Bald Pizza and the Attack of the Churros

It’s time for you to meet some of my CC-CS buddies. Otherwise this will turn into one of those “me and my one friend and my other friend went to see my one friend. No, not that one, the other one”-type stories, which only make sense with some sort of accompanying tree-diagram-type character list. These guys all make an appearance in this post, and they’ll probably show up again later since at least a few of them are going to Austria and Paris with me in a few weeks. They’re good folks.

The characters:

Laura: The first night in Seville, Laura was our fearless leader on our timid little journey out of our hotel. Laura likes Príncipes, the little tubes of cookies they sell all over the place here (kind of like the Spanish equivalent of Oreos). Laura does not like tailgaters. Or the fact that 90% of all Spaniards walk slower than a sloth in Slo-Mo on the sidewalks here. This results in her tailgating slow Spanish walkers. Oh, the ironía.

Midnight: Not the best time to take a bus in completely the wrong direction

I am getting better at this not-being-lost-in-a-foreign-country thing. I abandoned my map weeks ago and almost always know which was is north now. In fact, we have to rewind  a whole 4 weeks to my first experience with Sevilla’s bus system before we get to any lost-in-Spain stories. But man, was I  lost. Supermegalost.

Wednesday four weeks ago I ventured out of Sevilla all on my lonesome to visit a family I’d met back at the convention in Madrid for a Bible study. They live about 15 minutes out of Sevilla in a suburb called… I can’t remember right now, but the bus stop is Los Irlandeses. I took a bus to another bus to Los Irlandeses no problem. Then I stood around looking lost until I happened to run into Manolo, the man of the house, who was out for a walk. He led me through a corridor and down a path to his house. All the houses are connected to those on either side, the little neighborhood forming a triangle that encloses a small courtyard.

Stepping into that courtyard is among the most amazing of my experiences in Spain thus far.

Classes, and Dashing Toward Them

This little list below has been my daily routine for the past 3 weeks. Except for when I have an evening class. In that case, my daily routine goes out the window and is replaced by a healthy amount of frantic dashing around, since I’m really not great at remembering that things like classes still exist after 3:00 pm. (For more on that scroll doooown.)

View from the bridge I cross every day.

The routine:

• Wake up at 7:20 am (midnight and a half back home)
• Squint at the wall until 8:00

Going Places: Spain in Pictures

I’ve been in Spain over a month already. Increíble. We’ve gone on quite a few little trips here, in and out of Seville. I could write 1,000 words about each of them, but really we should both probably doing something more productive right now, so I think instead I’ll just write 1,000 words and cram 1,000 pictures down your throat.

But not literally. That would be unpleasant and weird.

Note: If any of these slideshows are going too fast for you or if you want to see a larger version of a picture, just click the slideshow and it’ll open in a new page. Then you can go at your own pace.

Sept. 1 (3rd day in Sevilla): La Rábida…

La Rábida was a monastery that Columbus (Cristobol Colón in Spanish) hung out at for 2 years before he went on his little adventure to the new world. And it turns out one of the monastery dudes is the one responsible for Columbus actually getting to talk to Ferdinand and Isabella and get funding for the voyage. I wasn´t really paying much attention to the tour guide, but I think that’s its only claim to fame.

Highlights: 1. Some neat 3Dish paintings. (It’s like Avatar, but paintings! …And actually not at all like Avatar!) 2. Lifesize replicas of Columbus’ ships. They’re much smaller than I was expecting.

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People get really excited about Columbus over here. I get the feeling that if anyone brought up all the stuff they taught us in high school about how he was kind of a jerk and is responsible for the deaths of thousands of Native Americans… I dunno, you might get punched or something.

Journey to Sevilla: Chasing trains and other awkward moments

So I kind of left you guys hanging in Madrid and went off gallivanting around the countryside the past few weeks. Time to catch up. In the last two weeks I’ve gone running (well, more like frantically speed walking) after a train, gotten very good at getting lost in Seville, toured the Roman’s first non-Roman settlement, and had some amazing swordfish in Portugal.

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My Last Night in Madrid
Antonio took me to Madrid for my last day and a half before I left for Seville. I stayed at the Espinar’s house. It was really fun being with their kids, Lea, 18, and Nata, 20. Nata is short for Nathaniel. Nata’s name isn’t Nathaniel, it’s Vicente. But, inconveniently, Vicente’s dad is also Vicente, so therefore Vicente is Nata. I think I’m missing a step there, because the logic more sense when he explained it to me. Also, here in Spain nata is Spanish for cream. It took all of my powers of concentration to not call Nata “Crema,” the Mexican-Spanish word for cream that is much easier to remember and happens to be the name of absolutely no one.

Exploring Madrid: Day 2

(This will make more sense if you’ve started with Day 1.)

In Madrid, Day 2

Day 2 started with me sleeping through my alarm and waking up to a phone call from the hotel lobby at 11:30 am. They were politely wondering if I was ever going to leave. I thought I’d read something about a 24 hour stay outside, but apparently they were pretty sure I hadn’t. Nothing like starting your day in a mad rush.

Happy knife-candle watermelon-cake! Because watermelon is better than cake.

By day 2 I’d learned how the tour bus worked, and where not to go to eat Rolex watches or stare at old post offices. I realized it was my birthday (sorpresa!) and bought myself ¼ of a watermelon from an Asian lady who spoke pigeon Spanish. I stuck a plastic knife in it. I would’ve lit in on fire and had a little candle but I couldn’t find any fire and then I would’ve had a nasty toxic burning plastic knife. I also would’ve burned up my only eating utensil, since that was all the nice Asian lady gave me when I asked for a fork. I would’ve at least asked for a spoon or something, but between my accent, her accent, and multiple cultural and language barriers, I figured I’d probably either end up with chopsticks, a pineapple or a used car.

I forgot to mention this in the last post: the night before I’d discovered Preciados. (Credit for knowing the street name goes to Lea Espinar, because I probably won’t ever figure out exactly where I was half the time.) This was one of the major streets running through La Plaze del Sol, and it was awesome.

Exploring Madrid, Day 1

(This will probably make more sense if you’ve started with Journey to Madrid)

In Madrid, Day 1

After emerging from the subway stairs, I found myself standing in a huge plaza with a huge fountain. And a huge statue of someone important on a horse wearing a George-Washington wig. (The important guy was wearing the wig. Not the horse.) Encircling the plaza were walls of shops and restaurants, 2 stories high. The architecture of everything was beautiful, rich and old. Narrow streets, made of granite tile or large cobblestone (not tar), split off the plaza in all directions. Food/clothing/Rolex watch-erías look line the streets on either side, a McDonalds or El Corte Inglés squished in next to what looks like some small palace or miniature Parthenon.

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(Above: Lots of pretty buildings, and towards the end, some street performers at El Plaza del Sol.)

I stood in line with a bunch of other lost tourists to ask a poor police woman where the historic bus tours were. She pointed all 40 feet across the street to a bright red bus stop.

Journey to Madrid

Where it all begins…

Last Friday I decided I should probably wander around downtown Madrid like a lost child for 2 days. I’d been staying in Monteacevedo, about 1 ½ hours away. After consulting about 5 different people I decided to take the bus to Avenida de America, a big metro hub close to Madrid, and then… figure the rest out flying by the seat of my pants. It can’t be that hard right? I mean, I’m not completely inexperienced. I’ve ridden buses and stuff before. Like, school buses, and…  another bus, once. And that little tram in the airport… Yeah, I had no idea what I was doing.

The Journey to Madrid
If you ever find yourself in Monteacevedo and want to get to the Madrid tour buses as inefficiently as possible (in, say, 4+ hours as opposed to the entirely possible 1 ½), I’ve made a little guide to help you out. I have personally tested each step to ensure that it’ll slow you down a ton.

What Spain’s like

Nothing particularly action-y happens in this post. But I thought I’d better write down what this area of Spain has been like before I leave. Because I know it won’t take me long to forget, and also because everyone keeps asking me what Spain’s like. 🙂

The land:The terrain reminds me of Arizona, but milder, at least in this Northern region. What struck me when I looked out the plane window the first day was all the different colors of the land, and the flat-flat-flat-SURPRISE-it’s-a-mountain contrast. It’s like a lumpy quilt. Dull yellow barley plains fade into red hills spotted with neat rows of olive trees. The hills suddenly jut up into dusty, tree-fringed plateaus. Stitched together it forms a patchwork of pale tans, gray, yellows, and rich Arizona red. Greenery is fascinating, a combination of boring ash trees, cool tropical stuff, some things I’ve never seen before, and even pines.

Rural neighborhoods and towns: There’s not much for green lawns, not in August at least. Yards are red brown dirt, sometimes with scrubby brown grass. Houses look suited for the dry and heat. The roofs are adobe. Walls are either red-brown brick or tan/white stucco, no siding.

Nice to meet you again and again (Also, wind storms)

I’ve been in Spain for a little over a week now. Everything sounds a little less like “holacomotellamasmellamojuanestasbienparecequeoestesmuyconfundidooduermasdepieconlosojosabiertos” and a little more like “¡Hola! ¿Como te llamas? Me llamo Juan. ¿Estás bien? Parece que o estés muy confundido o duermas de pie con los ojos abiertos.” (“Hi! How are you? I’m John. … Are you ok? You look either very extremely confused, or you’ve fallen asleep standing up with your eyes open. It’s kinda creepy.”) Our little convention finished up Tuesday. It was great! I’ve learned a lot and learned I have a lot to learn.

An irrelevant but pretty Spanish sunset over the skyline of Madrid. (Click to embiggen, by the way)

So far I’ve gotten to meet about 100 different people from all kinds of places just here on the grounds! If you’re even anywhere near Madrid (I’m about an hour and a half away) many of the Spaniards you meet aren’t simply Spaniards. They’re Portugueseiards or Ukraineiards who’ve lived in Spain for such and such number of years. (Maybe they don’t call each other Portugueseiards. That actually probably sounds kind of offensive. Don’t call them that.)

On top of that I’ve met a good number of people from… everywhere. A group of us went to play fútbol –the kind you play with your feet—and this little guy named Juan Somethingoranother joined our game toward the end. He asked where we’re all from. “Well,” said one from our group, “He’s from New Zealand, they’re from Portugal, he’s Norwegian, he’s from the Phillipeans, they’re from England, he’s from Ecuador, they’re from Spain, they’re from Australia, he’s from the U.S.… and I’m from Ireland.” Juan Somebody stared: “Oh. …Um, I’m from Spain.”

(There was also a horse just hanging out by the soccer field, listening to this whole conversation. That was cool.)