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.

Spain is Strange!

Now that my first semester is coming to a close, I feel I've been here long enough to provide a few credible remarks on some of the stranger aspects of Spain and its inhabitants.

-First of all, dipping cookies in coffee/milk/hot chocolate isn't weird... it's quite delicious, in fact. And it's not just done in Spain. Lots of Americans do it, too. The difference is that Spaniards are much more dependent on dipping-morsels. They simply DO NOT drink these beverages without dipping something in them. Never, since I've been here, have I seen a Spaniard just pick up a cup of coffee and drink it, without a hunk of carbohydrates to go with it. And if they don't happen to have a cookie at hand, a piece of bread, or even a sandwich, appears to do the trick. I'm not kidding. I've seen my roommate break off a piece of her baguette (with pate on it!) and dunk it straight into her hot chocolate for breakfast. I've seen an old man at a cafe let part of his ham sandwich go swimming in his coffee. (Yes, go swimming in his coffee. Not only do people dunk baked goods into beverages, they often completely let them go--they submerge them entirely, allowing disintegration to occur so the beverages take on a disturbingly lumpy texture).

-When finished with one's coffee or tapa or whatever at a cafe/restaurant, it is customary to throw one's napkin on the floor. Maybe this is just an Extremaduran thing because I never noticed it in Granada. But on my first day in Cáceres, my friend Javi suggested going to a restaurant called el Aljibe. When I looked in and saw that paper napkins littered the floor like large, dirty snowflakes, I asked if maybe we could go somewhere else. He assured me that all restaurants have napkins covering the floors--we'd find nowhere better. Sure enough, I soon found out that all restaurants do indeed sport charming memorabilia of former customers... honestly, it's as if they neglect sweeping in order to show off how many customers they've had that day. Although at this point I'm pretty much used to the look of the napkin-covered floors, I still haven't allowed myself to take part in it. I've had too many years of being told littering is wrong to allow my hand to release a used napkin right onto the floor. Besides, it's just as easy to simply leave it on the table...

-Spain is a very uniform country. In terms of food and religion, this is particularly evident. Over 70% of Spaniards are Catholic (although few are actually observant). Everyone eats Spanish food, which is basically just ham cooked in different ways and some seafood thrown in occasionally (and this isn't a problem for Jews and Muslims, since there are none). Besides the occasional Chinese restaurant, there is no variety here--it's all Spanish food. Being a Jew and a vegetarian, I'm quite a rarity (although at this point I can't really call myself a vegetarian since I've not really had a choice but to be lax with my eating habits).  In fact, I don't think many Spaniards even know what Jews or vegetarians are. When I did a presentation on Hanukkah at one of my schools, the teacher explained to the students that Judaism is another sect of Christianity in which you celebrate Hanukkah rather than Christmas. And when I've asked for vegetarian tapas at restaurants, I've been given tapas that just have little bits of ham in them, as if being a vegetarian simply means you eat LESS meat...that little bits of ham here and there don't count.

-Spain is so uniform in its eating habits that even the small details are consistent across families. I've eaten in a fair number of houses, now, and at each one, fruit and yogurt are offered after lunch and dinner. If you have fruit, you cut off the skin using a knife (peeling oranges using your fingers or eating apples without removing the skin warrants very confused looks). For breakfast, nearly everyone eats toast, and many people have it with jam. Jam is always spread with a spoon, never a knife. Eating a meal at around 7pm is not done. Lunch is always served between 2pm and 4pm, and dinner is served between 9pm and 11pm. If you're going to eat between 4pm and 9pm, it should just be a light snack. I normally just eat when I'm hungry, and since I had a small lunch yesterday, I decided to make myself an omelet for dinner at 7pm. My roommates couldn't conceive of what I was doing and asked why I was eating lunch so late. When I told them it was dinner, they looked at me pityingly, the way you look at someone who you believe is insane.

-Maybe if I were from a large Italian family living in New York City this wouldn't strike me as much, but being from a relatively chill Massachusetts family, I'm consistently amazed by how much Spaniards shout and interrupt each other in conversation. "Fatal" (which means just what you think it means) seems to be used every few sentences in typical conversation, making it that much more dramatic still. If you didn't understand what people were saying, you'd think travesties and tragedies were occurring right and left, but in reality, they're often talking about what they plan on buying at the grocery store or about a great aunt who has a cold.

-Handwriting here takes a little getting used to. I have to remind myself that m's often look like w's, p's often look like h's, and 1's (the number) look like upside-down v's. Due to these differences in penmanship, I've marked students down on their writing when really they were correct, and I've incorrectly written down my own residence card number on forms. It's probably for the best that writing by hand is becoming less and less common as technology takes over, because otherwise, handwriting in various countries would soon enough become so different that people wouldn't understand the penmanship of anyone from a country other than their own.

-In stores and restaurants, it is very common for employees to call customers pet names like "guapo/guapa" ("handsome/pretty"), "reina" ("queen"), "cielo" ("heaven"), and "cariño" ("love"). Even in stores, customers might call each other these names. (When waiting on line, for instance, someone might say to someone else, "guapa, it's your turn"). Yet on the streets, a Spaniard will act like he/she is the only one who exists. I can't think of one instance when someone smiled at me on the street--they look everywhere but at me. (I'm excluding instances of annoying men shouting, as these wonderful humans fall into their own, special category). Being from America, where calling strangers affectionate names can be seen as harassment and where people do often acknowledge each other on streets, at least with a smile (depending on the region), the contrast in Spain between behavior in stores and attitudes on streets strikes me as quite odd.

-Apart from these silly pet names, the names themselves here are sometimes quite...interesting, as well. A virgin is associated with each region of Spain, so girls will often have their patron virgin's name. They'll go around with names like "Mountain" ("Montaña") and "High Grace" ("Alta Gracia"). What's stranger still is that a very common boys' name is "José María,' and a very common girls' name is "María José." (They always go by both names together). Aside from how bizarre it is for guys to sport names with "María" in them and for girls to have "José" in their names, in English, this would be "Joseph Mary" and "Mary Joseph." Can you imagine how much a kid would be picked on if he/she had both of Jesus' parents' names? Here, it's perfectly normal, though. Also perfectly normal is naming your child Jesus. We have many of Christ's parents as well as Christ himself walking around here in Spain!

-In Spain, they seem to think it's OK  to have to unlock doors in order to LEAVE. I understand needing to unlock doors to get INTO places, but WHAT is the point of needing to unlock your way OUT of an apartment? The other day, I forgot my keys. I don't need to unlock my way out of my apartment itself, but to get out of my building, I need to use a key. None of my roommates were home, so I was trapped for a good while in the hallway, resulting in me arriving half an hour late to my private class. That was annoying, but if there were a fire it would just be dangerous. No fire alarm would go off (did I mention fire alarms don't exist in Spain?) so by the time I'd notice flames, I'd definitely not have time to locate my keys in order to free myself from the building...not to mention that there are a huge number of smokers in Spain so house fires are a legitimate concern.

Those are my main findings thus far...in ten days I'll be back in America, an EXTREMELY normal country. But once I return to Spain next semester, I'll keep my eyes open for more oddities and hopefully will make a part 2 to this post. My mom is already in Madrid, and I'm meeting her in two days and traveling with her around Madrid and to Barcelona...then we'll head home together, and this strange life I'm living, with these crazy people who throw napkins on floors and use spoons instead of knives, will be temporarily over.

I squeezed in one last mini trip with Caroline over the weekend. We ventured to Salamanca, where we experienced the famous nightlife and saw the famous architecture...but my favorite part of all, I admit, was sleeping in our beautiful, glistening, four-star hotel, which, for some unknown reason, was extremely cheap (cheaper, in fact, than all the hostels). I'd been lacking on sleep all week, and there's nothing like passing out in a pleasant hotel room. That's all for now!

Caroline and me (when we finally made it out of the hotel) with Salamanca's bridge and cathedral in the background!

Pastries and Painful Palaces

I'm back from another little trip...this time to Lisbon! In theory, it's not very far from Cáceres, but since Extremadurans don't seem very interested in having buses that run on a somewhat frequent basis, I spent all day Saturday traveling there. (OK, I'll stop being snobby--I know Spain is in a crisis, and Extremadura is the poorest place in Spain on top of that, so I'll stop complaining that I had to spend slightly longer traveling than I'd want to). I had a four-hour bus layover in Badajoz, which, as I said, isn't ideal, but at least it gave me some time to work on a story I'm writing.

Anyhow, when I finally made it it Lisbon, I met up with Jacob and his friend, Nick (who is now my friend, too, I suppose!) at Goodnight Hostel, which has been rated as 3rd best, 5th best, and 10th best hostel in the world! It's beautifully decorated, always has cheerful music playing, everyone there is super friendly (I made tons of lifetime friends in an instant...well, I probably won't keep in touch with them, but they were nice!) and they make lots of free/cheap food and drinks. I sound like an advertisement right now, but seriously, if you go to Lisbon (which you should--it was rated #1 city to visit in 2013 on tripadvisor, and tripadvisor always knows best!) you should definitely stay there. Jacob and Nick had gotten a lengthy tour earlier that day, so they gave me the abbreviated version ("A lot of history happened here" -Nick) while we roamed around the beautiful but not-so-ancient city (I say "not-so-ancient" because in 1755, as Jacob informed me, an earthquake almost completely destroyed Lisbon and surrounding areas). But at this point, you'd never know the city underwent such trauma or that it's in the midst of a horrible financial crisis. When walking around, all you feel is the energy from swarms of passersby and the swooping, artfully-sculpted Christmas lights that dangle from buildings and make streets glow in every color. The energy continues well into the night. We went on a "pub crawl," accompanied mainly by fellow Goodnight Hostelers. I won't go into it much, but I'll just say that Lisbon is quite a party-city.

No one in America ever seems to talk about Portuguese food, and I'd never been to or even seen a Portuguese restaurant before, but I don't know why that is because the food is superb. The seafood is obviously very fresh, so that's what I always ordered. I think my favorite dish might have been rice with seafood (a slightly soupier version of paella) that I had for lunch on Sunday, but that's followed closely by cod mixed with potato chips and olives made at the hostel Sunday night! Besides eating, Sunday's highlights included visiting the San Jorge Palacio; peering out over the city from various miradores; and going to Belém, where we saw a monastery with magnificent stone carvings, a 16th century formidable tower on the water, and, best of all, ate famous Portuguese Pastéis, which are cream pastries (I know that brings me back to food again, but these were so phenomenal I had to mention them...I can't even begin to describe them, though. Best to just go and see for yourself).

Two Delicious Cream Pastries Lie in Wait!

On Monday, we went to Sintra with two of Jacob's roommates. We drove endlessly up a very steep hill until we made it to the top, where we explored a very colorful, 19th century Candyland/Guadí-esque palace called Palacio de la Pena, which means "Palace of Pain." Luckily, none of the pain rubbed off on me...it was quite a pleasant experience roaming around the many little towers and passageways, in fact. The four of them departed shortly after, leaving me to kill time in a wonderful aquarium until my bus arrived. There I had the joy of being surrounded by swirling invertebrates, hermaphroditic sharks, sharks who eat their siblings in the womb, lounging sea otters, fish that disguise themselves to look like sand, and swarms of pimply Portuguese boys who enjoy pestering girls who are eight years their elder.

Palacio de la Pena

Now I'm back to Cáceres life, hanging out with my lovely, British Caroline and her swell roommates (who I talk to much more than my own roommates); desperately trying to find food that doesn't contain preservatives at the grocery stores (Spaniards don't seem to be very health-conscious); trying (probably unsuccessfully) to explain the difference between "a" and "an" to unruly first graders; and in my private classes acting out skits about going to the beach and eating tiger meat.

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!

Diclaimer Regarding Dead Birds

It turns out that my roommate, Antonio's boss hunted the birds and gave them to him as a gift. Featherless and cooked, they were more appetizing. I actually ended up trying one--tough but decent. So, I feel bad I was so quick to complain in my previous post. And at least now that they've been consumed, there's one fewer gross thing to look at in the kitchen!