Bridges, Baths, and Big Buildings

September 30, 2009

3:25 PM

Location: Residence Hall

 

 

A perfect time for a post: pre siesta, post gym and huge meal, ready for some writing. So much has happened, I don’t even know where to begin. Since most of our days are pretty much the same, I’ll try to only touch on the big stuff, but I don’t know how easy that will be.

 

Last weekend we took our first overnight trip as a group. You would think that 75 students+2 buses+ 30 hotel rooms + two destinations = nightmare, but you are too pessimistic. IES knows what’s up. On Friday morning bright and early we left from Granada and headed by bus to Ronda. What is Ronda?  you may ask, and you would not be dumb for asking that. I, unfortunately, am not the person to ask. I can tell you, however, that the views are incredible, and I can tell you some of these other cool facts, which will be highlighted with wonderful photos taken by yours truly:

-       At one point Ronda was the capital of the Muslim empire

-       It, like Granada, has an old part of the city and a new part of the city connected by a huge, really awesome bridge.

-       It’s very windy there

-       It houses the oldest plaza de toros in the country, and is made completely of stone

-       European tourists love it there.

Clearly, a great choice by IES. We were led around the city in little tiny tour groups, and I decided to follow my Islamic Art and Architecture teacher, who is the bomb. She knows so much information, and she’s great about keeping it simple and interesting. She also speaks really slowly and clearly, which is great for us English speakers. We saw all sorts of old structures and pieces of art including this huge bridge that has actually been built twice. 

The first time, they built it in 7 months and then one day it collapsed, killing 50 people It is about 100 m. tall, so said victims probably didn’t have much of a chance. After the collapse, they hired a contractor to build a new, sturdier bridge, and it took him 40 years to complete it. It is, quite obviously, a landmark. I bought a postcard. The little window that you may or may not be able to see near the top of the bridge used to be used as a jail, which is pretty freaky. 

The drop is very steep. Anyway, after some bridge viewing, a tour of the arab baths and some lunch outside the local McDonalds, we all headed over to the Plaza de Toros.

            It’s an unbelievable structure that actually probably can’t hold all that many people at once. It is made completely of stone, and has been in existence for hundreds of years. We walked around inside the stadium and went over to the area where the bulls are kept before the “corrida.” 

It smelled like a farm. Anyway, it really made me want to see a bull fight, so on Sunday we went to one. I’ll talk about it a little later. Freezing cold, and tired, all 75 of us climbed back on our buses and headed off to Sevilla for the night.

            We relaxed at the hotel for a few hours and then joined a couple other Tulanians for some food at a restaurant near where we were to meet the group later on. After living in Granada for a month and getting very used to receiving a free tapa with every drink you order, I was quite upset to learn that wasn’t something that happens everywhere in Spain. How lame. We met with the group and headed over to a Flamenco show. I can say without a doubt that it changed my life. It was one of the most beautiful, emotionally charged, talent driven spectacles I have ever seen. The dancers make no attempt to smile or justify the beauty of their dance on their face. They concentrate completely on the subtle movements of their hands, the stomping of their feet, the snapping of their fingers, and, in the case of the woman, the movement of her dress. Their expression is one of sheer effort and fatigue. It was an experience that brought tears to my eyes, and one I will never forget.

            The next morning we broke off into our little tour groups again, and went to Los Alcazares Reales, the Royal Palaces of the Christian kings. Well done, IES, well done. 

The palaces are a little difficult to explain, so I’ll save you most of the details we heard from our art history professor. They’re pretty cool facts though, so if you want them, just give me a call, I’d be happy to send a cascade of facts that I may or may not remember correctly in your direction.

 Unfortunately, my pictures won’t do much good either, because my camera broke when I dropped it on the cement floor as I tried to take a picture of a weird tiny painting of a horse. F. The palaces were cool after that, but I was mostly focused on my broken camera and these really delicious smelling flowers that we found and that I wanted to have permanently lodged in my nostril.

            After some lunch we headed to the cathedral. It is the third largest cathedral in the world after St. Peter’s and St. Paul’s. It was pretty cool but also kinda scary and gothic. I enjoyed it, though. 

Our lovely weekend drew to a close with a bike ride around the city and to a nearby park. Sevilla rents bikes all over the city out of kiosks. Great idea, right?! Wrong. Spaniards need to learn what is appropriate for a kiosk machine and what isn’t. It took us maybe 45 minutes to rent 5 bikes. We caused a huge backup. The bike ride, however, was completely worth it, even though my seat wouldn’t raise so I felt like one of those 13 year old boys with his tiny bike and huge pants and kinda cool baseball hat. I probably looked like one, too.

 Anyway, sorry about the long winded Sevilla explanation. Oh, one more thing: we stopped at a rest stop on the way home and it was legitimately the weirdest place I’ve ever been. It smelled like a roller rink, and had all these different sectioned off areas selling weird stuff. The inventory list consisted of, to name a few:

Chips, candy, gum, apples, towels, china miniatures, stuffed animal backpacks, a hat with a marijuana leaf on it, a full pork leg, a variety of different liquors, and some snow globes. It made me uncomfortable.

            The following week was uneventful, but last Friday we moved from our homestay to our dorm. It has been a huge adjustment that we are all still getting used to. Some of the highs of the dorm:

It’s really high up on a mountain.

Some of the lows:

It’s really high up on a mountain and we have to climb up here every day.

None of the Spanish kids talk to us, and most of them stare and laugh instead

We have no food.

We have no kitchen.

We share a room

There is no toilet paper.

F.

Actually, it’s not that bad, but when we were dropped off by Jose on Friday I felt like a little kid getting dropped off to summer camp and not knowing anyone. I still feel a little like that, but its getting better. Good news: the dining hall opens tomorrow!

 

I also joined a gym, which was huge news, and I love going there. Its in the basement of this building that is on a street that is home to a lot of homeless people. It’s a pretty sweet gym, though, and a lot of its members are my age. Yahoo! Today, as I was working out I spied the “vibrating machine” out of the corner of my eye. I’m not exactly sure what goes on over there but it has a big poster next to it that explains all the different exercises you can do on it. At the bottom it says “for professional use only.” I don’t think I’m professional enough to use it. The gym, little did I know when I signed up, gives me both mental and physical exercise at the same time. Why? I have to convert everything while I’m there: kilometers, kilograms…. Well I guess that’s it, but it’s a lot. Here’s what I have learned so far: 2.2lbs = 1 kilogram. I run at a pace of 10 km/h.

 

After the gym today I went shopping. I was starving, bad idea. I had a huge hill to walk up after buying my groceries, bad idea. But I did it anyway, and made it home alive, barely breathing, and sweating tremendously. It was a cute moment for me.

As we speak Spaniards are walking by my window wearing the weirdest neon shirts ever. I think I’ll buy some. 

The Hills: LC and Lo see naked people

September 16, 2009

3:36 PM (Siesta)

Homestizzle

 

 

It’s been too long since I’ve written, and it’s becoming daunting, so I decided to end my misery and write again. So much has happened. The Spanish adventures are beginning.

 

Since the last entry, in summary, we have done the following: hiked 14 km along the southwestern coast, seen nude people, finished orientation, started classes, spoken Spanish, eaten tapas, and taken pictures. Doesn’t seem like that much, but oh how you are mistaken. I’ll leave out what isn’t important.

 

Cabo de Gata is an area that has a huge national park that includes both land and sea. You can hike for miles and miles and miles on this path that has desert as far as your eye can see to the left, and the Mediterranean for miles to the right. To say it is breathtaking just doesn’t cut it. At 845 AM on Monday morning, after waiting an hour for three girls who got lost walking to our meeting point – not an easy feat considering all they had to do was follow the river a couple hundred feet – (in case you’re wondering, they followed it in the wrong direction) we headed off on probably the MOST nauseating ride imaginable. False. Not the MOST, but ONE of the most nauseating rides ever. We piled off the bus (all 80 Americans) to the beauty of the bright blue Mediterranean and started off on our hike. 

The setting was unbelievable and we actually moved pretty fast considering how many of us there were. We were all relieved to arrive at our first stop, the beach, after a couple hours walking in the hot sun. 

Unfortunately, there were several downsides:

1: The wind was really strong, causing sand to whip up into your face and stick to your arms covered in suncream (that’s how Spaniards say sunscreen).

2. Getting wet in the ocean didn’t help.

3. Everyone who was already swimming there was nude.

4. I had to pee but didn’t realize it until AFTER I got out of the water. F.

5. Putting my socks and shoes back on for the remaining several hours of the hike was DEATH. Sandy, sticky, painful death.

Despite the discomfort in my shoes and everywhere else on my body, we surged on listening to a constant stream of information from our guide who seemed to legitimately know everything there is to know about nature. Take that Jeff Corwin. I was only disappointed when I asked her if there were any rattle snakes around (which I had obviously been looking and listening for the whole time), to which she responded, “Of course, but never so close to the beach!” Damn. Eventually we arrived at beach #2, at which point I was completely out of water, and stayed there for an hour while some decided to swim. I opted to stay dry, avoiding the misery of putting on sandy clothes AGAIN, and enjoyed sitting in the shade, observing the naked, and listening to the water. Some preferred to talk on their blackberries. Puke.

At the end of the day, we arrived at a town whose name I cannot recall, but it looked EXACTLY like Greece. Dinner was awaiting us at a small Italian restaurant on the outskirts of town, and we all scarfed it up happily while watching the tv (they somehow had found an Italian channel in Spain), hanging out and wanting to die from sunstroke, dehydration and fatigue. Some people got drunk, so it was a good day.

 

Since then our adventures have been mostly school based, but as my time here turns from days to weeks, I have made some interesting, important, non adventure related observations:

1. This city is obsessed with cleanliness. There are crews of people walking down the streets with brooms all day long, and there is ZERO trash in the streets. In addition, the city washes the sidewalks everyday. Nevertheless, this city as a whole has a major B.O. problem. I don’t know what it is, but it just doesn’t seem acceptable. Moreover, at different times we’ll catch strange whiffs of poop or other similarly bad smells. It really is an anomaly.
2. The sidewalks here are really dangerous. As aforementioned, the city washes the sidewalks everyday and afterwards they are extremely slippery because they are made of tile, not cement. Luckily, we have to be at class every morning at 9 and therefore walk on them directly after the cleansing process. I lose my footing a lot and cuss often on the way to school. Some other sidewalks are really steep and composed of cobblestone, which is dangerous for other reasons. We’ve noticed that the elderly folk here have a whole different level of competency than those at home.
3. Food here is really cheap.
4. German tourists wear their clothing too tight.
5. People in this city eat helado like it’s their day job. There are probably at least two heladerias on any given block.
6. In this city, if you take a word and can add –eria onto the end of it, it’s a shop. Some examples include: heladeria, libreria, papeleria, panaderia, pasteleria, joyeria…you get my gyst.

 

Last week a bunch of us walked up into Sacromonte, one of the three old residential areas in Granada. It is a “gypsy” village, in which the houses are actual caves built into the mountainside. Magical, right?! Wrong. They look just like normal houses, and no one who lives there is even a gypsy. I feel like I was gypped. J. Had to do it.

 

In conclusion, on a more personal note, Sydney and I have been watching WAY too much True Blood for our own good, and are completely addicted to it. We are also in our first week of IES classes, and will begin classes at the university on the 28^th of September. The idea that in the next two weeks some 70,000 students will descend upon this city and that we will have to assimilate and adapt to their way of life is terrifying, but I think we’ll get the hang of it. Both of us are starting to get the hang of speaking Spanish, but that doesn’t mean the discouraging moments have disappeared. Today, after I talked to the doorman for 25 minutes and understood about 7 words, he told me he was speaking slowly for me and that I was really great at Spanish. Discouraging. But things are always looking up! It snowed this week in the Sierra Nevada, and we can see it from our school. Granada is really wonderful.

 

 

Hot Milk and Cold Jacuzzis

September 5, 2009

6:00 PM

Location: Fontiveros St. in the home stay

 

It’s been a couple days since entry one, and I have some free time (post siesta, pre camino) to write a little.

 

After 13 hours of waiting in airports/sitting on planes, I arrived on Thursday afternoon in first class from Madrid to Granada. Let me be the first to say that first class is not all that it is cut out to be. First of all, I was the only one sitting there and probably the only American on the plane (talk about entitled), second of all, there was no advantage to sitting there except I think they gave me a choice of a snack which I thought was ham and cheese, but which was actually smoked salmon and basil. Surprise! I hated myself in those moments. But walking off the plane erased all my negative memories of my weird flight. The plane pulled to a stop in the middle of the Tarmac and two chair cars rolled into place by the front and rear doors. Obviously Arrested Development and the Bluth Family stair car came to mind when I saw them rolling up. We stepped off the plane into the bright, hot Granada sun that beamed down onto the black pavement. We were sort of led, sort of expected to find our own way, down the tarmac to a tiny door that entered into the baggage claim. Walking with your suitcase in hand on pavement usually only touched by airplanes, airline equipment, and airline personnel is a feeling unlike any other. I felt like I was in heaven. I took a cab to our hotel which was a welcome relief after the disorganization of “Bestplace” (=worstplace) hostel in London. It actually wasn’t that bad.

 

Hostal Nuevas Naciones was waiting for me with arms open. Sydney was already sleeping in our room (yes, all ours!) when I got there. A shower and AC had never felt so awesome as it did that day. At 10:00 after a short nap, we found some dinner, didn’t understand a word our waiter said, decided there was room for improvement when it came to our

 conversational Spanish, and rushed back to the hostel for a pretty sweet 11 hour sleep. The next day took us out and about through the city streets of old Granada, and when I say it is beautiful, I do not kid around! Everything is clean, beautiful, old, and awesome (except for the ladies who “read our palms” without us asking them to and then stole 10 Euro from me and 5 from Sydney, assholes). We had no idea where we were and were pointing and asking each other questions like silly Americans and didn’t realize until later in the day that we had actually been looking at the Alhambra for the last couple of hours and were trying to get to it but couldn’t find our ways. Doesn’t matter, I’m over it.

 

That evening Sydney and I became official on facebook after our date to Plaza de San 

Nicholas en Albayzín, the first, and oldest part of Granada across the river from the Alhambra. The sweet Dutch man who ran our hostal with his wife informed us that the Plaza was a great spot to watch the sun set on the Alhambra and listen to live music. Afterwards, he said, we could get dinner up in the old city. He was right in a big way. We walked up into the old city huffing and puffing (it’s very hilly up in there. Duh, otherwise when we got to the top it wouldn’t have a good view!) and arrived at the most beautiful lookout I’ve ever seen. You can see the whole  old central part of Granada and the Alhambra. On this particular clear night, the sun set just right on the Alhambra causing it to give off a yellow/orange glow (just what Mr. Holland told us), and the moon shone brightly in the sky next to it. As we watched a Spanish band played guitar, cajon and hand clapping in 

the Plaza. One guy had a mullet, the other a half up half down hair do, and I’m pretty sure one of the band members was akin to the water boy of a football team, except he walked around with a lit cigarette and put it into whichever band member’s mouth wanted it so they wouldn’t have to take their hands off their instruments. Great job, if you ask me. The whole thing was pretty perfect.

 

Eventually we headed down, got some food, bought some helado, where we ran into language misunderstanding two, and then went to bed, ready to get up the next day for our 12:00 bus to Malaga.

 

We got to the Bus station at 12:15. I bought a 1:15 bus ticket. Sydney bought one for 1:30. It was awkward. I guess I had gotten the last one. Nevertheless, the bus ride was beautiful, and I sat next to a man who smelled awful. The hillsides lined with olive trees rolled past us as I listened to my iPod and tried to ignore the stench of B.O. coming off homeboy to my right. At one point we pulled off the highway into a town and stopped in front of a restaurant. A couple people got off. Thinking it was a pit stop of some sort, I considered getting of to use los aseos, but decided I didn’t want to wake my seatmate, so I stayed on. Lucky thing, because the minute the people got off, the bus pulled away. Uhhh…what? Some cool parts of the bus trip: Really amazing countryside with huge hills and a bunch of what appeared to be marble quarries, a giant silhouette of a cow on top of a hill, the truck full of pigs that we passed, the weird fountains in that little town that had grass painted blue/green surrounding them, the fact that no one ever made it clear where we were going so I was pretty certain at one point that I was going to wind up in Madrid without knowing it, the sweet houses perched really high up on the mountains. Sydney’s bus arrived only 5 minutes after mine and we got into a cab to the hotel. He drove us like five minutes from the front of the bus station to the back, the location of the hotel. Great. Thanks for letting us know, friend. He probably actually did, but we didn’t understand.

 

After an awkward meeting of other Americans and a short info session about phones at 630, Sydney and I decided to check out the “Gym” on floor six. It was a one door room with a sign on it that said ‘Gym.’ We walked in and it had two work out bikes with unadjustable seats that were too high and a weird apparatus for doing situps or something. It also had about a thousand towels stacked up decoratively in a huge shelving unit on the wall. We decided to check out the spa instead. It had a Jacuzzi, steam room, sauna, outdoor terrace. It was definitely a hidden gem. Out on the terrace, aided by a couple of the towels we found in the “gym,” Sydney led us through 8 minute buns and 8 minute abs, both of which she has down by memory. Afterwards we changed into our bathing suits to take a dip in the hot tub only to find out that Jacuzzi does not always = hot tub, but rather sometimes = kinda cold tub. That was the case there. I have to admit, though, it was pretty pleasant in there. We decided it was opposite day always in Spain, because the Jacuzzis are cold and the milk is warm.

 

Our orientation day one went well and yesterday we arrived back in Granada to our home stay. Our family is really nice, and we each have our own rooms. I do miss the hNN AC, though. Classes were also great today, even though we basically didn’t talk at all and our professora led us on a tour of the area, spewing out the most obscure historical facts I’ve ever h

eard and not understood in my life. It didn’t really matter, though. This city is beautiful. Spanish rocks. I’m off to go on a walking tour with the group at 7. Hopefully I don’t slip on the cuestas (steep inclined paths).

A next day amendment to this post:

After taking a walk today, three things must be noted about spain:

1. The Alladin fad caught on strong here and has people completely sucked in. The Alladin pants here are all the rage.

2. Today I saw two dogs stuck together by the butt. I dunno how it happened, but neither owner seemed to be that upset. That's not something to note about Spain, just something to note.

3. Mullets are very, very in here. 

Jolly Tubes and Dodgy Buses

September 1, 2009

5:43 AM

Location: Heathrow Airport

 

 

I left Boston what feels like ages ago, but really was only 30

 hours ago. Flying out was a catastrophe because the travel agent cancelled my tickets without telling me, but it all worked out and I arrived yesterday morning at 5:15 AM in London!

 

Adventure 1 overseas: I collected my baggage from the Terminal 5 Baggage Claim and started hauling it through the five terminal airport connected by a series of trains. The navigational challenges associated with two bags that weigh approximately 600 pounds combined included getting my things on and off the escalator because at Heathrow they have little gates at the bottom and top of the escalators that are only wide enough for a thin suitcase. My ingenious maneuvering solution: push one suitcase in front and drag the other one behind. Result: Success! (usually). Unfortunately the trains had these same gates. Other than that, though, pretty smooth sailing getting my things through the airport. The trains were awesome, and the doors opened only after a “open doors” button was pushed, which I obviously loved. Anyway, I eventually arrived at Terminal four, guided by a series of useless maps printed out by Daddyo, and found my destination (for four hours): Yotel. It is all it’s made out to be

: a 5’ x 5’ room with a bed cubby, a tv, a fold out table with outlets that didn’t fit my plugs, 2 mirrors, a toilet, a sink, a shower and a door. All the lights were weird colors (sort of a purplish 

hew) and the alarm clock was a weird white box without any buttons. Needless to say, it was probably the best 3 hour nap I’ve ever had. I was sad to leave the odd club-like lighting that illuminated the hallways, but I had a 10:30 meeting with Sydney back at Terminal 5.

 

British Adventure 2: After I met Sydney, we both made our way to the Underground Piccadilly line armed with two tube day passes, our 4 wheelie bags and two backpacks. Despite my genius maneuvers through the gates, it was all for nothing when Sydney arrived because her bag was wider than mine. After several pushes and shoves though, she made it happen. We got our first glimpses of London as the train climbed out of the underground tunnel and cruised above ground for about 15 stops. Everything was more mini than in the US. I liked that. At Piccadilly Circus we changed lines and thus encountered major navigational issue two of the day: Steep staircases with 1200 pounds of baggage. I’ve been doing Steroids, though, so I picked one bag up with each finger on my right hand and carried an old lady up the stairs with my other hand. It was a productive day. In actuality, we had to accept help from a girl who generously offered to carry not one, but two of our bags up the staircase, thus leaving Sydney and I both carrying less than our new friend/servant. We were thrilled to see a lift when we finally arrived at Lambeth North, the closest tube stop to our Hostel. Unfortunately, the adventure didn’t end there, as Sydney’s bag got wedged going through the gate (similar to those at the T in Boston) at our station, and caused a bit of a backup at the exit. Eventually a kind, and freakishly strong woman swiped her card for Sydney, thus releasing the gate’s grips from Sydney’s stuck back and lifted it with one hand through to its eagerly awaiting owner. We had arrived!

 

Our day revolved around walking, trying to avoid massive crowds of tourists along the Thames River, and searching for a good lunch spot. Along the way we saw: Big Ben, House of Parliament, Westminster Abby, a protest, sassy seagulls, the hugest ferris wheel ever (called the London eye), the river, 4 women doing an Indian dance and teaching it to a crowd of enthusiastic students (some of whom did NOT have that much to be enthusiastic about, when it came to dancing), the London Nautical University, Duchy Street, and about a million closed restaurants. As we got hungrier and hungrier, we became increasingly unable to find a restaurant that was open. Eventually we came upon a lovely café and found out that Monday, August 31 was a Bank holiday (one of several throughout the year), so nothing was really open, or would be open late. After being rejuvenated we went over to Kensington Gardens, which was lovely, and eventually made our way back home on the Tube (a very easy, well designed system that only lacks one thing: AC. I was drenched by the time we arrived back at our hostel).

 

British Adventure 3: After my flight fiasco, my flight to Granada was changed, meaning I would arrive there at 5:10 and Sydney at around 1. Her flight left London at 6:20. Mine: 9:30. On Monday night we started to arrange our trip to the airport so as to arrive there at 4:30 AM, hopefully not more than 5 pounds in the hole. It seemed at first that there was no way to make the 18-mile journey from Waterloo to Heathrow at 4 in the morning via public transport. Eventually, with the help of the hostel receptionist/bar tender who was Australian, but whom I thought was English, we found a couple options. All of them involved taking one of the many night buses that run through London from 1 am through 5 or 6 or whenever the regular day buses start running. They are really great because they run all the regular routes at pretty regular intervals. The route we were to take left from a stop just up the road, involved one bus change a couple miles away, and then a short walk through the airport when we arrived. It would take us about an hour and a half, but at least it would be cheap and adventurous. Sydney set her alarm for 2:50 AM, and after some weird snack foods for dinner, a quick magic trick session, and several minutes of “coaster flip” (a great new game that I can play when I’m bored at the restaurant when I’m 7 years old) we headed to bed. We woke up a couple hours later and despite some struggles at the front desk involving a group of women who were trying to sneak a lesbian lover into their dorm room for free, made it out of the Hostel by 3:15, just enough time to catch the buses and make it to the airport by 5. Unfortunately, all did not go according to plan, and even though I stood in the street clearly looking at the rumbling double-decker as it hurtled towards me, it went flying by and continued up the road. We swore for a few minutes, hailed a lone taxi, and split a 66 pound cab fare to the airport, arriving promptly at 4 AM. No navigational conundrums were involved, thank god.

 

And now, at 6:27 AM London time, I sit in Costa coffee with an empty bottle of orange juice, a book I don’t want to read for fear that I’ll fall asleep sitting up in the public coffee shop after reading a page or two, and 1,000 pounds of luggage. Despite the struggles, everything worked out, though, and by 5 PM I should be in Granada, headed to meet Sydney at hostel number 2. I don’t think I’d feel so calm in America.