Currently, it's raining in Napa. I sit here writing to you while listening to the gentle patter of the drops on the skylights. Occasionally, the tree overhanging my room will spray and send a shower down to clear my thoughts and soothe me. As I sit here, winding down before bed, I cannot help but reflect on this last week. There have been struggles, but they are overpowered by the beautiful life that is unfolding before me in a place where I blend into the local population; in a place where I feel I truly belong.
Almost three years ago I received the worst phone call that I have ever taken in my life. That morning I had awoken to my mom shaking me to tell me that the family friends taking care of my horse while I was away at school had found him down in the corral, unable to get up. In the horse world, that's bad. He is struggling and in pain, they said. The vet was on his way and they would call me with any new information as soon as they knew more. "He'll be alright," I reassured myself as I got ready for school, "This has never happened before, so he'll pull through."
Hour after hour I waited, sitting in class and absorbing nothing but the changing time on my phone display. While I normally sat in contempt that those who spent their time in classes on their phones and laptops, this morning I could not help but join them. Finally, in the middle of Economics, the call came. I picked up the ringing phone and ran out the door, not even bothering to excuse myself. When I answered, it was the vet. "He's all twisted up inside," he said. "We could attempt surgery, but it will cause his a lot of pain and might not help. What should we do?"
"Is there any hope?" I begged, but I already knew the answer.
"It's not likely."
"Then please don't let him be in pain any longer. Go ahead and administer the euthanasia." I choked.
And with that, a moment of silence absorbed me. I closed my eyes and felt the needle go in, the breath begin to shallow, the muscles relax, and the pain ebb away as the life slowly leaked out of the magnificent creature that had been the center of my universe. My beautiful Lema was gone.
Last Monday, I finally did what I had been making excuses to avoid for years; I got back on a horse.
The horse belongs to the owner of the house where I am staying. When I first moved in, she said that I was welcome to ride when I wanted. Last Sunday evening, I put the offer to the test and was elated when it still stood. Monday morning arrive and I pulled my saddle out from it's case. The saddle pad still had Lema's white coat woven into it, but I was determined to finally use it. To start fresh and add another coat to the mix.
I got down to the barn, saddled the horse up and after about a half an hour of struggling, jumping, clawing and staring at the saddle in a perplexed manner (I need exercise too) I found myself (somehow) on the top of a horse.
From there, my body instinctively took over and began to move us through the paces. Up-down-up-down. As the horse fell into a steady rhythm, I stretched my legs down her barrel and began to post the trot. Up-down-up-down. We continued with nothing to break the silence but the sound of hooves padding over fresh grass and horse and girl breathing in sync.
That day, I remembered who I was; I felt whole again; I felt a deep connection restored that I had thought was gone forever. Regardless of where I have been or where I'm going, I know where I belong: in a barn.
Saturday, November 17, 2012
Sunday, November 11, 2012
Chapter 2: A New Beginning
When I arrived back in the United States (three years ago- wow!) I didn't feel compelled to journal or blog much. My life turned towards one goal: finish my stinking degree! As of this May, it's all done! Yay! *pause* YAAAAAAY!!!
While I was completing my studies, my thoughts kept turning back to those relaxing mornings in Barcelona wandering the Ramblas, the afternoons spent dancing through the labyrinths (don't worry! I didn't talk to the fawns), and the evenings spent studying scripture with my friends from the nearby international church. I LOVED Barcelona. And though I enjoyed my time in San Diego, I had a sneaking suspicion that my travels were not over; that San Diego was not the town I would ever feel content to dwell in for the rest of my life. So, I did what any recent graduate in the throes of THE GREAT RECESSION did: peppered my resume EVERYWHERE. Luckily (seriously, unbelievable, it-could-have-only-been-a-God-thing luckily) I landed a job. In Napa. 500 miles away from my family.
Maybe this story deserves some background... I had never been to Napa before. On wait! Correction. I had gone once at night to play a boardgame at the house of a friend of a friend with said friend and the boyfriend and his friends (Farkel, anyone? Also, confused?? You'll figure it out. If not, don't worry about it). Other than seeing Napa once at night, which looks oddly like just about everywhere at night, I had never been. I only knew that they're rather fond of their wine, that it's pretty and that someone wanted me to work for them. I can work with that. Fast forward two months... two weeks into the job and three weeks as a local and I'm actually doing pretty well here.
The funniest thing about moving is that my perception of who I am seems to always change: when we lived in Birmingham, I was the tough girl from Arizona; when we lived in Nevada, I was the belle from the South; when I moved to San Diego for college, I was the country bumpkin from Nevada; when I lived in Barcelona, I was the beach goddess (just kidding! No, but really) from San Diego. Now, I'm back in a small town again, and realizing just how used to city life I had become. Despite being assured over and over again that the neighborhood is safe, that the police chief leaves his door unlocked at night, that the worst crime committed in the neighborhood happened 20 years ago and it was a boy picking flowers out of his neighbor's garden (okay, maybe not that extreme), etc. etc. etc. I still feel a certain dread ingrained in me from those nights spent in San Diego that urges me to lock my doors and think about submitting a request for pepper spray when I sit on Santa's lap this year.
Needless to say, this place may take a while to seep into my veins, but each day has held an exciting (yet safe) adventure. In the meantime, "Hello! I'm Michelle from San Diego, and I just moved here. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
While I was completing my studies, my thoughts kept turning back to those relaxing mornings in Barcelona wandering the Ramblas, the afternoons spent dancing through the labyrinths (don't worry! I didn't talk to the fawns), and the evenings spent studying scripture with my friends from the nearby international church. I LOVED Barcelona. And though I enjoyed my time in San Diego, I had a sneaking suspicion that my travels were not over; that San Diego was not the town I would ever feel content to dwell in for the rest of my life. So, I did what any recent graduate in the throes of THE GREAT RECESSION did: peppered my resume EVERYWHERE. Luckily (seriously, unbelievable, it-could-have-only-been-a-God-thing luckily) I landed a job. In Napa. 500 miles away from my family.
Maybe this story deserves some background... I had never been to Napa before. On wait! Correction. I had gone once at night to play a boardgame at the house of a friend of a friend with said friend and the boyfriend and his friends (Farkel, anyone? Also, confused?? You'll figure it out. If not, don't worry about it). Other than seeing Napa once at night, which looks oddly like just about everywhere at night, I had never been. I only knew that they're rather fond of their wine, that it's pretty and that someone wanted me to work for them. I can work with that. Fast forward two months... two weeks into the job and three weeks as a local and I'm actually doing pretty well here.
The funniest thing about moving is that my perception of who I am seems to always change: when we lived in Birmingham, I was the tough girl from Arizona; when we lived in Nevada, I was the belle from the South; when I moved to San Diego for college, I was the country bumpkin from Nevada; when I lived in Barcelona, I was the beach goddess (just kidding! No, but really) from San Diego. Now, I'm back in a small town again, and realizing just how used to city life I had become. Despite being assured over and over again that the neighborhood is safe, that the police chief leaves his door unlocked at night, that the worst crime committed in the neighborhood happened 20 years ago and it was a boy picking flowers out of his neighbor's garden (okay, maybe not that extreme), etc. etc. etc. I still feel a certain dread ingrained in me from those nights spent in San Diego that urges me to lock my doors and think about submitting a request for pepper spray when I sit on Santa's lap this year.
Needless to say, this place may take a while to seep into my veins, but each day has held an exciting (yet safe) adventure. In the meantime, "Hello! I'm Michelle from San Diego, and I just moved here. Pleased to make your acquaintance."
Thursday, May 14, 2009
*tears*
Well, it's coming to an end... and, consiquently, I've been walking around the city for the past day or two with misty, misty eyes. Nope. this time it's not allergies. I can't believe that my journey came to an end so quickly! Where did all the time go?! I've been telling people that I'm leaving in about two months for the past two months, but when I looked at the calendar while deciding which day to head over to Madrid to visit friends... I came to a sudden and shocking realization.
Friends and Family in Barcelona (and Europe): Thank you for the beautiful time we've spent together. Please take care of yourselves. May you be blessed in everything that you do, and that we may see each other again on day in the near future.
Mommy, Daddy, Crystal and Bryan, and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest my friends and family in the USA: I can't wait to see you all soon. I have missed you more than words can describe and am now filled with joy at the prospect of hugging and kissing you all again.
Well, Europe has become more of a home than I could have ever imagined. With out meaning to sound a wee bit dramatic, my heart feels as if it is torn between two very distinct but beautiful places.
That settles it then... I'm just simply going to have to return to Europe one day, and you're all going to have to come with me.
Friends and Family in Barcelona (and Europe): Thank you for the beautiful time we've spent together. Please take care of yourselves. May you be blessed in everything that you do, and that we may see each other again on day in the near future.
Mommy, Daddy, Crystal and Bryan, and Grandma and Grandpa and the rest my friends and family in the USA: I can't wait to see you all soon. I have missed you more than words can describe and am now filled with joy at the prospect of hugging and kissing you all again.
Well, Europe has become more of a home than I could have ever imagined. With out meaning to sound a wee bit dramatic, my heart feels as if it is torn between two very distinct but beautiful places.
That settles it then... I'm just simply going to have to return to Europe one day, and you're all going to have to come with me.
Thursday, May 7, 2009
Shooting Nikki
Alright, alright, alright! Before you guys FrEaK out, the title is totally figurative. Yesterday before small group, my friend Nikki (a musician in the symphony here) ran around for about an hour snapping head-shots (because one should always update pictures, at least, every 5 years). The weather was fantastic, and it was SOO wonderful just being outside in the cool evening air. Oh wait, actually, it was kinda hot. Anyways, we had fun... and now that I’ve gotten some practice shooting someone, I’d kinda like to do it again... any takers?
Calling all photographizing friends: suggestions, tips, and tiddly-bits of the factoidal variety are welcome.
OH! I’m going to Madrid tomorrow. Takin the high-speed train. Woot!
Monday, May 4, 2009
¡Viva la música!
Hey! So, it looks like you guys are going to get a “two for one” today. I’m feeling quite blog-a-licious. It happens. Anyways, I just got back from the Palau de la Música Catalana a few hours ago. Four of my friends and I headed over there this afternoon to listen to an afternoon concert (which started at 7pm... phew!). The music was all in Catalan or Spanish (or by Spanish composers) and was incredible. I loved it! The Hall was beautiful, and I took some pictures (even though there was a picture vigilante running around (grr.. the flash was off!). You can check them out here:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=23073&id=1323450019&l=4bc52ed0fd
Oh! I believe there are some museum and small group photos in there, as well. The paintings were done by Sorolla in the early 1900’s and are a representation of each of the different regions in Spain. They are normally in NY, but were shipped over to the MNAC (museo nacional del arte de catalunya). What luck! All of the paintings are MASSIVE and beautiful, and I am sooo grateful they allowed photos.
Right after the museum trip, I headed over to small group (20’s and 30’s group from the church) and, well, had a camera handy so I took a few pictures. Enjoy!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=23073&id=1323450019&l=4bc52ed0fd
Oh! I believe there are some museum and small group photos in there, as well. The paintings were done by Sorolla in the early 1900’s and are a representation of each of the different regions in Spain. They are normally in NY, but were shipped over to the MNAC (museo nacional del arte de catalunya). What luck! All of the paintings are MASSIVE and beautiful, and I am sooo grateful they allowed photos.
Right after the museum trip, I headed over to small group (20’s and 30’s group from the church) and, well, had a camera handy so I took a few pictures. Enjoy!
Feria de Abril
I know, I know! It’s May, and I’m writing about something that happened in April... I believe this is an instance where my British friends would tell me to stop being a “skiver” ... but I’m still very shaky on the meaning and usage of that...Anyways, Thursday... yes, LAST Thursday, my friend Anna took me to the Feria de Abril, a celebration of all things Andalusian, down at the Forum near Diagonal del Mar. It was AWESOME! Flamenco dresses were walking around everywhere, and people were dancing like there was no tomorrow! The amount of music was absolutely overwhelming! ...they even began stereo wars of tunes that could easily be compared to “campesino”... er... EDUCATIONAL! It really was an amazing time, and the more I walked around, the more I thought about friends back home who would die to get themselves into some of those dresses. You know who you are!
Hmm... I got mistaken for being German again, but I’ve come to terms with it. I would say it’s like getting in touch with my roots, but sadly... well, I’m not German. Haha! I had just told Anna that many people had been mistaking me for European, when a shop holder walked up and asked me if I was. I just slowly turned to my friend with a frustrated but humorous expression, and she crumpled up laughing! Good times =)
OH! this is random and a bit of an old story, but! I went to Mont Serrat with Anna to visit her family for the Pascua, (which was incredible!) and bought myself some chocolate up on the mountain. Now, the reason why, was because it’s made by the monks and is absolutely famous in this area. And what happened when I tried it? Why, thank you for asking! I put some in my mouth, and the words “my GOD!” escaped my lips. Yes, it tasted that divine. I pray I get the opportunity to bring some home as a offering of my gratitude, but Alas! I’m afraid I won’t get the opportunity to make the pilgrimage back again. Are you groaning yet? Because I can keep this up for a while!
Right, I’ll spare you... Toodles!
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Ode to the small bottle of “All” detergent I brought with me...
Oh, bottle of All,
Though you be quite small
You have saved me from pain
And social distain.
Your super-concentrated viscosity
Quiets all feelings of animosity
Against the stain-laden clothes
That are ravaging my nose.
From undies to jeans
You fight like Marines.
And leave me singing
(Only to be silenced by neighbor’s pleading.)
Oh, tiny little friend,
On you I depend.
The end.
Friday, April 24, 2009
La Leyenda de San Jorge
As told by Michellie...
Once upon a time, in the lovely city of Montblanc... er... somewhere close to Tarragona (fine, just google it), lived a group of people. With a booming demographic of 15% male (due to lack of clean water, demands of physical labor, malnutrition, and occasional battles with the neighboring villages), 20% female (including widows, wives, sisters, old maids, hags, witches, and maidens) and 65% livestock, the population was economically well situated and content. Then one fine and beautiful day, much like today (unless it’s raining... then not, quite the opposite, actually), the King of Aragon (no, I’m not talking about LOTR, I’m talking about Spain) rolled into town with his entourage, including, but not limited to: knights, servants, slaves, soldiers, the captain of the guard, ribbon dancers, musicians, a jester, two bards, and the princess. Tired and dusty from the journey, they decided to stay the night (and serves them right, too. Tarragona is a lovely little seaside village). After bathing in the ocean, they tucked themselves into beds inclosed but lovely maroon and gold embroidered tents. I would insert a contented sigh, but such was life.
The next morning, they awoke to quite a ruckus: 15% shouting, 20% crying for mercy and ducking for cover, and 65% bleating, neighing, bolting, wildly mooing and overall and in general freaking out. The king rubbed the sleepy from his eyes and proceeded to investigate the situation (while still in his nightgown, but hey! He was a king of action, not fashion). He ran from person to person, person to animal asking, any and all who appeared to be competent, for an explanation to the massive panic that was sweeping the population. Finally, one cow calmly chewing its cud, pointed its empty eyes in the direction of the city gates. Taking the advise rather seriously, the king proceeded in the recommended direction. There he encountered a mass of manly-men attempting to fight off a dragon that had suddenly taken up residence at the gates. ‘Well, this is a bother!’ He thought to himself. The endless arguing, taunting, and fighting seemed to do little to move the fire-breathing beast from its perch atop the draw-bridge, so the king opted for some diplomacy. Hey! it had worked in the past... sort of...
“Mightily green and, or scaly one! Why hast thou maked a nuisance of thineself and blockéd the gates?!”
“I’m a touch hungry, well... I was before. But, am I allowed a scrap of goat? a bit of dog? NO! Therefore, to save your city from my raging flames, I demand one maiden to satisfy my hunger. She must be beautiful, nice, well-educated, and a little plump... I like ‘em juicy. Anyways, you have exactly three days to satisfy my demands, or I will roast your town and consume you all.”
“Oh... that’s... harsh.”
“Yep. Talk to the claw, see who cares.”
Mildly put out, the scantily clad king returned to his make-shift tent and began to contemplate the events of the morning. Realizing he had close to a legion of soldiers with him (well, it was considered a legion at the time. Army inflation... the terms for the numbers have changed. It happens) he began to plan a skirmish on the dragon. That afternoon, the soldiers made their move. They fought, clashed, banged, cracked, and occasionally freaked, but all to no avail. The dragon’s scales were impenetrable. Devastated, the towns people began to search for acceptable women that met the requirements. They searched high and they searched low, heck! they even tried padding! but, no one could meet the standards. Finally, the king came to a depressing realization: his daughter was a maiden, beautiful, very friendly, witty, and a little round around the corners (if you know what a mean *nudge, nudge*). While he broke the bad news, she listened silently... dangerously silent... He cringed while he waited for the response. Slowly, thoughtfully, she said, “I understand what you tell me. Though your soldiers may not be able to protect me, I believe one will appear who can. I will go to protect the city.” And with that, she packed a bag and headed off to meet her doom.
She arrived at the gate at sunset on the third day of the siege. The dragon looked her up, and then looked her down, approved, grabbed her and then ran off to a cave to have some dinner. Once high up in the mountains, he built a fire, put her into a pot of water and said, “just simmer... I mean ‘sit’ there a while. I’ll be back.” Mournfully, she obeyed and began to sing of her woes.
Meanwhile, a knight, riding through the countryside (in between jobs) heard the beautiful dirge wafting from the cave. “A MAIDEN TO SAVE!!,” thought the knight. As he approached the cave, the dragon returned with arms full of herbs, and whistling a traditional dragon folk song. The knight quickly put two and two together and ran to fight. “With this rather long and pointed spear, I shall defeat you!!!” He then dashed to the mouth of the cave. Right before he reached it, he tripped on a rock. Surprised at his own lack of coordination, he face-planted . Though his career was virtually over in his mind, an interesting thing occurred: the spear had flown from his hands at the moment of the fall, had gained enough velocity in the air to be projected at an arc high and long enough to reach the dragon, and had, consequently, penetrated the steel-like scales that had confounded the other knights and soldiers. The dragon, shocked and still gripping his herbs, fell to the ground dead. From the gaping wound the spear left, boiling blood flowed. Once it mixed with the herb, that had fallen to the ground, the turned into scarlet roses.
Picking himself up off of the ground, he ran into the cave to tend to the princess. There, she was sitting in the pot (which had reached Jacuzzi temperature) enjoying the relaxing bath. She saw him and was, slightly embarrassed, but mostly immediately taken. She dressed (out of sight!) while he cleaned himself up. On the way out of the cave, he picked up a single, scarlet, and molten hot rose. It burned to the touch, but cooled once it was placed into her delicate fingers. “this is a sign of my protection, princess.” he softly remarked.
Once within the city, the king, overcome with joy, offered the hand of his daughter to the knight. “No,” replied Jorge, “for though she is beautiful, I desire to continue on with my adventures and to continue to protect the countryside until the end of my days.”
And with that, he rode off into the sunset.
Vall de Boí
Well, I had a lovely time last weekend running around in the Pyrenees mountains with my study abroad group. After exploring Romanic era churches, we headed off to the hotel to relax a bit. As we drove into the parking lot, I noticed an ancient looking bell tower across the street, and immediately decided to run over and check it out. While walking around the sleepy little town, I heard... well... sheep. They were quite noisy and coming from a very distinct direction, so over the river and through the wood I went looking for the source of the comical noises. I made it as far as the bridge and then stopped. From my view point, I was able to watch as a group of ranchers, from the community, called their sheep in to dinner, faithful dogs but their side and all! I began snapping some pictures (of the branches, not of them) to entertain myself (and have a decent excuse to sit there and watch them). After their work was finished, they began filing out of the sheep fold. The last man, wobbling a bit on a walking stick, to leave stopped, looked me up and down, and then said in a weather-worn voice, “so, you’re a tourist, eh?” haha... “yes”. “German?” ... “no” “interesting...” At that moment, his dog acme over and immediately pushed its head onto my leg. I got the message and began stroking its fur. “Ahh... she always spots the nice ones...” “What’s her name?” “Rubia”. Though “scratchy” might have been more appropriate, the dog and her owner were absolutely adorable. The weekend was relaxing, and the photos turned out awesome. Check it yo!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=22278&id=1323450019&l=943cefff87
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
C’est Manifique
Alright... first off... I apologize. I should have given you this link earlier and totally spaced. So! Mom, before you jump off of the pop-culture bridge, here are the photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=21213&id=1323450019&l=0b2f9ea022
*phew* narrowly rescued from the clutches of the might Red Social that is sweeping the world. (You think I exaggerate? oh-ho... I do not!)
Anyways, I think I left off when I had just arrived in France and met up with my friends. We had a lovely “tea-time” at a cafe just below the pope’s palace (yes. THE pope) in Avignon and then proceeded to where the car was parked. From there, we headed off to a supermarket/shopping mall that would put “stuffmart” from Veggie Tales to shame. We shopped a bit (...er... followed his mom around and got lost in the dog food section looking for BBQ coal) as I chattered away about... everything (the kind of verbal spewing I tend to do when excited).
From there we headed over to the car in the parking lot, and to our surprise (well... more my surprise than anyone else), Thomas’s younger brothers had succeeded in nagging their father into buying a soccer ball for them. Awesome! And best of all, there was a lovely field not five minutes from where we were staying. SWEET! So, we played soccer (futbol) the second we got settled into the house. Noticing that my English (and dependance on the mercy of my friends speaking to me in English... I really should have keep up the French lessons) was a bit uncomfy for my hosts the first day, I attempted to branch out a little (very little) and learn some words and phrases. One of them came very naturally. While we were playing soccer, I asked one of the boys how to say “that’s awesome” (more or less) in French. After a few seconds of chattering amongst themselves, they came to the decision that “c’est manifique” was as close as they could come up with off of the top of their heads. I meekly repeated it after them, making the rather rookie blunder of pronouncing the last syllable of “manifique”. (kinda came out like “manifi-queh!”) ... they giggled and then corrected me. So, that began a long and very interesting series of confusing encounters with my friend and his brothers. If you haven’t already said the word “c’est” in your head, or hear it spoken by a french person, it sounds a little bit like the English word “say”. And, by “little bit,” I actually mean “exactly.” For the next few days, whenever something interesting or entertaining would happen, one of the boys would look at me and say “c’est manifique.” Makes perfect sense on paper, but when one’s mind is being slightly scrambled by attempting to understand a Romance Language one has barely studied... it tends to register as something else. In my case, I heard: “say ‘manifique’!”, and took it as a command for me to say the word out loud (to check pronunciation, possibly?)... to which I responded, “manifique.” At first the boys would look at me a bit confused and then laugh, and I would get touchy or defensive, thinking that they were laughing at my accent; when in reality, they were actually wondering why the heck I was repeating every thing they said to me after the word “c’est” (meaning: that is). This continued throughout the week until we were seated at the dinner table of Thomas’s girlfriend’s family's house (*phew* that was a long strand of possession!). During a conversation about nuclear fusion, the phrase “c’est manifique” popped up (I’m not exactly sure why... I don’t even have the vocab to talk about nuclear fusion in English!), and in front of about eight to ten incredibly intelligent people, I turned to Thomas’s brother and said, “NO! I will NOT say ‘manifique! You can’t make me anymore!” ... once again, silence filled the room and all eyes were on me. After his brother looked at me with total confusion etched into his face and gently asked “what?”, I suddenly came to the realization that I was misinterpreting a French word for an English one... and had been doing so all week long. I could have died, but I didn’t. After the bursts of chuckling dissipated, we moved on to other activities. The evening was actually quite lovely. Good food, great friends, and an even better language blunder. Almost as good as the time my British friend asked an American for a rubber... which I guess means “eraser”... awkward. And, another story for another time. Speaking of which: more to come!
Love you all!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=21213&id=1323450019&l=0b2f9ea022
*phew* narrowly rescued from the clutches of the might Red Social that is sweeping the world. (You think I exaggerate? oh-ho... I do not!)
Anyways, I think I left off when I had just arrived in France and met up with my friends. We had a lovely “tea-time” at a cafe just below the pope’s palace (yes. THE pope) in Avignon and then proceeded to where the car was parked. From there, we headed off to a supermarket/shopping mall that would put “stuffmart” from Veggie Tales to shame. We shopped a bit (...er... followed his mom around and got lost in the dog food section looking for BBQ coal) as I chattered away about... everything (the kind of verbal spewing I tend to do when excited).
From there we headed over to the car in the parking lot, and to our surprise (well... more my surprise than anyone else), Thomas’s younger brothers had succeeded in nagging their father into buying a soccer ball for them. Awesome! And best of all, there was a lovely field not five minutes from where we were staying. SWEET! So, we played soccer (futbol) the second we got settled into the house. Noticing that my English (and dependance on the mercy of my friends speaking to me in English... I really should have keep up the French lessons) was a bit uncomfy for my hosts the first day, I attempted to branch out a little (very little) and learn some words and phrases. One of them came very naturally. While we were playing soccer, I asked one of the boys how to say “that’s awesome” (more or less) in French. After a few seconds of chattering amongst themselves, they came to the decision that “c’est manifique” was as close as they could come up with off of the top of their heads. I meekly repeated it after them, making the rather rookie blunder of pronouncing the last syllable of “manifique”. (kinda came out like “manifi-queh!”) ... they giggled and then corrected me. So, that began a long and very interesting series of confusing encounters with my friend and his brothers. If you haven’t already said the word “c’est” in your head, or hear it spoken by a french person, it sounds a little bit like the English word “say”. And, by “little bit,” I actually mean “exactly.” For the next few days, whenever something interesting or entertaining would happen, one of the boys would look at me and say “c’est manifique.” Makes perfect sense on paper, but when one’s mind is being slightly scrambled by attempting to understand a Romance Language one has barely studied... it tends to register as something else. In my case, I heard: “say ‘manifique’!”, and took it as a command for me to say the word out loud (to check pronunciation, possibly?)... to which I responded, “manifique.” At first the boys would look at me a bit confused and then laugh, and I would get touchy or defensive, thinking that they were laughing at my accent; when in reality, they were actually wondering why the heck I was repeating every thing they said to me after the word “c’est” (meaning: that is). This continued throughout the week until we were seated at the dinner table of Thomas’s girlfriend’s family's house (*phew* that was a long strand of possession!). During a conversation about nuclear fusion, the phrase “c’est manifique” popped up (I’m not exactly sure why... I don’t even have the vocab to talk about nuclear fusion in English!), and in front of about eight to ten incredibly intelligent people, I turned to Thomas’s brother and said, “NO! I will NOT say ‘manifique! You can’t make me anymore!” ... once again, silence filled the room and all eyes were on me. After his brother looked at me with total confusion etched into his face and gently asked “what?”, I suddenly came to the realization that I was misinterpreting a French word for an English one... and had been doing so all week long. I could have died, but I didn’t. After the bursts of chuckling dissipated, we moved on to other activities. The evening was actually quite lovely. Good food, great friends, and an even better language blunder. Almost as good as the time my British friend asked an American for a rubber... which I guess means “eraser”... awkward. And, another story for another time. Speaking of which: more to come!
Love you all!
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
Trains, trains, and automobiles (what?... I'm too poor for planes)
As promised, I’m slowly tickering away at the computer; attempting put together a smattering of stories from this past week, and I’m finding it difficult to choose... So much has happened that feels newsworthy! Okay, okay... where to start... Right! The train ride: that was an adventure (you can read some mild sarcasm into that if you would like).
Okay. Confession: I bought a Eurrail Pass (it’s essentially a company that sells days of train travel, instead of individual tickets, to American tourists. The idea is that you can pre-purchase your means of transportation in advance, all in the same place, and save a little money while you’re at it) and as it’s a ticket sold for European trains by an American company to Americans... no one here knew what it was. Naturally. So, after consulting a variety of people at the University and church, and turning up zero information (not much is available on the internet, as well... FYI) I headed down to the train station to try to figure out how to use the dang thing. Well, that and I needed to find out when trains left from the station, and to make a reservation... and to clear up the rumors I had heard, reguarding station closures, that had been circulating the University (França was very much open! Well.. media distancia was having some work done. But, the international lines were not affected... whatever). Point being: I had to take care of some business at the station, and looking things up online was just not cutting it. So, I played hookie on one of my classes (unintentionally... it took way longer than I expected) and chatted with a woman from RENFE at Estación de França (lisp at will... go ahead! try it. It’s fun). I had done enough research with the timetables and at the national french railway website that I wasn’t entering the ring a total moron, but I still knew zip about trains and even less about my pass. So, when I told the woman behind the window that I wanted to go to Avignon Centre, and she said “you can’t”... I was a wee bit surprised. “What?!... look... it says here (flipping wildly through internet print outs and timetables) that I can go from Barcelona to Montpellier to Avignon Centre... I want that train.”
Ignoring my somewhat extensive research and well-founded thesis on the timetables of April 4th, she replied: “Our train only goes to Narbonne. You’ll have to take a bus from there. Sorry.”
*exasperated sigh* (Ironically, “tranquila” was scrolling on one of those digital light up boards above my head. RENFE must be accustomed to this sort of conversation.)
“Can I use my pass on the bus?” *pushing Eurrail pass towards her*
“I don’t know” (of course not!) “You’ll probably have to buy a separate ticket.”
*meeeh!*
“Okay, don’t worry about it. Just give me a reservation for the last stop and I’ll figure it out from there”
“The last stop is in Montpellier. You can’t catch a train from Montpellier to Avignon.” *pushes her own print out towards me*
“What?!” *looking dumbfoundedly at my timetables and maps* “Well, in any case... I’d like the reservation for the train until it reaches Montpellier.”
“I think it would be wiser if you reserved until Narbonne” (this is where a mixture of translation from Spanish to English and from spoken language to type takes something away from just how richly exasperating this whole business was turning into. Just imagine me when I’m on lack-of-sleep mode and stressed out about trying to figure out an unfamiliar process through trial and error... and ACTION!)
“Okay... fine... Narbonne it is then... And, can I have a return trip, please?”
“From where?”
“Montpellier”
“You mean, Narbonne?”
“...Sure”
*flurry of ticket stamping, collecting money, etc.*
Man! This was turning into a nightmare! I looked at my map (provided by the rail company) and began to stress. Montpellier is only one hour away from Avignon, according to Eurrail, but Narbonne is a good three... maybe more. And it’s smaller. *sigh* this was going to be an interesting experience, at the very least.
That night, I went home and consulted the online timetables again. Surely I could get from Montpellier to Avignon! They have daily trains running... and it’s current!
I decided that it wasn’t worth worrying about. If I had to spend the night in Montpellier... well... I would just bring some cash along for a hostel... and then I would walk to Avignon if I had to! But I was going to get there somehow!
A few weeks passed, and then it was time to head off to the train station (França) to visit my friend. I was so excited the night before that I literally could not sleep. Having worried that I wouldn’t wake up to my alarm clock, the other extreme occurred: I didn’t sleep... at all... and ended up looking at my clock when it finally sounded like, “6 A.M. ... What else is new?!” (apparently I’m a mildly cranky person when I haven’t slept well).
I gathered my things (yay for light packing!), showered (...wait... did I? hmm...) and then headed out the door. As the sun rose about the miles (kilometers) of apartments, I found myself walking the streets of Barcelona alone. The normally bustling avenues and plazas were suddenly deserted and peaceful. Whoa! too much of that and I was going to fall asleep before I got to the station... Luckily, I made it without a problem. As I approached the station, I noticed a huge line snaking its way out the door. Dang it! The station WAS closed and this was the riot in response... Actually, no... it simply hadn’t opened yet, and people were waiting to board the train. That didn’t stop the negativity from running through my mind. haha!
I had been informed by my booklet that I needed to validate my pass: which basically means I had to get it stamped with the first date of travel so the rail lines would know when my last date of travel was up. Kinda sets limits in case there are cheaters. So, while I was standing in the line, some Americans began chatting in front of me. They were about my age and carrying (of all things) Eurrail passes. I asked them if they knew anything about the passes, and listed off a few questions that had still been unanswered. A little late, seeing as I was set to travel within the half hour, but I wanted the information anyways. They had as much info at I did, so we began to chat about other things. Finally, our passes were stamped (by the same woman who sold me the reservation), our things were passed through the metal detectors, and we entered the main garage. Wow! França is a huge station. I looked at the screen and walked over to the TALGO train *insert reference to Harry Potter here*
I found my assigned seat (window, holla!) but it was already occupied by the man who had a reservation for the aisle seat (boo...). Soon after I sat down, the train began to roll. I kept looking wistfully at the window seat, and eventually caught the attention of the man. I addressed him in Spanish, asking him if I could have the window as this was my first train adventure to France, and he graciously and happily agreed. He actually wound up being very friendly. He was a teacher from Andalucia who had come to Catalonia, met a nice girl, fallen in love, and stayed. He mentioned that he was also studying English but had few chances to practice. So, from that point on we spoke an interesting dialect of Spanglish. OH! and in reference to a former post. I showed him the gift that I was bring to my friends, and he totally approved. He actually knew the owners of my favorite cafe, and drank Anna de Cordanue with regularity after Sunday fútbol games. Oh! how some things never change across cultures.
Sensing that he traveled with some regularity, I asked him for some advise about which station I should get off at. He was getting off at Narbonne and had never seen a train to Avignon on the boards before. He had, however, traveled once to Montpellier and had noticed that it acted much like a major hub for the south of France. Okay. I was convinced. I wasn’t going to get off of the train until Montpellier, even though I only had a reservation until Narbonne. Heck. I bought the pass. I figured it would cover that. So. Stay is what I did. The further the train got from Barcelona, the fewer people lingered in the car, and when we finally crossed the boarder into France and the Catalan-Spanish-French announcements switched to French-Spanish announcements, I knew I was finally close to my upcoming adventures and getting to see my friend. Excitement filled me! ...so much for sleeping on the train.
The end of the line came all too quickly and I exited the train into the station. When the announcements had switched to French first, I had found it to be novel (as I could simply wait for the Spanish in order to understand) but this... was... different. I was suddenly thrown into a language that I did not understand... at all. Now... granted I had taken about two years of French in school and knew enough Spanish to read written French, but people tend to no speak in sentences like “avez-vous un crayon?” and “ou est le bain” (useful BTW... one of those phrases I’m rally glad stuck... and, for you french speakers... I’m sorry if it’s spelled incorrectly. “A” for effort?).
After disembarking from the train, the wild-eyed look that can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment, confusion and “totally lost” etched itself onto my face. I began to circulate the crowd of fellow travelers hoping someone would take pity on me... or at least be nice. I had heard many scary stories about the French from other students at UB, and was a bit frightened at the prospect of disturbing one long enough to find my may. Much to my surprise, everyone I encountered was extremely nice... I mean REALLY REALLY nice. The first family I stopped not only pointed me in the direction of the information center in the train station, but actually found an employee to accompany me. Once within the center, several workers approached me and rapidly began asking me questions in French. After a meek response of *blank stare* “umm... parlez-vous anglais?”, unexpected pity swept across their faces and they began to chat amongst themselves. Finally, a few associates gathered around me and began giving me advise in English and handing me several papers. We mutually decided that the next train to Avignon Centre would depart in roughly three hours. They gave me more schedules, the number of the train, information on where to find what platform it was departing from, invitations to return should I get lost and wishes for luck on my journey. I thanked them heartily and then stepped out into the main lobby for the station.
Well... I was in France in a city I had ever seen before, and with three hours to kill. Exploration sounded like fun. After locating a public telephone and purchasing a card (yet another adventure involving a very nice Frenchman and a line of patient people who looked like they felt sorry for me), I called up my friends to confirm when I would be arriving in Avignon. After that, I cinched up my suitcase, balanced my bag on the other shoulder and headed off to the old part of town to snap a few photos. Holy cow! It’s SO beautiful there. Time flew by, and before I knew it, I was running in the general direction of the station (thanks to a very expressive Frenchman’s response to “Ou est le gare?”) to catch my train. The train was stuffed to the rafters with people, but after a few stops, a seat opened up for me to sit down. I knew that Avignon Centre was roughly one hour away from Montpellier via train, but fifteen minutes into the ride I began to worry about which station to get off at. I looked anxiously around the train. Everyone was speaking French. It was the first time that I have felt totally immersed into a culture and language I did not know. Now, when I arrived in Spain, granted I went through culture shock, but it was nothing like this moment. I could understand Spanish when I arrived and had the ability to communicate with people around me... but I couldn’t even eavesdrop here!
I finally mustered up some courage and turned to the woman seated next to me. “Avignon?” I asked in a high-pitched squeaky voice. She must have read the large neon sign blinking wildly about my head screaming “foreigner”, as she smiled and replied “non”... nothing else. *phew!*
Another half an hour passed by and I received a tap on the shoulder. I turned to the woman seated next to me and she slowly said “Avignon Centre” and pointed up to the intercom system that was crackling a mixture of static and French. We both stood up and I croaked out something resembling: “Merci.” At that moment, a very short elderly lady stood on her tip-toes and reached into the rafters to retrieve her bags. They looked quite heavy and I became suddenly worried that she would hurt herself in a luggage avalanche. I threw my hangs into the air to catch the bags and said (more loudly than I intended to, and in English) “Here! Let me help you with that!”. You would think I had sent a shock-wave through the train, as suddenly everything went silent and all the eyes in the car were suddenly on me. The elderly lady smiled and said something to me in French. *Blank stare* *eyes shift from left to right* ... “umm... Parlez-vous anglais?”. The people formerly occupied with their palm-pilots and phones began to laugh... at me. The woman shook her head no, still smiling, and giggled a little.
The train stopped, and I waited to get off. Someone who had been watching me struggle, stopped in the aisle and motioned for me to pass in front of them. I thanked them and then stepped off of the train. I barely had a second to look at my surroundings when my eyes locked on my friend. He was standing there looking exactly the same and smiling. Any regards I had for the sanctity of the French language environment evaporated, and I ran over screaming “Oh my gosh! I haven’t seen you in FOREVER!”
We exchanged an American greeting (awkward hug) and a more European greeting (awkward kiss on both cheeks) and then headed towards where his family was waiting.
So there you have it. I had survived a trip solo, and was now with good friends (who spoke the language of the area). Though it had been somewhat of a challenge from the get go, people were incredibly helpful and kind. I sensed that it was going to be an excellent week.
Okay. Confession: I bought a Eurrail Pass (it’s essentially a company that sells days of train travel, instead of individual tickets, to American tourists. The idea is that you can pre-purchase your means of transportation in advance, all in the same place, and save a little money while you’re at it) and as it’s a ticket sold for European trains by an American company to Americans... no one here knew what it was. Naturally. So, after consulting a variety of people at the University and church, and turning up zero information (not much is available on the internet, as well... FYI) I headed down to the train station to try to figure out how to use the dang thing. Well, that and I needed to find out when trains left from the station, and to make a reservation... and to clear up the rumors I had heard, reguarding station closures, that had been circulating the University (França was very much open! Well.. media distancia was having some work done. But, the international lines were not affected... whatever). Point being: I had to take care of some business at the station, and looking things up online was just not cutting it. So, I played hookie on one of my classes (unintentionally... it took way longer than I expected) and chatted with a woman from RENFE at Estación de França (lisp at will... go ahead! try it. It’s fun). I had done enough research with the timetables and at the national french railway website that I wasn’t entering the ring a total moron, but I still knew zip about trains and even less about my pass. So, when I told the woman behind the window that I wanted to go to Avignon Centre, and she said “you can’t”... I was a wee bit surprised. “What?!... look... it says here (flipping wildly through internet print outs and timetables) that I can go from Barcelona to Montpellier to Avignon Centre... I want that train.”
Ignoring my somewhat extensive research and well-founded thesis on the timetables of April 4th, she replied: “Our train only goes to Narbonne. You’ll have to take a bus from there. Sorry.”
*exasperated sigh* (Ironically, “tranquila” was scrolling on one of those digital light up boards above my head. RENFE must be accustomed to this sort of conversation.)
“Can I use my pass on the bus?” *pushing Eurrail pass towards her*
“I don’t know” (of course not!) “You’ll probably have to buy a separate ticket.”
*meeeh!*
“Okay, don’t worry about it. Just give me a reservation for the last stop and I’ll figure it out from there”
“The last stop is in Montpellier. You can’t catch a train from Montpellier to Avignon.” *pushes her own print out towards me*
“What?!” *looking dumbfoundedly at my timetables and maps* “Well, in any case... I’d like the reservation for the train until it reaches Montpellier.”
“I think it would be wiser if you reserved until Narbonne” (this is where a mixture of translation from Spanish to English and from spoken language to type takes something away from just how richly exasperating this whole business was turning into. Just imagine me when I’m on lack-of-sleep mode and stressed out about trying to figure out an unfamiliar process through trial and error... and ACTION!)
“Okay... fine... Narbonne it is then... And, can I have a return trip, please?”
“From where?”
“Montpellier”
“You mean, Narbonne?”
“...Sure”
*flurry of ticket stamping, collecting money, etc.*
Man! This was turning into a nightmare! I looked at my map (provided by the rail company) and began to stress. Montpellier is only one hour away from Avignon, according to Eurrail, but Narbonne is a good three... maybe more. And it’s smaller. *sigh* this was going to be an interesting experience, at the very least.
That night, I went home and consulted the online timetables again. Surely I could get from Montpellier to Avignon! They have daily trains running... and it’s current!
I decided that it wasn’t worth worrying about. If I had to spend the night in Montpellier... well... I would just bring some cash along for a hostel... and then I would walk to Avignon if I had to! But I was going to get there somehow!
A few weeks passed, and then it was time to head off to the train station (França) to visit my friend. I was so excited the night before that I literally could not sleep. Having worried that I wouldn’t wake up to my alarm clock, the other extreme occurred: I didn’t sleep... at all... and ended up looking at my clock when it finally sounded like, “6 A.M. ... What else is new?!” (apparently I’m a mildly cranky person when I haven’t slept well).
I gathered my things (yay for light packing!), showered (...wait... did I? hmm...) and then headed out the door. As the sun rose about the miles (kilometers) of apartments, I found myself walking the streets of Barcelona alone. The normally bustling avenues and plazas were suddenly deserted and peaceful. Whoa! too much of that and I was going to fall asleep before I got to the station... Luckily, I made it without a problem. As I approached the station, I noticed a huge line snaking its way out the door. Dang it! The station WAS closed and this was the riot in response... Actually, no... it simply hadn’t opened yet, and people were waiting to board the train. That didn’t stop the negativity from running through my mind. haha!
I had been informed by my booklet that I needed to validate my pass: which basically means I had to get it stamped with the first date of travel so the rail lines would know when my last date of travel was up. Kinda sets limits in case there are cheaters. So, while I was standing in the line, some Americans began chatting in front of me. They were about my age and carrying (of all things) Eurrail passes. I asked them if they knew anything about the passes, and listed off a few questions that had still been unanswered. A little late, seeing as I was set to travel within the half hour, but I wanted the information anyways. They had as much info at I did, so we began to chat about other things. Finally, our passes were stamped (by the same woman who sold me the reservation), our things were passed through the metal detectors, and we entered the main garage. Wow! França is a huge station. I looked at the screen and walked over to the TALGO train *insert reference to Harry Potter here*
I found my assigned seat (window, holla!) but it was already occupied by the man who had a reservation for the aisle seat (boo...). Soon after I sat down, the train began to roll. I kept looking wistfully at the window seat, and eventually caught the attention of the man. I addressed him in Spanish, asking him if I could have the window as this was my first train adventure to France, and he graciously and happily agreed. He actually wound up being very friendly. He was a teacher from Andalucia who had come to Catalonia, met a nice girl, fallen in love, and stayed. He mentioned that he was also studying English but had few chances to practice. So, from that point on we spoke an interesting dialect of Spanglish. OH! and in reference to a former post. I showed him the gift that I was bring to my friends, and he totally approved. He actually knew the owners of my favorite cafe, and drank Anna de Cordanue with regularity after Sunday fútbol games. Oh! how some things never change across cultures.
Sensing that he traveled with some regularity, I asked him for some advise about which station I should get off at. He was getting off at Narbonne and had never seen a train to Avignon on the boards before. He had, however, traveled once to Montpellier and had noticed that it acted much like a major hub for the south of France. Okay. I was convinced. I wasn’t going to get off of the train until Montpellier, even though I only had a reservation until Narbonne. Heck. I bought the pass. I figured it would cover that. So. Stay is what I did. The further the train got from Barcelona, the fewer people lingered in the car, and when we finally crossed the boarder into France and the Catalan-Spanish-French announcements switched to French-Spanish announcements, I knew I was finally close to my upcoming adventures and getting to see my friend. Excitement filled me! ...so much for sleeping on the train.
The end of the line came all too quickly and I exited the train into the station. When the announcements had switched to French first, I had found it to be novel (as I could simply wait for the Spanish in order to understand) but this... was... different. I was suddenly thrown into a language that I did not understand... at all. Now... granted I had taken about two years of French in school and knew enough Spanish to read written French, but people tend to no speak in sentences like “avez-vous un crayon?” and “ou est le bain” (useful BTW... one of those phrases I’m rally glad stuck... and, for you french speakers... I’m sorry if it’s spelled incorrectly. “A” for effort?).
After disembarking from the train, the wild-eyed look that can only be described as a mixture of bewilderment, confusion and “totally lost” etched itself onto my face. I began to circulate the crowd of fellow travelers hoping someone would take pity on me... or at least be nice. I had heard many scary stories about the French from other students at UB, and was a bit frightened at the prospect of disturbing one long enough to find my may. Much to my surprise, everyone I encountered was extremely nice... I mean REALLY REALLY nice. The first family I stopped not only pointed me in the direction of the information center in the train station, but actually found an employee to accompany me. Once within the center, several workers approached me and rapidly began asking me questions in French. After a meek response of *blank stare* “umm... parlez-vous anglais?”, unexpected pity swept across their faces and they began to chat amongst themselves. Finally, a few associates gathered around me and began giving me advise in English and handing me several papers. We mutually decided that the next train to Avignon Centre would depart in roughly three hours. They gave me more schedules, the number of the train, information on where to find what platform it was departing from, invitations to return should I get lost and wishes for luck on my journey. I thanked them heartily and then stepped out into the main lobby for the station.
Well... I was in France in a city I had ever seen before, and with three hours to kill. Exploration sounded like fun. After locating a public telephone and purchasing a card (yet another adventure involving a very nice Frenchman and a line of patient people who looked like they felt sorry for me), I called up my friends to confirm when I would be arriving in Avignon. After that, I cinched up my suitcase, balanced my bag on the other shoulder and headed off to the old part of town to snap a few photos. Holy cow! It’s SO beautiful there. Time flew by, and before I knew it, I was running in the general direction of the station (thanks to a very expressive Frenchman’s response to “Ou est le gare?”) to catch my train. The train was stuffed to the rafters with people, but after a few stops, a seat opened up for me to sit down. I knew that Avignon Centre was roughly one hour away from Montpellier via train, but fifteen minutes into the ride I began to worry about which station to get off at. I looked anxiously around the train. Everyone was speaking French. It was the first time that I have felt totally immersed into a culture and language I did not know. Now, when I arrived in Spain, granted I went through culture shock, but it was nothing like this moment. I could understand Spanish when I arrived and had the ability to communicate with people around me... but I couldn’t even eavesdrop here!
I finally mustered up some courage and turned to the woman seated next to me. “Avignon?” I asked in a high-pitched squeaky voice. She must have read the large neon sign blinking wildly about my head screaming “foreigner”, as she smiled and replied “non”... nothing else. *phew!*
Another half an hour passed by and I received a tap on the shoulder. I turned to the woman seated next to me and she slowly said “Avignon Centre” and pointed up to the intercom system that was crackling a mixture of static and French. We both stood up and I croaked out something resembling: “Merci.” At that moment, a very short elderly lady stood on her tip-toes and reached into the rafters to retrieve her bags. They looked quite heavy and I became suddenly worried that she would hurt herself in a luggage avalanche. I threw my hangs into the air to catch the bags and said (more loudly than I intended to, and in English) “Here! Let me help you with that!”. You would think I had sent a shock-wave through the train, as suddenly everything went silent and all the eyes in the car were suddenly on me. The elderly lady smiled and said something to me in French. *Blank stare* *eyes shift from left to right* ... “umm... Parlez-vous anglais?”. The people formerly occupied with their palm-pilots and phones began to laugh... at me. The woman shook her head no, still smiling, and giggled a little.
The train stopped, and I waited to get off. Someone who had been watching me struggle, stopped in the aisle and motioned for me to pass in front of them. I thanked them and then stepped off of the train. I barely had a second to look at my surroundings when my eyes locked on my friend. He was standing there looking exactly the same and smiling. Any regards I had for the sanctity of the French language environment evaporated, and I ran over screaming “Oh my gosh! I haven’t seen you in FOREVER!”
We exchanged an American greeting (awkward hug) and a more European greeting (awkward kiss on both cheeks) and then headed towards where his family was waiting.
So there you have it. I had survived a trip solo, and was now with good friends (who spoke the language of the area). Though it had been somewhat of a challenge from the get go, people were incredibly helpful and kind. I sensed that it was going to be an excellent week.
Monday, April 13, 2009
If ignorance is bliss, why was this SO stressful?!
Alright, so... I can’t resist anymore. This story must be told. Absolutely necessary. For those of you who I haven’t told yet: I went to France for Semana Santa to visit a friend that I haven’t seen in FOREVER and his family. I wanted to bring something nice, and seeing as I live in Catalunya, there are some very nice Cavas floating around. I decided that that would make for an enjoyable gift without being too ostentatious or flimsy. A happy medium... Anyways, I know nothing (NOTHING) about decent Cavas, so I started asking around for some advise. The strange thing was that the conversation usually followed a typical pattern:
Cavas, eh?
insert opinion
Who is it for? FRENCH PEOPLE?!?!?!
correction to former opinion
a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...)
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
Emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.
Hmmm... what was the big deal, guys? I think (thought) there was some unnecessary exaggeration going on until I saw this: (its in Spanish, but not hard to get the general idea)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1SjNkomh20&feature=channel_page
I laughed when I saw it... and then realized why I was getting SO much concern and advise. Yep. I was then promptly scared. OH! NO! What if it tastes BAD? OR WORSE: if I like it and they DON’T??
Action had to be taken! AND FAST! so, I went to the only restaurant that was names and bought a bottle of semi-sec rosado... there... no more need to worry. I could put it out of my mind and prepare other things for the trip (like actually buying a reservation on the train...).
I continued my week in innocent bliss, until the day I left for Tarragona (a sort of, pre-trip trip) my host mom barged into the room, located my bottle and studied in in deep and reserved silence. I sat nervously... “Hmm...” she said after a couple of minutes “I’ve never heard of this brand” (*heart sinks* expletive... that can’t be good) “What is it?”... *finger rolls over the label* “SeMi-SeC?!”
a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.
this was beginning to look a bit familiar... So, I made it a productive familiarity. After the brand I chose was officially labeled a “caca” and a disgrace to Catalunya, I demanded names... and where I could find them. A list of names were rattled off at break neck speed... *blank stare* I scrounged around in my desk and finally emerged with a piece of paper and a pen. Pushing them in her direction, I asked her to write them down so I wouldn’t forget. (When in reality, I was tempted to give up the whole business and take something else). I stuffed the paper into my bag and ran to the train station, just barely having enough time to stop by a local cafe (and my favorite) to pick up some coco (coconut, I know... confused me too) balls from Sevilla (made by monks... awesome!).
“There,” I thought to myself on the train, “screw cava! I’m taking this instead!”
Well, as you already know: it was raining on Tarragona when I got there, but determined to sight-see despite the weather, I ran around. After a while, I got tired of being soaked and cold, so I ducked into a bodega (drink store) and saw one of the brands on that had been recommended. The price was reasonable, so I bought it... and then walked around with it all day... and then took it home to Barcelona... and then took it on the train the next day... and then walked around Montpellier with it... and then took it back onto the train. When it FINALLY made it into the hands of my hosts, I was beyond scared. The bottle had undergone some hardcore transportation over the past few days, and seeing as cava is essentially spanish sparking wine, it was probably more fit for christining a new boat than drinking. I nervously watched in the car praying it wouldn’t explode. It didn’t *phew*...
We waited a few days, and then tried it (sans explosion, thank goodness!). I do believe they enjoyed it. If not,... at least they didn’t call it a “caca”.
Cavas, eh?
insert opinion
Who is it for? FRENCH PEOPLE?!?!?!
correction to former opinion
a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...)
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
Emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.
Hmmm... what was the big deal, guys? I think (thought) there was some unnecessary exaggeration going on until I saw this: (its in Spanish, but not hard to get the general idea)
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=v1SjNkomh20&feature=channel_page
I laughed when I saw it... and then realized why I was getting SO much concern and advise. Yep. I was then promptly scared. OH! NO! What if it tastes BAD? OR WORSE: if I like it and they DON’T??
Action had to be taken! AND FAST! so, I went to the only restaurant that was names and bought a bottle of semi-sec rosado... there... no more need to worry. I could put it out of my mind and prepare other things for the trip (like actually buying a reservation on the train...).
I continued my week in innocent bliss, until the day I left for Tarragona (a sort of, pre-trip trip) my host mom barged into the room, located my bottle and studied in in deep and reserved silence. I sat nervously... “Hmm...” she said after a couple of minutes “I’ve never heard of this brand” (*heart sinks* expletive... that can’t be good) “What is it?”... *finger rolls over the label* “SeMi-SeC?!”
a stern lecture about choosing the correct brand, year, etc (minus names, of course...
a small lesson on the quality of French cuisine.
emphasis on the importance of choosing a decent mark (again... minus names)
advise regarding other (non-cava) products that might be safer
head tips down and begins to sway from side to side, eyes locked on me: concern expressed, and luck granted for my quest.
this was beginning to look a bit familiar... So, I made it a productive familiarity. After the brand I chose was officially labeled a “caca” and a disgrace to Catalunya, I demanded names... and where I could find them. A list of names were rattled off at break neck speed... *blank stare* I scrounged around in my desk and finally emerged with a piece of paper and a pen. Pushing them in her direction, I asked her to write them down so I wouldn’t forget. (When in reality, I was tempted to give up the whole business and take something else). I stuffed the paper into my bag and ran to the train station, just barely having enough time to stop by a local cafe (and my favorite) to pick up some coco (coconut, I know... confused me too) balls from Sevilla (made by monks... awesome!).
“There,” I thought to myself on the train, “screw cava! I’m taking this instead!”
Well, as you already know: it was raining on Tarragona when I got there, but determined to sight-see despite the weather, I ran around. After a while, I got tired of being soaked and cold, so I ducked into a bodega (drink store) and saw one of the brands on that had been recommended. The price was reasonable, so I bought it... and then walked around with it all day... and then took it home to Barcelona... and then took it on the train the next day... and then walked around Montpellier with it... and then took it back onto the train. When it FINALLY made it into the hands of my hosts, I was beyond scared. The bottle had undergone some hardcore transportation over the past few days, and seeing as cava is essentially spanish sparking wine, it was probably more fit for christining a new boat than drinking. I nervously watched in the car praying it wouldn’t explode. It didn’t *phew*...
We waited a few days, and then tried it (sans explosion, thank goodness!). I do believe they enjoyed it. If not,... at least they didn’t call it a “caca”.
AH! I'm working on it!!
*phew*...
Well... after tomorrow, Easter Break is officially over and the normal school schedule shall resume (... if I can say I actually have a “normal” schedule...). And, how am I spending Easter day? Why, thank you for asking! I’m chilling out in my room, listening to the Mika CD my friends in France graciously bestowed upon my computer, nibbling on homemade easter bunny sugar cookies, and, well, writing to you guys. =D
SoOOOOOoo... much has happened this week. I promise I’ll fill you in on all the details as soon as possible... Wet your appetites, friends: stories are a-coming!
Thursday, April 2, 2009
What a wonderful day =)
I have officially begun Semana Santa, and am SOOOO EXCITED!!! BAHHHH!!! ...anyways, to begin this wonderful week, I came down to Tarragona to visit a friend, and inquire about a summer camp that has it's headquarters on La Rambla (...it's like the Catalan version of "main street"). The journey here was quite an adventure, but totally worth it. Okayokayokay... to start, my host mom informed me the other day that there would be some construction on the Estation de Franca (I'm sans a keyboard with accents... for those of you who are of the grammatical and accentational (yeah, that's probably not a word... but it will be...) sticklers, I'm sorry... no I'm not. *evil laughter*) back to the station... that there might be some construction, and that I needed to double check where my train would be leaving from... SOOO, I looked online at the RENFE sight and it said that I would definitely be leaving from Franca... but... com'on... this is RENFE we're talking about here: they're reliable... eventually... so I went to the Saints station (there are seriously like 5 train stations in Barcelona, it's insane trying to keep them all straight!) and asked the man at the "quick questions desk" who gave me some quality information and then pointed me in the direction of the Customer Service desk. Once at the doors to customer service, I was stopped by another station attendant (repeat information here) and then was directed into the customer service office. I waited in line for about 5 minutes (they're quick in there, no fooling around!) and the repeated myself (yet again) and received a bit of a blank look... She asked me some specific questions about the train that I was taking, and right when I said to myself 'darn! I don't even know how to explain myself in English!', the two men from the other information desks that I had talked to previously popped out of nowhere and began drilling the customer service lady about my question. Long story short... according to the website and three RENFE employees, I can leave from Franca. Yay! It was incredibly nice of those men to take the time to help the very lost looking girl by herself out... ahhh, feeling the love! (no, seriously, that like... never happens! It's always: I have no idea... good luck!.)
Right, so I bought the ticket to Tarragona (which was a bit of an adventure, as well... but I won't bore you with the details) and then boarded the train (after calling a friend to make sure it was the right one... haha!) [note to my friend Joseph: I was NOT stressed out at this point. No! It's true... totally relaxed... well, okay... mildly worried... *sigh* Shut up! fine, you win... I was "antsy"]. OH! what a BEAUTIFUL ride that is! It's been raining for the past few days so everything was a vibrant shade of springtimey green (YUMMY!). That hour ride went by FAST. ...hmm... we should seriously have more trains in the US. Seriously...
Anyways, I got off in Tarragona and promptly realized that I had no map, and (even better!) no idea which direction I needed to go to find the office (but I knew what street it was on!) so, needless to say, I got lost rather quickly. After about 15 minutes of walking around a very "local" looking part of town (I needed to be where the tourists were...), I stopped a lady on the street and asked her where La Rambla was. She stopped and thought for a bit, and then said, "I think it'll be better if I just show you." Thinking that that meant hand signals, I was a bit surprised when she started walking away from me, so I followed her. She actually showed me where the street I needed to be was: as in lead me there! OHH! LOVE SMALL TOWNS!
I found the office with absolutely no trouble at all, but it wound up being the wrong office. They did, however, know exactly what I was looking for and referred me to the correct one. Once at "English Summer" (google it!), the staff was very warm and friendly, and answered about a million questions with unwavering patience.
I picked up an application and then headed out the door. (just playing around with a thought, don't get too freaked out!). At this point it was raining pretty hard, but I had come prepared with a hat, so naturally: out to the city I went! I have pictures, but no way of showing them to you. (they're coming soon, I promise!).
After running around Tarragona for about an hour, I got a bit tired of being wet, so I ducked into a local cafe. Mmmm... cafe amb llet! so good. My friend picked me up near the fountain of the kid wrangling a duck (some of the fountains... well. I don't think odd quite covers it... hmm... Unique. That's a good word). Anyways, she picked me up, and we had a lovely time making and enjoying dinner together. So now I'm all snuggled up and warm, and feeling quite sleepy...
That was my day! Hope you had a lovely one, as well. Talk to you soon!
Right, so I bought the ticket to Tarragona (which was a bit of an adventure, as well... but I won't bore you with the details) and then boarded the train (after calling a friend to make sure it was the right one... haha!) [note to my friend Joseph: I was NOT stressed out at this point. No! It's true... totally relaxed... well, okay... mildly worried... *sigh* Shut up! fine, you win... I was "antsy"]. OH! what a BEAUTIFUL ride that is! It's been raining for the past few days so everything was a vibrant shade of springtimey green (YUMMY!). That hour ride went by FAST. ...hmm... we should seriously have more trains in the US. Seriously...
Anyways, I got off in Tarragona and promptly realized that I had no map, and (even better!) no idea which direction I needed to go to find the office (but I knew what street it was on!) so, needless to say, I got lost rather quickly. After about 15 minutes of walking around a very "local" looking part of town (I needed to be where the tourists were...), I stopped a lady on the street and asked her where La Rambla was. She stopped and thought for a bit, and then said, "I think it'll be better if I just show you." Thinking that that meant hand signals, I was a bit surprised when she started walking away from me, so I followed her. She actually showed me where the street I needed to be was: as in lead me there! OHH! LOVE SMALL TOWNS!
I found the office with absolutely no trouble at all, but it wound up being the wrong office. They did, however, know exactly what I was looking for and referred me to the correct one. Once at "English Summer" (google it!), the staff was very warm and friendly, and answered about a million questions with unwavering patience.
I picked up an application and then headed out the door. (just playing around with a thought, don't get too freaked out!). At this point it was raining pretty hard, but I had come prepared with a hat, so naturally: out to the city I went! I have pictures, but no way of showing them to you. (they're coming soon, I promise!).
After running around Tarragona for about an hour, I got a bit tired of being wet, so I ducked into a local cafe. Mmmm... cafe amb llet! so good. My friend picked me up near the fountain of the kid wrangling a duck (some of the fountains... well. I don't think odd quite covers it... hmm... Unique. That's a good word). Anyways, she picked me up, and we had a lovely time making and enjoying dinner together. So now I'm all snuggled up and warm, and feeling quite sleepy...
That was my day! Hope you had a lovely one, as well. Talk to you soon!
Saturday, March 28, 2009
This week in pictures...
What to write, what to write! It’s one of those moments when a million things have happened, and I don’t have the time (okay, fine, ...motivation) to write them all down!SoOo... let’s see... Sunday: ahh! Great day. After a wonderful sermon by some visiting guest speakers from (you’ve guessed it!... maybe not... I’ll just tell you) California, a group of friends and myself went down to La Rambla for some döner kabobs. Yummy! Yep... that actually took up most of my day =).
Monday: I decided early in the morning that I absolutely HAD to go to Barrio Gótico to draw something. I can’t remember if I told you last week, but Elly C. (shout out!) came into town and inspired me to buy a decent drawing pen and put it to use. After a morning round of sucking hard at sketching, I went to class and came back. Now, granted... it wasn’t much better this time, but the company was lovely! (on both occasions). I set myself up on the steps facing a doorway to the Cathedral de Barcelona (on a side street that tourists rarely find. *snicker* claimed as Michelle’s domain!!!) and began to sketch. While I was busy scribbling away, a man with a beautiful harp came and set up. He began playing South American harp music; and, when he noticed I was watching him, we began to chit-chat. After I told him that my mom used to play the harp (and will again!... when the harp gets out of rehab. That’s what happens to musical instruments who hang out with the Magic Flute too much... sad day... Right! That was random)... anyways, we began talking and he started asking me which songs (or types of songs) I wanted to hear and then would play them. Having just had a conversation about Rancho Grande the other day, at one point, I requested it (because, it’s just plain beautiful). He smiled and said that he didn’t know an arrangement, so I told him to invent one (laughingly... kinda sounds harsh in text.) He agreed, and what came out of that harp was AMAZING! He continued to play a few more songs (per request =) ) and then I had to go home. Glorious day!
Tuesday: hmm... I can’t remember what I did... I know it was fun... education? Hmm..
Wednesday: Ho ho! I went to the USA general consulate =). Name tags! I was asking about any open secretarial positions. After ping-ponging around the oh-so organized bureaucracy, I was given an email address... Hmm... well... so much for attempting to intern in a government agency in Spain. NO, but really though, it was still awesome running around there (being sent to various offices is actually more accurate... but I can dream!)... felt like a secret agent. Don’t worry. No round-house kicks were involved.
Thursday: Our classes were greatly reduced in size due to the threat-down of another student strike/protest (It was actually going to be held off school grounds at eight at night, but for some reason we had the time and location mixed up... so hardly anyone came). Wound up being a good day, as we had nearly one-on-one attention with the professor. We came up with personality profiles for fictitious characters and then attempted to marry them off to each other... needless to say... the cat lady and shady pimp shall not be joined in matrimony anytime soon (or ever... as they don’t actually exist). Anyways, it was good fun. Then, I went to Parc Güell with Grace and snapped several photos (on her camera... hehe) and caused a ruckus =)
OH! and then I went to a couch-surfing language exchange meeting (when it comes to couch surfing: I am not a member (for those of you who are worried) but several friends are. Calm down!) I met some really cool people and got a chance to practice Spanish and converse in English.Friday: Went to the Sorolla exhibit... again =D
Man, those murals are breath-taking! I was with one of the guys who I had met the previous night, so after running around the museum, we headed off to the Castillo and Olympic Stadium (because they are a must-see) and then walked around Raval for a bit. Lovely day! OH! that, and I finally saw Vicky Christina Barcelona. Hehehe... Minus the restaurants (as I eat at home or picnic style everyday) I’ve been to all of the BCN locations minus the airport and the corner where her picks her up for their secret rendezvous... yay!
Which brings me to today!
It was quite rainy out which limited the options a little, but I woke up at a decent hour this morning and then went to go find a monastery that my art professor had talked about several times. The claustro wound up being closed, but the cathedral was open and lovely. I’ve posted a few pictures from my adventure today. Enjoy!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=20173&id=1323450019&l=d07cd544cf
Please keep me posted with your goings-ons!
I’ll be out for a week starting friday, so if it seems a bit like talking to a brick wall I apologize in advance. Have an awesome week! Blessings!
Friday, March 20, 2009
Taking it all in...
Well, family... Yesterday was quite glorious. I walked around Barcelona with my friend Elly Clemmons (who is in from Madrid scouting out the art around the city for her Alma Mater, Biola) and snapped about a zillion photos. Oh! And took a video =D... And this one actually uploaded. Yay!
video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFlisi8n5hk
photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19566&id=1323450019&l=78a799f39f
Yay!
After we ran around the city for several hours taking in the sights, we went over to a friend's apartment where I got to cook dinner (holla!) and ...not have to do dishes... (holla to the max!). It was awesome getting to spend time with friends in the ol' family meal setting.
Hope to hear from you all soon!
video:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eFlisi8n5hk
photos:
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19566&id=1323450019&l=78a799f39f
Yay!
After we ran around the city for several hours taking in the sights, we went over to a friend's apartment where I got to cook dinner (holla!) and ...not have to do dishes... (holla to the max!). It was awesome getting to spend time with friends in the ol' family meal setting.
Hope to hear from you all soon!
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Springtime, SPRINGTIME!!! Yay! The fleurs are a-bloomin' and ...despite the occasional individuals affected by the pollen zipping around... moods are lifting! *sigh* Sunshine... how I love thee... WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME BAA-ACK?! haha...
Alright, enough of this non-sense.
Yesterday there was a bit of a demonstration at the University... well... most of them, actually. So, classes in the main building were cancelled. (Basically, the students that were camping out in the main entrance we're asked to leave by the Dean... this is just what I heard, so I'm not exactly sure how accurate it is... They refused, so early yesterday morning, police came and kicked them out. They fought back, and so now the school is closed for the next few days to prevent a riot from breaking out.) SoOoOo... having had my classes cancelled, I headed up Tibidabo to check out the greenery... or flowery, as it has recently turned into. Check it, yo!
In other news, I've been crazy busy trying to balance playtime with school work, but having an absolute blast despite the activity! Umm... I recently began working with a friend on his English skills; and consequently, am dabbling a little bit in Ukrainian. Holy cow, that language is hard to pronounce! And am teaching a friend how to cook some awesome chicken tonight. OH! random side note... I was taking to one of the guys from my church the other day, and asked him if he knew what summer squash was. He had no clue... and ... I must admit... I gave him the nasty "are you kidding me?!" look... So! I went to the open market to try to find it, and I couldn't! They kept pointing to pumpkins, and I was like, "NO! I don't want PUMPKINS! I'm looking for ... well, they're like zucchinis, but yellow and shaped like lightbulbs." ...Blank stare... "You mean pumpkins?" "NO!"... Oh man! Who feels silly now?! I guess produce availability changes across the pond... that would explain the massive stacks of Kiwis they're selling for dirt cheap in every grocery store... (Oh my goodness, I'm in Kiwi heaven!!!). So, I bought Eggplant instead. Should be stellar! Right? RIGHT?! Anyways, looking forward to getting my hands dirty in a kitchen again... and then washing them before I begin cooking... Alright! Enough of this randomnicity! I have a date with Elly Clemmons! (Drs. Clemmons' Daughter) Yay! She's fun =)
Hope you're all doing well! Hear from you soon!
Saturday, March 14, 2009
Extra, extra! Read all about it!!!
New photos! New photos!!!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19116&id=1323450019&l=437ef
Check it yo!
Wow! okay, so today was amazing! I woke up at about 7 this morning, quickly got dressed, and then headed off to Plaza Catalunya (okay... I know I've spelled this place about eight different ways in this blog, but this time I've got it right. I checked... twice) to meet a group of students from ISA to go horseback riding. The morning was absolutely gorgeous! The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the Plaza was totally vacant. ...Like, I've never, ever, ever seen it that empty before. AWESOME! Anyways, we gathered in front of a cafe and then headed off to the RENFE station under the Plaza. The trip took about an hour but it was full of gorgeous views and fun conversation, making it seem quite short.
After we arrived at Santa Susana on the Costa Brava, we met taxis from the ranch and were driven directly to the park. There we met our guides and began sorting through a huge pile of helmets. Hmm... in the US it's not that difficult to find hats that fit me, but apparently my head is slightly larger than normal (shut up!)... But, thankfully, I finally found a skateboard helmet in the pile that fit... more or less. While I was digging around in the shed, I heard horses being brought out. The woman who was clearly in charge of the yard shouted out "okay, who here can ride?"... after having had talked to the program director quite a bit on the train (about... well, if you know me I shouldn't even have to fill you in) so she pointed to me, and I was the first to pop onto a pony. YAY! Actually, that horse was quite tall. I'm guessing about 16 hands... which isn't that big, but ...well, fine... I admit it... it's been a while. Then the other 15 riders and 2 guides mounted up and we left. Holy freaking cow! I am SOOO glad there are so many rules at Camp Richardson when it comes to the way the rides are structured. The horses were well-behaved but packed themselves together and ...they got cranky after a while. No one fell off, but there were moments when I definitely held my breath... needless to say, I kept to the back where there was more space. The horse I was assigned was totally chill, and responded really well to leg (and OMG the saddle fit SO well!). About halfway through the ride, we turned around and began making our way back to the ranch. As I had kept to the back of the ride, it went from tranquil to sixteen some odd horses coming at me all at once. I got incredibly claustrophobic so I held Sofí back. Glad I did too. The guide who had originally ridden in the front was now taking up the rear, and was very talkative (yep, and enunciated well). So, we chatted about Chile (where he was from) and the US and horses. After we got back to the ranch, I played "Giddy" (tourists, as they are affectionately called in Barcelona) and went snap-crazy with the camera. Which brings us back to the beginning... I posted new pictures. Finally. Enjoy!
http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=19116&id=1323450019&l=437ef
Check it yo!
Wow! okay, so today was amazing! I woke up at about 7 this morning, quickly got dressed, and then headed off to Plaza Catalunya (okay... I know I've spelled this place about eight different ways in this blog, but this time I've got it right. I checked... twice) to meet a group of students from ISA to go horseback riding. The morning was absolutely gorgeous! The sun was shining, birds were singing, and the Plaza was totally vacant. ...Like, I've never, ever, ever seen it that empty before. AWESOME! Anyways, we gathered in front of a cafe and then headed off to the RENFE station under the Plaza. The trip took about an hour but it was full of gorgeous views and fun conversation, making it seem quite short.
After we arrived at Santa Susana on the Costa Brava, we met taxis from the ranch and were driven directly to the park. There we met our guides and began sorting through a huge pile of helmets. Hmm... in the US it's not that difficult to find hats that fit me, but apparently my head is slightly larger than normal (shut up!)... But, thankfully, I finally found a skateboard helmet in the pile that fit... more or less. While I was digging around in the shed, I heard horses being brought out. The woman who was clearly in charge of the yard shouted out "okay, who here can ride?"... after having had talked to the program director quite a bit on the train (about... well, if you know me I shouldn't even have to fill you in) so she pointed to me, and I was the first to pop onto a pony. YAY! Actually, that horse was quite tall. I'm guessing about 16 hands... which isn't that big, but ...well, fine... I admit it... it's been a while. Then the other 15 riders and 2 guides mounted up and we left. Holy freaking cow! I am SOOO glad there are so many rules at Camp Richardson when it comes to the way the rides are structured. The horses were well-behaved but packed themselves together and ...they got cranky after a while. No one fell off, but there were moments when I definitely held my breath... needless to say, I kept to the back where there was more space. The horse I was assigned was totally chill, and responded really well to leg (and OMG the saddle fit SO well!). About halfway through the ride, we turned around and began making our way back to the ranch. As I had kept to the back of the ride, it went from tranquil to sixteen some odd horses coming at me all at once. I got incredibly claustrophobic so I held Sofí back. Glad I did too. The guide who had originally ridden in the front was now taking up the rear, and was very talkative (yep, and enunciated well). So, we chatted about Chile (where he was from) and the US and horses. After we got back to the ranch, I played "Giddy" (tourists, as they are affectionately called in Barcelona) and went snap-crazy with the camera. Which brings us back to the beginning... I posted new pictures. Finally. Enjoy!
Friday, March 13, 2009
Unbelievable...
Wow! Craaaazy night!
Okay, so on Wednesday I suggested that a group of people from my church get together and head over to the fountain on Montjuïc, on Friday, to watch the musical fountain light show extravaganza. Everyone made it over to the designated meeting point a bit earlier than expected, so we made our way over to the fountain while the previous show was still going on. During that time we scoped out good seats (on low concrete walls) and took entertained ourselves by snapping pictures of the pretty lights/water combinations. While my friend Nikki and I were busy trying to figure out how to take a picture of me holding the fountain with the lights framing the palace in the background appear to crown me Lady Liberty style, (by the way, that picture is AWESOME! ...but not on my camera... will let you see it asap) someone threw who-knows-what on some girls in the group. I’m guessing it’s baby food... I hope it’s baby food... Anyways, another man (creeper) approached the two girls (who immediately clutched their bags a little closer) and began telling them that they had just been decorated by some pigeons and that he would clean it off for them. They got nervous and began trying to get our attention (unfortunately, I was totally absorbed in posing for the picture =( and didn’t notice anything going on). Just then, another girl in our group was tapped on the shoulder, and when she turned around someone snatched her bag and ran. She began screaming for help as they ran off down the stairs and around the corner, and then immediately took off after them with Benji, one of the guys from the church that was with us. They came back after about a minute after having lost them. I then suggested that we head off to the police to see if she could fill out a report and have her credit cards shut off, but then Benji suggested and even better idea: that we could, at least, see if the bandits had dumped her purse somewhere after taking her wallet so that she could recover her keys and cell phone. So, we went the same direction that we had seen the thieves run off in. Not really having had much experience in having a purse stolen, I began opening up dumpster lids and looking inside. Just then, an elderly man approached us and asked us if we had just been robbed. “YES!!” He then explained that he had seen three men come running around the corner being followed by a police car. Then the group had broken up and the police had continued to follow two of the three robbers. When we asked him what we should do, he told us that now was probably a pretty good time to head over to the police station because they were chasing the very people with her purse. He then gave us directions, and then lead us over to a pair of officers standing at the corner. We quickly explained that a purse had been stolen (and were met with an “what else is new?” expression...). They then radioed some fellow officers and told us to head down the street and to the left where a group of officers had congregated. ...so we did... and what did we find there? Two men hand-cuffed against a wall, about ten police officers, and one stolen purse... with everything (credit cards, cell phone, house keys, everything!) still inside. *sigh* Yay! Happy ending! The officers were incredibly nice! They offered the girl a ride to the station and an extra space for someone to go with her (so Benji went to help her fill out forms) and a first aid kit when she got there (she had fallen and was scraped up and bleeding). So, all is taken care of now. She got her purse back (and probably wouldn’t have had it not been for Benji’s suggestion to go look for it in the first place) and everything inside. ...crazy!
Okay, so on Wednesday I suggested that a group of people from my church get together and head over to the fountain on Montjuïc, on Friday, to watch the musical fountain light show extravaganza. Everyone made it over to the designated meeting point a bit earlier than expected, so we made our way over to the fountain while the previous show was still going on. During that time we scoped out good seats (on low concrete walls) and took entertained ourselves by snapping pictures of the pretty lights/water combinations. While my friend Nikki and I were busy trying to figure out how to take a picture of me holding the fountain with the lights framing the palace in the background appear to crown me Lady Liberty style, (by the way, that picture is AWESOME! ...but not on my camera... will let you see it asap) someone threw who-knows-what on some girls in the group. I’m guessing it’s baby food... I hope it’s baby food... Anyways, another man (creeper) approached the two girls (who immediately clutched their bags a little closer) and began telling them that they had just been decorated by some pigeons and that he would clean it off for them. They got nervous and began trying to get our attention (unfortunately, I was totally absorbed in posing for the picture =( and didn’t notice anything going on). Just then, another girl in our group was tapped on the shoulder, and when she turned around someone snatched her bag and ran. She began screaming for help as they ran off down the stairs and around the corner, and then immediately took off after them with Benji, one of the guys from the church that was with us. They came back after about a minute after having lost them. I then suggested that we head off to the police to see if she could fill out a report and have her credit cards shut off, but then Benji suggested and even better idea: that we could, at least, see if the bandits had dumped her purse somewhere after taking her wallet so that she could recover her keys and cell phone. So, we went the same direction that we had seen the thieves run off in. Not really having had much experience in having a purse stolen, I began opening up dumpster lids and looking inside. Just then, an elderly man approached us and asked us if we had just been robbed. “YES!!” He then explained that he had seen three men come running around the corner being followed by a police car. Then the group had broken up and the police had continued to follow two of the three robbers. When we asked him what we should do, he told us that now was probably a pretty good time to head over to the police station because they were chasing the very people with her purse. He then gave us directions, and then lead us over to a pair of officers standing at the corner. We quickly explained that a purse had been stolen (and were met with an “what else is new?” expression...). They then radioed some fellow officers and told us to head down the street and to the left where a group of officers had congregated. ...so we did... and what did we find there? Two men hand-cuffed against a wall, about ten police officers, and one stolen purse... with everything (credit cards, cell phone, house keys, everything!) still inside. *sigh* Yay! Happy ending! The officers were incredibly nice! They offered the girl a ride to the station and an extra space for someone to go with her (so Benji went to help her fill out forms) and a first aid kit when she got there (she had fallen and was scraped up and bleeding). So, all is taken care of now. She got her purse back (and probably wouldn’t have had it not been for Benji’s suggestion to go look for it in the first place) and everything inside. ...crazy!
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Here I am! Back from the silence...
Hi! Long time no see... Sorry I've been lame-sauce about keeping this up lately, it's been a bit difficult as I've had zero spare time. And, though much has happened, I'm afraid I've only got enough time to entertain you with one story... Okay!
I had a moment with a Spaniard the other day. I know, I know! That sounds odd! But, I'm so used to eyes flicking away from me (and visa-versa) when I people watch, that it was incredibly exciting to not only have someone I didn't know make eye contact with me on purpose, but hold it and understand what I was thinking! HOLLA! Hmkay, so this is what happened: I was making my way home via the metro at around 5-ish one day. Luckily, the metro was pretty much empty (a rarity during rush hour... anywhere) so I had my own little pod of seats to myself. Across the aisle and facing me was a middle-aged woman. Needless to say, at that point in the trip we were both looking at each other while still avoiding eye-contact. It's like a national sport here... anyways... the train stopped at one of the stations and then opened its doors. Soon after (they seriously give you like three seconds to enter) the train beep-beep-beep-beeped (um... it actually made that sound. no swearing. promise) and the doors started to shut. While they were closing this man power-punched his arm into the door (dude, seriously?! just wait for the next one!) and pushed them open strong-man style. He then proceeded to make his way down the aisle and when he passed in between the woman who "wasn't" looking at me, and myself (who "wasn't" looking at her), stopped and then scrunched up his face, balled his fists, began to sway his head violently from side to side, whisper-screamed "ssssschizAAAHH!" (schizer?...I don't want to know) and then continued walking. Yep... Weird. And when something of that magnitude happens, I have to share with someone (dude, it was like a freaking 4.6 on the awkward richter scale). With a wide-eyed and slightly shocked expression (appropriate in that particular situation) I slowly moved my eyes over to the woman who was sitting across the aisle from me. She met my look, and then began giggling, but trying really really hard not to laugh. I could see the strain in her eyes! Did I help her gain control? no. When I raised my eyebrows, and then whipped my head around to see where he had gone, she lost it. We giggle for a while. It was awesome. =)
The end!
Hope to hear from you soon! Please fill me in with your goings-ons!
love you!
Michellie Bellie
I had a moment with a Spaniard the other day. I know, I know! That sounds odd! But, I'm so used to eyes flicking away from me (and visa-versa) when I people watch, that it was incredibly exciting to not only have someone I didn't know make eye contact with me on purpose, but hold it and understand what I was thinking! HOLLA! Hmkay, so this is what happened: I was making my way home via the metro at around 5-ish one day. Luckily, the metro was pretty much empty (a rarity during rush hour... anywhere) so I had my own little pod of seats to myself. Across the aisle and facing me was a middle-aged woman. Needless to say, at that point in the trip we were both looking at each other while still avoiding eye-contact. It's like a national sport here... anyways... the train stopped at one of the stations and then opened its doors. Soon after (they seriously give you like three seconds to enter) the train beep-beep-beep-beeped (um... it actually made that sound. no swearing. promise) and the doors started to shut. While they were closing this man power-punched his arm into the door (dude, seriously?! just wait for the next one!) and pushed them open strong-man style. He then proceeded to make his way down the aisle and when he passed in between the woman who "wasn't" looking at me, and myself (who "wasn't" looking at her), stopped and then scrunched up his face, balled his fists, began to sway his head violently from side to side, whisper-screamed "ssssschizAAAHH!" (schizer?...I don't want to know) and then continued walking. Yep... Weird. And when something of that magnitude happens, I have to share with someone (dude, it was like a freaking 4.6 on the awkward richter scale). With a wide-eyed and slightly shocked expression (appropriate in that particular situation) I slowly moved my eyes over to the woman who was sitting across the aisle from me. She met my look, and then began giggling, but trying really really hard not to laugh. I could see the strain in her eyes! Did I help her gain control? no. When I raised my eyebrows, and then whipped my head around to see where he had gone, she lost it. We giggle for a while. It was awesome. =)
The end!
Hope to hear from you soon! Please fill me in with your goings-ons!
love you!
Michellie Bellie
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