Do You Want To Share The Blame?

Well my friends, this is it.  Finals are over (it’s actually pathetic how much we stress here about nothing…I’m going to die next semester) and tomorrow we all get to say goodbye to each other until January where I am sure we will meet again.  I will miss this place, but could not be more ready to leave many things all behind, fondly, yet far enough away to enjoy, in my memory.  Did I almost break down today?  Perhaps.  But not because of what you’d think.

Today there was a huge strike in all of Spain, as well as in Italy, Greece, Portugal, and several other countries.  Everything was closed up and people crowded the streets, so I was pretty much confined to my room packing in order to stay out of all the mess; gas masks, police blockades, chanting – literally right across the street.  In the words of my host mom, the Spaniards “hay de locos y brutos.”  It’s quite true in all honesty.  Keeping my words and thoughts to myself as I listen to the warped political views over here will be one thing that I will be grateful to leave behind.

I should say more about the huelga, but my opinions about things have become so jumbled since living here.  I can see why they are angry all the time, but I believe that these workers are wrong in their thinking.  It’s a mess, and it’s not getting better any time soon.  Things will have to change, and people are resistant, pulling the already corrupted leaders in opposing directions.  They are infuriated that they aren’t receiving completely free health care anymore, yet they complain that their educated workers aren’t getting paid enough.  They say taxes are too high, yet cry foul when the government says they won’t be paid their semi-annual “bonus” at the end of the year.  It’s always someone else’s problem, always another one’s fault.  It all appalls me.

On the bright side, I don’t have school until January, so I have some time to get my life into order and mentally prepare myself for going back to the Provo Bubble.  Joy.  No really, I can’t wait for some things, let me tell ya.

Also, I wrote this poem for my Spanish Lit class and, (bragging moment…sorry), my teacher told me it was one of the best ones she had received from her students.  I’ll translate it for those of you who won’t be able to read it, but in English it hardly makes sense.  I think it’s much more beautiful in Spanish.   That’s how a lot of things are, I’ve learned.

Lo Que Quiero Darte

Lo que quiero darte
No es el aliento,
Las nubes de tizne
delante del sol -
Susurros suspendidos
En los torrentes de lagrimas.

Lo que quiero darte
No es la confianza,
Un imperio construido
por palabras desleales;
Verdaderos vacíos
Resonando por las piedras.

Lo que quiero darte
No es la honradez,
Un varón ni vagabundo
Disfrazado como rey.
Disidente disoluto
Engañando ángeles

Lo que quiero darte
Es mi cuerpo absoluto,
Para cuando no haya sonrisas
Mis alas sean tu huida,
Y no haya esperanza
Mi fuerza sea tu fortaleza,
Y no haya razón
Mi alma sea unida con tuya.

What I want to give you
Is not comfort,
The clouds of soot
In front of the sun –
Suspended whispers
In the torrents of tears.

What I want to give you
Is not confidence,
An empire built
Upon deceitful words;
Empty truths
Resonating through the stones.

What I want to give you
Is not honesty,
Neither man nor vagabond
Disguised as kings.
Dissident, dissolute;
Swindling angels.

What I want to give you
Is my whole self;
For when there are no smiles
My wings will be your escape,
And when there is no hope,
My strength will be your courage,
And when there is no reason,
My soul will unite with yours.

On another random note, apparently Channing Tatum has been named the 2012 Sexiest Man Alive, according to my roommate.  I have to disagree.  Joseph Gordon-Levitt is where it’s at.  Tsk tsk…society these days…

They Didn’t Want Our Money: Granada, Sevilla, and Cordoba

Well folks, after being publically and sarcastically castigated on Facebook about how disappointingly short my last blog post was, I’ll attempt to redeem myself by being slightly more detailed this time.  This past week, BYU Universe had a “contest” of sorts asking people to send in pictures of a their days for a spread about the daily life of BYU students.  We received emails about it and everyone was pretty excited to do it, but due to the fact that I had no internet to be able to send in a picture, as well as that I forgot my camera battery in my suitcase which is currently a resident in the peaceful dark silence of the bottom of the bus [can I trade places?], participation on my part didn’t end up happening.   But it’s okay, because I’ll do my own personalized “day in the life” spread here (4 days squeezed into 1, actually) and then feel good about myself when my mom comments on it about how I’m her favorite daughter [cough cough].

06:00 Early morning rain and cold cereal: Alcalá de Henares

It has been unseasonably rainy here for the past few weeks, and all the Spanish mothers are up in arms.  They are confined to their houses, convinced all of us are committing suicide because we get our heads wet, and their laundry schedule is drastically hindered.  I swear a pair of my pants has been hanging outside…in the rain… to dry for at least two weeks.  I don’t think they’re getting back to me anytime soon.  On the bright side though, I love the rain.  It’s a little bit dreary every once in a while, but it also makes the dirty streets and run-down apartment buildings of Alcalá feel so much more European for some reason.  We woke up early to head down to South Wednesday morning, grateful not to have to go to class, and headed out on our way.

07:45 Mastering the art of averting company

Every weekend, as I’m sure you well know by now, all 18 of us girls crowd into a large bus to go on our next adventure.  Some buses are luxurious, some have tables that everyone competes for, some smell like port-o-potties, and some are just too dang small.  Call us slightly spoiled [no denial here] but no one really likes to have to share seats for such long rides, and every time you get on the bus, you just hope and pray that you’re not one of the unlucky girls who has to ask to share a seat with someone else because all the rows are already occupied by single inhabitants.  Apparently I am either untouchable or I have developed certain methods of discouraging people from sitting with me, because I always end up with a seat to myself.  It’s great because I can have the occasional visitor who wants their hair braided or wants to study or simply chat, as well as spread out and take a semi-comfortable and spacious nap.

09:00  Rest stops: no truckers here

The rest stops here in Spain are extremely luxurious.  They all have good food and clean bathrooms and never have creepy white trash walking around looking like they just took a dip in an infected cesspool.  Most of them have internet too!  I always love walking through them and seeing all the different types of foreign snacks and candies and specialties from the current areas we are in.

09:15  Manchego and wine: On The Road

This weekend we drove through an area called “la mancha”, known for its windmills, wine production, and manchego cheese.   I sat in the very front of the bus for a fair amount of the drive right next to the bus driver because I was feeling carsick, and I had a pretty good history lesson from him.  This was the area where Christopher Colombus rode his “burrito” through in order to speak with Queen Isabella, who was currently dealing with the “Muslim problem”, in order to receive funds to explore the New World.  Antonio, the bus driver, also informed me that the people down south are friendlier, more open, and happier.  If he could live anywhere, he would live here, but his family is in Madrid so that’s where he stays.  He also emailed me a bunch of writings by Jose Luis Borges that he just happened to have on his phone when I told him that I was really interested in philosophy and the human thought process.  They are actually incredibly interesting, but deciphering is slow because this Spaniard was extremely eloquent and liked to use archaic words that even confound the dictionary sometimes. Thus proceeded our long journey proceeded to Córdoba, the Muslim capital of Spain for over 900 years, the place where Orlando Bloom filmed the movie Kingdom of Heaven.   Yeah, bad contrast of detail, I know.

11:00  A man caught in a Woman’s World: Córdoba

For the second time ever, we had a male tour guide take us around Córdoba, which was a definite change of scenery.  He reminded me of a Spanish version of Bill Cosby and Mr. Rogers for some reason, and was a cheery man indeed.  Rather than being suffocated by the barbaric and illiterate Dark Ages, Córdoba was known for being a sort of “haven” for enlightened thought, religious tolerance, arts and sciences, and a dedication to philosophy. We only spent a few hours in Córdoba, visiting the famed mosque-turned-cathedral Mezquita, which truly was stunning.  It was really one of the first legitimate Arabic mosques that we had seen, and I felt like I was in a forest of stone pillars and brick arches.  It’s pretty cool actually, mosques are constructed very differently than cathedrals, in attempts to allow the person praying to get “lost” amongst the pillars, as if they were in a grove, while cathedrals place more emphasis on the priest and the sermon.

Although the mosque was built in the 10^th century, the Catholics came in during the 16^th and destroyed a large part of it, putting a small cathedral smack in the center in order to Christianize it.  Impressively, when the King found out about the destruction of part of the mosque, he was infuriated because he said they had destroyed something unique and beautiful for something so simple, and it could never replaced.  That’s a pretty big deal for a Catholic to say, especially during a time when the Arabs weren’t exactly loved in Spain.  We also walked through the Jewish Quarter, which was filled with tiny narrow streets, white buildings with blue trim, and so many beautiful flowers!  Everything was incredibly colorful and picturesque, even with the constant drizzling rain.

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2:00  Lost in the “kissing lanes”: Sevilla

Every Spanish town seems to have a Jewish Quarter of some sort, and recently I learned that often the infamously narrow streets are called “kissing lanes”, because the buildings and walls are so close together that as you pass people going the opposite way, you have to squeeze past them and invade their personal space.  Luckily for the Spaniards though, the personal bubble is permeable and almost nonexistent.  The hardest part about these streets is maneuvering them in umbrellas, which is quite the art.  When you pass, men usually lift their umbrellas up for women to walk with their own underneath, which is a little piece of etiquette that I had never known before.  Once again, it rained the entire time while in Sevilla, but it didn’t put much of a damper on anything.  I went to scout out a good flamenco show with two other girls and Malcolm (he’s on the BYU Study Abroad board…very nice, but I can’t quite figure him out.  I think he’s sort of stuck in an age-identity-crisis and reminds me a lot of that awkward-kid-in-your-chemistry-class.  While he’s very interesting to talk to, unfortunately he lacked necessary directional abilities, so we were lost in the narrow maze of streets with saturated boots for a pretty good amount of time.  I loved it though.  The whole city is enchanting.

13:45 Stamping feet and clapping hands: Sevilla

There is literally no better way to describe Flamenco.  Perhaps picturing a scary angry Spanish housewife snapping at her misbehaving children while her husband is sitting on a chair wailing drunkenly might suffice too, but I’m sure you have the general idea.  I am overjoyed that I can say I got to watch a traditional flamenco performance in a vine-covered musulman plaza in Sevilla, although I will not claim to be an enthused fanatic of the art – at least the clapping and stomping and singing part.  I cannot get enough of Spanish guitar though.  It makes me want to go back to the Parc Guell in Barcelona.The dancing is incredibly impressive; I cannot even begin to imagine how many years of practice and control it must take to be able to move so fiercely, sharply, yet gracefully all at the same time.

 Feet flying and faces stricken with intense emotion, framing both masculinity and femininity in striking movements, it was stunning. Several of the girls were drooling over the sweaty, long-haired flamenco dancer the whole time (50 Shades of Flamenco, anyone?) but I’ll have you know, he was definitely not my type.  I was amazed both at how much noise three people could make, as well as how well they kept beet with such rapid clapping.  However, I was less enthused by the locals who took the party outside and sang and danced outside my window all night long and didn’t cease until 6am when I had to wake up.

14:00-Eternity:  The longest tour in the history of humanity: Sevilla

Over seven years ago, I walked through the same plaza, through the same towering cathedral doors of the largest Gothic church in the world, with my family.  This cathedral is actually the third-largest church in Europe, after St. Peter’s at the Vatican and St. Paul’s in London, but in all honesty, it looks quite similar to every other cathedral that I’ve ever been in.  It holds the tomb of Columbus (which, apparently, only carries a little part of his body because rumor has it that he’s actually spread across Europe in different cathedrals.  Sick.
I was able to climb the Giralda Tower once again to see a beautiful, although extremely misty, view of Sevilla for the second time in my entire life.  The tower, in all its glory of 35 stories, was climbed 5 times a day by the poor guy who had to do the call to prayer.  Luckily for him though, he got to ride a horse up there because it was built with ramps rather than stairs.  Want to see some nice calves?  Check out ours now that they’ve grown two sizes after climbing that dang tower.  Afterward, our mercilessly long tour took us through the Alcázar, which was built by the Muslims but still functions as the oldest royal palace in Europe.  With peacocks and koi fish everywhere I turned and the amazing smell of oranges coming from all of the trees, I was pretty much in heaven.  Except… it felt like I was in a shower, because the downpour was relentless.

16:00 Stuck in the 70’s: Sevilla

Not that this is really important, but I just thought I’d mention that our hotel in Sevilla was legitimately trapped in the tacky 70’s era, featuring that weird rusty orange paint paired with dark wood, funky light fixtures, and even weird flower-patterned bed sheets.  To complete the feel, Sarah and I went to an even tackier Chinese restaurant for dinner, which played awkward Chinese love ballads the entire time.  The food was fantastic, the ambience, however, was slightly disturbing.

16:30  Visiting Naboo: Sevilla

One of my favorite places in Sevilla is probably the Plaza de España.  Aside from being gorgeous, with boats and colored tiles and a gigantic fountain, this was where Anakin, Padme, and R2-D2 arrive in Naboo to pay a visit in Star Wars Episode II: Attack of the Clones.  I didn’t recognize it until I went back home and looked up the scene on YouTube (part 8, if anyone was wondering), which made me realize I should probably go back and watch everything again.  There were also several horse-drawn carriages lined up waiting to take people around the beautiful plaza, and it made me and the other girls think about how we all want our lovers to take us on dates to ride in carriages to see the lights at the Salt Lake Temple, go get hot chocolate, and then watch a movie on a cold snowy night.  Sounds great, right?

18:00 Breaking the curse: Granada

When I visited Granada last time with my family, we made the fatal mistake of attempting to buy tickets to go and tour the Alhambra later in the day, only to find out that they had been sold out.  Slightly defeated, we still got to see it from the outside.  This time around however, I was able to go in, and I really, truly wish my family had been here with me to see it.  The architecture was stunning and every room and garden blew me away.  I wished so badly that I could have seen it with all of the tapestries, rugs, incense, pillows, and people actually living in it.  Some history:  The Alhambra is a Moorish palace and the last standing Moorish stronghold in Europe.  It is covered in magnificently crafted stucco, rich colors, tiles, lavish gardens, and filled, let me repeat, absolutely filled with decorations that all utilize water.  There are pools, waterfalls, streams, doors, EVERYTHING, wherever you turn.  As an old Spanish saying goes, “Give him a coin, woman, for there is nothing worse in this life than to be blind in Granada.”  After touring the Alhambra, which was definitely one of the most amazing places I have visited here in Spain, truly the “jewel” of the country, as our director put it, I was allowed the pleasure of watching tourist after tourist being attacked by the gypsies that roam so freely in this area.  It honestly appalled me at how many people fell for the tricks of these sneaky women, and I almost felt bad for them.  Had they never read any tour book or website at all, warning them of these thieves?  The gypsies would target their victim, go up and start sticking sprigs of rosemary in their hands and clothes, and then demand money from them, hooking on like a leach and asking for more and more.  If you have ever seen Spirited Away, it sort of reminded me of the scene where the girl is feeding the spirit and he grows larger and larger, becoming greedier and greedier, getting more and more violent.  If you haven’t seen it, shame on you.  Go watch it.

18:55  The walk of the sad ones: Granada

Apparently some members in our group have a knack for getting lost, which can often get extremely irritating when you have to backtrack for what seems like hours.  In search of an Arab market,  known as the Alcaicería (originally a Moorish silk market), we ended up on the complete other side of the city.  I was somewhat annoyed at first, because I had been saying it was in the other direction for a good 40 minutes but no one had listened, but it turns out that getting lost wasn’t all that bad.  We found ourselves walking along the river below the beautifully lit up Alhambra atop the ridge of the mountain.  This route was originally called the “Paseo de los Tristes”, or rather, “The Walk of the Sad Ones”, where funeral processions would travel towards the cemetery on the edge of town.  It was gorgeous, even in the pouring rain.  Eventually, after further investigation, we made it back to the Albayzín (the Arab market), and several shop owners had the pleasure of helping us out of our money.

19:00  Free hookah!

I ate at a fantastic little Arab restaurant while in the Moorish Quarter, and am now extremely excited to go home and make barenjenas, which are flavorful and spicy fried eggplant(s?) and hummus…flavored with lime!  I would have never expected that little addition, but the lime seemed to make all the difference.  It could be that this meal was the most flavorful that any of us had eaten during our time here in Spain, and all of us were in heaven.  As we were leaving the restaurant, the waiter stopped some of us and handed us his card, making sure to let us know that if we ever wanted it, he would let us smoke free hookah in the back lounges.  What a generous offer, right?  We thanked him and gladly went on our way.

20:00  An offer we couldn’t refuse… [Granada]

In the South, there are many brotherhoods, or fraternities, if you will, in the universities that are a pretty big deal.  Basically, they are groups of men [locals call them "tunas"] from different schools, such as the school of medicine, of law, of literature, etc., etc. that travel around singing songs and partying.  [Instead of studying…because getting drunk and walking around in tights and medieval robes carrying guitars is much more productive]  These men range anywhere from the age of 20 to over 65, and all have absolutely mastered the art of womanizing.  I have mentioned several times about how deprived everyone has been feeling on this group because we are out of the dating scene and so detached from everyone at home, and just as our luck would have it, a whole band of singing med students and professors were staying at our very same hotel.  We all got pictures with them and they sang us songs and even let us wear their capes.  It got pretty creepy though because there were so many of them, which I guess made them extremely confident, so while going to our rooms they would come out of theirs, saying “Copa!  Copa!”, offering us shots.  When they found out we didn’t drink [everyone here in Spain has heart attacks when they hear this], they told us that their alcohol was Sprite, so we could drink it.  Yeah, I think not.  Some cornered us and tried to sing us love songs, some grabbed our hands and wanted to dance, and another told us his room was open all night long.  Oh joy.  We all thought it was hilarious, but still, it was weird…and a little bit sketchy.  One of them couldn’t really seem to keep their hands where they should be while I was taking pictures with them either, but luckily some of the girls caught it on camera so we have some comical proof of my public rejection.  Good times, good times.

20:00  They might be giants:  the long road home

On our journey back home to Alcalá, we stopped along the way to visit the famous series of windmills in La Mancha that are so celebrated and essential to the grand story and adventures of Don Quixote.  We took a pictures and attempted to stay grounded while fighting the relentless wind, then listened to Profe Meredith read the passage where Don Quixote and his sidekick Sancho first encountered these windmills and proceeded to attack them since Don Quixote was so convinced that these windmills were, in fact, giants.  We also taught one girl what to do when literally zero bathrooms are available and there’s an emergency.  Life lessons, right?

22:00  The first of many lasts

And this is it.  My very last weekend trip here on this program is officially over, and as I sit in my room attempting to postpone studying for several final exams, I can’t help but think that I am going to miss this place very much.  It will be nothing short of a bittersweet goodbye, and I am so grateful that I have had the chance to be here.  Five more days, and I will be with my family in this beautiful country.  I wish I could just fast forward through my tests and be with them already!

Also, check out the gallery for this post (just by clicking on one of the pictures)…there are a lot that I uploaded that aren’t visible on the blog because I got lazy.  I don’t really know why all of the pictures are weird sizes or  messed up either.  Ugh.  Fail.

Oh! The video for this trip is finally finished! Check it out!

Seven days and counting

“Above all beware of excessive day dreaming, of seeing yourself in the centre of a drama, of self pity, and, as far as possible, of fears.” -C.S. Lewis

Dreaming is good, but often, people get lost.  There is no shame in growing up and becoming wise.  Just a thought for the day.

My family will be here soon – I can hardly wait.  Three finals to go and then it will all be over.  I really need to update my blog but I’m too tired right now and my internet won’t load any pictures.  If you didn’t see it on Facebook, here’s a short video from one of our weekends up north.

And here’s a little bit of humor making fun of the weird ways “Utahn’s” like to spell their unfortunate children’s names in attempts to be creative and unique.

Not Happy, Bob.

If you haven’t seen The Incredibles, you wouldn’t understand my reference.  Let me enlighten you as to how I’m feeling right now:

My patience is definitely wearing thin here, and it’s probably a good thing that in two weeks our group will all be going their own separate ways, because I’m pretty sure I’m at my breaking point.  Everyone is.

Oh yeah, and my computer is literally as fast as a slug, so that doesn’t help me out too much either.

Last week, I went to the musical “Sonrisas y Lágrimas”, or rather, “The Sound Of Music”.  Call me uncultured, but it was a flop, to say the least.  I guess I wasn’t down with not being able to fast forward the nun’s falsetto monologue that always seems to last for 15 minutes every time I watch the movie.  I don’t know.  Give me some credit though, because I stayed through the whole thing to get my money’s worth, unlike many other girls who left at the intermission.

Plus I didn’t get home until 2:30am because we had to trek through Alcalá to make sure everyone got home safely.  It was sketchy, to say the least.  There were weird creepy stuffed animals in the mud in this one park, and a drugged-out man with bulgy eyes was watching us.  Yuck.  I guess it didn’t really help that the whole bus ride from Madrid we were all telling stories of weird occurrences and disturbing people.

Halloween came extremely quickly this year, but we didn’t let it slip by us even though we’re all the way over here in Spain.  It’s really not that big of a thing here, but I was thrilled that one of our professors brought over candy corn and almond joys.  YUM.  In a failed attempt to make nutella cookies, we ended up creating something that looked more like rotten oily cow mastication.  (See, Lavender?  You’re not the only failed cook) I dressed up as a Tribute from the Hunger Games with Alex, because resources were limited and we both happened to have weapons that we had bought from Toledo.

Other girls had some creative costumes as well:  Jim from The Office, two sister missionaries (“Sister 19-And-Ready” and “Sister-I-Finished-My-Papers-In-Two-Hours), and even a banana.

After Alex and I left, we were accosted by a large group of little kids who were going door to door asking for candy.  It was actually pretty refreshing to see them all dressed up as ghosts and witches and Frankensteins and vampires, with pasty paint all smeared on their faces and their hair shamelessly ratted up. It was much more traditionally appealing in contrast to the American trend of dressing up as sleazy little cats, angels, nurses and, this was a new one this year, hot sauce packets.

Nice.  I loved talking to them because they all wanted to practice English.  When they asked where we were from and we said “the United States”, they asked if we were here because our houses were flooded, in references to Hurricane Sandy in New York.  These kids were smart and on the ball!  They ate all my candy corn that I had smuggled away though, but it was probably for the best.

On Sunday (November 4^th), I woke up early – yeah, 5:00am early, which is basically unheard of here in Spain – to go into Madrid to shop around at the Rastro (a flea market only open on Sundays) for a while before church.  Maybe it was because I wasn’t meant to buy anything, or maybe it was because I was there on a Sunday and I should have been in Relief Society, but it poured.  The. Whole. Time.  I won’t even begin to go in to my frustrations with the morning, which had to do with people cancelling plans, elite groups, exclusion, PETTY GIRL DRAMA, etc. etc. etc. because I am trying to forgive and forget.  But DANG.  ;awvea;icefhaeksfja;iojakefhakjslfhaejhfluks.  That’s my irritation right there.  It’s good to have it out.  On the bright side though, I was hit by a ray of sunshine and I ended up finding a birthday present for Lily, so I would consider it all worth it.  I even made it back on time to make Sacrament Meeting in Alcalá, matted hair and sopping wet boots and all.  (Lily, you better like this present…otherwise I’m keeping it and once I do you’ll be jealous.  Just saying.)

#collegeproblems

Oh, another ray of sunshine.   I received four letters in the mail, and I’m expecting two more to come before I leave!  Call me old fashioned, but there’s nothing better than seeing an envelope with your name on it.  Unless it’s a bill, of course.  But still.

On a random note, let me just let you in on a little secret.  There is almost nothing that annoys me more than having to hear people breathe while they eat.  Like, there are some people who breathe HARD while they eat, and it’s actually pretty annoying.  There’s a lot of that here.

It’s a skill I’ve come to master.

Okay, but really, despite my complaints, everything is great here.  I’m seriously going to miss it once I’m gone, and I wouldn’t give up my time here for anything (almost).  Just keep this in mind so while you’re reading you don’t think I’m a complete brat.  Only sometimes.

Barefoot: Methods of Attraction

Who would have thought that attracting members of the general public was so easy as to walk barefoot through the city?  In New York or Chicago or another big US city, you might get a few glances, maybe an upturned nose or two, a general veering in the opposite direction.  People in big cities are used to crazies.  They’re used to creepy people lurking in doorways, weird ramblers talking to themselves, sketchy people lying in the grass.  You know, the type of things you kind of just avert your eyes to.

But no, not here in Spain.

One does not simply refrain from staring to appear polite.

Let me back up for a moment, and explain where I am coming from.  This morning, upon waking up early in Valencia to the Mediterranean sun shining through a beautiful skylight in my hotel room (I had a whole room to myself because one of the girls was sick.  I couldn’t complain.) and going to breakfast, I took a relaxing walk down to the beach with Kensie.  It was fresh and cool and the only people out were early-morning bikers.

On the way to the beach, I came to the realization that I am enchanted by Spanish architecture and design.  It is interesting, because before I came to live here, I either had a lack of appreciation or misconception of many aspects that are used.  I used to associate colorful ceramics, or bright painted buildings, for that matter, with the annoying tiled decorations from Mexico that everyone likes to hang on their walls.  The beautiful ceramic designs on the buildings and walls here in Spain have changed my opinion.  I can’t get enough of them!

I honestly want to take a picture every time I see such lovely designs, but they never do it justice.  Will I ever want to have ceramic tiles all over the outside of my house?  Probably not.  But still.  I enjoy looking at them.

I used to think that wrought-iron fencing was a little overrated as well (once again associating it with Mexico.  Oops.)  Again, now I’m absolutely in love with it.  It makes me miss my house so badly, and I want to go home and put the beautiful iron trim on everything!

There is more I could go into, such as how annoyed I am that rather than coming up with their own designs, Anthropologie instead went back a few hundred years in history and just stole the dresses of 18th century Spanish women.  Those ladies had style, people, let me tell you.

hint hint mother….

Anyway, back to attracting stares from Spaniards.

Kensie and I went to the beach, frolicked in the BRISK water for a little, collected sea shells, and saw an amazing sand castle that some guy had been working on for a week!  Can you even imagine?  This castle was absolutely amazing, and the detail was slightly unbelievable.  I really wanted to touch it to see if it was real, but then I would have felt horribly if it collapsed, so I didn’t.  **good job, Chloé, way to use your brains Chloé**

Now, I have some confessions to make.  First off, I really don’t like water.  Maybe it’s because it takes an eternity for my hair to dry, maybe because I don’t like wearing a swimsuit, maybe it’s because in another life we were mortal enemies.  Who knows.  However, I have learned to tolerate it for social reasons (i.e. cleanliness [ha] and not being the lame person who sits on the beach while everyone else is having fun).  But the sand, the sand just about does it for me.  I LOVE walking in the sand, but hate the residual and incessant little grains that stay on your feet long after they’re dry and never leave, trailing into the house and all over the floor.

To solve this problem, I just decided to boycott shoes for the morning.  I walked all the way back to the hotel (only about 1.5 miles) with bare feet.  Across the boardwalk, down the bike path, through the streets.  And BOY did I get some stares.

The Spanish are notorious for their staring.  They stare if you’re blonde.  They stare if you smile.  They stare if you’re holding a map.  They stare if you happen to have any resemblance to a female whatsoever.  It’s just a cultural thing.  They’re also renowned for their fabulous wive’s tales.  ”Make sure you wear that scarf tight around your neck, you wouldn’t want to catch a cold.”  ”Don’t refrigerate the water, it will freeze your throat and you will get sick.”  ”Don’t wear shorts to bed, the cold at night will give you a fever.”  ”If you don’t wear slippers inside you’ll catch a virus.”  Basically, everything gets you sick.

And so, with this combination, I have discovered a perfect method for attracting stares from the young, the old, the male, the female, literally everyone you pass by.

Don’t wear shoes.

I am almost positive I didn’t pass by a single person who didn’t either double-take or triple-take or make some sort of comment.  Yeah, okay, I’ll admit it is probably a LITTLE disgusting that I didn’t wear shoes walking through Valencia.  But I hate sand in my shoes and I can’t stand wearing damp socks, so I chose the lesser of two evils (I think).  Long story short, I gave several old ladies heart attacks, lost the respect of all the smoking men lounging on the street benches, and had some incredibly black feet by the time I got back to the hotel.  Thank goodness for soap.

After our beach adventure, I really wanted to go to the “Mercado Central”, which is apparently bigger and less expensive than La Boquería in Barcelona.  Unfortunately, Valencia’s metro/train system is incredibly lame and I ended up wasting 8 euro on a dumb metro ticket that I couldn’t even use because it only ran at extremely inconvenient times.  Slightly defeated, I had to walk back to the hotel empty handed.

I bought a cherimoya and a caqui (persimmon) fruit from a little stand I passed though, so it wasn’t a complete failure.

Overall, Valencia was fantastic.  I would definitely recommend making a stop here if the chance ever arises.  Let me go through a brief little run-down for you.

p.s. thanks for the shirt mom

1) Horchata.  Valencian horchata (orxata) shouldn’t be confused with Mexican horchata, which is debatably better but very different, so a comparison can’t really be made.  The horchata here is made from tigernuts (don’t worry – no tigers were harmed in the making), or rather, chufa, which are actually quite delicious when eaten after they’ve been soaked in water for several hours.  (I know this because some guy let me try some at the medieval fair a few weeks ago).  The drink has a nutty flavor and is incredibly refreshing.  I wouldn’t recommend buying the boxed stuff though.  It literally tastes like soggy cardboard.

2) Paella.  Real, authentic, Valencian paella.  It’s made with rice, saffron, vegetables, and meat, traditionally either seafood or rabbit, and oh man, is it delicious.  Especially the “valencian paella”, because they fry some of the rice in the pan first so it creates a pleasantly crunchy layer on the bottom of the pan that you get to scrape off and eat at the end.  However, always a critic, I must say that although the paella here is very good, I’m almost positive that one of the only reasons it stands out from everything else is because most of the other Spanish food is incredibly bland.  The saffron-seasoned rice is so desired here because it actually has flavor.  Needless to say, paella will undoubtedly be something I perfect once I get back to the States.

3) Ruins under glass.  While walking through one of Valencia’s squares, we passed what we thought was a reflection pond.  Not so, my friend.  Upon closer inspection, we realized that underneath the water were excavations of old Valencia, founded by the Romans in 138 B.C.  Pretty cool, right?  Apparently they are part of a larger museum where you can see Roman baths, Roman baths, Visigoth tombs and a medieval Moorish ward for plague victims.

4) Lladró factory.  I must admit, I didn’t really even know what Lladró was until I got here, and I was extremely skeptical about it.  I figured it was just a brand of overpriced figurines that end up collecting dust on the shelf.  As it turns out, I was right!  I will give the Lladró brothers credit though, the figurines are absolutely fantastic, and the process and time that goes into making them is unbelievable.  It was very interesting to be able to go behind the scenes and watch the steps that were taken to create the pieces.  Every step is painstakingly managed, and each piece is incredibly different.  I really wanted to buy a Cristus statue (a replica of the one that was made especially for the Madrid Temple), but they weren’t selling any, and my bank account probably would have had a heart attack anyway.  I did find a nice ceramic boat that only cost $200,000.00.  Who needs a place to live anyway?

Here’s a little recap of what we saw inside the factory:  Upon entering the small factory (extremely surprisingly small, as a matter of a fact – I’m actually fairly sure  that this was only a “display” factory to be able to see all of the steps), we were surrounded by what had to be thousands of porcelain statues, some completed, some not even assembled.  The figurines go through an extremely lengthy process.  First, they are made in alabaster, from which molds are made to shape the porcelain.  The pieces are assembled by hand (some of the small figurines can have as much as 200 different segments!) and then painted and glazed meticulously.

They are placed in a kiln and fired for over 24 hours, and during this process they lose about 15% of their original mass because of water loss.  When adding flowers to a piece, the pigment is pre-added to the clay so that the artists can simply sculpt the flowers by hand without having to go back and glaze each petal individually later in the process.  Some figures have over 400 flowers, which can take the artist three of four days to complete.

5) The City of Arts and Sciences.  Basically, it’s an extremely large complex filled with all sorts of modern buildings.  Several years ago, the area was constructed using billions of euros in attempts to make Valencia more of a tourist spot.

The original project was pushed strongly by the socialist government, but their magnificent idea failed (surprised, anyone?) and now the buildings are hardly used, and just keep sucking up more money.  It’s pretty sad actually.  Valencia, falling almost dead last in the race for “good” economy in Spain, is also home to a completely unused yet brand new airport, as well as a large racing circuit that was once part of the European Grand Prix.  Things aren’t looking too hot for them right now.

Oh, I also danced with an old man who was trying to teach me how he got all the ladies with his moves.  It made my night.

To The Hangry People Of The World

To those of you unfamiliar with the term “hangry”, please, do yourself and your loved ones a favor and allow me to enlighten you.  The time is well-past due to undertake and address the brooding shadow that hanger has cast over the lives of so many people of this world.  This post is meant to inform and educate, and not to shame or create fear amongst the general uninformed public.

According to the reliable and notoriously-appropriate URBANDICTIONARY.COM, the word hangry is defined as follows:

When you are so hungry that your lack of food causes you to become angry, frustrated or both.

An amalgum of hungry and angry invented to describe that feeling when you get when you are out at a restaurant and have been waiting over an hour to get the meal that you have ordered.

Now folks, the hangry that I speak of is not to be confused with the Japanese female pop/rock duo Hangry and Angry, which, upon googling, procured over 1,040,000 hits in under 0.21 seconds.

No, hangry is what happens when 18 girls have had too much of each other for three months straight and it’s getting close to dinner time and no one can agree on a place to eat.  And boy, is it scary.

Test: Pick out the hangry person of the group. (Sorry Miriam…I had to use this…)

Have you ever been out and about one day with a loved one and thought “Oh for heaven’s sake, give that child a candy bar before she rips someone’s head off”?  If so, read on.  Hangry is a little-known but extremely common problem, debilitating for both sufferers and the people who are unfortunate enough to be in their direct proximity.  It is very possible to know a hangry person without being aware of it, as well as falling victim to the horrible enfermedad yourself.  Just remember, the first step to solving the problem is denial admitting the issue, and if you do, you’ll be able to avoid starring on an episode of Snapped.  Unless that’s a life goal or something of course.

a group of hangries

One of the most horrifying parts of this condition is that it is insidious and can come swiftly without warning…sort of like a monsoon flood.  It elicits snappy, impatient demeanor and every lick of logic and reason evaporates within seconds.

(I would like to apologize ahead of time if this is a picture of your child, but I felt it necessary to use as an example to inform the world of this affliction.  Like I said before, the first step is acceptance, and it just may be time to accept that your child is disturbingly creepy and needs to be checked by a licensed physician.)

It is imperative to realize that there are many different types of hangry, many of which I have experienced firsthand during my field research studying this group of girls while I’ve been away in Spain.  There is the recently hangry, the I-hate-you hangry, the kill-yourself hangry, the simmering-pot hangry, the I’ll-try-to-be-mature-and-remove-myself-from-the-group hangry, etc., etc.  How do we avoid this, you ask?  Here are some tips to remember if you ever find yourself in perilous territory:

1) Do not approach the hangry person.

2) Do not attempt to share any of their food, even though it may look delicious.

3) Do not put fingers near mouth until he/she (typically a she…not to be sexist or anything, but men can usually just go punch something and the hanger subsides momentarily until it can be remedied) can be fed and talked down to a reasonable state.

4) Do not attempt to hold the hangry person responsible for their actions and behavior until sufficiently fed.

5)  Do not attempt to be chivalrous and let the hangry person choose where to eat.  Just choose the dang place and get some food in them. They’ll thank you later.

6) **especially for dating and/or married couples** Do NOT, and I repeat, DO NOT begin to insinuate that your partner may be hangry, or even begin to reason with them, until the hangry has been cured.  If you do this, you will ALWAYS lose.

During my extensive research that has been executed on my time abroad, I have collected several testimonials from actual victims of hanger.  (No animals were harmed in this study.)

“I was been previously diagnosed with Hanger, so I went to my Doctor. He prescribed a large cheese pizza, a dozen wings and a rootbeer. Bam! I was cured.”

“Sometimes when I’m out with friends, I start to get all fumed up and feel like I want to punch someone.  Luckily, I have found an amazing support group that can recognize my symptoms and hand me a granola bar before I go bazerk.”

“I never used to associate my lack of menu decision-making skills as a symptom of hanger, but I realize now that it always happens when I’m really hungry.  To prevent this, I just throw down my menu and tell them to bring me she chef’s specialty!”

In conclusion, do your best to avoid the hangry people of the world, and don’t fall victim to the infirmity yourself.  There are ways to prevent it, and roads to recovery.  Join a support group if you have to.  I found one on facebook that is called “Save The Poor and Hangry People” if you’re interested (although, it only had one like and I wouldn’t be surprised if the unintelligent group administrator accidentally spelled “hungry” wrong.)

Prepare.  Be hanger aware.

The Embarrassment Quota

One thing I love about our church is that no matter where in the world you go, no matter who you know or who you are, it’s always the same.  Warm and inviting people are always there to greet you.  People want to know where you are from and how you got there.  There is a light in their eyes that you want to be reflected out of your own as you leave.  Even the other day, as I was walking to the train station to go to Madrid, I saw some missionaries who weren’t serving in our ward and we ended up talking for a long time.  How great is it to be able to travel halfway across the world and still have so much to talk about with complete strangers?

I love going to church here in Spain.

I love leading music in Relief Society, participating in discussions in Sunday School, listening to people speak their testimonies during Sacrament Meeting.  I even love the little water cooler with all of the plastic cups that the little kids use over and over again because they seem to think they need a new one for every sip they take.

I have definitely fulfilled my embarrassment quota in this Spanish ward, and that is no exaggeration.  Let’s have a little recap, shall we?

Second Sunday in town:  Out Cold

I started feeling sick in Relief Society.  I turned to one of the girls and told them I was probably going to leave – they said we only had a few minutes left.  Without warning I bolted up and headed to the back door, but by the time I got there, I was already out.  Imagine having to finish bearing your testimony and summing up the lesson when some poor girl just made a dramatic exit by thudding out cold on the floor, followed by the bishopric and several other members who ran to see if she was alright.  That poor teacher.

Random Week:  Natural Beauty

A few weeks ago I was feeling lazy – or maybe I was just in a hurry (I can’t quite remember).  I must have just quickly put my hair up and brushed some mascara on or something.  Almost every other person I encountered came up to me and asked me one of the following questions:

Had I been crying?

Was I feeling sick?

Did I need to be getting more sleep?

Was there something wrong?

The answer, to all of these questions, was no, as a matter of a fact, I felt just fine.  But it was good to know they all appreciated my natural beauty.  Thank you.

Two weeks ago: Rewarded For Service?

They teach us to serve others, to jump to the call, to be prepared for anything, right?  Little did I know that when I agreed to play what I thought was prelude music to Sunday School that I would actually be humiliating myself with an on-the-spot piano solo.  When our teacher began the lesson before I could even sit down at the piano to play some nice soothing opening music, I thought I was off the hook.  Not so, good fellow, not so.  Rather, he called me up in the middle of the lesson, and proceeded to tell the class how I had volunteered to play a musical number (literally 20 minutes before, mind you).  His exact words went along the lines of “Okay, so, Rosa is going to play this hymn and I want you all to focus on the meaning, every single note, every single feeling…that’s right, just close your eyes and listen to her play.”  Um….  excuse me???  Let it be known that I had probably played this hymn two other times in my ENTIRE LIFE and was, needless to say, not prepared.  I struggled through.  It was demeaning.  If people felt the Spirit, it wasn’t through any contribution of mine.  A few people afterward came up and thanked me for playing.  There was an undeniable hint of pity in their eyes.  Dang it.

Today:  The Force Was Against Us

Our group of girls had been planning to sing during Sacrament Meeting for a few weeks.  We had only practiced a grand total of 10 times before this morning.  Unwise?  Perhaps.  Our first run-through of the morning sounded like a bunch of dying cows.  Some may argue with me, but I’ll hold true to my description.  I was slightly horrified.  We skipped out on the first part of Sunday School to run through it again.  It sounded better.  Much better, actually, but we needed to remember that we were in a small room and sound usually resonates well with limited space.  While we practiced, the first counselor of the bishopric came up to us and said we couldn’t sing because there was going to be a baby blessing.

Yeah.  No.

We had invited host parents and teachers, who were already there.  There was no way in heck we weren’t going to sing.  The poor man had obviously been familiarized with the wrath of women and knew not to push any further.  Yes, we could sing.  Relieved, we all sat through the last of Sunday School and then nervously began Sacrament Meeting.  All was well.  Until the bishop got up to announce the baby blessing and then someone realized that the sacrament hymn just happened to be the same one we were singing.  Disaster?  Yeah.  Apparently since I was sitting closest to the front (by a meager little row, thank you very much…) I was harassed into running up to the stands in attempts to beat the beginning of the blessing and explain to the chorister that she needed to change the song.  Maybe people thought I was rushing to help bless the baby too.  Who knows?  Apparently she understood my Spanish because in the end, the song was changed.  And I got to sit up on the stand until I made the walk of success and/or shame back to my seat.

And then we sang.  Was it our best performance?  Probably not.  But you could feel the spirit.  It’s hard not to when singing and listening to “How Great Thou Art.”

Despite my running track record of embarrassing myself in this ward, I know I will miss it.  We only have two more Sundays, and it all seems to be going by so quickly.  I love these people, and I love this church.  I love being able to go anywhere and feel at home, like I have a family even though I am thousands of miles away from my real one.  I even love the crowded noisy bus that we have to ride to get there.  I love it all.

I especially love looking forward to going back to Provo for winter semester.  Why?  I’ll let you guess.