Creeping into 10

I had a blog started before I went to Italy. I didn´t finsih it though and now it is quite pointless to try and talk about the things that I did as if I hadn´t yet done them, or to write about my feelings before going, post them, and then write about going directly afterwards. This is a somewhat extensive sinopsis of my trip to Italy with Collin, Mary, and Melissa with included before and after thoughts.

Italy,

Somewhat put off by the fact that I would be in a foreign country whose language I do not speak, I decided to research some basic phrases and simple greetings before I left. The trip was half planned and allowed for changes as we went, but we had reserved the first few nights stays already. Getting into Italy and attempting basic navigation was like watching a dizzy bat contest at best. I had been awake for aproximately 24 hours with maybe 1 or 2 hours of sleep on floor of Barajas airport in Madrid before getting into the country, and realized as I approached an information desk that I didn´t speak Italian. This resulted (for a prolonged duration of 9 days) with me approaching people, speaking to them at first in Spanish, and then changing to English once they began saying things to me in English. I really disliked being forced to speak English to these people, and almost felt stereotyped and judged by it. Eventually I adopted a habit of speaking Spanish with an Italian sing-song canter that usually got me the things I wanted - aka: cigarettes, beer, food, directions.

Milan

Milan was not my favorite. While it was rainy and cold the entire time, it was colder in Milan and I had no idea what was going on due to my lack of sleep. Our hostel was outside of the city and we had to take a train to get there. We did not know this and bumbled about in the metro for awhile before just calling a cab to take us there. After napping for a few hours we went into Milan on a train that essentially was free since no one checks your tickets, which I found to be a universal theme in Italy. It was cold as all get out while we explored the bassilica (cathedral) and saw a castle with silly Christmas music and corresponding lights, I mean seriously it had lights lighting up like the piano keys striking notes to the song playing. There was also a gigantic ¨Christmas tree¨which looked more like a terribly disorienting ride at the fair. This ¨tree¨was composed of iron rings and poles surrounded by different colored neon lights that flashed and changed colors constantly while the tree spun around at about 3 G´s , possibly evoking siezures to those who couldn´t handle its magnificence. We found a restaurant that had cheap pizzas, a funny waiter who spoke decent English and was quite amiable, and more importantly a warm interior. That is all that happened in Milan, it was pretty cold and boring. We got on a train early the next morning towards Bologna.

Bologna

Dedicated as our new years eve jump off party spot, Bologna offered very little change in terms of terrible weather, but was definitely a pretty city. There are two towers about 300 feet tall, and are the last remaining two of some earlier 200 towers that used to be in the city a few hundred years ago. There was an extravagant cathedral in the center of the city and many other surrounding ones that offered different styles and sizes. There was a constant of far-off explosions as the throngs of young kids were throwing fire crackers all over the place. Collin and I sequestered ourselves in the hotel room (which was quite expensive I might add) and put in some serious work on bottles of J&B. This sort of attributed to a splotchy memory of the new years; but I believe we went to the plaza at the center of town, watched live music, counted down the new years, yelled, comforted Collin as his camera was stolen, lost, whatever, and then proceeded to walk around for hours in the rain with me commanding Mary to not enter any bars as there were 10 and 15 euro covers JUST to enter. I think it was fun. The next day was spent hazily wandering about the city to churches and parks and plazas and pizza shops. Collin and I found a pizza place with a 12 inch pizza for 4€ which was pretty magical and delicious. We spent another night in Bologna and were off early the next morning to Venice.

Venice

Venice was an absolute dream. After desembarking from the train the rain was coming down hard enough to the point that I had to buy myself an umbrella. Someone approached me for 5€, I said no, he said 4€, I gave him 3.70€, he looked pissed and I laughed as I walked off. Venice is really a place you truly have to see for yourself to understand how it makes you feel. There are no roads, there are no cars, there are no yards. There are waterbuses, water taxis, water ambulances and police boats, gondollas and traghettos. This place was pretty magical, and while the rain might have ruined it for some, I found it to be that much more interesting since the entire city was flooding. An entire plaza was flooded and makeshift walkways 1.5 feet tall were put up all over the city to get around without being completely miserable. Our ¨hostel¨was a homey little apartment with two rooms, a kitchen and bathroom, and a small Italian man who we assumed was ¨Miss Rita¨as the hostel world booking said. Actually quite hilarious, we stood by a ticket booth waiting for ¨Miss Rita¨and constantly shouted RITA!? at every woman who came near us. When we saw this person waiting by the rendezous spot we yelled Rita at him(her?), and he pointed to the left and promptly took off in his galoshas at a pace we could hardly match, let alone with our luggage, but on an elevated walkway that was about as wide as it was tall and 2 lanes of people passing it was nearly impossible to follow his crafty navigation through tight alleyways and passages. After settling in, we headed right back out to the Bassilica di San Marco which was created in the 13th century, Palazzo Ducale and its' museums, and essentially anywhere else we could find before it was really dark and rainy. When it was too dark to care of any more tourism, we got some items at the grocery and went back to our spot to make dinner. I cooked dinner for everyone which included some bruschetta to start, and pasta with creamy tomato sauce and parmigiana along with a salad made by the girls. Delish. After many bottles of wine we wandered around the streets of Venice and I asked people for cigarettes in my elusive Spanish Italian accent language that I had created. When we woke the next day to the first nice weather we'd seen. I must say that it is a shame I did not know the weather was so nice earlier than 11am fore I was a bit sluggish from the night before. We took a waterbus to the train station and boarded our first train with individual rooms. We had no assigned seats since we bought our tickets just before we boarded the train, but had the luck of finding a car with 4 fun Australian travelers that were our age and seats for us. Eventually some of us were kicked out of our seats, but I won in rock-paper-scissors to hold my seat. We were safely on our way to Florence none the less.

Florence

We all made plans to meet with the Australians the evening that we got into Florence and headed off to our hostel. Just a stones' throw away from the train station, across a nice plaza with a cathedral was Hostal Ottaviano (which apparently despite having simple directions was very easy to confuse for other hostels according to Collin). The owner was a HILARIOUS British guy named Benjamin who continuously messed with us, and I unabashedly did the same to him as I knew that it would make the situation much more interesting and entertaining. We went to meet the Aussies at the Duomo and this turned into QUITE a NIGHT. joder. We went to Shotz Cafe, and proceeded to begin a drinking contest between Aussies and Americans, and apparently Chileños as well (who apparently won the contest, but I refute this). I know that we were awake until quite late, and that a certain Australian peed in a plant in the living room of my hostel, and that another certain Aussie went on a nuts berzerker rampage, that I was of course completely fine and calm and passive the whole time, and that a certain American was completely incapacitated very early in the night as we left the bar, but other than that, its a bit foggy. It was a blast. The next day was not. It was raining constantly and most things were closed because it was Monday? I saw the Duomo which was impressive and a few churches, but was incapable of seeing much else, plus with a rambo sized knife stabbing the inside of my brains due to dehydration was not helping the situation. The next day we went to the Uffizi, which was absolutely marvelous and had many works by artists such Boticelli, Pielo dela Francesca, Michaelangelo, and Giorgione. The museum was massive and the line to get in was heinous. I wanted to tear my arms off and beat myself to death with them after waiting in this cold rainy line for about 1.5 hours. Before the Uffizi, we had marched up quite a steep hill to piazzale michelangelo where there was an illustrious view of the entire city, its cathedrals, castles, parks, and rain clouds. The Palazzo Pitti was big, but I only saw it from the outside and only it's front. Ponte Vechio was interestingly constructed as there are some houses and shops on it that appear to hang off the sides without support. A famous goldsmith has a statue of his torso dedicated to him on the bridge and it is surrounded by a little fence that has hundreds of locks shackled to it. The bridge in its entirety is full of jewelery shops, gold, gold, and more gold. Florence was quite an experience and has much pride for its artists and definitely plenty of history to back it up. The same goes for Venice as countless artists flocked to their cities for inspiration and experience in such a pivotal ambiance. I left feeling somewhat inspired on my way to Rome.

Rome

The capital of Italy was my last destination and I had so many places to visit. The architecture through the city was all so awe inspiring that I walked around and it could have just been a random bank, but good enough to have me crane my neck and look like a total tourist. So much culture, language, history, and art has come from Rome that has spread all over the world, and to feel its presence and see it in person is really something else. Each day I woke early to make the sites, see the churches, museums, plazas, and ruins. I met a really cool Ecuadorian named Indira who spoke 4 languages. My hostel was run by a South African named Nyasha (i know right) and a Romanian named Maurizio. They were a riot and constantly fought with each other, but in the most passive and absurdly docile tones ever. I teamed back up with the Australians for sight-seeing and some drinks, and near the end my original posse came back and we got a few hours of sleep before heading to a bus, to a plane, to Madrid. So little sleep, so little shower, so few clothes. I stayed a night in Madrid with my friend Ed and Jeff, and saw my friend Sonia and some of her friends. We partied really hard really late and I caught a bus back to Logroño the following afternoon.

No more money, need to work, need to eat tuna and rice for a few weeks. It just so happens that I love tuna, and rice.

Los Babas

There is a bar in Logroño called Biribay that constantly hosts local bands and free performances. Every once in a while there will be a small cover, such as last night, when Los Babas played. I can definitely say that it was worth 3 euros as I was laughing hysterically and chanting strange choruses the whole while. This band called Los Babas was comprised by 2 ridiculous dudes in some seriously classy getup, who had a style that can be described as Death From Above 1979's Spanish cousins of funk-in my words, and absolutely not official. The drummer had a headset microphone and was constantly howling into it to imitate guitar solos and recounted absurd stories which were actually the verses of each song. The bassist had a fireworks show of dookie dreads sprouting from his head and played a pink battle ax of a bass that was being augmented by a plethora of pedals that I could never understand. This band was magical and had the entire bar packed from door to stage, but Marta and I had manage to wiggle our way to the very front. The duo changed outfits halfway through the show-this is to say that they switched out of pink felt tracksuits that were as tight as possible, into even tinier pink booty shorts and chest hair baring shirts. Not only did these guys rock, but they were very funny and entertained the crowd in between songs as well as during them.

I could not load a video because it was too big :(

El 20%

With a small margin of error, I can safely say that twenty percent of the time that I arrive at I.E.S. La Laboral, at least one of my classes is canceled. I can also say that about two percent of the time that one of these classes is canceled, someone calls me to tell me. This results in something like an eighteen percent chance that I will come to school with a minimum of one class being canceled. I also hold the bantom weight class belt for ¨Most Wacky Schedule Ever¨, and will often have days where I only have one class. With that being said, I find myself coming to school every once in a while only to find that I should have taken my chances and remained in my bed.

Today is the last day of classes before the Christmas break, and it happened to be one of these no-call-no-class days. While I might have been a bit tiffy any other day about this unfortunate news, today my bad mood was set to balance quickly as a random Spanish teacher, or admistrator, with glasses and thin grey hair pulled back into a gnarly pony tail popped out of a door I had never noticed and demanded that I enter. Waiting inside for me was a selection of boxes of wine. When I say boxes of wine I do not mean Franzia, or Gato Negro contained in a plastic bladder inside of a cardboard box, but rather an ornately decorated cardboard box with three bottles of assorted wine made by the students and professors here at the school. To me, this is class. I now hoist a box around school containing a white Tempranillo, red Joven Maceración Carbónica (whatever the hell that means), and one other that I can not see as it is in between the other two and covered by cardboard. In thirty minutes I will sit with my box of wine and have lunch with all of the professors in the school.

These same professors surprised me yesterday with a Christmas gift from Zara, the fashionable Spanish clothing store known worldwide. The fleece-lined knit hoodie is perfect for the frigid weather and definitely has quite a bit of style. It has a double lined hood so as to keep from getting as wet when it rains, and is actually really heavy. It is the perfect gift for the weather, and I was really quite moved by their generous action. I assume that they wanted to get me something warm since they are always saying that I am not wearing enought clothes and that Spain is going to wreck my world if I don´t get real.

Last night I saw the movie Avatar in 3-d with Marta and was surprised at how beautiful this movie was. It was like some kind of lucid acid trip that was being dubbed in Spanish, which possibly made it that much more of a mind bender. While I am really put off by everything being dubbed here, and the Spanish people´s stubborn refusal to attempt other languages, this movie was beautiful and visually captivating enough to push aside my hate for dubbed voices. The sad thing was that I understood the alien people in the movie better, because they did not speak ¨Spanish¨very well as it was their second tongue. This made me feel a little bit dumb, but complacent as alien voices dubbed alien voices for aliens on foreign planet in a foreign movie theatre. ¿What? This movie theatre/shopping complex was a massive behemoth of plutocracy just a few miles outside of the city. Being quite late in the evening and very empty, the capitalistic compound was immensely surreal as there were Christmas decorations, lights, and music playing, but hardly a soul to be seen in this airplane hangar of a bulding. Marta let me drive us home and was terrified and telling me where to turn at every road. Typical, but deserving as I am sure that I seem untrustworthy with the car of someone´s parents.
It´s about to be a celebration bitches.

It's not always sunny in Logroño

The north of Spain boasts many beaches, wineries, beautiful mountains and valleys, but what the people tend to boast in Rioja when they see us "white people" is how cold it gets. Typically after exclaiming that it is cold out, someone will reply that this isn't cold, and that everyone outside of Spain thinks that it is supposed to be warm all the time. I have seen such pride in a completely uncontrollable quotient such as the weather before. In fact, I even represent and defend myself when approached by these haughty Spaniards, by telling them that I lived in the mountains of North Carolina, and know how to prepare myself for and endure the cold. I am still waiting for the jamón, chorizo, queso and wine to give me the nice insulation in the belly that I will need to survive in this impressively cold climate.

That of course leads into another typical conversation I find myself in with my professors. This is quite international, but I like to call it my own here in Spain because it deals with kilograms instead of pounds. I want to gain some weight, right? All the teachers tell me is that in a few years, I will indeed gain this weight, whether or not I want it to mount on my frame. This is undoubtedly true, but I guess I want to get some muscle to really keep me warm and fit. Presumably this tuna salad sandwich and entire can of green peas I just ate before I go swimming will help in this process?

You's a window shopper

ultimate walk-of-shame-ware
Walking up and down the streets of Spain each day, I have taken note of the countless stores that fill each block. Above all, clothing and shoe stores tend to outnumber the others greatly and, without fail, there are always people halting in their tracks to ogle at the goods. I find that I too do this from time to time, but only for shoes. The Spanish just seem to be infatuated with buying things, or at least talking without cease about buying them. With my beliefs at bay, I can safely state that Spain is at par with The United States' capitalist views, healthcare aside, and that they are stir crazy about purchasing STUFF.

*By the way it just started snowing heavily outside. this is my first snow in spain. How I will enjoy these first few days of snow, and more than likely become quickly quite upset with just how frigid the peninsula will become. It is in fact equally at the same parallel as Pennsylvania.

el puente

December 6, 1978. A day to be remembered, and definitely is remembered as well as celebrated here in Spain. On this day the new constitution was signed, and Spain officially became a democracy. This was, of course, shortly following the death of the dictator Francisco Franco who had turned the country on itself and made itself weak. This holiday is known as "El Puente", or "The Bridge", from old Spain to new Spain and results in 2 days off of school and work for the country of Spain.

For MY puente I took quite a half-baked plan of visiting Barcelona and made it a reality with my friend Alex from Boston. We got bus tickets and decided we would figure it out when we got there. I attempted to book a hostel, but these ignorant bastards would not answer their phone neither when I called from Logrono nor while in Barcelona. This resulted in much walking about the city to find what was apparently the sister hostel of the ignorant ones who had either changed their phone, or just refused to answer it. Alex and I had a brief run in with 2 other girls from our program who took the same bus as us to Barcelona. Rowyna and Sarah, whom we did not see outside of the bus because they hate our guts, or because I just simply don't use my phone enough.

The hostel was a monster of a place, with 7 floors, a bar and cool art on the walls of each floor. However, it was a bit capitalist as you had to pay for most everything there, and pushed it's facilities and bar on the people rather than allowing people to communally congregate for drinks and such. This seemed to irk some of the people, and I understood it, but after waking up in a confused panic to reserve myself another nights' stay after a long night before, I just reserved the rest of my nights there. Starting things off nice, we were greeted in our room of 12 by a large group of American students playing some drinking games (illegally according to the rules of the hostel) and stuck together all night. This cute young group of Spanish girls convinced us to buy passes to a club from them as they were cheaper from them than at the door, and the cause was to help them have their graduation trip. Safe, as my friend Ed would say.

I spent the second day in the Catalunian city ambling about Las Ramblas and went to the large fresh food market known as La Boqueria. Anything and everything you can imagine is sold here in vast quantity as you squeeze in and out of shoulder-to-shoulder crowds. Next was a cathedral that has some similar spires to those of the Sagrada Familia. The beach followed, and amazingly enough the weather was magnificent for December. I found Alex, who had been on the beach for a long while, took my shirt off (it was indeed that warm) and relaxed. We watched these two dogs fight over a frisbee forever which was absolutely hilarious and at least 15 other people within a 40 meter radius were watching a laughing as well. We had a quite another long night after going to a Franz Ferdinand concert. Running into a group of randoms, I found a girl from North Carolina, Durham to be exact, and the rest from other states, Australia and England. They were pretty wild and we walked in circles for hours trying to find a party.

I saw the Sagrada Familia Cathedral the next day, and the Gaudi parks before Alex and I found our way to the bus station to catch the Logrono bus. The 6 hour ride back went by reasonably quick, and ultimately it felt great to be back in Logrono again. Barcelona is so big and full of energy, and I enjoy this, but I truly enjoy the simplicity of Logrono and knowing where I like to go. I also find it much more fun to visit a place where I have someone to take me in and show me around. Barcelona is beautiful, the weather was nicely out of season, and the fiesta was ever present, but comfort is something that I have learned to appreciate.

How not to start, but positively finish a day. 3rd person omniscient

He had just woken up with a hazy hangover, or rather lack of sleep, or rather both joining forces to smite him back down to his pillow. He'd prepared a nice breakfast to get back on his feet... things were going well... until he decided to mistake the salt for sugar, dump it in his coffee and proceed to take a huge tug of his nicely salted espresso. This is one of the worst tastes and/or surprises that can follow said beginning of a day to date. He then foolishly tried to handle the steaming hot press with his hands to make another espresso and efficiently burned himself while cursing the moon, gods, and most of all, the salt container.

Off to school to educate the young masses about his beloved homeland and the silly images that it portrays around the world. The quick and painless bus ride was made better with the reparation espresso, even though it had singed his fingertips. But alas the coffee did not last. The caffeine ceased to course through his thin veins almost immediately after his first class. Knowing that a nap was necessary after school to make up for his lost hours of sleep, the hapless young guiri staved off a piercing desire to have another coffee. A menacing cafeteria lady tried his patience by refusing to listen to him say a very simple Spanish word that he says every day to her.

"Me cobras por una bocatta"

"QUE?"

"ME COBRAS POR UNA BOCATTA"

"QUE??"

"BOCATTA! UNA!"

He eases himself out of this by joking with some P.E. teachers as they feel his sentiment, and teach him how to say something vulgar but acceptable when someone is being stubborn to you. Translating to something like, "I will crap in your molars".

Classes finish.

He races to the bus. He decided to open his briefcase to check some papers, and his bus takes an alternate route for no reason which forces him to make it stop immediately as he needs to go to the immigrants office for his identification card. After a long day with no energy and little sleep to form this painful series of events, he rushes to the bus door and his OPEN briefcase spills all of his important papers all over the street. "Wonderful," he thinks as Spaniards old and young scurry about to help him gather his papers. Something makes his eye shine as human nature apparently has a good side, and can help turn this day around.

He gets his foreign ID. Takes a nap, and finishes the day off with class by attending a band practice, helping write lyrics for his Spanish friends' band, and waltzing off into the night with good people, and positive energy.

more navedad para extranjeros

I had the most hilarious conversation last night with some friends. My buddy Alex lives with a German girl, and they both came over last night for drinks. After laughing hysterically on the internet at Spanish people modeling for some pageant, we started talking about the holiday to come. Since we have Monday and Tuesday off many of us are deciding to take weekend trips. After a brief chat about half-baked plans, we realized that we did not understand the reason for the holiday we are being granted. It's got something to do with the wise men setting out to go find baby Jesus or something, but really we don't know.

Chris began to bombard Tamara with questions about her "Santa Claus" and what he did, how they got their presents, etc. Hilarity ensued, or at least it did for me and Chris. For Germans, Santa is "Kris Kringle", and he has wings, flies into your house (no specific entry) and leaves you presents. If you are bad, you don't get presents. There is also some other guy that comes pretty soon and gives presents. He's called the "veiness mahn" or something like that. None of it seemed to make sense. Then I learned that the dutch or something have Santa, but that 6 to 8 black men drive his sleigh... No one knows apparently whether it is 6, or 8, or really how many, and I believe that no one at all thinks that they might be depicted as slaves either... Apparently if you are a bad kid, the black men beat you up.

what. the. hell.