Marbellisima

              After that crazy Wednesday, I spent Thursday morning organizing cash take-outs and bus tickets for the bestweekendever. I was headed to Gibraltar, where I’d always wanted to go, for as long as I knew this British colony connecting the East and West existed. I dragged Meital and Elizabeth with me for the journey (they were totally down. It wasn’t so much dragging. But I’m really, really weirdly into Gibraltar. And now beyond obsessed, but keep reading!)

At the bus station, we met adorable and lost Ben from Melbourne (MelBen) who looked like he hadn’t showered in a few years. It’s always cool to run into other travelers, typically far more ‘rugged’ than yours truly, and hear about their adventures to live vicariously through them. I like showering too much to sleep outside and I’m too organized to not know how my next meal is being paid for or where I’ll be next week. 

             Ten minute stop in beautiful Ronda (I didn’t get off the bus.) and then we finished the journey off through the mountains of southern Spain, with a sunset to full moon transition as we hit the coastline and arrived in Marbella. This Mediterranean minitropolis is home to odious amounts of wealth and luxury, famous for mafia activity and summer nightlife. Pretty dead since a huge crime-ring bust and the end of summer.

Beach on November 11. Remind me why I'm leaving in a month?

               If you’d like to read about the hostel, check in the other post below this one. This account is dedicated to food and fun.

               After arriving, these three musketeers were STARVING. But eight is too early to eat actual dinner so we wandered through the entire old city of Marbella (took fifteen whole minutes), and then grabbed some alleyway tapas. SO GOOD – one of the only open places, Meital had (what we belive to be) tripe. Don't mean to yuck your yum, but YUCK! I had the best fried cod tapa I’ve had in Spain (and keeping kosher, I eat a ton of cod). Then we had a fancy dinner complete with bottle of wine and the most-dedicated service I’ve had in Europe. They actually paid attention to us for once!

The second night, we stumbled on a jazzy pizzeria (there must be a hundred in Marbella. This one just was open and close) and I split an enormous vegetarian pizza with Meital. The bruschetta appetizer was an excellent addition to a high-class dinner and we could not anticipate another second of hunger. I probably would have eaten a tablecloth and Elizabeth, a fork.

View from the hostel. Illinois, why are you so flat?

When we got back to the hostel, we were greeted by a half-drunk Scot who was running the bar quite freely and offered us ‘farewell drinks.’ Not one to turn down some tap and talk, we chatted for a while and you can read all about that absurdity in the post entitled “Hostel: Not the Movie”

               Saturday was spent exploring the ‘city.’ That meant sleeping late, grabbing some fruit at the market, and heading to the beach to enjoy some Mediterranean sunshine mid-November.  We continued our tour through a sculpture garden, an art gallery, a cathedral (with chandeliers!), and an ancient castle. I could not have asked for a lovelier morning. We then grabbed some sandwich goods and I enjoyed the remainder of my turkey, some mayo from the hostel owners, and sliced apple on a fresh baguette. Yum. Yum. Yum. We ate on the terrace, looking off into the mountains we would soon head over to go home.

Jews were here. And now it's a cathedral.
We didn't hold down fort so well in Spain.

I learned to pour beer out of a tap, stayed in my first hostel, and ate delicious food all around Marbella. The joy that is Gibraltar cannot be included in this post. (So, it has two of its own…) 

This was a delightful weekend all in all.

Hostel: Not the Movie

After a very long bus ride to Marbella, we stumbled down some steps and ended up in the front of the Hostel El Pilar. Kind of dirty and outdated, we were a little frazzled and had hoped for a bit more, maybe. One star shouldn’t have implied that, I suppose. The first lady at the front desk was not so friendly or nice. She just demanded our money. In cash. There goes my fat wallet. Weightloss central.

The room was fine. Just fine. Kinda damp, squishy, plain. But really quite adequate. Still not sure what I was expecting for a steal, in an off-season town, in a one-star hostel. 

She warmed up to us, but the head guy, Scottish Michael, was just beyond friendly. Probably in his mid-forties, consistently drinking and sometimes burping, but always apologizing for those burps. He insisted that if I was serious about the hospitality industry, I should know it’s not sitting around with beer (really?). And I should get a wife. Well, I’ll take his advice on half of that.

Spent a solid half hour playing with dinosaur figures.
Forever young?

With a free round of ‘farewell’ beers (mind you, it was only our second night), he imparted several tales of a life well spent around the world with people everywhere. He told us an epic tale of some adventures with a monkey stealing some car keys in Nairobi and fantastic actuation of his impressions of Brits, who he dislikes strongly. 

He very much liked to make bottom-line statements, global truisms, saying ‘all joking apart’ randomly in conversation, and mixing ridiculousness with serious stuff (Canadian travelers writing bad reviews, burning fake passports, and Bernie Madoff? Interesting blend.)  He also happened to be fairly hard of hearing and hard of memory, which made for unpredictable twists in conversations regarding answers to questions unasked, cursing matches, and rants about unrelated topics.

Before we went to bed, Scottish Michael showed us a profound Youtube video called “Knickers Off” and flattered me by saying I have a way of “hitting the nail on the head.” He also said his mother was waiting down the street, that we were rushing him, and we deserved to be spanked. (Ew. You’re drunk. Stop. We’re just sitting here being polite).

Well, I do hope I have given his *unique*character, his commitment to hostel chatter, and his decision to call me 'Amy' justice in this blogspot.

Teenage Wasteland

The alarm went off at 8 and I realized I did indeed have to speak about Slovenia for 15 minutes in class that afternoon. And I had nothing researched at all. Thank goodness for Wikipedia and that CIA website by country we used in seventh grade.

My senora left me for A WEEK beginning today so after tearful goodbyes this morning, I headed to class (only an hour late... I had that presentation to prepare first! Priorities!).

The teacher greeted me with a "Hi, how was your sleep?" Apparently I gave a slightly cheeky response back which made the whole class laugh. A nice diversion from clips of Spanish neorealist films. I apologized to the teacher after but he did not seem to care one bit. How very Spanish of an attitude?

My presentation went swimmingly, thanks for asking. Did you know Slovenia has 211 municipalities? Do you even know where it is? Can't say I totally did before 9 AM.

I even made it to the gym where the instructor started an intercambio with me. That is, she started speaking in English. I thought I could go to this little room of tacky disco music and easy weight machines and escape. And here I was, fumbling for the words to explain that I'd love to speak English with her sortofbutnotreally while I'm sweating in the middle of the gym. By the end of my circuit, we were chatting bilingually and happily and I realized that Spanish people are oh-so kind to us Americans that the least I can do is help her with her English while she builds my muscles and my vocabulary.

I had phenomenal tapas at Los Coloniales, split with the birthday girl and coupled with some tinto. Yet again, they insisted the salmorejo soup had no ham and I spent a good deal of seconds scooping it (and the top layer of soup) out of the bowl. We also had patatas bravas and spinach croquetas. Om nom nom.

After, a classic botellon by the river and then off to a hip hop discoteca with my homiez!
Oh wait, I'm from Westchester, go to Nerdwestern, and can't dance at all.

Anyway, I spent the rest of the evening breaking it down with Sevilla's finest, immigrated from Northern Africa. So many languages, so many gold chains, and not sure how that flat-brimmed Yankees hat ended up on my head... I rocked it nonetheless. We 'popped bottles' on the dance floor with our new 'friends' that we'll likely never see again. I would definitely put the evening on the memorable list.

That is one helluva start and end to a study abroad day.

Some Firsts, Some Seconds

This morning I woke up aching.

No, I did not have the Plague, which has struck down 18 of my program-mates with food poisoning symptoms. I suffered a mild bought yesterday but bounced back. Delightful stuff, really.

Instead, I was sore from going to the gym for the first time ever. Yay!  I like it, for now, so I went back today! Mom, I know you're proud.

I also managed three full hours of siesta-ing, churros and chocolate, and a big family dinner with my two brothers, host parents, and roomie. All of these happened for the second time ever in Sevilla and since they are now repeat events, I really feel very much integrated into an absurdly high caliber authentic Spanish lifestyle.

An actual picture Alexa Kamm took.
You cancel out the gym by looking at them.

Naps, chocolate-dipped fried food, and family meals. I better be able to emulate these things on campus in the winter or reintegration will be a lot more difficult. I'm thinking my sorority house is a good place for all three of these things and I'm excited about my courses so far, so winter quarter can't be so awful, right?

While I'll miss what I have here, I do look forward to coming home eventually.

PS. Shireinu is having a show this weekend! NU's Jewish A Capella group will have someone else selling tickets and filming. This makes me a little sad. If you're on campus and you love singing Jews and mostly Non-Jews, SHIREINU Presents: Murder Shirote is for you.
3. Spain is still just dandy.

RubalcabaRajoyRage

Tonight, I watched the Spanish presidential debates.

Since my seat at the dining room table is closest to the TV, and I can't always have a real conversation in Spanish at meals, I've actually be listening to the news a lot. I know the parties and the politicians decently. And I feel like I know the newscasters on CanalSur, TVE, Uno and more. I also love the pre-news game show of math and spelling, Cifras y Letras.

So tonight, instead of trying to crack codes and make words, we sat down to dinner with Mariano Rajoy and Alfredo Rubalcaba. Both of their first names sound like pasta-related dishes and we happened to be having spaghetti.

Spain has some issues you should be aware of. Five million people, 22% of the population, are unemployed. 55% of young people cannot find work. Over 1 million households have no members at work. And the government, led by Partido Socialista Obrero Espanol (Spanish Socialist Worker's Party. Funny because no one and nothing is working) managed to pretend everything was totally fine, hiding the complete fail of an economy and their inability to face the facts as the unemployment stats went from about 8% to present-day. No one knew there was La Crisis for the first five years at least. No one seems to be able to tell me what the government is doing to fix the problem besides having early elections. Instead, the politicians are still employed and the news is about the weather, with pretty pictures all around the country. Great.

So, PSOE candidate Rubalcaba had one really nice idea of an employment structure to implement in 2012 and 13 but why didn't his party do anything for the last two terms? He was not the slightest bit apologetic or defensive and had no intention of changing any policies, really. I, on behalf of PSOE, wish I could apologize... or beg for forgiveness, for screwing over an entire nation for the recent past and for the forseeable future.  He could've at least admitted his party's errors and promised some sort of change - given them the Obama-style glimmer of left-side hope circa 2008.

Anyway, Rajoy slammed Rubalcaba, PSOE, and the government. It wasn't tough - they've really messed up here. Rajoy is an emotive speaker with right-side economic values. I relate. Also, he has kickass signage all over the city on subways and streetlamps and just about everywhere you look. And his beard makes him look very jolly.

In third grade, I made a speech about socialism's virtues except I was 9 and didn't know it was called socialism. It took me 12 years and a 2 month stay in a country with a devastated labor situation to understand why a classmate's mom laughed at me that day.

I'm still kind of hurt she laughed at me. And I want socialism to work just to prove her wrong. But, Spain makes me think it doesn't, and if I could vote, I'd probably go for Rajoy and PP at this point.

No Pasa GraNada

This is my 100th blog. I have successfully documented several consecutive days of my life and chronicled the first half of my totallyawesomeandunbelievable vida espanola. And, my grandparents (and some other people) have checked it out 3914 times.

I think I'll make it to 4000 because I took a trip this weekend and la gente seems to like my photoblogs with short punchy captions more than my writing. (Good thing I'm going into marketing instead of journalism!).

So here's what you missed on my life: Friday, I did absolutely nothing after zumba and eating a lot of fried food. Saturday, I got on a bus to go to Granada with my 40 best friends from JYS. I ate snacks with Livy, danced with Sarah, and dashed off the bus at the rest stop. Pretty average bus trip. 

Random people I asked to pose with me to look like my friends.

In Granada, we got to our absurdly fancy hotel, Hotel Carmen, right near the city's center. If you're ever there on business or with parents, stay there! We ate an overwhelming touristy lunch and then set out to explore. Unfortunately, the weatherman misspoke and it poured. and poured. and poured.

We luckily had an indoor tour scheduled and were on our way to the Capilla Real and Catedral. Never seen Catholic art or churches or tombs before, so I was superpsyched. Okay, maybe this was my millionth church in Europe in the last  two months but I was excited.

Sneaky photos.

Fernando and Isabel. 2getha4eva.

Priestly lockers.

We got to see King Fernando and Queen Isabel's ruins, along with their daughter Juana la Loca. The cathedral was bright white with vaulted ceilings and colorful paintings - a big change from the angry stone norm. Pictures do minimal justice but do have a look. I had to undercover take some of them out of my pocket - NO PHOTOS ALLOWED read signs everywhere. Since they are technically contraband, don't send this link to UNESCO or the Spanish government.

Cathedral.

After a solid 3.5 hours of Christian and Spanish history, accompanied by extensive walking, we had free time to explore the drenched and frozen city. My friend Andrea met up with me. She's studying there. We had a joyous reunion. It was delightful to see a camp friend, particularly after a few weeks of Jewishlessness.

We spent the evening at the hotel, basking in the warmth of indoors and the food comas from dinner. I stayed up superlate watching BBC and CNBC documentaries about Target, Laos, and Boeing. More worldly by the minute. The docs were background noise to chatting with my roommate Joan about Northwestern! We miss it, but only a little. 

Today, we explored the Alhambra which is a castle built by the last Islamic rulers of Spain and inhabited by the Catholic kings who captured and killed these forgotten men. Alhambra means red palace but everything is pretty much made of white plaster and jewel-toned mosaics. I've heard it's a 'wonder of the world' and I've had the privilege of seeing it twice. 

It looked pretty much the same. Last time I visited, I was also with about 6 boys and a gaggle of girls. I took the same pictures and 'wowed at the same patterns. Deja vu all over again. Good thing I'm writing it down now because I noted nothing as a slightly overwhelmed and oblivious 17-year-old

Except now I speak Spanish and I can give the tour in either languages and I promise it won't take the four hours we spent today. If you'd like to hire me and take me back there, I'd be more than willing - it's simply stunning. 

So, my weekend was cool, I miss my Spain/Israel 08 tour group, I love my JYS-Sweet Briar College crew, and I am grateful for having had the incredible experiences so far. 

One hundred posts, over a million words, and all of your reading (which makes me so so so happy!). 

I used to think blogs were dumb. But, Stef on Stuff, you're growing on me.

I'd catch a Granada for you

It's like the architect couldn't pick one design element so he just overdid them all!

A pirate is buried here! Argh!

Medieval hymnals psych me up.

Plaza de plaza de plaza

Packerfans at the Alhambra? 

Carlos Quinientos Palace. Looks more like a bullring. 

This is where they shot the reconquistadores from. They lost.

Oh, hi.

You all look the same-ish.

Little windy up there, hair?

Reppin' Spain. And the EU. And Andalucia. And Granada.

Can't touch this. Really, you can't.

When Jack went up the hill and spilled that plaster, this is where it went.

I was there.

Decorative windows with no fresh air or escape functions.

Tempted to touch.

Hey, weird donkey. I remember you from 2008.

Stalagmites and stalactites? Or just more plaster.

Gardens. For a Princess. Like me.

I am a Lady in Spain.

4BR, 3Bath, great views, 15th century mountain home, running water.