Naked Men, Crazy Men, the Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame

My poor, little blog has been neglected for quite some time. I've been too busy teaching kids about Pilgrims and Native Americans, singing "head, shoulders, knees, and toes," and roaming the streets of Paris to have sufficient time to tend to my blog. Let's see...

So Paris was beautiful (obviously). Cáceres is in the middle of nowhere and doesn't have an airport, which gave me the excuse to visit my pal, Ellie in Madrid--if only very briefly--on Thursday night before departing from Madrid for Paris in the wee hours of Friday morn.

Althea Outside the Louvre

Upon my arrival, my friend Althea (who's currently studying in Italy) and I ventured to the Louvre to see some fine art and get a break from the bitter cold. (I thought Cáceres was cold but Paris was absurdly frigid). The Louvre apparently has some sort of mall attached, which Althea and I got lost in (surprise surprise) for quite a while before finally finding Greek sculptures, the good old Mona Lisa, and some ancient Egyptian jewelry, which was even more beautiful than the jewelry in the mall section of the Louvre! We also bought 39 euro museum passes for the weekend, thinking we were being thrifty, only to find out that as young, European residents we can get into all museums for free. Please let me know if you want to buy the museum pass off me (for a discounted price!) It's valid until the end of next year. We also poked around Notre Dame for a bit--nice place!

The next day, we hung out with a bunch of naked guys. (There was an exhibition of the male nude at d'Orsay ranging from Renaissance cherubs to a close-up photo of Eminem). We heard there was an amazing falafel place in the Jewish quarter, so when we were done viewing the nudes, we went to the first falafel place we saw there, thinking it was the one and only. But when we left, we saw that the entire street was lined with falafel places, and they all had award stickers, whereas ours didn't. But I thought the falafel we got was great, so I guess that's all that matters. We then went bakery-hopping 'til we were so full we could barely walk. We wandered around endlessly in search of the Picasso Museum, following all the signs that pointed to it but never finding the museum itself. We found out the next day it's closed for renovation...but wandering around Paris is never a waste of time because, as I mentioned, it's quite pretty. When we gave up on the museum, we decided to go see the Bastille, thinking we'd get to witness the dungeon where the poor Parisians were once buried. But when we arrived at the site, we discovered that it had been demolished long ago, and just a monument stood in its place...so much for that! We proceeded onwards to a larger monument called the Eiffel Tower, which some of you may have heard of. We went halfway up it, only to find out we'd be charged a lot more to go ALL the way up it. Reluctant to succumb to this sort of manipulation, we proceeded downwards. Even from the less-impressive height we had quite a nice view! Satisfied (for the most part) with our Eiffel Tower experience, we hopped on a train to see the Moulin Rouge. We were quite hungry from a long day of trekking around, so we planned to eat dinner in the Moulin Rouge area. We soon discovered, however, that the entire area is swarming with nothing but sex shop and strip club after sex shop and strip club. It's amazing to think that they all stay in business despite their hundreds of neighboring competitors. We finally found one of the only restaurants there, and the food wasn't bad (it's hard to find bad food in Paris). However, we were the only customers because everyone else in the area must have been too busy inspecting females remove articles of clothing.

A Seductive Statue Outside the Erotic Museum

Then Sunday came round, and we returned to the d'Orsay because we couldn't miss out on some good pointillism, symbolism, and post-impressionism (most notably Van Gogh!) After seeing the art of dead artists, we went to the Pantheon to see the tombs of dead, important people. We got to stand within jut a few feet of Rousseau and Voltaire's bones! We journeyed onwards to the George Pompidou Center, which looks from the outside like a very colorful factory placed randomly among the shops in the center of Paris. There we saw modern and contemporary art. So we got to travel through art's history all in one weekend, from the ancient Greeks to the post-impressionists to artists who are still alive and thriving. On the way to the George Pompidou Center, I accidentally provoked a crazy man, forcing Althea and I to sprint away from him as he angrily chased after us, until we safely made it onto a metro and zoomed away from his infuriated shouting. Other than that it was a very pleasant day (and other than that guy, all the Parisians I met were very friendly and nice...I kept expecting to meet the Parisian snobs you always hear about but never did).

George Pompidou Center

On Monday morning, I left Paris sad and greasy (the hostel shower was disgusting so I bathed in the sink, which didn't work so well) but also content that we'd had such a lovely trip.

As for other updates...the weekend before Paris, there was a Medieval Market here in Cáceres so two of my friends who are teachers in the nearby city of Badajoz came and visited. Unfortunately, the market didn't really seem all that medieval--there were just a bunch of stands selling things I didn't need and shouldn't buy. But on the plus side, a yak was wandering around, and I got to pet it.

I have a class of kindergarteners, four different first grade classes, a fourth grade class, a fifth grade class, and a sixth grade class, as well as eight private students...but I'm finally starting to learn some of the names and get to know some of the kids (although there still kids who will say "hola" to me on the street and I'll have no idea who they are). But that's been fun. There's nothing like being in a bad mood from having to wake up so early and then being swarmed by first graders all wanting to hug you. But it's not all perfect. It still bothers me that none of the gypsy kids have class books. ("Gypsy" sounds weird to me, and I know "Roma" is the politically correct word, but that sounds weird to me, too). They clearly miss out on learning and practice, and by fifth grade they're very behind and have a much lower level of English than the rest of the students. The other day, a gypsy girl in kindergarten asked me "where's my book?" when I was passing out the books, and it was heartbreaking to see how disappointed she was when I told her she didn't have one. She then proceeded to scribble with a black crayon in three of her classmate's books, and I knew I needed to reprimand her but absolutely hated having to do so, because if her parents had bought her a book, I know she'd be sitting there, writing in it, and causing no trouble.

That's a sad note to leave on, but I don't have much more to say, and I think the post is long enough. So with that, I'll bid you adieu.

Why I Can't Stand Nightclubs

Last night, I went with Caroline to the first club (or "discoteca" as they call them here) I've been to in Cáceres. I realized I really don't, in fact, like clubs at all. Here's why:

a) Girls spend forever putting on makeup beforehand (my roommate, for instance, got ready for hours before leaving the apartment), which stresses me out because I always just put on a little eyeliner and mascara, which takes 30 seconds at most. So I always feel like I've done something wrong and that I shouldn't even be allowed to enter the club--that I haven't sacrificed enough time pruning myself and therefore I'm not worthy of entering. Maybe I should go out and invest in some blush, fountain, and lipstick, but I don't even know where I'd begin or what colors I'd choose, and the energy all this involves makes my stomach churn. What's more, other girls show up in tiny dresses, heels, and no tights or jackets. They're willing to endure sore feet and the cold for the club, while I've got heel-less boots, a nice warm jacket, and adequately covered legs. I end up feeling guilty that I get to be comfortable, just like one o' the guys (who always get to wear warm jackets and heel-less shoes), while my fellow females are likely suffering, which in turn makes it hard for me to enjoy the night.

b) The volume of the music negates the possibility of conversation. This is about as long as a conversation gets in a club: "What's your name?" "Huh?" "What's your name?" "Mariel." "Maria?" "No, Mariel." "Maria?" "Yes." "Where are you from?" "Massachusetts." "What?" "Massachusetts." "What?" "Never mind." Therefore, if you want to interact with someone, the only way you can do so is by dancing. I like dancing, and I did enjoy dancing with Caroline right when we arrived last night. No one can deny that moving to music is satisfying. But I like moving to music, not moving up against random guys. However, guys on the prowl love clubs because the inability to converse gives them an excuse to immediately start grinding with you without having to get to know you at all first. Grinding, aka people pushing their bodies together in an extremely sexual way in the middle of huge crowds of other people, is considered socially acceptable because it is categorized as dancing, although "animal mating ritual" would be a much more accurate classification than "type of dance."I personally don't feel the need to get cozy with any random guy who for all I know could have picked his nose five minutes earlier or tortured his pet rat that afternoon. People on the street don't suddenly start pressing their sweaty bodies against you (or at least this hasn't happened to me...and I hope it hasn't happened to anyone else) so why is it suddenly OK in clubs?

c) It's suddenly OK in clubs because guys have the idea that girls are there simply to pick up guys (which is most definitely true of some girls, but definitely not all, and I speak from first-hand experience). Guys must think girls are just there waiting for a nice grinding session, or worse, for a kiss. (Yes. This happened last night. I was standing at the bar, with Caroline, when out of the blue and with no warning whatsoever, a grimy guy with an unappealing mustache kissed me. He didn't give me a kiss on each cheek, as would have been slightly more culturally appropriate. No. Smack on the lips, right out of nowhere. I now I'd slapped him, but just as I never think to honk at drivers who've done something dangerous on the road, I didn't think to do anything. I was too shocked). You shouldn't have to lie that you're married (which is what I did) in order to get guys not to harass you. You shouldn't need to be married in order to not want these things to happen to you. But somehow these charming men can't seem to comprehend that a girl who isn't married or even in a relationship could actually prefer NOT to suddenly be touched or kissed. And Latin men are notoriously pushy, but this type of lack of respect happens in liberal, little Northampton, too.

d) Filling up on alcohol is always a temptation because this can make even the most unfortunate of nights a little more pleasant. But spending 6 euros ($8) on a mixed drink I could easily have made myself at home for less than half the price is not something I like to do. It's one thing to spend extra money on food in a restaurant because in that case you're paying for the skill and preparation involved. But spending so much on drinks that take a second to make just doesn't make sense.

e) (This last one is specific to clubs in Spain). Spaniards don't go out til around 2am (the hour when bars close in America) and therefore stay out til sometime between 6am and 9am. As I don't know how to sleep in at all, this means I just completely lose a night's sleep. For instance, last night I went to bed at nearly 7am and yet I woke up at 9:57am. Missing out on sleep to spend a lot of money and deal with irritating guys just isn't worth it to me. Although I've never been a huge fan of clubs, when I was in Granada a year and a half ago, I didn't seem to mind going out that much--I often liked it. Maybe it's just that I'm getting old and boring.

I had more fun yesterday during the day. Caroline and I went to Mérida, a city south of Cáceres. It's home to the most important Roman ruins in Spain and the longest Roman bridge in the world. Highlights included a. meandering around and taking annoying, tourist pictures in the very site that bloody games and gladiator fights took place back in the day and b. eating freshly-made churros and chocolate. Delishhhh.

Roman Theater

An Arduous and Reckless Journey

So, my friend Stephanie and I set out this morning for what we thought would be a nice hike in the national park, Monfragüe. We took the train for an hour, looking forward to exploring the outdoors. When we arrived, the conductor asked us if we really wanted to get out at that stop. We said "yes..." not understanding why he seemed so surprised. Once the train had departed, we asked him how to get to the park. He said it was 15 kilometers (nearly 10 miles) away but that we could walk to a campground and maybe rent bikes there. So after trekking through a long path in the middle of nowhere, where there were just as many horses as people (not many of either), we got to the campground. When the receptionist said there were four bikes available to rent, we were quite relieved. But then, of course, it turned out that three out of the four had punctured tires. She called a taxi for us, but it would have cost us 60 euros, which seemed absolutely absurd. At this point, the park started to seem like this faraway nowhere land that we'd never reach in this lifetime. But there were still seven hours til our train back, and we weren't prepared to spend the day sitting in the station. So we began to walk and did something I thought I'd never do: put up our thumbs every time a car came into sight (which wasn't often, as no one seems to live in Monfragüe). We planned that if anyone questionable stopped for us, an imaginary friend would call my cell phone and tell me he/she could give us a ride, and we'd therefore avoid having to drive with creeps. When car after car went past without noticing our plight, we started to lose all hope. But then, at last, one came to our salvation. It was unfortunately a man (I would have preferred a woman) but he looked clean-cut and said he was a classical music teacher, so I tried my best to not be too anxious. He turned out to be fine in the end. I risked my life to go to the park, but it was beautiful and worth it. Luckily, on the way back, we got rides with three park rangers who were going towards the train station. So we got to go to the faraway, fantasy park that we thought would never be ours to see, and it all worked out in the end.

Yesterday I had a much less eventful day seeing Trujillo, a small city in the province of Cáceres. Although it's home to only 9,000 people, it had quite an impressive array of palaces, castles, and handsome views. I won't bore you describing it further, but it was quite a pretty city. And home to Pizarro, the dear conqueror of Peru! Gotta love him...

And two days ago I moved into my new apartment. It's infinitely cleaner and more appealing than the other one. My roommates are youngins (college Freshmen!). They all went home for the weekend but two out of the three are now back so we chatted a bit, and they seem nice, although I'm gonna need to get used to how fast they talk.

I would post pictures of Trujillo and the park, but I haven't uploaded them to my computer yet, and I'm feeling way too tired and lazy after hiking so much today. But later I'll be sure to post them on Facebook, and you can check them out if you want! (Although no one ever gets that excited about looking at other peoples' landscape/architecture pictures).

P.S. Don't worry, Mum. I don't plan to hitchhike ever again!