Un juego de palabras

Fun fact: In Barcelona, when you want to say something is "cool," you say, "Que guay!" 

It is pronounced like "why" in English. 

Que means "what," or "that." Por que means why.

Why why! What why! That why! 

Que guay! 

Paella

This blog post is way overdue. I recently mentioned that my favorite place in Barcelona is Ciutadella. Well, my favorite food in Barcelona is paella. How clichè. But so necessary.
I don't really know how to describe it, but Wikipedia says: "Valencian rice dish that originated in its modern form in the mid-19th century." Most of what you find here, for obvious reasons, is seafood paella, or paella marisco. They usually cook it in an enormous cast iron pan and bring it to the table and serve it to each person right there, or you serve yourself.
       Another thing I love about Spanish food is the Menú del dia. Basically, you have to find a tiny little restaurant with a handwritten menu of the day, and that's where you will find the best food and the best deal. So far, my favorite one here is called Scorpio. It is 10.50 euros and you get a drink, amazing paella (for an appetizer), an entree, dessert, and bread. You can find cheaper menú del dias than that (I have seen them as low as 8.50) but the guys at Scorpio are super nice and patient and the food is awesome.

To give you an idea of how we feel about it, when Kelsey, Amber and I were in Paris, we kept saying, "I want paella!"

 Well. If we couldn't even do three days without missing our paella, then American food is going to be a cold hard reality an a couple of months. 

My Favorite Place

This was not an easy decision. It occurred to me this past week, when I was studying for a midterm, what my favorite place so far in Barcelona is. To no one's surprise, it is a park: Ciutadella.
      Ciutadella is about a 5 minute walk from where I live. It is a very popular here, being near the Arc de Triomf, but what I love is that it is not completely a tourist trap. When I go there, I see dozens of locals; there are a lot of parents with little kids and plenty of couples sitting on benches together. The entire park itself is beautiful. It has all the things I love: trees, greenery, water, grass, and a place I can go to be alone. When I go running (the few times that I have not been lazy while being here), I go to Ciutadella. This weekend I escaped to a bench there to study. It was one of the first times I have felt like an actual student since being here, sitting with my notebooks and highlighters and backpack. There were kids laughing, birds singing, and the sun was shining through the palm trees as I studied up on some Spanish Art and Cultural Heritage.
    Being here in Barcelona, being so busy and preoccupied with making the most of this experience that is going to "change my life," can sometimes be distracting. Distracting and overwhelming. I think sometimes I focus too much on making the most of every moment. In fact, going to a park to study by myself was one of the most relaxing few hours I have yet to enjoy in Spain. It was quiet; no one spoke to me. I was just a girl on a bench with a notebook. I am realizing that the girl on the bench with a notebook is someone I always come back to, no matter what country I am in.

And here, for your viewing pleasure, you have a picture of the exact bench I sat on! The one next to the lamp post.

The view I had while studying.

These boats look so fun. 

The fountain with three dragons! 

Walking towards the Arc! The most epic street here.

The glorious Arc de Triomf! It was not, in fact, built for anything triumphant. It was built for the same reason the Eiffel Tower was: for an exhibition to show off. 

Let's get historical.

My decision to take two art classes which count none whatsoever towards my degree has actually ended up being awesome. There is nothing more enriching than an education you are actually living in.

Back home, we learn about the Roman Empire. I'm learning about that here, too. The difference is I go and visit the ancient Roman remains as they were centuries ago. See below:

These columns are from a temple back when Barcelona was first founded as the Roman city of Barcino. They were discovered in 1830 and preserved since then. This little piece of history is actually quite hidden; we saw it thanks to the Barri Gótic tour with AIFS. To think that these are the originals and they are in Barcelona is surreal. The last thing I expected to see when studying abroad in this city was Roman ruins. Apparently I have a lot to learn.

Speaking of the Gothic quarter of Barcelona, this is allegedly the most photographed picture in the city. It is a little bridge between the cathedral complex and the government buildings that would have been used in medieval times.

And that, my friends, is one of the coolest things about living in Barcelona-Roman ruins! As you probably guessed, the name "Barcelona" comes from the original Roman city, "Barcino". I live in the L'Eixample District, which is Catalan for "expansion." It makes sense because it wasn't until 1854 when the old medieval walls were actually torn down so the city could grow. All of these pictures of the ancient stuff, they are from the Barri Gótic Quarter. 

         That part of the city happens to be my favorite. Whenever you walk through the streets, you can feel the difference between them and the modern roads. They are much smaller and more unique than the square blocks that are the L'Eixample. I love that I am getting to know the Gothic quarter of this city so much, and that I have the opportunity to learn about it and understand it. My mind still struggles with the concept of ancient history every time I walk into a Gothic cathedral. It is truly spectacular that these beautiful buildings were constructed over decades, stained glass windows hand-made and everything with a purpose and a message. 

       I am so grateful for my art classes here because I get to learn about the buildings I walk by on a regular basis. The first time it hit me was when my professor showed a slide with a picture that I had taken a week or so earlier. "This is part of the Roman wall," she said. When I snapped the photo, I had no idea. But now I can appreciate everything I see here on a more intellectual and enriching level. 

(For reference, it was a picture from my post "Descubriendo un castillo". I was not "discovering a castle." I was, in fact, discovering the Roman wall.) 

I will never stop feeling blessed because of all that I am learning, historically and otherwise. It is not every person that gets the opportunity to live in another country and literally walk through textbooks. What more of an education can I ask for? 

Salsa en España

The instructors here begin completely different than instructors in the States. No basic step to start. Here, it's first things first: move your hips. Then your shoulders. Forget about the footwork.
Our instructor speaks very basic English. But somehow, she explained dance more clearly than any teacher I have ever had.
         She said, mas o menos (more or less), "Dance is important to your entire life. You do not have to be a beautiful girl to hold yourself beautifully. It is about how your carry your body when you are walking down the street, your movements," and here she paused, searching for the words. "It is different for everyone. It is...your movement. Your light. You have time. Enjoy the steps."
And, for the first time dancing salsa, I truly did enjoy them. There are no mirrors in the studio; we face windows that open onto the street. Sometimes people stop and watch us. My footwork was off, I am quite sure. But like our teacher tells us, you always get a chance to do it again. The point is to enjoy it. I never had so much fun with salsa than I did not worrying about what my feet looked like. It is true, salsa looks different on everyone. That is simply because everyone has their own light.

Our teacher, she has a light I have never seen before. She has short dark hair, cropped and messy on her forehead; big eyes and a tall, skinny body. She wears baggy jeans and cargo pants that don't fit her and slide off her hips, wide belts with plenty of hardware weighing them down. But the most mind-boggling thing of all is that she dances in combat boots. Thick, plastic, lace-up-to-the-knee combat boots with the chunky black heels. I have taken a lot of dance classes. That is something I can safely say I have never seen before.

When she dances, her body takes over her clothes. They are no longer her style. Her body is her style. She has moments where I can tell the music simply moves her and she explodes into something spontaneous and stunning. She said at class tonight, once again in quite simple language: "I could dance with an English guy. I could dance with a Russian. I could dance with a Spanish. But it does not matter, because salsa is about having a conversation, but it is not verbal."

How funny that I learned salsa for 2 years in the States and plenty of times I have been told, "Feel the music. Listen to the music. One, two, three, four..."
I knew, all along, that Latin dancing was not really about the steps. But the first person to get it through my head and into my body was woman who salsas in combat boots.

No daydreams in Paris

So, Paris was beautiful-and my favorite city so far. Why, you ask?
I shall tell you.
When I was little, as all little girls do, I had visions of Paris. French girls in berets and skirts walking down the streets in heels. Church bells in the distance. Cold air and welcome sunlight. Baguettes, desserts, and dancing  silverware (thank you, Beauty and the Beast). Artists camping on the sidewalks, painting sunrises and sunsets and everything in between. The Eiffel Tower at night. Falling in love.

I did fall in love while I was there, but not with someone. With the city. I don't know what it was about Paris that instantly brought it close to my heart. Maybe it was because the first thing I saw as we emerged from the metro was the sunshine on the Seine River and Notre Dame Cathedral. Or maybe it was because I was wearing a jacket for the first time since living in the Mediterranean and relishing the sting of wind-bitten cheeks. But it was probably because it was quiet at first; hardly anyone besides the locals was out by Notre Dame and the entire atmosphere was French. It was also the first time in my travels that when I arrived somewhere, I sat down before walking. I sat down and breathed deep and realized I was in France. Happiness entered me, once again running a smooth hand over the constant restless self who lives beneath my skin. I have always wanted to travel. It wasn't now, when I actually am traveling, that the itching within me has stopped. For the first time in my life, I don't feel as if I should be doing something. I am doing something.

So perhaps it was not the artists on the streets, the Eiffel tower at night, or the warm baguettes and cheese that made me fall for Paris. I think it was more me, more of the realization that I was there and am here, active and young and so, so restless artistically. When I am in these beautiful places, I am not daydreaming.
I don't need to.

Post about French food.

My first taste of French food! A mozzarella sandwich. Cheese. Ugh. Take me back.

This Coke can was different. Notice that in Europe, Diet is "light." 

Eclair. OMG.

Just because I love the glass Coke bottles here and how classy they look at restaurants. 

Amber's enormous bucket of mussels. I helped her out a little bit.

My salmon.

I even tried the green beans and was not appalled by them being green and a vegetable.

Breakfast at the hostel! Baguettes and hot chocolate. Very French.

It came in a bowl. I was too scared to get it at first because I didn't know how to drink it. Then I saw someone sipping like normal and went ahead and tried it.

My first crepe: ham and cheese. Once again, take me back.

The cheese and meat board! Unlimited bread and you just keep going until it's gone. 

 Don't worry, I didn't eat it all myself. Although that would have been possible

This was beef and mashed potatoes. I forgot how to say it in French. In English, it is YUM. 

My final au-revoir to France- a nutella, banana and coconut crepe. 

Hi from the Eiffel Tower!

Bonjour.

The wind is cold and a little bit sharp, nipping at your skin as the clouds tumble in the sky. Everything, for the moment, is grey and pale in the morning, but the light is coming. If you pause and look down the Seine you can see rosy pink melting in the clouds, straight beams of translucent sun honest behind the gloom.
A morning in Paris.

Settled on a stone bench in front of Notre Dame Cathedral, people pass by; black tights, heels and long raincoats with scarves actually quite typical. Red lips, too; unexpected. The statue of Charlemagne is impressive and wreathed with pigeons, but your eyes are drawn instead to the man in the dull brown jacket. He has a dozens of the birds flocking to eat from his hand. The bells in the Cathedral ring.
We are really in Paris.

Making friends from the Netherlands

       GBU, the Bible study group I have joined, is international, so not everyone is a native Spanish speaker. In our circle, there were Americans (us), a girl from England, one from Australia, and a group of friends from Germany and the Netherlands.

     Amber and I started talking to Willam (yes, I think I spelled that right) and it was another massive learning experience for me. First, I was quite pleased with myself because when he found out we were from the States he was surprised. Apparently he would have guessed England because our English was more proper than what he expected from Americans. Win for the English major!

     I also discovered what Europeans think of the American educational system. I was grilling him with questions about the Netherlands, such as the oh-so-brilliant, "What language do you speak?" (The answer is Dutch, by the way. I guessed that or German. So I was close.) I discovered that the Netherlands is made up of 12 provinces, none of which I am currently capable of pronouncing. They are also famous for cheese and founded New York City, which is a fact that was buried deep in my mind from middle school. He said it takes roughly 2 hours by train to get anywhere and if you travel farther than that, it is considered a long journey. His mother came by last weekend and apparently brought him a large block of Gouda (I think that's what he said?) cheese. He said I should come by sometime and try it when I informed him cheese is my favorite food. 

     While we were talking, he mentioned that people from the States seem to have an "oh, that's just the Netherlands" type of attitude, very dismissing of his country. Willam found it ironic because his people founded New York City. Amber and I explained that we never really learn about the Netherlands in school; it wasn't something our education focused on. 

       Later, we talked to some of his friends. They started teasing us and quizzing us on Europe trivia. It makes me cringe to think that these were the questions they felt Americans did not know the answer to:

"Is Greece a country?"

"What is the capital of France?"

"What is the capital of Sweden?" (I did not know that one. It's Stockholm.)

And, the most painful: "Is Germany a country?"

One of the girls said that in Europe, they have a joke. I don't remember it exactly, but basically it is a map of the world according to Americans. It consists of the United States and the United States of Europe. 

To our credit, Amber and I quizzed our new friends on some States trivia, and they did not do wonderfully. Observation: most Europeans have an image of New York City as being the entirety of New York. We told them in fact, Albany is the capital. 

But nothing can redeem the fact that one of these girls from Germany had talked to an American who queried if Hitler was still reigning. 

This makes me sad, sad for the way Americans are perceived and also for the simple fact that nationality brands you with an identity before all else. It is not prejudice, but every country has stereotypes that define it's citizens, not in the grand scheme of everything, but in the little moments. If I was from Africa, or Russia, or Australia, would my new friends have thought I didn't know Germany was a country? 

Dammit, America. Thanks for that. 

But I cannot blame my country. I'm not sure what to blame. Tourists? Media? Hollywood? Our educational system? Personal choice? Inherent laziness and apathy? 

My brain is arguing with itself. There are lazy, apathetic people in other countries. Why does America seem to take the cake? Why is our culture, which is supposedly a melting pot of all cultures, appear so stupid and selfish?

Harsh words, I know. But I cannot pin it all on McDonald's and big cars. I also must not forget that I myself asked a typical American question: "What language do you speak in the Netherlands? German or Dutch?" This lapse I can honestly blame on the educational system. Well, that's something at least. 

But it is not all grim! The good news comes from a boy from Germany, who I will not say is German because he specifically stated that he does not consider himself attached to any nation. He has also lived in South Africa and one other country which I have regrettably forgotten already. It is worth pointing out that he is my age.

This is what he said: "The Americans who stay in America are the ones we think are not interested in the rest of the world. The Americans outside of America are the ones who are different." 

Moonrise Kingdom

This is a short blog post I am simply making to mark the event: I went to my first movie in Spain!
Sadly, it was not in Spanish. There were Spanish subtitles, which were nice because I read them and actually learned a few things. Yay!
We went to the movie at 12:20 AM and almost couldn't find the theater. Guess who asked for directions? Oh, that's right, me. Automatic translator when I am with my friends.
Melissa, if you are reading this, take notes: if you let any of your American friends know you speak decent Spanish (yes, you do, stop saying you don't), be prepared to be forced to ask random people on the street questions at least once every time you go out.

Anyways, I will not bore you all with a synopsis of the movie, as it is an American indie film. I liked it, but you definitely need a weird, quirky sense of humor.
Is it possible to mention indie without using the word quirky? Oh, I should probably mention Zooey Deschanel while I'm at it. 

Anyways, sarcasm aside, this was a really cool experience, mainly because my 3 friends and I were the only people in the theater!!! We each had our own row. Talk about awesome.

The Dalí Jewelry Museum

      One of my art professors told us about this. It is a tiny little building, sort of hidden and unknown to a lot of people who visit Figueres. She said if we ever made it out there (it's about 2 hours from Barcelona) that we needed to see The Royal Heart.
This amazing creation is not that big, maybe 4 or 5 inches height-wise, but it was stunning. The red jewels in the center actually pulse. This is the first heartbeat that has not given me the shivers! (As you all know, heart beats creep my out to no end.)

As I said before, I would never hang one of Dalí's paintings in my house. I would, however, welcome any of these:

The Salvador Dalí Museum

Another famous place I can now say I have been to! (And no, Mom, Salvador Dalí is not a mountain).

Our trip to Dalí's hometown of Figueres was overseen by torrential Mediterranean rains. It was my first experience with how disastrous and powerful the rain is here. I heard that in another part of Spain, 5 people died in the flooding. Don't worry though; it wasn't nearly as bad as in Barcelona! Be more concerned about Catalan riots right now.
Anyways. The museum was really cool, literally the imaginings of a crazy (and quite arrogant) person.

Fun fact: Dalí has two tombs. One at the castle he kept for his lover, Gala, and one at his museum. His actual body is in the museum one. Nice choice. 

I can't say that Dalí is an artist whose work I would hang in my house, but it was very interesting to stare at. Take this massive painting, for instance. Up close, it is a woman (Gala, his wife and muse. The one with the castle). 

Back up, and BAM! It's Abraham Lincoln!

This is just one of the weird and slightly disturbing works of Dalí. Here are some others: 

His creepy bed.                                                                           Gala.                                                        

 

 

This one is on a ceiling!

Dali's recreation of Mae West, a sex symbol of the early-to-mid 1900's.

Estoy siguiendo pasos

I am following footsteps.

Well, for those of you who know me well, this post is going to make you laugh.
I was perfectly content in my room Friday evening, pondering going out and doing anything because I was exhausted (a theme of study abroad) and felt like hanging out with Youtube. The phone rang, shattering my illusion of privacy, and it was my friend inviting me to go out with everyone.
This is important, so pay attention: I was informed that we would be going to the beach to meet this girl and her Spanish friends for a potluck dinner.
 I so badly wanted to stay in, put sweatpants on and go to sleep. But since I only get to study abroad once, off I went.
    We met Ingrid at the Arc de Triomf and I instantly liked her. She is another international student, studying here for a year, and she is one of those people you meet and instantly want to hug. So open and sweet. It's also hard not to love a good Australian accent.
  She told us that the dinner was moved to a church due to the torrential Mediterranean rain. One would think that the word "church" would have been a clue for me that this was no ordinary potluck. Also, as my hilarious boyfriend pointed out to me later, most potluck are usually associated with church events.
     But no, it was not until we were standing outside a Spanish church, surrounded by dozens of college students speaking in Spanish, that I realized this was a meeting for International Christian Students. Well. Imagine my surprise.
    So there we were, a pack of terrified American girls at a church meeting in the middle of Barcelona being introduced to all of these Spanish students, one of us (me) fuming that she was not told this was a Christian studies group.
Despite my irritation, I was pleased to have an opportunity to use my Spanish. But my happiness started to disintegrate when we all went inside and I heard the word juego used. Juego means game.
I hate games.
Especially with other people.
And thus, the icebreakers began. I will let your imagination fill in the blanks about my talent with them.

          But even though I was uncomfortable, everyone I met was incredibly nice, and they even had someone translate the Spanish for us when we needed it. Several students got up and gave speeches about what the group and God meant to them and it was a personal triumph for me when I understand the majority of what they were saying. I am sure I was quite creepy, sitting in the front row, staring intently at them as they spoke; but it helps me to see a person's lips moving if they're talking fast. One of the girls said something that literally smacked me in the face. I wish I could remember exactly how she said it in Spanish, because it is more beautiful than in English, but I will just tell you what she said.
She said that God is always here, and friends are always here, and we need to reach out to each other and to Him for help and we cannot do it alone, which is why church groups like this one are so important.
We cannot do it alone.

And now, ladies and gentlemen, I have joined a Bible study group that meets every Tuesday. Tonight is my first meeting. Details forthcoming.

It's pretty obvious that this is out of my comfort zone. But I know that God didn't bring me to that church meeting on Friday to scare me. He did it to remind me that this path I am taking, this journey I am smack dab in the middle of, isn't something that should intimidate me. I wouldn't be handed all these chances, all these perfect coincidences, if I wasn't walking on a path that was simply waiting for my footsteps.