Meyer women in front of Palacio Real
Puente Romano in Salamanca
Puerta de Alcala at night, Madrid.
jueves, 16 de abril de 2009
Monday in the 'Manc
The next morning, we woke up early, hopped on the metro and headed for the bus station. I could not WAIT to show them around Salamanca. After a quick breakfast of pastries and cafés con leche and te con leche, we headed down to the platform and loaded our bags below the bus. When I showed the tickets to the driver, however, he looked very confused and flipped through his other stack of ticket stubs to compare. Yep, I had accidentally bought tickets for Tuesday instead. In my excitement and haste to purchase them, I had read the European calendar (starting on Monday instead of Sunday) wrong and mistook the “M” in Martes (Tuesday) for the “M” in Monday instead. Que verguensa (how embarrassing). Thankfully, there was no problem in swapping the tickets for the 10am bus an hour later that same day.
Arriving in Salamanca around 12:30pm, we made the thirty-minute walk to the apartment. When we walked in the door around 1:15, I was disappointed to discover that madre wasn’t home, only cranky old Luis and the maid. When I was informed that Ascencion was out getting her hair done, we dropped off our bags and planned to return in about an hour. As we left the apartment to walk around a bit, I couldn’t help but remember the confused look Isabel had had on her face during our conversation. Ascencion HAD been expecting us, hadn’t she? Peeking in and out of shops like Ale Hop, Calzedonia, and Mango, we slowly made our way to La Plaza Mayor.
We returned to the apartment around 2:20, hoping that this had given madre ample time to get home from her beauty session. This time talking to Isabel, I was sure that there was no extra food prepared nor had madre mentioned that we were coming. My heart sunk into my stomach, where madre’s famous paella mixta should have already been. But how could I be upset with the woman for being old and forgetful? I said goodbye and that we’d be back later in the afternoon to say hello. Just as we were leaving, however, madre made her grand entrance (adorable permed haircut and all) through the elevator door. Double kisses all around, we had barely finished the introductions when her never-ending rant began. She had thought I said we’d be leaving Madrid around 12 instead of arriving in Salamanca at that time. She thought we’d be coming by sometime later in the afternoon, not for siesta. Although she made her understanding of the matter abundantly clear, I still have a bit of a hard time believing she could have thought this since for over a week, we had talked about the siesta lunch we would have that day. She insisted that she whip something up anyways and that we stay for siesta. Of course I told her this was ridiculously unnecessary and that we’d eat out and come back later. It’s a fact that Spanish women are the feistiest, most stubborn creatures on the planet. She wouldn’t let it go. This prompted a near-yelling match between us (in Spanish, of course). The look on my biological mother’s face was priceless. Who is this girl arguing with this old Spanish woman and what has she done with my daughter? Somehow, I finally “won” and Ascencion conceded to us promising to come back later in the afternoon. I felt so badly and awkward at the misunderstanding, she must have said, “I feel horrible, I am so embarrassed” at least 50 times.
At this point, Ascension had gone into her room and I started to give my Meyer women a quick tour of the place. Not one minute later and madre was out in the hallway arguing with me again. She openly fastened the buttons on her Hawaiian moo-moo, allowing my mom, sister, and I a generous view of her large, white, lacy brassiere. Oh, Ascense. But she couldn’t accept defeat. We were literally FORCED to stay and eat siesta lunch. WELL OK, IF YOU INSIST. We had Spanish tortilla, tomatoes, bread, fried Merluza (fish) with lemon juice, melon, and chunky monkey Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Despite madre’s incessant apologies about not having ample time or ingredients to make her paella, the food was delicious as always.
Lunch over, Ascencion offered us places to lie down for the expected siesta naps and further hoped that we would be sleeping in the house that night as well. What a woman, I tell ya. Kindly declining the offer, we exchanged gifts instead. Mom had literally filled an entire suitcase with gifts from the States for Ascension and the fam. I hope I am half this wonderful and generous someday. I beamed as I presented the Georgetown sweatshirt for Isabel, Guirradelli chocolates and other candies, Biscotti, Starbucks coffee, and mug for Luis, Barbies and Barbie outfits for Lucia and Yolanda, and sheets, towels and serving tray for madre. The entire time I wasn’t sure what Ascencion would do first: start bawling or faint. She told me to tell my mom she was crazy and that she shouldn’t have brought all these things. Once again, she was so embarrassed when she presented my mom and Bekah with fashionable black and white long chunky necklaces and an extra set of Salamantino earrings for my mom. I couldn’t believe she was embarrassed for giving US gifts in her own house.
All told, the visit was a grand success. I got a great deal of practice translating and it was clear that my two madres really loved meeting each other. What I probably will never understand is how cute and sweet Luis seemed to Bekah and mom. They legitimately liked him. During lunch, Bekah made a comment about an attractive man on the TV, to which madre replied in Spanish, “Well, if you like the handsome Spanish men, then you’ll love Luis!” HA.
As promised, we left to do a little shopping for Rebekah’s sake, but not without stopping at Café del Arte for cafés con leche first. I was thrilled to see my bartender welcome us in. Almost immediately after introducing him to Bekah and my mom, he proceeded to tell my mom (obvi in Spanish) that I’m a bad girl who always comes into the café to drink whiskey and hard liquor. Nice, bud. Good thing they can’t understand Spanish. He continued to say that of course he was only joking and that I’m a great girl and he only serves good people in his café. I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW WE BECAME BEST FRIENDS OVERNIGHT.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon walking past the cathedrals and Puente Romano over the Rio Tormes. I showed them where I take classes at the University, Casa de las Conchas, the wall with the Salamantino frog, among other semi-famous sites. The visit wouldn’t have been complete without churros and chocolate at Valor. An obvious hit, we returned to the apartment to grab our bags and hail a cab to the bus station for our 8pm bus home. Almost immediately, madre presented us with a huge packed lunch to take with us, very concerned that we would otherwise be missing dinner. It was complete with 4 pieces of fruit and 9 small “brick bocadillos” from Gil, the pastry shop next door. Like I’ve said before, a heart of pure gold.
Walking home off the metro around 11, we stopped in a café to pick up a bottle of wine. Mom walked in and immediately began asking the bartender about his wine selection…in English of course. He, along with his various barstool customers, only responded with blank, confused countenances. Yes it had been a long and tiring day for Kay, but I’m not sure she ever fully conceptualized that by being in Spain, people actually speak Spanish, not English. Once the mother duck, always the mother duck I guess. Sarah to the rescue again, we brought the 12-euro bottle of red Rioja back to the hotel where I enjoyed the most expensive (by far!) bottle of wine I had ever and likely will ever drink in Spain.
Arriving in Salamanca around 12:30pm, we made the thirty-minute walk to the apartment. When we walked in the door around 1:15, I was disappointed to discover that madre wasn’t home, only cranky old Luis and the maid. When I was informed that Ascencion was out getting her hair done, we dropped off our bags and planned to return in about an hour. As we left the apartment to walk around a bit, I couldn’t help but remember the confused look Isabel had had on her face during our conversation. Ascencion HAD been expecting us, hadn’t she? Peeking in and out of shops like Ale Hop, Calzedonia, and Mango, we slowly made our way to La Plaza Mayor.
We returned to the apartment around 2:20, hoping that this had given madre ample time to get home from her beauty session. This time talking to Isabel, I was sure that there was no extra food prepared nor had madre mentioned that we were coming. My heart sunk into my stomach, where madre’s famous paella mixta should have already been. But how could I be upset with the woman for being old and forgetful? I said goodbye and that we’d be back later in the afternoon to say hello. Just as we were leaving, however, madre made her grand entrance (adorable permed haircut and all) through the elevator door. Double kisses all around, we had barely finished the introductions when her never-ending rant began. She had thought I said we’d be leaving Madrid around 12 instead of arriving in Salamanca at that time. She thought we’d be coming by sometime later in the afternoon, not for siesta. Although she made her understanding of the matter abundantly clear, I still have a bit of a hard time believing she could have thought this since for over a week, we had talked about the siesta lunch we would have that day. She insisted that she whip something up anyways and that we stay for siesta. Of course I told her this was ridiculously unnecessary and that we’d eat out and come back later. It’s a fact that Spanish women are the feistiest, most stubborn creatures on the planet. She wouldn’t let it go. This prompted a near-yelling match between us (in Spanish, of course). The look on my biological mother’s face was priceless. Who is this girl arguing with this old Spanish woman and what has she done with my daughter? Somehow, I finally “won” and Ascencion conceded to us promising to come back later in the afternoon. I felt so badly and awkward at the misunderstanding, she must have said, “I feel horrible, I am so embarrassed” at least 50 times.
At this point, Ascension had gone into her room and I started to give my Meyer women a quick tour of the place. Not one minute later and madre was out in the hallway arguing with me again. She openly fastened the buttons on her Hawaiian moo-moo, allowing my mom, sister, and I a generous view of her large, white, lacy brassiere. Oh, Ascense. But she couldn’t accept defeat. We were literally FORCED to stay and eat siesta lunch. WELL OK, IF YOU INSIST. We had Spanish tortilla, tomatoes, bread, fried Merluza (fish) with lemon juice, melon, and chunky monkey Ben and Jerry’s ice cream. Despite madre’s incessant apologies about not having ample time or ingredients to make her paella, the food was delicious as always.
Lunch over, Ascencion offered us places to lie down for the expected siesta naps and further hoped that we would be sleeping in the house that night as well. What a woman, I tell ya. Kindly declining the offer, we exchanged gifts instead. Mom had literally filled an entire suitcase with gifts from the States for Ascension and the fam. I hope I am half this wonderful and generous someday. I beamed as I presented the Georgetown sweatshirt for Isabel, Guirradelli chocolates and other candies, Biscotti, Starbucks coffee, and mug for Luis, Barbies and Barbie outfits for Lucia and Yolanda, and sheets, towels and serving tray for madre. The entire time I wasn’t sure what Ascencion would do first: start bawling or faint. She told me to tell my mom she was crazy and that she shouldn’t have brought all these things. Once again, she was so embarrassed when she presented my mom and Bekah with fashionable black and white long chunky necklaces and an extra set of Salamantino earrings for my mom. I couldn’t believe she was embarrassed for giving US gifts in her own house.
All told, the visit was a grand success. I got a great deal of practice translating and it was clear that my two madres really loved meeting each other. What I probably will never understand is how cute and sweet Luis seemed to Bekah and mom. They legitimately liked him. During lunch, Bekah made a comment about an attractive man on the TV, to which madre replied in Spanish, “Well, if you like the handsome Spanish men, then you’ll love Luis!” HA.
As promised, we left to do a little shopping for Rebekah’s sake, but not without stopping at Café del Arte for cafés con leche first. I was thrilled to see my bartender welcome us in. Almost immediately after introducing him to Bekah and my mom, he proceeded to tell my mom (obvi in Spanish) that I’m a bad girl who always comes into the café to drink whiskey and hard liquor. Nice, bud. Good thing they can’t understand Spanish. He continued to say that of course he was only joking and that I’m a great girl and he only serves good people in his café. I WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND HOW WE BECAME BEST FRIENDS OVERNIGHT.
We spent the remainder of the afternoon walking past the cathedrals and Puente Romano over the Rio Tormes. I showed them where I take classes at the University, Casa de las Conchas, the wall with the Salamantino frog, among other semi-famous sites. The visit wouldn’t have been complete without churros and chocolate at Valor. An obvious hit, we returned to the apartment to grab our bags and hail a cab to the bus station for our 8pm bus home. Almost immediately, madre presented us with a huge packed lunch to take with us, very concerned that we would otherwise be missing dinner. It was complete with 4 pieces of fruit and 9 small “brick bocadillos” from Gil, the pastry shop next door. Like I’ve said before, a heart of pure gold.
Walking home off the metro around 11, we stopped in a café to pick up a bottle of wine. Mom walked in and immediately began asking the bartender about his wine selection…in English of course. He, along with his various barstool customers, only responded with blank, confused countenances. Yes it had been a long and tiring day for Kay, but I’m not sure she ever fully conceptualized that by being in Spain, people actually speak Spanish, not English. Once the mother duck, always the mother duck I guess. Sarah to the rescue again, we brought the 12-euro bottle of red Rioja back to the hotel where I enjoyed the most expensive (by far!) bottle of wine I had ever and likely will ever drink in Spain.
miércoles, 15 de abril de 2009
Sunday, April 5
Waking up after 11am the next morning, we forced our lazy bodies out of the hotel in time to walk up the street to Gran Via to a café, undoubtedly named by a few less than clever individuals. Here, at Café y Te, we enjoyed croissants and jam, smoothies, and who would have guessed, but café and te (tea). Sitting outside on the broad sidewalk of Gran Via, we welcomed the clear, sunny day ahead of us.
After “breakfast,” we made our way past the Plaza to the infamous Madrid Rastro. This is a HUGE open flea market that offers everything from leather purses to sunglasses to paintings and clothes to shoes and soccer scarves. We fell in love immediately, stopping only for lunch at 2:45pm.
I was anxious for Mom and Bekah to have their first Menu del Dia experience, as it’s a crucial part of Spanish culture to take advantage of. Just when Bekah had reached her cranky peak and suggested we give up and go for bocadillos, we spotted a perfect little café, once again, right outside the Plaza. The waiter led us downstairs into what looked like a low-lit cobblestone cave. For 14 euros each, we got an incredible green bean and shrimp salad, grilled chicken and French fries, sangria, bread and coffee. Not bad.
Rebekah was adamant about completing her Spanish siesta meal with a nap. Mom and I walked her back to the hotel and headed back out to try and tour El Palacio Real. Seeing as it had already closed, we headed next door to look around the cathedral. We had barely been there 5 minutes before the wave of exhaustion hit and we made the executive decision to head back to the hotel and join Bekah’s siesta.
Feeling fresh and alive once again, we wandered down Gran Via in search of a suitable place for dinner. We stopped at an outdoor café called Zahara where we got egg sandwiches and burgers. While mom and Bekah daintily sipped on their glasses of white wine, my sandwich came with a free huge liter of beer. Nothing like a huge beer to go with your eggs, right? After dinner, we walked down all the way to the end of Gran Via where it joins with Calle de Alcala and took this all the way to Puerta de Alcala. In many ways, Madrid had a feel much like New York, but for its broad streets and consistently older architecture. Strolling comfortable in the cool evening air, everything looked so beautiful all lit up at night. Mom had already found her favorite street in Spain.
After “breakfast,” we made our way past the Plaza to the infamous Madrid Rastro. This is a HUGE open flea market that offers everything from leather purses to sunglasses to paintings and clothes to shoes and soccer scarves. We fell in love immediately, stopping only for lunch at 2:45pm.
I was anxious for Mom and Bekah to have their first Menu del Dia experience, as it’s a crucial part of Spanish culture to take advantage of. Just when Bekah had reached her cranky peak and suggested we give up and go for bocadillos, we spotted a perfect little café, once again, right outside the Plaza. The waiter led us downstairs into what looked like a low-lit cobblestone cave. For 14 euros each, we got an incredible green bean and shrimp salad, grilled chicken and French fries, sangria, bread and coffee. Not bad.
Rebekah was adamant about completing her Spanish siesta meal with a nap. Mom and I walked her back to the hotel and headed back out to try and tour El Palacio Real. Seeing as it had already closed, we headed next door to look around the cathedral. We had barely been there 5 minutes before the wave of exhaustion hit and we made the executive decision to head back to the hotel and join Bekah’s siesta.
Feeling fresh and alive once again, we wandered down Gran Via in search of a suitable place for dinner. We stopped at an outdoor café called Zahara where we got egg sandwiches and burgers. While mom and Bekah daintily sipped on their glasses of white wine, my sandwich came with a free huge liter of beer. Nothing like a huge beer to go with your eggs, right? After dinner, we walked down all the way to the end of Gran Via where it joins with Calle de Alcala and took this all the way to Puerta de Alcala. In many ways, Madrid had a feel much like New York, but for its broad streets and consistently older architecture. Strolling comfortable in the cool evening air, everything looked so beautiful all lit up at night. Mom had already found her favorite street in Spain.
domingo, 12 de abril de 2009
Meyer Women Reunion!
Megan hightailed it out of Bull's early to meet her parents at the airport. Alex and I had a few more hours to kill until picking up our families (on the same flight too, guay!), so we hung around just long enough to ingest our moneys worth of Bull's breakfast buffet.
Thankful to be dropping our things off at our new respective hotels, we enjoyed a morning stroll through beautiful Retiro Park and stopped for expensive, but always delicious, cafe con leche and coke. Under the clear blue sky and 70-degree sunshine, we watched families and couples paddle by in small boats on the lake. Surrounded by perfect pink flowers, statues, candy stands, and fountains, I had to pinch myself as I often do when having one of my famous "this is my life" moments.
Reluctant to leave, we made our way towards the metro, knowing that the ride would take about 45 minutes. Yikes, imagine the price of that cab! As we got closer and closer to our destination, it was like Alex and I developed a severe case of ants in the pants. It was like we had morphed into six-year-old children at the sudden reality that we would be seeing our families so soon! We tried to distract ourselves by stopping for bacon and queso bocadillos (my artery-clogging diet of choice), going to the bathroom 600 times, looking at old pictures on our cameras, singing our conversations, looking for maps, you name it. When we discovered their plane had landed, we stood/danced/shuffled in place right outside the roped-off doors, freaking out each time the doors cracked open. Time had never moved so slowly. Almost an hour later, I stopped mid-sentence with Alex and ran to meet my mama and Bee. I didn't even mean to cry, it just happened. Que verg (Spanish abreve for "how embarrassing").
We re-boarded the metro and prepared to the long ride back...this time with the bags, which had already become old hat for Alex and I. Parting our separate ways at the blue line, mom, Bekah, and I continued on to the Santo Domingo stop. Did I mention that our hotel, Hotel Santo Domingo, was right next door to Bull's Hostel? In my frequent passing throughout the following week, I openly cursed this doorless, bull**** hostel. Needless to say, Hotel Santo Domingo had doors and was quaint and very comfortable. Not surprisingly, Bekah and mom were anxious to get upstairs and plop down on the bed.
After napping and freshening up, we set out to explore a bit. First stop: Plaza Mayor for tapas. We sat outside under white umbrellas, sharing a pitcher of sangria and a racion de croquetas. I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t all too eager to impress my mom and sister with my Spanish skills, taking great pride in ordering for all of us. They needed me. How could they POSSIBLY survive in Spain without my skillful help?! It was during this clouded mindset that the waiter talked me into ordering the café’s delicious specialty dish. When I asked what was in it, I heard him answer, “Something, something, PEPPERS.” Hey, I like peppers, I thought. And besides, it’s the special. “Si ponganos uno de eso tambien” (Yes, bring us one of those as well). Minutes later, we were taken aback by what looked like octopus tentacles on a wooden slab. With hesitant fingers, I picked one up and began to chew. Have you ever tried eating rubber? I haven’t, but I imagine it would feel a lot like this. Well, this was definitely special. The only thing peppery about the dish was the spicy seasoning on top. I worked on chewing that rubbery fish for a good 3 minutes, hoping I could get it down and swallow it with my pride. I simply couldn’t do it. That sucker came right back out and sat on my plate until we got the bill. Leaving all but two of those nasty things on the wooden slab, I summoned the waiter for the check. This was another adventure. It’s only appropriate to mention that in Spain, prices are rarely listed. It’s even considered impolite and cheap to ask the price of individual items. The thought is that if you’re so concerned about saving money, why are you eating out? As soon as we got our check, it was obvious why the waiter had been so adamant about selling us that nasty racion since it had a 17-euro price tag. With my foot in my mouth for the remainder of the evening, I realized that even after living in Spain for 2 and half months, I STILL have so much to learn. Rubber fish quickly became the joke of the week, my mother convinced that I would order more for them throughout the week.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families had lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time just outside La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families had lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time just outside La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
Later that night, Bekah and I met up with Alex and her sister, Isabel. We ended up at an Irish pub near La Puerta del Sol. We soon found out that we had welcomed ourselves into a birthday party, where we enjoyed our fill of free beer. It was a bit like I was back at JMU…except for all the creeping Spanish men surrounding us. This was definitely a cultural experience for Rebekah and even though she’s a very pretty girl, no doubt that blonde hair of hers got her a good deal more attention than she’s probably used to in the States. Around 3am, Bekah was danced out, so we hailed a cab back to Santo Domingo. What a fun experience!
sábado, 11 de abril de 2009
A Vacation from Vacation
It's almost ridiculous that we're given a Spring Break here since I've essentially BEEN on one big vacation since January. But who's complaining? Because this would be an inevitably very looong post, I'm going to separate my posts in day-by-day increments so you don't go crazy. No guarantees I'll be able to suppress any urges for tangents though.
Early Friday morning, Alex and I met Megan at the station to catch our 9am bus. Arriving in Madrid by 11:30am, we noticed an odd aspect of the Madrid bus station upon our transition from the platform to the metro. Where an escalator would have proved a world more sensible, a steep moving ramp was instead. Imagine crowds of people scrambling up a tractionless lift with rolling suitcases, purses, and duffels. With this image in mind, it’s easy to understand how a 60-some-year old woman fell backwards upon us during the ascent. Not one time, not even two or three, but FOUR times. As soon as she seemed regrouped and steady, the backwards, stumbling began again. If it hadn’t been for Megan’s ready arms, the domino effect would have sent us along with plenty of others into a dog pile at the bottom of this cursed ramp. We tried hard to resist laughing, but not surprisingly, we had little success.
We hopped on the metro and made our way to the hostel. I can't even begin to describe how stressful the bag-lugging process was. Let's just say if you're handicapped in ANY way, shape, or form, the Madrid metro is absolutely out of the question. I wouldn't be surprised if we went up and down more than 15 flights of stairs with those duffles. I guess that's what you get for a 1-euro ticket. Even though we got off at the wrong stop, hailing a cab was easy and inexpensive. Eventually, the cab driver gave up and let us out NEAR the hostel because we couldn't find the exact location. This meant another 20 minutes or so of wandering around aimlessly with our huge bags. Finally, we found Bull's Hostel and went in to put down our things so we could go explore.
We hopped on the metro and made our way to the hostel. I can't even begin to describe how stressful the bag-lugging process was. Let's just say if you're handicapped in ANY way, shape, or form, the Madrid metro is absolutely out of the question. I wouldn't be surprised if we went up and down more than 15 flights of stairs with those duffles. I guess that's what you get for a 1-euro ticket. Even though we got off at the wrong stop, hailing a cab was easy and inexpensive. Eventually, the cab driver gave up and let us out NEAR the hostel because we couldn't find the exact location. This meant another 20 minutes or so of wandering around aimlessly with our huge bags. Finally, we found Bull's Hostel and went in to put down our things so we could go explore.
Bringing with us our packed lunches from the madres, we made our way over to the Plaza Mayor to picnic and lay out in the 70-degree weather, underneath the clear blue sky. If my blonde friends and freckles didn't give it away, I think our 17 metro/city maps and tour guide brochures once again gave away our foreign status. I hope our families realize the intense planning that went into their visits! Here, people sit, even lay, directly on the cobblestones...so when in Spain! Two hours later, I woke up to wings fluttering just inches from my face. A man behind me had decided that my head served as the perfect pigeon feeding ground. I shot him a mean glance that said, "Thanks, bud."
Returning back to the hostel, we were led to a back room with a chinese folding door. A straw 5-foot tall folding screen was the only thing separating us from the randos. A gust of moderately-strong wind would have pushed that thing over. Can you really call it a "room" if it doesn't have a door? Isn't that part of the definition? Walls, window, and a door. Yeah, pretty sure that's it. You don't realize how wonderful a seemingly frivolous thing like a door is until you're forced to go without one. What would keep someone from stealing all our stuff? And what about changing our clothes? We soon found the latter to be a legitimate problem as the storage closet was also conveniently located in our room. Mid-shirt switch, the guy at the front desk made no warning for his entry into our side of the Asian screen to put some likely unwashed sheets and towels away. Is there a WELCOME sign on this folding thing?! At least, it seemed, we had our own private bathroom...right behind the Asian screen. Maybe this was the trade-off.
After a while, we left for dinner at a cafe right across from the hostel. Alex and I shared pasta and an egg sandwich, Megan got a chicken platter, which went beautifully with a bottle of white wine. After dinner, we strolled down Gran Via (like the Spanish Main Street) and stopped at a beautiful fountain in Plaza Espana. We returned to Bull's Hostel to be well rested for our parents the next morning. Oh but how naiive we were! Long story short, that was NOT our own private bathroom. As would be typical after a Friday night out in Madrid, Spain, we heard the waves of drunken people rushing into the bathroom every 20 minutes throughout the entire night. On the other side of that paper-thin wall, I heard all different types of pee streams that went well with the yelling and laughing and slamming and banging. I guess no one took into account that there was ANOTHER BATHROOM DOWN THE HALL! No doubt the highlight of the evening was trying to fall asleep to the steadily creaking bed across the hall. Although the earrings we found in Megan's sheets were a nice touch too.
Had it not been for Megan and Alex's wiser judgement, I would have gladly given the front desk a piece of my mind. Walking out the door, we were all thankful to never have to spend another night in Bull's.
I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t all too eager to impress my mom and sister with my Spanish skills, taking great pride in ordering for all of us. They needed me. How could they POSSIBLY survive in Spain without my skillful help?! It was during this clouded mindset that the waiter talked me into ordering the café’s delicious specialty dish. When I asked what was in it, I heard him answer, “Something, something, PEPPERS.” Hey, I like peppers, I thought. And besides, it’s the special. “Si ponganos uno de eso tambien” (Yes, bring us one of those as well). Minutes later, we were taken aback by what looked like octopus tentacles on a wooden slab. With hesitant fingers, I picked one up and began to chew. Have you ever tried eating rubber? I haven’t, but I imagine it would feel a lot like this. Well, this was definitely special. The only thing peppery about the dish was the spicy seasoning on top. I worked on chewing that rubbery fish for a good 3 minutes, hoping I could get it down and swallow it with my pride. I simply couldn’t do it. That sucker came right back out and sat on my plate until we got the bill. Leaving all but two of those nasty things on the wooden slab, I summoned the waiter for the check. This was another adventure. It’s only appropriate to mention that in Spain, prices are rarely listed. It’s even considered impolite and cheap to ask the price of individual items. The thought is that if you’re so concerned about saving money, why are you eating out? As soon as we got our check, it was obvious why the waiter had been so adamant about selling us that nasty racion since it had a 17-euro price tag. With my foot in my mouth for the remainder of the evening, I realized that even after living in Spain for 2 and half months, I STILL have so much to learn. Rubber fish quickly became the joke of the week, my mother convinced that I would order more for them throughout the week.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time at just outside of La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
I’m not going to pretend that I wasn’t all too eager to impress my mom and sister with my Spanish skills, taking great pride in ordering for all of us. They needed me. How could they POSSIBLY survive in Spain without my skillful help?! It was during this clouded mindset that the waiter talked me into ordering the café’s delicious specialty dish. When I asked what was in it, I heard him answer, “Something, something, PEPPERS.” Hey, I like peppers, I thought. And besides, it’s the special. “Si ponganos uno de eso tambien” (Yes, bring us one of those as well). Minutes later, we were taken aback by what looked like octopus tentacles on a wooden slab. With hesitant fingers, I picked one up and began to chew. Have you ever tried eating rubber? I haven’t, but I imagine it would feel a lot like this. Well, this was definitely special. The only thing peppery about the dish was the spicy seasoning on top. I worked on chewing that rubbery fish for a good 3 minutes, hoping I could get it down and swallow it with my pride. I simply couldn’t do it. That sucker came right back out and sat on my plate until we got the bill. Leaving all but two of those nasty things on the wooden slab, I summoned the waiter for the check. This was another adventure. It’s only appropriate to mention that in Spain, prices are rarely listed. It’s even considered impolite and cheap to ask the price of individual items. The thought is that if you’re so concerned about saving money, why are you eating out? As soon as we got our check, it was obvious why the waiter had been so adamant about selling us that nasty racion since it had a 17-euro price tag. With my foot in my mouth for the remainder of the evening, I realized that even after living in Spain for 2 and half months, I STILL have so much to learn. Rubber fish quickly became the joke of the week, my mother convinced that I would order more for them throughout the week.
The experience wasn’t an entire disaster though since we spotted Bink Stewart midway through our meal. I’ve known BInk since kindergarten and went to Rivendell School with him up until 7th grade. He’s been attending a university in Pamplona, Spain (NE region) and just happened to be visiting a friend in Madrid that same weekend. What a small world to have seen a friend from the US passing through the Plaza Mayor in Spain at the same time as us! Guay, no?
Anxious to leave rubber fish café, we walked down a nearby street to look in souvenir shops and such. We found our way to Palacio Real, a grand gold and white fortress where the majority of the Spanish royal families lived. Walking back past glass players, painted performers, and caricature artists, we stopped once again for tapas (this time at just outside of La Plaza Mayor). Here, we had potato salad with weird mayonnaise and tostas with smoked ham. This bill was much more reasonable.
viernes, 3 de abril de 2009
THURS. 2 APRIL
Given the sudden workload this week (oh wait, I have to do WORK in Spain??), it’s been a pretty uneventful past couple of days. Here are some of the highlights:
1) Tuesday night we enjoyed another group outing to the movies.
Not surprisingly, many of us congregated at the Super 24 Horas in Plaza G.G beforehand to grab some snacks. I’d like to take this time to honor Super 24, which has been so good to us during our time in Spain. This, my friends, is your one-stop shop for anything from shampoo to cheap wine, gummies and overpriced ice cream to magazines. God bless, you, Super veinticuatro (24) for being there every time we need you. And no, I didn’t just overdo it…this place is a big deal.
Caramel Milka bar and coke light in hand, I joined the rest of the group to see “Retorno a Hansala,” a very sobering account of various Moroccans who died during their efforts at immigrating to Spain. The acting was incredible and several times I caught myself tearing up like the estrogen-packed woman that I am. The guay-est part was that I could understand about 90% of the movie! It’s finally becoming more relaxing to watch Spanish movies and television because I don’t have to think quite as much about translating as I have in the past. “Retorno a Hansala” was much easier to understand that the previous movie we saw about Che Guevarra, which was in Latin American Spanish. This just goes to show how I’ve already become so accustomed to the very distinct Castellano Spanish, even though I learned Latin American Spanish in school. GUAY!
2) Although I have failed to mention this in my blog, many of you probably already know this. About 3 weeks ago, I applied to a nannying Internship in Honduras. With two interviews behind me, I was accepted this week! The plan is to spend mid-July to mid-August watching the two young girls (both under the age of 2-and-a-half!) of an American missionary family in La Ceiba, Honduras. Although I won’t be getting paid, my flight and all my food and accommodations are taken care of for only $2000 that I have to raise. Traveling to Honduras was a very natural response to my current condition: a rather severe case of travel fever. I am thrilled to be traveling to yet another Spanish-speaking country, entirely different from Spain as it may be. I feel extremely blessed and excited as I anticipate this new adventure.
3) Everyday on my walk back from class, I have to find pretty creative ways to avoid the Spanish Red Cross personnel on Calle Toro. Actually, it reminds me a lot of the commons at JMU, where I will goes as far as to fake a cell phone conversation or even walk an extra half-mile around campus to avoid the fliers and surveys being shoved in my face. Although Calle Toro is definitely less extreme, neither the headphones nor the cell phone tricks work on La Cruz Rioja de Espana (Spanish Red Cross)…they almost always try to stop me. When they ask if I have a “momentito,” usually I just say, “Lo siento pero tengo prisa” (sorry, but I’m in a hurry). I realize this sounds kind of rude, but usually I really am in a hurry…I’m HURRYING home for siesta! When I’ve shared this reoccurring experience with other group members, they confess they’ve never been stopped themselves. HOW??!
1) Tuesday night we enjoyed another group outing to the movies.
Not surprisingly, many of us congregated at the Super 24 Horas in Plaza G.G beforehand to grab some snacks. I’d like to take this time to honor Super 24, which has been so good to us during our time in Spain. This, my friends, is your one-stop shop for anything from shampoo to cheap wine, gummies and overpriced ice cream to magazines. God bless, you, Super veinticuatro (24) for being there every time we need you. And no, I didn’t just overdo it…this place is a big deal.
Caramel Milka bar and coke light in hand, I joined the rest of the group to see “Retorno a Hansala,” a very sobering account of various Moroccans who died during their efforts at immigrating to Spain. The acting was incredible and several times I caught myself tearing up like the estrogen-packed woman that I am. The guay-est part was that I could understand about 90% of the movie! It’s finally becoming more relaxing to watch Spanish movies and television because I don’t have to think quite as much about translating as I have in the past. “Retorno a Hansala” was much easier to understand that the previous movie we saw about Che Guevarra, which was in Latin American Spanish. This just goes to show how I’ve already become so accustomed to the very distinct Castellano Spanish, even though I learned Latin American Spanish in school. GUAY!
2) Although I have failed to mention this in my blog, many of you probably already know this. About 3 weeks ago, I applied to a nannying Internship in Honduras. With two interviews behind me, I was accepted this week! The plan is to spend mid-July to mid-August watching the two young girls (both under the age of 2-and-a-half!) of an American missionary family in La Ceiba, Honduras. Although I won’t be getting paid, my flight and all my food and accommodations are taken care of for only $2000 that I have to raise. Traveling to Honduras was a very natural response to my current condition: a rather severe case of travel fever. I am thrilled to be traveling to yet another Spanish-speaking country, entirely different from Spain as it may be. I feel extremely blessed and excited as I anticipate this new adventure.
3) Everyday on my walk back from class, I have to find pretty creative ways to avoid the Spanish Red Cross personnel on Calle Toro. Actually, it reminds me a lot of the commons at JMU, where I will goes as far as to fake a cell phone conversation or even walk an extra half-mile around campus to avoid the fliers and surveys being shoved in my face. Although Calle Toro is definitely less extreme, neither the headphones nor the cell phone tricks work on La Cruz Rioja de Espana (Spanish Red Cross)…they almost always try to stop me. When they ask if I have a “momentito,” usually I just say, “Lo siento pero tengo prisa” (sorry, but I’m in a hurry). I realize this sounds kind of rude, but usually I really am in a hurry…I’m HURRYING home for siesta! When I’ve shared this reoccurring experience with other group members, they confess they’ve never been stopped themselves. HOW??!
And wouldn’t you know it, on my walk home from the University yesterday I was flagged down by yet another one. This time, without headphones and with time to spare, I decided to stop just for the heck of it (and because he was pretty cute;)) Thanking me for stopping, we introduced ourselves and he asked if I was from Salamanca. When I said no that am just studying here, he said he was sorry but they’re only looking for Salamantinos to volunteer. Wait a minute, did he seriously think I was Spanish? And the other volunteers of Cruz Rioja too? Walking away, I couldn’t help but smile and think that I had them all fooled. They think I can speak Spanish!
Spring Break technically started for me yesterday. Classes after 2pm were canceled today, and seeing as I only have one 5pm class on Thursdays, I had a completely free day! I woke up a little before 11, had an awkward, silent breakfast with cranky old Luis, retreated to my bedroom to do my devotions, went for a run, and showered all before siesta☺ And yes, I did say “run.” Thankfully, virtually every street in Salamanca is flat. The combination of crosswalks and dodging slow old people also allows for plenty of breaks along the way. After a delicious lunch of tomato macaroni, salty fried chicken, bread, and fruit,
Allison left me for Italy. I told her she better not like it better than Spain, but after hearing about Alex John’s trip to Rome and Venice, I know it’s going to be a close one.
Later, I walked to the University to turn in an old homework to my cuento professor. As I have done in the past, I sat outside on one of the wide stone benches to check my email and such; however, the PAINFULLY slow Internet connection forced me to turn right back around and buy a café con leche at café del arte. The warm greeting and small talk I enjoyed with my new BFFL camarero (waiter/bartender) was worth that euro twenty and more.
In other news, Asencion has continued to serve Allison and I boxed red wine with dinner. A cuter old woman you never saw.
Alexandra, Megan, and I leave tomorrow morning for Madrid on the 9am bus. We’ll arrive before noon and have an entire day and night in the city to ourselves before meeting up with our families Saturday morning.
The rough plan for the week is as follows:
Saturday night: Alex and I take our sisters out for a night in the city!
Sunday: Touring Madrid
Monday: Daytrip to Salamanca, siesta lunch with host family
Tuesday: Daytrip to Toledo
Wednesday: Touring Madrid
Thursday: Daytrip to Sevilla?
Friday: Saying goodbye to mom and Bee☹ Spending a lonely night by myself in Madrid
Saturday: Meeting up again with Alexandra…spending Saturday and Sunday with her.
Monday: Returning to Salamanca in the afternoon
Stay posted next week for Spring Break news
Spring Break technically started for me yesterday. Classes after 2pm were canceled today, and seeing as I only have one 5pm class on Thursdays, I had a completely free day! I woke up a little before 11, had an awkward, silent breakfast with cranky old Luis, retreated to my bedroom to do my devotions, went for a run, and showered all before siesta☺ And yes, I did say “run.” Thankfully, virtually every street in Salamanca is flat. The combination of crosswalks and dodging slow old people also allows for plenty of breaks along the way. After a delicious lunch of tomato macaroni, salty fried chicken, bread, and fruit,
Allison left me for Italy. I told her she better not like it better than Spain, but after hearing about Alex John’s trip to Rome and Venice, I know it’s going to be a close one.
Later, I walked to the University to turn in an old homework to my cuento professor. As I have done in the past, I sat outside on one of the wide stone benches to check my email and such; however, the PAINFULLY slow Internet connection forced me to turn right back around and buy a café con leche at café del arte. The warm greeting and small talk I enjoyed with my new BFFL camarero (waiter/bartender) was worth that euro twenty and more.
In other news, Asencion has continued to serve Allison and I boxed red wine with dinner. A cuter old woman you never saw.
Alexandra, Megan, and I leave tomorrow morning for Madrid on the 9am bus. We’ll arrive before noon and have an entire day and night in the city to ourselves before meeting up with our families Saturday morning.
The rough plan for the week is as follows:
Saturday night: Alex and I take our sisters out for a night in the city!
Sunday: Touring Madrid
Monday: Daytrip to Salamanca, siesta lunch with host family
Tuesday: Daytrip to Toledo
Wednesday: Touring Madrid
Thursday: Daytrip to Sevilla?
Friday: Saying goodbye to mom and Bee☹ Spending a lonely night by myself in Madrid
Saturday: Meeting up again with Alexandra…spending Saturday and Sunday with her.
Monday: Returning to Salamanca in the afternoon
Stay posted next week for Spring Break news
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