I love Christmas time—it’s just my favorite time of the year. The world really does change at Christmas. Everything is brighter and happier…magical. The last few days have been truly exceptional here in Granada for reasons all having to do with Christmas.
I started getting in the Christmas mode about a month ago which I started listening to Christmas carols. I haven’t stopped since and I still can’t get enough of them. I love the joy and meaning in Christmas carols. There is a Christmas carol to describe every single feeling that I feel and thought that I think during the Christmas season—“There’s No Place Like Home for the Holidays”/”I’ll Be Home for Christmas” for when I think about coming home for Christmas; “Jingle Bell Rock” for when I’m in the decorating mood; “The Christmas Song” for when I want to curl up by the fireplace on Christmas Eve at home; “Jingle Bells”/”We Wish You a Merry Christmas” for when I’m thinking about how adorable my Spanish students are and how they love to sing these two songs; “Let it Snow” for when the weather turns cold and it does actually snow; “Simply Having a Wonderful Christmas Time” for when I want to reminisce about the year Katie and I started listening to Christmas music the day after Halloween senior year of college; “Have yourself a Merry Little Christmas” when I’m remembering all of those who can’t be with us on Christmas; and “It’s the Most Wonderful Time of the Year” when I think about how magical Christmas really is.
Monday, though, is when I truly started to feel the joy of Christmas. Simply put in the words of Adrian, one of my 4 year olds, Monday “was the best day ever!” Well Adri, I am in complete and total agreement—it definitely was one of the best days ever. Now, I know what you’re all thinking—“Kelly says every day is the ‘best day ever’, just like every city she visits is her ‘favorite city ever’!” Yesterday was special though, because I received one of the greatest presents I could ask for—snow. I really do love snow! Maybe this is because I’ve lived in California (i.e. without snow) my entire life, or maybe it’s because I associate snow with Christmas despite the fact that I’ve never actually seen it snow on Christmas. I can’t explain why I love snow so much, but when it snows, I feel like I’m witnessing a beautiful and miraculous moment.
I was in the middle of explaining the tradition of leaving milk and cookies for Santa to my 3rd graders when it started to snow and (I know this is cliché, but it’s true!) I lit up like a kid in a candy store. All weekend long I had been a little sad about missing the snow at St. Mary’s last weekend and hoping and praying that it would snow here, not really believing it would. (I guess this is God’s way of saying, “Don’t doubt my ability to answer your prayers!”). I couldn’t believe it was snowing! I ran downstairs to grab my camera and went outside in the 2°C weather. I spent the next hour in the snow enjoying my “present,” taking pictures, making a mini snowman, and just smiling, absolutely in awe of what I was seeing.
Monday was also one of those inspiring teaching days when your students remind you of why you became a teacher in the first place. We have been doing Christmas activities all week at school and my students are having so much fun! I started Monday in my 3rd grade science class and we spent the class talking about American Christmas traditions and looking at some of my Christmas pictures from years past. Then I went to my 5 year old classroom and taught them “Jingle Bells.” Then I spent some time with my 5th graders and I taught them how to make paper snowflakes. They were extremely creative—snowflake earrings and snowflake Santa beards, were just two of the many ideas my students had! My first graders were learning a rap about winter clothes and we made up a hilarious dance to go with the song. My favorite Christmas project, though, was making stockings with my 2nd graders. I asked the students to bring the necessary materials (red and white felt, and cotton balls and sequence for decorating) and even my normally unenthusiastic German student brought everything! I’ve never seen my students so excited—they had tons of fun making and decorating their stockings!
After school on Monday was the lighting ceremony of all of the Christmas lights and decorations throughout the city. Granada is so festive at Christmas time—it makes me feel like I’m at home. When I show people pictures of my house at Christmas time to my Spanish friends and colleagues, they can’t believe how much we decorate our house of Christmas, especially since more people don’t decorate at all for Christmas here. I realize that not everyone decorates as much as we do for Christmas, but I love that we (well, this year my mom, dad, and Jeff) decorate as much as we do. It’s tradition, and I’m always proud and excited to show people our house at Christmas time. Granada feels like this to me. There are Christmas lights and decorations on almost every street in Granada and there are amazing and elaborate “Belenes” (Nativity scenes) in every major plaza. Everytime I walk outside, it just feels Christmassy.
I will be leaving Granada Christmas and heading home for California Christmas in less than 72 hours. Last night, Cerena and I made Christmas cookies (without measuring cups!), and homemade frosting. Then we went out for what were likely our last tapas this year. Tonight, Cerena’s roommates’ are having a Christmas party—the last Spanish Christmas hurrah before we all part our separate ways for the holidays. It’s a potluck, which in Spanish is called, “Fiesta de traje” (‘traje’ in Spanish means ‘I brought,’ and they call it this because when everyone arrives, they all say the same thing: ‘Traje…’ y ‘Traje…’). I’m excited for tonight, but not quite prepared to leave Granada yet, even if it is only for a week and a half. I will be packing all day tomorrow, the I am heading to Madrid on Sunday. I leave for the airport Monday morning!
More updates to come from my adventures in Rome, Madrid (2 months ago!), my weekend in the Sierra Nevada, and my weekend in a country house celebrating a Spanish friend’s 30th birthday! Happy holidays everyone—I hope you are all enjoying the Christmas season!
11.28.2009
Thanksgiving Adventures in Spain
Well, Thanksgiving dinner was a success! The pies were cooked all the way through, the mashed potatoes and sweet potatoes were creamy and sweet, the stuffing tasted like real stuffing, and the turkey looked and tasted like Thanksgiving turkey. Now, this may not seem like much, as I’m sure that all of you had similar food this weekend that was as good (and probably better) than our Thanksgiving dinner here in Spain. But for three “guiris” who had never made Thanksgiving dinner before, last night’s day after Thanksgiving dinner was nothing short of a miracle. Let me explain.
This weekend, just like every other year, my entire family went to Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving Day at Grandma’s, cut down the Christmas tree on Friday morning, had Thanksgiving dinner (again) at the other Grandparent’s Friday night, and are probably decorating the house and the tree for Christmas as I write this. Most of my friends are home in San Jose with their families, visiting each other, and celebrating the weekend full of family traditions. The last time I missed Thanksgiving was 3 years ago when I was studying in Madrid. I don’t really get homesick, but every once in a while I get “people sick,” if there is such a thing. Thanksgiving weekend is my favorite weekend of the year, and this year, just as three years ago, I missed my family more than usual. As much as I missed my family this weekend, every other day in Spain thus far has been incredible, special and unforgettable, as was this weekend. Instead of spending the weekend thinking about not being home for Thanksgiving, I had my own version of Thanksgiving here in Spain.
For Thanksgiving (or rather, they day after Thanksgiving), two of my good American friends, Cerena and Suzanne, and I put on a huge Thanksgiving dinner for all of our Spanish “familia.” We sent out a tuenti (like Facebook, but in Spain) and e-mail invite to all of our Spanish friends and roommates a few weeks ago inviting everyone for a day-after Thanksgiving feast that would start on Friday night at 10:00pm at Suzanne’s house. I’m always excited about Thanksgiving weekend, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about the actual Thanksgiving dinner in my life. Granted none of us had ever cooked a turkey (or any other part) of Thanksgiving dinner before last night, we were ecstatic to cook for and celebrate the holiday with our Spanish friends. As for the many challenges and adventures involved in cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 17 people in Spain, well, that’s what made Thanksgiving dinner 2009 so memorable.
We started cooking everything yesterday around noon, but the preparation started much earlier. Thursday evening, Suzanne, Cerena and I went shopping for all (almost) of the necessary Thanksgiving ingredients minus the turkey and the fruits/veggies. We went to Mercadona to get the food and to the Chinese store to buy a turkey pan and a casserole for the stuffing. I came home that night, cooked dinner, skyped with my family, and then made chocolate chip cookie dough at midnight while listening to Christmas music. It was just like baking at home around the holidays (except for the fact that I mixed the dough with a spoon instead of a hand mixer, and the fact that the brown sugar isn’t packed and that there is no real baking soda). I woke up Friday morning, baked the cookies, and then went out to buy all of the fruits and vegetables from Paco. I bought celery (rare here), apples for the pies, and various fruits (normal fruit, like bananas, oranges, and plums, and Spanish fruit, like Sharoni and Chirimoya). I went to Suzanne’s around noon with two bags full of food and a cutting board, mixing bowl, and good chopping knives.
We started with the desserts, because according to my mom and the New York Times Thanksgiving “Timing is Everything” article, it’s best to get the desserts out of the way. We made two apple pies from scratch without using shortening in the crust. Suzanne and Cerena did most of the work on the pies while I ran out to buy fresh oregano, thyme, sage, and rosemary for the turkey at a medicinal herbs mercado. When I came back, the dough was chilling in the freezer, the apples were sliced, and we were ready to prepare the turkey. Oh the turkey. Let me start by saying that whole turkeys in Spain are hard to find, and that four days ago, we didn’t even know where to find one. Let me also say that when you buy a “whole” turkey in Spain, you get the whole turkey—head, wings, and feathers included. Needless to say, Cerena found a very expensive turkey at a carnicería by her house and it was indeed the whole turkey. It was heavy (9.6kg=21 pounds) and barely fit in the sink.
I had the turkey recipe/instructions, so I volunteered to prepare the turkey. Never again will I ever volunteer for this job. It was disgusting! I felt like I was back in high school biology class dissecting strange animals. I had no idea that the head was still attached the turkey until we took it out of the bag. I said that I would clean the turkey out, but I did not sign up for cutting a turkeys head off! None of us “guiris” had the guts to do it, so Suzanne’s roommate Inma did it for us, which apparently didn’t gross her out at all. She came into the kitchen, took the knife, and sawed the head off at the bottom of the neck.
Then it was time for cleaning the cavities out. I had no idea which cavity was which, or even what a “cavity” was, or what exactly was supposed to be coming out of the turkey. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I closed my eyes, stuck my hand in where Inma cut the head off and started pulling out a whole bunch of squishy stuff that I’m sure were organs, but was too afraid to look. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve even done in my life, and I hope that I never have to do it again. After pulling out everything of both cavities that I thought was supposed to come out (I didn’t know if I was pulling out meat or insides!), I put a chopped onion mixed with fresh herbs in one cavity and an apple in the other. There were still some issues with the turkey, though, like parts of the Spanish turkey that are definitely not part of American Thanksgiving turkeys, like feathers. Why were there feathers still on the turkey?! We looked up online what to do if there were still feathers on the turkey, and everything said that we needed to blowtorch the feathers off the turkey before putting it in the oven, but we didn’t have one, so we just left them on (they were small). The esophagus was also still attached (we think), and everything online said that this part of the turkey, even though it would be difficult to detach, shouldn’t be there. But I couldn’t cut through the bone, so we also left that attached. I rubbed down the turkey with olive oil, sprinkled herbs, salt and pepper everywhere, stuck the turkey neck in a pot of boiling water with onions and garlic on the stove, and then washed my hands for about 10 minutes. We put the turkey in Fernando’s (Suzanne’s neighbor) oven an hour later than planned and were sure it was going to not taste like turkey or catch on fire like in “The Santa Clause.”
We then started making everything else. Cerena and Suzanne worked on rolling the pie crusts and filling while I started preparing the stuffing ingredients. We pretty much took over the kitchen at noon, so Inma went to Fernando’s to make lunch around 4:00 and made lunch for us also. She is so sweet! We took a 20 minute lunch break and then went back to cooking. I baked the stale bread while I sautéed the onions, mushrooms, celery, parsley, and herbs for the stuffing. We then starting peeling potatoes—7 pounds of potatoes to be exact with no potato peeler. We made a quick trip to the store to get more butter, flour, sugar, and some vanilla ice cream while we waited for things to cook. We checked on the turkey at the 3 hours mark and were a little worried about the color—it was still white and people were coming in 2 and a half hours! We rubbed some more oil on it just because, put it back in the oven, and turned up the temperature. At least the turkey smelled good! We came back, cleaned up a little, made the stuffing, mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and then tried to prepare ourselves for the busiest part involved in making Thanksgiving dinner—the last hour.
It was insane. We needed to bake the stuffing, mash the enormous amount of mash potatoes by hand, figure out when the turkey was done, make the gravy, carve the turkey, and welcome all 17 people to our Thanksgiving party all at the same time. We got dressed into our “pretty” clothes and started the “last hour” Thanksgiving dinner process by baking the stuffing and making the mashed potatoes. While Suzanne mashed the mashed potatoes, Cerena and I were running back and forth between Suzanne’s and Fernando’s trying to figure out if the turkey was actually done. We had taken off the foil about 40 minutes earlier so it would cook faster, and checked it around 9:45 or so. It looked done, but how were we supposed to know?? It smelled like Thanksgiving at home, but I didn’t know what it was supposed to look like! Like my Dad told me to do, I stuck a long kebab stick through the middle of the turkey to see if the liquid that came out was clear, but no liquid came out. What did that mean?! I called my Dad while 5 Spaniards watched me freak out over the turkey being done or not. None of them knew how to tell either though. All I knew was that the gravy depended on the drippings from the turkey, and that if the turkey wasn’t cooked enough or was over cooked, there would be no gravy, and that Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really Thanksgiving dinner without turkey and gravy! Apparently the turkey was absolutely done according to my dad, so we pulled it out of the oven and transferred it to the cutting boards.
Then I brought the turkey pan from Fernando’s to Suzanne’s and made the gravy with my mom’s directions in hand. I skimmed the fat off of the top (I think!), scraped the burnt stuff out of the bottom of the pan, and mixed around the liquid while Cerena sprinkled bits of flour into the pan. When it was a good consistency, we put it into the liquid the turkey neck had been boiling in all day after taking out the neck, added some more flour and stirred for about 20 minutes. While Suzanne stirred the gravy, Cerena and I went to go carve the turkey. This has always been my Dad’s job on Thanksgiving. I usually stand next to him to snack on pieces of my favorite part of the turkey (the dark meat) before the turkey gets to the table, but I never actually pay attention to how he carved the turkey. We started with the legs and I was SO happy when we pulled apart the legs that the meat looked both cooked and moist. Like a said, a miracle. We carved the whole turkey in no particular order and with no elegance whatsoever. We mostly used our hands because it was slippery and too hard to use dull knives. Everyone arrived while we carved the turkey and Suzanne was taking plates of turkey to the table while we finished carving because people were starving! I guess that was our fault—we were running about 45 minutes late.
When we finished carving the turkey, all of the other food was on the table and people were sitting down and ready to eat. When Suzanne, Cerena and I were done making sure everyone had everything they needed, we walked into the living room full of our Spanish friends applauding us for all of the food we had cooked. We said a quick “blessing,” which included Tercio and Paco giving thanks for food, for beer and the actual holiday of Thanksgiving without which we would not have made all of this food and have this dinner. We spent the next 4 hours eating and talking and having one of the best if not the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. I don’t like to boast, but I am extremely proud to say that all of the food tasted amazing and just as good as Thanksgiving dinner in the U.S. I am also happy to report that everyone, even Alberto—the pickiest eater of our Spanish friends—loved the food.
I still cannot believe that we made Thanksgiving dinner for 17 people in Spain, and it was “¡buenísimo! There were a lot of things that could have been disastrous, like the turkey, or the fact that we were running way behind schedule, or that the oven we were using to cook everything but the turkey didn’t have any numbers on the dial so we never knew what temperature the oven was, or that all of the measurements from our recipes were in cups, teaspoons and pound (not liters, “cucharaditas,” and kilos), or that fact that we had to light the stove and the oven ever time we used it but ran out of matches, or that the we only had a total of 3 pots, 2 frying pans, and one casserole to cook with and a tiny kitchen to cook in.
Luckily and thankfully, we have the best families ever in the U.S. and the best friends ever in Spain. My mom patiently skyped with me for hours before yesterday explaining each recipe to me in detail, and whenever we had a question or didn’t know what we were doing while cooking yesterday, all I had to do was call my mom or dad and they had a solution. Years of watching Grandma and Mom cook Thanksgiving dinner also prepared me for last night. It’s a good thing Thanksgiving is such an important and coveted tradition in the U.S.!
Our Spanish friends were also amazing and so supportive throughout the day. Originally we thought we were going to have downtime while we were waiting for things to cook so we could eat lunch and rest a little, but we were cooking non-stop for 10 ½ hours. Inma, Alberto (Suzanne’s roommates), Fernando and David kept checking in on us to see how we were doing, making us lunch, offering to make trips to the store if we needed anything or forgot anything, and saying encouraging things like “¡Ánimo!” when we had to do things that we had no idea how to do, like clean the turkey. And Fernando saved us by letting us use his oven to cook the turkey in, because we definitely needed the extra oven space and an oven where we could set the temperature we needed!
All in all, Thanksgiving dinner was fantastic, and I have more to be thankful this year than ever. Of course I missed my family this weekend, but I could not have been happier yesterday cooking Thanksgiving dinner for our friends, listening to Christmas music, spending a night with so many great people, and doing all of this in Spain—a place that will always be a “home” for me.
This weekend, just like every other year, my entire family went to Thanksgiving dinner on Thanksgiving Day at Grandma’s, cut down the Christmas tree on Friday morning, had Thanksgiving dinner (again) at the other Grandparent’s Friday night, and are probably decorating the house and the tree for Christmas as I write this. Most of my friends are home in San Jose with their families, visiting each other, and celebrating the weekend full of family traditions. The last time I missed Thanksgiving was 3 years ago when I was studying in Madrid. I don’t really get homesick, but every once in a while I get “people sick,” if there is such a thing. Thanksgiving weekend is my favorite weekend of the year, and this year, just as three years ago, I missed my family more than usual. As much as I missed my family this weekend, every other day in Spain thus far has been incredible, special and unforgettable, as was this weekend. Instead of spending the weekend thinking about not being home for Thanksgiving, I had my own version of Thanksgiving here in Spain.
For Thanksgiving (or rather, they day after Thanksgiving), two of my good American friends, Cerena and Suzanne, and I put on a huge Thanksgiving dinner for all of our Spanish “familia.” We sent out a tuenti (like Facebook, but in Spain) and e-mail invite to all of our Spanish friends and roommates a few weeks ago inviting everyone for a day-after Thanksgiving feast that would start on Friday night at 10:00pm at Suzanne’s house. I’m always excited about Thanksgiving weekend, but I don’t think I’ve ever been so excited about the actual Thanksgiving dinner in my life. Granted none of us had ever cooked a turkey (or any other part) of Thanksgiving dinner before last night, we were ecstatic to cook for and celebrate the holiday with our Spanish friends. As for the many challenges and adventures involved in cooking Thanksgiving dinner for 17 people in Spain, well, that’s what made Thanksgiving dinner 2009 so memorable.
We started cooking everything yesterday around noon, but the preparation started much earlier. Thursday evening, Suzanne, Cerena and I went shopping for all (almost) of the necessary Thanksgiving ingredients minus the turkey and the fruits/veggies. We went to Mercadona to get the food and to the Chinese store to buy a turkey pan and a casserole for the stuffing. I came home that night, cooked dinner, skyped with my family, and then made chocolate chip cookie dough at midnight while listening to Christmas music. It was just like baking at home around the holidays (except for the fact that I mixed the dough with a spoon instead of a hand mixer, and the fact that the brown sugar isn’t packed and that there is no real baking soda). I woke up Friday morning, baked the cookies, and then went out to buy all of the fruits and vegetables from Paco. I bought celery (rare here), apples for the pies, and various fruits (normal fruit, like bananas, oranges, and plums, and Spanish fruit, like Sharoni and Chirimoya). I went to Suzanne’s around noon with two bags full of food and a cutting board, mixing bowl, and good chopping knives.
We started with the desserts, because according to my mom and the New York Times Thanksgiving “Timing is Everything” article, it’s best to get the desserts out of the way. We made two apple pies from scratch without using shortening in the crust. Suzanne and Cerena did most of the work on the pies while I ran out to buy fresh oregano, thyme, sage, and rosemary for the turkey at a medicinal herbs mercado. When I came back, the dough was chilling in the freezer, the apples were sliced, and we were ready to prepare the turkey. Oh the turkey. Let me start by saying that whole turkeys in Spain are hard to find, and that four days ago, we didn’t even know where to find one. Let me also say that when you buy a “whole” turkey in Spain, you get the whole turkey—head, wings, and feathers included. Needless to say, Cerena found a very expensive turkey at a carnicería by her house and it was indeed the whole turkey. It was heavy (9.6kg=21 pounds) and barely fit in the sink.
I had the turkey recipe/instructions, so I volunteered to prepare the turkey. Never again will I ever volunteer for this job. It was disgusting! I felt like I was back in high school biology class dissecting strange animals. I had no idea that the head was still attached the turkey until we took it out of the bag. I said that I would clean the turkey out, but I did not sign up for cutting a turkeys head off! None of us “guiris” had the guts to do it, so Suzanne’s roommate Inma did it for us, which apparently didn’t gross her out at all. She came into the kitchen, took the knife, and sawed the head off at the bottom of the neck.
Then it was time for cleaning the cavities out. I had no idea which cavity was which, or even what a “cavity” was, or what exactly was supposed to be coming out of the turkey. I didn’t know what I was doing, but I closed my eyes, stuck my hand in where Inma cut the head off and started pulling out a whole bunch of squishy stuff that I’m sure were organs, but was too afraid to look. It was the most disgusting thing I’ve even done in my life, and I hope that I never have to do it again. After pulling out everything of both cavities that I thought was supposed to come out (I didn’t know if I was pulling out meat or insides!), I put a chopped onion mixed with fresh herbs in one cavity and an apple in the other. There were still some issues with the turkey, though, like parts of the Spanish turkey that are definitely not part of American Thanksgiving turkeys, like feathers. Why were there feathers still on the turkey?! We looked up online what to do if there were still feathers on the turkey, and everything said that we needed to blowtorch the feathers off the turkey before putting it in the oven, but we didn’t have one, so we just left them on (they were small). The esophagus was also still attached (we think), and everything online said that this part of the turkey, even though it would be difficult to detach, shouldn’t be there. But I couldn’t cut through the bone, so we also left that attached. I rubbed down the turkey with olive oil, sprinkled herbs, salt and pepper everywhere, stuck the turkey neck in a pot of boiling water with onions and garlic on the stove, and then washed my hands for about 10 minutes. We put the turkey in Fernando’s (Suzanne’s neighbor) oven an hour later than planned and were sure it was going to not taste like turkey or catch on fire like in “The Santa Clause.”
We then started making everything else. Cerena and Suzanne worked on rolling the pie crusts and filling while I started preparing the stuffing ingredients. We pretty much took over the kitchen at noon, so Inma went to Fernando’s to make lunch around 4:00 and made lunch for us also. She is so sweet! We took a 20 minute lunch break and then went back to cooking. I baked the stale bread while I sautéed the onions, mushrooms, celery, parsley, and herbs for the stuffing. We then starting peeling potatoes—7 pounds of potatoes to be exact with no potato peeler. We made a quick trip to the store to get more butter, flour, sugar, and some vanilla ice cream while we waited for things to cook. We checked on the turkey at the 3 hours mark and were a little worried about the color—it was still white and people were coming in 2 and a half hours! We rubbed some more oil on it just because, put it back in the oven, and turned up the temperature. At least the turkey smelled good! We came back, cleaned up a little, made the stuffing, mashed potatoes, and sweet potatoes, and then tried to prepare ourselves for the busiest part involved in making Thanksgiving dinner—the last hour.
It was insane. We needed to bake the stuffing, mash the enormous amount of mash potatoes by hand, figure out when the turkey was done, make the gravy, carve the turkey, and welcome all 17 people to our Thanksgiving party all at the same time. We got dressed into our “pretty” clothes and started the “last hour” Thanksgiving dinner process by baking the stuffing and making the mashed potatoes. While Suzanne mashed the mashed potatoes, Cerena and I were running back and forth between Suzanne’s and Fernando’s trying to figure out if the turkey was actually done. We had taken off the foil about 40 minutes earlier so it would cook faster, and checked it around 9:45 or so. It looked done, but how were we supposed to know?? It smelled like Thanksgiving at home, but I didn’t know what it was supposed to look like! Like my Dad told me to do, I stuck a long kebab stick through the middle of the turkey to see if the liquid that came out was clear, but no liquid came out. What did that mean?! I called my Dad while 5 Spaniards watched me freak out over the turkey being done or not. None of them knew how to tell either though. All I knew was that the gravy depended on the drippings from the turkey, and that if the turkey wasn’t cooked enough or was over cooked, there would be no gravy, and that Thanksgiving dinner isn’t really Thanksgiving dinner without turkey and gravy! Apparently the turkey was absolutely done according to my dad, so we pulled it out of the oven and transferred it to the cutting boards.
Then I brought the turkey pan from Fernando’s to Suzanne’s and made the gravy with my mom’s directions in hand. I skimmed the fat off of the top (I think!), scraped the burnt stuff out of the bottom of the pan, and mixed around the liquid while Cerena sprinkled bits of flour into the pan. When it was a good consistency, we put it into the liquid the turkey neck had been boiling in all day after taking out the neck, added some more flour and stirred for about 20 minutes. While Suzanne stirred the gravy, Cerena and I went to go carve the turkey. This has always been my Dad’s job on Thanksgiving. I usually stand next to him to snack on pieces of my favorite part of the turkey (the dark meat) before the turkey gets to the table, but I never actually pay attention to how he carved the turkey. We started with the legs and I was SO happy when we pulled apart the legs that the meat looked both cooked and moist. Like a said, a miracle. We carved the whole turkey in no particular order and with no elegance whatsoever. We mostly used our hands because it was slippery and too hard to use dull knives. Everyone arrived while we carved the turkey and Suzanne was taking plates of turkey to the table while we finished carving because people were starving! I guess that was our fault—we were running about 45 minutes late.
When we finished carving the turkey, all of the other food was on the table and people were sitting down and ready to eat. When Suzanne, Cerena and I were done making sure everyone had everything they needed, we walked into the living room full of our Spanish friends applauding us for all of the food we had cooked. We said a quick “blessing,” which included Tercio and Paco giving thanks for food, for beer and the actual holiday of Thanksgiving without which we would not have made all of this food and have this dinner. We spent the next 4 hours eating and talking and having one of the best if not the best Thanksgiving dinner ever. I don’t like to boast, but I am extremely proud to say that all of the food tasted amazing and just as good as Thanksgiving dinner in the U.S. I am also happy to report that everyone, even Alberto—the pickiest eater of our Spanish friends—loved the food.
I still cannot believe that we made Thanksgiving dinner for 17 people in Spain, and it was “¡buenísimo! There were a lot of things that could have been disastrous, like the turkey, or the fact that we were running way behind schedule, or that the oven we were using to cook everything but the turkey didn’t have any numbers on the dial so we never knew what temperature the oven was, or that all of the measurements from our recipes were in cups, teaspoons and pound (not liters, “cucharaditas,” and kilos), or that fact that we had to light the stove and the oven ever time we used it but ran out of matches, or that the we only had a total of 3 pots, 2 frying pans, and one casserole to cook with and a tiny kitchen to cook in.
Luckily and thankfully, we have the best families ever in the U.S. and the best friends ever in Spain. My mom patiently skyped with me for hours before yesterday explaining each recipe to me in detail, and whenever we had a question or didn’t know what we were doing while cooking yesterday, all I had to do was call my mom or dad and they had a solution. Years of watching Grandma and Mom cook Thanksgiving dinner also prepared me for last night. It’s a good thing Thanksgiving is such an important and coveted tradition in the U.S.!
Our Spanish friends were also amazing and so supportive throughout the day. Originally we thought we were going to have downtime while we were waiting for things to cook so we could eat lunch and rest a little, but we were cooking non-stop for 10 ½ hours. Inma, Alberto (Suzanne’s roommates), Fernando and David kept checking in on us to see how we were doing, making us lunch, offering to make trips to the store if we needed anything or forgot anything, and saying encouraging things like “¡Ánimo!” when we had to do things that we had no idea how to do, like clean the turkey. And Fernando saved us by letting us use his oven to cook the turkey in, because we definitely needed the extra oven space and an oven where we could set the temperature we needed!
All in all, Thanksgiving dinner was fantastic, and I have more to be thankful this year than ever. Of course I missed my family this weekend, but I could not have been happier yesterday cooking Thanksgiving dinner for our friends, listening to Christmas music, spending a night with so many great people, and doing all of this in Spain—a place that will always be a “home” for me.
11.15.2009
C.E.I.P. Federico García Lorca
I know I haven’t been the most reliable blogger, but I promise I have a good excuse—life, and more specifically, life in Spain. The last six weeks have been crazy, fun, and altogether unforgettable. They have included a visit from my parents, a weekend getaway to Madrid, Halloween festivities, an overnight backpacking trip in the Sierra Nevada mountains, the beginning of the Christmas season (in Spain) and the simple pleasures of everyday life at my school in Dilar and here in Granada. I won’t write about everything in one entry because it would likely end up being long enough to publish as a book. Instead I will write a few different entries about the highlights of what has been my life for the past month and a half, starting with my school.
After a fantastic day at school on Friday, I realized that I haven’t really written much (or at all) about my school, my students, and what exactly it is that I am doing here in Granada. The school I am teaching at is located in a town (referred to as a “village” by everyone here) called Dilar about 12 kilometers outside of Granada. Although it is only 12 km away from my apartment and should take me 20 minutes to get there, it takes me an hour and a half (sometimes more) to get to school every day. I walk for 20 minutes to get to my bus station, take the “out of town” green bus into Dilar, and walk for another 20 minutes to get to my school at the top of the hill. But I don’t mind the commute at all because I am in love with my school and with my students.
I teach at C.E.I. P. Federico Garcia Lorca, a public elementary school that is on its way to becoming a bilingual school. There a few reasons why I love this school in particular—the school itself is very small (the entire school is one building) and the classes are also extremely small (ranging from 8-20 kids). Also, there is only one class per grade (the students are ages 3-12). There is a sense of community at the school like one that I have only ever experienced at Mitty, which is pretty amazing for a public elementary school in a town of 1000 people. Everyone at the school knows each other—students are good friends with each other, teachers are friends outside of school, and parents and teachers are commonly good family friends.
My official “title” at the school is “language and culture assistant” (auxiliar de conversación), but I do a little bit of everything. I work with every grade for about an hour each week and I teach 3 different subjects in total. I help teach basic English during psicomotricidad (motor skills) to the kids in Infantil (the 3, 4 and 5 year-olds). We learn things like colors, numbers, opposites, animals, etc. I help teach science in English to the 1st-4th graders, which I find to be the most challenging subject for me to teach. (Let’s be honest here—I studied LANGUAGES for a reason). My 1st and 2nd graders have been learning about body parts, food, eating healthy, and taking care of their bodies over the past few weeks, while my 3rd and 4th graders are learning about more complicated things like the respiratory system and the circulatory system—very difficult concepts to explain in English when the students don’t fully understand them in Spanish! And finally, I teach art to my 5th and 6th graders, which is SO much fun despite my complete and total lack of artistic ability.
People keep asking me what my favorite grade is, and I keep responding, “I can’t pick!” I honestly can’t choose a favorite because I love each grade, and all for different reasons. Each class has something unique about them, as does each student. Aside from teaching what I consider to be a very small amount of English to my students, I have learned so much more from them.
My 3 year olds are adorable. They still can’t speak in complete sentences in Spanish yet, don’t know the alphabet, can barely (some can’t) count to 10. Yet I am teaching them a few basic English words, and they are like sponges when they are interested. They pick up everything I teach them more quickly than any other age group.
My 4 year olds are my most curious students. They are always asking me how to say things in English and surprisingly remember a lot of what I teach them randomly and informally. I guess I would consider them one of my favorite classes simply because I do spend the most time with them. I can’t be around them and not smile. Every day when I walk into the classroom, they run up to me and give me a huge hug. I play a lot of games with my 4 year olds in psicomotricidad (“Simon Says,” musical chairs, English chocolate, etc.) After psicomotricidad, we go back to the classroom and the kids are supposed to draw what they did. The other day, Ibai (the blond boy in all of the pictures!) decided to draw me instead of what we did in psicomotricidad. When the “seño” (short for “señorita”—the teacher) asked Ibai why he drew me, he said, “¡Porque la quiero mucho a Kelly!” (Because I love Kelly!) Last Friday, one of my 4 year olds (Candela) had her last day at school. She is moving to Sevilla and we are all so sad. We had a goodbye party for her and made her a photo album full of pictures from the two years she was at the school. I am attached to this class in a way that I am not yet connected with the other classes.
I just recently started working with the 5 year-olds, and they are also adorable. By this age, most of them know how to behave in school (even though they are only 5 and still do have their “kid” moments, which I love about them), and have already learned a little bit of English. My 5 year-olds are a little less interested in the actual learning of English words, but are very much interested in American culture.
My 1st graders are great students, but can be a little wild sometimes, which is understandable considering the style of teaching in Spain. When students reach 1st grade here in Spain, they are expected to be serious students. The style of teaching changes from interactive to lecture-based and I have never seen such a serious 1st grade classroom environment. I don’t agree with it, but that’s how the school chooses to operate, so I find my own ways to bring fun and interaction into the classroom.
I also feel a strong connection to my 2nd grade students, and I don’t know why exactly. There are only 8 students in my 2nd grade class and most of them are very interested in learning English. There are two bilingual (Spanish/French) in the class, and English comes much more easily to these two students than it does to the others. However, all of the 2nd graders are enthusiastic about learning English and always volunteer to participate. They are so proud when they learn a new word or say a complete sentence correctly. Before starting the science lesson for the day, we practice the days of the week, the months of the year, the seasons, and the weather, and they all want to lead the class when we do this!
My 3rd and 4th graders are my most challenging classes because of the challenging material they are required to learn. I spend most of my time reading about science concepts from the book in these classes, and then explaining the text through gestures and drawings.
My 5th and 6th graders are fantastic. They are closer to the age I am used to teaching (although coaching swimming definitely prepared me for teaching the younger kids!), and I get to teach art. I don’t know too much about art, but I do know a lot about Spanish art and I love planning arts and crafts projects. I especially love working with my 6th graders. They are eager to learn English, and I can do so much with them because they are older and already know the basics in English. On Halloween, we carved pumpkins in my 6th grade art class. Now, carving pumpkins is not an easy task when you’ve never even seen the inside of a pumpkin before. I brought in a sample pumpkin that I carved and showed them how to draw the typical pumpkin face (with triangle eyes/nose and mouth). After sketching out the face on the pumpkin, I had them draw the top. Then I went around and carved out the top of everyone’s pumpkin—which was hard work, by the way, with only one knife and several types of gords that were not all as easy to carve as a regular orange pumpkin! As the students started taking off the tops of the pumpkins, their faces were priceless, and even more so when I told them that they had to clean out the guts of the pumpkin with their hands! For the next 20 minutes or so, the only words coming out of my students’ mouths were, “¡Qué asco! ¡Qué asco!” (This is disgusting!!!) When the students had extracted all of the guts, I went around and carved the faces they drew. One of my 6th grade boys was obsessed with my pumpkin and was sad that his pumpkin didn’t look like mine. He asked me if he could pay me 3 euros to carve a pumpkin that looked like mine and then bring it to him the next day. Hilarious! And such a typical middle school comment! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group of middle school students have so much fun in the classroom before. I feel so comfortable around my 6th graders and feel more confident teaching this age-group than teaching any other age-group.
When I first started teaching at my school in Dilar, I wasn’t sure I was going to like it. The teaching approach in Spain is so completely different than in the U.S., and it is almost completely opposite of what I spent all of last year learning about being a successful teacher. However, I think I’ve finally figured out how to bring what I know and what I’ve learned about teaching into each class here in Spain, and have fallen in love with my school and with my students. Teaching in the colegio in Dilar reminds of why I decided to become a teacher when I entered St. Mary’s my freshman year 5 and a half years ago. It also makes me wish I could teach Spanish in elementary, middle, and high school in the U.S. because I love working with every grade so much!
After a fantastic day at school on Friday, I realized that I haven’t really written much (or at all) about my school, my students, and what exactly it is that I am doing here in Granada. The school I am teaching at is located in a town (referred to as a “village” by everyone here) called Dilar about 12 kilometers outside of Granada. Although it is only 12 km away from my apartment and should take me 20 minutes to get there, it takes me an hour and a half (sometimes more) to get to school every day. I walk for 20 minutes to get to my bus station, take the “out of town” green bus into Dilar, and walk for another 20 minutes to get to my school at the top of the hill. But I don’t mind the commute at all because I am in love with my school and with my students.
I teach at C.E.I. P. Federico Garcia Lorca, a public elementary school that is on its way to becoming a bilingual school. There a few reasons why I love this school in particular—the school itself is very small (the entire school is one building) and the classes are also extremely small (ranging from 8-20 kids). Also, there is only one class per grade (the students are ages 3-12). There is a sense of community at the school like one that I have only ever experienced at Mitty, which is pretty amazing for a public elementary school in a town of 1000 people. Everyone at the school knows each other—students are good friends with each other, teachers are friends outside of school, and parents and teachers are commonly good family friends.
My official “title” at the school is “language and culture assistant” (auxiliar de conversación), but I do a little bit of everything. I work with every grade for about an hour each week and I teach 3 different subjects in total. I help teach basic English during psicomotricidad (motor skills) to the kids in Infantil (the 3, 4 and 5 year-olds). We learn things like colors, numbers, opposites, animals, etc. I help teach science in English to the 1st-4th graders, which I find to be the most challenging subject for me to teach. (Let’s be honest here—I studied LANGUAGES for a reason). My 1st and 2nd graders have been learning about body parts, food, eating healthy, and taking care of their bodies over the past few weeks, while my 3rd and 4th graders are learning about more complicated things like the respiratory system and the circulatory system—very difficult concepts to explain in English when the students don’t fully understand them in Spanish! And finally, I teach art to my 5th and 6th graders, which is SO much fun despite my complete and total lack of artistic ability.
People keep asking me what my favorite grade is, and I keep responding, “I can’t pick!” I honestly can’t choose a favorite because I love each grade, and all for different reasons. Each class has something unique about them, as does each student. Aside from teaching what I consider to be a very small amount of English to my students, I have learned so much more from them.
My 3 year olds are adorable. They still can’t speak in complete sentences in Spanish yet, don’t know the alphabet, can barely (some can’t) count to 10. Yet I am teaching them a few basic English words, and they are like sponges when they are interested. They pick up everything I teach them more quickly than any other age group.
My 4 year olds are my most curious students. They are always asking me how to say things in English and surprisingly remember a lot of what I teach them randomly and informally. I guess I would consider them one of my favorite classes simply because I do spend the most time with them. I can’t be around them and not smile. Every day when I walk into the classroom, they run up to me and give me a huge hug. I play a lot of games with my 4 year olds in psicomotricidad (“Simon Says,” musical chairs, English chocolate, etc.) After psicomotricidad, we go back to the classroom and the kids are supposed to draw what they did. The other day, Ibai (the blond boy in all of the pictures!) decided to draw me instead of what we did in psicomotricidad. When the “seño” (short for “señorita”—the teacher) asked Ibai why he drew me, he said, “¡Porque la quiero mucho a Kelly!” (Because I love Kelly!) Last Friday, one of my 4 year olds (Candela) had her last day at school. She is moving to Sevilla and we are all so sad. We had a goodbye party for her and made her a photo album full of pictures from the two years she was at the school. I am attached to this class in a way that I am not yet connected with the other classes.
I just recently started working with the 5 year-olds, and they are also adorable. By this age, most of them know how to behave in school (even though they are only 5 and still do have their “kid” moments, which I love about them), and have already learned a little bit of English. My 5 year-olds are a little less interested in the actual learning of English words, but are very much interested in American culture.
My 1st graders are great students, but can be a little wild sometimes, which is understandable considering the style of teaching in Spain. When students reach 1st grade here in Spain, they are expected to be serious students. The style of teaching changes from interactive to lecture-based and I have never seen such a serious 1st grade classroom environment. I don’t agree with it, but that’s how the school chooses to operate, so I find my own ways to bring fun and interaction into the classroom.
I also feel a strong connection to my 2nd grade students, and I don’t know why exactly. There are only 8 students in my 2nd grade class and most of them are very interested in learning English. There are two bilingual (Spanish/French) in the class, and English comes much more easily to these two students than it does to the others. However, all of the 2nd graders are enthusiastic about learning English and always volunteer to participate. They are so proud when they learn a new word or say a complete sentence correctly. Before starting the science lesson for the day, we practice the days of the week, the months of the year, the seasons, and the weather, and they all want to lead the class when we do this!
My 3rd and 4th graders are my most challenging classes because of the challenging material they are required to learn. I spend most of my time reading about science concepts from the book in these classes, and then explaining the text through gestures and drawings.
My 5th and 6th graders are fantastic. They are closer to the age I am used to teaching (although coaching swimming definitely prepared me for teaching the younger kids!), and I get to teach art. I don’t know too much about art, but I do know a lot about Spanish art and I love planning arts and crafts projects. I especially love working with my 6th graders. They are eager to learn English, and I can do so much with them because they are older and already know the basics in English. On Halloween, we carved pumpkins in my 6th grade art class. Now, carving pumpkins is not an easy task when you’ve never even seen the inside of a pumpkin before. I brought in a sample pumpkin that I carved and showed them how to draw the typical pumpkin face (with triangle eyes/nose and mouth). After sketching out the face on the pumpkin, I had them draw the top. Then I went around and carved out the top of everyone’s pumpkin—which was hard work, by the way, with only one knife and several types of gords that were not all as easy to carve as a regular orange pumpkin! As the students started taking off the tops of the pumpkins, their faces were priceless, and even more so when I told them that they had to clean out the guts of the pumpkin with their hands! For the next 20 minutes or so, the only words coming out of my students’ mouths were, “¡Qué asco! ¡Qué asco!” (This is disgusting!!!) When the students had extracted all of the guts, I went around and carved the faces they drew. One of my 6th grade boys was obsessed with my pumpkin and was sad that his pumpkin didn’t look like mine. He asked me if he could pay me 3 euros to carve a pumpkin that looked like mine and then bring it to him the next day. Hilarious! And such a typical middle school comment! I don’t think I’ve ever seen a group of middle school students have so much fun in the classroom before. I feel so comfortable around my 6th graders and feel more confident teaching this age-group than teaching any other age-group.
When I first started teaching at my school in Dilar, I wasn’t sure I was going to like it. The teaching approach in Spain is so completely different than in the U.S., and it is almost completely opposite of what I spent all of last year learning about being a successful teacher. However, I think I’ve finally figured out how to bring what I know and what I’ve learned about teaching into each class here in Spain, and have fallen in love with my school and with my students. Teaching in the colegio in Dilar reminds of why I decided to become a teacher when I entered St. Mary’s my freshman year 5 and a half years ago. It also makes me wish I could teach Spanish in elementary, middle, and high school in the U.S. because I love working with every grade so much!
10.18.2009
"Es Culpa de La Felicidad"
(Adventures from my 2nd weekend in Granada...)
My second weekend in Granada and I’m already completely adjusted to the Spanish way of life. I’m not sure what to think about this. My friends from home think it's crazy how quickly I've adjusted and "changed", and my friends here in Spain think that this is normal. All I know is that I have had more fun in the last two weeks than I possibly ever have in my entire life.
Last night I met Cerena, Suzanne, Suzanne’s roommate Inma and some of Inma’s friends from out of town for tapas at a place called La Bodega. Inma is almost 30 years old, but seems like she is my age. I love being around Inma and her friends because they are Spanish—locals—and there is nothing like being with locals. Inma’s friends are all around her age, some a little older and some a little younger, but as I said, they seem much younger.
Locals know everything about the city and bring you to the most amazing places where there are other locals. We speak Spanish 100% of the time we spend with them and not just any Spanish—español Andaluz (Andalucían Spanish). We talk about languages and accents and why Spanish people are so embarrassed to speak English even though most of the time their English is better than our Spanish.
La Bodega is a small restaurant located just off C/ Recogidas on C/ Jardines. The place specializing in typical comida Gallega (Northern Spanish food), but they have a little bit of everything. The atmosphere of La Bodega is warm—welcoming. It is both fun and classy at the same time. There are families, older people, and younger people (all Spaniards) who frequent this incredible establishment.
The place was packed full of people from the time we arrived at 9:30 to the time we left at 1:00am. The waiters were running around like crazy trying to serve everyone. Cerena and I got there before everyone else, so we started out with some tinto de verano (my drink of choice in the South of Spain) and our tapa came shortly after—albóndigas con papitas y pan. We also decided to order a media ración of croquetas—a tapa that I miss from Madrid. We then ordered a ración of Bacalao (cod fish) because my roommate Paz said that we had to try it. Both raciones were some of the best tapas I’ve had in Granada thus far.
When Suzanne, Inma and 3 of her friends from out of town arrived, we ordered a “cerdo”—a bottle of white wine served in a frozen jar shaped like a pig. When you pour the wine, it comes out of the pig’s mouth. Spain is so weird. We also order a ración of pulpo (octopus) and it was delicious. We spent part of the time talking about traveling and cultures and Spanish from Andalucía with each other. Suzanne, Cerena and I spent the other part of the night trying to figure out what in the world Inma and her friends were saying to each other when they were talking only with each other. The accent in Andalucía (and especially in Granada) is seemly impossible to understand after being here for only a week!
After La Bodega, we finished our night out at a bar called Marisma—a pretty famous bar here in Granada, especially considering they don't serve tapas. Instead, they have sunflower seeds. Spain is so weird. Who would ever think to serve sunflower seeds in a bar? According to Inma, though, this is normal. I tried to tell Inma that sunflower seeds are associated with baseball in the U.S., but she didn’t understand.
Cerena and I were tired and ready to go home. However, when we tried to explain this to Inma, she said, “No vais a casa ahora. ¿Qué tenéis que hacer mañana? Es domingo. No tenéis que hacer nada. Entonces vais a venir a casa pa’ tomar una copa, ¿vale?” (You’re not going home right now! What do you have to do tomorrow? It’s Sunday…You don’t have to do anything. So you’re going to come up for a drink, ok?).
It wasn’t even a question. This is what Inma said to me several times that night and several times since that night whenever I tell her that I’m sleepy or that I’m going home. Inma (as I’m discovering most Spaniards are) is just so logical (in the Spanish sense of the word) and “in the moment”—the complete opposite of the American idea of logic. Needless to say, we ended up coming up to their apartment, talking, playing cherades, and then sleeping over. When I asked her who she blames when she’s tired, she told me, “Es culpa de la felicidad.” This is an expression used often in Spain that literally translates to: “It’s happiness’s fault.”
.....................................................................................
Es mi segundo fin de semana en Granada y ya estoy acostumbrada al estilo de vida español. No sé pensar de esto. Mis amigos de EE.UU. no pueden creer que he acostumbrado tan rapido y que he "cambiado" tanto, y mis amigos españoles piensan que todo esto es normal. Solo sé que me he divertido más en las últimas dos semanas que jamás me he divertido en mi vida entera.
Anoche quedé con Cerena, Suzanne, Inma, y algunos amigos de Inma para tapas a un restaurante que se llama La Bodega. Inma tiene casi 30 años, pero parece la misma edad que yo. Me encanta pasar tiempo con Inma y sus amigos porque son españoles, y no hay nada como estar con los españoles en España. Los amigos de Inma tienen más o menos la misma edad que ella—algunos son mayores y algunos menores. Pero como he dicho, ellos parecen más joven que son.
Los que viven en España saben todo de la ciudad y te enseñan los sitios más chulos donde están otros españoles. Hablamos en español cien por ciento del tiempo que pasamos con ellos y no hablamos simplemente Castellano sino español Andaluz (el español de Andalucía). Hablamos de los idiomas y los acentos, y por qué la gente en España tiene tanta vergüenza de hablar el inglés aunque la mayoría del tiempo su inglés es mejor que nuestro español.
La Bodega es un restaurant pequeño situado cerca de C/ Recogidas en la C/ Jardines. El restaurante especializa en la comida Gallega (comida del Norte de España), pero tienen un poco de todo. El ambiente de La Bodega es cómodo. Es divertido y clásico a la vez. Hay familias, personas viejas y personas menores (todos son españoles) que van aquí durante el día y por la noche.
El sitio estaba llena de gente desde cuando llegamos a las 21.30h. Los camareros estaban corriendo por todas partes intentando de servir a todos. Cerena y yo llegábamos temprano. Entonces pedimos un tinto de verano (mi bebida preferida en el Sur de España) y un tapa de albóndigas. También pedimos una media ración de croquetas—una tapa que extraño de Madrid. Luego pedimos madia ración de Bacalao a la Bodega—un plato que Paz me dijo que tenía que probar. Las dos raciones estaban algunas de las mejores tapas que he comido en Granada hasta ahora.
Cuando llegaron Suzanne, Inma, y sus amigos, pedimos un “cerdo”—una botella de vino que se sirve en una jarra muy fría en la forma de un cerdo. Cuando echas el vino, sale de la boca del cerdo. Me encanta España. También pedimos una ración de pulpo y estaba deliciosa. Pasamos media de la noche hablando de viajar y las culturas y el español Andaluz entre nosotros. Suzanne, Cerena y yo pasamos la otra parte de la noche intentando de entender la conversación entre Inma y sus amigos cuando estaban hablamos entre ellos mismos. ¡El acento Andaluz (y especialmente en Granada) parece casi imposible de entender después de estar aquí por tan solo una semana!
Acabamos nuestra noche de salir a un lugar que se llama Marisma—un bar bastante famosa en Granada aunque no pone tapa. En lugar de tapas, tiene pipas. España es muy extraño. ¿Quién pensaría en servir pipas en un bar? Según Inma esto es normal. Intenté decirle a inma que las pipas se asocian con el béisbol en los EE.UU., pero no entendía.
Cerena y yo estábamos cansadas y preparadas a irnos a casa. Pero cuando tratamos de explicar esto a Inma, ella nos dijo, “No vais a casa ahora. ¿Qué tenéis que hacer mañana? Es domingo. No tenéis que hacer nada. Entonces vais a venir a casa pa’ tomar una copa, ¿vale?”
Aún no fue pregunta. Inma me dijo esas mismas palabras varias veces esa noche y varias veces desde aquella noche cuando yo le digo que tengo sueño o que quiero irme a casa. Inma (como estoy descubriendo son la mayoría de los españoles) es lógica (en el sentido de la palabra epsañol) y siempre está “en el momento”—el puro opuesto de la idea de lógico de los Americanos. No necesito decir que nos quedábamos al piso de Inma y Suzanne, hablando y jugando cherades, y al final dormimos allí. Cuando le pregunté a Inma a quién tiene la culpa cuando ella está cansada, me dijo, “Es culpa de la felicidad.”
My second weekend in Granada and I’m already completely adjusted to the Spanish way of life. I’m not sure what to think about this. My friends from home think it's crazy how quickly I've adjusted and "changed", and my friends here in Spain think that this is normal. All I know is that I have had more fun in the last two weeks than I possibly ever have in my entire life.
Last night I met Cerena, Suzanne, Suzanne’s roommate Inma and some of Inma’s friends from out of town for tapas at a place called La Bodega. Inma is almost 30 years old, but seems like she is my age. I love being around Inma and her friends because they are Spanish—locals—and there is nothing like being with locals. Inma’s friends are all around her age, some a little older and some a little younger, but as I said, they seem much younger.
Locals know everything about the city and bring you to the most amazing places where there are other locals. We speak Spanish 100% of the time we spend with them and not just any Spanish—español Andaluz (Andalucían Spanish). We talk about languages and accents and why Spanish people are so embarrassed to speak English even though most of the time their English is better than our Spanish.
La Bodega is a small restaurant located just off C/ Recogidas on C/ Jardines. The place specializing in typical comida Gallega (Northern Spanish food), but they have a little bit of everything. The atmosphere of La Bodega is warm—welcoming. It is both fun and classy at the same time. There are families, older people, and younger people (all Spaniards) who frequent this incredible establishment.
The place was packed full of people from the time we arrived at 9:30 to the time we left at 1:00am. The waiters were running around like crazy trying to serve everyone. Cerena and I got there before everyone else, so we started out with some tinto de verano (my drink of choice in the South of Spain) and our tapa came shortly after—albóndigas con papitas y pan. We also decided to order a media ración of croquetas—a tapa that I miss from Madrid. We then ordered a ración of Bacalao (cod fish) because my roommate Paz said that we had to try it. Both raciones were some of the best tapas I’ve had in Granada thus far.
When Suzanne, Inma and 3 of her friends from out of town arrived, we ordered a “cerdo”—a bottle of white wine served in a frozen jar shaped like a pig. When you pour the wine, it comes out of the pig’s mouth. Spain is so weird. We also order a ración of pulpo (octopus) and it was delicious. We spent part of the time talking about traveling and cultures and Spanish from Andalucía with each other. Suzanne, Cerena and I spent the other part of the night trying to figure out what in the world Inma and her friends were saying to each other when they were talking only with each other. The accent in Andalucía (and especially in Granada) is seemly impossible to understand after being here for only a week!
After La Bodega, we finished our night out at a bar called Marisma—a pretty famous bar here in Granada, especially considering they don't serve tapas. Instead, they have sunflower seeds. Spain is so weird. Who would ever think to serve sunflower seeds in a bar? According to Inma, though, this is normal. I tried to tell Inma that sunflower seeds are associated with baseball in the U.S., but she didn’t understand.
Cerena and I were tired and ready to go home. However, when we tried to explain this to Inma, she said, “No vais a casa ahora. ¿Qué tenéis que hacer mañana? Es domingo. No tenéis que hacer nada. Entonces vais a venir a casa pa’ tomar una copa, ¿vale?” (You’re not going home right now! What do you have to do tomorrow? It’s Sunday…You don’t have to do anything. So you’re going to come up for a drink, ok?).
It wasn’t even a question. This is what Inma said to me several times that night and several times since that night whenever I tell her that I’m sleepy or that I’m going home. Inma (as I’m discovering most Spaniards are) is just so logical (in the Spanish sense of the word) and “in the moment”—the complete opposite of the American idea of logic. Needless to say, we ended up coming up to their apartment, talking, playing cherades, and then sleeping over. When I asked her who she blames when she’s tired, she told me, “Es culpa de la felicidad.” This is an expression used often in Spain that literally translates to: “It’s happiness’s fault.”
.....................................................................................
Es mi segundo fin de semana en Granada y ya estoy acostumbrada al estilo de vida español. No sé pensar de esto. Mis amigos de EE.UU. no pueden creer que he acostumbrado tan rapido y que he "cambiado" tanto, y mis amigos españoles piensan que todo esto es normal. Solo sé que me he divertido más en las últimas dos semanas que jamás me he divertido en mi vida entera.
Anoche quedé con Cerena, Suzanne, Inma, y algunos amigos de Inma para tapas a un restaurante que se llama La Bodega. Inma tiene casi 30 años, pero parece la misma edad que yo. Me encanta pasar tiempo con Inma y sus amigos porque son españoles, y no hay nada como estar con los españoles en España. Los amigos de Inma tienen más o menos la misma edad que ella—algunos son mayores y algunos menores. Pero como he dicho, ellos parecen más joven que son.
Los que viven en España saben todo de la ciudad y te enseñan los sitios más chulos donde están otros españoles. Hablamos en español cien por ciento del tiempo que pasamos con ellos y no hablamos simplemente Castellano sino español Andaluz (el español de Andalucía). Hablamos de los idiomas y los acentos, y por qué la gente en España tiene tanta vergüenza de hablar el inglés aunque la mayoría del tiempo su inglés es mejor que nuestro español.
La Bodega es un restaurant pequeño situado cerca de C/ Recogidas en la C/ Jardines. El restaurante especializa en la comida Gallega (comida del Norte de España), pero tienen un poco de todo. El ambiente de La Bodega es cómodo. Es divertido y clásico a la vez. Hay familias, personas viejas y personas menores (todos son españoles) que van aquí durante el día y por la noche.
El sitio estaba llena de gente desde cuando llegamos a las 21.30h. Los camareros estaban corriendo por todas partes intentando de servir a todos. Cerena y yo llegábamos temprano. Entonces pedimos un tinto de verano (mi bebida preferida en el Sur de España) y un tapa de albóndigas. También pedimos una media ración de croquetas—una tapa que extraño de Madrid. Luego pedimos madia ración de Bacalao a la Bodega—un plato que Paz me dijo que tenía que probar. Las dos raciones estaban algunas de las mejores tapas que he comido en Granada hasta ahora.
Cuando llegaron Suzanne, Inma, y sus amigos, pedimos un “cerdo”—una botella de vino que se sirve en una jarra muy fría en la forma de un cerdo. Cuando echas el vino, sale de la boca del cerdo. Me encanta España. También pedimos una ración de pulpo y estaba deliciosa. Pasamos media de la noche hablando de viajar y las culturas y el español Andaluz entre nosotros. Suzanne, Cerena y yo pasamos la otra parte de la noche intentando de entender la conversación entre Inma y sus amigos cuando estaban hablamos entre ellos mismos. ¡El acento Andaluz (y especialmente en Granada) parece casi imposible de entender después de estar aquí por tan solo una semana!
Acabamos nuestra noche de salir a un lugar que se llama Marisma—un bar bastante famosa en Granada aunque no pone tapa. En lugar de tapas, tiene pipas. España es muy extraño. ¿Quién pensaría en servir pipas en un bar? Según Inma esto es normal. Intenté decirle a inma que las pipas se asocian con el béisbol en los EE.UU., pero no entendía.
Cerena y yo estábamos cansadas y preparadas a irnos a casa. Pero cuando tratamos de explicar esto a Inma, ella nos dijo, “No vais a casa ahora. ¿Qué tenéis que hacer mañana? Es domingo. No tenéis que hacer nada. Entonces vais a venir a casa pa’ tomar una copa, ¿vale?”
Aún no fue pregunta. Inma me dijo esas mismas palabras varias veces esa noche y varias veces desde aquella noche cuando yo le digo que tengo sueño o que quiero irme a casa. Inma (como estoy descubriendo son la mayoría de los españoles) es lógica (en el sentido de la palabra epsañol) y siempre está “en el momento”—el puro opuesto de la idea de lógico de los Americanos. No necesito decir que nos quedábamos al piso de Inma y Suzanne, hablando y jugando cherades, y al final dormimos allí. Cuando le pregunté a Inma a quién tiene la culpa cuando ella está cansada, me dijo, “Es culpa de la felicidad.”
Mi Cumpleaños
My second day in the apartment was my 23rd birthday. Unfortunately, I had to wake up at 5:30am and meet with Cerena and Suzanne to apply for our residency permits. It was a terrible experience! First, we went to the address CIEE gave us and waited until the Extranjería opened at 9:00. When we went inside, we found out that we were not in the right place. We were then sent to the building around the corner, but this was also the wrong place. Finally, a man working in the 2nd building sent us to the Policía (on other side of the city) in Plaza los Campos, which was the correct place. We waited in line for a half hour and turned in our necessary forms to get our residency permits, which will be ready in 1 month.
And that is how my birthday began. After the Policía, we stopped by Paz’s store to say hi and then went to see Paco at the frutería. I came home to find a gift from Paz—a pair of beautiful silver hoop earings from her store. She is so sweet! That night, we went for tapas at a taberna called La Juliana and it was fantastic. Suzanne knows one of the waiters—José. We spent almost 4 hours there drinking tinto de verano, eating delicious tapas, and playing to adorable Spanish girls (daughters of one of the restaurant owners). I got home around 1:00am and went to sleep early (at least for Spain).
I spent Friday with Cerena and Suzanne walking through the Albayzín. We walked up to the Mirador San Nicolás and had kebabs for lunch before siesta. That night I didn’t do anything—I was tired and still adjusting to the Spanish schedule and Spanish way of life.
Saturday night I “went out” (as the Spaniard’s do) for my first time in Granada. We started the night at a few tapas bars with Cerena, Suzanne, Alberto (Suzanne’s roommate), and some of Alberto’s friends—David, Sergio, and José. After La Juliana (which has become a tradition), we went to another tapas bar called Los Grifos—a really cool tapas place. Then went to a concert to see a Spanish rock-pop group called Toulous (they are from Granada). And after? We went to a place called La Percha—a bar/discoteca that plays all 80’s music, which Suzanne and I loved! The last place we went was a popular discoteca called Vogue. This, apparently, is a typical weekend night in Spain. So, my 23rd birthday weekend was amazing and unforgettable, and weekend that would not have made sense to most American's. The truth is we didn’t really do much that night. We had a few tinto de veranos, had good conversation, danced a little, and enjoyed spending a night among new friends.
(Sidenote: When my roommate came home from work on Friday night and saw that I was home, she said, “What are you doing here? It’s a Friday night in Spain!”).
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Mi segundo día en el piso era mi cumpleaños, y desafortunadamente me levanté a las 5’30 de la mañana y quedé con Cerena y Suzanne para solicitarnos para nuestros permisos de residencias. Qué horrible fue esa experiencia. Primero fuimos al lugar donde CIEE nos dijo que debemos ir y esperamos hasta que abrió a las 9’00. Pero cuando entramos, descubrimos que eso no era el lugar correcto. Después, fuimos a otro edificio a ver si era el lugar correcto, pero tampoco fue ese edificio. Finalmente, un hombre nos mandó a la Policía (al otro lado de la ciudad) en la Plaza los Campos. Por fin estábamos en el lugar correcto. Esperamos en cola por 30 minutos y entregamos todas las formas.
Y así empezó mi cumple. Después, pasamos por la tienda de Paz para saludarle y también pasamos por la Frutería de Paco. Regresé a casa y encontré un regalo que Paz me dejó—unos aretes preciosas de su tienda. ¡Qué simpática es ella! Por la noche, fuimos de tapeo. Fuimos a un bar de tapas que se llama La Juliana (C/Arrabial) y fue fantástico. Suzanne conoce a uno de los camareros—José. Pasamos casi cuatro horas bebiendo tinto de verano, comiendo tapas muy ricas, y jugando con 2 niñas lindísimas (hijas del dueño del restaurante). Regresé sobre la una y me acosté temprano (para España).
El viernes quedé con Cerena y Suzanne y andamos por el Albayzín. Pasamos un rato al Mirador San Nicolás y después comimos kebabs para la comida. No hice nada esa noche—estaba cansada y todavía estaba acostumbrándome al horario y a la vida española.
El sábado salí de marcha por primera vez en Granada. Empezábamos la noche a unos bares de tapa con Cerena, Suzanne, Alberto (el compañero de piso de Suzanne), y unos amigos de Alberto—David, Sergio (Tercio), José, y Fernando. Después de La Juliana (que ya es una tradición), fuimos a otro bar que se llama Los Grifos—un bar de tapas muy chulo. Quedamos allí hasta las doce, y luego fuimos a un concierto para ver un grupo de pop-rock que se llama Toulous (son de Granada). ¿Y después? Qué sorpresa, fuimos a otro bar—La Percha, que es más como una mezcla entre un bar y un club que toca la música de los años 80. A Suzanne y yo nos encantaba la Percha y la música. El último lugar que fuimos aquella noche fue una discoteca muy popular que se llama Vogue. Nunca tendría una noche así en los EE.UU—nunca. Pero aquí, es normal. (Sidenote: El viernes por la noche cuando mi compañera de piso regresé del trabajo y me vio, me dijo, “¿Y qué haces aquí? ¡Es viernes por la noche en España!”). La verdad es que no hicimos nada en especial—tomamos algunas bebidas, hablamos, bailamos un poco, y disfrutamos de estar con amigos.
And that is how my birthday began. After the Policía, we stopped by Paz’s store to say hi and then went to see Paco at the frutería. I came home to find a gift from Paz—a pair of beautiful silver hoop earings from her store. She is so sweet! That night, we went for tapas at a taberna called La Juliana and it was fantastic. Suzanne knows one of the waiters—José. We spent almost 4 hours there drinking tinto de verano, eating delicious tapas, and playing to adorable Spanish girls (daughters of one of the restaurant owners). I got home around 1:00am and went to sleep early (at least for Spain).
I spent Friday with Cerena and Suzanne walking through the Albayzín. We walked up to the Mirador San Nicolás and had kebabs for lunch before siesta. That night I didn’t do anything—I was tired and still adjusting to the Spanish schedule and Spanish way of life.
Saturday night I “went out” (as the Spaniard’s do) for my first time in Granada. We started the night at a few tapas bars with Cerena, Suzanne, Alberto (Suzanne’s roommate), and some of Alberto’s friends—David, Sergio, and José. After La Juliana (which has become a tradition), we went to another tapas bar called Los Grifos—a really cool tapas place. Then went to a concert to see a Spanish rock-pop group called Toulous (they are from Granada). And after? We went to a place called La Percha—a bar/discoteca that plays all 80’s music, which Suzanne and I loved! The last place we went was a popular discoteca called Vogue. This, apparently, is a typical weekend night in Spain. So, my 23rd birthday weekend was amazing and unforgettable, and weekend that would not have made sense to most American's. The truth is we didn’t really do much that night. We had a few tinto de veranos, had good conversation, danced a little, and enjoyed spending a night among new friends.
(Sidenote: When my roommate came home from work on Friday night and saw that I was home, she said, “What are you doing here? It’s a Friday night in Spain!”).
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Mi segundo día en el piso era mi cumpleaños, y desafortunadamente me levanté a las 5’30 de la mañana y quedé con Cerena y Suzanne para solicitarnos para nuestros permisos de residencias. Qué horrible fue esa experiencia. Primero fuimos al lugar donde CIEE nos dijo que debemos ir y esperamos hasta que abrió a las 9’00. Pero cuando entramos, descubrimos que eso no era el lugar correcto. Después, fuimos a otro edificio a ver si era el lugar correcto, pero tampoco fue ese edificio. Finalmente, un hombre nos mandó a la Policía (al otro lado de la ciudad) en la Plaza los Campos. Por fin estábamos en el lugar correcto. Esperamos en cola por 30 minutos y entregamos todas las formas.
Y así empezó mi cumple. Después, pasamos por la tienda de Paz para saludarle y también pasamos por la Frutería de Paco. Regresé a casa y encontré un regalo que Paz me dejó—unos aretes preciosas de su tienda. ¡Qué simpática es ella! Por la noche, fuimos de tapeo. Fuimos a un bar de tapas que se llama La Juliana (C/Arrabial) y fue fantástico. Suzanne conoce a uno de los camareros—José. Pasamos casi cuatro horas bebiendo tinto de verano, comiendo tapas muy ricas, y jugando con 2 niñas lindísimas (hijas del dueño del restaurante). Regresé sobre la una y me acosté temprano (para España).
El viernes quedé con Cerena y Suzanne y andamos por el Albayzín. Pasamos un rato al Mirador San Nicolás y después comimos kebabs para la comida. No hice nada esa noche—estaba cansada y todavía estaba acostumbrándome al horario y a la vida española.
El sábado salí de marcha por primera vez en Granada. Empezábamos la noche a unos bares de tapa con Cerena, Suzanne, Alberto (el compañero de piso de Suzanne), y unos amigos de Alberto—David, Sergio (Tercio), José, y Fernando. Después de La Juliana (que ya es una tradición), fuimos a otro bar que se llama Los Grifos—un bar de tapas muy chulo. Quedamos allí hasta las doce, y luego fuimos a un concierto para ver un grupo de pop-rock que se llama Toulous (son de Granada). ¿Y después? Qué sorpresa, fuimos a otro bar—La Percha, que es más como una mezcla entre un bar y un club que toca la música de los años 80. A Suzanne y yo nos encantaba la Percha y la música. El último lugar que fuimos aquella noche fue una discoteca muy popular que se llama Vogue. Nunca tendría una noche así en los EE.UU—nunca. Pero aquí, es normal. (Sidenote: El viernes por la noche cuando mi compañera de piso regresé del trabajo y me vio, me dijo, “¿Y qué haces aquí? ¡Es viernes por la noche en España!”). La verdad es que no hicimos nada en especial—tomamos algunas bebidas, hablamos, bailamos un poco, y disfrutamos de estar con amigos.
10.17.2009
España, Mi Corazón
(Hi everyone! I know that it has been a while since I’ve written, but I am back to keeping everyone informed. Now that I am in Spain, I will be blogging in both English in Spanish. And if you speak Spanish, feel free to correct my mistakes as I’m sure there will be many! The next few entries may be a little sporadic as I don’t remember every detail of my month in Spain so far. I will update bit by bit, starting with a few things I’ve already written about but haven’t had time to update yet. Please do not feel obligated to read any or all of the next few and long entries!)
I have been in Spain for 13 days and I never want to leave. I arrived in Madrid on September 18th and I couldn’t believe that it had been 3 years—3 whole years have passed since the last time I was in Spain. Jesús and Pablo picked me up at the airport and we went to their house in Majadahonda, which is just outside Madrid. I feel so at home there, eating home-cooked Spanish food that Belén and Jesús’ mom made, and of course speaking in Spanish. We had sopa de ajo for lunch at 4:00pm, which is completely normal here. After siesta, we ate dinner at 9:30. Jesús and Belén brought to the Renfe train station the next morning and as were driving through Madrid, I saw sings for la Noche in Blanco. I realized then that I did in fact miss Madrid. As much as I wanted to stay in Madrid a little longer, I had to catch my train to Sevilla. I am so thankful to Jesús, Belén, and Pablo for letting me stay with them.
I was only in Sevilla for 2 days for my CIEE orientation and I met a ton of people there, including my friends Cerena and Suzanne who are also living in Granada. The first day we didn’t have any orientation sessions, so a few girls and I went for a walk through the city. We went to the Cathedral, the Giralda, and the Plaza de España. Then we went for tapas—my first tapas in Spain in a little more than 3 years. That night, there was a CIEE cocktail party where we all got to know each other. We spent the entire next day in orientation sessions learning about all the essentials of living in a foreign country—cell phones, apartments, bank accounts, how to get a residency permit, etc. Boring, but necessary.
Monday morning we went to our teaching destinations. I arrived in Granada and walked (1 mile!) with all of my luggage to my hostal (Hostal Nuevas Naciones)—a hostal that was really more like a hotel. I booked the hostal for 2 nights while I spent my days apartments hunting. Sure enough, 2 days later, I found an apartment. I only looked at 1 apartment and I decided to stay.
The apartment is located in a great, central area—5 minutes walking to the Cathedral. But the best part of my apartment is my flatmate Paz. She is so nice and I feel so comfortable with here. She is always telling me where to go and what to do in Granada. The first day I moved into the apartment, I met Paz at her store at 2:00pm (she owns a clothing and accessory store) and went for tapas. We went to a typical tapas bar and had tinto de verano. Then she brought me to the fresh fruit and vegetable market where we stopped at Paco’s stand—a place that I now go almost daily to get my fruit. I love my apartment, I love my flatmate, and I love Granada.
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Llevo 13 días en España y nunca quiero irme. Llegué a Madrid el 18 de septiembre y ya me sentía a casa en el aeropuerto. Jesús y Pablo me cogieron del aeropuerto y fuimos a su casa en Majadahonda que está un poco fuera de la capital. Me sentía a casa allí, comiendo comida española que hicieron Belén y la madre de Jesús, y hablando en español también. Comimos sopa de ajo para el almuerzo, y comimos a las 16.00 de la tarde, que es muy normal aquí. Después tomamos una siesta, y cenamos a las 9.30. Jesús y Belén me llevaron a la estación Renfe en la mañana y cogí el tren para Sevilla.
Solo estuve en Sevilla por 2 días para la orientación de CIEE y conocí a muchísima gente allí, incluso mis amigas Cerena y Suzanne que también están enseñando en Granada. El primer día no tuvimos reuniones, entonces fui con algunas otras chicas a caminar por la ciudad—fuimos a la Catedral, la Giralda, y la Plaza de España. Después fuimos de tapeo y comí mis primeras tapas en España en más que 3 años. La primera noche tuvimos un cocktail party donde todos nos conocimos un poco más. El día siguiente pasamos todo el día aprendiendo de las cosas esenciales de vivir en un país—los teléfonos, los apartamentos, las cuentas del banco, como conseguir nuestros permisos de residencia, etc. Aburrido, pero necesario.
El lunes por la mañana nos fuimos a nuestros sitios de enseñanza. Llegó a Granada y caminé (¡1 milla!) con todo mi equipaje a mi hostal—un hostal que era más como un hotel. Me quedé allí dos días mientras buscaba un piso en que vivir por el siguiente año de mi vida aquí en España. Dos días más tarde, encontré piso. Solo vi un piso y decidí quedarme.
La zona es muy buena y muy céntrica. Estoy cinco minutos andando a la Catedral. Pero la mejor parte del piso es mi compañera de piso—Paz. Ella es muy simpática y nos llevamos muy bien. Siempre está enseñándome cosas de la ciudad. El mismo día que mudé al piso, encontré Paz a su tienda (tiene una tiendo de ropa y accesorias) y me invitó a una tapa. Fuimos a un bar de tapas muy típico y tomamos tinto de verano con limón. Después, me enseñó la Frutería de Paco—un sitio donde yo voy diariamente para comprar fruta. Me encanta mi piso, me encanta mi compañera de piso, y me encanta Granada.
I have been in Spain for 13 days and I never want to leave. I arrived in Madrid on September 18th and I couldn’t believe that it had been 3 years—3 whole years have passed since the last time I was in Spain. Jesús and Pablo picked me up at the airport and we went to their house in Majadahonda, which is just outside Madrid. I feel so at home there, eating home-cooked Spanish food that Belén and Jesús’ mom made, and of course speaking in Spanish. We had sopa de ajo for lunch at 4:00pm, which is completely normal here. After siesta, we ate dinner at 9:30. Jesús and Belén brought to the Renfe train station the next morning and as were driving through Madrid, I saw sings for la Noche in Blanco. I realized then that I did in fact miss Madrid. As much as I wanted to stay in Madrid a little longer, I had to catch my train to Sevilla. I am so thankful to Jesús, Belén, and Pablo for letting me stay with them.
I was only in Sevilla for 2 days for my CIEE orientation and I met a ton of people there, including my friends Cerena and Suzanne who are also living in Granada. The first day we didn’t have any orientation sessions, so a few girls and I went for a walk through the city. We went to the Cathedral, the Giralda, and the Plaza de España. Then we went for tapas—my first tapas in Spain in a little more than 3 years. That night, there was a CIEE cocktail party where we all got to know each other. We spent the entire next day in orientation sessions learning about all the essentials of living in a foreign country—cell phones, apartments, bank accounts, how to get a residency permit, etc. Boring, but necessary.
Monday morning we went to our teaching destinations. I arrived in Granada and walked (1 mile!) with all of my luggage to my hostal (Hostal Nuevas Naciones)—a hostal that was really more like a hotel. I booked the hostal for 2 nights while I spent my days apartments hunting. Sure enough, 2 days later, I found an apartment. I only looked at 1 apartment and I decided to stay.
The apartment is located in a great, central area—5 minutes walking to the Cathedral. But the best part of my apartment is my flatmate Paz. She is so nice and I feel so comfortable with here. She is always telling me where to go and what to do in Granada. The first day I moved into the apartment, I met Paz at her store at 2:00pm (she owns a clothing and accessory store) and went for tapas. We went to a typical tapas bar and had tinto de verano. Then she brought me to the fresh fruit and vegetable market where we stopped at Paco’s stand—a place that I now go almost daily to get my fruit. I love my apartment, I love my flatmate, and I love Granada.
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Llevo 13 días en España y nunca quiero irme. Llegué a Madrid el 18 de septiembre y ya me sentía a casa en el aeropuerto. Jesús y Pablo me cogieron del aeropuerto y fuimos a su casa en Majadahonda que está un poco fuera de la capital. Me sentía a casa allí, comiendo comida española que hicieron Belén y la madre de Jesús, y hablando en español también. Comimos sopa de ajo para el almuerzo, y comimos a las 16.00 de la tarde, que es muy normal aquí. Después tomamos una siesta, y cenamos a las 9.30. Jesús y Belén me llevaron a la estación Renfe en la mañana y cogí el tren para Sevilla.
Solo estuve en Sevilla por 2 días para la orientación de CIEE y conocí a muchísima gente allí, incluso mis amigas Cerena y Suzanne que también están enseñando en Granada. El primer día no tuvimos reuniones, entonces fui con algunas otras chicas a caminar por la ciudad—fuimos a la Catedral, la Giralda, y la Plaza de España. Después fuimos de tapeo y comí mis primeras tapas en España en más que 3 años. La primera noche tuvimos un cocktail party donde todos nos conocimos un poco más. El día siguiente pasamos todo el día aprendiendo de las cosas esenciales de vivir en un país—los teléfonos, los apartamentos, las cuentas del banco, como conseguir nuestros permisos de residencia, etc. Aburrido, pero necesario.
El lunes por la mañana nos fuimos a nuestros sitios de enseñanza. Llegó a Granada y caminé (¡1 milla!) con todo mi equipaje a mi hostal—un hostal que era más como un hotel. Me quedé allí dos días mientras buscaba un piso en que vivir por el siguiente año de mi vida aquí en España. Dos días más tarde, encontré piso. Solo vi un piso y decidí quedarme.
La zona es muy buena y muy céntrica. Estoy cinco minutos andando a la Catedral. Pero la mejor parte del piso es mi compañera de piso—Paz. Ella es muy simpática y nos llevamos muy bien. Siempre está enseñándome cosas de la ciudad. El mismo día que mudé al piso, encontré Paz a su tienda (tiene una tiendo de ropa y accesorias) y me invitó a una tapa. Fuimos a un bar de tapas muy típico y tomamos tinto de verano con limón. Después, me enseñó la Frutería de Paco—un sitio donde yo voy diariamente para comprar fruta. Me encanta mi piso, me encanta mi compañera de piso, y me encanta Granada.
9.26.2009
Masks and Floods and Veneto, oh my! (Venezia)
Oh my gosh I LOVE VENICE! What a shock—as people always tell me, “you love every place you go!” This is true, but Venice is different. I am in love with this city—with the scenery, with the culture, and with the people.
I left early last Thursday morning (17 Sept.) for the 2 hour train ride from Bologna to Venezia and arrived at around 10:00. The Venice train station is like none I’ve ever seen before. When entering the train station, you feel as if you’re going to ride off straight into the water. There is water on both sides of the train tracks. Usually you can’t tell that you’re in a specific city until you leave the train station, but it already looks like Venice from the train.
When you walk out of the train station, you see water, a bridge, water taxis, and some more water. The buildings in Venice are colorful and old—they have all been damaged by the water, which I think gives Venice some of its charm.
It was a gorgeous day with sun and all—thank you, God. I turned left out of the train stations and started my journey to the Piazza San Marco. I love how there are no cars in Venice, although there is still traffic—tourist traffic and tons of it. The streets (most of them) are tiny and filled with people and shops. I passed an open air fruit market with some of the prettiest fruit I’ve ever seen. There were typical fruits shining with color—the oranges were the color of the tangerine crayola crayon and the peaches were a mixture of pink, red, and orange. There were other fruits that I’d never seen before too.
Shortly after the fruit market I stopped at a stand selling smoothies, fruit salad, and sangria (keep in mind that it was 10:30am!). I ordered a strawberry, raspberry, banana, and orange smoothie for breakfast that quite possibly could be the best smoothie I’ve ever tasted. It’s also possible that I felt this way because I was in Venice on a beautiful sunny day.
I walked through the Jewish ghetto and continued my journey to the Piazza San Marco. In some places, the streets were packed full of tourists and in others, I was the only person walking down the street. Every bridge I crossed and every piazza I came upon was a photo op and a wonderful place to simply enjoy the moment.
I ended up going to the Rialto Bridge and the Mercato Rialto before going to the Piazza San Marco. The bridge is enormous and has hundreds of people on it at all times of the days. The mercato is just on the other side of the bridge. It’s not as big as the Mercato San Lorenzo, but it is a great place to shop. There are masks and objects made from Murano glass everywhere.
After the mercato I headed for the Piazza San Marco. As I walked down the street leaving into the Piazza, I saw people walking away in bare feet with their pants rolled up to their knees, and when I entered the piazza, I understood why—it was flooded! There was water everywhere and platforms were set up around the piazza for people to walk on. I have never seen anything like this—people everywhere were walking around one of the most famous squares in the world without shoes. So I decided to join the crowd and also take off my shoes. There wasn’t much else to do but take some pictures and laugh about the rare occurrence of a flood in the Piazza San Marco. It was fantastic.
I walked around the square until I reached the Basilica where hundreds of people were standing on the platform trying to get a closer look at the church no one could go into because of the water. There were so many people on the platform that a police officer was controlling the “traffic!”
I exited the Piazza on the far right side and walked along the water. As you walk along, the contrast between the colorful buildings on one side, the water on the other, and all of the stands selling souvenirs in the middle seems strange—almost shocking.
There are also many painters trying to capture the beauty of Venice with oil on canvas. Many of the painters are quite pushy—walking up to tourists and trying to convince them that they are the best painters and paint the best quality paintings—insisting that shelling out 100 euros for a medium size painting is the “best price” you’ll find.
I steered clear of those painters and found one names Giovanni. He was an older man, maybe in his 60’s, waiting patiently to show people his life’s purpose—his paintings. I walked up to his stand because I was initially drawn in by the brilliant colors he uses in his paintings. I asked him how much his paintings cost and instead of giving me a price (he said, “Parliamo di questo piu tarde” (We’ll talk about that later)), he started to telling me about his career as a painter. He showed me how he paints different scenes in Venice—which brushes he uses, why he uses certain colors, etc. He also showed me all of his favorite paintings and explained each choice thoroughly. The first painting I saw was the one that I wanted—it was a painting of a quiet canal in Venice at sunset where the locals live, he told me. The sky was orange and pink, reflecting on the water. I told him that I liked that one because of the colors, but that I didn’t want to spend that much. So he showed me some smaller paintings that were similar and gives me a discount “perche parla bene l’italiano” (because you speak Italian well).
We continue to talk (all in Italian, of course) for the next 20 minutes. He asks me where I learned Italian, how long I will be in Italy, where I am going next, and what I like most about Italy. Before leaving, I ask him my new favorite question to ask locals—“Dov’e il tuo ristorante preferito?” (Where is your favorite restaurant?) He told me that his favorite restaurant was on an island in Venice about 2 hours away and to get there, you have to take 3 different boats. He saw the look on my face and understood that I didn’t have that much time, so he suggested another restaurant nearby. He took one of this business cards and drew a map on the back. He told me the place was a local favorite—all Italians, and that the food was simple, but delicious. He said the place was always busy and it was chaotic inside—waiters running around everywhere, cooks yelling out orders. It sounded perfect.
The restaurant—Trattoria Rivetta—was exactly as Giovanni described. It was tiny, and each table sat 6 people. If you were by yourself, they sat you at the first available spot. All of the waiters and cooks were speaking Veneto, as well as many of the people inside. Venetto is the Venitian dialect and it is very difficult to understand. The food was very simple and very tasty. I will always be thankful to Giovanni for giving me the map to that restaurant because it was such a typical Italian experience.
After lunch, I didn’t have much time left in Venice. I went back to the Piazza San Marco (now dry), got some gelato, and people watched for a little while. I then asked a local where I could catch the Vaporetto to go to the Ferrovia (train station). He pointed me in the right direction, I bought my ticket, and got on the next boat (the Vaporetto is like a bus, but on water). On the ride back, I was able to see some of the houses where the locals live. The front doors open up onto a small ledge and then there is water. People take their boats instead of their cars out to go shopping on the other side of town. It’s an amazing life.
I wandered around the train station area for a little while and then got on the train to head back to Bologna. I stared out the window until I couldn’t see the water anymore. Arrivederci Venezia…ci vediamo!
I left early last Thursday morning (17 Sept.) for the 2 hour train ride from Bologna to Venezia and arrived at around 10:00. The Venice train station is like none I’ve ever seen before. When entering the train station, you feel as if you’re going to ride off straight into the water. There is water on both sides of the train tracks. Usually you can’t tell that you’re in a specific city until you leave the train station, but it already looks like Venice from the train.
When you walk out of the train station, you see water, a bridge, water taxis, and some more water. The buildings in Venice are colorful and old—they have all been damaged by the water, which I think gives Venice some of its charm.
It was a gorgeous day with sun and all—thank you, God. I turned left out of the train stations and started my journey to the Piazza San Marco. I love how there are no cars in Venice, although there is still traffic—tourist traffic and tons of it. The streets (most of them) are tiny and filled with people and shops. I passed an open air fruit market with some of the prettiest fruit I’ve ever seen. There were typical fruits shining with color—the oranges were the color of the tangerine crayola crayon and the peaches were a mixture of pink, red, and orange. There were other fruits that I’d never seen before too.
Shortly after the fruit market I stopped at a stand selling smoothies, fruit salad, and sangria (keep in mind that it was 10:30am!). I ordered a strawberry, raspberry, banana, and orange smoothie for breakfast that quite possibly could be the best smoothie I’ve ever tasted. It’s also possible that I felt this way because I was in Venice on a beautiful sunny day.
I walked through the Jewish ghetto and continued my journey to the Piazza San Marco. In some places, the streets were packed full of tourists and in others, I was the only person walking down the street. Every bridge I crossed and every piazza I came upon was a photo op and a wonderful place to simply enjoy the moment.
I ended up going to the Rialto Bridge and the Mercato Rialto before going to the Piazza San Marco. The bridge is enormous and has hundreds of people on it at all times of the days. The mercato is just on the other side of the bridge. It’s not as big as the Mercato San Lorenzo, but it is a great place to shop. There are masks and objects made from Murano glass everywhere.
After the mercato I headed for the Piazza San Marco. As I walked down the street leaving into the Piazza, I saw people walking away in bare feet with their pants rolled up to their knees, and when I entered the piazza, I understood why—it was flooded! There was water everywhere and platforms were set up around the piazza for people to walk on. I have never seen anything like this—people everywhere were walking around one of the most famous squares in the world without shoes. So I decided to join the crowd and also take off my shoes. There wasn’t much else to do but take some pictures and laugh about the rare occurrence of a flood in the Piazza San Marco. It was fantastic.
I walked around the square until I reached the Basilica where hundreds of people were standing on the platform trying to get a closer look at the church no one could go into because of the water. There were so many people on the platform that a police officer was controlling the “traffic!”
I exited the Piazza on the far right side and walked along the water. As you walk along, the contrast between the colorful buildings on one side, the water on the other, and all of the stands selling souvenirs in the middle seems strange—almost shocking.
There are also many painters trying to capture the beauty of Venice with oil on canvas. Many of the painters are quite pushy—walking up to tourists and trying to convince them that they are the best painters and paint the best quality paintings—insisting that shelling out 100 euros for a medium size painting is the “best price” you’ll find.
I steered clear of those painters and found one names Giovanni. He was an older man, maybe in his 60’s, waiting patiently to show people his life’s purpose—his paintings. I walked up to his stand because I was initially drawn in by the brilliant colors he uses in his paintings. I asked him how much his paintings cost and instead of giving me a price (he said, “Parliamo di questo piu tarde” (We’ll talk about that later)), he started to telling me about his career as a painter. He showed me how he paints different scenes in Venice—which brushes he uses, why he uses certain colors, etc. He also showed me all of his favorite paintings and explained each choice thoroughly. The first painting I saw was the one that I wanted—it was a painting of a quiet canal in Venice at sunset where the locals live, he told me. The sky was orange and pink, reflecting on the water. I told him that I liked that one because of the colors, but that I didn’t want to spend that much. So he showed me some smaller paintings that were similar and gives me a discount “perche parla bene l’italiano” (because you speak Italian well).
We continue to talk (all in Italian, of course) for the next 20 minutes. He asks me where I learned Italian, how long I will be in Italy, where I am going next, and what I like most about Italy. Before leaving, I ask him my new favorite question to ask locals—“Dov’e il tuo ristorante preferito?” (Where is your favorite restaurant?) He told me that his favorite restaurant was on an island in Venice about 2 hours away and to get there, you have to take 3 different boats. He saw the look on my face and understood that I didn’t have that much time, so he suggested another restaurant nearby. He took one of this business cards and drew a map on the back. He told me the place was a local favorite—all Italians, and that the food was simple, but delicious. He said the place was always busy and it was chaotic inside—waiters running around everywhere, cooks yelling out orders. It sounded perfect.
The restaurant—Trattoria Rivetta—was exactly as Giovanni described. It was tiny, and each table sat 6 people. If you were by yourself, they sat you at the first available spot. All of the waiters and cooks were speaking Veneto, as well as many of the people inside. Venetto is the Venitian dialect and it is very difficult to understand. The food was very simple and very tasty. I will always be thankful to Giovanni for giving me the map to that restaurant because it was such a typical Italian experience.
After lunch, I didn’t have much time left in Venice. I went back to the Piazza San Marco (now dry), got some gelato, and people watched for a little while. I then asked a local where I could catch the Vaporetto to go to the Ferrovia (train station). He pointed me in the right direction, I bought my ticket, and got on the next boat (the Vaporetto is like a bus, but on water). On the ride back, I was able to see some of the houses where the locals live. The front doors open up onto a small ledge and then there is water. People take their boats instead of their cars out to go shopping on the other side of town. It’s an amazing life.
I wandered around the train station area for a little while and then got on the train to head back to Bologna. I stared out the window until I couldn’t see the water anymore. Arrivederci Venezia…ci vediamo!
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About Me
- Kel
- I am 28 years old and learning to live my life with the daily struggles of mental illness. My illnesses are a significant part of my life, but they are not all that I am. I am a teacher, daughter, sister, aunt, and friend, too. I'm starting this blog to chronicle my passions, goals, challenges and victories. I want to remind myself that I have come through many seemingly impossible situations, and I will continue to fights for the experiences like the ones I write about in this blog.