Finals

The last two weeks have been dedicated to finals.  I've managed to plan my time out pretty well, except for right now, when I'm only just finishing up my blog post.

The last few weeks have gone by incredibly fast, with me saying "I can do that next week" at the end of each.  I can no longer do this as there are no more weeks left in the semester, so it's crunch time.  I'm trying to weigh my time out evenly between studying, talking with my host mom and seeing what else Madrid has to offer.  Unfortunately, most of my time has actually gone to watching cat videos on YouTube.

(Here's a good one if you're interested)

Luckily, my last two finals are tomorrow, and then I'll be done with the semester.  I'm incredibly excited to go back home, but I know I'm going to miss Spain after my three weeks there are done.  I'm lucky to be coming back for another semester, because there is no way I'd be able to do all the things I want to in only three and a half months.

Giving Thanks

Perhaps what I was most thankful for on Thanksgiving was the fact that it was not my Spanish Halloween.  I avoided writing about it earlier because it was still too unreal/scarring in my mind.  But since Christmas preparation has already started in the States, I thought in the spirit of giving, I would share the beginning of my Halloween night in Madrid.

It all began with a last minute Halloween celebration.  My host mom had fallen ill in the week leading up to her annual Halloween party, and needed to cancel the event.  I assumed that I would no longer be doing anything for the holiday; as frequently happens, I was wrong.  I had a party to go to, but only 20 minutes to prepare a costume.  My roommate and I had a quick brainstorming session and came up with a brilliant, simple idea: a priest.  All i needed was a black shirt, black pants, and a white piece of paper in the collar  The "brilliant" idea of mine turned out to be an example of how cultural differences can make one acceptable costume in one country a poor decision in another.

And others are terrible no matter where you are

Not 2 minutes into my walk toward the party, I saw a rather large man walking a German Shepherd in my direction.  He was a caricature of a man you did not want to mess with: he had close shaven hair, tribal tattoos and his legs were as wide around as my torso.  I thought nothing of it when he gave me a questioning look but when he stopped, I knew that this behemoth was about to speak with me.

He looked like Mariusz Pudzianowski, but with more shirt

"Eres un sacerdote? (are you a priest?)" As he spoke my heart dropped to my stomach.  I managed to squeak out an unconvincing "...Si?" and surprising to approximately no one ever, he did not believe me.  It must have been the large polo symbol on my shirt, or the fact that most priests don't carry around a box of wine with them, but he was not impressed with my priest impression.

He gave a stern "No" and then proceeded to rip the white collar out of my shirt, threw it in the trash and left me with the most disapproving look I have ever received in my life before he moved on.  I silently thanked God that I had chosen to wear my glasses to top off the priest look, otherwise there is no doubt in my mind that I would have received a black eye that would have made a boxer costume a more convincing choice for the party.  Instead, I chose to wear my perfected frightened tourist costume, out of fear of insulting anyone else.   

Thanksgiving

I was rather disappointed this year, knowing that I would not be able to spend Thanksgiving at home.  Every year my grandma makes a fantastic Italian Thanksgiving with capeletti soup, chicken marsala and all the typical Thanksgiving food.  Obviously, the holiday is not celebrated here, so we have to bring our American customs to Spain.  Rather than celebrate my Thanksgiving alone in a Burger King with only a mountain of Whoppers and my self-pity to keep me company, I was lucky enough that my friends' host mom invited me to her own "Spanish Thanksgiving".

I was a little worried, as my friends have tried to have me over their house in the past, but with no luck.  Their host mom has a distinct distrust in men, meaning I had to try especially hard to win her affection.  I accepted this challenge, but not without some apprehension.  With a nice bottle of wine in-hand as a peace offering, I made my way to my friends' house, on a mission.  The elevator in the apartment felt uncomfortably similar to a jail cell, but when I reached her floor, I was stuck; there was no going back.

Thankfully, I had one trick up my sleeve that was foolproof.  The one skill that has never failed me, and has gotten me through many situations, is older women's unconditional love for me.  Somehow, women between the ages of 60 and 110 are always susceptible to my charms.  I knew it was time to make good use of my ability.

The señora was actually very kind and (perhaps most importantly,) an amazing cook.  Taking nothing away from my grandma, I had perhaps the best turkey in my life that night.  I was almost in tears with every bite, but full-on sobbed at the sight of the apple pie for dessert.  It was a memorable night for certain- it's not every year that I could have a Spanish Thanksgiving.

General Strike

I have survived my first general strike in Spain.  Unlike how the media likes to represent them, the protests are not a string of violent actions.  It feels more like being at a festival than a protest.  There are parents with their children, holding banners and singing songs.  Every demographic is present in the crowd: families, teenagers and the elderly were all joined in their desire for change.  For the most part, peaceful conversation was the dominant theme of the day.

Photo by Reilly Dorr

When it's not the people being blamed for violent protests, it is the police.  Those who are anti-police cling to images of officers beating on helpless civilians, while others blame the protesters.  In either case, the violent people are the minority, but make for much more exciting news.

There are always two stories being told: the protesters' and the police officers'.  Unfortunately, it's hard to find the middle ground- the truth.  No matter who's right or wrong, I realized that while there can be violence, it generally only comes to those who want to bring it to that level.

Milano

Last weekend I left Spain with my sights set on Italy.  I've been around the country before but never to Milan, so I figured the city was worth a visit.  I went with three of my friends from Suffolk but also met up with two of my friends from back home while there.

Everyone always complains about using Ryanair, but then continues to do so.  It isn't too bad as long as you comply with their extensive requirements- especially their one carry-on bag limit.  You can see many impatient people stuffing their bags into the 50x40x20 box, praying that they won't have to pay the additional fee.

We arrived in Milan late at night, our path to our hostel lit up by the pizza parlors that never seemed to close.  It didn't take long for us to realize that these businesses were really into taking advantage of tourists, and it's hard to argue with people that you don't share a common language with.  In all fairness, it was really good pizza.

We quickly found out that the fashion capital of the world was about as expensive as you would imagine.  Nevertheless, it was a great city with a wealthy but relaxed feel to it and a historical status that rivals its modern, revolutionary one.  At the center of the city is the Duomo, an old, Gothic-style cathedral.

Eric and I with Liam, who is being unnecessarily tall

The cathedral could be seen in the sky from blocks away, but was even more impressive from the inside.  Almost 630 years old, the Duomo is the fifth largest cathedral in the world.  The inside is filled with artwork typical of the Gothic era, as well as many internal chapels that are host to a wide array of relics.  Long lines of candle holders were placed around the inside with hundreds of candles, all lit by visitors paying their respects.

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Photo by Taylor Kunselman

It was nice to be back in Italy, but I missed Madrid.  The city is really starting to become my home away from home.

Santender

This past weekend I had my second trip with the school.  We traveled to Santender, an ocean-side city in the region of Cantabria.  The bus ride was five hours, and a perfect opportunity to make up for the sleep lost over midterms.  The town itself is a popular vacation spot, especially for the wealthy of Spain.  The docks are lined with yachts and the beaches are kept in pristine condition.  The water is bright and a deep blue, even with the temperamental weather.  It probably beats the "culture" that you find at my local beach where the filthiness of the beach is surpassed only by that of the people who inhabit it.

Hampton Beach in all its glory.

On the second day there, we traveled to Cuevas el Soplao.  They looked like how I imagine the entrance to Hell will be like.  

The most prominent feature of the caves though are the crystal structures.  These stalactites don't grow in the traditional way.  They defy gravity and end up pointing off in all directions, seemingly at random.  

These structures can be found in other caves, but none of them have as many as Cuevas el Soplao.  As tempting as they were to touch, doing so would get you sued.  I had to restrain myself, but I left the caves without a single lawsuit.  

The next day we visited another cave.  This one, Cueva el Castillo, is important more for its history than its architecture.  These caves were occupied by ancient man and were filled with various drawings.  It was almost disturbing seeing the negative-prints of these people's hands.  

It was humbling to realize just how many people have gone through this world that we don't remember and how brief our lives are in the scheme of things.  But before I digress into any philosophy, I'll just say that Cantabria is a unique place and definitely worth the long bus ride.

Midterms

Midterms are now over and I can't recall a time I've ever had a more difficult time staying focused.  With so much to do, Madrid is enough to give anyone an attention disorder.  It is hard to justify reading over notes when you have so many more exciting possibilities.

So without much surprise, I found myself procrastinating.  But I justified it by calling it educational procrastination.  The best way to learn the language is by putting it into practice; knowing Spanish words is useless if you cannot find a reason to speak them for them.  Naturally, there are countless Spanish speakers at bars and they're usually willing to talk endlessly, as drunk people are wont to do.  

Other than just the language, it is important to get a feel for the culture.  Spain has a rich history of artistic talent and this is made obvious in the Museo Nacional del Prado.  This art museum holds works from greats such as Goya, Velazquez, El Greco, Rembrandt and Ribera.  The museum is impossible to explore completely in only one afternoon but in those few hours alone I saw many famous paintings I have only seen in books and online:

Las Meninas, Velazquez

The Third of May 1808, Goya

Jacob's Dream, Ribera

Judith at the Banquet of Holofernes, Rembrandt

Adoration of the Shepherds, El Greco