If You Ever Navigate With Me, Please Note

With a map--  a being of power and direction. Without one-- lost forever. Spanish life lesson 24: If I ever have an instinct about which direction to go and it doesn't come directly from a map, GO THE OPPOSITE WAY. ALWAYS.

Barrrthelona

WHOA.

Greetings from Valladolid, a safe and pretty city! Whirlwind weekend in Sitges/Barcelona. I don't know how to start this. Let's go with the tried and true "chronological" method.

Wednesday: A few people from the group head up to Barcelona early. A backpack containing a passport is promptly stolen. Spanish life lessons gleaned from this: (22) Don't hang out in touristy spots (Americans in McDonald's are candy for pickpockets) and (23) When in cities, one hand on your bag at all time. 

Unofficial lesson: Trust no one.

Thursday: On that happy note, we left Valladolid after tests by bus to airport, plane to Barcelona, metro to bus station, bus to Sitges, feet to Swedish man who gives us our hotel keys, stumps to our apartments (our feet had been worn off at this point). Sitges is a funny little beach town, very pretty, very flamboyant (and apparently the gay capital of Spain, the ratio was 60% gay (men), 40% straight people. Gladys has a sense of humor). After eating a decent but grossly overpriced dinner (however, it was like manna from heaven as I had not eaten since breakfast) we planned out the next day and hit the sack. 

I forgot to take pictures in Sitges.

Friday: We awaken bright and early and a small group of us hops on the train to Barcelona. Jake and some others head to the American consulate to obtain a new passport. Cheyanne, Leah, and I begin our adventure. We walk around Barcelona (extremely paranoid) and are frustrated by our inadequate maps and everything touristy. Additionally, Leah and I are extremely cranky due to the previous day's stress. Cheyanne has a great attitude - props to you, Cheyanne! Leah drinks a coffee and I eat some pastries and we feel much better. We seek out the Picasso Museum and are handsomely rewarded - easily the highlight of my weekend. If you are ever in Barcelona, FORGET EVERYTHING ELSE AND GO SEE PICASSO! 

After la Sagrada Familia and Park Güell, it is rather late and we have grown weary.

Favorite thing.

Gaudi formal

Gaudi fun!

Saturday: Beaches (funnier when Gladys says it in her lovely thick accent - hint: rhymes with Sitges).

Sunday: Despite needing to leave at  6AM and three minutes of panic when we can't find the bus right before it is expected to leave, the day goes extremely smoothly. Bus rides are very relaxing, especially with castles and mountains in the distance.

Overall - Barcelona has quite a bit to offer, but there's no place like Valladolid.

Porque Esto Es Africa

I am becoming more and more Spanish everyday as I get swept away in their obsession for Shakira. Spanish life lesson 21: Waka Waka is universal.

The Juan, The Only

Spanish life lesson 20: Some of the very best moments of study abroad are spent lying in bed, giggling with your weird roommate.

Museums of Madrid Hate Me

Sunday! Get up and go go go! Powerwalk to the bus station on the other side of Valladolid (Ashley and Brenna were too cool to run) and get there approximately three minutes before the bus leaves. Assure the lady selling tickets that we KNOW the bus is just about to leave, and YES, we still would like to buy the tickets, preferably AT THIS VERY MOMENT IF POSSIBLE DUE TO SHORTAGE OF TIME. Get on bus! 

Madrid is a different story from the other Spanish cities I have visited due to its size, significance, and amount of tourists. Okay, let me clarify from Segovia's post--I don't really mind other tourists so much as tourists traps. Please don't try to sell me weird useless things when you hear me speak English, and please please PLEASE don't try to frighten me by popping out of your box, you weird performance artist you. Besides this and that all Madrid's AWESOME art museums close freakishly early on Sundays, I like Madrid. I met up with my friend Caitlin, a recent CSB graduate, and we walked around a bit with our new friend, Natalie, a British girl who works in the same language assistant program as Caitlin. Otherwise... we didn't really do anything. Minus that some of us attempted to catch the 10:30 bus back (2.5 hour drive back to Valladolid) so we had to do quite a bit of running through the city (and we ended up either taking the 11:30 or 12:30 due to shortage of seats, a very late night). I shouldn't have been worried about exercising in Spain. 

Pickpocket prevention

Sprinting Through Segovia

Saturday excursion number three brought us to the town of Segovia, briefly preceded by popping into the gardens of La Granja (muy bonita). The city of Segovia is quite hilly and has the best (? I could be making that up) preserved aquaduct in Europe. This is impressive especially because it stays just rock on rock without the assistance of cement or anything. Besides that, it has this enormous church that looks a bit like a tan city of the future, a neat glass-making school, and the castle off of which the Cinderella castle was based! I, being of royal blood, felt quite at home within.

"Quack," says the Aquaduck

Welcome to my home

When walking around Segovia made me realize one of the things I loved about Valladolid the most: there are no tourists. Segovia wasn't swarming with them, but I was taken aback upon seeing other groups of Americans. Before signing up for this program, I had never heard of Valladolid (nor had anyone else even though it is one of Spain's largest cities), but I appreciate its lack of touristy things and English speakers. It is Spanish and doesn't really care who you are, which is how an immersion destination probably should be. In Valladolid, if I see other Americans it is because they either go to my language school or the other one (Minnesota, Texas, Iowa, and Pennsylvania represent!). 

Multiple sources from the Segovia study abroad group had instructed us to go to a cafe called El Oso Blanco to get Spain's (and possibly Europe's) best sangria.

Unfortunately, we were primarily there during siesta, hence everything was closed. However, as we gathered to get back on the bus at about 6:10, we were informed we had about 20 minutes of free time so a group of us swiftly walked back to El Oso Blanco where we flattered the bartender into racing against time to make us the fancy sangria. He was seriously running back and forth in preparation, as all the fruit was cut up on the spot and he had to mix like four different drinks to make it.

The man is a wizard, to be certain!

We all downed our fancy sangria and Connor ran in, telling us that we had to be on the bus NOW. Naturally, I found myself frantically running up and down the busy streets of Segovia dodging people left and right, street musicians serenading us as we sprinted past one at a time. It was definitely a scene from a movie, minus something evil chasing us.

Or was there?

IN SPAIN, IT'S ALWAYS ABOUT THE DOLLS.

Notes on Spaniards

In light of last night's event, it is necessary to say a word or two about Spaniards and everything they are. 

First of all, we had a required Spanish movie last night entitled "Tetis" which is Spanish for "thesis." As soon as the teacher set up the movie and left the room, we hijacked the remote and turned on subtitles so we could have a clue as to what was going on. Turns out, watching people get sawed to pieces needs no translation. When our teacher walked back in at the end, we demanded to know WHY we were subjected to watch this! She said she and the other teachers thought it was good. If you would dearly like to know what it is about, just ask our pal Wikipedia. Spanish life lesson 19: Don't trust Spaniards' taste in movies.

Anyway, now general Spain-ish things: 

1) Spaniards are mega chill. This is evident in their schedule and culture lacking physical self-consciousness (see Spanish Life Lesson 14).

2) Spaniards' days are essentially set up as followed:

Get up 8ish

Work/school about 9

Siesta at 2--the whole city closes (minus bars/restaurants) and pretty much everyone goes home for lunch

Back to work about 5-8

Come home, the evening is young and yours

Dinner at some point between 8 and 11

If I had to pick a thing about Spain that really rattled my system, it just might have to be meal times (and yes, I did just pick that over toptional beaches). These are times that I might eat at home, but do so with the knowledge that this Is Not What Normal People Do.

3) Spaniards can really set up a city. Whoever thought of plazas (squares for socialization and shopping) was brilliant, as they seriously bring people together as places to meet, to hang out, to shop, to eat, to be entertained, and to gather politically. I cannot even think of equivalent places in America (parks do not compare). Streets are narrow, which requires cars to be small and efficient and drivers to be well-trained (much more difficult to get a license here, which is probably not a bad idea). In any case, driving is not really necessary because you can go pretty much everywhere on foot or by bus (which happily isn't sketchy)! People can walk from their houses to work, church, grocery stores, etc. Plus, every place is BEAUTIFUL and all the architecture is awesome. 

3.5) This does not apply to everywhere in Spain so it doesn't get its own number, but Valladolid is a super cool city because it's SO SAFE! Apparently there's virtually no crime and I feel way more comfortable walking down a street here at night (obviously not by myself, I was raised to be paranoid) than I do walking down Main Street in Hutch or around campus. The main issue here is that the streets are confusing even with the ever-constant help of a map, so we ask many directions from residents. While Spaniards are not the sort to randomly smile at you on the street, they've always been accommodating in helping us find places, if not leading us directly to the place (which is really the more effective method with language barriers and everything).

4) Spaniards love their bars, and have them every twenty feet. People don't get drunk, but can pop in at basically any time of day (typically during siesta, after work, or durante the evening) for a drink or TAPAS. Tapas is Spanish for snacks, but are in general fancier. A Katarina y yo nos encanta tapas, specifically in the form of croquetas which are these things like if you were to take a glob of mashed potatoes and plop it into a deep frier (but again, fancier than it sounds).

5) Spaniards love their bread. Pan pan pan cada día. Baguettes are like 40 cents. This means bakeries are errwhere, which means PASTRIES UPON PASTRIES! 

6) Spaniards smoke like chimneys. Despite this, they'll probably still outlive us due to all the walking and the lack of processed/fast food (but seriously. There are NO obese people here. Katarina y yo saw our first one on Sunday, and we strongly suspect that she was American).

7) People in Spain love their bodies. They dress themselves well (and I mean EVERYONE) according to their own shape and size-- and I think that more important than the price of the clothes is just the sheer effort put forth in the morning. Could this dressing for success be why everyone seems happier all the time?

8) Congratz, you read all the way to number eight. You get a prize!

In conclusion, Spaniards-- To know them is to love them. Same goes for churros con chocolate. Om nom nom nom nom.

Life In 3D

Yesterday, we had our second excursion to the national park thing of Hoce del rio Duratón. Near Segovia, this little paradise had a long path down to the very old church de San Frutos (yes, St. Fruits) and a majestic river. Location duly added to very favorite places in the world. Seriously, everything was so beautiful it was unreal: the weather, the ruins, the view, the slight breeze with a hint of moisture from the river, the smell, AHHH. Spanish life lesson 16: No matter how fantastic human-made architecture and art is, nothing compares to straight-up natural magnificence. Please book a ticket immediately to Spain because I'm really doing an inadequate job of explaining.

Surriously unreal

Finding inner balance

After spending some time pondering life while sitting on a cliff overlooking a river (apologies for the pretentiousness), we made our way back to the bus and onto the small Spanish city of Sepúlveda where we spent a lovely afternoon exploring the town, taking the wrong trails, etc. Spanish life lesson 17: No jumping pictures until the end of the day, lest you twist your ankle so you can't walk anywhere and have to go to the hospital (sorry, Ashley). 

Blondes, beware

Gladys had told us that there would be a futból game in the evening, so we all pounced on this opportunity to see the (potentially) last game of the season for Valladolid. Getting back to our city, we all had about forty minutes to go home, shower/change/eat/etc, and get to Plaza Mayor, and as walking anywhere takes at least 10-15 minutes minimum, you may imagine the mad scramble that ensued. Katarina y yo ran from our house to the Plaza (very typical. We are the only people ever running anywhere in the city) and after some frustrations with the buses, we found the correct one and hopped on. 

Due to the bus confusion, we arrived a little bit late so when we approached the stadium, we heard the crowd's roar of "GOOOOALLLL!" As we went to buy tickets, we learned that instead of the anticipated £5, it was going to cost £20, which is like $30. Now, if you know me, you know that I don't love sports enough to pay that much for mediocre seats for not even a whole game, so it seemed that we were skunked. Just then, a shady scalper slunk out of the shadows with the offer of four tickets at £15 each. Too rich for my blood, I rejected the offer, though those tickets were quickly snatched up by a few members of the group. Some of the girls were talking to  other Spaniards who were also fans and they all kind of wandered off, while Ashley (a different one than the previously mentioned ankle victim), Leah and I assessed our next move (food, naturally). Just then, the scalper returned, this time with the offer of tickets ten euros each. We were very skeptical, but we gave it a chance with the agreement that the guy had to come with us in case the tickets didn't work. They didn't (invalid for resale) but we fortunately got our money back. This was just an irritating situation as we had worked hard to get there with the running and the bussing and the botched scalping, so we went to fetch the rest of the group so that we may eat our woes away. 

We walked the perimeter of the stadium to see the other girls clustered together. We started to tell them about the scalper and that we were going back to the bus, but they interrupted, buzzing excitedly that the three fans they were talking to got them on the ins with an important-looking man in a suit who worked there. They were going to let us in! Suddenly, we were all rushed in through a back door and up the stairs (don't worry mom, I was constantly on the defense and ready to fight; you have taught me well to fear white slavery in Europe, especially with a bunch of blondes in company) and arrived in THE STADIUM! So after being this close to giving up, we were sitting second and third rows to this awesome game FO' FREE. I could not get over the excellence of the situation.

He gets knocked down, but he got up again (Valladolid is purple anyway)

VALLADOLID WINS! 

In summary: Nature. Beauty. Jesus. Singing. Hiking. Small Spanish cities. Parkour. Racing against the clock. New friends. Futból. Victory. Spanish Fanta. Waka waka. Ladies dressed like Sevillanas who give you broken fans that you can make into fancy headdresses. Duncan, a frightening but kind British boy dressed like Michael Jackson.

What a glorious day. 

What a glorious day.

Salamanca

On Saturday, we took a day trip to Salamanca. The city was pretty. I ate some ice cream. Weird people were running around in teams because it was the day of the Barcelona vs. ManU game. We saw some churches and museums. At one church, we were allowed to go out on an upper level and it looked like a scene from The Tourist, but there was no Johnny Depp hotfooting across the rooftop. Well, that's all about I have to say. I don't want to write anymore and you probably wouldn't care about further details. Let's end this now and save everyone some grief. Love you.

Life lesson 18: Don't ask Gladys for history lessons. Inquire for more detail.

Rain in Spain and Other Cliches

Yesterday, Katarina and I FINALLY went to the bank in la Plaza Mayor to exchange our money after putting it off for days. Promptly after we made our transaction and were organizing our things, the sky started to downpour. At first we were going to show our hearty Minnesota roots by just toughing out the storm, but then we decided to hold back and wait for it to subside (for the sake of our laptops of course). After waiting ten or fifteen minutes with the stylish Spaniards, we grew weary of hanging around and chose to be troopers. Girding our loins, we grabbed each others' hands and sprinted out into the monsoon. 

After running and singing for about a block, some Spaniards beckoned us into an enclave of a restaurant, mentioning something about lightning. They were pointing out a man on balcony nearby and we realized he was putting out a mirror. Por que? No se. After a minute, we again grew restless so, being already pretty wet by this point, we said "Hasta luego!" and bolted again. (In Spain, we are constantly saying "Hasta luego" because "adios" is apparently pretty formal and can sometimes kind of mean "Goodbye forever." However, "Hasta luego" means "Until later" which is an odd thing to say--especially when accompanied with a little salute--to a group of people you'll definitely never see again before running away.)

Resuming singing, we covered obvious classics such as "Singing In The Rain" and "Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head"; let me tell you, there is a great deal of joy found in sloshing through deep puddles of fresh rain while it violently pelts your head as you are yelling "BOOM DE YADA BOOM DE YADA" and amused Spaniards look on. Spanish life lesson 15: Rain on Spanish architecture makes for great acoustics (and umbrellas are totally optional).

I love the whole world! My preferred version:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=at_f98qOGY0

The world is just awesome.

BREAKING NEWS UPDATE

It's no secret that last week when Kate Byron moved into a room decked out floor to ceiling with dolls, her initial reaction was naturally one of fear and revulsion. "I won't be able to sleep in here, these dolls are too creepy!" Byron told our sources. But it seems that gradually, a change of heart has occurred. Recently, we reported astonishing rumors of an increased fondness for the little devils, but we now have confirmed a shocking new development: "This room is like a childhood dream come true," Byron publicly declared in all earnestness. "I like the dolls and it really feels like home when it's messy."

Scientists are now working diligently to verify the reason behind Byron's apparent brain abnormality. There is heavy speculation about probable cause from demasiado fiesta. In the meantime, the general consensus is that there must be something in the water.

The Story of Our Lives

Well folks, you asked for it! A glimpse into the daily marvels of our lives in Valladolid. As we have been here for a week, we are comfortably settling into place. Our routine goes as follows: Katarina and I awaken, shining gloriously into the day, and prance like glimmering gazelles into the living/dining room. Merthedes gives us these great muffin things, orange juice and some sort of magical, mysteriously creamy coffee (breakfasts by Merthedes are straight up awesome) which we elegantly consume. We brush our teeth in harmony, gather our books, and skip leisurely to school.  

Once there, we are locked up in a tiny room with bars on the window and engage in the learning process from nine to eleven. 

Help me

Our profesora,  Patricia (or Patrithia as it were), is great. Her English is not terribly extensive but that matters not as she speaks mostly Spanish to us and makes all these great noises while teaching. Really, the sounds she makes are previously unknown to humankind; they vary from rhythms and little songs to sounding like an animal is being ripped from her chest. We get a break from 11:00-11:30 and basically everyone goes to this grocery store/bakery down the street  to emerge with the ever-popular baguettes and various pastries (chocolate napolitana, por favor). We go back to learn for two more hours then are done with class for the day. 

Katarina and I go home to eat lunch with Merthedes about 3 (more about food issues later). After lunch, a great deal of CSBSJUers go down to the beach. Katarina and I lucked the heck out when it came to locations as we live about three minutes from the school, maybe five from the beach, and ten from the center of the city (some people have to walk over half an hour to get to school, which really would not fly with our natural propensity for tardiness). Anyway, the beach: 

The beach towel my host mom gave to me. I think it's pretty indicative about what's acceptable in Spanish culture (hint: almost everything)

La playa is on a river that was severely contaminated so we aren't allowed to actually go in the water or we'll get sick and die, but still has sun, volleyball/basketball courts, and what looks like a playground but is actually this curious outdoor gym thing. I have not yet used it but see many ultra fit-looking Spaniards exercising on the pretend play equipment. When we drag ourselves home from the beach, we either start our homework (me) or fall asleep for a few hours (Katarina). Merthedes comes home from work about 8 (she works like10-2 and 5-8 because everything in Valladolid closes for a few hours during siesta) and we eat dinner at 9 or 10 which is very typical here. Dinner is an interesting time because this is when Katarina y yo try new foods (!!!) and heartily attempt to make some conversation in broken Spanish. Merthedes patiently tries to understand us but realistically, we sound like children who haven't been taught linking verbs or more than two tenses (because that's what we are).

In America, this would be about time to start winding down, but not in Spain! Either we hang out at home (as Katarina and I don't really see enough of each other when we're together every waking moment: every meal, sitting by each other in class, walking to school and the beach, exploring the city, doing homework, plucking Kate's eyebrows, Kate taking naps in my bed for no reason, Kate taking naps on my knee, rubbing Kate's head, etc) or we engage in socialism. And by that I mean walk past permanent political encampments to go socialize. 

Spanish hippies

Our group currently dominates a bar called La Negra Flor near the Plaza Mayor. The bartender, Carlos, loves rascally Americans like us and does our bidding. On weekdays, CSBSJU folk are really the only people in there, recently joined by a few people from Texas who are also doing the language courses at University of Castellae. 

Before we go to sleep, Katarina and I reflect on what a wonderful life we lead while looking fondly towards the next day. With the stars in the sky shining brightly down on the city, Kate departs from my side to go dream in the Land of the Dolls. 

She tells me she grows fonder of them with each passing day.

Fin.

Spanish life lesson 14

Days it takes to become completely desensitized to "toptional" beaches: 3.

Attempting Tora y Brownies

Sunday's plan: a group excursion to Tora. Meet at school at 1. Take the bus at 2. See sights. What fun!

How the day went: Wake up comfortably rested, look at the clock. 12:55PM (Spanish life lesson 12: invest in an alarm clock). Hop out of bed, frantically try to communicate with Merthedes that despite what we told her yesterday about the group meeting at two, we found out that the group meets at 1. Wake Katarina, scramble to get dressed, wolf down the breakfast lovingly prepared even though it's huge because we don't want to be rude, aaand it's about 1:15. Sprint to school. No one is there. Go to a local shop, try to ask about a bus to go to a city that no one knows exists, run home, grab the map and try to explain to Merthedes, Run to where we think is the bus stop. Continue running looking for other bus stops. Realize attempts are futile. Relax and spend a nice day visiting plazas and walking around the perfect ciudad de Valladolid. Baile baile. Later, Katarina and I decide it is time to make the brownies (bizcocho de chocolate y nueces aka sponges of chocolate and ) we brought for Merthedes. As it turns out, Merthedes' oven does not work so we attempt to make them stovetop, then with the microwave. Results vary but are overall delicious and likely a little too sweet for her. We successfully joke in two languages that this is the reason why Americans were overweight. Spanish life lesson 13: Food brings all peoples together, be it in the preparation or consumption. Awwww. 

Dance, dance, dance

Spanish life lesson 11: "Vale" which sounds exactly like "baile" is a uniquely Spanish term for "okay" and has nothing to do with dancing.

A Day For Life Lessons

Katarina and I planned on meeting the group at 7:45PM for mass. We had gone to the Plaza de Mayor (major plaza) during the day for orientation, and had passed San Benito's at some point; however, as we had passed a quite few churches and church-looking things, we were not sure exactly which place it was.

One of many culprit lookalikes

Also, it was not marked on our map. We got considerably off target as we ran around the city looking for San Benito's until a man on the street saw how baffled we looked and took pity on us. He was French but spoke decent English, and directed us back to Plaza de Mayor. Props to you, French man. We found San Benito's and walked in at approximately 8:42. At 8:46, the cantar finished and mass was over. Spanish life lesson 5: don't leave late if you don't know where you're going in a foreign city.

Other life lessons of the evening:

6: Though still delicious, it is preferable to order your papas fritas without heaps of mayo.

7: Political protests and sit-ins are neat! Stop to take it all in.

8: Just because you're American does not mean you have to shout. PLEASE. Break that stereotype.

9: Watch out for sleazy Spanish men in clubs in the night (thankfully a lesson learned only vicariously)

10: ALWAYS HAVE YOUR MAP because you never know when it'll be 1AM and your instincts are broken.

Land of the Dolls

Kate and I meet Mercedes (pronounced Merthedes in the accent de España), a very nice lady who starts speaking to us immediately en español. For some reason, I had assumed I would know an acceptable amount of Spanish by the time I got to Spain. I don't know why I thought this, seeing as I had not practiced (Spanish life lesson 2: at least attempt to learn a language before you live in that country). Communication looks grim. We introduce ourselves and Kate becomes Katarina. We walk a short distance from the beautiful Plaza de San Pablo to Merthedes' apartment on the fifth floor and walk into a room rife with trinkets. 

Trinks on trinks

The apartment is very compact but comfortable. I take the room that's primarily blue (my hue of choice) and Kate takes the pink one. However, as we step into Katarina's room, we see that it is full of dolls. Dolls on the floor, dolls on the shelves, dolls on the walls.

A small sampling of the room

Merthedes gives us a meal at 4 which I think is an early dinner but is actually only lunch. It is a mix of good and weird foods (more on the meats to come) and I have a newfound appreciation for watermelon (Spanish life lesson 3: better to be queasy than rude). Katarina dumps her salad on my plate when Merthedes is out of the room. We meet her daughter, Reyes, another very nice lady about 35 who is married and does not live with Merthedes. A tv is always on with a mix of news and celebrity gossip, heavy on the latter. We make limited conversation about Enrique Iglesias ("Muy guapo," Reyes speculates). Katarina and I go to sleep for three hours, and awaken to explore the city. First, Merthedes takes us to our school, which is only about a block and a half away. Next, Kate and I go on our own to the beach on the river. We discover how to deal with the typical zippy traffic (Spanish life lesson 4: get out of the way unless you want to die because drivers will not wait for you). We explore a bit more and Katarina brings us safely home. We eat dinner with delicious papas fritas and an odd pink--I don't understand how it was so pink but still clearly cooked--mystery meat patty, and then we sleep.

"Lo Siento Para La Spanglish"

Greetings, loved ones.

A brief synapses of the trip to Valladolid:

Minneapolis/St. Paul airport, 10:30AM

The trip starts with the grupo de Americanas en la MSP airport. I arrive with Leah, her dad, a suitcase, carry-on, and two hours of sleep. I am the epitome of crustiness, wearing glasses throughout this whole ordeal. We encounter some troubles in security when bags (not mine) are too heavy and Kate nearly sounds the alarm for international terrorism by having numerous bottles well over 3.4 ounces in her carry-on. The PSA officer interrogates her with questions such as, "If I open your bag, will anything poke me?" (answer: "Maybe, there's a tweezers") but the bag is eventually checked, sparing the Aveda contents. Spanish life lesson 1 (follow airline regulations and don't try to sneak in things you know won't get through): learned.

After a jaunt to Philadelphia in which Kate and I spend the trip studying a bit of Spanish (me for about the first time since tenth grade or so), we pair up again on the flight to Madrid. After failed attempts to sleep, we watch such sure to be cinematic classics as "The Tourist" (a movie confused about its genre) and "Adam". Throughout these seven hours I have a great desire to sleep and aid it with medication that acts as a mild sedative, but for some reason it decides not to kick in until about an hour before the flight is over. In a very disoriented state, I get my bags, hop on a bus to Valladolid and gather for the meeting of the moms.