Wandering Through History

Meditative State

2008-11-26T03:15:00.000-08:00

The last few weeks are upon me. My time in Seville is drawing to a close. Yet I am not disturbed by this fact, nor do I wish time would slow so I might have that much more time here. I have no regrets of how I spent my time here, and it has come to the point where I am ready to be home again.

I have today decided to begin meditating with some regularity. Chances are high that this goal, like so many work out regimens; early morning wake ups; healthy eating; and writing goals before it, will be lost to my procrastinating nature or in the hustle and bustle of daily life. Yet I have meditated today, only for a short while, and it has cleared my mind.

Before I closed my eyes at my first true attempt at meditation, I reread Max Ehrmann's Desiderata, an essay about how to proceed through life that I have always taken to heart. But there is one line, the final statement in the essay, that stayed with me when I had cleared my mind of all else: "Strive to be happy." Even while focusing on my heart beat and my breathing, those four words continued to scroll through my mind. "Strive to be happy." I wonder now what that actually means to me, and I am forced to question what I strive for, forced to question the things in my life that truly make me happy. I don't believe enough people practice this.

What does make me happy? The short answer is my friends, my family, travel, new experiences. But these are rather vague generalities, even in my own mind. Within these headings, I feel I could write for years and still not fully capture what these different things are that bring me joy. But if I were to write them, would they still be the precious ephemeral things that I hold in my mind? Would solidifying them, placing them into a corporeal state, such as it is, diminish them in any way? I do not know. I honestly am intimidated by the idea, so for now they will maintain their ethereal nature. For now, I will ponder my memories, reliving the past, examining my actions and those I have chosen to surround myself with. For I am happy in life, if lonely being parted from my chosen, and although I generally know why that is, for my own peace of mind I will explore my own reasons. It is not mentally healthy to go off assumptions, after all.

There is one question, apart from myself, that recurs often when I am in this philosophical state. Do people question and examine themselves? Furthermore, do they question what is beyond them? Do they strive for their own happiness or do they strive for what they are told will bring them happiness? For the most part, I don't think many do. In my own experience, before I began my own Socratic journey, I had not questioned my motives for actions, had not questioned my actions or behavior. In my own experience, the time I did not spend questioning myself and forcing myself to see who I truly was and what I truly wanted was an unhappy time. I allowed myself to be influenced by others to an unhealthy degree and suffered for it. This is my own experience. I do not know of the experiences of others in this regard, whether looking at themselves from a (attempted) objective perspective has brought them happiness or sadness. It would make for an interesting survey.

For now, I will continue these last few weeks, trying to make the most of my time. That may be difficult with the hefty assignments beginning to bear down on me, but I will try nonetheless. I do not want to look back on this journey and have the regret that I missed something. But also will I not regret returning home. I miss everyone more than they imagine.

Jolly Old England

2008-11-25T08:39:00.000-08:00

This post is also a few weeks past the actual events, but you'll forgive me my tardiness.

Anyway, a few weeks ago I flew to London to visit my very good friend Chris. He's been my neighbor in my dorm for the past two years, and I'm on the ballroom team with him (he's the senior member). I was very excited, for I had never been to London, and hadn't seen Chris in a few months, so it was to be an excellent weekend (and it was!).

I flew through Barcelona to Gatwick airport and took the Gatwick Express train into Victoria Station, that famous central hub for England's train system. Saw some very cheap train tickets to Scotland that looked tempting. Chris came and found me in the station, and I began my adventure in London.

Though Chris didn't really know how to get back to his place from Victoria Station, we decided to meander a bit before heading back. We saw the theater where Wicked is currently playing in London (which a few of my friends saw the next night), but it was just interesting walking through the streets and having to look in the opposite direction for traffic. It was very confusing for me, and I nearly got whiplash a few times as I had to keep turning my head quickly in the other direction as I remembered that Great Britain drives on the wrong side of the road. I was starved, so Chris and I pulled up in this little Londoner pub. We started things off with a pint of London's Finest ale, and I chowed down on a cheeseburger (yes, yes, I know. But I needed mmmmeeeeaaaatttt). From there, Chris took me past some very big monuments...that I can't for the life of me remember. Think of famous buildings near Big Ben and I was there. Seriously, drawing a complete blank. Anyway, I do remember seeing the Parliament building and Big Ben. That was really cool. Chris took some pictures, but I'm pretty sure he didn't post them *ahem ahem*. We crossed the Thames by way of Victoria Bridge (?) and walked along the south bank. It's a very nice little area, home to many street performers. We passed most of these by, stopped for a few minutes to watch some impressive footballers, then made our way up to the National Theater building. That sucker is big, and very modern architecturally, but I wish I could have seen a show there. Chris thought to get some tickets, but unfortunately there weren't any available while I was there. Oh well. Just means I'll have to go back and do it again. Anyone interested in coming?

From there, we hopped a bus back to his neighborhood. He lives just off of Denmark Hill. We posted up in his room (he's got a quaint little single). We chilled in there for a bit, I checked my email and Facebook and whatnot, then we headed off to this pub called the Phoenix at Denmark Hill. I fell in love with this place. I wish we had pubs like that everywhere. Chris and I walked in and we started off with some English cider. Of course, it came in a pint, as nearly everything does in the country. Now, technically, cider is only 4% by volume alcohol. Chris and I think they lie, or that maybe they concoct it in such a way as to be much more potent than normal drinks. We were both feeling a bit heady after just the first pint, though I blame my very long day of traveling. Soon after, two of Chris' friends, Jesse and Alex, joined us at the pub. I had another two beers with them, and at that point, I was speaking in tongues. 3 drinks was apparently enough to push me deep into the tipsy zone that night, but in my defense, I'd eaten very little, slept very little the night before, and spent the day traveling. I ordered the boys and myself a thing of nachos, which in the Phoenix are unbelievable. Not sure they were worth 5 pounds, but they were definitely some of the best nachos I've ever had. Jesse and Alex got a real kick out of my very poor drunken attempts (though totally unconscious effort)to mimic their accents (Jesse is Australian and Alex is British...I came out sorta Irish). We quit the pub relatively early, leastways for me, but Alex, Jesse, and I were all feeling hungry again. Jesse in particular was craving McDonald's. Couldn't stop talking about it in fact. So off we went to MickeyD's...second time that day I had American food in a foreign country I'd never before visited. I sat down with my classic chicken nuggets and barbecue sauce and enjoyed them as only the tipsy can enjoy highly fried foods. Chris and I retired after that, for my friend had a dance competition to leave for very early the next morning in Leicester (pronounced Lester...silly English).

Chris and I woke abysmally early the next day, somewhere around 5 or so. Chris had to get up earlier than me so he could prepare himself. We grabbed the bus to some square near the University of London (Chris participates as part of the University of London Dance Team, though he attends King's College). There, I met the rest of the team, who all turned out to be very nice. We crammed ourselves into a very small van (it felt very small at least...a dozen ballroom people with suitcases and camera cases and whatnot fitting into a minibus doesn't work) and headed up to Leicester, about a 2 hour journey. I slept the whole way. We got to the Uni of Leicester, and disembarked. The ballroom wasn't particularly large, but the competition wasn't supposed to be too big either. However, this year, many of the schools with teams had decided to use the Leicester comp as a warm-up opportunity, and it was packed mighty tight. I managed to get in without having to pay or anything by claiming I was the team photographer (even though I was wearing my Carolina dance jacket). I did spend a large portion of the day photographing though. One of the guys on the team, Ed, had this absolutely gorgeous camera with several different lenses. It was an amateur photographer's wet dream. It was gorgeous! I think Ed realized how much I was fawning over his camera because he let me use it for just about every photographing opportunity. By the end of the day, my arms and back were killing me though. That thing was a hulk. But it was totally worth it. Thanks Ed!

Seeing as how I hadn't seen or been around ballroom since I'd left, going to that competition was like a fix for me. Despite the early hour I woke and the fact that I didn't have much to do all day, I had a fantastic time. I just soaked in the atmosphere, the music, the people, the costumes, the dancing. English dancers are quite different from their American counterparts. Rather, it would be more appropriate to say there are a lot of differences that just had me doing double takes all day long. Also, they had different terminology for the levels which threw me off for a bit. Also (haha lots of little differences indeed) they refer to the cha cha as simply the cha. First few times I heard that I figured someone was just throwing a random agreement sound into their sentences. I was very impressed by the way Chris danced. He improved obviously within the few weeks he'd been dancing with his temporary partner Alisa, who said she danced prechamp back in the States. She had the competitive spirit and the performing down, but there were some basics that even I realized she didn't have down pat. All in all, for only having 3 weeks to work together, Chris and Alisa did fairly well. Didn't make it to any finals (I don't think) in the regular competition, though they made it to cha cha finals in the Team Dance. Chris also completely dominated the salsa fun dance, he and a girl from another school named Chloe. I think that helped calm him down a bit, because he danced better afterward. He only competed in Latin, which was probably good for him since he spent much of the standard part of the competition napping in the dressing room. All-in-all, much of the team did very well, and I can't wait to get back to Carolina to dance again. We didn't end up getting back to London until very early, and Chris and I didn't actually end up going to bed until after 5 (we watched a great episode of The Office though).

Sunday started off very late. We both slept til 3 in the afternoon, and took our sweet time waking up and whatnot. We hopped the train back into the city and decided to do some more sight-seeing, while there was a little daylight still left. We checked out this really cool museum, I don't remember which one, but it had this Cold War exhibit. Chris and I were both very intrigued, and we spent the last half hour that the museum was open looking at propaganda, old scientific ideas, videos, a reproduction of Sputnik, fashion ideas (can you say closet Trekkies?), and loads of other stuff. It was really cool as I'd never really seen that side of the history of the Cold War. it was a nice immersive (yes, I know it's not a word...but I was immersed) experience. Walking through the rest of the museum (which opened right off the Underground which was neat) was also really interesting. There were dozens of sculptures of classic figures, originals I believe, but I'm not entirely sure. Seeing as how sculpture is one of my top three favorite forms of art (behind the written word and photography), it was very nice. Once we got kicked out of the museum, Chris decided to take me to Trafalgar Square (awesome!) and some other squares that I barely knew the names of when I was there, so please don't fault me for forgetting. In one of the areas, we listened to a pretty good opera singer belt out some show tunes (opera tunes, of course) but escaped before she asked us for money (we're poor college students, what do you want from us?). We also visited Chris' favorite tea shop and we picked up some hot chocolate. Chris found some good ideas for Christmas presents. After that, we headed back to Denmark Hill, stopping by the Phoenix for dinner. We ended up chilling there for three hours chatting, he sipping on a beer, myself on mulled wine (good stuff let me tell you). We had plans to check some other stuff out in the morning before I headed back for Sevilla, so we decided not to make it too late of a night. We went back to Chris' room, and he skyped C-money (that's Carissa, our team captain and Chris' girlfriend). I got to talk to her too, and we all chatted for about 2 hours. It was nice to see/talk to her again. We crashed relatively early that night.

Monday, my final day in London, was a rainy, dreary day, and we woke up at a reasonable hour for once. I packed quickly, we grabbed some breakfast at the Fox (the pub Chris frequents) and it turned out to be quite tasty. The bacon wasn't quite Spanish quality, but it was still pretty good, and the rest felt like a real breakfast (not the very old morning toast). So that pleased me. We decided not to head straight for the train station because I still had plenty of time left before I had to leave, so Chris decided to show me Buckingham Palace. There was supposed to be a Changing of the Guard that day, but due to the damnable wet weather, it was canceled. So Chris instead took me through Hyde Park and some other parks around that area (supposedly you can walk through every park in London without really leaving the park system...or pretty close to it, we didn't have time to try). After that, things got a little sticky, as we got kind of lost searching for a way to Victoria Station. So we ended up walking through the pouring rain (thank god for my wonderful coat...Thanks again Mom and Dad!) until we found a bus that took us over to Victoria. Once we got there, he saw me off and invited me to come back for his other dance competitions. Apparently had one this past weekend and I was sorely tempted to fly back to London for it. Anyway, I hopped back on the Gatwick Express back to the airport.

There were some issues after that. Serious plane issues. Won't go into much detail since I don't want to get worked up again, but in short, missed my flight, had to fly into Madrid later that day and then take the speed train from Madrid to Seville. Got int about 8 1/2 hours after I was supposed to. But at least there was a funny movie on the train that didn't make get home in a grump, so in the end, it all turned out okay.

Also, somewhere along the way, I don't remember exactly when, Chris got me a sausage roll. It's this thing called a pastie that's big in England. And it was delicious!

Barcelona Part Deux

2008-11-12T18:42:00.001-08:00

Hey Everyone! I want to apologize for neglecting my story telling these past weeks. Life's been pretty hectic, and I haven't had the time really required to sit down and collect my thoughts about the trips I've had. Anyway, I'll try to do better now. Weekly things should start slowing down now, thankfully, and I have just about a month left in Spain, so now's the time for me to really experience things.

Anyway, a few weeks ago (I think it was 2?) I traveled to Barcelona again to visit with my friend Hunter, who is currently studying in Florence, Italy. This was actually the first trip to Barcelona I had planned, and it was Hunter's Fall Break (lucky bastard), so we were both pretty excited about it.

So I decided to try taking the train to Barca this trip, figuring it would be cheaper than a plane, seeing as how neglected to book a flight or my hostel until the week of. Oops! Also, I figured that a train, like the AVE high speed train that runs through Spain, wouldn't be as expensive/book as quickly as an airplane. I was wrong on both counts. So on a Friday afternoon, about an hour before my train was scheduled to depart, I waltzed into the Santa Justa train station without a care, believing that a cheap ticket would be easy to come by. I was sadly mistaken, as I discovered that the only seats left on my train were in the Club section (for those of you traveling along with me at home, this is the AVE's version of First Class). That ticket cost considerably more than I expected (much more than a late booked airline ticket)...but hey, I got to Barcelona when I said I would and spent the 6 hour ride in style. Thanks Mom and Dad! (Sorry! I swear I didn't know that it would be full...:( )

I arrived in Barcelona about 11 o'clock in the PM, and then had a little difficulty finding my hostel. It was supposedly near the Sagrada Familia Cathedral, but of course being in the Barcelona train station, I had no idea what direction that was. It didn't help that the directions the hostel had given to HostelWorld.com weren't particularly precise (in fact, they were downright wrong!) so I had to fudge my way through the Metro to the stop they mentioned. I got very lucky at that point and headed down the right street in the right direction, and found the hostel in 2 blocks. It was a nice enough place, though the staff at Check-in were slightly rude (Pardon me for not hearing correctly...I find that we Americans can be nearly as pompous as the French). I found my room without too much difficulty, found someone else on the bed I was assigned, so I just threw my stuff on the top bunk. I immediately turned right back around to go meet up with Hunter.

I had to jump back on the Metro, but fortunately I purchased a 10-trip ticket so I was pretty much set for the weekend. We met up, and he told me about some Boston U. kids he'd met who were planning on going to a Halloween Party, so we decided to hitch along with them. They were a very nice group, and we all headed to this bar called the Stock Market Bar..or maybe the Wall Street Bar? Regardless of the name, the idea of the bar was that, for the given hour, prices would rise with each purchase of whatever beverage and the market would crash at the end of every hour (of course, it never crashed for us). It was a cozy little place filled with a lot of costumed creepies (I mean a lot! There were a bunch of large men dressed in drag who were particularly sketchy). We chilled and danced at the bar for a few hours, but around 2 or 3 AM it cleared out, so we did too. We ended up walking around the neighborhood searching for another place to party at (can't waste any part of the night of Halloween after all) but without success. So we ended up chilling on the steps of some bank chatting til very late/early. When we finally got tired, we started our search for a Metro station, but that was also without success. We ended up walking for over an hour and we wound up at the Barcelona main train station...a very long walk. All in all, didn't get in until 6 AM, but had a fairly good time.

The next day, our only full day in Barcelona, started off blissfully late. We both slept until noon, then met up for some breakfast. Hunter had pizza, and I had...something, I can't remember. Our plans for the day would take us all over the city, so I was very glad I had purchased the 10-trip pass. We started off by checking out Montjuic, since that was quite close to us. We took the funicular (such a great word XD <-- turn your head to understand this) but weren't really lucky enough to take good pictures. Montjuic definitely isn't as high as Mount Tibidabao (also, great name!) but it definitely is elevated above the rest of the city. It's also where the Olympic Soccer Stadium in Barcelona is located. While up there, Hunter really wanted to check out the Joan Miro museum. He was this Catalan abstract artist...really really abstract. Granted, half the pieces looked similar and were titled "Woman with birds (and star(s)/moon/sun)" but still, you'd never guess in your wildest imagination that's what you were looking at. Hunter and I had played a game of trying to guess the title of each piece, and we came up with some pretty ridiculous ideas, all of which were wrong. I can't say I was a big fan of Miro's works, but they were certainly interesting. There was one piece in the museum that I was drawn to: Mercury Fountain. Now, not Mercury's Fountain, but Mercury Fountain. A fountain that used quicksilver instead of water. It was fascinating to watch the mercury bead up coming through the bends in the sculpture. I was riveted to the fountain for a solid 5 minutes before Hunter coughed suggestively. Despite its probable poison level, that would be really cool to have in your house.

We spent a fair amount of time in the museum, then decided to head further up the hill, coming to the Olympic Stadium. Hunter took some pictures, and we picked up some snacks (GUMMI BEARS!). From there, we took the metro back toward the waterfront, hopping off near the Monument to Cristobal Colon (Chris Columbus, everybody). We walked down to the really sweet-looking boardwalk. It was designed to look like the entire architecture was wavelike, very Gaudi-esque, I felt. It was really neat! There was also this great big shopping mall there that we ducked into. Hunter had checked it out the day before, and it was fun to stroll through. Picked up a cool tunic-like sweater for fairly cheap. We were essentially passing time before Rick Steves (the tour guide) told us to check out the Picasso museum, and it was a beautiful place to do it.

After the boardwalk, we started our way over to the Picasso museum. We got lost once or twice, were forced to resort to reading the map, but found it without too much mishap (don't even think about chortling at that pun...yes, I know you are now.) The Picasso Museum is located on this very small road, almost an alley, in this awesome building. We walked in it, and it felt like we were entering through the catacombs of a castle. I still need to find out why it was designed like that. Anyways, we got our entradas (tickets) and made our way into the museum.

One word: Genius. That's what Picasso was. Before he was 10 he was a better artist than anyone I've ever known. Looking at his early pieces was just ridiculous, that someone so young could have such talent. Hunter and I spent probably about 2 hours examining each room, reading every information plaque, gazing upon each painting. I found myself drawn more to his Blue Period (Epoca Azul) works than anything else, though he had some ceramics that were so colorful and varied that also caught my eye. Picasso did it all. He wasn't just a painter. He didn't simply dabble in other art forms, he mastered them as well. Ceramics, sculpture, some other form that refuses to come to mind. Any combination of four great artists would be hard-pressed to match the greatness created by the hands of Picasso (but I wasn't impressed or anything).

We got dinner at this Italian restaurant near the museum, and the food was actually quite tasty. Hunter, being the resident know-it-all concerning Italian cuisine, chose the wine that would fit our meal (it was a white, don't ask me specifics). It was quite tasty. I had gnocchi in pesto sauce (scrumptious!) and I can't remember what he had. We finished the meal with some tiramisu and cappuccino (for which I reaffirmed my distaste). We walked to the metro, and parted ways.

It was very nice to see my old friend from Cobb 3rd Floor, and I look forward to chilling with him again once we all return to Carolina.

No Place like Home, Back in Berlin

2008-10-28T00:44:00.000-07:00

This weekend was my trip to Berlin, Deutschland, my home away from home, even after 10 years (Carolina is my home away from home away from home, even if I've lived there longer than I did in Berlin). Since it's been probably 7 or 8 years since I was last in Berlin, I was quite surprised by the differences in the city, but nevertheless, it is still beautiful in my mind. I was accompanied by Dino, Anne, and Sam, and they were wonderful company. Only bad thing about this trip is that the lens extension mechanism on my camera is jammed or something, and thus my camera was unusable, so I have no pictures from this trip. Thankfully, the girls took lots to cover for me.

Our voyage started very early Friday morning, with me waking at 4:45 am so I could chat with Hannah for a last few minutes before heading to the airport. Our flight was at 6:55 am, from Seville to Barcelona, and the four of us passed out fairly quickly once aboard. I only woke up just as we were landing, and didn't even have to use any of the battery on my iPod. We arrived in Barcelona a little after 8:00 am, but we had a few hours layover. Our flight from Barcelona to Berlin wasn't scheduled to depart until 11:45, so we plopped down in the terminal in front of our gate and I busted out some playing cards. Since there were 4 of us, we decided to get some Kemps going. Never played? It's a lot of fun. You need an equal number of players, and they split up into pairs. Then each pair come up with a special signal. This signal is used to signify that they have Kemps, which is 4 of a kind. When the partner sees the signal, they shout "Kemps!" to win the round. However, if the opposing pair(s) call Kemps before you, or think you have Kemps and call it before you have a chance, then you lose the round. Each player holds 4 cards in his or her hand, and game play revolves around picking up and discarding cards from a 4 card community, that is dealt and redealt whenever players stop swapping cards (I think those are all the rules...). Anyway, I was paired with Sam, and Dino was with Anne. The game probably ended up about even, maybe with a round or two more to Dino/Anne, but I never managed to figure out their signal, though Sam and I did beat them with a pensive beard rub signal. That amused me.

Once upon the plane to Berlin, I popped in my iPod and dozed to tunes for a bit, before deciding to help Dino and Anne with some crossword puzzles. We chatted and planned some parts of our weekend between puzzles, but before we knew it, we were landing at Berlin Schoenefeld Flughafen. I was ecstatic, and I could barely contain my excitement. My smile easily spread from ear to ear. We got off the plane and I was practically jumping for joy to be back in Berlin, reading all the signs in German (still my favorite language) and basically skipping along through the terminal. We had to take the S Bahn into the city, and we had some slight difficulty figuring out the automated ticket seller, but a friendly maintenance man pointed us in the right direction. Soon, we were on the S9 Bahn headed for Zoologischer Garten near the heart of the city.

The train ride took us about an hour or so (20 stops down the S9 line) and we hopped off at Zoologischer Garten. We figured out that to get to our destination, it was only 2 stops down on one of the U Bahns, so we decided we could hoof it. Couldn't be that hard right? But we were hungry, so outside the bahnhof (train station) we got some doener boxes. That's fries and slices of leg of lamb covered in a garlic sauce. We all enjoyed the food immensely. From there, we started off down past the Gedaechtnis Kirche (Memorial Church) in what I thought was the right direction. I was almost right, but we ended up walking down past the Hotel Palace and to Wittenberg Platz where there were a bunch of street vendors. We perused some of their wares, Anne bought an apple, and then we decided to bust out the map to see where we really were. We determined our present location, decided on a route, and headed off again, though in the end, I led us slightly astray (I can't navigate with Google directions in areas I kinda know, why would I be able to navigate using only a map in a city that I haven't visited in nearly half my lifetime?). We ended up close, standing on a street corner staring hard at the map, when against all odds, a north German woman stopped and asked if she could help. We asked how to get to Pariser Strasse (for that was where our hostel was) and she gave us precise directions. I was so shocked by someone being open and friendly on the streets of Berlin...certainly not what I remember. After that, we found our hostel with only one more misturn (though that was quickly righted) and we arrived at the Jetpack City Hostel. Checking in took less than 5 minutes and we had our key to the nicest hostel room I've visited thus far. The room was large, there for 4 beds, 2 big windows, a sink, a small armoire, and even an iPod stereo. The Jetpack City was also rated the #1 cleanest hostel in Germany and it was obvious, and a very nice hostel. Only thing I could think to criticize was their use of Mac computers in their common room (tsk tsk), but don't let anyone tell you I'm biased against Macs. They did the trick of checking email and Facebook though, so in the end, we had no problems.

We decided to do some roaming after throwing all of our stuff down, and we embarked on a quick walking tour suggested by the noted travel guide Rick Steves. His guidebook for Berlin defined most of our trip, though I was able to throw in a few places of interest (okay, maybe just my old neighborhood). We started off at the Gedaechtnis Kirche, which the girls were all very impressed by. I enjoyed listening to the bells play. After that, we decided to follow Rick Steves' suggestion and head toward Stadtmitte ("City Center"). That took us on a fairly long walk, as merely reaching the Victory monument took us nearly 45 minutes. We took some fun pictures there though, and then headed down the very large boulevard running toward the Brandenburg Tor (Brandenburg Gate). That avenue was deceptively long, and we were all a little tired by the time we reached the Tor, but with it being lit by rainbow lights, we were all rejuvenated into taking a bunch more pictures. We headed down Unter Den Linden (Berlin's version of Champs S'Elysees in Paris) and meandered down to Friedrichsstrasse (Berlin's 5th Ave...more or less) and since it was a street I remembered and recognized, I made the executive decision to take us down that way. We were all very hungry at this point, so we started searching for a place for a real dinner, but we didn't actually find a real restaurant until after we passed Checkpoint Charlie (we passed Checkpoint Charlie something like 5 or 6 times on this trip). Just past the checkpoint was this an elegant Italian place called Sotto Sopra we ducked into. We got a booth by the window, the girls all ordered various glasses of wine and I finally had my first glass of Warsteiner (so good...new favorite beer, by far). Drinks were followed by Gnocchi marinara for myself, lasagna for Sam, tortellini for Anne, and tragliatelli for Dino. Everything was quite tasty, but the coup de grace for the meal was dessert. I started a fad when I ordered some hot Apfelstreudel mit vanille sauce (Apple streudel with warm vanilla sauce and whipped cream) that Anne and Dino both took bites of. When they discovered the absolute amazingness of my dessert, they had to order their own. Only Germans (or Italians living in Germany) can make that kind of Apfelstreudel. Yum! We headed back to the hostel after dinner via the U Bahn (U = untergrund = "underground"...the subway :P ). It was still fairly early, but seeing as how we'd all been up since 5 am and we'd had such a busy day, we were all quite content with calling it an early night.

Saturday started off early, though not nearly as early as Friday. Dino woke me at 8:30 am to give me enough time to shower before we headed out at 9. From our hostel, we got breakfast at a Kamps baeckerei (a bakery) we found Friday while lost and looking for the hostel. Dino and I introduced Anne and Sam to the wonders of German pastry making, and I sank my teeth into a few laugenbroetchen (imagine a pretzel but in the shape of a bun) and a plum jelly donut (didn't realize it was plum until after the first few bites...still, wasn't bad). The girls all got various sweet pastries and/or rolls, Dino added some coffee, and we were all ready for a day of sightseeing.

Our first stop, by my demand, was the KaDeWe (Kaufhaus Des Westens), about 10 or 15 minutes away from the hostel. I remembered (vaguely) how absurdly gigantic that place is (it's supposedly the largest shopping mall in all of Europe), but still, we all walked in with our jaws dropping. We spent a solid hour there, perusing the various floors (not so much me...I was happily occupied by the Toy/Electronics/Books floor). We all picked up some souvenirs, though Dino was disappointed in her search for TinTin apparel. Our second stop was the Gemaeldegalerie, an art gallery just outside of Stadtmitte. Our walk over was a beautiful one, walking along the edge of one of Berlin's many waelder (parks), enjoying a true sensation of autumn, playing in the leaves, and taking lots of pictures among the trees. Basically, we acted like a bunch of 5 year olds, and we had a grand time doing it. We actually managed to get to the gallery without too much trouble, only have to ask once for directions to one street from an elderly couple. Lucky us. Once we got there, we weren't looking for anything too in-depth, and we were fortunate that they had audioguides with a list of highlighted pieces to check out. They had a lot of Dutch painters, including a Rembrandt (these are all just on the highlighted pieces list) but of the 20 we looked at, they were all very impressive. I think my favorite was one of a very boyish Cupid, wings half in shadow, looking like he's just rolling off a bed. At his feet, strewn about the floor, are musical instruments and a written manuscript, a suit of armor, and one hooked leg still on the bed is pushing back...something (I have a magnet, but I can't remember). It all signified Love's triumph over Man's earthly creations. I think I just really liked the lighting, more than the message.

From the Gemaeldegalerie, we got some lunch before deciding to head to the Topography of Terror exhibit, somewhat in the same area. We found our way quite accidentally to the Sony Center, which is a small square surrounded by gigantic buildings with bigger TVs covered by a tent. We ate lunch at Alex, the cheapest place in the square. Three of us ate schnitzel, and Sam had Bratkartoffeln (scalloped potatoes with chicken). I also ordered a Flying Kangaroo, which was a very tasty cocktail, and left me feeling vaguely emmasculated. After lunch, nn the way to the ToT exhibit, we stopped by the Memorial to the Murdered Jews of Europe (that's the actual name of the memorial, though it's generally called the Holocaust Memorial). The MTTMJOE is this square plot covered in large concrete blocks, all of varying heights, that Rick Steves informed us don't really represent anything concrete (haha get it?). This idea is to come up with their symbolism yourself. It was an interesting memorial, but difficult to take very seriously (I just wanted to climb up and start hopping along the tops of the blocks, and the Anne suggested it to be the perfect battleground for a game of lazertag...all seriousness had vanished by that point). However, the Topography of Terror sobered us up right quick. Situated in the ruined foundations of the SS headquarters, the exhibit contained many articles, letters, and explanations regarding the carrying out of the Holocaust and the many duties and atrocities committed by the Gestapo and the extrajudicial police forces willed into being by Hitler and his second-in-command, Heinrich Goering. The exhibit described how the SS seized control of the police forces of Nazi Germany; their methods of dealing with dissidents and prisoners, newly captured territories and countries; and many other frightening qualities of the Gestapo. We spent another hour or so there, absorbing the horrible history, reading letters and examining pictures, before moving on.

From there, we decided to go someplace a little more upbeat: Gendarmenmarkt, a pleasant little square, replete with modern/strange fountain, flanked by two very large churches. We spent a few minutes in the square, unsuccessfully attempting jumping pictures. Again, we made complete fools of ourselves, but we had a good time doing it. We even managed to snap one or two decent jumping pictures, out of 20. We couldn't find the chocolate store that Rick Steves suggested, so dejected, we decided to head back toward Checkpoint Charlie and the Museum of the Wall. However, we did come across the chocolate place almost immediately upon leaving the square. There is only one way to describe that place, at least for any serious chocolate lover: drooooooooollllllll. It was a chocoholic's paradise. They had chocolate sculptures of a bear, the Brandenburg Gate, the Reichstag (German Parliament Building), the Titanic, and the Gedaechtnis Kirche. All crafted of oh so tantalizing chocolate. My mouth waters just thinking about it. I picked up a little tin for *404 Recipient Not Found*, and the girls all picked up some things of their own. Dino shared a small piece of her chocolate with me, and it was absolutely exquisite.

After our unbelievably-tempting chocolate experience, we headed down to one of my favorite museums in Berlin: The Museum of the Wall at Checkpoint Charlie. This museum is dedicated to the events and years surrounding the Berlin Wall; that concrete, brick, barbed wire wall patrolled by guards and dogs for nearly 40 years. More than that, the museum is a memorial to those who defied the Powers and escaped over that wall, and to those who helped reunite broken families separated by the wire and guns. It contains original vehicles used to smuggle people over the border, hollow surfboards, cutout suitcases, and even an old large radioset used by a young woman to escape into the West. It is an impressive museum, we spent 2 hours walking around, and I highly recommend to anyone who visits Berlin. You truly have to experience it to understand it.

From Checkpoint Charlie, we headed back toward Stadtmitte to end our day in a up-and-coming neighborhood past AlexanderPlatz recommended by Rick Steves. We grabbed some wursts from a street vendor near the Berliner Dom for dinner, but were disappointed by the neighborhood when we got there. Pretty yes, but not someplace to really go after dark when you're hungry and tired. We were planning on going out, but after returning to the Jetpack with all of our purchases and after our very long day, none of us were too disappointed not going out.

Sunday began as early as Saturday, and we began the day by taking the U3 Bahn to Krumme Lanke, the station right in my old neighborhood. I still recognized the last few stops on the line, and when we exitted the station, I felt like I hadn't left. The imbiss (kiosk) in the station had changed, but other than that, from the corner, it all looked the same. I took the girls down to where my old house was, but I was disgusted to find two hideously monstrous buildings had been constructed in our backyard, and a real security gate had been installed in place of the wooden one Ryan could move even when he was 10. At least the house was still there, and I felt incredibly nostalgic looking at the front door from the road. Mom, you were right, Fischerhuettenstrasse hasn't change much for the better :( I then lead the way across the street into the Gruenewald, the huge park system covering the Western edge of the city, where I spent many hours riding my bike when I lived there. We walked through it for a little while, Anne took a picture of me by one of the curves I loved taking at full speed in a huddle like I was Lance Armstrong (I was 11 at the time, so sue me) and then we headed back toward the U bahn station. I would've liked to spend more time in the area, maybe make the 2 mile walk to my old school if I could remember the way, see how much everything had changed. In the end, we picked up some breakfast at a bakery on the corner, and took the U bahn back to Stadtmitte.

The hopes for Sunday were to visit the Museum insle (Museum Island), the TV tower and Alexanderplatz, and the Reichstag. We met most of the hopes. Along the way to Museuminsle, we came across a street bazaar. We wandered down it for a while, examining the different tables. We picked up some wursts to help us along the way. I bought a hat, Dino some TinTin posters, and I came very close to bartering for an old Pokemon Red game. I managed to resist the temptation, and thinking of it now, it would have been in German anyway, and that would have taken some of the mindless amusement out of it. I was quite content with the purchase of my hat, however. After leaving the bazaar, we walked along the river back toward Museum Island, where we visited the Pergamon Museum. We were supposed to also visit the Egyptian Museum, but it's under renovation until sometime next year, so that was a disappointment. The Pergamon was really cool though, despite an entire wing being closed down (again, due to renovations). They had a gigantic altar still mostly intact, the altar that contained the altar of Athena, the patron goddess of Pergamon. They also had the main market gate of the city of Mylita (I think...), a towering, highly decorated work that had been buried for a few hundred years. It was damaged slightly during World War II when the museum was hit by a bomb and the glass ceiling shattered, allowing for rainwater to seep in and wear away at the centuries-old stone. The museum also contained many other, though much smaller, pieces of Greek and Roman sculpture, and walking among the realistic statues while hearing of their stories was slightly eery.

From the Pergamon Museum, for lunch, we stopped at a doener kebab place, and we all got real doeners this time. I made a bit of a mess, as I somehow couldn't keep all of the toppings from spilling out the sides (I may be almost 21, but my eating habits haven't much improved since I was 7 1/2 :P ). After lunch, we decided to hit up the TV Tower and Alexanderplatz. Unfortunately, the girls were deterred from looking out over Berlin from the top floor by the 10 euro pricetag on the elevator ride. I was slightly disappointed, but I reasoned it away saying I'd done it before. I took them over to the Fountain of Neptune, which was filled with a gross brown sludge and wasn't operating, so that was also a little bit of a bust. From there, Sam really wanted to get her passport stamped at Checkpoint Charlie, so we hopped the U bahn over. Again, the girls were averted by the 2 euro sticker price on passport stamping (I wasn't averted since I wasn't interested in one to begin with). So we headed back toward Stadtmitte to go check out the Reichstag. Along the way, we found ourselves in a small skatepark, and I had some fun having pictures of me running up the quarterpipes and doing some sicknasty grabs (I always have fun doing that). We stopped at another bakery for a quick pick-me-up, then off to the Reichstag. We ended up taking a fairly roundabout route, so we came at it from the East and next to the river. I thought the spot was very pretty, so I plopped down for some pondering, and the girls followed suit. We spent about half an hour there, goofing off and taking pictures and chatting before our butts got cold from the concrete and we decided to finish our day.

When we reached the Reichstag, we found ourselves at the end of a very long and very slow-moving line. So, being the children we are, we started horsing around, taking very goofy pictures, and generally being a public nuisance. But we did take some very fun pictures. About 3/4s of the way up the stairs to the door, Dino and Anne started taking long exposure pictures, and Anne kept trying to draw the UNC NC symbol. She didn't have a whole lot of luck the first 25 times, so I asked for a shot, and got a pretty good one on my first try :P Anne did do a better one, but only after a few more attempts (Score 1 for Hap). Once inside the Reichstag, we found out the dome was closed off (3 guesses why, and the first 2 don't count), so we had to be content with the roof of the building. It was still quite pretty, and we had a pretty decent view out over the city, but honestly, we all would have preferred seeing it from the inside of the dome, so we left after only a few minutes.

We headed back to the hostel after that to plan the rest of our evening (which ended up being a very bad thing for me). Our plans included dinner and visiting Berlin's Erotik Museum. Dinner wasn't bad, though I found it slightly ironic that I travelled to Berlin to eat Pizza Hut (I miss American food :( ). After that, we headed to Beate Uhse, the name of the Erotik Museum. We spent a bit in the downstairs store, examining the different outfits and toys and accoutrement of the erotic, and Anne and Dino acted like 6 year olds. Their very immature humor, moreso than the fact that we were perusing sex toys and dildos and penis stimulators and all manner of things, made me feel extremely embarassed and out of sorts. We wanted to visit the museum itself, but it cost 14 euro, and so again, we decided against it. So we all went back downstairs to play in the store for a bit (they played, I followed meekly, feeling embarassed). We ended our night shortly after that, I talked to Hannah online for a bit, and turned in.

Our trip ended today (Monday, 27-Oct), but we didn't leave Berlin until the afternoon. So we woke up a little later than the rest of the weekend, took our time getting some breakfast at the same bakery we broke our fast at on Saturday, then due to the rain, we decided to head to the airport for a long day of layovers.

It was amazing to go back to Berlin, for it still sorta feels like home for me. The nostalgia, however, kind of counteracted the relief of homesickness I felt, and leaving made me my homesickness doubly so. But it was worth it, despite the changes to the city. It's still gorgeous. I spent my few spare moments wishing I could show Berlin to my friends, and I hope to someday.

A week with my Folks

2008-10-22T15:32:00.001-07:00

Well, once again, I'm about two weeks behind on my blog. It's not surprising really, I'm two weeks behind on my postcards as well. And since this is a recurring thing, I guess you could say I'm right on time for writing about my week con mis padres. That means "with my parents" for all you non-Spanish speaking types. Just to quick sum it up, it was wonderful to see them. I was missing them terribly (no sarcasm intended, also no phony British accent intended on the word "terribly") and it was a definite highlight of my time here so far to have them visit. The fact that I didn't pay for a damn thing the whole week didn't hurt either.

Anyway, they arrived about noonish on Wednesday (this is two weeks ago now...they left last Wednesday). I was in class and had to hand in a paper (maybe it was an exam) so I couldn't skip out, unfortunately, to meet them at the airport. But right after class, I walked immediately to their hotel and right on up to their room. Room 739 at the far end of the hall, just to make it seem a little bit longer 'til I got to see them. Doesn't it always happen that way? Anyway, once Dad let me in, it was a few minutes of hugs and kisses and Mom admiring my beard and Dad admiring my beard and Mom making fun of my beard. Ya know, the usual with my family. Then my mom showed me they'd brought the new Christopher Paolini book Brisingr, the 3rd book in the Eragon set. To be honest, I don't think I really heard anything they said for a while after that. I immediately picked up, curled up next to Mom on their bed, and dove into the story. Mom and I laid there for a while reading our respective books while Dad play SudoKu (he didn't want to finish all the books so that he wouldn't have anything to read on the plane flight home). Then I'm pretty sure we all passed out for a few hours. They were tired from staying up for 24 hours, and I was just tired. Plus, you can't come to Spain and not indulge in a little siesta. That would just be downright criminal. After awaking, we decided to go get some dinner. I don't rightly remember where we went though.

On Thursday, we had lunch en mi casa with my senora. She made some typical Spanish dish that I can't for the life of me remember the name of. I got to play translator for about an hour but all in all, I didn't do too bad a job, if I may say so myself. There were a few times where I had to do some ballpark translations, but seeing as how even I can't understand Marisol fully, I think that's acceptable (Don't worry Mom and Dad, you didn't miss any important information). She was also kind enough to reserve us some seats at Los Gallos, a place where we could watch some flamenco. I would have never been able to figure that over the phone. Anyway, after lunch, I spent the afternoon with my parents. I think we got lazy (leastways Mom and I) and we indulged in siesta reading again. For dinner, I decided to introduce my parents to 8pm Drinking in the Park Club. They classed it up with apples and crackers and various cheeses, while I brought my traditional Pringles Paprika. Once everyone got there, we all had a lovely time, and all my friends here liked my parents. I got a lot of "They're so cool"s after they left.

After Club, we nabbed a taxi (after standing outside the hotel for a solid 10 minutes) to Los Gallos and got there right in time to get our seats. We all ordered some sangria (it's no longer weird for me to drink with my parents, which is nice). As for the show, there were a bunch of different acts. Several women danced, and they were quite impressive dancers. Two male dancers also performed, and though one was straight crazy with how fast he could move his feet, I still felt the women were better. The guitarists were pretty awesome though. One guy was picking like a fiend, and I just could not understand how he could move his fingers that fast. It was ridiculous! The show went on for about 2 hours or so, maybe a little less, and when the three of us left the building, we all kind of silently agreed that, although very impressive, flamenco was not our favorite form of dance. I'm just content that I saw some so I could actually make that decision.

Friday was our sight-seeing day around Sevilla. We got a nice late start, had coffee and a pastry at the Starbucks on Avenida Constitucion (my parents' choice. Go figure, come to Spain for overpriced mediocre coffee). We started our tour at the Cathedral of Seville, where I tried to remember all the really cool information Nando told us when we went, but I could only recall bits and pieces. And I'm fairly sure some of those bits and pieces were fabricated. But that's just how it is, right? Mom and Dad took lots of pictures of the same things I took lots of pictures of. I got to retell them the story of the courtyard crocodile. Mom enjoyed that particularly, and after we climbed La Giralda (the tower of the cathedral that dominates the city's skyline). They were fairly impressed with the view, as any self-respecting tourist without vertigo would be. Next, I took them through the Parque Santa Maria and to Plaza Espana, which is, I believe, the largest plaza in the city. I mean, it's big, bigger than a football field big (okay, maybe not that big, I don't actually know the dimensions, but when you're standing in it, looking at the central fountain, you feel very tiny). We walked around there for nearly an hour, bought some souvenirs, took a lot of pictures, and then I felt exhausted. Playing tour guide is tiring work. I took them back to their hotel, came back to mi casa for a few hours, and then we all went to dinner. I do believe that night we decided to try Wok, which is this Chinese buffet place that's really good. We all agreed it was a good choice.

Our plans for Saturday entailed grabbing a train to Cordoba for the day. My friend Dino was going to join us, but when she and I were headed over to my parents' hotel, there was a huge storm kicking around Sevilla. Heavy winds and driving rains nearly knocked poor Dino off her feet and I definitely was getting pushed around by the buffeting winds. We decided to call that idea off, and so we all sat down to a continental breakfast in the hotel, with Dino joining us. We probably sat at breakfast, eating and drinking coffee and chatting, for a solid 2 - 2 1/2 hours. It was very relaxing, especially after the very early wake-up call on a Saturday. Dino went home, and Mom Dad and I spent the rest of the day inside safe from the rain, reading and watching Spanish television. Again, I can't remember where we went for dinner that night.

Sunday was supposed to be our second attempt at Cordoba, but this time the trip's demise was due to a mixture of more crappy weather (what the hell? 3! bad days in a row in Sevilla, when we didn't have rain for a solid month! Bad luck for my parents) and the fact that I forgot to set an alarm and got up too late to catch the train. So, with more rain, I spent yet another day in my parents' hotel room, reading and watching television. That is, until Mom and I got sick of watching Spanish TV, and I went and brought my computer over to their room and we watched the Bourne Trilogy for the rest of the afternoon. Just Mom, me, and Dad all curled up on their two pushed-together beds watching my computer screen for the better part of the day. Felt just like home. After the movies, we did a little shopping in Nervion, and they bought me this absolutely killer coat (THANKS!). That night we went to an American-style restaurant near my park called Foster's, American Restaurant since 1891 (or some date like that. I might be dyslexic with those numbers). We were all pleased to find it actually had American food. I got a cheeseburger, Dad got something else, and Mom got a steak. Food wasn't too bad, and I think we were all just a little relieved for some familiar cooking.

Monday was finally the day we got to Cordoba. My parents loved the city even more than I did. We took the early AVE train (that's the high-speed train that runs in Spain) and got there in about 40 minutes. Pretty impressive. I slept the whole way. Once we got to Cordoba, we discovered it was still drizzling, but we decided to walk to the city center anyway. However, finding the city center from the train station was the tricky part at first. We had a map, but upon leaving the station, we couldn't find an applicable street sign for the life of us. So we just walked down this big broad avenue with parks and swing sets and fountains and stuff in the middle until we came to one that looked like it might be on the map. It was, Avenida de la Gran Capitan or something similar. Well, we finally managed to find a street leading towards Centro, so we began to wander downhill. Walked through some nice little plazas, meandered through some alleyways and sideroads, ditched into a small silver store where Mom and Dad bought a Don Quixote, complete with lance, and I picked something up that go undisclosed (it's a surprise!) Anyway, like my previous trip, we checked out the Mezquita, and Mom and Dad were, maybe not equally impressed, but very much so by the mosque/cathedral. I took them on the same tour of the Mezquita that Nando took me, told them some of the same things (again, I forgot most of it) and they enjoyed it immensely. After that, we sat down to some lunch (Dad and I had some traditional tortilla de patata). We poked our head into some more touristy stores with postcards and stuff, I managed to pick up the shotglass from Cordoba that I had neglected the last time, and we made our way down to the old Roman bridge that crosses the Guadalquivir. Dad took some pictures with his supercamera, but we didn't stay long on account of me having had a massive allergic attack earlier that morning so I was feeling pretty wiped. We made our way back to the train station, hopped the 3 o'clock back to Sevilla, and were back by 4. My parents were kind and let me go back to mi casa and take a nap, enjoy the rest of siesta, but we hooked back up around 7 and went to dinner at this place called La Espumosa near my building. Classic Sevillan tapas bar, so of course, none of us understood anything on the menu (I don't frequent tapas bars okay? Not my fault). I ordered something I hoped was ham (hoped right), Mom ordered what ended up being a very mild fish that you couldn't even taste over the breading (she still refused to touch it) and Dad got gambas (shrimp). I enjoyed my little plate well enough, but we sat around and talked for a bit afterward. Since La Espumosa was right near my building, my parents dropped me off there and I went home.

Tuesday, our final full day together, was another schoolday for me. I had to go to class since I had a paper to hand in, so I was in class til 2, and then ran over to their hotel. I can't remember what we did the rest of the day actually...but we all spent it together like a loving family, making fun of each other like usual. We went back to Wok that night for dinner. We were going to go to this ham place my senora recommended but there weren't any seats left, plus Mom was feeling homesick for some familiar food, so Wok we went. After dinner, I escorted them back to their hotel, they gave me some parting gifts (the hotel complimentary stuff mostly, plus some books), and we said our "See you in Decembers".

They left very early Wednesday morning, and all my friends and I were sad to see them ago.

Thanks for coming Mom and Dad. I had a great time, and I miss you. See you in December!

Rainy Days in the Beach Town of Lagos

2008-10-06T05:03:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: Another post advocating the delinquincy of minors and with many alcoholic references. Be advised, not for children or anyone who might yell at me.

Okay, so I realize this post is about a week delayed. I have a tendency for laziness and procrastination. So consider this happening before the "Happy MarcLarance Barcelona" post and then everything will be in order.

So 2 weeks ago now I went with a bunch of friends to the Portuguese beach town of Lagos. Located on the Atlantic in southern Portugal, Lagos is a small cobble-stone street town with a lot of open-air cafes, frequent postcard stands, and its fair share of bars and discotecas. The beach is a beautiful one, small in size but gorgeous, surrounding by cliffs and blossoming with towering rock formations that one could dive from if the tides were in (they were one day...no, I didn't jump).

I came on the afternoon bus from Sevilla with my friends Ryan and Mary Rosser and we arrived in Lagos around 10 or 10:30. Mary Rosser was staying in a different hostel from us, and she had been in Lagos this weekend before so she went on her way immediately after picking up her bag. Ryan and I felt pretty stupid as we had completely forgotten to get an address or directions to our hostel, called the Monkey House, but we were fortunate in that the other 30 Americans on our bus studying in a different program in Sevilla all were staying there as well. What's more, one of the girls in the program is a very good friend of my friend and boss Kelsey! Talk about a small world. Anyway, we chatted with the other group while following them to the hostel. Though they did have written directions, we still had to stop and ask for help a few times, and were finally led there by a kind Australian man who was headed in that direction. After that first time, though, I didn't really need much help around town. It's fairly small, and we were pretty much in the center. The Monkey House, being my first hostel experience (and definitely not in Amsterdam like that gorey movie from a few years back), was very nice. The receptionist was a cute girl from Germany (or thereabouts, her accident was a little difficult to pin down and I never asked) and the hostel itself was fairly nice. Felt like one of those hole-in-the-wall places you're so glad you try that one time and keep going back. Walking up a curving staircase to the second floor and the rooms, I shared mine with Ryan, my friend Rahmin, and two Australian girls. I ended up sleeping in the bottom bunk we came to call The Cave, since regardless of the time of day or lighting situation in the room, almost zero light actually made it to the back corner where I slept. Ryan and I threw our stuff down and decided to go look for the other large group of our friends who had left for Portugal early that morning.

We walked down the street and actually ran into them within 5 minutes. Most of them were returning from dinner or somesuch so they ran back to their hostels (some were with us in the Monkey House, some were in the Lagos Youth Hostel, and some were in the Rising Cock Hostel...do most hostels have fun names?). I convinced Ryan that we should start drinking now while it was still Happy Hour at the bar we were standing in front of called The Jam, where a nice guy named Jim from San Diego gave us some fliers and chatted for a bit. The Jam would become our place for the rest of the weekend. So we go in and order some LI Ice Teas (they were 3,50 Euro a pint!) We went through those fairly quickly as the other members of the group slowly trickled into the bar. Drinking went steadily for another hour or so and JoAnne somehow convinced me to try this shot called The Sucker.

The Sucker: a shot of Sambuca. Light the top of the shot, then slowly lower a glass over it, catching the fumes, until the fire goes out. Remove the glass and cover so as to not allow any vapors to escape. Use a straw to sip the shot, then use the straw to inhale the fumes. Requires 2 people (1 drinker, 1 bartender).

After that, you can imagine I was pretty hyped. We all had a few more drinks before heading out to Joe's Garage, where about 5 or 6 of us danced for about 3 solid hours. There were only 6 of us because everyone else had quit due to sheer exhaustion from their early wake up and a day at the beach. I returned to the Monkey House happily drunk with my friends Sarah Underwood (there are 2 Sarahs on the trip) and Kerry. I would have enjoyed promptly falling asleep, but the Australian girl sleeping in the bunk above me had gotten sick drunk and was moaning and whining pathetically for much of the night, so I had to endure that for about 30 minutes before I managed to sneak away into oblivion (and away from the edge of the bed in case she vomited, which she did but in the bathroom).

I woke up absurdly early the next morning, at least for me, around 8 am and couldn't fall back asleep. I was delighted to discover I did not feel at all hungover, merely groggy from lack of sleep and a long night. I tried to go back to sleep for about an hour unsuccessfully but finally got up and went down to breakfast with Rahmin. He had gotten up before dawn and gone down to the beach to watch the sun rise. After a pleasant (if not particularly filling) breakfast of toast and 1 hardboiled egg, Rahmin and I decided to hit up the beach. It was slightly chilly that morning, and the beach was cool. A storm was coming in so it was hard to convince ourselves to actually get in the water. In the end though, the water felt warmer than the sand or air, and after two or three successful runs in, I managed to convince Rahmin to dive in as well. We only stayed on the beach for an hour or so before heading back, since no one was joining us. We putzed around in the hostel for a bit after that, grabbing showers and changing, waiting for Ryan to get up, etc. Ryan and some of the girls from our group staying in the Monkey House decided to head down to the beach with our recommendation, but Rahmin and I were hungry so we decided to grab burgers at this place called Cafe Odeon (I ended up eating there 3 times in 2 days). The burger wasn't bad but the fries were excellent. After that, Rahmin and I did a little exploring around town, I picked up some souvenirs and a pair of flip-flops (thongs as they are called by some Australians we met the next day). The sun came out, so we decided to head back to the beach with some of our group. I was the only one who really went swimming at all, diving back in as soon as I stripped off my shirt. Dino did join me at one point, but everyone else was chicken (though they did jump off the 45' rock and I didn't...) There were a bunch of funny/interesting pictures taken, and a large portion of the group scaled the rock that jutted out into the water in order to take the plunge. I had more fun clammering up and down the route practicing my climbing techniques, and I didn't jump (are you crazy?! 45' is really high!) We all headed back in once it started raining, and returned to the Monkey House. Now all of us were hungry, and most of us wanted dinner. I was again tempted by Cafe Odeon, some others went to a Thai place they later recommended highly.

That night was another evening of drunken revelry, though it began raining as we were heading out, which added a bit of a dampener, though most of us ignored it easily. Another night begun at The Jam, where by this point I had become quite friendly with both bartenders, Sugar and Jamie, and even had a shot poured for me by the owner (it tasted kinda like cookies). I started off not feeling particularly keen on going out, but after Sugar enticed me to another Sucker I was ready to go. We spent around 2 solid hours at the Jam, drinking, listening to music, chatting, and taking pictures, then a good group of us headed for Joe's Garage again. We danced for a while again, and then I walked a few girls home through the rain. I wasn't quite ready to call it a night, so I grabbed one last beer at The Jam, went back to Joe's and dragged everyone back to The Jam to end the night. The bar closed, but we didn't leave quite yet. Jamie kept playing great songs, so everyone just kept dancing. After about 5 or 6 songs, I finally overcame the urge to keep dancing and we all left, with a last farewell to Sugar and Jamie.

Our last day in Lagos was a bust, with flashflooding and a constant downpour. However, those of us in the Monkey House spent the day chatting with some Australians and watching movies, generally staying out of the rain. We visited Odeon one last time during a lull in the storm for lunch, and then I went to the diner (a real American-style diner) next to our hostel for dinner. Got a large plate of pasta that I housed in less than 10 minutes, followed by a plate of garlic bread and a piece of caramel cake. I called it an early night since I had to be up at 5:45 for my 6:30 bus back to Spain.

Lagos only reinforced my desire to spend part of my life by the sea, and I hope that I'll be able to go back once before I leave Spain. Go back and visit the guys at The Jam one last time. I do so love the beach.

Happy MarcLarance Barcelona

2008-10-06T05:01:00.000-07:00

Okay, so that's supposed to be a clever pun off that new movie Vicky Christina Barcelona, if you didn't get it. Anyway, as I write this, I sit at my terminal in the Barcelona airport waiting for my plane...which takes off in 6 1/2 hours. I felt it was easiest to spend the few hours I would sleep curled up on a terminal bench or something and then I could just get on the plane, pass out to Sevilla, and pass out again once I got home. If it doesn't work out that way, c'est la vie. This weekend was worth a little discomfort that I can afford on a Monday (seriously though, let the rest of the evening work out fine and dandy...)

This weekend was quite excellent, probably one of my favorites so far. I reached Barcelona via a Vueling plane early Friday afternoon, so I was able to meet up with my good friend Marc Larance without any trouble. Marc is studying in Montpelier, France, so meeting up in Barcelona was the easiest place for both of us. He traveled with two program mates, Becca and Kaitlin. They are very nice people, and I do believe I've met Becca before through Big Ben Pruitt and Ted Morgan. Good ol' days in 3rd Floor Cobb. Anyway, that is our group for a fun-filled adventure in an exotic city where no one really speaks the language. Remember, Barcelona is in Catalunya, which, according to some graffiti we took a picture of, is not Spain. Thus, they speak Catalan and not Castellian (though most speak Castillian and a fair amount of English...took some of the challenge out of it, if you ask me).

Our first afternoon was filled with walking and some interesting sights. We went to the Cathedral in Barcelona, which was pretty but not astonishing, though I really do enjoy the Spanish habit of placing patios in the middle of everything...there were even some mohawked geese just playing around in the decorative fountain. From there, we walked around a bit, stumbling onto one of the many large avenues of Barcelona (said "avinguda" in Catalan), where a large glass of sangria was 11,75 Euro...despite being on vacation, we're still poor college students and didn't stop. We ditched into some alleyways and in one, walked through what we believed to be a police roundup. There were two serious vans and a patrol car, several uniformed officers with floppy hats (Marc really wants one for his military hat collection), and they were asking for identification from a group of men sitting on some stairs. We hustled through that part and headed back to the more civilized portion of town. On the way, we came across an open-air concert by some choral group that were using definitely old-school tunes with what I think were Christian lyrics...it was sung in English but I couldn't hear particularly well, though they were fun to listen to for a few minutes. I definitely heard them use Jail House Rock as a tune though. From there, we found a restaurant for some much needed nourishment, where I ordered some chicken and french fries and vegetables. We also ordered a vino rosado (which Marc described as rose, rosee...between white and red, you understand) which was quite tasty. We almost ordered a second bottle in fact. We all enjoyed our dinners and from there made the trek back to our hostel, the Sant Jordi Sants hostel. We were planning on going out, but Marc and the girls had been up since around 5 that morning and I wasn't feeling particularly energetic, so we played some Go Fish across our bunkbeds, talked for a bit, listened to some tunes, and called it an early night.

We woke up the next day around 9:30 I guess (I wanted to sleep more, but they made me get up and get breakfast). We paid our 2 Euro for breakfast materials and Marc and I went to town on our Poor Man's Grilled Cheese -- cheese placed upon toast immediately after being pulled out of the toaster (the toast, not the cheese) and then butter the top of the top slice of the sandwich. Very simple, very tasty. I think we both had 2 or 3, plus some cereal and a few glasses of juice. From breakfast, we decided to explore Barcelona some more, though my Sevillan accent didn't help us much through the day, though I didn't feel like as much of a tourist as the rest. Let's see, we visited some Gaudi monuments, including his old apartment building that looks like a choppy surf frozen in stone, with railing of wrought-iron seaweed. Really neat, and my guidebook said there wasn't a single straight wall in the entire building (are walls and ceilings considered walls in this instance?). Checked out some other building that has some really cool spires and a neat facade, picked up some postcards and decided to continue onto the Sagrada Familia. For those of you unfamiliar with this work, it is (or will be) the main cathedral of Barcelona. It is Gaudi's greatest architectural work and it is only about 50% completed today (started about 200 years ago mind you). Like his apartment building, much of the design is taken from nature, landscapes and animals (and bee's honeycombs...he liked those particularly). The cathedral has 3 main facades: The Nativity, the (insert one I can't remember), and the Passion (though only the Nativity facade is completed as of today). In contrast to his natural designs for the rest of the architecture, his depiction of the Passion is angular and hard in nature, nearly sinister (guidebook's word, though I could understand once I looked upon it myself). The interior was mostly filled with construction materials but the parts we could see were rounded and smooth and all headed upwards toward Heaven, and the Nativity facade is beautiful and natural and elegantly sculpted. Angels overlooked the joyful birth of the Christ child, and the Three Wise Kings brought their gifts, and the shepards looked on in awe. It was absolutely beautiful.

From the Sagrada Familia, Kaitlin really wanted to visit Park Guell, a park filled even more Gaudi designs. I remember it from when my family went to Barcelona a couple of years ago, though we couldn't spend a lot of time there this time because some of us had to return to the hostel by a certain time in order to register for classes for the Spring semester (gotta love having enough hours to register with the seniors (: ). We explored a little through the gardens, watched some street performers and listened to the abundant musicians positioned along various paths. What's more, the excellent view of the city from the terraces was gorgeous, and we took some good pictures. Unfortunately, we couldn't stay long, and we entered the Barcelona metro system to head back to the hostel. I will be honest and say the metro system in Barcelona is a helluva lot better than my few times in the NYC metro system. It's cleaner, more modern, and easy to navigate, even if you can't speak Spanish (all the signs and ticket machines had English portions). I got back in time to register, and we stayed in the hostel for dinner, making ourselves some spaghetti with tomato sauce and garlic bread. We accidentally fell into gender roles, with Becca and Kaitlin making dinner while Marc and I went out and bought some more bread and some beer...no one realized it until after dinner had started. After dinner, Marc, Becca, and I utilized our tickets to a Barcelona/Athletico Madrid futbol match. That's right. Barcelona vs. Madrid (though not Real Madrid, like I had initially thought). Anyway, the match was insane! Within the first 6 minutes, Barcelona went up 3-0 with one great goal, a PK, and another off a quick free kick. Madrid never stood a chance. More goals kept coming (including one from Madrid that was pretty spectacular in its own right) and the night ended 6-1 with Barcelona as the happy victors. It was quite the match to experience, and the highlights were too much fun to watch the next day. After the game, the three of us returned to the hostel to fetch Kaitlin. we were all feeling sleepy again, but we were determined to go out, so on the advice of the hostel receptionist we checked out this place called La Fira where they supposedly had 2 Euro shots. They were, in fact, 4 Euros each, and beers were 5. We all took a shot, and then finished up our drinking for the night with a Heineken. If we were too cheap to drink 11 Euro sangria, why would we spend 30 or 40 Euros on drinks in a bar? Still in La Fira, we brought our drinks to the dance floor for an hour and a half or so, the four of us forming our circle and getting thoroughly confused by the constantly changing music (think you have musical ADD? the DJ didn't let a single song end, and would suddenly change into songs with wildly differing beats). However, there was a fair amount of merengue beats played, so I danced with Becca and Kaitlin and showed off enough to force Marc to show some of his own moves. Reminded me greatly of the dance scene in My Blue Heaven (never seen it? Shame. Wait til I get back to Carolina and we'll rectify that most egregious mistake). We called it a night around 3.

We got up around 10:30 today in order not to miss breakfast, which we got down to the kitchen with about 10 minutes left before they ostensibly denied us their foodstuffs. We didn't really get our acts together until around 1, when we jumped back on the Metro and headed toward the outskirts of Barcelona in order to ascend the "mountain" and visit the cathedral and the comm tower and get an even better view of the city from above. We took a funicular (def: an old-school train that is designed to ascend/descend steep inclines...yes, those are the exact words in the OED). Cost us 2 Euros to take it up, and we decided to save a euro and walk down ourselves. On the summit lies a fairly recently-constructed cathedral, very modernisme (as they say in Catalan), with brightly-colored mosaics and pay-to-ride elevators to reach the basilica (I always thought the Catholic Church had muchisimo dinero?). However, on the interior walls, panels depicting the Passion surrounded the entire church about 10 feet above the ground. I took pictures of most of the panels. After taking some great landscape pictures of Barcelona set against the Mediterranean as well as the Spanish countryside, we headed down into the small carnival that shares the peak with the church...none of us really approved of the contrasting dynamic of modern religion and "ancient" carnival rides. Marc and Kaitlin rode the Ferris wheel for a little while as Becca and I contentedly chomped on some Doritos Tex-Mex (Trademark). We grabbed lunch after that on a cafe on the summit (I had a frankfurter and a plate of fries with a Coke). From there, we decided to descend on foot, which we were told was a 7km hike. Due to a few fortunate shortcuts and a generally rapid pace (we were going downhill thank god) we made it down in less than an hour, and with much less than 7km worth of walking. We went back to the hostel from there, messing around for a few hours, before eating another Italian dinner cooked by the lovely ladies (fusili with garlic bread tonight). Afterward, I packed up my stuff, checked out, and headed for the airport. Just my luck, I miss the last train for the airport by less than 2 minutes (grrrr) so I had to take a cab for 24 Euros to get there (exactly the outcome I didn't want). And now I sit in the airport awaiting my flight in a few hours.

May tomorrow bring me more rest than today.

(This post written on a long night but I didn't have any problems getting home and I was able to get a few hours of real sleep in my own bed. Small miracles eh?)

Weekend Road Warrior

2008-09-23T12:09:00.000-07:00

Alright, so apparently my weekends will be pretty much amazing for most of my semester here, at least if I go by the last two. Anyway, this past weekend was maybe not as fun as the weekend before but it was so much more beautiful that it all equals out.

Friday we left bright and early for Gibraltar, which was about a 4 hour drive maybe? I can't remember exactly. I think I fell asleep through a good portion of the bus ride. Anyway, we arrived at the border of Spain and the United Kingdom (yes, the UK. Gibraltar is controlled by Great Britain). We passed through passport control with the guy in the booth giving nothing more than a glance at our passports...apparently Gibraltar isn't particularly a target for anyone violent, which is good to here. Our group of just over 20 students and our director Wayne (who, it turns out, is actually a pretty chill guy) took a roundabout route to the cable car station for the Rock. No, not Alcatraz. That's a different Rock. This Rock is one of the Pillars of Hercules and the European side of the Straits of Gibraltar. We took the cable car up to the top, getting a fantastic view of the town of Gibraltar, as well as the bay and the Straits. While our cable car was pulling into the summit station, we had the living daylights frightened out of us by two slightly suicidal monkeys who dashed across the spot and up the stairs. I'd like to say only the girls jumped out of their skins, but I'd be lying.

The Rock of Gibraltar provides one of the most unbelievable views I have ever witnessed...and I've been on top of the Alps. Okay, so that was probably better, but this was very different, and I wasn't bundled up. Anyway, playing around the monkeys (they had a lot of signs that said don't play WITH the monkeys as they would bite or steal your food...saw that happen too), and just jumping around the summit of the Rock was pretty cool. There were some ruins apart from the cable car station that were pretty fun to walk and climb around in, providing some damn good shots of both the Atlantic and the Mediterranean. I even climbed up on a 9' wall to take a picture of Gibraltar and the coast of Africa...I think it was Morocco, but I can't be sure. Anyway, that is something that must be seen with one's own eyes to believe...or just look at my pictures once I get back. My little group decided to hike down the Rock for the hell of it and it turned out to be a good choice. Coming around a bend we came upon some old British artillery pieces, though I couldn't tell ya from what era. They looked like big naval guns dug into the hillside, and we took some very fun pictures with them. We also may or may not have scribbled on one of the guns with names and the year and whatnot :P Finding our way off the Rock, we joined up with some classmates in a restaurant called Piccadilly's and I finally had a meal I could truly enjoy: a ham panini and garlic bread. Scrumptious! You can't imagine how much I miss real sandwiches. Sheesh.

We only spent the afternoon in Gibraltar, seeing as how it is only a small town and our hotel was actually several hours away, so we jumped back on the bus (my group was slightly tardy to the meeting place...oops) and headed Northeast to some small pueblo en Malaga. The hotel was pretty baller, and it was just up the street from the beach. So we threw down our stuff in the hotel (and were promptly shocked by our room...it was huge! I didn't think European hotels made them like that, minus suites for presidents and movie stars and whatnot) and prepared to go out for the night. Anyway, that plan turned out to be a bust, so about half of us went down the beach and walked along the edge of the water 'til we came to the jetty marking the end of the beach. I figured it'd be fun to walk to the end of the jetty (mind you, barefoot and in the dark down to the end of an all rock jetty) and I guess my adventurous spirit convinced the people with me to come to. They all made it out without injury and all agreed it was worth it once we all sat down. I felt as nimble as a mountain goat hopping from rock to rock without worry while everyone else was very careful and timid. We called it a night shortly thereafter.

Saturday morning we went to the caves of Nerja which were very beautiful. Made me understand the beauty of Nature versus that of Man, and I may have decided that there was no architecture created by Man that could rival that of Mother Nature. Las cuevas de Nerja (the caves) also contain the largest naturally-formed central column in the world. No kidding, they have a plaque saying it's in the Guinness Book. It was astounding. My pictures couldn't do anything near justice to the immenseness of that column, or to any of the rock formations in the caves really. But alas, c'est la vie. You shoot what you can, and hope it comes out alright (which probably would have happened if I had realized that I could take better pictures by changing the aspect ratio on my camera...but NOOOOoooo I didn't find that out 'til Ronda on Sunday). After the caves, the bus took us into the pueblo of Nerja to the Balcon de Europa. This is an absolutely gorgeous place set on some cliffs overlooking some magnificent beaches and looking over the Mediterranean. I took a lot of pictures there too. Couldn't help myself, so most of the pictures might look a lot alike :) After, we returned to our hotel and most of us hit the ocean again. There was a big grouping of rocks about 200m out from shore so most of us decided to swim out to it. Initially, it was only 4 of us, and we had some difficulty with our first assessment of how to scale the rocks (I bashed my knee and one of the girls had a finger snapped by something...). The second group had much more success, so I got a good deal of exercise swimming back out and climbing up. The rock was very nice actually, and we all got a pretty fun picture from it. Check it out on Facebook. We concluded the evening with some pool time to wash off the sand, then drinking, dinner at a local cafeteria (I had a delectable pizza margharita) and then a few hours of Asshole with a side of more drinking (Be warned: That game can get slightly vicious if played while drinking. I kept becoming the Asshole on dumb rules too...) Some people decided to go out but I was feeling slightly unhappy about the card game so I decided to pass out in my room.

Woke up very well rested Sunday morning, and our group caught the bus to our next destination: Ronda. Now, Ronda is another small pueblo, but one with some very BIG attractions. That's both literal and figurative. In fact, the big attraction is a man-made bridge that spans over a GIGANTIC gorge at least 1000 feet deep. And it's man-made all the way from the bottom, brick by brick all the way up. I have no idea how anyone can figure out how to do that kind of construction when I used to have so much trouble with my Legos. But the fact is it was a marvelous sight to behold. Plus, the absolutely magnificent landscapes shots I was able to take helped a lot. I spent my time in Ronda with my friends Dino and Kathryn, and before descending into the gorge (Dino took a lot of convincing from Kathryn and me) we sat down at a lovely little Churreria (a churro joint). Now, this was my first authentic Spanish churro, and it was delectable! Imagine a funnel cake without the sugar, and now imagine every piece being ripped off dipped in thick amazing hot chocolate. That's what I got to eat. Probably lost a year off my life for every bite I took, but I consider those years well-wasted. After our heavenly churro experience, we had to do a bit of searching to find the gap in the wall (Stardust allusion anyone?) to descend. Fortunately, it didn't take us too long, and we were on our way into the gorge. The winding path was pretty and afforded us some breathtaking views of the landscape, but it wasn't until we were about halfway down that we got some truly wonderful shots of the bridge. Plus, I got to talk to a kind German woman to take a picture for us, so I considered it a successful descent. One of us (probably Dino) checked a watch and realized we had to head back to the bus, so we regretfully turned our backs to the views and climbed back up, though I think there was at least one more picture taken along the way. We picked up some postcards back in town, met up with our group, and headed back to the bus. Of course, our director Wayne didn't know Ronda, so we ended up getting lost and taking a few wrong turns, but we made it to the bus more or less on time, and returned to Sevilla content with a successful and beautiful weekend.

What a Wonderfully Welcome Weekend

2008-09-16T05:27:00.000-07:00

First things first. Damn that was a great weekend!

Okay, now that that's out, here's how it went down. Saturday the whole program went to Cordoba, a very old Spanish city (possibly built by the Romans?) north of Sevilla. After that, some of us went to a Sevilla FC football match (and I mean real football, not the pansy American kind). Finally, on Sunday, a group of us caught a bus to the coast and spent the day in the beachtown of Cadiz.

But what kind of post would this be without details?

Cordoba was an absolutely gorgeous city. Situated closer to the source of the Guadalquivir River that also runs through Sevilla, Cordoba flanks the river with its majestic and predominately Islamic and Judeo architecture (ignoring the modern stuff like cranes and Burger Kings). We first went to an old decomissioned synagogue (do you decomission something like a temple? Or does it just stop getting used?) I doffed my cap, and almost felt awkward walking in without a yamalcha. San Fernando started talking about the history of that particular synagogue (none of which I particularly remember) and then went into the architecture. It's really cool, because there were 15 windows in the upper walls (none in the East Wall, I never did find out why) and 3 of them in the West Wall were closed up. The remaining 12 open windows signify the 12 Tribes of Israel. I really thought that was cool. Took a bunch of pictures that should explain the rest, if I can remember when I post them...

After that, we strolled through some quaint Spanish alleyways, took a quick stop in a small plaza filled with the scent of fresh flowers, and then moved on to the Mezquita (mosque in Spanish). This is the Mezquita mayor (Major Mosque...kinda like how most Italian cities have their own Duomos? Similar deal) and it was serious. Somewhere around 1,000 years old, this place had been added to several times by various Muslim rulers and Christian kings. Now it's practically the size of the Vatican, but I would wager prettier. The Mezquita had been converted from a mosque to a cathedral after the Christians retook Cordoba under the reign of Fernando III, aka San Fernando (no relation to our guide and teacher). I took an absurd amount of pictures while I was there, and there are no words to describe the simple magnificence of that temple. But what the hell, I'll give it a shot. When we entered, directly in front of us was a 20' tall altar with paintings of Jesus and Mary. But that wasn't the impressive bit. Fully entering into the original portion of la Mezquita, you stare out at hundreds of archs, all held aloft by marble columns with different heads. Even the feet of the columns were different, some higher or lower, or with different designs, but every one of the archs was the same. They were beautiful and they ran the length and breadth of the entire building. We continued around that amazing place with its alternating red and grey marble columns, finding the original Islamic decorations either subverted for Christian use or redone. There was relatively little of the original decor, but the ceiling in certain parts was. Let me tell you, apart from a ceiling painted by Michaelangelo, I have never seen anything like it. And it was merely designed and carved and lightly gilded, not painted. Easily the most beautiful ceiling I've ever seen (and I'm talking about a ceiling here, imagine the rest of this place). The Christian portions of the Mezquita were equally as beautiful, though more brazen and pompous in its beauty. Whereas the original Islamic portions had mind-boggling geometric designs, flowing scripts and simple beauty in their choice of marble columns and archs, the Christian additions were carved and sculpted and gilded and ornate to the extreme. The domes were done in pure white marble with carvings everywhere of angels and cherubs etc. There was just too much to take in with the naked eye. Good thing I had my camera.

The craziest part about that place was how it made me feel. Now don't go jumping to conclusions that I had some crazy religious experience...This was something more terretrial, closer to the earth and stone of that place. Brushing a pillar, I'd feel a little shiver go down my back. Holding my hand to one (which, after the first time, I did everytime we paused) my heartrate jacked up, my breath came fast, and I felt like I wasn't quite locked into that Time anymore...like if I concentrated really hard, I'd be able to open my eyes and see the Mezquita as it was 500, 800, 1000 years ago, people and all. I even knelt down to touch the floor and I nearly fell over from that sensation. It was the weirdest thing, and I felt it even as I left, even as I became surrounded with the trappings of modernity again. That overwhelming sense of history...of life, power, hope, dreams, faith, awe...as if every sensation of all the people who have passed through there was somehow gathered and collected between the tall stone arches. It took at least 20 minutes and at least a quarter mile of distance before I felt that feeling subside...and I was both thankful and disappointed when I later returned and sat next to the outer wall.

Anyway, after we left the Mezquita we were given a few hours of free time, to do with what we would. Some of us went exploring, some of us went looking for food (myself included), some went shopping. Most of us generally stayed around the Mezquita for until it was time to find the bus, mainly because Cordoba is a veritable warren of small alleys and sidestreets that anyone inexperienced with the city would quickly lose themselves in. My little group decided to try picking up some souvenirs, I picked up some postcards, Chris got a shotglass, and that was about it. We returned the bus to happily nap on en route home.

Saturday night, although not as majestic, was equally superb. We returned to Sevilla and those of us headed to the Sevilla FC match decided to hold 8pm Drinking Club a little early, in order to prepare for the game. So we drank a little, talked a little, then headed off to dinner. We were initially going to this place called Wok, an all-you-can-eat buffet for 12 euro, but it was closed (false advertising bastards). So we finally ended up at a little Chinese place across the street from our building where the food was cheap but rightfully so. Not the most pleasant Chinese food experience. After that, we retired to the park again before the game for a bit, then headed out into Nervion to the stadium. Got there, I ducked into the Team Shop, bought myself a killer shirt and a scarf for mi hermano to give him when I get back, we all got our tickets and then spent the next 15 minutes searching around the Visitor's Section of the stands for our seats (apparently true Sevillan fans splurge more than 35 euro for seats...though we wouldn't). The game was a victory for Sevilla, though they scared the crap out of us when they went down 2-0 in the first twenty minutes (all because Konko got beat twice on the same lousy move. Pitiful). The final score was 4-3 and we happily marched home victorious.

Sunday morning came very early for some of us, especially after the very long day before. Chris and I got up at 8 and hurried our butts down to the bus station. Fortunately, it's only about a 15 minute walk, so we were in good shape. Loaded up on the bus, and half of us promptly fell asleep again. When we woke, we were in sunny beautiful Cadiz. For your North Carolina people, the Myrtle Beach of Spain (least that's how we figured it...). We got there relatively early, so we managed to snag some decent spots on the beach. What we didn't know was that it was also the one-day-only Aero Festival de Cadiz, their big yearly (I'm guessing) air show. Now I won't say it wasn't impressive (it was, very much so) but most of us just wanted the absurdly loud jets to shut up and go away so we could go back to lounging peacefully on the strand and in the warm water. We spent all day there, filling our hours with some beach futbol, lunch in a local restaurant, or just jamming out to a mini-iPod speaker system. A very relaxing and lovely day was had by all, until we left. We got on the bus, which was quite full, and some people sat down in whatever seats were available and some people began freaking out about not sitting in their assigned seats (all of them women...not to make any judgements, just an observation). Of course, in the end, I was the guy led off the bus without a seat. Then again, I actually had the best end of the deal. I was put on the very next bus which was fairly empty, so I got to stretch out across my seats, and we ended up getting back to Sevilla before the other bus.

Overall, not too bad a weekend for any of us, though some of us had to use siesta yesterday to do some serious catching up on sleep. This coming weekend a group of us are headed to Gibraltar, and I'm very excited about that trip too.

For everyone back home keeping up with this, I miss and love you all. For all my Carolina readers, know that I miss you too, and I keep getting pangs of homesickness for our beautiful campus. Despite the beauty in Spain, there is no place more beautiful than Carolina with my friends.

Bienal Flamenco

2008-09-12T14:13:00.000-07:00

Flamenco. Everyone has heard of flamenco. Well, I had the distinct pleasure to view some on Wednesday night. That evening was the inaugural opening ceremony of Bienal Flamenco, generally a month-long Flamenco festival here in Sevilla. What this means is that nearly every bar with floor space will have, at one point or another, flamenco music playing, and if those there are very lucky, someone will bust out in some spontaneous flamenco dancing. It actually happened during the performance at one point...but I'll get to that.

Anyway, the concert was an open-air event in la Plaza de San Francisco. It was also free and starring Christina Hoyos and some serious big name guitarists, so it was packed to the gills. We got there a half hour early and barely got spots. Some friends were there an hour before us and managed to get seats but they were way off in the wings, so I think I might have had a better vantage point anyway. I was located just right of center with my friends JoAnn and Samantha, though we were quite distant and trying to peer through an ever-shifting crowd is no easy task. All of our calves got very good workouts that night.

So the show started just after 22 horas (10 PM) with a guitar solo by the honored guest guitarist. I never did find out his name, but he had some of the most impressive and certainly fastest picking I've heard performed on a guitar. And mind you, I've listened to Through the Fire and Flames by Dragonforce. After that, an all-female choral group drew the spotlight. And this wasn't just an ordinary choral group. This group only sang in Moorish (definite Robin Hood moment). And the first song, which I was lucky enough to catch on camera though I haven't actually checked the quality of the video, was really cool. I wasn't much impressed with the songs they put on later in the show, but the first one was something else.

But these were not the highlights of the show, leastways not for me. The best parts were the three actualy flamenco dance pieces. I was very disappointed there were only 3, but I hope to increase that with visiting some flamenco bars in the near future. Anyway, the first of the three performances was that of Christina Hoyos. I believe a little background is in order, considering most of my readers probably know about as much about flamenco as I do, which is to say nearly nothing. All of this information was provided to me by a very nice professorial man who could or could not be local, I couldn't actually tell, who spoke nearly unaccented English. Christina Hoyos is 60 years old, and until only a few years ago, was the premier dancer of Sevillana Flamenco. She is famous for her hand movements, which I can say is unbelievable. It was like she didn't have bones in her wrists and they moved so quickly and smoothly. It was hypnotic. Anyway, the woman is retired, and a few years ago had her own battle with breast cancer. And she's still dancing today. Craziness! Her performance was done to a relatively slow beat for flamenco, but it was a haunting and beautiful performance.

The second performer was a definite drama king. The guy came out wearing a leather suit and red shirt/red tie. His performance, however, was sweet. It was a much faster and more violent dance than Sra. Hoyos, and I never realized that Flamenco had a tapping aspect. This guy tapped like Gene Kelly...okay, maybe not exactly like Gene Kelly, but it was still impressive. Plus when he ripped off his jacket and still proceeded to do crazy tap combinations to shouts of "Ole!" from the crowd it was a lot of fun to watch.

The final performer was more of a diva than either Sra. Hoyos or the second guy. Of course, he was very talented, so I guess he's earned it?...Naw. I had stopped by the plaza the day before the performance and watched them setup and rehearse and such and that guy just bitched and complained about lighting. Anyway, his performance was a pleasant mix of the two preceeding his. Generally slower, it had portions that were fast and violent and exciting. Not too bad for the last man on.

Overall, I'd say it was a very exciting introduction to the world of Flamenco. Apparently my senora also dances it, so I'm going to try finding someplace to take some lessons or something. If not, there's a karate place down the street and I'll take up Tai Chi. Those are similar right?

Historical Awesomeness

2008-09-05T10:10:00.000-07:00

OKay, so the last three days have just been chockful of good happenings and fun places. I mentioned that my program would have some excursions. One on Thursday, one Friday, and unfortunately a third one Saturday that was canceled due to rain (seriously! The day of our beach trip it rains in southern Spain. Talk about Murphey's law.)

Alright, so yesterday, our art and culture professor Fernando (adoringly referred to as ´Nando or San Fernando by some of us) took us to Real Alcázar Gardens, which happen to be the personal playground of the Spanish Royal Family. No, seriously, the public gardens are owned by the Royal Family. They kick everyone out if they´re visiting. Well, to start off with, it´s gorgeous. I mean jaw-dropping spectacular gardens. I just wish all of the fountains had been operating and flowers blooming and such, but I guess it is the end of a southern Spanish summer and they don´t have a whole lot of water, even for the royal family. Anyway, with Nando as our guide, we get in a super special secret backdoor. We just walk right under the gigantic wall covered in ivy. The gate had it´s own modern version of a portcullis and everything. So as we walked along, there were some very gigantic and impressive gates and this one cool little arch through the inner wall. Reminded me of a giant royal doggie door. This is all photographed and the pictures will hit the internet at some point in my life. When we finally entered the complex after our lovely but brief stroll through the garden (with it's very own Royal peacock), it was through an absolutely gigantic gateway. Must've been 50 or 60 feet tall. So cool! In the first hall we explored, they had some serious tapestries (I kept thinking Indiana Jones. "This is a castle is it not? It must have tapestries!") and some even cooler decorative tiling. Also, I was fascinated by the beautifully carved doors separating the halls. Probably a much more recent addition though...So in the second hall there was a large tapestry of a map of the Mediterranean and the surrounding lands. What's cool was that it was "upside-down". South was up and North was down, and this is the only map in Europe with such an orientation. What's more, there were trade routes AND winds dilineated in very clear red and black lines throughout the entire map. I think I took probably 10 pictures of the map alone. We thence proceeded into the private chapel, for personal use by the royalty and aristocracy in times of yore. Had it's own small harpsichord/piano/organ thing and a small confessional. I was really really tempted to sit in it but it was roped off :( O well. I probably would've been smoted anyway. So we leave the hall and exit onto a enormous plaza with a big wall running through it. The wall separated the personal portion of the grounds from the portion usually reserved for, well, judges and the seedier elements of society sentenced in las salas de justicia ("rooms of justice"). From there, we went into the "cooling room". It was a medium-sized domed room with a little fountain in the center and benches on the walls, the theory being that listening to water psyches you into thinking you're cooler during the sweltering hours of the day. From there, back to the square. Interesting fact, the four sides of the plaza are actually examples of four different styles of architecture, those being 1, 2, 3, and 4 (you honestly expect me to remember them with all this other cool knowledge?). We proceeded into what was the royal audience chamber, used for discussions and sentencing and diplomatic announcements, what have you. There were some very interesting paintings decorating the walls, including one big one that was basically "historical fiction" in paint. Very cool. We went into another room with some cool flags and an interesting altar thing that I can't remember anything about, but I will once I post the pictures with some captions. Continuing along our tour of Real Alcazar, we entered a portion of the building with distinct Muslim influences in the decor. Grand mozaic tilings covered the floors and walls and the sheer artwork and size was astonishing. Anyway, I'm getting a little bored writing about Real Alcazar considering I've been picking at this post for 3 days now, so I'm going to start talking about the archaeological museum.

Aso, Friday afternoon Nando took my group (Group B that is) to the local archaeological museum, which I believe he said was the second biggest in the country behind the main museum in Madrid. The bottom level was closed for renovations but the first floor was filled with some pretty killer Roman artifacts. The first room had a bunch of salvaged sculptures, generally of snarling lions that looked frightening even frozen as marble. Think Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe except Aslan got frozen midroar. The next room had some very cool tools, like axes and pliers and other metallic objects I can't remember. I liked the axe heads though. They were cool. From there, we were all impressed by some more serious mozaics. These things covered entire walls of the musem. Imagine putting together a puzzle 50' x 30', knowing the general lay out, but where none of the pieces actually click together or resemble anything in particular. There were some really cool geometric patterned ones and also some with faces, including the Roman God of Wine and Spirits, can't remember the fellow's name. But remember, if you're looking at something Roman and there's a guy with grapevines around his head, it's probably this guy. Next came some seriously awesome sculptures. There were gods and emperors and warriors and philosophers, all sculpted to be biologically accurate, or as close to it. There was a sculpture of Mercury (he's the messenger God right? The Roman version of Hermes? I can't keep them straight anymore) that was some pretty sweet stuff. The muscles were flexed and even the Gluteus Maximus was raised on one side as Mercury was moving forward. I just liked his winged ankles. They were neat :) The museum tour ended with one of the first sarcophagi crafted after Christianity became the official religion of the Roman Empire. There were also a lot of really neat Christian "crosses". Before the acceptance of Christianity, worshippers couldn't openly signify Jesus Christ or God or the cross, etc. So the design became a six pointed cross, with the Greek letters alpha and omega flanking the center axis. I never really understood why God was referred to as the Alpha and Omega, but seeing as how they are the Beginning and End of the Greek alphabet, it guess the symbolism makes sense. I also took a picture of a what appeared to be jade baptismal altar, though I don't think it was actually jade, merely green.

Saturday's trip was supposed to be to the ruins of Italica and after to the beach. Unfortunately, on the most anticipated trip of our short stay thus far, wouldn't you know, it had to rain. This part of the country sees rain maybe 30 or 40 times a year, and it had to do it on our day, through most of the day. Grumblegrumblegrumble We managed to walk through the amphitheater at Italica for a while before the rain was too bad and it was impressive architecture. Like the Colisseum in Rome, the Italica amphitheater was the site of gladiator battles; man vs. man, man vs. beast, or beast vs. tasty persecuted Christian. It was several stories tall, with 3 tiers for spectators and a subterranean level for the battle participants. It could seat 25,000 spectators, nearly the entire population of Italica, which was one of the largest Roman cities on the Iberian peninsula. 30,000 people. Those Romans knew what they were about when it came to entertaining the populace. I shudder to think what they would have done had they had television. We were just leaving the amphitheater to inspect the rest of the ruins when the rain really started coming down, so we hid under some trees and then made a mad dash to the souvenir store terrace. I was wearing my rope sandals in preparation for the beach and they are the most uncomfortable and smelly things when they're sodden. They've been drying on my window sill ever since.

Though we didn't get to go to the beach, I went and saw Mamma Mia with some friends. It was, of course, dubbed over, but all the songs were in English. Overall, I liked the film, but Pierce Brosnan really needs to stop singing. I cringed everytime he opened his mouth fearing another attempt at vocal murder. Dramatic ande exaggerated? Not in the slightest.

And thus starts another week, but hopefully one in which a soccer ball and wireless router enter in, so with some luck, it will be interesting. Also, Chris and I have decided to stop frequenting BigNeb's and start exploring some more. It's time to move out of the comfort zone. Andale!

Start of Classes

2008-09-03T09:35:00.000-07:00

Okay, so it´s Wednesday, and technically classes started on Monday, but I needed a few days to get a feel for the vibe. You know how it is. Anyway, I´m in the LSCS program (don´t ask me what the acronym stands for) and that´s the not-quite-so-advanced level. The kids who actually stuck with Spanish when they got to college are in the SAS program.

Anywho, for the next 3 weeks, myself and a few other students, Chris included, will be taking intensive courses in Spanish grammar and composition (bleh!) and art and culture. Seeing as how I despise grammar classes when they are taught in a language I understand, I´m not particularly looking forward to it. Although the professor is actually a rather attractive mujer, she seems almost ditzy to me, plus she just never shuts up. I mean NEVER! A whole hour and a half of blabbityblabbityblah in rapidfire Spanish is just too much for me. It also doesn´t help that my fellow students are taking advantage of their legality to go out nearly as often as they can. I just don´t have the energy, so I had to keep myself awake in class by pinching myself repeatedly today. Apparently, I have a higher pain tolerance than I thought, since it didn´t do a very good job. Fortunately, I only have that grammar class everyday until mid-October. In the meanwhile, I´ll be writing several compositions. I guess that will help me for the 10 page paper on the Inquisition I have to write for the art and culture class.

THAT class I´m actually looking forward to. There are only 3 of us in it: myself, Chris, and another LSCS student named Mary Rosser. That´s what she goes by, so don´t you dare call her plain old Mary or you might end up seeing the business end of brimstone...which takes me off on a mental Shrek moment, but alas, such is it. The professor is a rather large Sevillan named Fernando with a resonant voice. He´s been teaching us silly American exchange students for over a decade, so he speaks slowly and simply. He must speak like wildfire and use absurd language when he´s not with us to make up for it. Anyway, his resonant voice is actually a little difficult to explain at times because, since there are only 3 of us and the room is made of concrete bricks, it echoes. It gets a little aggravating at times, but nothing to bad. The material keeps us (me) focused long enough not to worry. Luckyily, I have that class all semester, and after these first three intense weeks, it drops down to twice a week. I think I might actually be disappointed when that happens.

Once these first 3 weeks are over, we start our other classes. For me, that will include "Spain and Islam", "Spain and the European Union", and another advanced Spanish class. It´s supposed to be more advanced conversation or somesuch so I hope that will actually be useful around town.

Anyway, for these first three weeks, I get done with classes before 2, head home for lunch and siesta, and have the rest of the day to myself. Over the next few days, that also includes some field trips. Tomorrow we´re going to some gardens, Friday the archaeological museum, and Saturday the beach at Itálica. I´m looking forward to Friday and Saturday the most. Should be muy divertido.

More will come after my immediate adventures, and I´m sorry to say that won´t include pictures as I accidentally left the cord that connects my camera to my computer in one of the many boxes on my floor at home. So for now, I will have to try and capture the story in words. I hope I do it justice.

Sevilla: Eyes of a Wanderer

2008-09-01T04:15:00.000-07:00

So yesterday I was feeling kinda restless and decided to do a bit of exploring after siesta (which I'm still in love with). So I left my apartment building and just went. I followed the street next to my building for a while, found some karate places and someplace with a big sign advertising "Ingles" (English) and some very quaint looking shops. I followed that road to the first serious intersection, and for a change of pace, hooked a left. Much to my great wonder and amusement, I was on the road with the futbol stadium! I walked right up to it, took a picture, and walked around with a grin on my face for a bit. It's not as big as some of our football stadiums (at least it didn't look it from the outside) but it was still fairly grand. Chris and I can't wait to attend more than our fair share of Sevilla FC games. We're excited. So anyway, that neighborhood is called Nervion (most of the Spanish words I'm using have accents, but I can't put accents in on my laptop, so just imagine them k? Thanks.) and I wandered around there for about an hour. Aside from the futbol stadium, I also discovered the movie theater. It has 20 screens and covers several floors. To add to the diversion, there's a gigantic staircase to get up to the ticket booth. Maybe they just try and make everyone sleep through the movies so they won't eat or drink anything and get the theater dirty. At the bottom of the steps was a very chic urban clothing shop where half the mannequins were only partially dressed and sporting Minnie Mouse panties or bras and such. But that's Europe, they're not all a bunch of prudes. Which makes most of us Americans uncomfortable, to say the least. Notice I said most of us. I'm immune since I got it at an early age. Nudity and skinny dipping to advertise butter? Not a problem in Germany, regardless of what age eyes are watching. But moving on, I decided to lose myself in some back alleys and such, and very nearly did get lost. Also, while waiting to cross a street, I saw a guy drive by wearing the exact same shirt as me. I couldn't help but laugh. Alas, I ended up coming out on a road I recognized, Avenida de San Francisco. I wasn't ready to go back yet, but my feet were a little sore, so I decided to grab a Sevici bici from a nearby kiosk. By the way, those things are the greatest thing ever! With kiosks all over the city, the only thing you have to worry about is making sure the bici you take off the stand isn't defective in some way (Friday night I pulled out one with the rear tire completely off it's rim and then another with the chain falling off the gears). So I rode in the opposite direction for a while, around where Chris and I did some exploring Friday afternoon. I took my time, just kinda riding in a big loop, and saw some stores, a supermarket or two, so on and so forth. Rather a nice ride, if a little sweaty. Jeans apparently weren't the best idea yesterday. Again, made a big loop and came out at the end of my street, Avenida Ramon y Cajal, and decided to walk the rest of the way. Found some nice little cervezerias that I look forward to visiting. I look forward to exploring more of the city, alone or with my friends. It's a gorgeous city and I recommend it to all travelers. Come visit!

A Night Life

2008-09-01T03:45:00.000-07:00

Disclaimer: This blog post not suitable for those under the age of 16. May contain some sexual references and no longer underage drinking references. If you wish to protect yourself and your children, avert your eyes and continue scrolling down until you pass this post, whenever you think that might be. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

So the last few days have been pretty wild. I'm not one for much drinking and partying and going out and such, but Friday and Saturday nights were hella awesome nonetheless. So Friday night my roommate Chris and I decided to go out with the girls again. It will pretty much always be the girls since there are only 7 guys in our program, but it's a good ratio in my opinion. Anyway, so Friday night I call my friend Monika to find out what the plans are. They're at dinner someplace near el rio so Chris and I decide to go join them and then head to a bar (since we're legal here). Of course, we only got vague directions and figured we could find them anyway. Lo and behold, we were mistaken. As it turns out, Chris ended up forgetting his mobile and his map (which he considers his lifeline) so we had to turn back when we felt too lost to find where the girls were having dinner. It's just as well, because we needed that map eventually. So we rode around on the Sevici bicycles for a bit, trying to find our way, which we did after about an hour or so. So now it's 23:30 (11:30 pm for you Yankees), we're back at our apartment, the girls are at a bar, and we're still none the wiser as to where. So again, we jump on the Sevici bicis (the 'c' is pronounced like a 's' but with a lisp. It's the accent here. Try it.) We get down to the river, drop our bikes off, and cross the bridge. Here, we were directed to proceed down one block, look for a lot of construction, head that way, then turn left down an alleyway. What someone forgot to mention to us (I can't remember who actually gave us the directions...maybe Carly?) was that we were supposed to make an immediate right after the bridge onto calle Betis, which is sorta their party street I guess you could say. Anyway, we strode around Los Remedios (a neighborhood in Sevilla) for a bit, looking for some bar called BigBen that was supposedly near them, completely lost again for a solid 20/25 minutes. We finally get sick of it, call Monika again, and finally get some decent directions. After that, we found the bar without a problem. It was called Fundacion and it was actually a pretty cool place. Unfortunately, Chris and I arrived just a tad too late for the free sangria. Que lastima. Anyway, I buy the first round for me and Chris, we chat, meet some friends of the girls named Toba and David, two locals who have some serious connections. We ended up following them to this discoteca called Buddha. OFF THE HOOK! It was several levels, with a second floor terrace open to the Sevillan skyline and some pretty good beats playing inside. Plus, when we got there, we got a free round of shots. I think it was honey rum and it was delicious! So we danced and hung out there for a few hours. We met some other Americans with a different program based on some school out of the Midwest, and they turned out to be pretty cool. As it turns out, one of the girls was someone I'd met on my flight from Madrid to Sevilla, the flight that was so absurdly delayed. Funny little world. Walked home with two students from my program named Rahmin (a Peruvian with a Persian name. Huh?) and Carly and didn't end up getting in until about 4 in the AM. Overall, I gave the night a 9.

Saturday is another funny story. That morning, the whole program was supposed to meet at the hotel where we stayed the first night for a kind of tour around the city, more of a scavenger hunt kind of event. Well, Chris and I missed it. It seems that I remembered I had an alarm set, just that it was set to only go off on weekdays and not the weekends. Because honestly, who wants to wake up at 9am on a Saturday? Seriously, come on! We didn't actually wake up til 13:30 (subtract 12 to get 1:30) and we both felt a little guilty about that. O well, shit happens. Chris went out exploring a bit and I laid in bed reading for most of the day. At least that night went off without a hitch, and without getting lost. A good portion of the group met at Burger King (seriously, we have a Burger King just down the street, but I've been too afraid to try the food) before heading out. We decided to head to Calle Betis again, which turned out to be a very good idea. We were initially going to this place called Rio Grande, a fancy schmancy riverside club/bar/discoteca thing, but we got there around 12:10 and we were barred entry. No one gets in after 12 or without a flyer. Needless to say, we didn't have a single flyer, let alone 22. So we continued on, looking for someplace inviting. We actually found the bar BigBen (spelled BIGNEB...trying to be cool with the whole backwards letters and such), and saw they had some pretty sweet specials. So the group, all 22 of us, packed in and started drinking. I had some beers and my very first lemon drop (which actually wasn't too bad...maybe I've misjudged tequila). So I had a pretty fair buzz going when we decided to ditch BigNeb and continue on. We walked a little further down the street and went into this discoteca, I never caught the name, and I seriously felt like I'd been teleported to a slightly classier but equally sketchy version of Players in Chapel Hill. At first, I wasn't feeling too comfortable, but when some people started dancing, I really stopped caring. There are some pictures of me on Facebook looking awfully retarded but alas, that's what happens when I dance. So sue me. I danced for a good while again, tried to get some wallflowers in our group to dance too (they wouldn't, though myself and several of the girls tried) and overall had a good time. We abandoned that place and went back to BigNeb's for a last round before calling it a night and then I walked a big group of girls home. I try to be a gentleman. I was informed it earned me brownie points, but really, when can I cash those in? I'm pretty sure I have a pretty fair amount by now, all things considered. I'd like to collect on my prizes, whatever they might be. Brownies are acceptable.

But yes, the night life here is pretty crazy. We went home a little after 3 and everything was still going strong. Apparently Chris is used to this stuff, but I think 3 nights of going out will be the death of me before September is over. I'll have to learn to pace myself. I can do that.

Oh, just so no one gets the wrong idea, I have yet to actually get drunk while I'm here. Buzzed yet, but not drunk. So yea, I'm not going crazy being able to legally drink, no worries.

First Full Day

2008-08-28T13:34:00.000-07:00

Well, the first full day has come and almost gone. I´m still planning on going out for a few drinks with some of my fellow students in celebration of our successful arrival. Least that´s our excuse.

Had my first meals in a Spanish setting. Got a nice early wake up call at the hotel where we were spending the night to walk down for a nice light breakfast. For me, a croissant with strawberry jam and a yogurt. My roommate and I had lunch at our home for the next 4 months. It was pasta and it was very tasty. Our señora is a pretty good cook. Dinner consisted of gazpacho, which I discovered I´m not a big fan of, and some eggs and sausage since neither I nor my roommate really touched the gazpacho. All in all, I don´t think I´ll starve.

Another thing I discovered is that siesta is a necessity. It gets so hot midday that if you´re not inside in the shade with the a/c running, you´d literally melt. Hell, my roommate (named Chris for future reference) and I had to go to an orientation meeting at the university where we´ll be studying around 5 and we still nearly died on route. And I wholeheartedly approve of siesta. It was nice just laying in the room with the lights off not doing anything. Though I think I´ll run out of tv episodes on my iPod before very long. Still nice though.

And last but most importantly, I believe I found my internet source for most of this trip. There is a computer lab at the school but it closes around 8, and honestly, who in the states wants to chat with me around 2 in the afternoon? But I digress...slightly. It´s cheap and close, and open relatively late which is good for my tastes. My roommate and I are still deciding on whether or not we should just share an internet card so we can have it at home. We still need to ask Marisol (our señora).

And with that, my time has expired for this session. Will continue soon.

Grand Arrival

2008-08-27T14:49:00.001-07:00

Well, I made it Sevilla safe and sound. Took a lot longer than expected, but I got here all the same. My flight from Newark to Madrid was smooth, if long. Add to the fact that I experienced a time change and got virtually zero sleep, it felt longer. Fortunately, the entertainment system had some fun movies, so I finally managed to watch Prince Caspian and rewatched Iron Man (though that involved a lot of fast forwarding so I could see it all before descent).

Once I made it to Madrid, I got thoroughly confused. Picked up my bags, went to the area supposedly called "Connections" only to be directed to a different door. I realize now that I should have brushed up on my airport terminology. Might have saved me some time. Anyway, finally get past customs, I'm in the terminal, and my next flight is nowhere to be found. Turn's out, it's in a satellite terminal a good 20 minutes away by bus. Again, finally figured that out after a lot of huffing and puffing around with my luggage.

Once I get to Terminal 4 where Iberia had their check-in, I checked in fine and dandy (though I had to pay a 50 euro fee for my second bag. Could've been worse). The teller was very friendly though, so that it wasn't all bad. After that, I decided to go find my gate and get some munchies, etc. One problem: apparently at Terminal 4 they don't post flight gates until 1 hour beforehand. And Terminal 4 is big. I mean, REALLY big. Takes you a solid half hour to walk from end to end even using those speedy flat escalator thingies. Didn't help me save much energy. So I had a few hours to burn...which involved a bag of potato chips and 2 cans of soda. Which is essentially all I had to eat until I finally got to Sevilla.

Well, that took a lot longer than expected. First, my flight gets pushed back by an hour. No biggie, happens all the time. No worries. I plop down and watch a tv show on my iPod (which died...) Go back to the screen, and now it says my flight's been delayed another hour and half. So now, my flight won't be taking off until a solid 15 minutes after I'm supposed to be at my hotel in Sevilla. Well, I went to the Iberia customer service, they couldn't tell me anything, so I dropped about 10 euros in coins at some internet terminals emailing folks, including my program director hoping she'd get it in time to give me some advice (she didn't), and generally exhausted myself some more. When the plane finally got there, I boarded and promptly passed out.

Now that I'm here though, it's a gorgeous city. I've only seen my hotel and a few streets and back alleys, but I have a feeling I'm going to love it here. It's very picturesque, so I think I'll be bringing my camera everywhere too. Met my roommate for the next few months, and he seems pretty chill. Apparently we'll be living with a single woman who, I'm told, will dote upon us like our grandmother. "Eating alright? Sleeping alright?" etc. I can't complain. We move in tomorrow and then we get to see the school. Should be exciting.

With that, I'm going to pass out. Maybe 3 hours of actual sleep since 9 am yesterday morning (it's now midnight local time) just doesn't do the body good. Fortunately, I've been saving up a lot of sleep the past few weeks, so hopefully I won't be in too bad shape tomorrow.

Pre-Trip Jitters

2008-08-24T18:03:00.001-07:00

Well, this is the beginning of my European adventure blogging. I've got all the necessities, minus a few electronic components for charging my laptop, camera, etc. Haven't started packing exactly, I've just got all my stuff laid out across my brother's bed...with my suitcases right next to it. So essentially I'm procrastinating (how surprising). Don't feel like doing it yet.

I am a little nervous, and from certain sources, I'm going to be missing a good semester at school. So I'll just have to have an amazing time to make up for it. For all those following along at home, I leave Tuesday night at 10 pm, and I'll be in Sevilla, Spain on Wednesday at some time. Not sure exactly when I'll get internet again but that will probably precipitate another blogpost of the god awful long plane ride, food, layover, lost luggage (hopefully not) etc. etc. etc. Anyway, take care everyone! Adios!

Imagine...or Don't

2008-07-05T10:45:00.000-07:00

It has recently plagued my subconcious mind that we have lost something, that we as adults, people, humans, etc. have lost some invaluable piece of ourselves. Once we were the all-powerful all-knowing gods of our domains, never mind the fact that those domains were crafted of sandy mortar and plastic molds. Once we were fearsome air pirates, haunting and hunting the skies for any prey that came to us. Once we were saviors, protecting princesses (or princes?) from a ghastly fate. Once we were young.
It seems to my mind and my eye that we have lost, the majority of us, our ability to imagine, to dream. What happened? As we've grown, have we become more important? More responsible? Or have we become less innocent? Less naive? Has the pain of reality erased the power to find happiness in a new world of the mind's own creation? Or are those who remember that power merely eccentric, or worse, crazy?
It seems that once the world was at our fingertips. We could do anything, BE anything, merely by turning our thoughts in that direction. We did not need expensive electronics and flashing screens to show us something beyond ourselves. We merely had to...adjust our eyes, adjust our thinking. When did we lose this ability?
The world is a dark and terrible place. But it can also be a heaven, if only more people could pierce the shroud of existence and REALLY live. People must learn to recapture the innocence of their childhood, to learn from the children we "try" to teach. We must relearn from them innocence and acceptance, the innocence to seek out the new and the ability to accept the different, the otherworldly, the extraordinary, and the purely unbelievable.
We must to seek out the new with the courage of one who has never been hurt and to grasp beyond reality like one who has never been burned. We must become again like children to realize that there are worlds beyond that which is presented to our fives senses. We must learn to adjust ourselves, our sense and our thinking, to realize that Life truly is what you make of it.

Power of the Mind

2008-06-23T15:24:00.000-07:00

The mind is a wonderous thing. So we're always told. It can do impossible calculations that modern computers would take centuries to get through, control thousands of different processes and still have time to make dinner. I've always heard that the average person only uses 10% of their brain; geniuses like Albert Einstein, only 15%. What I've also heard, and to some degree experienced first hand, is that the mind can overcome the weakness of the body. Now, for everyday examples, this would be like forcing yourself out of bed when your body seeks at least another 30 minutes of sleep (bet that snooze button looks awful tempting there), or maybe forcing up another repetition of weights at the gym when it feels like you can't even lift your arms. Sounds familiar right? But what about that portion of the body that the mind has the greatest difficulty controlling, the region of the heart?

Yes, I know, emotions don't actually come from our hearts. It's already working hard enough as it is with keeping us alive and our bodies well stocked with oxygen. (I point this out merely because I have a very sarcastic sibling who enjoys taking things much too literally.) But the figurative heart of which the great poets speak, that is the harbor of death-defying feats of love, devotion, gratitude...and life-defying atrocities of hate, anger, and jealousy. Can the great and all-powerful mind truly dominate and control the heart? Can the mind govern the uncontrollable?

This Whole Puzzle

2008-06-10T21:26:00.001-07:00

Someone asked me recently if I believed in the notion of soulmates. Oddly enough, I didn't even have to think about it. My immediate response was "No." I went on to use a puzzle analogy, thinking maybe there are some people in this world that we are "meant" to love in some form. By "meant" I don't mean some overarching plan by God or Destiny or Fate or something along those lines; merely that when you meet that person, through some genetic memory or random act, you can't help but fall immediately and helplessly in love with them. My analogy took the form of "You're a puzzle piece. So that means there are several other pieces you connect with. The pieces on the edges and corners probably have fewer options, but nonetheless there is more than just one "supposed to be." Now that I've continued thinking about it, if we consider the whole global humanity as the puzzle, then there really aren't any corners or edges. So theoretically everyone has around the same amount of chances to find that kind of helpless love.

But going back to my earlier analogy. This phrase has recently bothered me. "Supposed to be" most often used in phrases like "if it's supposed to be it will be" or "supposed to be that way" or whatnot. But what does that really mean? Who is supposing that? I guess it's us (people). Or maybe not. Because "supposed to be" presupposes something that has some sort of control over things...Fate? Destiny? Now I personally hold to the belief, mistaken or otherwise, that Fate is a load of bullocks, and that anything that is "supposed to be" only comes around due to hard work on a side's part. Unless we truly are pawns in some superterrestrial equivalent of a chess game, then it is up to us to create "supposed to be." We have the final say in our lives. And I'd rather have a say in something that makes me happy in this life, rather than hope that if I screw up in the next 60 years (cross my fingers) I'll have a "redo."

The Ladder of Good

2008-06-07T19:07:00.000-07:00

I recently began Socrates Cafe by Christopher Phillips, and it has awoken my usual dormant quizzical nature. And for some reason, I have been mulling over the concept of Goodness. What is Goodness? Is there an universal Goodness, as in Good versus Evil, or is it merely a social conception that is constantly redetermined? Perhaps this line of questioning was brought on by a recent event in my life...

I remade my acquaintance with a side of me that I had suppressed, mainly because it was a nuisance and an obstacle. It was the nice guy, the good guy, side of my personality. The essential question that has been...not necessarily plaguing or bothering me...just rattling around pretty incessantly...anyway, the question is this: For Good, who's good is more important? Mine or someone else's? In the past, I have generally told my friends that another's good, as compared to my own, should be considered paramount. The issue this philosophy of course entails is not actually getting what you want, which for some (most/all) people poses a great problem. Including myself. What good (pun intended) does it do me to not allow for my own desires to take any kind of precedence?

I personally believe Goodness is subjective, and after examining this case, I believe the Good does not lie in my favor. This of course prompted the question. Good, Right...these ideas are fickle, constantly changing depending on the situation.

Once Again We Meet

2008-04-04T17:53:00.000-07:00

So life has changed, and all for the better. Spain is in my future, y estoy muy feliz. Ese es lo que he deseado. Und mehr, alles ist endlich richtig mit meiner Freundin. Ich bin sehr sehr glucklich davon.

And the sun rose over the trees,
The mottled leaves turn green again,
The light shone over the crystal lake
Dashed upon the rainbow rocks.
And the flowers turned their faces
Reaching ever upwards.
The golden orb hanging suspended
Shedding its life-giving light
Over all of its domain.
Thus Spring arrives in the world
Once again we meet life
In full blossom, full bloom.

The Ghosts of Christmas

2007-12-24T17:11:00.000-08:00

Christmas is upon us. The eve when the star appeared over a stable to signal the coming of the Son of God is here. It is a time of family, of giving, of reflection, and of love. Granted, most of these coincide. But my question is this. If all of these things make up the spirit of Christmas, does the exclusion of one also exclude the entire spirit? This is what it seems to me, though I am not entirely sure why.

As I've grown, in age, experience, and knowledge, the spirit has left me. Christmas Day almost seems an inconvenience more than a day of giving. Yet I believe it is merely that what I perceive more closely as my family has changed. Of course, my blood relatives, my parents and my brother and sister, are still family. But I have grown apart from them to a much greater degree than I expected I would, and in a much shorter time period. The people I love and spend the majority of my time with are what I believe I need to recapture the spirit of my lost childhood. It has only been a week and a half since I left those same people, and I have missed them from nearly the moment I left.

If only those same people could be a part of my Christmas, I'm sure I would feel the same excitement waking up Christmas morning that I did when I was younger, believing that Santa Claus had left everyone lots of presents. I miss that excitement, and I would do anything to recapture it.

The Nature of my Spirit

2007-12-02T22:07:00.000-08:00

A light rain falls. It wets my hair, though the hood of my sweatshirt supposedly protects it. I walk along a darkened lane between the headstones; never frightening, they now generate a certain friendliness as they signify that I am almost home. The rain falls a little heavier, knocking the autumn leaves to the ground. Brown, orange, red: any number of variances of these colors swirl around me, leaving me feeling vaguely like one of them. Is this an omen of falling...or failing?

Darkness is complete, above and around me. The misty lights of electric torches shine weakly on the many-times crunched leaves beneath my own feet. I see some kind of symbolism in this, though I do not recognize it. But for some reason, an alien thing inside me awakens, though it never sleeps for long. Tears well up in the corners of my eyes, though I mightily try to hold them back. The fresh rain mixes with the salty tears streaming down my cheeks that have no origin or purpose.

Such is the nature of my spirit these days.

That Cold Moon

2007-11-27T21:01:00.000-08:00

I cannot hide
That which is inside
Open gaping maw
Beneath my floating heart.
I leave a second
A minute leaves me
I stand outside Walking away.
The moon shines down Partly obscured,
The man gives a little half-grin.
Shadowing his cold face
Mine own grimaces.

Strangely enough....

2007-11-07T09:52:00.000-08:00

It's a strange thing, very peculiar. I can't quite describe it...there are no words. It is everything and it is nothing. It is understanding and it is jealousy. It's everything I want to be with the things I can't stand.

But no matter. I have no hand in this. It seems fate has decreed that I join the ranks of those victims of its pranks. But is this a prank? Could this actually be truth? If it is a prank, it is the cruelest trick to play. Not that it hasn't been played before or will be played again, but it is cruel nonetheless.

It is the shining star light years away. It is the burning fire in the hearth before me, inside me. Is there naught to be done for this...affliction, if affliction it is? Or is this rather a cure with the worst kinds of side effects? I do not know. This is something new, and yet it is ancient beyond memory. I have known this before, yet it is still alien. I have learned and understood this, but it has transformed into an entirely new mystery. I could never win at Clue, so how can I plan to figure out this challenge?

There is the greatest distance between us, and yet we are only separated by a few feet. We have gapped this distance before, and likely will again. In the meanwhile, am I to suffer needlessly, constantly stressing over the little comment that could mean anything? I guess so. That is the way of this mystery. First, the mystery itself is discovered. Then the fretting over who could possibly be the culprit. I have already solved that one. That was the easy part. The next part is usually the easiest part...capturing the culprit. For me....this is no little task. I have no Scooby-Dooesque plan that could randomly catch the bad guy. I have no SWAT team standing by to blow the doors in and arrest everyone and holding the real evil guy. No, I only have me. Just me, the way I am, what I've done, and what I believe.

Is this a strong enough rope? Is it enough?

Star Poetry

2007-10-24T20:49:00.000-07:00

Above me shining in nightly radiance
Are the stars twinkling, clouded by earthly luminance.
I long for the darkness, crisp and clear,
Where might I but listen for those dear
Evening breaths of this star so near.
Yet worldly strains constrain me
And higher bounds contain thee,
Such that I must strain to glimpse thee
But you doth fain release me.
And so I reach with heart alive
To glance upon and thus contrive
A pardon for weary soul's reprieve.
And thus the nightly lights be set
And thus to shade reason's counterfeit.

Nighttime Musings

2007-10-24T20:47:00.001-07:00

When you say good night
Do I fill your dreams?
Before you slip into your dreams
Do you save one beautiful smile
For the idiotic quip I made?
When you say good night
Do you truly wish me pleasant dreams?
Before you slip into your dreams
Do you gaze at the stars
And remember our night on the ledge?
When you say good night
Do you look forward to seeing me?
Before you slip into your dreams
Do you see me above you,
Loving and defending your sleeping form?
When you say good night,
Before you slip into your dreams,
Do you think of me?
Because I think of you...

What constitutes a lie? (Part 1)

2007-09-18T11:33:00.001-07:00

As I think hard on this topic, I realize that the tile is almost a misnomer. It should rather be "What does NOT constitute a lie?"

The most obvious component of a lie is a falsehood. This could be of commission OR omission. Keeping the truth withheld can often be the most devastating portion of a lie. Though commission requires a fraud of the mind, omission is often a fraud of both mind and heart.
One might ask how the knife that does not leave the sheath can draw blood? This is true. It would not. The lie of omission, however, does not leave the blade covered. Rather, it forces the victim to draw it himself, forces him to drag it across his own flesh and score his own body. In this way, the lie of omission is the most destructive once uncovered.

Lies of commission are probably the most common today. Kids lie to their parents about where they were. Boyfriends lie to their girlfriends about what they did. Friends lie to friends about how they feel. They fabricate information to deceive. Granted, this is the generally accepted definition of a lie. Overall, however, a lie is told to PROTECT! Yes, that's right. A falsehood that can cause pain and suffering is told to defend from such pain and suffering.
Think about it. In high school, you come home after curfew. Your parents are waiting up, preparing to berate you for breaking curfew, readying the gauntlet of questions everyone still living at home has an overwhelming irrational fear of. And what does the kid say? We got caught in traffic. We had a flat tire. We stopped by McDonalds to grab a bite. And though parents more often than not do not believe these excuses (even when they might just happen to be truthful), they allow it to pass. Thus, the lie is excused, and the kid is protected from unfortunate circumstances.
Consider a different example. Two friends, a guy and a girl, have been friends for a long time. They have an excellent relationship, they always have fun together, and they are there for each other in times of need. BUT the guy has always harbored a secret crush on his friend, that perhaps someday they could be more than friends. Yet, when he finally makes his move, she tells him regretfully that they have a special friendship, that she doesn't see him as anything more than a friend. She says she's sorry, but the guy brushes it off. No big deal. Hey, I'm fine. It was just an idle thought. That kind of thing. He waits until he's alone to let the devastating disappointment hit him in the gut, where he can collapse without fear of damaging what he DOES have with her. In this case, the protection was not self-defense, but rather the protection of something the guy felt more important than himself.

In the end, a lie seeks to protect: oneself, one's friends, one's enterprises, etc. Yet lies are frowned upon in society, truth is held up as the standard of virtue, simply because lies, IF uncovered, and that's a very big if in many many cases, can cause untold harm. Even Socrates questioned the derogatory stance humanity takes to lies!

Anyone reading this might think I condone lying. In certain circumstances, I do. Lying to the Nazis about the Jews hiding in your attic, for example (and this just reinforces my protection theory of lies). In my own life, I try to be as honest as possible, just on the off chance that a lie MAY come back to bite me in the ass. But as I recently discovered, in multiple senses of the word, it is not my lies that hurt me the most.