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.