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.