (at least, this is what kept me slogging through the excess information), but it took a long time for the mystery to develop. I did not expect a "best-seller" to require readers to blindly stick with a book for so long before producing the impetus to keep reading.

So maybe I just don't have enough respect for readers. Or maybe a recommendation from a friend who's read (and finished) the book is enough to inspire people to keep reading a book even if the beginning is slow. If I hadn't heard the book title mentioned so many times and discussed by so many friends, I probably would have read the first few chapters and dismissed it. So the power of a recommendation (or even the curiosity sparked by someone's negative opinion of a book) is no small thing. But someone still has to be the first person to read the book and recommend it. Perhaps they have more patience than me!

Apologies if these thoughts seem like a bit of an information overload themselves, since the details of what I've been reading don't exactly say much about Ireland. It just happens that a good chunk of my time here has been devoted to finishing that book, so that is what I have on my mind!

Anyway, as for Ireland itself, I do really love it here. People have been asking if I am bored, asking if I have enough to do, but the time just seems to slip away really pleasantly. I can't count the number of times in the past I've wished for more time to do all the things I want to do, and now suddenly here it is! And in one of the most beautiful places I know. I've established a running route the past few days that takes me along the coast and down to the "prom," the long strip of sidewalk by the beach. The water is particularly nice when it is sunny, but it's even pretty on the grey days. Two thoughts on running:

1. I hate hills. Especially steep hills-- I would choose a long gradual hill over a short steep one any day. I have a new appreciation for the flatness of Minnesota and Indiana (something I never thought I'd say). There is a particularly steep hill here running down to the prom called Galway's Hill. I have changed my run so that I avoid this hill, even though it means a longer run with a longer hill.

2. Running by water is the best. I grew up running around lakes (thank you, Minnesota), and in high school loved running around Nicollet Island, over Stone Arch Bridge, or really anywhere along that strip of the Mississippi. But I have a new love of running by the sea, which obviously was not an option in the Midwest.

As for writing, I've been having a bit of a block, but obviously not bad enough that I can't ramble on about what I've been doing and thinking. More about Ireland in the next post!

What are you going to do for two months?

After saying good-bye to Toledo and Spain, I am ready for part two of my time abroad: Ireland! After leaving Toledo yesterday afternoon, I took the bus to Madrid, the metro to the airport (with my giant suitcase-- I explained to a couple who remarked on its size that I had been here for three months. And to be fair, I still have about two months to go), and then caught a flight to Dublin, where my cousin was waiting to pick me up and drive  the two hours to Waterford.

This plan to stay in Ireland for the next month or so (I fly back to the U.S. on June 22) developed after the hiccup with my schedule back in January. In summary, I was supposed to stay in Spain until the beginning of June, and then spend two weeks (not months!) in Ireland. When my plans to stay in Spain fell through, I decided to go to Ireland anyway and leave my return date for the end of June.

The question that people have been asking (and that I had been asking myself as the end of the semester approached) is what exactly I was going to do in Ireland for that length of time.

The customs man in Dublin actually had the same question, along with fifty more:

"Where are you from?"

"Why aren't you in school?"

"Where are you going in Ireland?"

"How long are you staying here?"

"What family do you have here?"

"Are you going to work?"

And finally:

"What are you going to do for two months?"

I had come up with a list of things for my own sake before I came here. I wanted to read (I have a list about a page in length). I wanted to run. And I wanted to write. I knew I would probably spend a lot of time playing with my cousins, possibly babysitting, and I had looked into volunteering a bit.

But standing in front of the customs man--a stony-faced, skeptical-sounding person--after a half-day of traveling, I couldn't quite capture the hodge-podge assembly of "things I was going to do."

And so I picked the simplest answer: "I'm going to write."

He looked at me, as skeptical as ever:

"What are you going to write?"

Afterwards, I wondered what would have happened if I had pulled out some of my brainstorms and outlines, or if I had started to explain lists of characters and settings. Instead, I just said something vague about a thesis, a project, something for school next year.

He then asked how much money I had, what I would do if I got sick (I could almost hear his thoughts: idealistic college student going to Ireland to write? For two months? She's going to run out of money and stay here forever. Does she even know these family members she's talking about? This sounds like the worst plan ever) before finally stamping my passport and letting me through.

I felt a little silly afterwards, because I really don't know exactly what I'm going to do here for two months, and I have now told a complete stranger that I am planning to "write."

But so far things seem to be going fairly well.

My cousin met me at the airport, and though the plane was an hour late we made it into Waterford by 2:30am. I spent today catching up with family members, playing hide-and-seek with cousins, going to the library, going for a run, and now (true to my word!) writing. It's not a thesis, but I think it counts for something.

As for my plans for this blog, since I am still abroad, still traveling and thinking, I've decided to keep writing here. Or maybe to start writing again. Ideally, I will recount some of the stories I skipped over in Spain (okay, so the majority of my stay in Spain). But since I've been promising to do this (and failing) I'm really okay with writing anything. Maybe some trips in Ireland. Maybe just some thoughts about what I'm reading. I guess it depends what exactly I do end up doing "for two months."

Los últimos días

Time in Toledo has flown by, and I have just this morning and afternoon before I have to go. A few days ago, as we were finishing up finals and starting to talk more and more about going home, I thought that this last weekend would drag by as I waited anxiously to leave. Especially after saying good-bye to most of the group on Friday night at the Fund’s graduation ceremony (yes, we had a ceremony. Complete with a speech, diplomas, a slideshow, and food), I imagined spending Saturday missing everyone and bored with Toledo. But now it’s Sunday and part of me still doesn’t want to leave.

I really couldn’t think of a more perfect end though. After finals on Wednesday, we had a “Fund Formal” which basically consisted of dressing up (if you felt like it), going to the old wall that surrounds the historic part of the city, and the proceeding to the bars. Most people stuck around and went to the clubs after that, but I left early with Ellie (who was leaving the next morning) to spend some more time on the wall talking and looking out at the old bridge over the river.

Thursday was pretty laid back. Ellie and Molly left for their 2-week trip to Eastern Europe. The rest of us hung around the Fund, walked by the river, and then went out to Enebro’s one last time. Friday was a little bit busier: we got our grades, ate our last lunch at the Fund, met with professors, and had our little graduation ceremony.

And then Saturday! The day that I envisioned as long and lonely was so beautiful and full. I spent the morning packing and doing some last minute shopping, and then my host mother and I went to see the Spanish “Forrest Gump.” There is a man who has been running for the last month to raise awareness for cancer research. His name is José Maria, but they call him Forrest because he has been running for so long. The run ended yesterday in Toledo. My host mother’s friend, who works for the cancer association in Toledo, organized his reception into the city. Unfortunately, it was raining all morning, so only a small group of people showed up to cheer in the cold, but it was still a lot of fun. We huddled under a small tent, wearing t-shirts that read ¡Corre, Forrest, corre! (Run, Forrest, run!) When he finally arrived, joined by a group of runners from Toledo, they played the Forrest Gump soundtrack and cheered him over the finish line.

After lunch, I went to the café/bar by the Fund to read and have one last café con leche (I was not a big fan of coffee before coming here, but the coffee in Spain is just so much better). The bartender recognized me, and asked why I was still here (since most of the students had already left). I talked with her and a couple sitting at the bar for a while, and they complimented me on my Spanish. I stayed there for about half an hour, reading Tender is the Night by F. Scott Fitzgerald (I have been reading this almost all semester because I never want to read after doing my reading for class, but I have stopped slacking now and am finally finishing it). Afterwards, I met up with Vanessa, Rebecca, and Madeline to see some of the tourist sights of Toledo that we’d missed. Vanessa had her practicas (internship) at the tourism office and they gave her some passes for free. We saw a monastery, the synagogue, and a few churches (one which had El Greco’s famous painting, El entierro del señor de Orgaz. We’d talked about it in my theology class a little, but Vanessa and Madeline were both in an art class and were able to explain it a little more. Not my favorite El Greco painting, but it was good to see it.)

The weather had gotten much better at this point, and so after saying goodbye, I headed back to the apartment to change and go for a run. It was cool and just a little breezy (the perfect temperature for running) and the sun was low in the sky and reflecting off the river. I took my usual route by the palacio, glancing through to see the small group of olive trees for the last time. There is a herd of sheep that sometimes graze under the highway (it’s less strange than it sounds, I promise), and they were there that night. At first I was glad (one last look at the sheep! Another last in Spain!) but then I realized that I had to run past said sheep, and I didn’t like the way that they were looking at me. After awkwardly jogging in place, trying to decide if I should turn around and take a longer loop around them, the sheep herder showed up in his car. The sheep ambled to the side to make a path for him and, consequently, a path for me. As I passed them, one of the sheep baa-ed at me, and I jumped a little to the side and kept running. The sheep herder laughed at me inside his car, and I had to admit that it was a little ridiculous to be afraid of a sheep.

I spent some time with my host mother that evening, watching the news and chatting over dinner. It’s surprising how much Toledo has come to feel like home. I have a running route, people recognize me in the streets, in the supermercado, in certain cafes. I pass students and teachers from the colegio where I volunteered. I know the different areas of the casgo. The strangest part of all, though, is that I will be leaving here in a few short hours. I will be leaving and I might never come back. It is one thing to leave a “home” knowing that you will return someday. It is one thing to leave a temporary place and know that you won’t see it again. But I have settled in here somewhat, and at the very least it will be years before I come here again, and then I will be just another tourist.

It has been wonderful here, despite my small complaints, and I am very sad to leave. I am excited to be heading to Ireland for these next two months, and to go back to Minnesota after that, but still I hate to go. I suppose it must end the way that all study abroad programs end: with a hope of coming back someday and with an appreciation for the months spent here. So ¡adios, Toledo! Or rather, ¡hasta luego! I hope to see you again soon.

Carnaval

As of today, I have been in Spain for 2 months! My host mother reminded me yesterday, and I couldn't believe it. Time is passing so quickly, and yet, I feel like I've been here forever. I recognize the streets, finally know my class schedule, and feel much more comfortable speaking Spanish.

I have, however, fallen very behind in updating this blog. The problem is that catching up with old posts is a lot harder to do than writing about something that just happened, but I also don't want to leave anything out.
I wrote the following post about Carnaval this last week and didn't finish it until now...so I'm even more behind than I originally said! But the weather is beautiful, and I have a plan to go to a cafe, sit outside, and catch up with the rest of the posts in the sun!

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Well, the inevitable has happened and I am weeks behind updating this blog! First I blamed it on midterms, and then on all the travelling, but now I am back in Toledo for the next two weeks and have no excuse! (That is not strictly true... I have a play that I am supposed to be reading open in front of me, and a couple of papers I could be writing... but at least this feels a little more justifiable than checking my email for the umpteenth time or daydreaming)

It is strange that we have been in Toledo for about a month and a half now, and even stranger that there is so little time left. So far I have been to Madrid, Valencia, Barcelona, Cordoba, and Grenada in Spain, and also Portugal. The rest of the time here is a little bit less hectic, but we still have plans to go to Morroco, Italy, and possibly a couple more cities in Spain.

So to catch up on the weeks that I missed: three weeks ago was the week before midterms, so almost everyone stayed in Toledo. It also happened to be Carnaval, a huge celebration before Cuaresma (Lent). The religious connections with Carnaval have pretty much disappeared, at least as far as I can tell, and it in Toledo it is now basically a huge party on the street that lasts for the entire weekend. There are tons of costumes, music, and parades. I missed the parades on Saturday afternoon, but that evening we met up in Plaza Zocodover (the main plaza in the casco) where there were musicians performing on a large stage and tons of people milling about in their costumes. There were people dressed as toilets, air-fresheners, M&Ms, chickens with capes-- pretty much the most creative Halloween costumes you could think of. There were a considerable amount of men dressed up as women. The Fund had a few props that we could borrow for costumes (fairy wings, hats, sparkly shirts), and some people borrowed costumes from their host families or improvised with clothes they already had and cheap props from the supermercado. I didn't dress up Friday, but on Saturday I went as Pippi Longstocking (mismatched clothes and braided pigtails).

Because drinks are more expensive in the bars, a lot of people "botellón" in the parks before actually going out. Botellón (which literally means "bottle") refers to the cheaper bottles (or, if you're feeling especially cheap, boxes) of wine that can be purchased at the supermercados. Usually, botellón is not allowed in the casco, within the city walls, but there was a clear exception for Carnaval. People stood on the edge of the square drinking pop and wine. It was really surprising how many people can fit in one small square!

The strangest custom of Carnaval, however, was the burning of the sardine. I still don't know the significance of this event, and my host mother couldn't explain it to me. Basically, there is a big procession on Sunday evening with a large sardine (made of paper and wire) down to the river. My host mother told me that the sardine would be burned, thrown in the river, and then buried, but it was actually a little different. Unfortunately, the sardine wasn't burned or buried or even thrown in the river. Instead, it was sent out onto the river in a boat. Everyone crowded by the edge of the river to watch a huge firework show. Afterwards, there was free sardines and bread for everyone. I had tried sardines before at my host family, and they are actually quite good. First, you pull the spine out, and then you eat the entire fish whole. It sounds a little strange, but trust me, they are delicious.
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So that was Carnaval! Hopefully in the next few days I'll finish the posts for Lisbon and Andalucia, and be able to write a bit about Toledo again.

Barcelona y Real Madrid

Barcelona! My favorite city so far. I think the main reason might be that there were so many amazing street musicians. The first day there, I stepped onto the metro and was met with Vivaldi's Four Seasons. The violinist played through several movements, moving up and down seats between each one. I wanted to close my eyes and just listen to it, but I didn't because it was so amazing that this wonderful music was happening in the middle of public transportation. I think I could have ridden the metro all day, just listening to the music, and I would have been perfectly happy.

It is probably a good thing that I did not do this, because there was so much to see! I was surprisingly not too tired on the first day, even though Ellie and I slept in the airport the night before (or really, stayed up to talk and then tried to doze first on the floor and then on some rather narrow chairs). The hour of sleep I got on the plane must have been enough, though, because I made it through the day without a siesta. We walked down Las Ramblas (a street filled with stands of souvenirs, sweets, and small animals), stopped by a market and brought fresh juice, and sat on a bench to look at the ocean. Barcelona also has a lot of cute little shops, so we stopped in a few to look at jewlery and little souvenirs. That night, we went to an interesting bar called Dow Jones, where the prices of drinks rose and fell according to the "market." People crowded around the bar, waiting to buy a drink at the right price.

I decided to skip the discoteca (since the lack of sleep was finally hitting me), which turned out to be a good choice since the next day was almost all walking. Barcelona is very spread out, so even though we took the metro several times, we still ended up walking quite a bit. We started the day at a park designed by Gaudi. It was originally intended to be a housing development for rich people, but at the time (I believe Gaudi lived in the beginning of the 20th century) no one wanted to live there. Which worked out well for the rest of us, because now it is an amazing public park! I wish I could decribe his architecture, but I really don't know what words to use. The houses looked like gingerbread houses, and there were a lot of mosaics. Mostly, I couldn't believe that it had been built that long ago, because it seemed so modern even by today's standards (but not modern in a bad way-- in an extremely interesting and creative way). And the best part was that there were more musicians, this time a piano player, bass player, and violinist. I made the group stop so that we could listen to them finish a song.

We walked from the park to the Sagrada Familia, a cathedral designed by Gaudi but still being built (when you see the building, and Gaudi's plans for the building, you can understand why it has taken them so long). We picnicked in the park before touring the inside, and it was truly amazing. I usually don't like modern or ornate churches, and I don't know how I'd feel about going to mass in such a huge space, but it was incredibly to see. The pillars stretch up so high and end in swoops on the ceiling, and the sun was peeking through the stained glass and giving everything a warm and distant glow. The museum below showed Gaudi's other work and plans for the cathedral. I do not understand how architects think, but it was fascinating to imagine.

Instead of heading straight back to Toledo on Sunday, a group of us stayed in Madrid to go to the Real Madrid game. I spent the afternoon with Raquel and Pat while Raquel worked on some essays for class. There really weren't many good study places in Madrid, so we sat in a Starbucks for  a few hours and Raquel hand-wrote a draft of her first essay. After a quick stop at a shop for some snacks and a hat and gloves for Raquel, we took the metro to the stadium, packed with fans headed in the same direction. After Valencia, I have been a bit wary about being too cold, and this time I set a new record for number of layers. I was wearing: a raincoat on top of my corduroy jacket on top of my Lewis sweatshirt on top of a short-sleeve t-shirt on top of a long sleeve t-shirt over a thin cardigan over (finally) a Spanish national team jersey that I bought in Barcelona. In total: 2 jackets, 2 sweatshirts, and 3 shirts, for a total of 7 layers. By the end of the night, the buttons on my raincoat had begun to pop loose (and the top button has since fallen off), but I was not cold at all during the game! Our seats were the first row in the very highest section of the stadium, but we still had a great view. Raquel's camera had a very good zoom, and so she got a few shots of Ronaldo (I am not a Ronaldo fan, but still. It was amazing to see him play). Madrid won 4-2, so it was an exciting game with a lot of scoring.

After the game, we took a bus back to Toledo. The buses don't actually run that late, so the Fundacion organized a bus to take everyone back. It made 4 stops in different barrios (neighborhoods) on the way back: Buenavista, the casco (the historic part of the city where the Fund is), Santa Barbara (where my host family lives), and Poligano (the farthest from the casco, about 20 minutes away). I decided to get off at Santa Barbara instead of the casco, which was really a terrible idea since I'd never been to the Santa Barbara stop before (I blame the late hour for my poor decision making!) I thought that the bus would approach Santa Barbara in the same direction that the city bus does, passing my family's apartment before stopping and making it easy for me to retrace the route. For some reason, however, it swung around from the other side, and stopped in a place I had never been before. Luckily, I had seen a map of the stop before, so I had a general idea of where we were, and it helped that my running route comes out on the main road in Santa Barbara. Still, given my poor sense of direction I was surprised that I was able to walk directly to the apartment without any confusion (the first and probably last time this will happen). I was in bed by 2 in the morning, and woke up in time for a full day of classes. But if any trip was worth the tiredness, it was this one!

Catching Up: El Prado y Valencia

So, my camera ran out of batteries 2 weeks ago, just before our trip to Valencia, and then I ran out of time and didn't stop to write about the travelling. I've since purchased some batteries, visited Barcelona, taken some pictures, attended my first ever professional soccer game, turned in some papers-- a lot to cram into one post, so here is the SparkNotes version of the first weekend:

First, the Prado: Two weekends ago, I joined the Master Painter's class on their field trip to the Prado. It's huge! I wandered around for two hours and probably didn't see half of it, but what I did see was amazing. I didn't think I liked El Greco until I saw his paintings right there in front of me. There is something that doesn't quite get captured in pictures of the paintings, and after seeing rooms and rooms of paintings in the same style, you could really see how unique his paintings are. Towards the end of the trip, I went back and just sat in front of some of my favorite paintings.

After the Prado, Ellie, Molly, Anna, and I stayed in Madrid to catch a 1:00am bus to Valencia. It seemed like a good idea at the time-- sleep on the bus, save on money for a hostel. In hindsight: maybe not the best plan. We were fine in Madrid, though it was a little chilly, and the bus ride itself wasn't bad, but we arrived in Valencia at 5:00 in the morning: sleep-deprived, cold, and in a new city. Luckily, we found the hostel quickly and even though we couldn't check-in, the receptionist let us grab some tea and coffee in the kitchen. We waited around for awhile and then went back out to see the market nearby. It was huge (and contained everything from dried fruit to a large pig's head), and we bought bread and cheese to eat for dinner later. It was still freezing when we left, and we were all a little crabby from the lack of sleep, so we went back to the hostel and took a nap on their couch before trying once again. It was a lot warmer (and we were in better moods after the nap) and we spent a couple of hours in an art museum. I'm not sure what we liked more: the fact that the museum was heated, the cushioned seating in front of the paintings, or the art itself (hint: it probably wasn't the art).

The weather was pretty chilly for the entire weekend, so we decided that it would be a good idea to do some "inside" activities. Translation: we ate a lot of food and played a lot of cards. Here are some of the things that we ate:

Fried eggs, french fries, and chorizo: We actually ate this in Madrid because we needed a warm place (and dinner) before the bus arrived. We split it four ways and it was absolutely delicious! And if I never learn to make any other Spanish dishes, at least I know that this one would be pretty simple.

Paella: This was actually on the list of things to do even before the weather was bad. My host mother told me that Valencia has the best paella (which makes sense since it's close to the ocean). It was very good, especially after walking around in the cold.

Bread and cheese: A staple for every weekend of travelling, but this was the best so far. We bought "queso fresco" at the market, and it was even better than the kind my host family has. We also warmed the bread in the microwave, so it was soft and warm. Some strawberries and oranges (also from the market) and some hot tea made a really good, simple, and cheap meal.

Juice: We had plans to go out to a bar Saturday night, but we stopped at a juice place instead. They had both alcoholic and non-alcoholic fruit drinks. Ellie and I split an orange-carrot-lemon juice, which was so fresh and unlike anything I'd ever had before. The place itself was also really cute. We sat on wicker chairs around a short little table, and the colors looked like something you would find at a beach.

Chocolate: We had chocolate in a lot of forms, including (of course) hot chocolate with churros. We also tried a croissant filled with chocolate, and this was also very good.

In between eating, we did get around to see parts of Valencia. On Sunday morning, we went to church in the cathedral and then climbed the tower to get a view of the city from above. We didn't make it to the ocean (after walking for about an hour, we realized that it was much farther away than we thought) but we did get to see an amazing park along the way. There was once a river that ran through Valencia, but because it often flooded, they decided to divert it away from the city. Now, there is a huge park that follows the path that the river once took. We climbed a rope jungle gym, posed by some musical sculptures, and saw some of the other museums from the outside. After giving up on the ocean, we walked back to the bus stop (an even longer walk). It started to rain, but luckily not too hard, and we stopped at a small grocery store to pick up some food before catching the bus (unlike the rest of the food we ate, this cheese was flavorless and disgusting, but we were so hungry from the walk that we ate it anyway).

In summary: though the trip was a little hampered by the cold and our lack of sleep, the food and friends made up for it!

Madrid

The first trip of hopefully many more: Madrid! The Fund had its own trip to Madrid on Friday, so we all took the bus together (it is only about an hour from Toledo) and then most people decided to stay the weekend. It is hard to describe exactly what we did because most of the time was spent wandering the streets and doing nothing in particular. We did see the Palacio, the Biblioteca Nacional, and Parque de El Retiro. In summary: the Palacio is beautiful and ornate and impossible to absorb all at once (I've decided that frescoes are really a terrible idea, because I want to look at the paintings, but there is too much to see at once, especially when you are craning your neck to look up, and so you end up looking at little pieces instead of the whole thing). The problem isn't really limited to the frescoes though, because every old building seems to have the same problem here-- I pass the Catedral in Toledo multiple times everyday, and have stopped trying to look at every detail because it cannot be done. I prefer to look at it from far away and not be overwhelmed by the multiple scenes and figures that can be seen up close.

The Biblioteca Nacional was a bit of a disappointment because we did not get to see where they kept the books. There were two wonderful exhibits, but since it was Friday night (after a long day of travelling and sight-seeing), I did not have the energy to read much of the explanations, and instead tried to absorb a little just by looking. The first exhibit was about a writer in the Phillipines when it was a colony of Spain. I read about the history of colonization and promptly forgot it all. The second exhibit was about the history of the library, but at this point I had given up on reading in Spanish, and instead just looked at the displays of illuminated manuscripts and tried to imagine the melodies on pieces of old sheet music.

My favorite part of the trip was the Parque de el Retiro. After a long morning of wandering the city on Saturday, we bought some bread and cheese and picnicked in the park. There were more statues and ornate columns, but also (of course) trees and grass and water with boats, and it was nice to have some simplicity for a change!

The days were very full, but I'm afriad I was a little boring by the end of the day. On Friday, instead of going to Club Capital (a famous night club with 7 floors, but has a cover charge of 15 euros-- more than I wanted to pay for something I probably wouldn't have enjoyed!) I stayed in the hostel to read and sleep. It was very peaceful, aside from an awkward encounter with a group sharing the room. (They came in in the middle of the night, talking loudly in Spanish, one voice on top of the other, lights on, door open, and after deciding I was too tired to assemble my own Spanish confrontation in response, I climbed out of the bunk bed and slammed the door shut after they left. Or rather, after I thought they left-- they were actually still in the room, standing directly behind me. The door-slamming, however passive-agressive it might have been, seemed to work better than whatever jumbled Spanish communication I could have offered anyway. They opened the door quietly as I climbed back into bed, and for the rest of the night shuffled in and out and talked in hushed voices)

The following night, I went out with the group, but we ended up at an Irish pub (yes, an Irish pub in Madrid, and the bar tender was a Canadian who spoke English better than Spanish) with expensive drinks. After standing around for about half an hour, a few of us decided to head back to the hostel. In place of the overpriced drinks, we stopped at a little store to buy some ice cream-- cheaper than a beer, and much more delicious!

We came back to Toledo on Sunday, and it was nice to be back in the small, calm town after Madrid. As usual, I have some thoughts floating around and occupying my head, but I will save them for later and give them there own space. For now: Madrid was a good first trip, and Toledo is starting to become famliar and comfortable.

Los clases

I just finished a meeting about my visa, which ended in a discussion about language and literature-- ¡que bueno! It doesn't happen all the time, and in ordinary conversations I find myself fumbling for simple words like spoon or grapes, but every once in awhile I get so excited by something or into a conversation that the words just come out of my mouth without the process of thinking in English and translating to Spanish. Yesterday I went for a run, and I found myself thinking in Spanish. Not real, complete thoughts, but the kind of nonsense I think when running, the kind of thought that doesn't really mean anything. The kind of thought that you need to think about afterwards to realize what exactly you were thinking. It reminded me a bit of when I ran in middle school. It was around the same time I was learning to type without looking at the keys, and so I ran with my hands in loose fists and typed into my palms. I often did not know what words I was typing until I took the time to think about it. Not surprisingly, they were often words like stop, tired, or running, running, running. Subconscious thought spelled into my hands. I did not know I was thinking them until I stopped to translate the typing to words.

It was the same thing yesterday with Spanish. There were little nonsense, sing-song phrases in my head that I later translated into English to see if they made sense. And most of the time, they did (as much as anything makes sense while you are running): No se de donde estaba, no se de donde estoy. (I don't know where I was, I don't know where I am-- this while I was finding my way along a path I'd walked before, but was still slightly uncertain about the direction). Probably sentences that weren't grammatically correct or very profound, but thoughts that came first in Spanish and only later in English.

It is not usually like this. Usually my host mother has to repeat things slowly so I understand. I have to point a lot, and I keep lapsing into English with the other students here. But occasionally the Spanish just comes, and at the meeting today, Yuki (one of the coordinators at the Fund) asked about my classes, about what my favorite books were, and the words just came so much more quickly than usual.

It is small things like this that seem to define the days here. One good thing makes Spanish and studying here seem wonderful, and the next day a bit of homesickness or some doubt makes me wonder if this is useful at all. I sometimes imagine myself coming back and letting the Spanish drift away, never using it again. And I wonder what is more important-- the skill of speaking Spanish, which has a practical use in jobs and society, or the literature and ideas that I have access to through Spanish, the philosophy that opens up from trying another language and getting a glimpse at the effect language has on expression and thought. I really don't know.

On that note, the real topic that I wanted to write about are the classes here. It is hard to say exactly how they will be, because it has only been two weeks, but so far I am enjoying them all. On Mondays I have 20th Century Literature (we are starting with my favorite Spanish story, San Manuel Bueno, mártir by Miguel de Unamuno) and Recent Spanish film (which should be interesting since I've never taken a film class, much less a Spanish one). The same professor teaches both of these classes, which means some repetition between the two, but so far he seems very organized and particular. He started the lit class by talking about how literature is not a book itself, but the act of reading. He called books on the shelf of a library "potential literature" because they don't become literature until someone is reading them. An interesting thought.

On Tuesdays I only have one class, Golden Age Theater. I think this will be a little more difficult to enjoy because the language is older and more difficult to understand (imagine reading Shakespeare... but in another language), but so far the professor is amazing and we are going very slowly and reading short passages. He also likes to relate the classics to modern works. He talked today about the relation of popular theater, literature, songs, etc. to classical works, saying that we had no idea what would become classics in the future, because the works we are reading now were considered popular works at the time. And then he talked about Bob Dylan and called him a ladron, a thief, for stealing ideas from the classics. And then he said that Bob Dylan's songs will probably be considered classics in the future, that a lot of classics are about retelling past truths with a little change to make it relevant to current times. I'm not sure if I agree, but it's definitely something to think about.

On Wednesday I have Theology and Spanish Mysticism. The professor is one of the most animated people I have seen. He concludes any earth-shattering thoughts with the punctuation JO-der! (translation: fuck!) I wish I could convey how it sounds. The first syllable starts in the back of the throat in a way that I can't replicate, and he just says it with so much force. Right now we are talking about Plato, and there are many, many ideas that he finds worthy of this exclamation. He is also fond of describing an idea as "Interesante! Interesantissimo! SUPER-interesante!" When he starts with the word interesante, the class can be guaranteed that he will arrive at the conclusion of interesantissimo and super-interesante. Nothing is just interesting!

My final class is Spain Since 1936, which was cancelled for today, so I can't say much about it. I really liked the first day of class, but I've been warned that the professor is perhaps biased and one-sided in his portrayal of the Spanish Civil War. There was an interesting class discussion the first day about censorship (apparently, Spain does not have censorship laws for television like the U.S. does) and he came pretty firmly in favor of no censorship, dismissing the ideas of another student who argued in favor of the U.S. censorship laws. I didn't mind much, though, because it was interesting to hear the debate. But he did give us a brief lecture about opening our minds and seeing more than one side to history and issues, which I suppose he failed to do in that discussion... so we'll see!

In conclusion: good classes, much to think about, and a mixture of languages in my head!

Fin de semana

I always run into this problem with writing journals, and I think the same issue applies to blogs: when I have time to write, I have nothing interesting to say, and when everything interesting is happening, of course I don't want to stop to write about it. And writing about things after the fact feels like a list of facts rather than something that captures the moment. So apologies if the writing here is a little flat!

Last weekend a lot of people were travelling, but I stayed in Toledo and so had a lot of time! Perhaps a bit too much time, because I am not used to it and did not know what to do with it. (Or, I knew what I could do with it, but still didn't take the time to write!) On Friday, the Fund had a tour of Toledo. We rode a bus up a hill with a great view of Toledo (in all of the pictures, my eyes are closed or half-closed, but the city view is still wonderful). Then we walked around Toledo with a guide. I couldn't understand everything she said, but what I did hear was fascinating. Toledo's history is a mixture of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, and you can see mixtures of different architecture styles in some of the buildings. We saw a church connected to a convent for cloistered nuns. Toledo is known for its marzapan, and the best is supposedly made by these nuns.

On Friday night, I went out to some of the bars with my host sister. I realized how little Spanish I actually know! I can understand teachers, other students, and my host family fairly well, but with all the sounds and conversation at the bar, I couldn't understand anything anyone said. I decided to skip the discotecas, I went back to the apartment at 1:00 (which is very early here-- my host sister did not return until 6 or 7 the following morning).

Saturday was fairly uneventful, but I have to mention it because of the food! First, a little bit about the mealtimes in general. Breakfast is fairly normal (toast or cereal when you wake up) but lunch is not until 2:00 or later, and dinner is very late, 8:30 at the earliest. The biggest meal of the day is lunch, and on Saturday we had paella, which was delicious. It is basically rice cooked with saffron and a million different things. Ours had chorizo (a type of sausage), whole shrimps, calamari, chicken, bell peppers, peas, tomatoes, and some other kind of seafood in a shell. There might have been other things in there; I'm not really sure. My host mother promised to teach me how to make it, so I suppose I will find out then!

Dinner is usually smaller: sandwiches, soup, or leftovers from lunch. On Saturday, though, we had churros con chocolate and nothing else! I went with my host sister to a small churro shop that makes them fresh. The shop was similar to an ice cream shop where you order your food outside. We could see inside where they had the dough in a bowl ready to make into churros. We got the churros and went back to the apartment where my host mother had made the chocolate. It was not like any hot chocolate I had tried before-- so thick and rich it was like drinking a melted chocolate bar. We dipped the churros in the chocolate and then drank the rest of the chocolate at the bottom of our mugs. So delicious!

On Sunday, I went to mass at the Cathedral. I can't really describe it, except to say that it was very ornate. There are paintings by El Greco inside, but we weren't allowed to wander around after the mass, so I didn't see them. Later that afternoon, I went for a walk by the river with the rest the students who stayed in Toledo for the weekend. It was so beautiful! The Rio Tajo winds around almost all of Toledo, and there are paths below and above, and old bridges that cross over it (I walk over one of the bridges on my wayto the Fund every day). We took a lot of pictures, and happened upon a drum circle along the way.

I have more to say about classes, about travel plans, but I will save that for later. :)

Lo bueno

So, after complaining quite a bit, it is about time that I write at least a little describing all of the good and wonderful things here. But since there is a lot, I will just give you a tiny glimpse, and save the rest for later:

First, my host family is wonderful. I am living with a mother and her 21-year-old daughter, and I really can't imagine anything better. When I am talking to just one of them, they take time to talk slowly if I need it or explain words I don't know, but when they talk to each other I have the chance to test my listening skills and see if I can follow their conversation (if I am not too tired, I can generally catch the gist of what they are talking about, but when their voices begin to overlap I can't make sense of it anymore). On Tuesday, Patricia (the daughter) had one of her friends over for dinner, and so there were even more voices to keep track of. Most of the previous conversations had been pretty basic (how are you, do you want more food, stories about family and places in Spain) but that night the talk spun in a completely different direction, and suddenly we were talking about language, religion, and the Spanish Civil War. ("We" meaning that I mostly listened to their opinions and asked questions if I could formulate them quickly enough and find a gap in the conversation to insert my voice-- there were not many gaps!) And there it was, the same things that are talked about in class or with family and friends, the same (and yet not the same) in a different country. There were funny moments of Patricia and her friend teaching me slang specific to Toledo and laughing when I tried to use it (I imagine it was something like teaching a Spanish exchange student in America to use words like "bro" and "homie"). There were serious moments when they shared their religious views about the Church and God, and terribly sad and shocking moments when the mother described the attrocities of the Spanish Civil War.

As of now, I know very little about the Spanish Civil War, but thanks to the confusion with my horario (my class schedule) I am now taking a class Spanish history during and proceding the war-- a class I thought sounded interesting, but could not fit before! Overall, my classes have been fine so far. It is a bit strange here because many of the classes are 2 in one day (for example, yesterday I had theology in the morning and again in the evening) and they seem to be a bit slower than usual, though it could simply be that the first week begins a little more slowly. I am glad to have a bit more structure in my day. Roaming around Toledo is more enjoyable when it is squeezed between classes and lunch, when I know that it can only last for a period of time before I have to return to a different place.

And the streets in Toledo! They are narrow and cobblestoned, and pedestrians have to press themselves to the buildings or stand in a doorway when cars drive by. There are little shops and cafes lining the streets, and it reminded me right away of Ireland. A lot of things here remind me of Ireland (the showerheads that remove from the wall, the kind of cold so different from Minnesota cold, people's thoughts on the Church) and at first I was more "homesick" for Ireland than for Minnesota-- homesick for a place I don't even live or visit often!

As for classes, I am taking all of them at the Fundación, and I could not take the internship class. But after adjusting to this idea, I have decided that it is actually much better. My favorite class so far is the history class  that I otherwise would not be taking. I can volunteer at a school or other organization without the hour requirements of an internship. And I will get to travel with Molly and Ellie at the end of the semester if I want to and still spend more time in Ireland. I am looking into volunteering opportunities there for May-- who knows!

So despite my past complaining, everything is really quite good here-- more than I can say in a short little description. A lot of people are travelling already this weekend, but I have decided to stay. So there will be much time to explore, to read, to write, to think, to enjoy Toledo and simply be here.

Frustraciones

Oh, I hate to complain and make you think that everything is not wonderful here (for the most part it is! I have so many good things to say that I can't contain them all!) but it is the bad that is on my mind right now and I hope by writing it down I will get rid of it.

I like to plan my life, to map out a specific, set direction and follow it. I do this with majors, with class schedules, with potential careers. And of course, I did the same thing with study abroad. When I was applying over a year ago, I decided what classes I wanted to take and where I wanted to take them: 3 classes and an internship at the Fundacion (the university for students studying abroad in Toledo) and 1 class at Universidad Castilla de la Mancha (another university in Toledo that is primarily local students). But after dozens of e-mails, lots of meetings, and a good amount of staring at my schedule, I need to choose between the internship (at a local school) or the class at UCLM.

Here are the problems:

The classes that I wanted to take at UCLM are on inconvenient days. And I am scared to death to take a class in an actual Spanish university now that I am here. I want to learn, but I am afraid of a lecture-based class where I understand nothing. Everyone at the Fund speaks solely in Spanish, but they are patient with all of us and speak more slowly (it still sounds fast, but it is intelligible). At the orientation today, a man spoke "normally" and it was almost impossible to understand. I might be able to overcome this, however, if the other options for classes at UCLM were literature courses, but since they are history and culture, I don't know if they count for my Spanish major (and I need them to count, or I will be one class short of the Spanish requirements).

My travel plans, however, are centered around this course at UCLM, because it goes until June, while the Fund ends in April. I planned to finish at UCLM early June, visit Ireland for 2 weeks, and return home June 22. So dropping the class means complicated decisions about switching flights or having a month of limbo.

Still, I am leaning towards the internship, because I think I would prefer being in a classroom with kids, possibly practicing teaching along with Spanish. However, this comes with its own set of problems. Even without UCLM it is difficult to find the correct space in the schedule because most of my classes interrupt the times that the schools are open. And 3 months in Spain seems so short-- I don't want to come back with a brief "cultural experience" and no improvement with my Spanish.

After letting this roll through my head for the entire evening, I came back to the apartment on the late bus and called my family to talk about it. I must have sounded a little stressed (or maybe more than a little) because instead of  sorting out details or trying to formulate a plan with me, my dad simply offered advice in how to make the choice and assured me that it would work out either way. I basically decided to see if I could sort out the times for the internship and drop the class at UCLM, but I was still frustrated. My entire summer had been planned based on my return home in June! There were internships and programs I had not applied to because I didn't have the time! There were plans made for flights and travel! But my dad said that was not important, that I could not focus on what I might have done or even what I might do. He said, "Try to separate out the things that you can control, and make the best decision that you can make." I could only make the best decision for now, and the rest would have to follow from that.

It reminded me of the Serenity Prayer, which one of my Spanish teachers at DeLaSalle made us recite every day. I've forgotten the Spanish (and probably everything else I've learned in that class, except how to properly number questions on the left side of the margin-- this was very important), but the prayer itself has the same ideas that my dad was trying to get me to accept:
God grant me the serenity
To accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to change the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.

And so, even if I do not come away with a vast improvement in my Spanish, or a life-changing cultural immersion, I have at least already learned what I thought I already knew: that no matter how much I plan my life, there are always things that disrupt that plan, and I need to learn to accept that. And I do not know the future, so how can I tell if it won't be better? Perhaps the course of my life is more like the winding streets of Toledo than the straightly planned paths I like to construct for myself. And I will tell you later, about how wonderful these streets are (the real ones, not the mixed up ones of my head!). No more complaining, I promise! Just appreciation and curiosity about the place I am in and the unexpected directions it may take me.

El comienzo

As usual, I planned to begin writing much earlier, before I left for Spain, but instead I wrote a few drafts and never finished or posted them. And now the thoughts are a bit outdated! Oh well. This is my fourth day in Toledo, and I am already overwhelmed with what to say and how to say it, but here is a little piece about traveling and the first few days:

After a long day of travelling on Thursday from Minneapolis to Chicago to Madrid to Toledo, I arrived with about half of the other Notre Dame students at the Fundación Ortega y Gasset, a university for students studying abroad in Toledo. After a short tour (the Fund is not very big-- it could probably fit inside my tiny elementary school) and an orientation, we waited in the lobby for our host families. Half of the families were scheduled to come at noon, and the other half to come later in the day. I was told that my family would arrive at noon, but after waiting for an hour, there were still two of us without families, so we returned to the cafeteria with the rest of the students. At around 3, the second wave of families began arriving, but as the group of students remaining grew smaller and smaller, I began to worry that I had no family! There had been a mix-up! I had been forgotten! At this point, we were all very tired. I fell asleep in the computer lab, and then tried to stay awake in the small waiting room. Finally, one of the staff members at the Fund told two of us that our families had been confused about the date-- they thought we were arriving on Sunday, not Friday-- but both of them were on their way now. At about 5:00 my host mother arrived. She greeted me with a kiss on each cheek, and called me a "probrecita rubia" (poor little blonde girl), and apologized over and over for being late.

We took a taxi to her apartment, and after she showed me around, I put my suitcases in the third bedroom, and fell asleep. I woke up in time for dinner (in Spain, the "cena" is very late, so we ate around 9:00). I needed to be at the Fund for a language test in the morning, so my host mother showed me how to take the bus to Zocodover Plaza in the Casgo (the old part of Toledo). From there, it is a very short walk to the Fund, if you know where you are going. (This morning, I wandered around for a very long time, because a lot of the streets are beginning to look familiar, and it is hard to remember which is the correct familiar-looking street). We walked back to the apartment, which I will not be able to do alone at night, but will be nice for walks in the afternoon.

Saturday, after the test and a meeting about classes, we spent a lot of time wandering around Toledo, taking pictures and looking into little shops. I went back to the apartment for lunch, which is also very late here (around 2:00). We made a pact to speak only in Spanish, but of course this was broken several times since we are so used to speaking English to one another! It was easier yesterday, when we walked around with some of the students from the University of Minnesota because there were more basic things that we could talk about (Where are you from? What's your name? Much easier vocabulary!) And of course it helps to just listen too.

Right now, the language is the most overwhelming part of being here. I am used to writing and reading Spanish, where I have time to stop and look up words and think, but speaking and listening is much more difficult. It is difficult remembering words that I do know, and there are so many words that I don't know! It is already becoming a little easier, but still, when I was going to sleep last night, I kept thinking about studying abroad in an English-speaking country and how much easier it would all be-- all of the fun with none of the obligation to speak Spanish all the time, none of the stumbling over words with friends trying to say the simplest things! It is confusing too, to go from speaking Spanish to reading a book in English or even writing in English. My head is filled up with Spanglish, which I suppose is good, but it makes thinking exhausting!

But classes start tomorrow, so not thinking is probably a bad idea. So I will continue thinking my jumbled little thoughts, wandering Toledo, and fumbling with the Spanish language.