As a result of my terminal business I’m just going to say about my trip to Cordoba and Granada in southern Spain (province of Andalucia), checkout my pictures and use the captions plus my updated Where I’ve Traveled as your guide.

Since we left early on Friday morning and returned at 10pm on Sunday, I really didn’t get much work done. Plus, we had all of our walking tours in Spanish so my head was ready for a break at the end of the day, not ready to hit the books (that I didn’t bring…). We also had this packet of questions and activities to complete since it was an ‘educational’ trip that hung over all of our heads as we explored the various sites. I was not happy with it because I felt like we were obligated to have our noses shoved in a paper rather than experiencing the scenery; I ignored the packet as a result and scrambled to fill in all the responses on the 7-hour bus ride back. To top that off, when we met again for class the next day (Monday). we were supposed to have continued with the readings and assignments as if we hadn’t already invested enough time in the class over the weekend. …off to work I go…

Somehow I got the idea in my head that studying abroad would be all fun and games, that classes and life outside of Penn would be less complicated and less stressful.  WRONG.  I didn’t formally think of it this way, but in the back of my head I had conceived a bit of this idea.

I have still managed to be just as busy, if not more so than at school. Things that I never thought would take up time constantly butt their way into my life. Staying in contact with friends and family with the time change, homework (which I, of course, always find some way to put it off or get too absorbed in the assignment and spend an unnecessary amount of time on a small thing). exploring Madrid, planning other adventures (bane of my existence right now), meeting new people, finishing up summer applications (why didn’t I do them before I left like I promised myself), spending time with my host family, discovering new foods and neighborhoods, still working at my job at school via the internet, and overall navigation in a foreign (in all senses of the word) world–it is truly exhausting, not to mention the little mishaps from not being able to understand everything people say to you (and, boy, is it mentally draining focusing on Spanish-talk for more than an hour or two).

Why must I have the desire to do it all?

My dad pointed out to me that not everyone is familiar with how blogs work, so I thought I would do a quick post explaining it.  From time to time, I will write a post (like the one you are reading) and you can read it one of a number of ways:

-Read each post as an email.  Every time I write you will get a message in your inbox from me with the text of the post and a link to view it online (so you can see the blog itself and any pictures I included).  To ’subsribe’ to this feature, just type your email in the box on the right (as seen in the picture below) and follow the directions the system will email you in order to confirm that you’re a real person (and not an online bot).  This is the easiest way to stay up-to-date with me.

 -Check the homepage (www.hablasalyssa.com) almost as often as you inhale and exhale to view everything I’ve written, with the most recent post at the top and scrolling down to catch-up on anything you missed (though you would have to have a huge lung capacity to miss anything).

And another note, I will always post pictures of where I’ve been before I write a post about it and sometimes I won’t even write about it (like my trip to Madrid’s giant flea market, El Rastro) because the story is told through the pictures and their captions; so don’t be afraid to check out my pictures from time to time.

I hope this helps and, of course, email me if you ever have any problems with the site.

Spain has made me mean.  I can’t do my favorite pastime of walking down the street and smiling at people I literally cross paths with.  Why can’t I, you ask?  Your mouth still works the same way on the other side of the Atlantic, right?  Smiles and kind gestures are part of the vocabulary of the “universal language,” so what’s the big deal?

Though these points are all technically true, an unexpected grin from a stranger on the street is not received with a surprised smile in return or a ‘how do you do’ nod of the head.  No, for the most part I get people that look right through more or, if I’m being too liberal with my sharing of good-cheer, I get a sneaky look from a man pausing for a moment from his work for a ‘hola bonita.’

Nope, thanks, I’ll pass on the smiles.  My red hair and pale skin are enough of an indicator that I am an outsider, so there’s no need to draw any more attention to myself.

Now I walk the 15-minutes to class with brisk determination, looking only through oncoming human traffic and never at them.  I feel so mean and like such a cold, unfeeling, miserable person weaving in and out of pedestrians.  I miss the high I get from making those split-second connections with another wandering pair of eyes or the shared moment of empathy and compassion with the woman whose frazzled hair and lopsided handbags indicate the end of a day that just won’t end, eyes and aching feet wishing only to be home.  If only my smile could mean something.

It started out with a trip to El Prado, Madrid’s famous art museum. I wasn’t too impressed because I like a bit more variety (only 1500 of their collection of over 7000 pieces can be displayed at a time, so maybe what I would have preferred is in storage) and the main focus was on Goya, El Greco, and other Spanish heart throbs. I did like how the main exhibit hall was naturally lit so you didn’t have to deal with the glare of the harsh spotlights. It was kind of fun seeing some of the famous works that I’ve read about in textbooks, but nothing overwhelming. It was interesting to see artists throughout the museum painting the exhibited paintings–never seen that in all my past museum visits.

Saturday was my day-trip to Segovia, which you can read about in my updated post.

Sunday was another beautiful day in Madrid, so I went on a stroll that was only intended to last an hour or so, but came out to around 4 or 5. I took some fabulous pictures, though, and be sure to check out the map to get an idea of where these places are in Madrid.

Today I was made fun of for learning too quickly. My host mom’s parents came over today (I think they come every Sunday, but I’m not sure) and commented that I could speak much better than last weekend. “Last time she didn’t say anything and I don’t think she understood what we were saying. Now she’s speaking so well. What are you feeding her? She’s learning so fast! Watch out for that one!”

It is true that my ears are getting a bit more attuned to the quick, Spanish tongue and heavy accent (or is it a lisp?) and my head is starting to think and process things a bit more efficiently, but I still find myself lost in conversations. It doesn’t help when the person I’m speaking with starts using some vocabulary word I don’t know or suddenly changes the subject or, better yet, makes some sort of sarcastic side-comment. And then, when I’m trying to say something, I have to parse together my thoughts in English, think about how to say it in Spanish (a slow process) and realize that I don’t know how to say a key word so I have to distract myself and try to describe that word only to get there and to have completely lost my train of thought or to have changed the subject in the process.

When I do think I’ve communicated the word I want (with lots of gestures and pointing), the person will tell me it and see if I know it (usually I don’t), but the problem is that I can’t remember it or learn it very easily without seeing it written done. The way a word is said is often very different than the spelling and I have to visualize these things.

I get by with the most interesting sentence structures and amidst an onslaught of new vocabulary words. I’ve translated myself after I’ve said a few things and, my goodness, I sound like a buffoon. Trying to say “I went to the store” could come out as “She will go to the…[big pause filled with struggling facial expressions and spurts of the beginning of words that are in English]…that,” with me pointing out the door and in the general direction of where I came or at the logo on my bag.

With such a display of gibberish, it’s really amazing anyone who doesn’t speak English understands me. (There are always the SLU kids in my classes to speak and “practice” my English with.) So imagine my surprise when I heard her complement today.

And then at dinner, my host dad (who wasn’t here for the aforementioned conversation) exclaimed, “She learned how to cut the orange! Like a professional, look at her go.” (Rough translation, of course.)

Our dessert is always fruit and there’s this special way they eat their oranges (the big kind, not the clementine/mandarine ones) so that you don’t eat any peel and your hands don’t get all sticky, all the while managing to eat it politely with a fork and knife on a little plate that’s never big enough for all the peels. It’s kind of awkward. Try it, if you don’t believe me. You get a knife, fork, softball sized orange, and a saucer (only fingers are allowed for one step)–go!

“You’re going to have to slow down,” my host sister tells me. “You’ve got four months here. Don’t learn it all at once or you will have nothing left to do.”

Next up: Alyssa learning and memorizing a few traditional Spanish foods like tortilla espanola. I was told on Monday, in fact, I can begin that lesson. Let the learning begin continue!

I asked her to be honest and tell me if I was the stereotypical Penn girl. She–being from a smaller Philadelphia university and of a personality type that’s not afraid to tell the truth–responded with:

“Yes, but you do realize there are many different kinds of ‘Penn girls.’ You strike me as one who wants to save the world, open up an orphanage or do some sort of non-profit social work.” I grin. “And I bet you get up at like 6 in the morning to go jogging.” Now I’m laughing.

How’d she read me so well? It’s only been a week and we don’t even spend that much time together, despite living only a few feet away. Regardless, I’ll take it. Stereotypes are in someone’s favor, for once.

You may have seen my photos already from where I’ve traveled, but perhaps a few words could help. I didn’t intend to squish both weekends together into one post, but I’m tired of feeling guilty for not writing about either so this will have to do.

Andalucia
Within 24 hours of landing here, I was already beginning my European travels with a SLU-sponsored orientation trip to a region in southern Spain called Andalucia. Since Madrid is centrally located in Spain, I am always relatively close to travel destinations and the pueblo of Cazorla was no exception at about a 4.5 hour bus ride away. The SLU philosophy on making new friends abroad and quickly immersing into Spanish culture is to ignore whatever jetlag or travel-induced exhaustion you may be experiencing (not very much for me, but my roommate on the trip had a 11 hour time change and a 25 hour journey) and do as much as possible involving the aforementioned. I think they succeeded in achieving that for all 31 of us who participated.

On the bus ride, I met a girl from a small, Midwestern town (and therefore is very sweet and has small Midwestern town values, unlike the other students I “met” at the airport gate) who I think I will be my travel buddy, though we have yet to plan any of the trips we have in mind. Through our 8-hour hike and extreme sport activities, we all got to know each other and little cliques of friends were formed by the end of the trip that still exist on campus now.

Our guide was a crazy Spaniard who spoke a bit of English and seemed to know more about hiking than the basic skill of telling time. We definitely experienced some awfully long “5 minute” stretches on the hike through the trees and up the mountain sides. While I was busy snapping pictures and soaking-up the landscape, people were grumbling in the back of the group about blisters and bathrooms. It was quite a workout, but I wouldn’t have expected anything less from the trip description: “rigorous hiking adventure.” I guess they didn’t read it or thought that meant walking on flat, paved roads for an hour or two each day.

The hike on Saturday began with a 45-minute bus ride up into the mountains (the driver was amazing, maneuvering these windy often un-barricaded roads that would’ve made me nervous in a Mini Cooper) and included a cool-morning ascent to our lunch stop destination above the clouds at the top of the highest peak we could find and a 1750m descent that somehow ended back up at our hotel. We walked for about 9 miles, but that statistic doesn’t include the vertical distance we subjected our poor knees and feet to. The worst part was actually finding your footing on the rubble-scattered paths–especially when descending–even more so than the time we spent going up and down. Throughout the hike we would catch glimpses of the clustered white buildings of Cazorla before they were again concealed by clouds, a patch of trees, or another mountain. It was sort of like we were tracking it, never believing we’d ever make it back down to that little white dot that was our hotel at the end of the day.

I also enjoyed meeting the town’s infamous sheppard, Pedro, who was walking his sheep with his dogs while watching us scale the steepest and largest hill in town. He, and anyone else who was admiring the skyline that day like we did the next day, must have been laughing at how crazy we were to do that (…they never said the shortest distance between two points was the easiest…) and waiting for one of us to pull a “Jack and Jill”.

The Hill. Imagine a cluster of colored dots slowly inching down the hill and you will get an idea of what we looked like. Note the hill keeps going off the right-side of the frame to El Castillo (that’s just a lookout in the upper left).

And finally, the town’s main feature is El Castillo de Yerda, lit-up at night and towering above everything but the mountains themselves. We made a pit stop there at the end of our hike and we were all surprised to find that the castle itself wasn’t anything spectacular. With all the glamor we give castles in fairytales and Disney movies, I was expecting a bit more than a few rooms and a dungeon, where legend has it that an Arab King locked his daughter in there when the Christians were coming and had the guards feed her by descending plates of food through the gates (but somehow they ran out of food and she ate a few too many bugs, turning into a monster that will get little children if they’re up too late on Dia de San Juan!). Granted, it had a tall tower with about 4 levels to it, but really not like the stereotypical mansion of luxury that I was expecting, especially with respect to the size of the walls protecting it. I guess I will have to wait until this weekend for my visit to Segovia, a town known for its spectacular castles and aqueducts.

The extreme sports we did in the mountains on Sunday were ok, but more low-key than all the hiking so they paled in comparison. I did surprise myself by not being afraid of the zipline (put on a harness and hook-up to a cable that stretches between two cliff and then off you go!) and, in fact, did it twice because I wanted to get a better look at the view. It was kind of like riding a slow swing, but without an actual seat. Really, not that bad. There was also rappelling, rock-climbing, horseback riding, and a mountain bike stroll. The company that hosted us took pictures throughout the day and posted a montage video that I highly recommend you check out, despite the poor streaming quality.

Toledo
When I said a “side of Toledo,” I meant it. Toledo was another SLU-sponsored trip that I couldn’t resist because it was so easy to do (no planning, just show up) and cheap. Our guide was a professor at SLU and was quite a TrailBlazer, often leaving much of the group behind without seeming to even try to walk their slow pace. Unfortunately, he kind of had a problem with spitting, so the huddle when we got to a point where he wanted to share something with us ended up being people slowly backing up or inching a bit behind someone else for–at least in my case–fear of dirty glasses.The town is divided into new and old sections by an ancient wall. There’s a lot of history here, especially with respect to religions. We visited a synagogue turned museum and got both an outside and inside view of the town’s Cathedral. It was stunning and I am so glad they didn’t allow pictures because I wouldn’t have known where to begin to capture the paintings (on the walls and hanging), stained glass, wood carvings, arches and gigantic columns, tombs, or organs. It was massive and overwhelmingly beautiful. No wonder it took them over 250 years!

The northwest tower of the Cathedral, once the sun came out in the afternoon.

I was also fascinated by the Damasquinado plates and jewelery. We were lucky to walk past a man who was working on a small plate (like an ashtray size) and who showed us how it is made. You start with an iron base and scratch the surface to adhere very thin gold thread by hammering it into whatever design you like. Then, if you want, you can hammer on thin bits of gold to fill-in any patterns you may have outlined with the thread. It sounds simple, but everything is at a small scale and it’s all freehand (so no etching a design beforehand). Sometimes it would be random intricate designs, other times there were birds or flowers. All very beautiful, of course.

I can’t end without mentioning Toledo’s tie with the famous painter, El Greco. He’s quite famous worldwide and one of Spain’s greatest prides. We saw a bunch of works of his and I believe there are even more in Madrid’s art museum, El Prado, which I plan on visiting soon. Again, no pictures (though quite a few people thought it would be ok to take pictures “without the flash” that often fired, against the clear indications to not do so…let’s say a few people had to be escorted out and our poor guide was threatened a bunch of times throughout the trip for our group’s ignorance).

After a series of odd problems with shoes, glasses, gift cards, traveler’s cheques, and cellphones during my last week in the States, I was hoping this random surge of bad luck would not jump on the plane and ride along in the seat next to me. Sure enough, it seems to have stayed home.

When my uncle dropped me off at the airport, there was only one person in the American Airlines check-in area. Being the chatty/social/often-too-nosy person that I am, I asked her where she was flying to. “Madrid,” she tells me. “No way! I’m going there, too! To study abroad?” “No, I go to school there.” “Ooh, I see. What school do you attend? I am just going abroad for the semester at this really small university that you’ve probably never heard of.” “I go to SLU, St. Louis University.” You’ve got to be kidding me. What are the chances of that? Good luck, here I come! Adios USA.

We hopped on the plane to Chicago and waited together for the 6 hour layover, taking turns watching each other’s bags so we could go to the bathroom without lugging them all into the tiny, “public bathroom”-clean stalls. I asked a million questions, per usual, and she gladly guided me in the right direction. I can’t even remember what I asked her, but it was really nice meeting someone who already knew the campus and the school.

I should add that we were transferring onto the SLU sponsored “group flight” to Madrid, so the gate quickly filled up with girls clad in Uggs and North Face jackets, squealing when they saw someone they hadn’t seen since before Break and chatting about matching leopard-print luggage sets or how heavy their bags were. It was like a giant, caddy slumber party. Ugh. I’m not sure what type of student I was expecting, but I was glad to hear the girl from SLU-Madrid assure me that these girls were the “home campus” girls that gave all the Americans visiting the school a bad reputation. “Trust me, not everyone at school is like this.”

With that steady streamline of advice in my head, I confidently boarded the plane to Madrid. She was sitting in a different section than I was, so I was on my own for the next 8 hours, hoping that I wouldn’t have to make conversation about Gucci bags or the legality of buying alcohol in Spain. Again, luck strikes.

While the other students harried the flight attendants about changing seats to be near a friend or to squish huge carry-ons into the overhead compartments, I found myself sitting in a window seat next to a hip, older woman. She was reading Angels and Demons (in Spanish) and, to complement her bleached-blonde hair, wearing a chic, checkered newsboy cap, black cargo pants and layered black tank tops with fringed seams all around–obviously a Spaniard. Phew. I whipped out the best Spanish I could and we talked on-and-off throughout the flight. There were times when neither of us understood the other and I did a lot of head-nodding, despite not knowing what the heck she was talking about, but it was good.

“Enjoy your stay. You’re going to love Madrid,” she told me time and time again. I could understand that much of it. I’m sure I sounded like a fool, mixing tenses and dangling modifiers here and there, blushing when I didn’t understand or realized that my pronunciation was confusing her; but at one point she went as far to comment that my “Spanish is very good.” If you say so...I’ll take that.

Adele then guided me through the (empty at 7am) newly-remodeled airport, flawlessly passing through Customs (the guy didn’t even look at me or ask a single question as he granted me entrance and stamped my passport) and retrieving our bags from these nifty conveyor belts that used some sort of sensor to detect if there was a bag in the way on the carousel before pushing the luggage onto it. Although they definitely looked like they had a long journey with their roughed-up fabric and dirty sides, my bags all arrived without any sign of being searched. (I was very worried about the needles and such setting off the detectors and I hardly was able to get the things closed, so I wouldn’t want to be the guy who has to try to put it all back together.) And the security in Philly was also uneventful with 13 bottles of liquid insulin and a host of electronics not causing any trouble, though my pump triggered the alarm and a “female assist” as usual.

Now the only other worry I had was finding my host family. Had I actually bought the group flight ticket (and paid about $400 more), I would have been guaranteed a seat on the bus from the airport to campus, where I’d meet my family. Instead, I was told that “if there was room” on the bus, I could come on, else I’d be left standing at the corner to wave down a cab that hopefully would cost less than the 30 Euros that I brought with me. Well, based on the theme of this post, it shouldn’t come as a surprise that my host dad was actually waiting for me (and two other girls I didn’t know at that point from the group flight) just outside of baggage claim. Wahoo!

I did the typical Spanish greeting of one kiss on each cheek (or maybe it’s supposed to be to the air–still not sure about that one yet) and the four of us wheeled over to the parking garage. Now let me paint the scene for you: one 4-door Saab sedan + 3 girls studying abroad for 4 months + their corresponding luggage (i.e. 4 big rolling suitcases, 3 duffle bags, 3 backpacks, 2 handbags) = slight problem.

Since the other girls either don’t speak Spanish at all or haven’t studied it for at least 4 year, I did my best to translate and figure out what was going on. My host dad was so nervous about meeting us that he initially lost his car in the parking garage, but I think he also realized this “equation” was not in his favor. “We’re going to have to get a cab for these extra bags,” he explained after only being able to fit 3 bags in the trunk (which you normally think of has holding the bulk of everything). “I want you all to come with me so I can show you around the city and we’ll have the bags meet us at the apartment.” That certainly sounded interesting and nothing short of quite complicated.

The three of us looked at each other questionably. None of us wanted to part with our luggage in such a sketchy way, but it wasn’t looking good. Well, we started handing him bags to fill the cab and he stacked three on top of each other in the middle backseat. “I’ll hold this in my lap and if we put this under our feet and that in the front seat…” We fit, though I couldn’t see anything but luggage or tell which direction he was pointing when he gave us the tour. Oh well. We survived, no thanks to that bad luck in the States. Hello Spain, here I come! I think I’m going to like it here!

Below is an overview of things I imagine people would be curious about and I will frequently refer to. I will update and add to this post as I see fit. Use the comments to tell me what I’m missing!

Classes
I will be taking a break from my normal Computer Science and Psychology courses this semester, focusing on knocking out some elective requirements. It wouldn’t be a bad thing, either, if I could get better grades than normal to help my not-so-nice GPA.

Two are in Spanish (which I hadn’t spoken since junior year in high school until I took a Spanish conversation class this past Fall). I’m hoping that the immersion will help make those two bearable. They will most certainly be a challenge, but I think most of my peers are study-abroad students and in a similar situation.
-Spanish Culture & Civilization (14 students enrolled): For this one we will be traveling to Andalucia and Asturias, Cantabria, and Leon–two separate trips. Look out for posts on those in the coming months.
-Introduction to Spanish Literature (12 students enrolled)

Two are about Spain, but taught in English.
-The Music of Spain (6 enrolled)
-Art in Latin America (3 enrolled): I’ve never been in a class this small!

And I’m really excited about this last one.
-Approaching the Arts (15 enrolled): This one will include trips to concerts throughout Madrid. Nothing like good old first-hand experience.

Host family
My family lives about 2km from campus (so I can walk, it’s about 20 minutes) and near the Moncloa Metro stop. They have 2 kids (Isabel-18 and Santiago-14), a dog (Lula who likes to steal wrappers from my trashcan and watch my shadow on the wall like it’s a movie), and I have three two other housemates: 2 1 (the other moved to a different house with more of her friends from home) from SLU’s home campus and one from St. Joe’s (in Philadelphia).

What I Packed
I am armed with:
-A new SLR (aka “real”) digital camera, thanks to lots of saving and a combination of Birthday and Christmas money from my family. I have two different lenses, too.
-Oodles of medical supplies
-My favorite granola bars
-Mini Swedish Fish, Cinnamon FireBalls, and one pack of gum (reported to be not very good in Spain, but I decided to go cold turkey and not stock up on gum)
-A host gift (book with pictures of Philly that I can use to tell stories about where I’m from and they can flip through if they ever want to remember me)
-Homemade swirled chocolate chip chocolate cookies because, though the chocolate and desserts themselves in Spain are supposed to be way better than ours, cookies are just not the same. I hear that it’s also tricky to find some of the main ingredients of homemade ones—like brown sugar—so I took up the suggestion from one veteran SLU student to bring them to share with my family. (Update: The family loved these. Santi ate three within 10 minutes of me giving them the gift, the third one done ever so manipulativly and against his parents’ strict No’s…what a 14-year-old boy.)
-My trusty laptop and an interesting contraption to convert voltage/power.
-USB phone for Skype calls to the States.
-iPod
-Pile of Europe and Spain travel books. Hopefully they will come to some use. If not, I just discovered wikitravel.
-Not very much clothes, as I didn’t have a lot of room and it’s a great reason to make sure I look like a Spaniard (though, I think the red hair will be enough of a giveaway).
-My teddy bear from my brother, fully accessorized with a University of Michigan t-shirt.
-New glasses (due to unforeseen circumstances at the lab shipping my lenses, this was not realized…what luck I have) from my most recent appointment. Supposedly I’m only 20/30, but I feel much more blind than that walking around. I guess it would help if I actually wear my glasses.
-Shoes: new everyday sneakers (thanks to UPS, I’ve now got an urgent mission in Spain), running shoes, old pair of shoes (for the hiking orientation trip), slippers, and flip-flops.
-Odds and ends for personal products. They’re very expensive in Spain, but I’m intentionally going to run out of a number of items so I will be forced to clean myself and smell like a Spaniard.
-My Nalgene water bottle
-My beloved electronic Spanish-English translator.

And I fit all of this in one rolling dufflebag, a backpack, and medium rolling suitcase. We’ll see what I end up with when I return.