Flower Hound and Fairy Dungeon

Greetings from good old America. This is my very last post! (Well, last post until I go back to Spain, that is. And that could be soon since Spain seems to have quite a magnetic pull.)

So after some more super sad goodbyes in Cáceres (especially to Caroline!), I took a night bus to get one last, two-day dose of my beloved Granada. Antonio took me around to do typical, touristy things (hike in the mountains and swinging bridges in Monachil, sip Arabic tea in a tetería, admire the cathedral, meander through el Parque de García Lorca, go to el Mirador de San Nicolas and gape at la Alhambra illuminated at night, etc.) I took all the same pictures I'd taken a million times while living there since it's hard to resist wanting to capture a city that photogenic. Saying goodbye was horrible, both to Antonio and the city, but since we got to the train station literally the minute my train was supposed to leave, at least the goodbye wasn't too prolonged.

The Alhambra seen from Mirador de San Nicolas. I'll never get sick of this view.

After an overnight train next to a very chatty woman (some older, Spanish ladies aren't the keenest with social cues), I arrived bright and early in Barcelona and set out to explore Palau Guell, one of Gaudí's architectural masterpieces. Then I couldn't help but take an extreme nap until Phyllis and her brother, Max, flew in that night from Rome. They enjoyed their first Spanish tapas, and then Max flew home bright and early the next day.

Following Max's departure, Phyllis and I hunted for mythical churros (our Airbnb host recommended a place that had "mythical" churros) but they were so mythical we couldn't find them. We settled for a less mythical churro place, where the churros were small but delicious nonetheless. (For those of you who are out of the churro loop, they're one of Spain's specialties. They're basically donuts except crispier and way better.) I went to the Picasso Museum for the third time--each time there's more to learn about the genius--and then we headed to Parque Guell, an almost Dr. Suessical park, also featuring Gaudí's architecture. The final touch to the day were the Magic Fountains, which are basically fireworks except made of water. They shoot up in crazy colors and patterns to the rhythm of classical music. Quite surreal.

On of the Gingerbread-like Houses at Parque Guell

The next two days were spent in San Sebastian, probably the most famous city in northern Spain. The beaches are astounding at every time of day and in every light, but one beach is filled with mysterious bugs that congregate in the sand and pop up on to crawl all over unknowing tourists, such as Phyllis and myself. Therefore, the beaches are really better when viewed from afar, such as when you take the funicular up Mount Igueldo. San Sebastian is known for its small plates of food, called pintxos. Some are quite gourmet and go for 3 or 4 euros, tiny as they are. For example, we shared a 3-euro artichoke that appeared to be coated in gold dust.

One of the Beaches in San Sebastian

Granada and San Sebastian are very different cities, Granada being the epitome of traditional Spain and San Sebastian being the heart of the Basque Country which wants nothing to do with Spain. But in both cities, there were huge demonstrations in support of ending the monarchy. Unfortunately, these protests were to no avail, as on Thursday Felipe VI took over his father's position as king. So a country in crisis will continue to pay for a monarchy.

Anyways, following San Sebastian, we spent an afternoon in Bilbao, mostly just to see the Gugghenheim. The museum is guarded by a Jeff Koons dog made of flowers, which stands as tall as the building itself and is kind of hilarious. I got to go in a glass maze that led to a telephone, which Yoko Ono calls twice a day at random. She unfortunately did not call while I was in the maze, but at least I beat the other two maze-goers to the phone, and the old ladies watching gave me a big applause and called me "campeón" (champion). The highlight was seeing an amusing yet powerful video piece called The Visitors by Ragnar Kjartansson, which was filmed at Rokeby farm, which happens to be right by Bard (my college)! Being in Bilbao and seeing this very familiar part of upstate New York made my world feel quite small.

The Great Beast

 We made a short stop in Madrid, just long enough to see Goya, El Greco, and Velazquez in el Prado Museum, frolic around Plaza Mayor (a huge, dramatic plaza that glows pink at sunset), and go to a brand-new and quite delicious restaurant called Metro Bistro. If you ever go there, try the celery mojito!

After rambling through Spain, we had a week to spend in the Azores, which are an archipelago of nine volcanic islands off Portugal. Even though everywhere you look you're bound to encounter something breathtaking, somehow no one has heard of these islands. I can't leave out the fact that there are twice as many cows as people on the whole archipelago. I'll leave you to imagine the abundance of rolling hills and grazing mammals and the lack of human contamination. Traveling between the islands is a little tricky, so we only went to two of the nine, but I'm happy with our choices.

The Blue Water was Unreal. This Picture is Not Edited at All.

We landed in Sao Miguel and stayed in the town of Furnas for a few nights. It's called Furnas because it has volcanic-heated hot springs (called Furnas), which are the perfect stress-reliever when you're about to set off into the real world and have no jobs or even ideas for jobs lined up. And, once you're overheated, you can sit on the benches surrounding the furnas and people-watch. Phyllis and I were entertained for at least a half hour observing how ridiculously couples behave when on vacation together. There's an amazing garden by the the furnas that has crazy, sprawling plants I'd never seen before in my life, as well as some black swans, which we ran away from when one started emitting an odd hiss.

Gorgeous Garden in Furnas

We then stayed on the island of Terceira for a few days, in the town of Angra do Heroísmo, meaning "Bay of Heroism" because it's where Portugal beat Spain to gain independence. The beaches had the same radiantly blue water as they did at Sao Miguel. Apparently the black, volcanic sand causes the water to look bluer. Phyllis was unfortunately sick and missed out on a great whale watch (I saw tons of leaping dolphins and three huge fin whales) but she joined me the following day to explore some caves. One of the caves we went inside had an opening facing the sky and you go inside by descending a long staircase that spirals around its interior. It was caused by a lava bubble, and is absolutely enormous, with stalactites towards the bottom and moss towards the top. I felt like a was in a fairy dungeon. Apparently concerts, masses, and even weddings are held in the cave because of the awesome acoustics, but it's very dark and damp, so this is hard for me to imagine.

Many Beaches were Surrounded by this Volcanic Rock, which was Formed by the Lava's Interaction with the Ocean

Pictures Don't Even Begin to Capture the Craziness of this Cave

 Our plane to Boston left from Ponta Delgada back in Sao Miguel, so we spent two days there, doing virtually nothing (as there's nothing much to do there) but doing nothing isn't always a bad thing. It's a beautiful, little city with white buildings, unusual patterns in the cobblestones, and fun graffiti. But there just isn't much to do. And then, before we knew it, it was time for our flight back. I met my mom, Myles, and grandparents in Framingham, which is completely and utterly the opposite of the Azores. I tried not compare my view of Home Depot from the window of the restaurant with the views of jagged cliffs and sparkling seas I'd grown accustomed to. But at least the restaurant we went to was Indian, and I hadn't had that in ages, so I couldn't really complain. Now I get to enjoy home for a while and stop rapidly going through the last of my savings. Until next time, España!

Simon Cowell, Candy Crocodiles, and Shadow Friends

I was planning to write my next Spain post at the end of June when I return home, but quite a few amusing things have happened recently, and I've gotta jot 'em down before they slip my mind.

First of all, as I was walking down a street in Cáceres with Caroline the other day, I suddenly stopped, surprised, thinking I'd seen Simon Cowell (the infamous American idol host) standing outside a bar with his friends, having a beer. Then the absurdity of Simon being in Cáceres of all places, speaking Spanish, dawned on me, and I looked again, only to find it was just a random middle-aged dude who didn't really resemble Simon at all...Caroline and I then broke out in giggles at the idea of Simon being part of our teaching program in Cáceres and singing songs about the parts of the body with first-graders. If only it were true!

Good Old Simon

Caroline and I have had a few other interesting encounters recently. A few nights ago, we stopped at a street corner to say bye before continuing to our respective apartments. We noticed two human shapes in a window on the sixth floor of a nearby building. We couldn't make out their features, but they seemed friendly, and we waved and yelled greetings to them. We also shouted "paella" in unison (it's a very satisfying word to shout in unison for some reason...maybe due to the way it makes the jaw move like one of those boggle-headed animals people sometimes have in their cars...PAY-YAY-YA) which I think they appreciated. A few nights later, lo and behold, there they were in the window again, as if they were waiting for us to make an appearance! Unfortunately, two old men passing between us and the building where our silhouette friends live thought we were waving to them and gave us those jeering smiles and hellos that only old men with no lives know how to give. But once the old men were out of sight, we continued to bond with the window folk.

Anyway, my classes are coming to a close. I'm done with all my private classes (and already miss my students!) and today is my very last day of school. The students have been adorable...lots of hugs, cards, and "don't leave!"s...but a few goodbye moments stand out in particular:

-Two brothers I teach presented me with a pen they'd gotten engraved for me. Written in cursive on this lovely pen (which has blue ink, red ink, and graphite in it!) is the name "Muriel." I guess I'm now Ron Weasley's great aunt!

-I gave the first graders candy crocodiles on my last day with them. One girl told me she isn't gonna eat hers but instead save it forever as a reminder of me. A boy, by contrast, asked me for more so he could give them to his "brother" who was "in the class but sick that day." I asked him what his brother's name is, and he looked at me sheepishly and then ran away.

-The gifts I received from the first graders are as follows: two Pokemon cards and three rubber bands. I will treasure them always. To be honest, the excitement with which they gave me these gifts definitely made me tear up a bit. Plus, it's hard not to get emotional when in the middle of a 25-person hug.

I only have today and tomorrow, and then I'm off to begin my adventures. Just in time for my final days is the feria. It's basically a huge fairground, installed for the week, with rollercoasters, temporary bars and clubs, and lots of food. It doesn't sound exactly like my kind of scene (I'm not a big rides person, and I've been told the food and drinks are super pricey) but Caroline went yesterday and then arrived at my house on a high. Every other sentence she uttered was about the feria and how it's "increddddible" and she just can't wait to get back. She's generally a slightly more enthusiastic person than me over all, but if she loves it that much I suppose I'll have to go see what it's about before my 4:25am bus takes me away from this most pleasant of cities. Well, that's that. Stay tuned for my final post about whatever ends up happening in my adventures in Granada, Barcelona, San Sebastian, Bilbao, Madrid, and the Azores!

Sad Times! (But Some Glad Times, Too)

I hadn't started to process that my Extremaduran days are coming to a close until today when I was sorting my clothes into what goes with me and what stays here (limited suitcase space!) Suddenly I was like, "Wait, so I'm actually leaving." Getting settled into a city for eight months and then simply packing up and going is an odd phenomenon. But I don't think I'll fully realize it's over until the plane thuds onto the Logan runway.

Although I leave Cáceres in six days, I still have three weeks until I hit Boston. I'll be traveling with Phyllis, a dear pal from home, for a good while. Gotta make the most of being in this land where wine is cheaper than water and people shout rather than talk, where castles are as common as gas stations (well, almost) and highways are surrounded by dramatically angular mountains. The details of our impending adventure will be in the post that follows! I'll likely write it from my home in Massachusetts while munching on a burrito. (Burritos are non-existent here in Spain, so that's one thing I'm quite looking forward to.)

So, last weekend I soaked up Mediterranean rays (although Spaniards still make fun of me for being very "blanca") with Antonio in Fuengirola, Málaga, a town brimming with seafood, English folk, and souvenir shops. Since I'm used to the bitter, cold Atlantic waters, I readily jumped into the sea. But Antonio, who lacks the Massachusetts-bred tolerance of the cold, merely dipped in a toe.

Fuengirola!

 This weekend, I began my goodbyes. Yesterday, I went to the nearby city, Badajoz, to say bye to my chums, Cady and Dani. We lay in the grass and ate chocolate-covered Chips Ahoy, and then, just like that, it was time for me to take the bus back. They're from the Midwest, but hopefully one day in the future, we'll cross paths again. Last night, I went out with Caroline and her roommate, Noelia. As there was no dance floor at the bar, we swayed in our seats to classic 80s tunes, mostly American. Then I had to say a sad goodbye to Noelia. But not yet to my dear Caroline. I'll save that for the very last moment I'm here. It definitely won't be my favorite moment of my time here in Spain. That's for sure! Today, I had lunch with my intercambio, Honorio (I practice Spanish with him and he practices English with me) at his house with his family. Got to enjoy a typical, Spanish lunch of gazpacho and paella. And then more goodbyes. I'm sick of them already!

Sunbathing Seals, SEXO, and Madness for WOMAD

I have two blog-worthy events to report on: Valencia and WOMAD, the first being a beautiful city you've most likely heard of, the second a huge music festival in Cáceres.

So, Valencia. I went there for a long weekend two weekends ago with who else but the lovely Caroline. To start off the adventure, we went to the City of Arts and Sciences, where sleek, modern buildings are reflected in huge pools that surround them, and where crowds of people swarm to see...art and science! We went to the aquarium where I jealously watched carefree seals bask, belly-up, in the sun. And we got to see lots of skilled dolphins do synchronized leaps and flips at a dolphin show...impressive critters for sure. 

Such a Cutie

Building at Ciudad de las Artes y las Ciencias

Our other days were filled with paella, horchata (delicious at the time but so rich it left me a bit woozy for the remainder of the day), art, architecture (the old part of the city has an overhwelming abundance of grand architecture), and the beach for a few quite cold and windy hours. For some reason we kept singing Sevilla's theme song the whole time we were there ("Sevilla tiene un color especial...") maybe because Valencia is a pleasant, pedestrian-friendly, and art-filled city just like Sevilla. There are just too many pretty cities in Spain. I'm going to miss this country immensely! 

Building in la Plaza del Ayuntamiento

Oh, and I can't forget to mention one other Valencian highlight: eavesdropping on the highly inappropriate conversation between middle-aged folk at a nearby table one night at dinner. Eme and her friends must have thought that since Caroline and I were speaking English to each other, we wouldn't understand their Spanish...inconspicuousness is always a highlight to being a "non-Spanish-speaking foreigner." ("Eme, no te preocupes. El sexo es el sexo.")

As for WOMAD, it's a worldwide music festival that takes place is loads of countries around the year including Russia, Sweden, Scotland, Poland, and even the U.S. Lucky for me, Cáceres is the designated WOMAD spot in Spain, so I had free music right at my doorstep. I can't say I enjoyed it much on Friday night because the quality of the music wasn't good enough to make up for the fact that I'd gotten up at 6am that morning, felt sick, and wasn't in the mood to be sardined between crowds of drunk people spilling beer left and right...not to mention the heaps of garbage strewn every two feet all over the plaza. (WOMAD is a big botellón, meaning it's a time when drinking is legal in the streets, hence all the garbage).

But Saturday was completely different. Maybe it was just that I was much more energetic, but it seemed to me that the music was infinitely better, thus distracting me from my agitation with the drunk masses. My favorite part was sitting in Plaza Mayor, the main plaza in the Old Part, and listening to Olivenza, a Spanish and Portuguese group I'd seen twice before and adore. That was early enough in the evening that it was still possible to move without elbowing people out of the way. Later, when the entire Old Part was swarming with Extremadurans and foreigners alike, another highlight was Ram Z, whose beat-boxing skills were impressive for sure. He gave me a free CD after the show, but it unfortunately reminds me of mosquitoes dying (not to be harsh or anything) and is nothing like the rhythmic and melodic energy I witnessed in real life. But no use complaining about a gift!


Anyway, I'm glad I got to squeeze in some of these final adventures before my time here comes to an end. A nine-year-old student, who's usually very quiet and serious, asked me for my address in America so he can visit me when I return. So utterly adorable...OK, I'll stop being sentimental. I still have weeks to appreciate this precious place.

Adventures in the Emerald Isle

Castles, cathedrals, cliffs, holding a lamb, and the sound of sick elephants were among the highlights of my recent trip to Ireland. During Semana Santa (a week of Easter-like celebrations in Spain) I met up with my mom and Mimi (my grandma) in the Emerald Isle.After a 7-hour busride to the airport, 7 hours of waiting at the airport due to a delayed flight, and 3 hours in the plane (funny how that was the shortest part of it all), I finally arrived, exhausted but blissful to Dublin. The endless hours of traveling would soon prove to be worth it.

I love lambs!

 

Mimi and I were roommates 20 years ago on a trip to Florida, and it was lovely to re-establish our roommate connection once again. We weren't the most competent of roommates, and we experienced various travails such as inability to turn off a light in our room and confusion with a hairdryer. But despite the obstacles, we had fun.

We spent a few days exploring the bustling and pub-filled city of Dublin, seeing most of the typical tourist attractions. Our first stop, which we didn't exactly plan to see first, happened to be a former prison (now museum), the Kilmainham Gaol. Many leaders of Irish rebellions were imprisoned and some executed at this prison by the British and in 1923 by the Irish Free State. It was very interesting, but at one point I felt quite rude because I burst out laughing hysterically right when the guide was discussing the executions. What happened was I noticed my mom taking a lot of pictures, so I looked down at her camera's screen, expecting to see pictures of the architecture. However, what I saw on the screen were the faces of people in our tour group. She explained that she was taking pictures of interesting faces for potential use in future paintings. The unexpectedness of the situation resulted poorly-stifled bursts laughter, which hopefully didn't come across as apathy for the executed prisoners. 

 

 

We made our way to the Irish Museum of Modern Art, where we viewed cow poo on display and heard uncomfortable, throbbing noises coming from some interactive piece, which Mimi described as the sounds of a 'sick elephant.' Dublin sights also included the stately St. Patrick's Cathedral, a display of the lavishly-decorated Book of Kells which contains the four gospels in Latin, an in-depth exhibit about religions at Trinity College, a tour of the palace with a 'frustrated actor' guide (Mimi's words), an impressive Irish step-dancing show, and a visit to see my dear Beckett and Joyce at the Irish Writers' Museum. 

 

Dublin was blossoming!

 

After taking in Dublin, we proceeded southwards to quite a few charming towns, homes to castles, brightly-painted houses, sheep-filled meadows, and neon yellow rapeseed fields. We stopped at Charles Fort, a star-shaped fort on rolling, green hills along Kinsale Harbor, where I lept around and felt like a character from the 'Sound of Music.' We spent a night in Kinsay, where we ate fish at the renouned Fishy Fishy restaurant. In Killarney, where we spent two nights, we saw some live music at a pub (mostly American covers but there were a few nice, Irish tunes), and then headed onwards to Adare, where all the houses have thatched roofs.

 

 

At one point along the way, we came across a farmer who was surrounded by a bunch of lambs, a baby deer, and a puppy. He let me hold a lamb, and it immediately fell asleep in my arms, and in that moment, all my worries disappeared. That night I tried not to notice the lamb on the menu. The grand finale of our trip was the phenomenal Cliffs of Moher, for which we were fortunate enough to have a clear, sunny day, allowing us to see far and wide. In fact, although Ireland is famous for its rain, never once did it rain during our stay. Not only was the weather delightful, but so were the people. Everyone we met was more than ready to chat and help us with whatever we needed. We were quite lucky indeed. We're not Irish but maybe a little of their luck rubbed off on us nonetheless. 

 

Cliffs of Moher

 

Boiling Blood, Chocolate Beards, and Blisters!

Greetings from super sunny Spain. Yesterday it was so hot I had to get an ice cream, and I stupidly only took one napkin, forgetting that the napkins here in Spain aren't even napkins but rather tiny, shiny slips of paper that weren't designed to clean up messes but rather to mock poor, desperate humans such as myself. By the time I reached my apartment, I had a full-on chocolate beard. It was so hot I packed shorts in my bag to wear on my long walk home from school. I'm not sure what got more looks, my chocolate beard or my bare legs. In Spain, people don't wear shorts...or if they do, they don't until it's well into July. They apparently, for whatever reason, prefer to have sweaty legs than show a bit of skin. Wearing shorts was like having "crazy foreigner" written in red across my forehead. But honestly, I was willing to accept the judgmental looks so as to avoid an hour-long walk in jeans.

Today it was equally hot. I enjoyed a half-hour walk to the doctor and another half hour back beneath the full force of the sun. (I went to the doctor to get a blister checked. I got a blister checked because today was "hiking day" at my school, and I told them I couldn't make it due to a painful blister. They said they needed medical justification. So I got to walk an hour in the heat, bringing further pain to my foot, all in the name of justification for missing a day I wouldn't even be teaching anyway. Love bureaucracy!)

In general, I haven't had much of a chance to teach at that school lately. Last week was healthy breakfast week, meaning the kids ate "healthy breakfasts" (of toast and hot chocolate!!) instead of having class. My role involved standing and watching them eat this "healthy breakfast." The other day, a teacher spend a good twenty minutes reading off grades so that everyone knew what everyone else had received. (Yes, grades were announced for all to hear...as if being 12 years old isn't stressful enough as it is.) And then there was a full hour dedicated to having the kids "weave" on makeshift looms. Because the "looms" weren't real and therefore the yarn kept slipping all over them and getting tangled, and because eight kids were assigned to one loom, there was a lot more arguing than there was learning. Not sure what the point was. The other school I teach at, meanwhile, completely relies on the English lessons I prepare. At one school, the sixth graders don't understand "how are you?" At the other school, the first graders are already speaking in full English sentences. I'll leave you to guess which school is which. That said, there are absolutely adorable and interesting kids at both schools, and I do enjoy my experiences at both, for the most part. I just wish I could teach more at the breakfast-hiking-loom school, especially because in crisis-stricken Spain, knowing English can be the difference between having a career and living on the streets.

Onto lighter matters, I had two enjoyable outings recently. One was to see a production of "Yerma" by Lorca. My senior project was on Lorca, so now that I've had a little break from him, it was fun to return to Lorcaland for a night, especially in his home country. Another pleasant viewing was the movie "Ocho apellidos vascos" (Eight Basque Last Names). It was a nice change to see a Spanish movie rather than an American movie dubbed in Spanish, which make up the majority of what's in theaters here. The lips actually matched the words! Phenomenal. Plus, although I didn't get all the cultural references, it gave me many a good chuckle.

Time to go eat an early dinner and get to bed. Gotta try and get some sleep in, as I've set my alarm for 3:53am for my early bus and then plane to Dublin, where I'm meeting my mom and Mimi (my grandma). So excited! Until next time, chaps.

Tiny Towns and Torso-Binding

The past two weekends have been filled with pueblo-viewing. I've been to Madrid, Barcelona, Sevilla, and most of the other major touristy cities in Spain. I've seen the typical sites. Now's my time to take advantage of being in Extremadura, which is rather off the beaten track and home to a vast number of tiny villages in the midst of rolling hills and farmland, where everyone knows everyone, and neighbors spend weekends drinking cañas (beers) together in the plazas. Villages are very close-knit, as only recently have people started traveling and moving more around Spain. Each has its own, distinct accent and its own, distinct traditions. One of the teachers at my school, for instance, mentioned that in her pueblo, a springtime tradition is for people to chase each other, spraying each other with water. Like many of the people I've met, she lives in the city of Cáceres but also has a house in a pueblo in the province of Cáceres which she shares with her parents and siblings.

Two weekends ago, I went to a private student, Honorio's house in the village of Mirabel, where we had lunch with some of his friends. We feasted on cocido, a typical Spanish meal consisting of noodles in broth, cabbage, a delicious garbanzo stew with potatoes, and various meats. (The latter I politely declined). Stomachs (and, in my unfortunate case, bladder) full to the brim, we set out on a long hike amid fields of cork trees (they get stripped of their cork every ten years and must have been recently-stripped because they looked quite naked) eventually making it to El Padre Santo (the Father Saint), a massive, revered cork tree, money-maker through the ages. We also saw a castle from afar (there are so many random castles around Extremadura, no one gives them much of a second thought) but it was high up on a mountaintop, so we didn't give it a visit.

Last weekend, my roommate, Luisa, took me to her village, Villanueva de la Vera. On the way, we stopped at a neighboring village, Valverde de la Vera (population: 618), a tiny town with a tiny castle and streams of water running down the cobblestone streets. There, the tradition is for men to make deals with God. They'll say, for instance, "God, if you heal my cousin from his disease, I'll do empalao for the next three years." Empalao entails one's arms and torso getting tied extremely tightly to a wooden cross. Weights hang from the arms, and two swords are stuck behind the cross. Women who wish to participate simply bear wooden crosses on their backs but aren't tied up. There is one day a year when those who choose to subject themselves to this tortuous activity march for an hour around the streets of Valverde, bowing down to all the crosses in the village. Luisa and I went to a museum dedicated to this ritual, where a girl about my age walked us enthusiastically through every last detail. She clearly had plenty of time to spare, as it was probably a matter of days or maybe weeks until the next museum visitors would arrive. I found the whole matter rather gruesome, but later I met a friend of Luisa's who'd participated. He assured me it was deeply rewarding and the best kind of pain possible. To each his/her own...

Me & the Tiny Castle in Valverde

Luisa's village was very similar to Valverde, although slightly bigger (population: 2,163). We had a lunch of lentils and tortilla española (eggs and potatoes cooked together) with her parents, who'd both lived their whole lives in the village. We then embarked on a trek with Luisa's friends to see the gargantas ('garganta' means 'throat' but only in Northern Extremadura does it also mean 'stream flowing from the top of a mountain.' I like to imagine these streams are the throats of mountains). We saw the areas where the gargantas were waterfalls...quite spectacular! Dinner consisted of five small plates of unusual food combinations (lentils with avocado, for instance) in a new, hipster restaurant that seemed extremely out of place in this very traditional village. The following day was filled with sight-seeing (seeing colorful and charming but often dilapidated abodes) and of course, drinking cañas for hours in the plaza, where everyone gathered after mass, and where old men strummed guitars. By the time we finally had lunch, I was so hungry I no longer had an appetite, especially when others ordered calamari and it came out in huge, swishing, slimy chunks. I couldn't bear to eat my trucha (trout) which looked not quite dead on my plate, with its head still on, so I had to awkwardly ask for a doggy bag, something Spaniards hardly ever do. But other than that, it was a delightful experience seeing the more hidden (but probably more authentic) side of Spain.

The Villanueva Architecture

It was definitely a welcome distraction from current aggravations and grievances with teachers. (They've suddenly decided they can no longer allow me to carpool with them unless I pay, although it explicitly states in my contract that those in my position should never be expected to pay.) So I've been trying to get in touch with the government to see if they'll pay the teachers, but of course, the easiest thing for them to do is simply ignore me. So that's been quite fun and headache-inducing! But the kids continue to be cute, at least. One of them sends me a daily song on watsapp, another tries her hardest to pick me up every time I see her even though she's only in fourth grade and very small, two others have given me plastic bracelets they made (I don't know about America, but they're all the preteen rage in Spain), and another drew me a beautiful picture. (I chose to ignore the fact that she spent all class making it instead of doing her work.) And I had a lovely time on Monday night with Caroline, eating montaditos (mini sandwiches) and drinking chupitos (shots). Sometimes a few shots are necessary on a Monday night to get the week rolling, especially if there's a drunk woman by your side, caressing your arm and assuring you she'll do no harm. (Yes, this happened.) So minus the carpool woes, I'm having a marvelous time with my Spain bros.

Bones and Banks

I've been a bit less enthused with life overall in the past month than I usually am...I think everything is starting to become too routine, and I'm forgetting embrace the novelty of being here in Spain. So I'll use this blog post to remind myself of pleasant/bizarre/worthwhile occurrences that have happened in the past month since I last wrote. (I know... it's been a whole month--I've become absolutely horrid at being a devoted blogger.)

1. My friend, Cady and I wandered the meadows of Cáceres, ending up on a hill covered in soil that was so spongy I felt like my body barely weighed a thing and I was on the moon. We may as well have been on the moon being that out of nowhere, we came upon a vast array of ancient-looking ruins covered in graffiti of giant insects...there was also an abandoned toilet adorning the site (quite a mystery, as there was surely no plumbing in the ruins). And the cherry on the cake was a lone bone, splayed out in the midday sun, probably from the thigh of a cow. It was so old and sun-worn it had the texture of wood. Without a second thought, I brought it back to the apartment, scrubbed it off a bit, and left it on the terrace to dry. Of course, upon spotting it, my roommate and her friends thought I was insane, but the plus to being a foreigner is you can blame everything your culture. (I assured them it's very normal in America to bring interesting bones home.)

2. I was told to go see the Vostell museum in Malpartida, a neighboring town. Of course, I decided to go on a Monday, the one day it's closed. So I'll have to make another trip back. But luckily, Malpartida itself happens to be a delightful place. It's home to a glistening lake surrounded by wind-carved rocks and stray cows. So, my friend, Alberto and I had an enjoyable stroll and staring contest with the cows.

At the Lake in Malpartida!

 3. I was lucky enough to re-visit the dazzling Lisbon during a long weekend with dear Caroline. The highlight night revolved around Indian food and banks. We did try the traditional Portuguese cuisine, but when we saw there was an Indian restaurant a foot from our hostel, we just couldn't resist. (Spain is extremely lacking on the Indian restaurant front, so we'd been feeling rather deprived.) When we'd temporarily satiated our desire for Indian goodness (I say "temporarily" because we had to return the following night) we both had to find our respective banks to get out some cash, and despite it being a Friday night, even the main the streets were quite empty. There was something super freeing about meandering through the night with the streets to ourselves, coming upon a grand monument gleaming under streetlights every few blocks or so. We joke that that was our Indian food and banking night since that's all we really did...but in many ways I preferred it to a night of partying. It was a way to peacefully take in the city without dealing with the hustle and bustle of the day.

One of the 43 Comparsas

4. After our three nights in Portugal, Caroline and I set off for two nights in Badajoz to witness the famous carnival. The carnival lasts five days, and people even get school off for it because having fun is high on Spain's list of priorities. But we decided two days would be enough carnival for us. I wouldn't consider myself a carnival-type. Parades and costumes seem to excite others more than me. In fact, they tend to depress me because they usually entail having to be around loads of happy, giddy people...so then, of course, I wonder why I'm not as happy and giddy as everyone else... But this time I genuinely enjoyed the spectacle because it wasn't just fun and silliness that I can't relate to (being the extremely serious person I am). It was actually quite artistic, involving lots of "comparsas" or groups of percussionists and dancers decked out in homemade costumes that had been designed and crafted especially for the event. Comparsas apparently practice for years together, and it shows. The dancers are perfectly in-sync with each other and the music, and they move gracefully despite their huge, dazzling costumes. This parade in no way resembles the rhythm-less, commercially-motivated parades we're used to seeing in the U.S. where people with fake smiles smeared across their faces wear drooping Mickey Mouse costumes and trumpets blare the same three songs on repeat.

5. But nothing against trumpets, of course. I recently saw an excellent trumpet performance at my second Olivenza show. (Olivenza is the Extremaduran band that Caroline and I are obsessed with, which I mentioned in a previous post.) Olivenza, despite being a wonderful band in my opinion, isn't very well known, so Caroline and I enjoy singing their songs when we're out on the streets, knowing no one will recognize them. My favorite part to sing is the trumpet solo from their song "Antarctica." After singing it for a month in anticipation of their next concert, it was quite satisfying to hear the real thing last weekend.

Well, that's that. Time to defrost some freezer wonders and then head to bed!

Pigs and Salty Babies

It's been one of those weeks...the rain hasn't let up. My umbrella broke due to the forceful winds that often come along with the rain here...and maybe due to the fact that it was 3 euros and tiny. I walk many-a-mile every day so I'm perpetually drenched. Therefore, I've felt very toad-like recently. I just realized I've even started wearing more greens and browns...perhaps this is me subconsciously trying to embrace my new identity. If it's something I gotta face, it might as well be something I embrace!

But yeah, just one of those weeks. I made a nice presentation on animals for the first graders, complete with google images of domestic and wild animals and videos of creatures dancing together. And then, of course, I arrived, ready to present, but the mouse was malfunctioning and clicking every which way without me touching it, skipping through my slides with great fervor and then bringing up random pictures of children eating, pictures that weren't even part of the presentation. So that was a failure. Then my friend Antonio tells me he's planning to visit me...but of course, a few days later, decides he was just kidding. Not visiting after all! So that was cool. (Sarcasm.) And how wonderful that tomorrow is good old Valentine's Day, which always seems to arrive at exactly the right time of year. (Sarcasm, again.)

But I just like complaining. Seriously, over all, life is swell. Can't complain about being in Spain. And I'd take the rain over the freezing weather any day. And back in Northampton, I doubt I'd see a big, black pig trotting in the middle of the highway, the seemingly-unfazed owner following behind. (I was with some fellow teachers when this happened...none of them seemed to think much of it. But yeah, that's Extremaduran life for ya. Here in the middle of nowhere, pigs are on the loose.) And of course, I very much appreciate the kids, despite their rowdiness. Really quite a charming, hilarious bunch. Recent gems:

(My 11-year-old student mentioned she likes to draw.)
Me: What do you like to draw?
Her: Mostly just human brains. (Proceeds to draw a brain for me.)

A three-year-old girl: Where's your sister?
Me: I don't have one.
Her: Yes! You do! I saw her on TV!

14-year-old student: You look a lot like Taylor Swift.
Me: Really? I've never heard that before.
Her: Well, the main difference is your eyes are more Asian than hers. You have very Asian eyes.

6-year-old student: How long have you been learning English?
Me: Since I was a baby.
Her: Wow, you must have been a really smart baby.

I've also learned some strange, new phrases recently, which is always fun. Maybe if I spread the word, they'll become phrases in America, seeing as I'm incredibly influential, and thousands of people are fixated on my blog:

1. Me comería un coto con patatas.
Literal translation: I would eat a calf with potatoes.
Meaning: I'm super hungry.

2.  En negrita.
Literal translation: In black.
Meaning: In bold. (In reference to typed words...as if words that aren't in bold aren't also black...?)

3. Qué salado (pronounced "salow") es el bebé, niño, perrito, etc.
Literal translation: How salty the baby/child/puppy is.
Meaning:What a cute baby/child/puppy.

4. Qué rico es el bebé, niño, perrito, etc.
Literal translation: How rich the baby/child/puppy is.
Meaning: What a cute baby/child/puppy.

5. Meterte en un rollo.
Literal translation: Put yourself in a roll.
Meaning: Get yourself in a sticky/dangerous/boring situation.

So despite the rain, malfunctioning mouse, and dread for Valentine's day, thanks to the amusing lil 'uns,  funny phrases, and, of course, the pig-spotting, my week has been enjoyable nonetheless.

Two Young Civilians in Sevilla

Just about two years ago, during my Granada life, I went to Sevilla for only a few hours with my dear peer, Ally. Last weekend, I had the fortune of returning to this enchanting land with another dear peer, Caroline, for two and a half days! Thus, after just a bitty taste of Sevilla the first time, I got a good-sized mouthful the second time.

And speaking of mouthfuls, I'm embarrassed (but secretly proud) to admit that the first mouthful I had in this charming city, known for its delicious, Andalucian food, was a brownie at Peggy Sue's, an embodiment of what Spaniards would imagine an American restaurant from the 60s to be like. It was complete with jukeboxes that didn't actually work; a menu consisting of burgers, fries, brownies, ice cream, and not much more; piercingly pink walls; and "typical" American drinks (two different types of Fanta were on the list...who drinks Fanta in America?) I felt super self-conscious sitting there, jabbering away in American English. I wanted to reassure the waiter, "I DO eat Spanish food, too! It's just hard to resist brownies sometimes..."

So after our brownie indulgence, we went to bed at a reasonable hour so as to energize up for the big day of tourist fun. Our room consisted of two beds, a triangular coat-closet, a sort of make-shift bathroom that was clearly forced into the room after its completion (there was basically a toilet and sink shoved into the corner with a plastic wall surrounding them), and there was no heating, so I wore two sweaters, two pairs of leggings, two pairs of socks, and a jacket to bed, and woke up shivering in the night. But on the bright side, it was only seven euros a night, very centrally-located, the people working there were cute and friendly, and they did give us a heater for the other two nights.

Caroline is Unimpressed with the Bathroom

I won't get too detailed on the tourist attractions because no one honestly likes reading extensive descriptions of other people's vacations, but I'll say that Sevillians (I want to write it as "Civilians") are known around Spain for being arrogant and proud. I can't say I encountered any arrogance, but there was definitely a lot of pride to be seen. For instance, we went to two flamenco shows at La Anselma and La Carbonería (which were wonderful, by the way, but I did, embarrassingly enough, fall asleep in the middle of one of them, only because I was super tired to begin with) and over half the songs were about Sevilla and how wonderful it is. But I can see why--there's definitely a lot to be proud of: There's the Alcázar, an astounding castle (one of those you-have-to-see-it-to-believe-it places); the beautiful cathedral with the Giralda tower that gives magnificent views of the city; tasty food (we ate at lots of places in addition to Peggy Sue's); a vibrant flamenco culture; some nice art; the almost surreal Plaza de España, which seems to appear out of nowhere; and a grand, old bullring (well, this is a source of pride for many, although I can't say I would personally be too proud being in a city that hosts bull-torture, but that's just me).

The Alcázar. Honestly, just go there. Way more impressive in real life.

Trying to Soak up the Alcázar's Glory

The Giralda Tower

In Plaza de España there were plaques dedicated to each community in Spain. Obviously I got excited to see good old Granada there, my favorite place in all of Spain (but Sevilla does fall closely after!)

 On our last day, we had to leave but there was no one at the desk, so we went through the gate, locked it up, and threw the keys through the gate along with a note that said "gracias." But of course, the second the keys were out of reach, I realized my backback was still in the hostel. So then we had to stand there, waiting like morons. Shortly after, a woman who works there returned, but this is Spain we're talking about, so even though she works there, of COURSE she didn't have a key. I stood there, guarding Caroline's bag, while she and Caroline walked around in search of some sort of rod/pole/stick to fish out the keys. A neighbor kindly lent us his broom, but it was about an inch too short. So we stood there, helplessly eying the keys, until a fellow hostel-stayer finally appeared in the lobby and let us in. After that, we had just enough time to go to a history of Spain and the Americas museum before heading to the bus station to return to Cáceres.

The week passed by without anything particularly outstanding occurrences, just the usual: Frustration at speaking to a classroom of rowdy youngins and feeling like I'm talking to myself, and dopamine highs when kids remember words I've taught them, comment on how much they enjoyed a class, or give me hugs.

Yesterday was a lounge-in-bed-and-eat-cereal type of day (very necessary after nonstop movement all week), and today was supposed to be an 18-kilometer hike with my roommate and 400+ other hikers in a mountainous town an hour and a half away that's filled with streams and "gargantas" (which means "throats" but also "streams that descend from snowy mountaintops" in Spanish) but when my roommate and I got up in the dark at 6:45am and saw that there was an 100 percent chance of rain for the whole day, we were like "uh, never mind, and went back to bed, losing the six euros we'd paid but gaining four hours of sleep in our warm, rainless rooms. Then, so as to get out of  the house and feel slightly less guilty about our laziness, walked to the ancient part of Cáceres and peered at the pretty view from the tower. But the intense rain and wind made me super glad we'd opted out of the six and a half-hour hike.

The Blog Has Been Revived at Long Last

I'm well aware that negligence of travel blogs is a serious crime that can't be mitigated by even the best of excuses. However, I'll nonetheless provide you with a few explanations in the desperate hope that they will, perhaps, instill in you an inkling of understanding:

1. Winter break happened. The first half was filled with Madrid-Toledo-Segovia-Barcelona fun with my mum and the rest was filled with a whirlwind of family and friend reunions back in good old Northampton. There wasn't much time to sleep and feed myself, let alone feed words to this here blog. But yeah, I had a truly terrific time with Mother, getting to know Madrid and realizing it has much more character than I'd thought last time I was there, oggling at the fairytale cities of Toledo and Segovia (especially Segovia's Alcázar, which is so utterly stunning that even Walt Disney himself based his classic palace on it), and walking through the dreamy bizarreness of Gaudí´s creations in Barcelona (most notably, for me, the roof of la Pedrera, which is an otherwordly land of melting marshmallow men). And going home was just so excellent. I love Spain, but I must say, I wouldn't have minded being home a tad longer. Seeing my friends and family so briefly was like eating a bite of an apple pie and then having the rest of the piece snatched right out of my hands. (But luckily I did, at least, get to have Mum's delish apple pie on numerous occasions...and was able to eat entire pieces.)

Marshmallow Men at La Pedrera

2. Once I got back to Spain I had to deal with a) suitcase loss at airport (but it finally turned up) b) lack of hot water and heat in apartment and c) The Big Move #2 a week after I got back. (Yes, I moved. Yet again. I felt awkward in apartment #2 because my roommates only seemed to want to talk to me in order to tell me what to do. Luckily, new apartment is beautiful, I have a shower with water that comes out of the ceiling and walls, and, most importantly, my flatmate, Luisa, is an absolute delight.) But yeah, going through that whole process didn't leave me much blog time. And the one con to the new flat is it's super far from everything. I spend 3-4 hours a day walking, I eat my meals in a less-than-leisurely-fashion, and I'm basically always on the go...so again, not much blog time. But overall, life is much preferable these days, and I get exercise built right into my day! (Thank God for podcasts...the info in my ears keeps my walks a good deal more interesting than they would be otherwise...NPR's "Snap Judgements," "The Moth," and "Stuff You Should Know" are among my favorites, but the list is quite long.)

3. The writing that I do spend some time on these days involves a story about a girl who goes to Spain (who knows where I got that idea from...) and cover letters for writing programs this summer. The dear blog has thus been overshadowed by other narratives. (Sorry baby blog! No offense intended!)

So yeah, those are my (less than satisfactory, perhaps) excuses. Moving on to the highlights of my recent Spanish experiences:

1. Two recent trips with Caroline, one to visit Mérida again (but unfortunately on our last visit we'd seen all the famous tourist attractions, and this time we were kind of left scavenging for somewhat decent sights) and to Badajóz, where we had a rainy but fun night with our assortment of pals. Some of such pals also visited us these past few weekends, which was delightful. One night we went to a club without a clue that it was salsa night...we kinda just stood on the side, gaping at the super gifted dancers gallop gracefully across the floor until some people who worked at the club forced us to dance. My skills were, to put it gently...sub-par.

2. Seeing Olivenza, an Extremaduran-Portuguese band whose CD I bought after the show (I let Caroline do the talking during the CD-purchase, as being near the band members made me rather bashful) and I've now memorized all the songs...soo gooooood.

Olivenza

3. Seeing "The Book Thief." It was so entrancing and beautiful I didn't even fixate, as I normally do, on the strangeness of Spanish dubbing, or even really notice the absurdity of blond kids speaking Spanish in Holocaust-stricken Germany. (But you should read the book first--it's wonderful, as well.)

4. Teaching poetry to a pair of remarkably intelligent brothers. I have to say, I find this much more engaging than attempting to silence classrooms of perpetually-boisterous youth. In general, my private classes are much more my style. As much as I want to stay in Spain longer, I, unlike many of my peers, am not going to renew my position here since the experience has confirmed my lack of passion for classroom teaching. However, I'm continuing to ponder fields in which I can help people one-on-one.