11/25/12

Dear Diary,

I am writing this on a plane back from London, and I should be reading a delightful tale called “Manolito Gafiotas” but reading for school has never really been a preferred past time of mine, and considering that I attended two of my six classes this week, school in general is not really my thing. Instead of class I spent most of the week sick, broken and probono tour guiding/translating. This week I discovered that all of those nights spent eating at home would not do me any good when it came time to show my Mom and Ian true Spanish cuisine. Tripadvisor was more helpful during their stay than I was. 

However we did get to share a meal with my host parents where Kacey was once again ordered to stay and help translate. Rosa was clearing showing off during this meal because we had four appetizers, full plates of paella, and four deserts to follow, one of which was a Chirimoya-the greatest fruit alive (Google it,) and all of which were forced upon my parents over and over, in true Spanish style. This meal was one of the most interesting meals in my life, because my Mom and Ian do not speak a fucking lick of Spanish, except for “Hola”. I literally taught them yes, no (they didn’t know it was the same), bye, please, and thank you. “Gracias” was probably the most fun word to teach them, because in Spain it is said with a slight lisp, and so Ian took that as scream, spit, and force your tongue through your teeth in order to follow the correct phonetics. Needless to say he was quickly banned from all further attempts at speaking the language. Anyways: dinner was three hours of getting to learn more about my host parents, translating only what I chose to back to my actual parents, and enjoying the company of five very important people in my life.

On Thursday the three of us went to London together. I spent American Thanksgiving (in case you are confused, Canada does in fact have their own thanksgiving) eating enchiladas and seriously spicy guacamole. It was my first taste of Mexican food or anything remotely spicy in three months, and it was divine. On Friday we went up to the London Eye, ate scones with clotted cream and jam, visited every possible Notting Hill landmark from the movie, ate Yorkshire pudding, went to Matilda on West End and ate Thai food (another type of food I missed dearly). The version of Matilda that we saw was identical plot wise to the movie that I was obsessed with as a child, but the way they told the actual story was…liberally adjusted. Either way it was exceptional. On Saturday we went to Buckingham Palace (where my mother teased the Royal Guards), to St. Paul’s Cathedral (if I never see the inside of another freaking church in my life I would be just fine, that is all I seem do here), and then stood in line in the pouring rain for Les Misérables tickets. Les Mis was hands down the best theatre show I have ever seen, even though I spent the whole three hours waiting for a speaking part, and coughing up my left lung. After the show we ate Indian food, and retired to the hotel room so I could take a cough suppressant and go to bed.  I really just ate ethnic food and rode the tube for four days straight, but it was probably my favorite trip so far and I could not have picked two people who I would have enjoyed making fun of the whole time with more.

Now it’s back to studying and preparing for the next two weeks until finals. We’ll be landing soon, and these flight attendants are feisty, so I should really put my computer away.

Wish me luck, Diary.

11/19/12

Dear Diary,

This week I decided that due to the fact "Mommy" (Rosa, my host mother) cooks four meals a day for Kacey and myself, that we should give back and do some good ol' American cooking for my host parents. We decided on Balsamic Scallops on pasta with a nice pie for desert. It was my job to do the grocery shopping, and this was not an easy task. First of all I thought that it was going to be raining so I ventured out in a wool peacoat with an umbrella...neither of which I needed. I was also using family recipes which surprisingly enough were not in Spanish, so I had to try to distinguish which ingredients we might actually need to cook. After unsuccessfully drudging through three stores while I sweat my ass off and whacked unsuspecting strangers with an umbrella searching for for Scallops, I finally found them, at the reasonable price of 10 euro for a pack of 4. Needless to say I picked up a pie crust, some fruit, and oats and told Kacey that pancakes would probably be a better decision. The pie was an Apple Raspberry Crumble with a Cinnamon Roll crust, and it was delicious. The pancakes were a little flat and rubbery, but a valiant effort on our part. The day we cooked was also the day my host parents learned that I am clinically insane. They got to witness how I randomly talk and sometimes yell at inanimate objects, have a different sound for every emotion I am feeling, and how I have a completely rational fear of burners with fire, and hot oil. It ended up being dinner and a show by the time the food was ready to eat.

That evening I also met up with some Spaniards who wanted to practice their english. The number one issue I have when meeting in Intercambio situations is that I get so excited to be able to speak English for a whole 20 minutes, that I forget to speak slow, and enunciate. I really am not the best person to try to learn English with. However, the men my friend Danielle and I met up with were very nice and we had a great time just jumping back and forth between the two languages. We also met up with them for dinner and to go out the next night. Dinner was at a place called "Chino" and they took serving size to a whole new level. I literally had a spring burrito, not a spring roll, which I ordered as a "winter roll" because I got my seasons mixed up and am always nervous to speak Spanish. We then went out for drinks, dancing and just hanging out and practicing the other persons language. I would just like everyone to know that my Spanish is truly flawless when I am drunk. FLAWLESS. And don't ever try to tell me otherwise.

I also spent this weekend in various cities in the Netherlands with my friends Corey (of course) and Faith. We stayed with an old...acquaintance... of Corey's and just toured around the different cities close by. We started the night by riding on the back of bikes to the Utrecht city center and spent the evening dancing with a few friends of Flo, the gentleman we stayed with. Since I don't know how to ride a bike, straddling the back was the next best option, and when metal and ass bone meet bumps in the road you start to question your sheltered, bikeless, childhood.  The next morning we had to venture back to the airport to pick up Corey's lost luggage, and had a lovely bus ride with some fellow Americans, who Corey exchanged spelling lessons, for Dodgeball quotes with. We also toured the Heineken Factory, and a little more of Amsterdam before heading back to Zeist where we were staying.  I would love to tag myself in other peoples photos of this trip, but we were all too cold to take our hands out of our pockets so I don't even think there are any to steal.

Last night I also spent the night in the Barcelona airport... again. This time I was denied the comfy padded seats that Terminal 2 has, and after a vicious 2 hours of the card game "Speed", Corey and I retired to hard plastic chairs with handles that stabbed into our backs.  Once we got back into Alicante, I slept until I had to get my Mom and Ian from the airport, and have spent the rest of the afternoon stuffing them full of cupcakes and tapas, while showing them the city I have learned to call home.

Unfortunately I am a little under the weather, and just stuffed myself full of 6 cold pills which makes it officially bed time. Or coma time. Whichever comes first.

Good night, Dairy.

11/12/12

Dear Diary,

I've missed you. But not really because the whole intent of me coming to Spain for four months was to actually be a part of daily Spanish life, not entertain friends and family with my tales. However, most of my free time up until now has been spent watching Boy Meets World from beginning to end, so now that I finished that I can get back to sharing my private life, publicly.

I am not even going to begin to attempt to detail each and every trip I have been on or every exciting thing about my semester so far. No one has the patience for that. So in brief:

Week 1: Classes, beaches, Boy Meets World (BMW)
Week 2: Classes, beaches, Sailing class*, BMW
Week 3:        "                  "
Week 4:        "                  "
Week 5: All of the above AND 4 days in Italy*
Week 6: Two days of class, Three days in Ireland* (It is now too cold for the beach. I am in shambles.)
Week 7: Same as before, subtract Sailing, double the amount of BMW
Week 8: Corey's parents in town, BMW, 2 days in Valencia
Week 9: 3 days of class, 4 days in Greece*

*Sailing: The most amazing class of my life. I literally sat on a sailboat, drinking sangria, and tanning for two hours, and got credit, and a little certificate for it. My Tuesdays, Thursdays and Fridays have been incomplete without it.
*Italy: I spent a night in the Barcelona airport (it sucks). Then spent three days in Milan, one day in Venice, and a few hours in Bologna (which also sucks). The number one take away is that you all should google the bar "Nottingham Forest" and look at my Facebook pictures from that night.
*Ireland: Drunkest trip of my life (aside from those younger years on family vacations). Look at my Facebook pictures as well, and judge my dear friend Corey and myself for hooking up with random strangers in an Irish pub.
*Greece: FB pics again. Hands down the most amazing trip of my life. If you intend to marry me then know that we will be returning there for our honeymoon.

And that brings us to the past two weeks, which I can give a little more detail to.

Last Thursday I got the chance to meet with Spanish students studying to be translators, and I have never felt more like an idiot in my life. First of all I had a final exam that morning, so the minuscule sized Spanish speaking part of my brain, was fried. So when I go to sit down with all of these fluent Spanish speakers to practice my Spanish, I didn't even get one sentence out before we switched over to English. Secondly, when we switch to English, I learned that it is not only the second language they all know, but one of the five (plus) that they are studying. And lastly, they were all younger than me. Now we are back around to me feeling like an idiot. Despite my temporary incompetence, I got the chance to meet some really interesting people, who I then met up with later that night and went out dancing and drinking with (meaning they danced and drank, while I soberly bobbed on the spot, and continued to only speak English).
On Friday, the Mrs. and I, (Corey and I are basically married, for future reference) went to get her first tattoo. We forced my roommate to go along with us as a translator, and then openly got mad at her when she didn't translate every word for us. It took about an hour for our tattoo artist, Lolo (he is a he, not kidding), to finish Corey's tattoo, during which she required three people to hold her down, and still managed to almost fall off the table trying to move away from the gun. On Saturday, we returned to our dear friend, Lolo, who then got to have the divine pleasure of doing my third tattoo. Now for a comparison: When Corey sat down to have her tattoo done, he placed the stencil, she said "Yes", and an hour later all was well. When I sat down to have mine done, he placed it once, I wanted it higher. He placed it again. I wanted it more to the side. He gave me the pen to draw my own lines, and we were on our way. Then we got to the actual heart on my tattoo. He drew it once, it was too curvy. He drew it again. It was still too curvy. I drew it. It was no longer curvy, but now it was too tilted. This one he only had to do once more, and I was finally happy. However, today Lolo had become a little spit-fire, and openly enjoyed making fun of me, calling me a pain in his ass, writing a band name on my stomach (in pen), and utilizing his vast list of vocabulary words in English-- "Shut" and "up". And so, now, and forever more, I will think of Corey every day, when I take off my bra.
I also went on a hike Saturday morning. Let's all take a second to remember my recount of the climb up to the castle... Well on this hike, the castle could be squished by my pinky. The weather was perfect, and the scenery was nothing like I had seen in Spain thus far, however the more active people in my program decided it would be a grand ol' time to run up the mountain, instead of taking a leisurely jaunt. In short, even my shoulders were sweating by the time we reached the top. After that we took a quick tour of the Busot Caves of Canelobre (Google them, we were not allowed to take pictures...not that I would have anyways) and headed back to Alicante for my tattoo.

All in all, this week was probably my favorite week in Spain thus far, but traveling other parts of Europe has by far been the highlight of, well, my life.

Talk to you soon, Diary.

09/04/12

Dear Diary,

When I set my alarm last night for this morning, I told myself that "being in Spain would be different" and "I would wake up to my first alarm, because there is so much to see and do". Well six alarms later, I woke up at 11. Today was supposed to be my day at the beach, because I start class tomorrow, and clearly was not concerned with textbooks, bus passes, or supplies. However, Corey wanted to go get new phones, so yet again I ventured into the Orange phone store, spent 45 minutes with the woman, and walked out empty handed. I have officially given up on using my iPhone, and will now spend the next four months mastering the art of T9 and being thoroughly upset when I have to walk over to my computer in the morning to check the weather. After spending another 2 hours getting Corey's paperweight (because neither of us know how to add minutes onto a phone), we decided to give up on the beach, and try to get a few things done before class.

Upon arriving in Alicante I learned that none of my appliances, even with converters, work in this country. Which means that I have been without a hairdryer since Saturday. Now, most people would shower before bed and let their hair air-dry, but I of course see this as a now valid excuse as to why I not only shouldn't, but just can't possibly wash my hair. Fortunately I came equipped with three different canisters of Dry-Shampoo, but also neglected to bring Hairspray, on the off chance that I actually washed AND styled my hair (big day, I know).  Luckily, due to all these misfortunes, I got the divine pleasure of finding these items in a Target-less city, where I barely speak the language. It was not easy, but lo and behold, I have supplied future house guests of Rosa and Pedro with a variety of hair appliances. And now I can wash my hair...tomorrow.

Later on I had another unforgettable walking tour with my love, Sylvan. We (as in Sylvan, myself, and 40 other people who I am not infatuated with) walked up a small mountain on the coast of Alicante to Santa Barbra Castle. I truly am giving this mountain less credit than it deserves. It was in fact a forty minute, 85 degree angle hike, up steps made entirely of uneven stone, with very few plateaus. The ancient Romans and Spaniards really should have utilized a great concept called "depth perception". However, the view was genuinely worth it, and I know my back sweat was much less noticeable with the entire Mediterranean Sea behind me.

I can no longer stand my own smell from the hike, and need some decent sleep before class tomorrow, so I bid you adieu.

Good night, Diary.

09/03/12

I thought I might try blogging about my trip a little bit. Not that any of you care, but I had the same conversation six times tonight, and I can already tell that it is going to get old... fast. So now all conversations that start with "So, how is Spain?" will be followed with a direct link to this. I personally feel that blogging is like writing your diary on a white board, but my diary from when I was 8 was extremely entertaining, so maybe I'll have the same luck now.

I will start with my own preface to this entire blogging experience:

This will by far be my longest blog post.
Although I am studying in Spain and will be learning the language, almost none of this will be in Spanish. I can also guarantee that none of it will be in "Spanglish". I am consistently annoyed by people who go somewhere, and then decide that they are now masters of the language, and just because the sign says "La playa de Alicante" does not mean that you are incapable of translating it back to English. I'll keep my Spanish lessons to myself.
I am mostly going to use this blog to answer all the questions I have been/will be getting, such as:
"How is Spain?" (This questions is now taboo, and anyone caught asking it will be heartily kicked in the shin when I return)
"How are the people?"
"How is your host family?"
"How is the food?"
"How is school/are your classes?"
"How was your trip?" (When I start to travel)
"How are the men?"
I will update my blog with new questions that are asked frequently, and will personally commend any person who surprises me with a genuinely useful and proactive question about my semester.
Chances are I am going to be too lazy, or if everything goes as planned-too busy, to sit on my computer for three hours and recount my day. So do not expect consistent updates as if this were my twitter feed.
I also do not have a twitter feed, so don't go looking there either.
I am not very big on detailing the "beauty of the castles" or the "stunning architecture of the cathedrals". If you want to know what they look like, come see them for yourself. Don't count on me to live your life for you.
I will most likely go into exceptionally graphic detail about how gorgeous the men are here, and what I plan to do with them. So family members weak of heart, or guys that are annoyed by not being the object of my affection, try picking up 50 Shades of Grey, and then tell me that I am inappropriate.
Lastly, if you don't know me well enough to know when I am being serious, or a sarcastic asshole, I suggest you do some light reading elsewhere. (And never ask me to play Apples to Apples with you, because I will hate you)

And so we begin:

Dear Diary,
In case you didn't already know, (aka we're not actually friends and you're just some creeper) I am studying in Alicante, Spain for the semester. I have been here for just over 24 hours, and I am completely in love with everything this city has to offer, especially the men.

Last week I was in Madrid, and I came away from the trip only really learning that Madrid at 7am is actually less safe than Madrid at 3am. Drunken old men passed out on coffee shop bars at 7am are usually my go to booty-call, but the language barrier just seemed like too much too handle. When all the USAC students were not out on planned day trips to Segovia, The Valley of the Fallen, Toledo or various museums and cathedrals in Madrid, we spent our free-time drinking until 6am and eating enough Tapas to feed all of the countless homeless people who asked us for change, for a year. Apparently tiny plates and a legal drinking age of 18 was all we needed to make some great friends. The four days in Madrid were like a month long summer camp, where you spend the whole time getting to know people and falling in love with their personalities, and then you all go off your separate ways, planning trips in the near future... and are never heard of again. There are a few people that I genuinely hope I see again, but I also need to now focus on the people in Alicante with me. In a regular University there is supposed to be a "We're all in this together" concept that no one seems to buy into, but when you and a stranger are thrown into a small hotel room with two beds made into one, you have no choice but to become instant friends. I spent almost all of my time in Madrid with my roommate, Darcy. I adore her. That is really all you need to know.

Upon entering Alicante, I was instantly paired up with my host parents, Rosa and Pedro, and my fellow American roommate, Kacey. Talk about culture shock, when you walk off a four hour bus ride with nap breath and bed head, to then be instantly kissed, hugged, and dragged up the streets of an unknown city. Luckily Kacey knows a hell of a lot more Spanish than I do, so she has been my own personal translator and teacher when it comes to speaking with my family.  I spend most of my time at the table politely nodding my head and responding with "Sí" to every possible pause. I must sound like a Furby at this point to them, but like all good Furbys, I will soon learn to speak on my own, and hopefully be able to hold an intelligent conversation. Until then, I will spend my time hiding behind Kacey and attempting what little Spanish I know how to say without a textbook in front of me.
Once we got settled in our beautiful rooms, and had a little time to explore Kacey's balcony and the rest of the house, I had my first taste of authentic Spanish Paella. (&no that is not directly a Spanish word, it is a dish. Look it up.) I would go into detail about how amazing it tasted and what exactly was in it, but this is not instagram, and again, if you want to know about it, come experience it for yourself.
I then went down to the beach, and walked along it with fellow students in my program. The sand is so exceptionally soft and I could literally cocoon myself in it for the rest of the semester and be completely content living the life of a sand crab.  There will be many more beach tales to come, because I have never lived on a beach before, and even the tiny pieces of coral that stab into my feet will be explicitly detailed due to my excitement.

Today I went to orientation, where I learned that AIDS is a growing epidemic in Spain, and "Only I can protect myself"... .... ... (I'm not sure how many more ellipses I need to get across my utter confusion with as to which USAC student caused this to be mandatory Orientation material). But aside from that, I got into all the classes I need (and want), and will be spending another semester aiming high for that solid C grade that I've worked so hard at maintaining with UNLV. The rest of my day was spent trying to get my cell phone activated (unsuccessful), talking with family (unsuccessful), and striving to regain my old back problems by using my laptop on my bed (completely successful).
I also spent about two hours on a guided tour by my (oh so handsome) program director, Sylvan. I would just like to say that I love him. I really love him more than his model girlfriend. And until I find a man more attractive than him, he will be the only topic I will want to discuss with my classmates, and I will continue to air-claw at him from behind and refer to him only as "Captain Gorgeous".

Like I mentioned, the rest will be much shorter, but seeing as my parents are probably the only people who will be reading this, I don't think length matters.

It's now 2:30am, and I need sleep. I have a full day of doing nothing tomorrow.

Goodnight, Diary.