Franz Ferdinand Concert

Here are some pictures.

Spain Interlude

So I was walking home from class today and I starting thinking about all the things I like about Valencia, and all the things I don't like. Since I got kind of a list going on, I figured I would share...

Things I like about Valencia/studying abroad:
my host family
paella
not being stressed about schoolwork
never really being bored
getting to travel places and see cool things
cobblestones
being forty-five minutes walk from anywhere I could care to go
45 minutes being a very short and feasible walk
bouldering in the park
the weather
not having easily accessible internet
cathedrals and churches
old things, like rocks, and Roman ruins
having three home cooked meals a day
hot chocolate and madeleines for breakfast everyday
the number/variety of interesting shops
hanging out downtown is a pass time that doesn't get old
the Torres de Serrano
the number of people to practice Spanish with
random free things to do (Franz Ferdinand concert and Flamenco dance performance, for example)
being close to the sea
it's safe
easy classes
writing letters home
receiving care packages
facebook messages make me inordinately happy. As do letters and e-mails.
missing people
Horchata and Chocolate con churros
agua de Valencia
fiestas (party is not an adequate translation for this word)
being able to see a bullfight if I want to
the CAC
the Rio
quality/price of public transportation

Things I don't like about Valencia/studying abroad:
not having easily accessible internet
no science
going several days without seeing certain friends, since they live far
no heating in the house
having to speak Spanish all the time
catcalls
having to walk lots
having to take the bus to class
having to pay for my phone
not wearing sneakers everyday
city noises (most importantly people honking their car horns really loudly right next to you when you're walking down the street. it's really obnoxious)
it's not UMBC
my hands are always cold
easy classes
missing people
dog poo on the streets. everywhere.
the view outside my window
the 2-5pm siesta when everything is closed
people who drink too much
having to pay for public transportation (although in retrospect it's probably a comparable price to paying for gas back home, and daily expenses, including my phone, probably don't amount to more than I would be spending on climbing and dancing anyway...)

I think when I started the list I had a lot more negative than positive, but I'm glad after thinking about it for a while the pros outweighed the cons. Also I think most of the cons would be true of any study abroad experience or actually just living in a city in general, and are not very specific to Valencia. Anyway, now you know.

Also good news: Franz Ferdinand played Jaqueline, Take Me Out, The Dark of the Matinee, This Fire, Michael, Come on Home, and 40 at their concert, as well as plenty of songs I didn't know. They opened with Come on Home and closed with This Fire, which was perfect seeing as Fallas starts on Sunday.

Also I decided not to entitle this blog Spain 11 since nothing really happened.

Spain 10

I should really be doing my homework right now, but I have to write down this trip to Casablanca while it's still fresh on my mind.

Thursday:
Wake up at 5 am, leave the house at 5:25 am via taxi (Alba, the sweetest host mother ever, called for me), pick up Leigh by her place, get to the metro station at 5:45 am. Perfect, the first metro to the airport leaves at 6:03 am, and we figured it's better to be safe than sorry. We met Megan at the Metro station, waited for a while, debating whether or not to get chocolate from the vending machine, and finally loaded onto the metro. Considering it was the first one and 6 am, you would think it wouldn't be that crowded. WRONG. It wasn't impossible to find seats, but it was a challenge.
To be honest I remember nothing of the airport, except that it was directly on top of the metro station, so we didn't even have to go outside, also that we walked back and forth a couple of times to figure out which desk to check in at. We also were confused about all having been assigned the same seat: XXX. Hm... We did not realize that on Easyjet and Ryanair flights there are no assigned seats, simply first come first serve. We were luckily among the first to check in and were in the first boarding group. We found three seats together, and I took the window. It was only a half hour flight or so to Madrid from Valencia, and we arrived groggy after our naps were interrupted.
The Madrid airport is another blur. I'm convinced all airports are pretty much the same, and I can't keep them straight in my mind. Anyway we had a few hours layover in Madrid and we looked around some shops, bought entirely overpriced but massive chocolate bars (or maybe that was in the Valencia airport?) and had something to drink at a little cafe. I think we finally found seats and chatted for a while about random things, and eventually boarded our second flight, the one that would take us to Africa.
We landed at the Casablanca airport around 3:30 pm or so, having gained an hour in time. We went through customs quickly and efficiently, and I attempted to speak French. I say attempted because, with Spanish so fresh in my mind, I tended to stumble over the two similar languages, and ended up speaking what I am now dubbing Franish. I did, however, manage to get a taxi driver to take us to the hotel for about 30 euro, 10 each. Considering the downtown of the city is a good forty five minutes drive from the airport, we considered that pretty good.
The drive was perhaps one of my favorite parts of the trip. The air was warm and humid, the grass bright green and there were forests (of trees!! real trees!!) to be seen. People walked along the side of the road (I hesitate to use the word highway), men and boys in sandals and women almost always entirely covered, save their faces. I saw cows and horses unpenned and roaming, low buildings and lots of construction. I spoke with our taxi driver on the way into the city, struggling a little to understand since he had a very strong accent. As soon as we entered a mass of buildings, the driving itself took a whole new turn (no pun intended). The streets were devoid of any kind of driving rules, we decided. Lines painted on the road had little meaning, and wherever there was space, even with less than an inch on either side to spare, a car would squeeze in somehow. There are also no crosswalks in Casablanca apparently, and people just walk haphazardly and in great personal danger, I believe, through streets of speeding and usually falling-apart cars. Everything was in Arabic first, French second. The people ranged from light to very dark brown, and we saw several times more men than women (the explanation for this will come later). We passed the Medina, or market, where prices aren't at all fixed and chances are no matter what you'll get ripped off and still buy whatever your heart desires at a much cheaper price than you could find it in Europe. The Dirham (sp?) is the currency of Morocco, and to give you an idea of its worth, I bought 1000 Dirham at the airport for a little under 100 euro, or about 125 dollars (give or take).
We finally arrived at our hotel and checked in. The lobby was dark and small, with a coffee table and two sofas. There were two rooms on the ground level, both large, one with low cushions and communal tables, and another for dining. The man at the desk wore a Barcelona soccer jersey and a huge smile, saying "Welcome" and "Bonjour" exuberantly. We found maps at the desk and a little old man sitting in the lobby (we'd walked right by him!) who spoke English. He showed us his official tour guide card, entirely faded now after around thirty years, or so he claimed, of giving tours. He spoke English very well, as well as French and Arabic, and offered us a tour the following day. We said we'd think about it and he gave us his number to call when we decided.
The room: Approaching the room we noticed the door was crooked, or the frame was crooked, and there was a gap along the top at a weird angle. The door, and actually all the trim in the room was painted a pastel blue/purple, and the walls were bright orange. Three white twin beds lined one wall, and at the far side there was a tiny terrace with glass doors that shut if you pushed hard enough, and again blue shutters. The view was of the port a little in the distance, and the square above which the hotel was situated. There was a bathroom with a shower pit inside (no curtain). The floor was dark orange tile, and there was a small TV suspended on the wall above a plug-in heater. Leigh immediately claimed the window bed and I ended up with the one closest to the bathroom and door, but I couldn't complain. It felt amazing to sit down and put my feet up after hours of travel, and breath in the African air. It felt sweet.
We hung around the hotel for a while to relax and eat our packed bocadillos, since it was late and we hadn't eaten real food really all day. It was still sunny and light out though so after a little we decided to walk to the Medina and see what there was to be had at the market. There was mostly silver jewelry, leather, all kinds of wood crafts of cedar, clothing, scarves, and more. We browsed and stayed close together, our hands on our purses. We'd heard Morocco isn't the safest place, for women especially, and we looked pretty out of place (Megan with her pale skin, blue eyes, and red hair especially, but Leigh and me as well). I at least could speak to anyone, and usually understand everything, so I played translator for Leigh and Megan if they wanted to know how much anything cost. After about five minutes a little old man (another?) started following us and talking to me. He seemed pretty harmless so I didn't shoo him away (which I would have felt very rude to do anyway). He didn't follow us into any stores but was there when we walked out to suggest what there was to see and where we could find the best priced leather. He was on his way to showing us this place, and I was following (why not humor him, it might actually be a good deal and if not we could just leave) but Megan hissed my name and I turned to see her and Leigh practically sprint-walking in the other direction. I struggled to follow and called Leigh's name to get her to stop for a minute, but they were pretty intent on ditching that guy. It eventually worked but not before he'd realized, came after us and telling me how rude and bad of a thing that was to do. I realize that perhaps that's the only way to get rid of people trying to sell you things in markets, but really, I left slightly irritated at having had no choice in the matter, since I couldn't exactly let Leigh and Megan walk away alone, nor could I prevent them from doing so.
Anyway we hurried out of the Medina and followed the shops alongside it. Leigh found an oil painting she really wanted, and I bargained for a little while with the man in the shop for her, but she had no money anyway and so we left to find an ATM. We ended up walking back to the hotel and then to the Mosque to see it before the sun set. The Mosque in Casabanca, the second largest in the world after Mecca, so they tell me, is definitely worth seeing. It could fit probably five or six cathedrals inside, and the whole thing is elaborately decorated in tile and carvings. The Mosque is right on the ocean too, and you can see the lighthouse across a cove, its light flashing periodically.
As luck would have it, we met another guy outside the Mosque. He noticed us speaking English and asked us to take his picture, and then we got to talking some. He was actually Turkish but spoke English fairly well, and was on a few days break since the cargo ship he worked on had pulled into Casablanca that day and they had a few days before leaving again. He was a fairly nice guy and showed us the Mosque, since he had just visited. We couldn't go inside, since they only do tours a few times a day and the rest of the time only Muslims can enter. We could, however, see inside, and I got some good pictures in the fading light as the sky turned navy and the stars came out. We had passed Rick's Cafe on the way to the Mosque (built in memory of the movie Casablanca and its Rick's Cafe, which was probably built in Hollywood's basement), and decided to stop there for a drink on the way home. The guy, Mehmet, came with us, and as would become the norm for the trip, Megan and Leigh stuck close together and left me to entertain our "guest."
The bar was very classy, and Leigh was super excited since she loves the movie and took tons of pictures. We sat at the bar for a while and had a drink, and a while later looked at a menu since we were starting to get hungry. The prices weren't too ridiculous, around the price of an average restaurant in Europe, and so we decided to get a table and eat. All the customers were American or European, and the waiters spoke French, so I translated for everyone. We ate and to our great dismay, Mehmet took the check. For all of us. We tried to stop him, but he seemed pretty adamant, and we didn't quite know what to do, so we just let him. We walked back to our hotel (by now it was probably 10:30 pm or so, and it was probably very lucky we had a guy walking with us, especially someone who looked slightly more in place), telling Mehmet we would try and visit him the following day or at least call.
We went to bed soon afterwards. I unfortunately could not sleep, as exhausted as I was, and listened instead to Leigh (or Megan) snoring.

Friday:
I must have slept eventually because I remember waking to singing outside. It was the 5:30 am call to prayer, and it was LOUD. I couldn't sleep through it, and unfortunately also couldn't sleep after it was over, some twenty minutes or so later, so I dozed and tossed for a few hours until 8:45 or so. I got up first and showered and dressed, Leigh and Megan rising slowly, zombie-like, after me. I went downstairs to call the tour guide and see if we could still get our tour today, and he agreed to meet us in front of the Hotel at 11 am. I then called the Hammam we were visiting Saturday to make reservations for the morning. Breakfast was complementary, and consisted of freshly squeezed orange juice (which could have been eaten with a spoon it was so pulpy, which was fine by me), tea for me and coffee for the others, and as much toasted bread with butter and marmalade as we could consume, which turned out to be a lot.
We met our guide, whose name I couldn't pronounce but sounded like Butch Cassidy, at 11 am, and he ferried us into a taxi to take us around town. I was lost in about five minutes of twisting roads, but the guide seemed to know what he was doing, so we sat a little cramped in the back enjoying the views of the streets. Our first stop was another kind of outdoor market, where our guide bought us all bouquets, purple irises and orange flowers I didn't know the name of, all the while saying, "Girls they like flowers, always remember, all the girls like flowers, and guys, guys like dates." I didn't know if he was referring to the fruit or not.
We visited a Catholic Church later, its tall, narrow, stained glass windows casting colorful mosaics on the ground. The church was dark and imposing, a modern looking structure with wooden pews and dim lighting. It was probably less than 100 years old; most things in Casablanca are about that age. We visited the old fort afterwards, walking around its streets lined with whitewashed homes. We went into the home of a man the guide claimed was his cousin (why not?), which was elaborately decorated in tile, and was small, clean, and serviceable. We walked through a park with Magnolias and pepper trees (!!) and tall palms. There was also the museum, which is what our guide called it. It was a gorgeous and elaborately decorated building. It had open courtyards and was apparently used for getting passports and things, like some kind of embassy perhaps, although I missed some of what our guide said I think. He was a funny round man, bald and enthusiastic. He stopped and gave a little boy a coin, saying "Me, I can't stand see children cry. Children should be happy always."
We then drove through the ritzy part of Casablanca, where we saw the fancy villas and wide clean streets devoid of the crowd, noise, and dirtiness of the city below. We passed the wife of the King's villa, as well as the US Consulate, the American flag taking us all by surprise. It's been a while since we've seen it anywhere. On the way back we stopped by the lighthouse and got the distant view of the Mosque, the waves crashing below. It was hazy and warm, and for some reason the ground was literally covered in old rusted bottlecaps. Beats me.
Anyway, we made our way back into the city and into a spice shop. The guide obviously knew the guys there, who gave us a little exhibition on the most common spices and herbs and their uses. He was from Tangiers and spoke fluent Arabic, French, Spanish, and English. He gave his little spiel in Spanish. We all bought gifts, and at the end the guide bought us a little bottle of oil to share. It was orange and rose, and apparently good for all sorts of things, like sleeping, vertigo, etc... We had debated getting it ourselves but had decided not to, so it was sweet of the guide to get it for us.
Next it was time for lunch, since it was about 2:30 pm already. We went to a restaurant and ate with our guide, sharing a giant plate of couscous, lamb for me. We paid and though we thought we were done, the guide took us back into town close to the Medina and into a tourist-like shop. The people there were very nice and very patient, although very keen on selling us things. They gave us tea and as much time as we needed to browse. I got some postcards but nothing else, since I had little money on me. Leigh and Megan did the same, and we decided to walk back to our hotel since it wasn't too far away. We tipped the guide (the whole day's tour having cost us each about 15 euro) and made our way back. We relaxed in the hotel for a while I think, and went downstairs to call about changing Saturday's reservations for the afternoon instead of the morning.
Downstairs at the hotel we hung out and had some tea, I think. It's a little hard to remember already... I think we watched a really crappy TV show, Flashpoint, at some point. t was so crappy as to be hilarious, actually. Later, we met two guys around our age staying in Casablanca for a couple of days at the same hotel. They were on vacation for two weeks in Morocco, and had recently come from Marrakech. One was American, the other American and Irish, and although he grew up in Georgia, retained his Irish accent. Sweet.
Anyway we talked in the lounge place of the hotel for a while, and finally decided to go back to Rick's for a drink. We realized we knew nothing about Casablanca or where it was safe to go. According to every guidebook, girls who go out are all prostitutes, and most bars won't sell anything to girls. Anyway we decided it was not a bright idea to go out, but Rick's was the tourist place to go.
Anyway we sat down in the lunge upstairs where they had the movie Casablanca on (on repeat actually, those poor waiters), so we half watched and had a drink and chatted for a while. We came back to the hotel and went to the roof. Even though it was a city we could still see the stars, better than in Baltimore, but not much better. I recognized the big dipper and Orion, exhausting my knowledge of constellations. It was cool out and I loved the feeling of being on a roof, looking down on the city. It wasn't a great roof for getting to other roofs, which probably would have been inadvisable anyway, but I did check. Sometime around 1 am we went back to our room to sleep. I blissfully slept better than the night before, but I still woke up for the 5:30 am prayer call. I wish I knew what that was called.

Saturday:
We slept in and had another leisurely breakfast. We decided since our Hammam appointment was for 4pm, we could spend the morning at the beach. It's still a little cold to go swimming, or even sunbathing, and I'm not quite sure that would be advisable anyway, as a girl. We caught a taxi to the beach, which was gorgeous. It was rocky and sandy and you could see the lighthouse in the distance. We sat on the rocks and watched the rollers come in, pounding the shore, slowly carving the rock into intricate patterns. The sound of the sea was soothing, and I realized that somewhere beyond the blue before me was home.
We walked some on the beach after taking pictures, and lay down to soak in the warm sun. We finally decided to go find a cafe or something, but walking along the road yielded nothing but a McDonalds. At the thought of ice cream we all cracked and went in to get blizzards. McDonalds certainly has a different connotation in Morocco, and even in Spain. It's less like fast food and more like a chill place to bring your kids and hang out as a family place for a while. The food is pretty much the same though.
Around 3:30 we caught another taxi to the Hammam. Now a hammam is something like a bathhouse, or spa, and certainly an amazing part of Moroccan culture. It is separated into two parts for men and women, so we proceeded to the women's floor. We had no idea what to expect really, and Leigh and Megan were even more lost than me, not being able to ask anything to anyone. We changed first, ditching all but underwear and donning cloths to cover, well, not much. We gave our clothes to the woman at the counter to put in lockers and were herded into a steamy entirely tiled white room. There were some tables for lying on, and entryways to other rooms. Our cloths were taken and we were again herded into another even steamier room. There were many women there all scrubbing away peacefully. The steam felt amazing. After a couple of minutes a woman came in and handed us packets of savon noire, or black soap, which was a thick pasty soap stuff we were to rub all over us. First, however, she threw some water at us, to get us properly wet. I wonder why they didn't ask us to wear bathing suit bottoms, and I'm glad I brought a change... We scrubbed for a while and after a minute a lady came and got me, since we were to go one at a time. I lay down on one of the tables in the first room, and a lady quickly and efficiently rubbed a thick coarse glove thing all over me. This exfoliating part was to get rid of all dead skin and it made me tingle all over. I was rinsed by having more hot water thrown all over me, and I was then passed on to another lady, who took me by the wrist and led me past a few showers into an empty and isolated room. Here I got the best part: the massage. Oh my goodness. It felt amazing. My entire body felt like dough being kneaded. After a little confusion of where to go next, since I had been separated from Megan and Leigh, I was put again on another table and nearly scalding hot paste was spread again, all over me. I was wrapped in some kind of plastic sheet (I deduced that this must be the seaweed therapy Leigh insisted to get as well) and left for some fifteen minutes or so. I stared at the tiled ceiling, water droplets forming and dripping continuously in the steamy place, and relaxed. It was pretty nice. Several buckets of water over my head later, I was directed to a shower, where I was allowed to wash myself at leisure and my hair. Done, I waited in the jacuzzi for Leigh and Megan, then rinsed off again in the shower, just for kicks. We were given massive thick robes to wear out to the relaxing room, dimly lit and full of lounge chairs to just lay down, dry off, change, and chill after the hammam experience. I changed and realized my entire body felt better than ever before, and my skin was as soft as the day I was born. This explains why we never see any women in the street; if I lived here I would also come to a hammam three times a week. Most women usually just do the exfoliating thing, or come with their own materials and pay solely for entry and scrub themselves. The whole thing for us was the equivalent of maybe 35 US dollars, which is amazingly cheap, as any of you who have ever been to a spa know.
We hung around for a little while basking in amazement and contentment, unwilling to leave this heaven back to the outside world of taxis and car exhaust and traffic and noise. Eventually, hunger ruled and we reluctantly took the elevator (no door, by the way) back downstairs, and hailed a taxi down the street. Back at the hotel we ordered food from the cafe, paninis and more tea. The tea, I might say, is the best I've had, and I am really sorry I didn't find some to bring back. I think they sweeten it with honey, or naturally, but anyway it was delicious. Afterwards we went upstairs and relaxed some more, catching the end of Triple X on TV (it was much cornier than I remembered). We went to bed early with the intention of getting up early and doing something before leaving on Sunday, although that didn't quite happen.

Sunday:
I accidentally set my alarm for 7:45 am, which was the time I wanted to get up, but I forgot about the time difference. Anyway after showering I went downstairs and killed a good hour or hour and a half on the free computers with internet, then went back upstairs before 8:30 am. There was a tour of the Mosque at 9am I would have liked to have caught, so as to see the whole inside, but Megan and Leigh were still sleeping and taking their time getting up. *Sigh* I guess you can't win them all. I finished my book and a postcard before Megan and Leigh joined me downstairs for breakfast. By the time we finished we only had about an hour until our taxi would come pick us up for the airport, so we chilled in the hotel room, packed up (I watched, I had packed earlier) and chatted for a bit more.
It was either this morning or Saturday afternoon sometime, or Friday for that matter, I really don't have a very good sense of the timeline, that we made it back to the store where Leigh had found that painting she liked, and I bargained the price down from 300 to 200 Dirham, the equivalent of maybe 28 US dollars. I would have tried to bargain it lower but Leigh was fine with the price and the guy seemed pretty adamant. It was still fun.
Anyway the taxi ride back to the airport was quick, and we had a repeat performance of the arrival, only I was cranky. We tried to catch the earlier train back to Valencia from Madrid, but it was full, so we had to wait for ours for an hour and a half. Mostly I was irritated because I had suggested getting the earlier train in the first place, which would have gotten us home at 10:30pm rather than midnight, but oh well. It didn't help that Megan and Leigh had at some point become best buddies and I felt very much out of the loop, which just tends to happen with me and girls sometimes. Oh well. The train ride back wasn't too bad, I dozed and listened to the train's classical music station, which also played hits from movies, including the Dances With Wolves theme song and Lord of the Rings, which reminded me of Aylin and New Zealand.
I got home and Alba, sweetheart that she is, cleaned me room and made my bed and even left food for me in case I was hungry when I got it. I did eat some which was perhaps not too intelligent since I then couldn't fall asleep immediately.

Overall, Casablanca was pretty alright. It's not a ton different from other cities, except for the heckling on the street if you're a girl, and the inability to go out alone as a girl. I would have liked to take a day trip to Marrakech or Rabat, both of which are more touristic and have lots to do, as well as have a little more history to them than Casablanca, which really is only a tourist area at all thanks to the movie. I would also have liked to be out of a city in general, and get to a smaller town, or some mountains, or simply countryside. On the other hand, we saw some pretty awesome things, namely the Mosque, and I did bargain in French. Next time I go to Morocco though, I am definitely going into the desert, and seeing Rabat and Marrakech. Also, I am going with some guys.

Anyway the week started as usual, although Spanish is more infuriating than ever. I feel sometimes like I am not improving as fast as I should be, and I've reached some kind of local maximum and can't get any better. Hopefully I will be much more fluent when I leave, but I need to practice more I guess. Anyway more adventures after this following weekend, when Anna will be coming to stay!!

Spain 8 and 9

Spain 8

So after a pretty intense weekend in Barcelona, this week has been fairly tame. Monday was spent in class, walking, then doing homework, and then looking up tickets on the internet and talking to the few people online. I found out that night my roommate was leaving. She said it was because she didn't feel safe in the neighborhood, because people said things to her in the street. She had mentioned it before, but I had no idea that she would leave, I just thought it would pass. Tuesday after class and lunch Rosario, one of our directors, came by with Tana to pick up her stuff and to drive her to her new host family. Alba and Italo spend the whole day cleaning for Rosario's visit, despite the fact that the apartment was spic and span to begin with. Tuesday night I went back to the locutorio to get online and figure out more travel things. Organizing travel takes so much more planning than I really care to put into it most of the time.
Wednesday was better. I realized that I like having a little extra space, and I'm more comfortable talking with my host parents than I was talking to my roommate. Not to mention now when people visit they have a place to stay, since my host parents don't mind, and enjoy having students. I brought my lunch with me Wednesday, and we had a picnic lunch outside, laying on the grass and enjoying the 60 degree weather and the sunshine warming our faces.
After lunch I changed and went to the park, leaving my stuff in the ISA office, to boulder for a while. It wasn't a bad workout, but I was sad I didn't run into the other climbers I'd met before. It was gorgeous weather though, and nice to be doing something slightly more active than walking.
Anyway at 5:30 we had a meeting in the ISA office, so I returned to hear about this month's activities (soccer game at the stadium, a couple of museum visits I don't think I can make).
That evening after the meeting Leigh and Megan decided they were going to Morocco, and asked if I wanted to come for three days. I rather spontaneously said sure, and we proceeded to buy tickets. So, yea, I'm going to Casablanca. I don't know anything about Casablanca, except that it's even bigger than Barcelona. Oh well. I hope they speak French. Or English. Or Spanish. Any one of those would be fine. Hm...
Anyway at 8pm there was an intercambio, so after grabbing a quick dinner with some friends, we headed over to the Diabolito, a large and largely smoke-free bar. I actually was super lucky, because I not only got to know another really cool girl in ISA, Quinn, but also met a Valencian student of Tourism. He's currently getting his Masters in Tourism, which I didn't even know you could do, and is pretty excited about sharing information on Valencia, its history, its customs, its culture, etc... We planned to meet up on Sunday with Quinn and walk around the old town and see some things and practice Spanish. I'm pretty excited about that.
Thursday I explained to my teachers I would be missing next week's class thanks to my trip to Casablanca, and they seemed pretty cool with it. Besides that, I walked home for lunch, did some homework, walked back to the ISA office to Skype home, ran into the slackline climbing guy in the park, finally exchanged numbers and learned his name (Gustavo), then later walked home. I think I probably walked somewhere upwards of seven miles that day. Anyway I got home and Italo, my host dad, was practicing bass. He's really good, and invited me to play some with him, so I did. It was pretty awesome, and hopefully we'll have another jam session sometime. Salsa music is really starting to grow on me, I really have to go dancing sometime soon. At least it's really similar to swing dancing.
I spent the evening relaxing, writing, reading, and eating another amazing dinner. Man, Alba really knows how to cook. We need to spend a day cooking together sometime soon. I will come back to the states knowing how to cook Paella at the very least.
Today, Friday, I slept in and read in bed until a little after 10 (ok that's late for me, alright?) and then successfully sewed two buttons and a rip in my jeans with slightly mismatched thread. Italo gave me a DVD to copy, except I can't quite figure out how to do it since it won't open in itunes, so I'll have to work on that. That's about all for this week. Next post, I promise, will be slightly more exciting.


Spain 9

This past weekend certainly passed quickly. Friday afternoon I met Leigh and Andrew to walk into the city center and meet Ken. We all hung out around the cathedral for a while before heading to the museum we wanted to see. Unfortunately it was closed for the siesta, so we would have to find something to occupy our attention for the afternoon. Since Ken and I needed to get tickets to Alicante, we decided to all go down to the train station, since it was only about ten minutes away and the Plaza de Torros, right next by, is also worth seeing.
Anyway after purchasing our tickets we realized that in the Plaza de Torros was a pretty sweet Medieval Market, here just for the weekend. Think Renaissance festival, but in a small circular arena designed for bullfights. It looks like a miniature Roman gladiator ring. I managed to not spend all my money at the market, although everything was tempting, and we walked around for a good forty minutes or so. Anyway afterwards we decided to head back up towards the cathedral to meet Dotty. We stopped and got some gelato, since there are gelato places everywhere and it's very much of the delicious.
While waiting for Dotty, and since it was absolutely gorgeous outside, we decided to climb the Torres de Serrano, one of the giant stone gate towers that used to be part of the wall surrounding the Medieval-age city. While the wall is no longer in existence, two of the gate towers remain, the Torres de Serrano being one of them. It is many stories high and has turrets. It's of tan stone, and rather than looking imposing is rather magnificent, and actually the favorite part of the city for many Valencians. We climbed it in stages, taking a zillion and several pictures on the way up. Both Leigh and Andrew had the courage to jump the tiny gate to climb up the small rickety iron staircase to the flag pole at the very top, but I kept my feet firmly on the stone. They also seemed to be fine standing between the turrets, mere inches away from an unpleasant death, but Ken and I nearly had heart attacks taking pictures.
It was probably close to six o'clock or so when we made our way down, just starting to hit dusk, and we meandered back to the Plaza de la Reina behind the Cathedral where the museum was. We put our names down for a tour at 7pm, since the museum only does tours. In the meantime we decided to visit the basilica next to the cathedral and the museum, which, believe it or not, was hosting a mass. So as to not interrupt, we sat down in the back and rested for a while. If I paid attention I could give or take understand what the mass was about, but the dull drone of the priest's voice could not hold my attention when the marble pillars and high domed ceiling loomed magnificently over me. The ceiling was painted in sweet pastels, depicting angels and men and clouds and in the very center, a radiant white dove. The alter was bordered by tan, black, and rose marble, and the whole congregation's voices echoed as they sang, "Halleluja, halleluja."
We had to leave before the mass was over, but I'll definitely have to go back for a full one. The organ is an amazing instrument. Besides one couple, we were the only people at the tour of the museum, whose name I forget. The museum is entirely underground and shows the remains of the Roman, then second Roman, then Moorish cities that once stood where modern Valencia now stands.
Valentia was first founded by the Romans in 138 BC, its name meaning valiant, under the Republic. However, a mere 65 or so years later the city was burned to the ground during the civil war that heralded the end of the Republic and the beginning of the Empire (someone please check my dates here). Anyway the new Empire very soon later rebuilt the city, so there are two layers of Roman buildings to decipher in the ruins in the museum. Some roads were very clear, as was the foundation of the original bathhouse and permanent market. At least two original pillars that surrounded the main square of the Roman city remain, those that faced the main public building. I don't remember any of the names so Mark or Sarah, please help me out. Valentia as a Roman city was pretty much like every other Roman city, in any case.
Eventually, however, Valentia was taken over by the Moors, who renamed the city Balensiya, and used the stones from many Roman buildings to make other buildings, yet again one layer up. As Terry Pratchett commented on Ankh-Morpork, Valencia is indeed built mainly on... Valencia. Thanks to the river's fairly regular floods that deposited sediment throughout the city, the remains of walls and roads are still apparently if you dig deep enough. The museum would show more, except the excavation was limited since apparently digging under the cathedral and other medieval churches is prohibited. Anyway, the Moors happily ruled Valencia for some 500 years before getting kicked out by the Christians, who tore down the mosque and built the current Cathedral in its place. Actually, the cathedral was built over a great span of time, which is why it boasts Romanesque, Baroque, and Gothic architecture, inside and outside. Also did I mention it's home to the Holy Grail? Yea, go figure.
Anyway the tour was very interesting, and I once again witnessed (and touched!) objects that were around before Jesus walked the earth. Neat! It must have been around 8 pm that I made my way back home for dinner and to hang out with my host family. I'm pretty sure I chilled that evening, or went out to the locutorio to call home...
Saturday proved to be a gorgeous sunny day, despite a negative forecast, which was perfect since Ken and I were taking a day trip to Xativa (pronounced Ha-tee-va). It's a town about 100km south of Valencia, or about 45 minutes by train. I discovered a new walk into the city much faster than my previous route, which also has a used bookstore and a store that, as advertised, sells natural plants (the curious part was the giant Marajuana leaf hung as its symbol). The train station, a mere hundred or so years old, is, as I said, right next to the Plaza de Torros and a little south of the center of the city. It's pretty amazing, and buying tickets is both fast and simple, and really, quite cheap. Round trip: 6.50 euros.
Ken and I arrived in Xativa before noon, and walking out of the train station there realized we had no idea where we were. Luckily Xativa is tiny and cute, and after walking through fairly narrow and interesting streets for about two minutes, saw signs indicating the tourist information office, where we found maps and a schedule for all interesting things to see. We set off for the Basilica, since it was one of the few things open and the lady at the desk said it was amazing. She was not wrong. The Basilica itself was almost as big as Valencia's cathedral, and had a cute little museum with old Bishops' robes, paintings, relics, and a giant gold crown roughly the size and shape of a very large pumpkin. The true gem of the Basilica though was its tower, which rose well above the height of any other building in the city, and gave absolutely magnificent views of the mountains all around and the castle ruins just opposite. Climbing up, though, I swore the stairs would never end. The heights were terrifying, as was the thought of any of the many bells actually ringing. At the very top of the tower was a statue of the Virgin Mary and Baby Jesus, with which I tried to get a picture. The mountains surrounded us and the town lay before us, cliffs and the giant castle on one of the mountaintops the only things higher than we were. I was glad I convinced Ken to come to the top, who, thanks to claustrophobia and a fear of heights that rivals even my own, at first refused to enter the cramped spiral staircase to the very point of the tower.
We came back down and decided then to head to the castle at the top of the mountain. With our bocadillos (french bread sandwiches) and mandarinas in our backpacks we set off, the warm sun soon causing us to seek shade beneath the trees along the road that wound up the mountain. We stopped by a cave to eat and rest before finally reaching the castle entrance. It was so nice to walk outside of a city and to hear birds and feel a cool breeze that smelt of flowers and not car exhaust. I was wearing my sneakers too, which is guaranteed to make it a good day. The castle, which really is barely ruins, was still fantastic. The turrets and walls still stand, and a couple of rooms are still standing, but mostly the castle seemed like a fortification rather than a habitation. We clambered over rocks and through gardens, up to the tallest point where a flag still flies, and took pictures of views and flowers and rock. We spoke in Spanish and laughed for several minutes at a few little girls singing a chant to taunt a boy. I felt pretty bad for the boy, but knowing little boys, I'm fairly certain at some point or another in his life he might have deserved it.
It was past four when we headed back down from the castle, and I called and woke Max up to wish him a Happy Valentine's Day, whereupon Ken mocked me mercilessly for my apparent Max-voice. We tried to visit another church that said it was open, but apparently wasn't, and then decided that we could both go for a break from the walking. We stopped at a cafe and got Horchata with the sweet breadstick things that go with it to dip in. A nice old man saw me struggling to fish bread dropped into the tall narrow glass and smiling, gave me a spoon. I thanked him, completely embarrassed from having been witnessed as horchata dripped a little down my chin.
Nothing that a little shopping couldn't cure! On our way back down to the train station we stopped in a few little stores, where I found the world's sexiest and awesomest leather jacket. I would have bought it if it had been forty or fifty euros less, but as it is, I will remember it always... I almost fell asleep on the train ride home, watching the sun set over the hills and the sky slowly darken, but I managed to keep myself awake through the ride and subsequent walk home. I ate dinner with the two highschool Italian girls who are staying here this week, and we managed to communicate well in broken Spanish and English. They're pretty cool, and were very excited when they found out I liked Red Hot Chili Peppers and had seen a Broadway musical. Their giddiness made me feel at once glad not to be 17 anymore, and also old. I went to sleep fairly early and content at a day well spent.
Sunday was unfortunately drizzly and cold outside, but once again morning light found me walking to the train station, this time to meet Toni (Antonio), the guy I'd met at the intercambio, Quinn, and Allison, two other ISA girls. Toni, a native of Valencia and a student at the University getting his Masters in Tourism, seemed perfectly happy to show me, Quinn, and Allison secrets of the city. We walked down streets I thought I knew, only to discover old churches and the original University, which now holds changing exhibitions. We witnessed several snippets of different masses and the oldest church in Valencia, which is not actually the Cathedral. The churches are all cathedral-esque, only smaller, and markedly different. One is entirely white, another entirely painted, and one dark with elaborate blue and white decorations on all the walls. The oldest has a cute garden outside and while seemingly plain was the most crowded and certainly interesting. We visited the cathedral (again, for me, but it never gets old) and then took a tour in Castelleno of the Museum of San Vicente, the patron saint of Valencia. Unfortunately I got little out of the tour except that Vicente was horribly tortured for a very long time, then his body was tossed in the river, and three days later his family went to find his remains and buried them. He developed a very strong following and some hundred years later some monks found out where he was buried and decided to find his remains. Apparently they only got his arm, and God knows what happened to the rest of him, but it is indeed the same arm that now rests in a glass case in the cathedral, decrepit and shriveled. The museum itself is also underground and houses remains of the original church built to honor San Vicente, which was torn down and over which was built a Moorish bathhouse when they took over. At least I'm fairly certain that's what the tour said, although really I can't be sure...
We eventually made it back to the Plaza de la Ajuntament, the main square of the city, and had a leisurely lunch. On our way back to the train station we visited the Plaza de Torros since the Medieval Market was still going on. I once again managed to keep my wallet closed, although I discovered a far more tempting area of the market I'd missed on friday: the food. There were crepes, as well as any kind of chorizo (type of sausage) you can imagine, and sizzling meats on grills and cakes and pies of any description, and cheeses of all sizes, and candied apples and more. I did try samples of several chorizos, including duck, bull, and I think deer. They were all delicious.
I returned home in the afternoon to rest and then Skype home. Unfortunately the wifi at the locutorio was not really working properly, so I got on the computer an lo and behold, Andrew was online, just the person I needed to consult with on computer issues! He managed to direct me such that I could open the Linksys page, since the internet was available, just not letting me connect. The wifi was also entirely unprotected, which meant I could have added a password had I any desire to and use it as my own personal internet. Unfortunately there was no Reset button, and in my zeal to capture a screen shot to send to Andrew, I accidently entered a command that would, instead, make my MAC talk to me. Continuously. It took me quite some time to figure out how to make it stop, and by then I was pretty fed up with trying and failing to get the internet to work, while I was meanwhile using a computer older I am with a keyboard whose spacebar refused to work. Anyway, I decided to leave without having fixed the internet problem, and went to call Max, which was nice.
I spent the evening in with my host family, watching part of a movie and then finishing my book and going to bed early in order to get up for class today. I intended to go back to the ISA office after lunch to finally get on Skype but sadly, the ISA office has no electricity today and also doesn't have internet. Sometimes, Valencia really might as well be back in the Middle Ages for the way technology works from time to time. Anyway, three days until I'm in Casablanca!!

Sorry about the two posts in one guys, I guess I forgot to post last week's... Spain 8 was written last Friday early, and Spain 9 today, Monday.

Spain 7

That was one hell of a weekend, and too fast. Thursday night found me packing a couple of changes of clothes and a toothbrush into my backpack and eagerly anticipating the following morning, destined to come too early and not soon enough. In the meantime, I wrote a letter home, slightly distracted, but needing to pass time until I could fall asleep. My roommate's alarm sounded, saying, "6:45 am, 63 degrees." I half crawled and half slipped out of the top bunk to grab breakfast. Back in my room, backpack on my shoulders, ipod in pocket, I scribbled 215 Susquehanna, 1000 Hilltop Circle, Baltimore MD 21250 USA on an envelope, licked a stamp and stuck it on, then headed out. I found the yellow, cylindrical metal can that marks a mailbox here, and stuffed the letter in, then headed to the bus stop a few minutes away. In the pre-dawn light few people dotted the streets. I passed one guy, probably somewhere in his late twenties, opening the grate to some shop. He was regularly dressed, except for his shoes, which were silver and sequined. They caught the light from the streetlights and reflected it, a splash of brilliance in the gray, dull, dusky street.
The bus came soon, and I sat next to Madeline all the way in the back, talking excitedly about Barcelona. I really couldn't care less about the city, all cities being fairly similar and too crowded, but I would be seeing Anna in a mere five or six hours, which was certainly cause for excitement. After the eleven stops to the University, we rushed to the soccer stadium across the street where the ISA bus would be picking us up and carrying us to Barcelona, a four hour drive away. The bus was already there, as were most students and the directors, and we threw our backpacks in the compartment under the bus and climbed in. I sat next to Madeline close to the front, taking the window seat. I wanted to see the view on the way. Ken sat in front of us, or behind us, I don't remember now, although I remember hearing his voice on the way there, a vaguely comforting sound as I dozed a little.
As we drove along the coast, the highway teased us with views of the ocean then retreated behind hills. The whole coast boasts rocky and fairly bare mountains, rocky and tempting. I had the urge to stop the bus, get out, and run for the mountains just to climb to the top and yell out across the Mediterranean's blue waters. The farther North we drove, the greener the mountains became, shrubs and rocks becoming low trees, then forests. The orange tree orchards diminished. Every once in a while we would pass a town, low buildings appearing squat nestled between the mountains and small cliffs, the only noticeable thing being the church spire that stood taller than any other building, a stone marker in a small sea of modern-ish buildings. We stopped for a half hour at a gas station, since apparently Catalunya has a law that says you can't drive longer than two hours in a row, and so the driver could stretch his legs, and us as well. Ken, Dotty, and I shared a bag of olive oil chips and a box of cookies, my first junk food since arrival in Valencia.
Two hours later we arrived in the city and picked up one of the ISA directors of Barcelona's program, who would comment as we drove on a panoramic tour of the city in the bus. It's nestled between two mountains and the Mediterranean, a sprawling mass of humanity and technology. We passed some of the city's monuments, then the bus made it's way slowly up Montjuic, one of the city's mountains, so we could see the whole city. We passed several very new and very impressive buildings that were built for the summer Olympics held there a little over a decade over ago. Thanks as well to the Olympics, money was poured into the city and it was cleaned up and became a major tourist spot, even more so than before. The view from the top of Montjuic was literally breathtaking. I've never imagined so many people living in such close proximity. The buildings, none really skyscrapers, stretched over the whole valley further than I could see, reaching far up the coast to the North. Sardines have more room in their cans than the people who live here. As beautiful as the city is, I was immediately grateful to be living in Valencia, which must only be a quarter the size of Barcelona, or smaller. Though Valencia still seems huge to me, now that I know my way around, it is manageable. I can't imagine anyone getting to know Barcelona in a lifetime, much less a semester. Only one building was really distinguishable from the mountaintop, La Catedral de Sagrada Familia, but I'll get to that later.
The bus wound back down the mountain, giving another good view of the sea, then headed down into the city and across it to the opposing mountain, passing Sagrada Familia on the way. When completed, I believe it will be one of the largest in Europe. That's right, it is not completed yet. Its construction began in 1882, and it is only built with the money people pay to enter or donate, which would explain the slow pace of construction. It only has eight of the eighteen intended towers, twelve for the apostles, four for... I'm not sure what the next four are for but the last two are for Mary, and the tallest for Jesus. Already it is an impressive structure, both ancient and modern. It does look like a cathedral, but the two finished doorways, front and back, are very modern seeming. The sight of a cathedral not built in either the Romanesque, Baroque, or Gothic style was very weird, but I liked it. It's certainly worth seeing, and I'm sorry it will not be completed in our lifetimes, nor probably that of our children or theirs.
After passing both doors a couple of times, the bus made it's way up to a park on the opposite side of the city on the other mountain. I can't remember its name, but the park is huge and famous for its architecture, as is much of Barcelona. We wandered the park for twenty minutes or so, seeing the opposite view of the city, taking pictures of the columns, the tiled dragon, and the man dressed like the tiled dragon. I couldn't help jumping up and down in my seat a little on the bus; we would be arriving at the hotel to drop off our bags in a few minutes and there I would find Anna. I saw her before I got off the bus, and I waited impatiently for everyone in front of me to get off, so I could run and give her the biggest hug ever right there in the middle of the road, crying just a little out of excitement and happiness. It took us a while to say anything besides "I can't believe you're here!" and "I missed you so much!" which were the right sentiments but somehow not quite adequate to sum it all up.
I eventually got my backpack from under the bus, threw it in my hotel room, and headed back out with Anna, Ken and Andrew in tow. I hope we didn't alienate them too much, talking about home and friends. Ken, at least, knows all about my friends from home for all I talk about them so much, so he could vaguely follow our comments like, "Wow Max would totally climb that, wouldn't he?" and something about Meaghan's stripper shoes, and Isaac's goatee, and how Anna's roommate reminds her just a little of Ellen. We walked down to the Plaza Catalunya, the center of the tourist part of the city, home to more pigeons I've ever seen in one place together. We walked down La Rambla, Barcelona's version of the Champs-Elysee, or Baltimore's Inner Harbor perhaps. I couldn't believe how crowded it was; I thought Valencia was a big city and busy, but it's nothing compared to Barcelona. Catalan and English were as common on the streets as Castellano (Spanish), and you could hear a smattering of other languages, French probably being the most common, although I couldn't recognize a couple. We stopped at a pita place since Ken and Andrew hadn't eaten lunch yet, but only after we walked through the market. I haven't been to the market in Valencia yet, but Ken has, and claimed ours is a little bigger, but even this one was ridiculous. You could get any amount or kind of chocolate, ham, fish, octopus, fruit, vegetable, rabbit (at least I think that's what the carcass was, stretched out still bloody and in one piece on ice), and more. Ken and Andrew left after lunch to join the ISA group for a short walking tour of the center of Barcelona, which I decided to skip to hang out with Anna, whose tour I preferred. I'm pretty sure we first walked by Anna's University, which was certainly much more impressive than mine in Valencia. It looked straight out of Harry Potter, with courtyards and palm trees (that much we have in Valencia) and stone pillars.
Afterwards I think we walked towards Montjuic to try and see the lights on the massive fountain in front of the palace, but that might have been later. Unfortunately the lights were not happening that night, but after climbing up to the front of the palace, which now actually houses an art museum, I did get the most amazing view of the city yet. Now past dark, only the lights were visible, orange and twinkling. Up on the mountainside the city looked contained and manageable, host to myriad secrets and beauties hidden somewhere in between those orange dots of light. Anna and I sat up there and took pictures, enjoying sitting down after so much walking. I don't remember now all we talked about, just how nice it felt to talk with someone I knew, and who knows me, and to have something in common we could reminisce about.
We rode the metro back to La Rambla and asked at the information desk where we could get a good cheap dinner, and we were not disappointed. We found a salad buffet which was perhaps the most beautiful I'd seen in several weeks. They're not huge on fresh vegetables here, so I ate my first peppers and cucumbers in quite some time there. Anna and I lingered over one, then two cups of coffee (decaf for me, with two packets of sugar), before leaving. Once again, resting after so much walking and traveling in general felt amazing. We walked together afterwards up out of La Rambla on some street I don't remember the name of, trying to find a gelato store, although we didn't realize how late it was and that everything was pretty much closed. Sometime around midnight we started heading back to the hotel, where I read for a little while before falling asleep, and where Anna left me to head back home via Metro.
Saturday morning I took the longest shower since Toledo, laying in the bathtub letting the hot water lull me for twenty minutes, almost falling back asleep. The hotel provided a buffet style breakfast, which consisted of several types of pastries, fruits, hams, cheeses, breads, juices, eggs, bacon, and sausage. Once again, I've had nothing but hot chocolate and a madeleine for breakfast since arrival in Valencia, which suits me fine, but it was a nice change. The ISA group caught the bus into the city where we split into two groups and were given a walking tour of the oldest part of the city. It looks much like the rest, except for several secluded and preserved buildings. Only four tall pillars remain from when the city was first founded by the Romans, which means I witnessed stone carved and put in place over two thousand years ago. That was pretty neat. We also visited the oldest cathedral in Barcelona, which had some pretty nice stained glass windows. I really find most cathedrals pretty similar, so I rarely have much original to say about them. Don't think that takes away from how awesome they are, and how I wish we had cathedrals in the US. It's amazing to go into a spacious and completely quiet place, older than our country, that was probably around before Joan of Arc was burned at the stake, and sit in peace, perhaps the only place in the entire city you can do so.
The tour ended somewhere around 1 pm, so I called Anna to come join us. In the meantime we visited the Dali museum which was in the same area. In case you don't recognize the name, Dali is the artist most famous for his melting clocks painting. As bizarre as he was, he's probably one of my favorite artists. He might have had an unhealthy obsession with horses though, and had something about painting and sculpting people with drawers. Not the British version meaning underwear, but actual drawers, with handles and all. He did some pretty amazing things with color, and the museum was totally worth the 6 euros we paid to get in (yea student discount!). We met Anna then back in the Plaza Catalunya. While waiting, Ken bought some birdseed from one of the many stands and we attempted to catch a pigeon. I think they only let kids hold them. Again, the temptation to punt them was almost overwhelming, and it was a miracle with the massive flocks of pigeons all around we didn't get shit on.
We walked back down to the same pita place as the day before, this time the crew consisting of me, Anna, Ken, Dotty, Madeline, and Andrew. We took Madeline and Dotty to the market since they hadn't seen it yet, and Anna, Ken, and I bought chocolates to share. They were again totally worth it. We walked down to the port afterwards, marveling at La Rambla, which is quite some street. I failed to describe it adequately before, but to give you an idea... It's a wide avenue, the median being bare and where most people walk, with small streets on either side to let the cars through. Street performers and people who pose as statues in magnificent and terrifying costumes are every few feet. Stands are set up that sell just about anything you don't need, including chickens, roosters, rabbits, pigeons, parakeets, jewelry, artwork, etc... Caricaturists draw on the streets, most quite good. Even in February, probably the coldest and worst possible month for tourism anywhere in Spain, the streets are packed, and we managed to lose each other several times. I'm really glad we all have phones, lets put it that way. Also I went through about 10 euros worth of minutes and texts just in one weekend (cringe).
The port is awesome; it has a giant mall which turns into a discoteca at night, no small number of cruise ships, and more sailboats and seagulls than Baltimore, maybe. We sat down with our feet over the side of the dock, our shoes suddenly feeling looser than usual, and enjoyed the warmth of the dying sun on our faces and legs. Dotty, Anna, and I all decided we wanted to buy boots, so we went shopping next, back up La Rambla and down some small streets to find the perfect pair. After quite some time, Dotty, Madeline, and I all found pairs we liked, though I cringed just a little at dropping 70 euros on boots. They're pretty hot though, I'm not going to lie, and for boots, comfortable. And leather. Sometimes I'm good at being a girl.
It was past eight by then, and we were all beginning to get hungry again, but couldn't stand the thought of paying for a restaurant meal. We stopped at the Corte Ingles, which is a giant department store chain, something kind of like Walmart in the US, except classier and without the controversy as far as I know. We grabbed hot, fresh bread, fruit, ham, and cheese and made our way back to the hotel. We all hung out in my room eating and chatting. Anna left to meet her roommate and catch a nap before heading out later, and I kicked everyone out of my room for a nap as well. I failed at the nap, thanks to my forgotten 11 pm alarm, a knock on the door, and the brief return of my roommate. At 11:30 pm I left the hotel to rejoin Ken, Dotty, Andrew, Madeline, and Leigh, who had left for some food, but ended up wandering for twenty minutes thanks to slightly mistaken directions. This combined with my lack of a nap left me in not the best mood to be going out. Andrew headed back to the hotel to get some sleep, and the rest of us caught the metro to join Anna. We were slightly, no, extremely disgusted by the guy who looked about ready to puke in front of us on the metro, spitting on the floor every once in a while until he had a puddle accumulated, that the next passenger, sadly and grossly, managed to step in unawares. Ew...
Anna met us at the metro and we headed to a bar before going to the salsa club Anna's roommate had recommended, since no one goes dancing before at least 2 am. The first place we found was altogether too crowded and smokey, but the next was perfect. We went upstairs where low lights, low couches, and cushions were a welcome respite from outside. We ordered (rum and coke for me and Ken, mojito for Anna, wine for the others), and sat and practiced Spanish for the next forty five minutes or hour. It was perfect, surrounded by friends, comfortable, and speaking in Spanish, no less. We decided that upon our return to Valencia we would try to speak solely in Spanish. It really is the only way to learn quickly, despite the temporary frustration. We left eventually, sometime after 2, and walked the few blocks to the Salsa club. Madeline caught a taxi back home since she was exhausted, but the rest of us wanted to dance. It was not quite as expected.
It was smokey and crowded, and it took us a while to find a place for our coats and then a niche on the dance floor. Nonetheless, it was a ton of fun, I missed dancing so much, even if it is club dancing. The DJ played a mix of Spanish and Latin music and American hits from the 90's and early part of this decade. It brought me back to high school, except that this was much better. We sang along to all the songs we knew, and Anna and Ken promised to tell Max how I danced with a Spanish guy (well, now you know). I missed Victor, and wished he could show me how to dance Salsa better. We didn't leave until around 4 am, exhausted and happy and sweaty. Anna took the metro home, and the rest of us split a taxi, which is pretty cheap if you have three or four people. I collapsed in bed and slept almost immediately, as soon as I managed to ignore the ringing in my ears from the music.
Sunday morning's 9 am wakeup call came way too early, but a half-hour shower and a big breakfast later left me ready for another tour. This time we walked around the Barrio Medieval, where we saw more old and awesome buildings, and yet another cathedral. This one was once again not much different from the one the day before, except a mass was going on, and a few minutes after entering a choir started singing along to organ music. The soprano lead of the choir was excellent, and though I couldn't understand anything being said (I'm pretty sure it was Latin, not Spanish), it was beautiful and moving. I love cathedrals.
The second half of the tour was in the Picasso museum. I loved the first half, Picasso's early work, before his blue period and then cubist stage. He was once a realist artist, and amazing at capturing people's characters on canvas. His Blue Period wasn't too bad either, although soon after the Rose Period he delved into cubism, which I really think art could have done without. Oh well. The museum was still pretty amazing, and we finished the tour around 1:30 pm, in time for lunch before having to catch the bus home at 4. Anna joined me then, and the two of us split a sandwich and had Chocolate con churros, which is delicious. The chocolate is more like the consistency of pudding than hot chocolate, though served warm. Churros are kind of like skinny ridged donuts, but not that sweet, and intended to dip in the chocolate. After food, Anna and I walked slowly back down towards the port, in part planning our next reunion, in a mere three weekends from now. Next time Anna's joining me in Valencia, and there will be more adventures!
The ride back home was again long and uneventful, although I borrowed Ken's ipod for the last few hours and discovered that he had almost everything by Great Big Sea, which reminded me of Max and singing. The moon was almost full outside the window, and I thought about Mallorca and home and the first time I'd heard all the songs I listened to. What a great weekend...

Spain 6

It feels like a while since I've written, but not much is really new...
Sunday I felt less sick and got out of the house, but karma as it is, it poured rain, and Ken and I hovered between damp and properly wet for most of the day. We also failed to realize that museums tend to close early (read, 2pm) on Sundays... Hence why we walked around the old town for about... oh a couple of hours, looking for and finding museum after museum, only to be disappointed by their locked doors and dark interiors. We finally crossed the Rio to the Museo de Bellas Artes, which was, thank goodness, open. While hundreds of paintings of bleeding and suffering Jesus and people getting their heads chopped off isn't exactly my idea of fascinating subject material, the artwork was fantastic. The museum was three times it's size inside as outside, must be an old building thing how they do that. The entrance was pretty awesome, the high dome ceiling was painted deep blue and dotted in gold, so it looked like the night sky. There was a green secluded courtyard with many old stones from the Roman times, which was pretty neat. Most of the artwork was from Valencian artists, and much of it consisted of seeming alter pieces, accented with gold foil.
After killing about three hours in the museum, which was totally worth the walk in the rain and the rather gruesome depictions of several beheadings, Ken and I found a cafe/bar where we had hot chocolate to warm up and watched Barcelona beat some other soccer team on TV. I returned home slightly damp and content with a day well spent.
This week has been slightly more dull, consisting mostly of class, some shopping (no buying), lots of walking, eating, drinking more hot chocolate than is healthy, and occasionally making it online. *sigh* the elusiveness of the internet...
My classes are actually really helpful and interesting, and I am learning a lot. Since I pretty much am starting from scratch it's easy to see how fast I'm improving (or how slow, depending on my point of view that day), which is cool.
Today, however, was perhaps my best day in Valencia yet. After class, I came home for lunch, then did some homework, which would have been easier if I'd realized the professor had actually provided all the answers to the fill in the blanks... Afterwards, since it was a nice day out, I decided to don my sneakers, for the first time in Spain, and go for a run, and return to the bouldering in the park. The run was good, but my legs are not going to be very forgiving tomorrow... The best part though was not the running but the bouldering. It was hard. My arms hurt. My hands hurt. It's the best feeling ever. I met a cool guy at the bouldering who helped me out figuring out where the problems started, and was in general very helpful and nice. He later set up a slackline between two trees about two feet above the ground, to work on balance, and invited me to try. Although fairly obvious from the name, a slackline is like a tightrope, but not tight... His was a piece of webbing about an inch wide. He made it look easy. It wasn't.
We played around, alternating turns and me taking as much advice as was given, and by the end I could make it halfway across, about five steps, before losing my balance. Two other guys joined us, one of which I learned owns a restaurant in the Carmen district in the old town, and the other of which is a chemist. Well, was a chemist, but the economy here being what it is, he's now returned to school, and from time to time escorting Erasmus students to nearby mountains to climb. He also invited me along sometime when the weather gets nicer, and I readily accepted. Sleeping under the stars after a day of climbing sounds dreamlike right now. I can't get The Gunks out of my head though, we'll see how the climbing is here.
While I couldn't understand the guys all the time, when they spoke to me they slowed it down a little and I figured out just about everything. My first Spanish friends! Well, the first guy with the slackline is actually Colombian, but whatever, it's all about practicing Spanish, right? Despite European guys' bad reputation, the guys I met were all polite gentlemen and really nice to take the time to explain things to me. I'll have to find them again at the bouldering bridge in the park, since I didn't have my phone on me and couldn't remember the number (I should really try to memorize that...). By the time I left, there were another six or seven guys around the bouldering place, practicing. Apparently there are also several climbing gyms nearby, and only about 3 euros for an afternoon, which is definitely an improvement on Earthtreks pricing.
I ran back to my place when it started tog et dark, around 6:45 pm or so, and was proud to discover that I'd probably run two miles today, bouldered for about an hour, and worked on the slackrope for at least another hour or two more. And don't think that isn't a workout. Isaac and Max you would probably love it, and be very good at it. I learned a lot of Spanish climbing words, although a couple are the same, like toprope. None of the guys I met do trad, but they do lead outdoors from time to time. Though the first guy, whose name I sadly forgot (it started with a G I think...), was an excellent long-time climber, the other two were pretty new to it, so I didn't feel ridiculously outclassed. I would have been really sad about not meeting any girl climbers, except that I was so excited about having hung out with some Spaniards all afternoon and climbed, finally!! I can't wait to go back next week, and figure out the crux of that problem...
I was planning on going out to the intercambio tonight, since it's every Wednesday at Portland, but my legs protested, and even now my hands and forearms are protesting against typing.
One more day of classes and then off to Barcelona for some adventures with Anna! Hells yea!