It has been a hard week. Between blisters, registration for classes (que fracaso), illness, and all the consequences of these things… oh boy. Long. Week.
But let’s start with the fun part—Barcelona!!! This past weekend was spent very pleasantly in Barcelona, arguably Spain’s most international city alongside Madrid due to its proximity to France, and therefore Europe, as well as its size and appeal as a travel destination for foreigners. I adored the city, although I feel like it might have been a bit overwhelming to study abroad in because it’s so big, and also because many people prefer to speak the local co-official language, Catalán, as opposed to Spanish. In some ways, I could understand the Catalan better than my fellow travel companions because I speak French as well and some of the words were basically a mix of Spanish and French (exit = sortie (fr.) + salida (sp) = sortida!), but sometimes it was just bizarre and made me feel like my brain was melting. The fact that some of the buildings also appear to be melting only adds to the weird mental delirium! :P Antoni Gaudí was a modern artist around the turn of the 20th century who created much of what makes Barcelona so fascinating to me—he designed and built several awesome but bizarre houses (the melting ones, plus some that look like gingerbread houses from fairy tales), the Sagrada Familia Cathedral with its melting front and fruit bulbed turrets, and the Parque Güell, with rock tree formations, an undulating ceramic patchwork bench, and an adorable Salamander fountain. He was so cute I had to give him a kiss. :) The first day of our weekend was mostly spent running around the city to see these various buildings, and wandering through Parque Güell, where I bought a really beautiful swirly ring from a gypsy and the other girls got scarves, rings, and necklaces. In the afternoon, we wandered down Las Ramblas to the Market of the Boquería, a really lovely market where all the fruit, candy, dried fruit, and other products are displayed with such precision and organization that it seems almost a shame to buy anything and disrupt the displays! Every stand was like a posed painting, and the exotic nature of much of the fruit added to this impression. I bought a little fruit bowl for only a euro fifty for an afternoon snack, and feasted on the mango, watermelon, strawberries, coconut, cactus fruit, and honeydew quite happily. That evening, my friend did a really lovely decorative braid in my hair, which was super exciting for me because I am basically a tomboy at heart and can’t do a damned thing with my hair most of the time except pray that it behaves itself! :P This first night, we found an all-you-can-eat buffet with a gorgeous salad bar and yummy pizza and pasta and gorged ourselves. I think almost every single one of us six girls ate over three plates of food, and most of us regretted it after, but it was still a fantastic (and fun) meal.
Of course, being the bright, forward-thinking young ladies we are, we forgot that we had planned to have a beach day the next day, and now the prospect of displaying bulging bellies in our dainty bikinis didn’t seem quite so appealing. :P However, we held fast to our plan and made our way over to the coarse sand beaches the next day to enjoy the sunshine and a break from sightseeing. Only four of the six ended up staying all day, and I am happy to say that I was one of them! I am also VERY proud to say that I managed to avoid sunburn despite being under the sun the whole day—yay for sunscreen!! It was a wonderfully relaxing day, and a very much needed break from both the daily grind as well as the frantic sightseeing of the previous day. Unfortunately, I was a bit of a ditz and didn’t drink quite as much water as I should have; when we got up to go back to the hostel, I suddenly felt dizzy, nauseated, faint, and way overheated. Oopsies, heat exhaustion! I really should have known better, but I was lucky to have great friends with me to pulled me along through the metro and force fed me water until we got to the hostel, and then basically pushed me into a cold shower, after which I felt much better and was able to lay down for a few hours to regain some strength before dinner. Dinner tonight was much simpler and smaller—pizza at a little cafeteria next to the hostel, and then gourmet ice cream before girly chat time in our bedroom and to sleep.
Our last morning in Barcelona, we wandered the Gothic Quarter a bit and had a coffee next to the Gothic Cathedral before visiting the Chocolate museum, which was both charming and delicious—the ticket to get in was a chocolate bar!!! :) My favorite chocolate sculptures were the ones that reinacted scenes from the French comic Astérix and “Up!” I was super excited about the Up one in particular—it was so adorable!!!
Our voyage home was long but uneventful, other than the fact that I was now beginning to feel positively horrible—congested, exhausted, achy, with very sensitive skin—all sure signs that I’m coming down with something unpleasant. As I had predicted, I woke up Monday morning feeling miserable, and skipped my morning classes to be able to rest and try to get a bit better. Tuesday I also skipped my morning classes, and I am SO glad I did, because by Wednesday evening I was starting to feel better, and today I am all better except for a little residual congestion. Still, you all know how much I HATE being sick, so I was quite a grump at the beginning of the week.
To add to my grumpiness, I had registration for next semester’s classes on Tuesday at 4pm Pacific time… which is 1 am my time. As I do not have internet in my house and didn’t want to stay up, and wander out alone and sick at one in the morning to an internet café, I did something kind of maybe like having my parents register for me. Maybe. I mean, I would never do anything against Scripps rules like give my password out… but come on. No one would blame me if I had.
Anyways, the one class I NEED to complete my general education requirements is a Natural Sciences class. Of course, by the time my registration time came around, both the ones I had picked out as non-science-major classes that fit in my schedule were full. Haha. Ha. Ha. Ha. Yeah. I was not so happy about that. I suppose maybe karma is trying to save me up some good luck so that my plane doesn’t get stuck in volcanic ash on the way home, but still. It was just another blow to my mood during an already difficult week. Well, I wrote to the teacher of my preferred class, and I’m fairly sure he’ll let me in, but I still don’t enjoy the extra stress that registration added to my week. Happily, I got into my three other classes without any fuss—“Voyage et Exotisme” (French class on Travel and Exoticism through literature), “Within the French Salon” (Another French lit class, to be taken with my lovely Melissa!!), and an Intro to Latin American Culture and Civ class (because I think I’ve got Spain covered now).
The next day I was so stressed about writing to the teacher and hearing back from him as soon as possible that I almost RAN back and forth from school—under the hot midday sun, in sandals, while sick—twice, and in doing so, gave myself a very angry blister. Guess where the blister was? Not on the side of my foot, not on my heel, no, on the BOTTOM of my foot, right under my second toe. And it was BIG—it probably protruded a good quarter of an inch (I don’t actually know since I didn’t measure it, but it was a lot of protruding angry blister, that’s for sure). THIS, my friends, was the cherry on top, and suddenly, I wasn’t angry or frustrated any more. Oh no, now I was hysterical, and hysterical for me means that I’m all laughs and giggles—and on the precipice of a nervous breakdown. It’s a dangerous but surprisingly enjoyable state to be in. Well, luckily, things started turning around and I didn’t have to have any breakdowns. When my host mom got home from the movies (Wednesday is her night to go to the movies with her friends, she’s so cute!), I showed her the blister and she called her friend (who was a nurse) to ask what the best course of action was. Because the blister was on the bottom of my foot, there was nothing to do but pierce it with a needle and drain the fluid so that I could walk the next day. I was really nervous that it would hurt a LOT, but because the surface of the blister is dead skin, the piercing and draining process was relatively painless! Concha and I had a good laugh over it and off to bed I went, feeling much more cheerful. Concha always has this affect on me. :)
Over the past two days, I’ve been resting up, and the blister has been healing beautifully under the strict supervision of Concha and repeated sterilization with… iodine? Some yellowish liquid that she uses as an antiseptic liquid. Tomorrow I’m off to the beach with some friends for the day to “work on my tan”—by that I mean lie in the sun all day obsessively applying sunscreen and watching my freckles start to appear. My nose is already highly freckled and adorable. :)
I almost forgot! Monday is Día de la Cruz, and all over Granada they set up crosses and play traditional music and people dance Sevillanas (traditional dance, relative of Flamenco), so yesterday Concha started teaching me Sevillanas! At first she was just going to teach me the first part (there are four parts), but I did so well that we made it right up to the fourth part last night!!! She said that I learned more in a day than many people learn in months of classes—I was very proud. Anyways, she wants me to dance it with her for her friends, which I’m excited about. I just LOVE spending time with Concha—I definitely feel like she has been one of the most positive parts of my experience here in Spain, and she made this week in particular much more bearable. :)
I hope you all have enjoyed a less turbulent week than me, with considerably less blisters. ;)
Pura vida,
Kelsey
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Showing posts with label language. Show all posts
Friday, April 30, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
Daily Life in Granada...
I have a few little things that I keep meaning to blog about but put off because it doesn’t seem like enough for a blog, but now I think, between all of them, it’ll be enough. :)
On Sunday when I came home from skyping with my mom at the internet café, there were strange people in my house!! Concha’s brother (the one that’s alive and that I didn’t know existed—now I understand why, whenever she talks about her other brother she says, “the one that’s dead”) and his wife were in town visiting from Valencia, and they brought Concha’s mom over (she lives with Concha’s younger sister on the other side of town) for a visit. They were having tea and watching motorcycle racing when I came in, so Concha made me some tea and sat me down in the circle. At first I felt kind of awkward, but the wife (who Concha is really close to) was super nice and asked me questions about where I was from and that sort of thing, and we had that discussion about how Washington is, in fact, on the west coast and Washington DC is NOT, in fact, in Washington state, and how little sense that makes. (Seriously, whoever named our state “Washington” deserves an award for confusing pretty much the entire rest of the world.) Then we started talking about how no one in the USA knows world geography—some people think Portugal is a part of Spain, some people think the Alhambra is in Sevilla, etc—and had a really interesting discussion about politics and education and all that good stuff. I felt like they were genuinely interested in my opinion and it was surprisingly pleasant, even though I felt like I was bumbling through my Spanish and saying everything wrong because I was nervous. Anyways, it was really nice, and a few days later Concha told me her sister-in-law had called to say how much they all liked me, which of course made me feel great.
Now I can’t remember the second thing I was going to write about. Shoot.
Well the third thing is a bit of a rant, which I don’t usually do, but I’ve got to let off some steam or I’m seriously going to mangle some Spaniard one of these days. As much as I try to be culturally sensitive and aware and I usually don’t have any problems with catcalling and staring, it has been pissing me off to no end lately. Over the last few weeks, I feel like I have endured way more growls, whistles, hisses, invasive staring, and muttered come-ons than any one person should in their life. I have actually started trying to make myself look a little frumpier than usual before I leave the house—AND IT’S NOT HELPING. What grosses me out the most are the older guys—as old or older than my DAD—who stare at my really rather inappropriately and not at all subtly as I pass and then say “oye, guapa…” at me. I actually had some guy say the equivalent of “wow, what a hot thing” in Spanish to me. The feminist in me was SO LIVID—I mean, talk about objectification at the most fundamental and blatant level! Feminist Kelsey and Cultural Analyst Kelsey are really having it out over this whole problem, because I have to realize that, at some level, this is a cultural phenomenon—but, on the other hand, it is unacceptably machista and doesn’t exactly empower women—more specifically, me. I’ve started muttering things back, though—mostly along the lines of “F*** off, you mother f*ing asshole.” It makes me feel slightly better and slightly less like performing a few back-alley castrations, but still. I never thought I’d mind catcalling—after all, some days it’s nice to hear that perfect strangers think you’re hot—but it has gotten absolutely ridiculous, and I often feel like men single me out because I look and dress differently; because I am obviously not Spanish. I know I ought to embrace my uniqueness, but if that involves embracing drunk bums who stumble after me at 2 in the afternoon propositioning me, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass.
On to the next item of business! Both of my morning classes were cancelled today, so I spent a lovely morning wandering around the city and enjoying some much-needed solitude. First, I went to the Park—Parque Garcia Lorca—to sit in the intermittent sunshine by the fountains and write some letters. It was wonderfully tranquil—until a guy came up and tried to hit on me, but he was relatively nice about it, so I just smiled and said I was busy writing, and he went away. What a relief. Then, I went to the Church of the Patron Virgin of Granada—la virgen de las Angustias. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it is gorgeous inside—all gold curlicues and extravagant altars to various virgins or Christ figures. It was very lovely, so I sat down to enjoy the silence and lack of creepers. A French mom came in with her kids, and she sat on the other end of the bench I was on. Her kids wanted to light the little light bulbs masquerading as candles, so she gave them some coins and they came scurrying by me, almost stepping on my toes. The mom called to one of them and told her to say sorry (in French), but the little girl just kept going. The mom made eye contact with me and said sorry, and I said “No big deal”—in French! It just came out in French! I love moments like that where my languages just pop up and I impress myself. :) Not like, “No big deal” is exactly difficult to say, but still! I love my brain, it’s so coy.
Last thing! Today as I was finishing lunch, Concha got up and went into the kitchen, and came back out with this bubble wrap and started popping it. She said, “I just can’t help it! I LOVE popping this stuff!” And I laughed and said I did too, and she extended it to me, and we spent a good five minutes just popping bubble wrap and laughing. I love silly little moments like this; they make me feel so wonderfully young and human and connected with other great people.
Alright, signing off for now,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
On Sunday when I came home from skyping with my mom at the internet café, there were strange people in my house!! Concha’s brother (the one that’s alive and that I didn’t know existed—now I understand why, whenever she talks about her other brother she says, “the one that’s dead”) and his wife were in town visiting from Valencia, and they brought Concha’s mom over (she lives with Concha’s younger sister on the other side of town) for a visit. They were having tea and watching motorcycle racing when I came in, so Concha made me some tea and sat me down in the circle. At first I felt kind of awkward, but the wife (who Concha is really close to) was super nice and asked me questions about where I was from and that sort of thing, and we had that discussion about how Washington is, in fact, on the west coast and Washington DC is NOT, in fact, in Washington state, and how little sense that makes. (Seriously, whoever named our state “Washington” deserves an award for confusing pretty much the entire rest of the world.) Then we started talking about how no one in the USA knows world geography—some people think Portugal is a part of Spain, some people think the Alhambra is in Sevilla, etc—and had a really interesting discussion about politics and education and all that good stuff. I felt like they were genuinely interested in my opinion and it was surprisingly pleasant, even though I felt like I was bumbling through my Spanish and saying everything wrong because I was nervous. Anyways, it was really nice, and a few days later Concha told me her sister-in-law had called to say how much they all liked me, which of course made me feel great.
Now I can’t remember the second thing I was going to write about. Shoot.
Well the third thing is a bit of a rant, which I don’t usually do, but I’ve got to let off some steam or I’m seriously going to mangle some Spaniard one of these days. As much as I try to be culturally sensitive and aware and I usually don’t have any problems with catcalling and staring, it has been pissing me off to no end lately. Over the last few weeks, I feel like I have endured way more growls, whistles, hisses, invasive staring, and muttered come-ons than any one person should in their life. I have actually started trying to make myself look a little frumpier than usual before I leave the house—AND IT’S NOT HELPING. What grosses me out the most are the older guys—as old or older than my DAD—who stare at my really rather inappropriately and not at all subtly as I pass and then say “oye, guapa…” at me. I actually had some guy say the equivalent of “wow, what a hot thing” in Spanish to me. The feminist in me was SO LIVID—I mean, talk about objectification at the most fundamental and blatant level! Feminist Kelsey and Cultural Analyst Kelsey are really having it out over this whole problem, because I have to realize that, at some level, this is a cultural phenomenon—but, on the other hand, it is unacceptably machista and doesn’t exactly empower women—more specifically, me. I’ve started muttering things back, though—mostly along the lines of “F*** off, you mother f*ing asshole.” It makes me feel slightly better and slightly less like performing a few back-alley castrations, but still. I never thought I’d mind catcalling—after all, some days it’s nice to hear that perfect strangers think you’re hot—but it has gotten absolutely ridiculous, and I often feel like men single me out because I look and dress differently; because I am obviously not Spanish. I know I ought to embrace my uniqueness, but if that involves embracing drunk bums who stumble after me at 2 in the afternoon propositioning me, I’m sorry, but I think I’ll pass.
On to the next item of business! Both of my morning classes were cancelled today, so I spent a lovely morning wandering around the city and enjoying some much-needed solitude. First, I went to the Park—Parque Garcia Lorca—to sit in the intermittent sunshine by the fountains and write some letters. It was wonderfully tranquil—until a guy came up and tried to hit on me, but he was relatively nice about it, so I just smiled and said I was busy writing, and he went away. What a relief. Then, I went to the Church of the Patron Virgin of Granada—la virgen de las Angustias. It doesn’t look like much from the outside, but it is gorgeous inside—all gold curlicues and extravagant altars to various virgins or Christ figures. It was very lovely, so I sat down to enjoy the silence and lack of creepers. A French mom came in with her kids, and she sat on the other end of the bench I was on. Her kids wanted to light the little light bulbs masquerading as candles, so she gave them some coins and they came scurrying by me, almost stepping on my toes. The mom called to one of them and told her to say sorry (in French), but the little girl just kept going. The mom made eye contact with me and said sorry, and I said “No big deal”—in French! It just came out in French! I love moments like that where my languages just pop up and I impress myself. :) Not like, “No big deal” is exactly difficult to say, but still! I love my brain, it’s so coy.
Last thing! Today as I was finishing lunch, Concha got up and went into the kitchen, and came back out with this bubble wrap and started popping it. She said, “I just can’t help it! I LOVE popping this stuff!” And I laughed and said I did too, and she extended it to me, and we spent a good five minutes just popping bubble wrap and laughing. I love silly little moments like this; they make me feel so wonderfully young and human and connected with other great people.
Alright, signing off for now,
Pura Vida,
Kelsey
Friday, April 2, 2010
La Belle France!
Bonjour a tous!
I just got back from visiting friends in Nantes and Paris, France, and although I am happy to be home in Granada, I had the MOST wonderful time in France. I think that going back to France for Spring Break may have been the best idea I’ve had so far this year.
I took a bus to Madrid, and flew from there to Paris, where I had lunch with Kristin (who lived in the same town as me in Costa Rica) and her friend before hopping on a train to Nantes to be with Nora for the weekend. As soon as I got off the plane in Paris, I felt incredibly comfortable and at home, which surprised me, because I am completely unfamiliar with Paris and Nantes. However, all little cafés, the wrought-iron balconies, and of course, all the French being spoken felt SO much like Aix to me. And as much as I may have kind of struggled through my semester in Aix, it WAS home for four months, and I must say, my French is a LOT better than I thought it was. This is something I would never hear myself say, but I can express myself pretty darn well in French! So that was exciting to realize. :)
I had a fantastic weekend in Nantes with Nora. On Friday and Saturday nights, Nora sang in a choir concert, which was absolutely lovely and I adored. I LOVE concerts like that—mostly unaccompanied group singing in beautiful churches—and I discovered that it’s particularly beautiful in French… maybe it’s just that I can appreciate the phrasing and how delicate the language sounds, but I can also understand (for the most part) the meaning of the song. Anyways, it was a great way to spend those two evenings. During the day on Saturday, Nora and I explored the castle and the cathedral, both of which are awesome, but the cathedral in particular was breathtaking and moving.
Can I pause for a moment and say how hard it is to express myself in English nowadays??? It sounds so awkward, and I only have a few sentence constructions that come easily to mind, which makes my writing sound elementary and repetitive. Egad. Boy am I glad I don’t have to write my thesis in English, what a disaster THAT would be. :P
Anyways, I also got to meet a few of Nora’s friends in Nantes, and they were all SO wonderful and fun; I didn’t want to leave, I was having such a great time. On Sunday, we had lunch with Nora’s host mom and then two of Nora’s friends joined us for dessert and a game of Trivial Pursuit, which was definitely an adventure. I most certainly did not win, but I DID learn that Robinson Crusoe was stuck on his island for over 28 years.
Also, Sunday was apparently a holiday or festival in honor of the camellia, Nantes’ special flower, of which is has upwards to 500 varieties (or something crazy like that). Nora and I took a lovely stroll through the Jardin des Plantes and enjoyed watching these funky, big-footed birds chase each other around the daffodils and camellias. It was a really great weekend, all in all, and I was sad to leave on Monday morning; I couldn’t imagine Paris being fun after such a lovely city such as Nantes.
As soon as I got to my hostel and met up with my friend, Elisa, however, I realized how wrong I’d been. I had SUCH a blast in Paris!! Our hostel was in Montmartre, the old artistic/bohemian hill neighborhood in the northern part of Paris. We walked a few blocks south and found the Moulin Rouge; a few blocks north and we were at Sacré Coeur. Elisa and I didn’t have any plans for that first day, but by the end of it, we’d seen actually quite a lot of Paris: the Moulin Rouge, Sacré Coeur and a gorgeous view of the city, the Louvre (although it’s impossible to ever say you’ve “seen” the Louvre after only one day), Place de la Concorde (where people were beheaded during the revolution; also home to the Obelisk), Jardin des Touileries, the Champs-Elysées and L’Arc de Triomphe, and to finish off a fabulous day, a picnic dinner under the Eiffel Tower, which sparkled every hour. By the end of this first day, I was absolutely enamored with the city. The atmosphere, the history, the winding sidestreets and wide boulevards, the petits cafés and thousands of bouquinistes (used bookstores)—it’s hard to believe that Paris is real, it is truly SO magical.
The second day, we got up at 7 am so we could get an early start to a busy day. First, we went to Cimitière Père Lachaise, the cemetery where a lot of very famous people are buried, including Jim Morrisson and Oscar Wilde. Of course, I insisted on kissing Oscar’s Tomb, even though I think Elisa thought I was bonkers. I have photographic proof of my kiss, which, I am happy to say, left a mark! Thank god I always travel with red lipstick, just in case…
Next, we went across town to see the Catacombs, which were eerie, barely lighted, and damp. It was super creepy, but also very very cool and interesting. Inside the catacombs, there are a lot of plaques with quotes related to death, and I had fun trying to translate for Elisa. After the catacombs, we walked up towards the Latin Quarter, passing through the Luxembourg Gardens to get there. We peeked at La Sorbonne and wandered the streets enjoying the ambiance before grabbing a couple sandwiches and tartelettes and installing ourselves in front of Notre Dame on l’île de la Cité to eat our lunch. The pigeons were super aggressive, and often very gross-looking, too, but we enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. I adore Notre Dame, especially her backside, so we walked all the way around before continuing to our next destination—the Bastille. To get there, we walked along the Quai d’Orleans on the Île St. Louis, then up a lovely boulevard that lead right to the Bastille. It’s a very impressive monument, but beside it is something quite funny—the Opera Bastille, which was built rather recently and has been criticized for looking too modern, and is nicknames the Toilet because it looks a lot like the public bathrooms you can find on Parisian streetcorners. After those adventures, we took a little break before meeting up with Kristin for another Eiffel Tower picnic dinner.
My third day in Paris was the most peaceful, mostly due to the fact that I was on my own for much of the day and spent much of it in museums. I started off in the Latin Quarter again because I loved it so much, then went to the Musée Rodin followed by the Musée d’Orsay. These were by far my favorite museums in Europe so far. Rodin is my favorite sculptor, and his museum was very well done, as were the gardens surrounding it filled with copies of his most famous works. I remember the Rodin exhibit that came to the Bellingham Museum a few years ago, and I have to say, I am really impressed with how good of an exhibit that was. The Musée d’Orsay was fantastic as well—if you know anything of my taste in art, you know how much I adore impressionism, and so this museum was heaven for me. I wrote down the names of artists I saw and liked there of all different styles, so go look these guys up: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri-Edmund Cross (pointillisme), Renoir, Pissarro, Degas, Manet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Alfred Sisley, Monet, and Georges Seurat. Wandering through these two museums was a wonderful way to spend the majority of my last day in Paris. I spent the afternoon and early evening back in Montmartre enjoying the neighborhood, had a simple dinner at an adorable bistrot, and then met up with Kristin and her roommate to go out for a drink. We went to a little Irish pub near their apartment, and it was pretty deserted, but we got to meet an adorable little doggy, which really made my Parisian experience complete. :)
The trip back was a little miserable—I had to get up at 4 am and didn’t get home to Granada until about 6 pm or so, but I was able to sleep a bit on the bus from Madrid to Granada, so it was alright. I arrived in the midst of Semana Santa celebrations, which I will have to blog about later, but oh boy, it is CRAZY here in Granada—so many people!!
Hasta pronto, besitos a todos,
Kelsey
I just got back from visiting friends in Nantes and Paris, France, and although I am happy to be home in Granada, I had the MOST wonderful time in France. I think that going back to France for Spring Break may have been the best idea I’ve had so far this year.
I took a bus to Madrid, and flew from there to Paris, where I had lunch with Kristin (who lived in the same town as me in Costa Rica) and her friend before hopping on a train to Nantes to be with Nora for the weekend. As soon as I got off the plane in Paris, I felt incredibly comfortable and at home, which surprised me, because I am completely unfamiliar with Paris and Nantes. However, all little cafés, the wrought-iron balconies, and of course, all the French being spoken felt SO much like Aix to me. And as much as I may have kind of struggled through my semester in Aix, it WAS home for four months, and I must say, my French is a LOT better than I thought it was. This is something I would never hear myself say, but I can express myself pretty darn well in French! So that was exciting to realize. :)
I had a fantastic weekend in Nantes with Nora. On Friday and Saturday nights, Nora sang in a choir concert, which was absolutely lovely and I adored. I LOVE concerts like that—mostly unaccompanied group singing in beautiful churches—and I discovered that it’s particularly beautiful in French… maybe it’s just that I can appreciate the phrasing and how delicate the language sounds, but I can also understand (for the most part) the meaning of the song. Anyways, it was a great way to spend those two evenings. During the day on Saturday, Nora and I explored the castle and the cathedral, both of which are awesome, but the cathedral in particular was breathtaking and moving.
Can I pause for a moment and say how hard it is to express myself in English nowadays??? It sounds so awkward, and I only have a few sentence constructions that come easily to mind, which makes my writing sound elementary and repetitive. Egad. Boy am I glad I don’t have to write my thesis in English, what a disaster THAT would be. :P
Anyways, I also got to meet a few of Nora’s friends in Nantes, and they were all SO wonderful and fun; I didn’t want to leave, I was having such a great time. On Sunday, we had lunch with Nora’s host mom and then two of Nora’s friends joined us for dessert and a game of Trivial Pursuit, which was definitely an adventure. I most certainly did not win, but I DID learn that Robinson Crusoe was stuck on his island for over 28 years.
Also, Sunday was apparently a holiday or festival in honor of the camellia, Nantes’ special flower, of which is has upwards to 500 varieties (or something crazy like that). Nora and I took a lovely stroll through the Jardin des Plantes and enjoyed watching these funky, big-footed birds chase each other around the daffodils and camellias. It was a really great weekend, all in all, and I was sad to leave on Monday morning; I couldn’t imagine Paris being fun after such a lovely city such as Nantes.
As soon as I got to my hostel and met up with my friend, Elisa, however, I realized how wrong I’d been. I had SUCH a blast in Paris!! Our hostel was in Montmartre, the old artistic/bohemian hill neighborhood in the northern part of Paris. We walked a few blocks south and found the Moulin Rouge; a few blocks north and we were at Sacré Coeur. Elisa and I didn’t have any plans for that first day, but by the end of it, we’d seen actually quite a lot of Paris: the Moulin Rouge, Sacré Coeur and a gorgeous view of the city, the Louvre (although it’s impossible to ever say you’ve “seen” the Louvre after only one day), Place de la Concorde (where people were beheaded during the revolution; also home to the Obelisk), Jardin des Touileries, the Champs-Elysées and L’Arc de Triomphe, and to finish off a fabulous day, a picnic dinner under the Eiffel Tower, which sparkled every hour. By the end of this first day, I was absolutely enamored with the city. The atmosphere, the history, the winding sidestreets and wide boulevards, the petits cafés and thousands of bouquinistes (used bookstores)—it’s hard to believe that Paris is real, it is truly SO magical.
The second day, we got up at 7 am so we could get an early start to a busy day. First, we went to Cimitière Père Lachaise, the cemetery where a lot of very famous people are buried, including Jim Morrisson and Oscar Wilde. Of course, I insisted on kissing Oscar’s Tomb, even though I think Elisa thought I was bonkers. I have photographic proof of my kiss, which, I am happy to say, left a mark! Thank god I always travel with red lipstick, just in case…
Next, we went across town to see the Catacombs, which were eerie, barely lighted, and damp. It was super creepy, but also very very cool and interesting. Inside the catacombs, there are a lot of plaques with quotes related to death, and I had fun trying to translate for Elisa. After the catacombs, we walked up towards the Latin Quarter, passing through the Luxembourg Gardens to get there. We peeked at La Sorbonne and wandered the streets enjoying the ambiance before grabbing a couple sandwiches and tartelettes and installing ourselves in front of Notre Dame on l’île de la Cité to eat our lunch. The pigeons were super aggressive, and often very gross-looking, too, but we enjoyed ourselves nonetheless. I adore Notre Dame, especially her backside, so we walked all the way around before continuing to our next destination—the Bastille. To get there, we walked along the Quai d’Orleans on the Île St. Louis, then up a lovely boulevard that lead right to the Bastille. It’s a very impressive monument, but beside it is something quite funny—the Opera Bastille, which was built rather recently and has been criticized for looking too modern, and is nicknames the Toilet because it looks a lot like the public bathrooms you can find on Parisian streetcorners. After those adventures, we took a little break before meeting up with Kristin for another Eiffel Tower picnic dinner.
My third day in Paris was the most peaceful, mostly due to the fact that I was on my own for much of the day and spent much of it in museums. I started off in the Latin Quarter again because I loved it so much, then went to the Musée Rodin followed by the Musée d’Orsay. These were by far my favorite museums in Europe so far. Rodin is my favorite sculptor, and his museum was very well done, as were the gardens surrounding it filled with copies of his most famous works. I remember the Rodin exhibit that came to the Bellingham Museum a few years ago, and I have to say, I am really impressed with how good of an exhibit that was. The Musée d’Orsay was fantastic as well—if you know anything of my taste in art, you know how much I adore impressionism, and so this museum was heaven for me. I wrote down the names of artists I saw and liked there of all different styles, so go look these guys up: Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec, Henri-Edmund Cross (pointillisme), Renoir, Pissarro, Degas, Manet, Van Gogh, Gauguin, Alfred Sisley, Monet, and Georges Seurat. Wandering through these two museums was a wonderful way to spend the majority of my last day in Paris. I spent the afternoon and early evening back in Montmartre enjoying the neighborhood, had a simple dinner at an adorable bistrot, and then met up with Kristin and her roommate to go out for a drink. We went to a little Irish pub near their apartment, and it was pretty deserted, but we got to meet an adorable little doggy, which really made my Parisian experience complete. :)
The trip back was a little miserable—I had to get up at 4 am and didn’t get home to Granada until about 6 pm or so, but I was able to sleep a bit on the bus from Madrid to Granada, so it was alright. I arrived in the midst of Semana Santa celebrations, which I will have to blog about later, but oh boy, it is CRAZY here in Granada—so many people!!
Hasta pronto, besitos a todos,
Kelsey
Friday, February 12, 2010
Venice and Carnivale!!
Hola otra vez! First week of classes for me is over, and everything is going well! But before we get to that stuff, let’s tackle Italy, shall we?
OH, I almost forgot to mention something from Morocco that I left out of the last blog—the Hammam. A Hammam is basically a public bathhouse where many Moroccan’s go to about once a week to get reallllly clean. The way Sarah (our guide) explained the Hammam experience is that it’s “like taking a bucket bath in a sauna.” Which is pretty much exactly right. A lot of people were pretty nervous about it, and some didn’t even go, but because I’ve done public baths before (thank you, Japan!) and I was really jonesin’ to get clean, I was very eager to go see what this Hammam thing was. It seemed a bit like a pool in the sense that there are changing rooms where you get nekid (or put on a bathing suit or underwear if you’re modest, which none of the Moroccan’s did—I left on my panties so as not to traumatize my more sheltered peers, but definitely went topless—imagine trying to get clean while still wearing a bra, it sounds annoying, right?). Then, you take your towel, your little scooper cup, a scrubby glove they gave us and this special Hammam soap, and go into the washing room. That room is warm and steamy and very slippery. You take a big bucket and fill it with water, then stake out a corner and get down with your bad self. Haha. The special Hammam soap smelled kind of weird, but it got me cleaner than I think I’ve ever been in my life—it must have special exfoliating stuff, plus special moisturizing stuff, because I felt all happy and clean and soft afterwards, and not TOO much like I’d just scrubbed off the top five layers of my skin. It got pretty packed in there because we were a rather large group of Americans, plus our Moroccan helpers, plus normal Moroccans who looked seriously peeved to have their weekly cleaning ritual interrupted by these weird, bathing-suit-clad foreigners. (PS. We went to a women’s Hammam—yes, there are also ones for guys, gentlemen.) I was very glad we got to go to the Hammam, because it seems like it’s a pretty unique and fascinating part of their culture, and I was also extraordinarily grateful for the opportunity to get seriously clean—and I DID feel like I stayed clean for the next two showerless days. Hallelujah!
Alright, vamos a Italia! Directly after getting back from Morocco—and I mean RIGHT away, as in, about ten hours later—I hopped on a bus, a bus, another bus, a plane, yet another bus, a train, another train, and then one final bus to get to our hostel in Venice, Italy. It was an epic voyage of over 13 hours, no joke. Happily, our transportation costs were minimal, but even so, next time I might splurge and cut out a few of the buses or something. The first night we arrived in Venice at around seven or eight, so we decided to go into town for dinner and a night walk through the water city, and it was absolutely magical. I tried to take a few pictures, but they weren’t turning out so I just put the camera away and enjoyed it. Venice at night is… like being in a dream world. The water is a beautiful deep blue-green, and it almost shimmers. (I bet the canals are actually really nasty, but they look pretty!) I felt like we were going to turn a corner and suddenly be in 15th century Venice, walking shoulder to shoulder with people straight out of history, or maybe fairy tales… or maybe my dreams.
The next day, we spent all day just walking around the city, popping into little tourist shops and mask shops, and getting lost and finding our way back to familiar turf. I think the entire time we were in Venice we consulted our map maybe three times, because honestly, it’s more fun not to. I have to say, I probably spent too much money on little glass trinkets (a little family of glass crabs? Yes, please!), but I also have to say, WORTH IT. I’m not a huge souvenir person, so I know when I like something, and I know what I’m willing to spend my money on. Plus, I saved on food. That’s coming up. Anyways, that whole day was fantastic, and by the end of it, we had seen pretty much each touristy sight in Venice plus quite a bit of the more backstreet, residential areas. I was proud. Tired, but proud. (OH, and we definitely had gelato every single day. Pistachio, tiramisu, lemon, chocolate, nutella, berry, etc…) We went back to our hotel satisfied and conked out.
Circa 5 am, I woke up with violent stomach pain. It literally felt like my stomach was on fire, and it was also distended. I tried to just drink some water and go back to sleep, but no dice. Long story short, I threw up three times before Darynn, the girl I was travelling with, woke up at around 10am. She was really kind and went out and bought me saltines, iced tea, and sprite, but I still threw up one more time around noon before my stomach decided to calm down and cooperate. I was really weak and feverish for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t lie on my sides without significant abdominal pain. I definitely didn’t eat anything other than saltines for the rest of the day, but my stomach was still way bigger than normal and painful.
The next day, we went out during the afternoon and evening, because it was Saturday and the opening day of Carnivale. I struggled a lot and had to take a lot of sit-down-and-clutch-my-huge-stomach moments, but I still really enjoyed myself somehow. My mom says I must have been delirious, and I think I have to agree. I didn’t eat any solid food that day either, but I did have some yummy minestrone soup broth for dinner! And after dinner was the opening show of Carnivale on Piazza San Marco!! I wore my mask—bought in a backstreet artisan shop where we saw the dude making masks in the back room—and we joined the crowds of excited tourists. There were a LOT of French people there, and this one really sweet old French guy who was there with his wife gave me some gummy bears to help my throat because I got a really bad cough about halfway through the show. (I think it was the smoke—everyone smokes like a chimney in Europe—ok not everyone, but you know.) I was so happy I could thank him sincerely in his own language.
Oh man, let’s talk about language confusion in Italy. I kept being like, “Quiero, uh, chocolate, I mean, chocolato, et, euh, limon, umm, limone? Merci—uh, I mean, Grazie. SHIT.” My brain literally wanted to explode sometimes. Everything was allllmost Spanish, but then again some things were more like French…. but the pronunciation and the tone seemed almost completely foreign, and incredibly intoxicating. I wished so much that I spoke Italian, but each time I tried, I think I failed miserably. But then once I got back to Spain I was saying “Scuzi” and “Grazie” for a whole day before I got back into Spanish, so maybe I have an aptitude for Italian? Maybe I’m lying to myself. :P
Anyways, our last day was probably the most exciting of all, even though we only had half the day to spend in Venice. Carnivale was really getting into swing, and we saw two parades, both of which I didn’t really understand but thought were awesome. We also spent some time just hanging around San Marco taking pictures of all the crazy awesome costumes people were wearing. After awhile, I kind of stopped taking pictures and just enjoyed the experience of being transported to a different era by all the activity and the masks and extravagant clothing. It was really a once in a lifetime experience, I think, and it completely made me forget about my awkward stomach, which I very much appreciated.
I cheated and bought two masks. Ha! I was like, shoot, I can’t buy anything REALLY big and cool because I have to take it back in my tiny book bag, and ryanair won’t let me have anything outside of that bag. So I picked a simple one out that I really like—you’ll see it in some of my pictures, it’s magenta and gold and really lovely, I think. THEN, I found a blue-green one that was a little smaller but really brought out the color in my eyes and that I just adored and it wasn’t THAT expensive, so I said, why not? And I’m really glad I did. I think there’s no better souvenir from Carnivale in Venice than real, beautiful masks, and I’m for sure going to hang them on the wall in my apartment when I decorate this summer. (I bet some of you are going, what is this apartment she keeps mentioning?! Surprise! I’m flying solo this summer and I’ll have a place of my own in the Ham! Yay!)
The trip back to Granada wasn’t quite as grueling because we took the train to Bergamo on Sunday night and spent the night in a hostel before our 6:30am flight back to Sevilla on Monday morning. I also found it helpful that they played a dubbed version of that movie with Ashton Kutcher (where he goes to visit his black girlfriend’s family and her dad give him hell) on the bus from Sevilla to Granada—what was the name of that movie? Anyways, it’s really hilarious when it’s in enthusiastic Spanish and you’re delirious from lack of sleep and food. :P
Wow! I’m very proud; I was super concise about Venice. I hope I didn’t forget anything. Oh! I just found something I jotted down in my notebook while in Venice and think would make a good little conclusion to this post:
“Venice is so magical, and I feel so good and at ease here. I’m glad we came; I can’t imagine a better place to be right now. It’s weird to think of going back to life in Granada after being in Morocco and Venice. What an intense week of experiences and LIVING—what pure, unadulterated life. Thank you, universe, for restoring my sense of wonder and gratitude, and for giving me these beautiful experiences which remind me of two things I’d forgotten—-hope and joy.”
Pura vida, queridos.
Kelsey
OH, I almost forgot to mention something from Morocco that I left out of the last blog—the Hammam. A Hammam is basically a public bathhouse where many Moroccan’s go to about once a week to get reallllly clean. The way Sarah (our guide) explained the Hammam experience is that it’s “like taking a bucket bath in a sauna.” Which is pretty much exactly right. A lot of people were pretty nervous about it, and some didn’t even go, but because I’ve done public baths before (thank you, Japan!) and I was really jonesin’ to get clean, I was very eager to go see what this Hammam thing was. It seemed a bit like a pool in the sense that there are changing rooms where you get nekid (or put on a bathing suit or underwear if you’re modest, which none of the Moroccan’s did—I left on my panties so as not to traumatize my more sheltered peers, but definitely went topless—imagine trying to get clean while still wearing a bra, it sounds annoying, right?). Then, you take your towel, your little scooper cup, a scrubby glove they gave us and this special Hammam soap, and go into the washing room. That room is warm and steamy and very slippery. You take a big bucket and fill it with water, then stake out a corner and get down with your bad self. Haha. The special Hammam soap smelled kind of weird, but it got me cleaner than I think I’ve ever been in my life—it must have special exfoliating stuff, plus special moisturizing stuff, because I felt all happy and clean and soft afterwards, and not TOO much like I’d just scrubbed off the top five layers of my skin. It got pretty packed in there because we were a rather large group of Americans, plus our Moroccan helpers, plus normal Moroccans who looked seriously peeved to have their weekly cleaning ritual interrupted by these weird, bathing-suit-clad foreigners. (PS. We went to a women’s Hammam—yes, there are also ones for guys, gentlemen.) I was very glad we got to go to the Hammam, because it seems like it’s a pretty unique and fascinating part of their culture, and I was also extraordinarily grateful for the opportunity to get seriously clean—and I DID feel like I stayed clean for the next two showerless days. Hallelujah!
Alright, vamos a Italia! Directly after getting back from Morocco—and I mean RIGHT away, as in, about ten hours later—I hopped on a bus, a bus, another bus, a plane, yet another bus, a train, another train, and then one final bus to get to our hostel in Venice, Italy. It was an epic voyage of over 13 hours, no joke. Happily, our transportation costs were minimal, but even so, next time I might splurge and cut out a few of the buses or something. The first night we arrived in Venice at around seven or eight, so we decided to go into town for dinner and a night walk through the water city, and it was absolutely magical. I tried to take a few pictures, but they weren’t turning out so I just put the camera away and enjoyed it. Venice at night is… like being in a dream world. The water is a beautiful deep blue-green, and it almost shimmers. (I bet the canals are actually really nasty, but they look pretty!) I felt like we were going to turn a corner and suddenly be in 15th century Venice, walking shoulder to shoulder with people straight out of history, or maybe fairy tales… or maybe my dreams.
The next day, we spent all day just walking around the city, popping into little tourist shops and mask shops, and getting lost and finding our way back to familiar turf. I think the entire time we were in Venice we consulted our map maybe three times, because honestly, it’s more fun not to. I have to say, I probably spent too much money on little glass trinkets (a little family of glass crabs? Yes, please!), but I also have to say, WORTH IT. I’m not a huge souvenir person, so I know when I like something, and I know what I’m willing to spend my money on. Plus, I saved on food. That’s coming up. Anyways, that whole day was fantastic, and by the end of it, we had seen pretty much each touristy sight in Venice plus quite a bit of the more backstreet, residential areas. I was proud. Tired, but proud. (OH, and we definitely had gelato every single day. Pistachio, tiramisu, lemon, chocolate, nutella, berry, etc…) We went back to our hotel satisfied and conked out.
Circa 5 am, I woke up with violent stomach pain. It literally felt like my stomach was on fire, and it was also distended. I tried to just drink some water and go back to sleep, but no dice. Long story short, I threw up three times before Darynn, the girl I was travelling with, woke up at around 10am. She was really kind and went out and bought me saltines, iced tea, and sprite, but I still threw up one more time around noon before my stomach decided to calm down and cooperate. I was really weak and feverish for the rest of the day, and I couldn’t lie on my sides without significant abdominal pain. I definitely didn’t eat anything other than saltines for the rest of the day, but my stomach was still way bigger than normal and painful.
The next day, we went out during the afternoon and evening, because it was Saturday and the opening day of Carnivale. I struggled a lot and had to take a lot of sit-down-and-clutch-my-huge-stomach moments, but I still really enjoyed myself somehow. My mom says I must have been delirious, and I think I have to agree. I didn’t eat any solid food that day either, but I did have some yummy minestrone soup broth for dinner! And after dinner was the opening show of Carnivale on Piazza San Marco!! I wore my mask—bought in a backstreet artisan shop where we saw the dude making masks in the back room—and we joined the crowds of excited tourists. There were a LOT of French people there, and this one really sweet old French guy who was there with his wife gave me some gummy bears to help my throat because I got a really bad cough about halfway through the show. (I think it was the smoke—everyone smokes like a chimney in Europe—ok not everyone, but you know.) I was so happy I could thank him sincerely in his own language.
Oh man, let’s talk about language confusion in Italy. I kept being like, “Quiero, uh, chocolate, I mean, chocolato, et, euh, limon, umm, limone? Merci—uh, I mean, Grazie. SHIT.” My brain literally wanted to explode sometimes. Everything was allllmost Spanish, but then again some things were more like French…. but the pronunciation and the tone seemed almost completely foreign, and incredibly intoxicating. I wished so much that I spoke Italian, but each time I tried, I think I failed miserably. But then once I got back to Spain I was saying “Scuzi” and “Grazie” for a whole day before I got back into Spanish, so maybe I have an aptitude for Italian? Maybe I’m lying to myself. :P
Anyways, our last day was probably the most exciting of all, even though we only had half the day to spend in Venice. Carnivale was really getting into swing, and we saw two parades, both of which I didn’t really understand but thought were awesome. We also spent some time just hanging around San Marco taking pictures of all the crazy awesome costumes people were wearing. After awhile, I kind of stopped taking pictures and just enjoyed the experience of being transported to a different era by all the activity and the masks and extravagant clothing. It was really a once in a lifetime experience, I think, and it completely made me forget about my awkward stomach, which I very much appreciated.
I cheated and bought two masks. Ha! I was like, shoot, I can’t buy anything REALLY big and cool because I have to take it back in my tiny book bag, and ryanair won’t let me have anything outside of that bag. So I picked a simple one out that I really like—you’ll see it in some of my pictures, it’s magenta and gold and really lovely, I think. THEN, I found a blue-green one that was a little smaller but really brought out the color in my eyes and that I just adored and it wasn’t THAT expensive, so I said, why not? And I’m really glad I did. I think there’s no better souvenir from Carnivale in Venice than real, beautiful masks, and I’m for sure going to hang them on the wall in my apartment when I decorate this summer. (I bet some of you are going, what is this apartment she keeps mentioning?! Surprise! I’m flying solo this summer and I’ll have a place of my own in the Ham! Yay!)
The trip back to Granada wasn’t quite as grueling because we took the train to Bergamo on Sunday night and spent the night in a hostel before our 6:30am flight back to Sevilla on Monday morning. I also found it helpful that they played a dubbed version of that movie with Ashton Kutcher (where he goes to visit his black girlfriend’s family and her dad give him hell) on the bus from Sevilla to Granada—what was the name of that movie? Anyways, it’s really hilarious when it’s in enthusiastic Spanish and you’re delirious from lack of sleep and food. :P
Wow! I’m very proud; I was super concise about Venice. I hope I didn’t forget anything. Oh! I just found something I jotted down in my notebook while in Venice and think would make a good little conclusion to this post:
“Venice is so magical, and I feel so good and at ease here. I’m glad we came; I can’t imagine a better place to be right now. It’s weird to think of going back to life in Granada after being in Morocco and Venice. What an intense week of experiences and LIVING—what pure, unadulterated life. Thank you, universe, for restoring my sense of wonder and gratitude, and for giving me these beautiful experiences which remind me of two things I’d forgotten—-hope and joy.”
Pura vida, queridos.
Kelsey
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